#is a lot bigger than the gap between the other games which is why i suspect theyre done with it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

repo-net · 1 year

Note

Hi friend! As fun as Monaca was, it is good to see Nagisa is back! 💙 After “Monaca” ranked her friends, I’ve been wondering how you would rank the WOH in terms of your personal favorites? I’m assuming Nagisa is your favorite, but out of the others do you have a 2nd favorite, 3rd, 4th, 5th ect. or is it just Nagisa’s the best and the rest are kind of equal to you? (with the exception of perhaps Monaca?) Just curious but you don’t have to answer. Have a great day! 💕

Hello hello, thank you again for another ask! It was quite a fun week, I appreciated the small change in theme I took for a bit, but it's nice to finally have a refreshed and updated look again now that we're back to normal.

Ranking the Warriors of Hope, huh? I've been asked this question a few times before, but I'm not sure if I've done it here yet? I can't quite recall. I do have a personal ranking though that hasn't changed and likely won't ever change, but I'll skip number 1 since I think it's pretty obvious who's taking that spot.

5. Kotoko Utsugi

Kotoko's cute. I think she's entertaining and a lot of her lines hit the mark when she's actually allowed to have depth (something that DR tends to fail on), and she probably has my favorite design when it comes to the Warriors of Hope. Her personality is funny and I just wanna give her a hug because of the horrible messes she's been through.

But in the grand scheme of things and appreciating her overall character, I just can't overlook the clutter of mishandling of the themes in her writing. The game didn't treat it with nearly enough respect as they should've, from the weird as hell shots of her underwear, to the whole motivation machine... thing. I have an obvious issue with that entire segment, but I at least see why Kotoko would act in such a way. But the fact they turned it into a minigame...? With the instructions for it ending off by basically telling the player to not enjoy themselves too much? Leaves such a sour taste in my mouth.

For the same reason characters like Mikan are low on my tier lists (though I don't actually dislike or hate any character, the lowest grade I give is just a 'god, I really don't care at all'.), Kotoko gets the same grade. Fun character, horrible handling and presentation.

4. Jataro Kemuri

Y'know, there's a bit of a gap between Kotoko and this one. Not that big, but enough that I can decisively say every time someone asks me who my least favorite Warrior of Hope is, I would say the former. Anyways, moving on to Jataro. I think one reason he's over here is because he suffers from what I call "middle character syndrome", where he doesn't 'die' early enough like Masaru to leave a first impression, or someone late like Nagisa to really set you up for the climax. He's stuck in the unfortunate spot of having to follow up from who came first.

But that doesn't mean I don't like him. I think his trauma and backstory is one of the more unique ways of portraying mental abuse. While I think they could've done a better job of actually giving us time to digest his story and see more context in what really happened, I think his attitude (and his voice actor: god bless Michelle Ruff, she does an incredible job) and how he's so ruthless because he loves being hated is intriguing.

It's not enough to get him that high, but for what it's worth, I enjoyed Jataro while he was on screen and I wish we got to see more of him and Masaru, they badly needed more screentime. Speaking of which...

3. Masaru Daimon

Ah, here's the boy. If you thought my issue with Jataro's screentime was bad, man - Masaru's issues go way bigger than that. This poor fella gets a total of two scenes to shine in - the part where the Warriors of Hope introduce themselves, and his boss fight. If you wanna be generous and make it three, then we can count his supposed funeral, but as far as I'm concerned, the only one who got any sort of character build there was Nagisa and Monaca.

So why is Masaru so up high on my list despite the fact that he, y'know. Barely even existed? It's because he left his mark and set the tone well for the rest of his members to follow up on. Establishing himself as an arrogant, noisy brat that you just wanna pummel in his intro, with making a few lines here and there that make way for light-heartedness (wieners!). And then, he shows his weak heart. Beating his arm up (that scene was and still is hard to watch btw) and making subtle references easy enough for the viewer to make inferences from. Building what's coming.

That's what Masaru does. He lays the blueprints down for the rest of the kids, and that they all have reasons for turning the way they did. Being the first example is as important as closing off the story, and Masaru despite how little time he got was able to pass that test.

2. Monaca Towa

Yep, it's pretty obvious who my second favorite Warrior of Hope is if you've been paying attention to my blog, lol. Monaca is a horrible and terrifying child. She has done plenty of things wrong. I want nothing more than for her to receive her comeuppance and get what she deserves. And that's why pickle satan is my second favorite Warrior of Hope, my favorite villain/main antagonist in the series, and one of my favorite characters in general. And it all roots back to what I believe is most important in a character - presentation.

Believe me when I say this; a character that annoys the viewer will always be worse than a character that repulses them. You want them to think 'oh screw this guy, i hope they get owned and beat eventually', absolutely not 'oh screw this guy, get them off my screen, i don't wanna see this anymore'. You want to have the audience desire their demise, not be so irritated by them that they don't even wanna continue seeing the story anymore. Monaca plays her role of the despicable villain incredibly. She is so easy to hate in the ways that you wanna see her get destroyed.

I could go for a long, long while about Monaca and make a post of her own, honestly. Her dynamic with Nagisa is a one-sided tragedy (that I honestly think is more co-dependent than most people realize.) that ends with her pulling off one of the most horrid scenes in the series by mentally destroying the psyche of another character to the point he can't even muster the will to fight her anymore.

Her whole motive - it's initially believed that Monaca wants to be the next generation of Junko Enoshima herself, but the more you look into it, the more hints the story gives, until the buildup where the plan was for it to be Komaru all along... it's an excellent build and subversion that makes sense. Her writing works. Her character works. Everything clicks with Monaca. I just wish her arc ended more satisfyingly in DR3, even if the absurdity of it was pretty funny. Monaca's great. Love her and I'll always write about her.

Thanks again for sending the ask! I apologize this took a while, I've been busy these past few days in preparation of the upcoming school week. Hope to hear from you again, and have a great day!

10 notes · View notes

coldgoldlazarus · 2 years

Text

I've kinda talked about this before, but I think one of the big reasons I'm not as much a fan of the Ignition Trilogy is kinda summed up by how superfluous the Matoran characters felt after a certain point.

Ironically 2006, my least favorite year of the arc, does pretty decently on this front (Voya Nui resistance my beloved) even if that's offset by Ow the Edge™, but 2007 and especially 2008 kinda really drop the ball here.

I think part of it, in all fairness, is the fault of the book reduction from 5 per year to only 3, so the pacing had to be a bit more conceise and accelerated; there wasn't as much room for detours or sidestories such as Tales Of The Masks, The Darkness Below, Maze Of Shadows, or Legacy Of Evil. On the other hand, the Serials started happening to sort of make up for that and fill in the gaps, but without as much restriction they kinda spiraled off into a whole other thing, for better or for worse. Either way, somewhere in that shuffle, the supporting matoran fell through the cracks, leaving the bulk of the character investment to fall squarely on the Toa and that year's villains.

Why is this a bad thing? Because this is the point and the way, I feel, that Bionicle lost the trees for the forest.

The bigger scale of the Ignition trilogy isn't inherently a bad thing, not at all IMO; the story and world were expanding drastically, yet still naturally. The stakes being raised so high, even if it was initially offputting in 06, overall was the right way to go, finally giving all the payoffs to everything the first five years set up. I have my gripes with some elements of the worldbuilding tone and Greg Edge™, (said with outmost respect) but ultimately, not a bad call. All the same, I think it wasn't as effective as it could have been at delivering everything it did, because the focus shifted away from the smaller-scale happenings instead of keeping them in mind in addition to the bigger picture.

Quick detour here. Even if 01 is somewhat overplayed in the fandom now, I still think one of the reasons it was so successful wasn't just in the aesthetic or tone, but in its immersiveness. A lot of this is thanks to Templar Studios' work, of course; you got to see everything from a Matoran-eye view, get to know the island and inhabitants and culture inside and out, along with seeing the Toa's adventures. You became invested not just in the ones saving the day, but who they're saving the day for.

On the other hand 2004 didn't have a direct MNOG analogue, but here the books took up the slack; between the Toa Metru's status as only recently-transformed from Matoran and thus still in touch with the city's workings, the Disk-finder Matoran also being a pretty big feature for the first half of the year, and the time and space to fit in sidestories like The Darkness Below, you still got a fairly solid sense of the city and its people, even without as grand a cast of background extras like the Templar games and animations. Even 2005, with its radically darker feeling and post-apocalyptic version of the city, still continued to develop it and the inhabitants in a somber, post-mortem sort of way, and even in how the new threats in the Visorak and their leaders interacted with what was already there.

Now, I will admit that just on a fundamental structural level, expecting that same level of depth from the Ignition Trilogy, which was set up as more of an epic traveling adventure, hopping to a new location with each new year, would just be dumb. All the same, I still think it would have worked better if they'd maintained at least some level of detail more than was actually there.

Also, credit where it's due; again, despite all the edginess and grimness that made me so against 06 for so long, it still did a decent job in this regard. Again, the Voya Nui Resistance Team is one of that year's saving graces, giving us a group of Matoran intrinsically tied to the new island to sort of fast-track insight into how things work there, both before and after the Piraka's takeover. Similarly, even if it's honestly pretty grindy and repetitive, the Voya Nui Online Game also helps with this, giving the island a consistent map with actual landmarks and stuff, again lending depth and detail about on par with the Metru Nui saga, give or take. On a similar note, before the downsizing hit, City Of The Lost was able to set up Mahri Nui in a similar way; even if it says something that there were fewer small sets for that year, that book still managed to give us a pretty solid cast of Matoran to be invested in along with setting up the Barraki, before most of them wound up getting shunted off into one of the serials.

But yeah, after that point they kinda stopped being relevant, and 2008 whiffed it hard with their Matoran. There were good ideas there, I at least found Gavla interesting as someone who embraced the transformation into a Shadow Matoran, but outside of a certain stupid fandom meme gone out of control, I couldn't tell you a thing about the other five or how they lived in Karda-Nui; the only real landmark there was the Codrex, and everything else fell to the wayside.

Another detour. If each major arc has a central theme or focus to it, I think it would be these. The original years would probably be Unity (duh, with all the arguing and making up the Mata/Nuva did, lol) and not so much mystery as something to be solved, but Unknowns. Lots of questions were raised, but few answered. Metru-Nui was structured around mystery in a more typical sense, each book raising a question with the answers driving the plot forward, and as I said in an older post, it was also about loss and exile. In a lot of ways Metru-Nui needed to fall, but the Toa Metru still lost everything familiar in that, before moving on to build something new and better on Mata Nui.

The Ignition Trilogy, in addition to finally answering a lot of the questions set up by prior years and even questions we didn't even realize were questions until now, (see the GSR reveal) is also about the inevitability of death, and the end of the world as we know it. Sure, they averted Mata Nui dying altogether, but nonetheless it took Matoro's sacrifice, and Makuta won the day in the end, completing his grand plan.

So if anything, it's because of that that I think the travelogue structure, exploring new locations with each new year, was the right move. The full scale and impact of all of this just wouldn't be felt at all, if the action had stayed focused up in Metru Nui the whole time; this truly felt like a vast, all-encompassing thing. But that's also why the lackluster development of some of those new locations and their inhabitants somewhat bugs me too; after all, if you're facing down the end of the world, wouldn't it be better to be invested in what you're losing?

#not a reblog #bionicle #bonkle #bonkles #random rambling

22 notes · View notes

thessalian · 2 years

Text

Thess vs Last Straws

You know that feeling when one of your friends is a self-absorbed little shit and you know they’re a self-absorbed little shit but their self-absorption and little shit-ness just hit one button too many and you just want to slap them? It’s the weirdest damn feeling because it can be the smallest thing to set it off after years of arguably bigger issues.

This is concerning an old RP friend, who I still follow on Facebook. Now, he was an issue generator for quite awhile when I used to see him in person. I honestly have zero recollection of how we met, but he joined my Mage group when I ran in meatspace, and a few other games as well. He was problematic in all of them, frankly, with a bit of Main Character Syndrome and that thing that goes, “I have to be a hero in this game because I need validation of the type I don’t get in real life”. Also ... okay, y’all know I have zero issue with anyone on the spectrum, but I do have issues when someone doesn’t try. Fucking hell, I try - every day I try, and it’s not easy, so I am totally understanding when people slip up. But I tripped over a post of his that basically went, “Hey, I think I’m going to write up a guide to how to communicate with me and hand it to everyone I know”, and he was not joking. Not sure he ever actually did it, but his answer to, “I have communication issues” was not “I should work harder at ensuring that we all understand each other as best we can”, but “I will tell everyone how to talk to me so that I don’t melt down, and thus put the entire responsibility for the success of our communication into their hands because I can’t be bothered to moderate my own behaviour”.

I largely stopped engaging him after that, at least in part because I was a little disturbed at his overriding need for a girlfriend. I swear, it was all he talked about for quite some time. Of course, see above re: his communication skills, so that probably wasn’t happening. But he said something today that I just wanted to slap him over. He was whining about “I can’t buy the Toby Daye series or the InCryptid books because they’re not out on Kindle! Why are they not out on Kindle? WOE!” At which point I looked at my two shelves of paperback involving both those series and went, “Hang on; what now?!?” Then I engaged.

I should not have engaged. I mean, my first thing was flagging up that honestly, I don’t know if the author asked for there to be a gap between those books getting published and those books hitting Kindle, but I wouldn’t blame her if she had. McGuire is hugely outspoken about how book piracy can destroy an author’s career, particularly when dealing with a series. Book 1 sells well, but if Book 2 (or 3, or 4, or whatever) gets pirated more than it gets purchased, the publisher will decide that the series isn’t worth it and bin the whole thing. Now, I imagine you can pirate a book that hasn’t made it to ereader yet, but it’s a lot harder and a lot messier, and it still might not end up legible. So I started with the first bit of that - I mean, they’re her biggest and longest-running series and I wouldn’t blame her for not wanting the Kindle versions to float around for a good long while.

He said, “But if I can’t buy it, wouldn’t that make me more liable to pirate it? Which I don’t want to do because I do want to support her, but...” Like he had no choice - like it was either Kindle or nothing.

I looked at my two shelves of paperback again at that point and decided I wanted to throttle him, not slap him. So I flagged up the second part of that statement above - how a pirated copy of a book that hasn’t come out for ereader is likely to be messy and barely legible and there are other ways to buy a book than getting the Kindle version - like the local library, or ... you know, buying the paperback. I asked him to at least please not be disingenuous; to acknowledge that it wasn’t that he couldn’t buy it but that he couldn’t have it in his desired format.

Apparently he doesn’t have a local library, but he did at least subside a bit with, “But I see your point. I guess I’ll just wait”. Given the earlier replies, I can’t help but read that with a tinge of sulk.

Maybe it’s just the one straw that broke the camel’s back. But after awhile, you get tired of someone insisting they should have things entirely their own way without having to compromise or consider the situations or feelings of others, and then sulking when they have it proven that the world doesn’t work that way. I distanced him when he whined to me that he had to be the hero in my game because it gave him the kind of validation he lacked in his real life; I distanced him further when he whined about not being able to get a girlfriend. I’m about ready to just block him entirely over this one. Not because this is that bad - although it is that bad, since I’ve read time and time again how pirating books can destroy a series and an author’s career - but because it’s one more bit of proof that he has to have everything entirely his own way and will sulk if he doesn’t get it. My life is too short and too stressful to deal with people like this.

I mean, I don’t have anything against people who prefer Kindle to dead tree. But someone whining that they can’t buy it at all when what they mean is, “I can’t have my preference”? Miss me with that. If I want to support my favourite author and read the continuation of the story I’ve invested so much time and feels in over the years, and I can’t have it on Kindle? Just put down the paperback and back away slowly. Gods, he’s even whingeing about Be The Serpent and that’s not even out in paperback yet.

#Thess has friends #Sometimes they should no longer be friends

2 notes · View notes

felassan · 4 years

Text

Dragon Age development insights and highlights from Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

Some really tasty factoids here.

Cut for length.

Dragon Age: Origins

The continent of Thedas was at one point going to be named Pelledia, a name initially floated by James Ohlen

“Qunari” was a temporary name that ended up unintentionally sticking, much like “Thedas”

Mary Kirby wrote the Landsmeet. To this day, nobody understands how it works, except possibly her. If she’s “really really drunk” she can explain how it works. There’s as many words in it as Sten’s entire conversations put together

Concept art for Thedosian art - as in in-world art - draws heavily on Renaissance-era portraiture, the Art Nouveau movement, religious styles and media like stained glass, and favorite pieces from the golden age of illustrations in the early 20th century

Andrastianism in-world (art-wise) is depicted in wildly different methods depending on who in-world made the art in question. “One religion, 3 different lenses”. There’s the Chantry take, the Orlesian take and the Fereldan take; each with its own different interpretations, different mediums and different stories

The stained glass images were drawn by Nick Thornborrow for DAI, to decorate religious spaces in that game “and beyond”

irl Viking art influenced Ferelden

Greek and Italian art influenced Orlais

The book also had other insights into and anecdotes from the development of DAO, but I’ve transcribed them recently as they’re essentially the stories DG has recently been relating on the awesome Summerfall Studios DAO playthrough Twitch streams. (On those streams he provides dev commentary while Liam Esler plays through DA. The ones with DG are currently once every two weeks. Check them out! Here’s a calendar where you can check when the next one is) Instead of repeating myself I’ll just provide the link to the first transcript. From there you can navigate to the subsequent parts. Note these streams are ongoing. At this point I will also point you to a related post which is cliff notes of the Dragon Age chapter in Jason Schreier’s book Blood Sweat and Pixels.

Dragon Age II

DAO had the longest development period in BioWare history. In contrast DA2 had the shortest

Initially DA2 was going to be an expansion to DAO. A few months in EA said “Yeah, expansions like these don’t sell very well, so let’s make it a sequel.” So it suddenly became DA2 and they had to make it even bigger, although they still only had 1.5 years of time in which to do this

Production of DA2 officially lasted only 9 months, and at the time the team was still supporting live content for DAO! They finished development that January after the design team crunched all the way through the holiday period that year. Then it went to cert 9 times

The limited time they had is why the story takes place mostly in and around 1 city, and over 7 years (so it was temporal, rather than over physical distance, because a more expansive world would have taken more irl time to make)

They had no time to review even the main plot. Mike Laidlaw pitched the idea of 3 stories taking place at different points in the PC’s life, tied together by Varric’s recollections of events. DG rolled with this and made 1 presentation on the idea. This presentation was then approved and off they went

As they were writing DG realized that there was going to be no oversight and that everything was going to be a ‘first draft’. “Because nobody had time.” He sat down with the writers and said “Look, here’s the conditions we’re working under. A lot of what we’re putting out is gonna be raw. We’re not going to get the editing we need. We’re not going to get the kind of iteration we need. So I’m going to trust you all to do your best work.”

Looking back, DG has mixed feelings on DA2. “A lot of corners were cut. The public perception was that it was smaller than DAO. That’s a sin on its own.”

Despite this he thinks DA2 has some of the best writing in the series, especially character-wise. The DA2 chars are his favorite

The pace with which production progressed may in some ways have helped. “When we do a lot of revision, we often file away [as in buff off] some of the good writing as well. Somehow DA2′s whirlwind process resulted in some really good writing”

The pace meant chars landed on the writers in various stages of completion. For example Isabela was fairly defined due to appearing in DAO. In contrast Varric at the start was just that single piece of widely-shown concept art

Varric was conceived as a storyteller not a fighter. His skills are talking and bullshitting. Hence the question became, so what does this guy do in combat? The direction was to make him as different as possible to Oghren, so not a warrior. He couldn’t be a dual-wielding rogue in order to differentiate him from Bela. But you can’t really picture this guy with a bow. “For a dwarf, it would probably be a crossbow. We didn’t have crossbows, or we only had crossbows for the darkspawn. And they were part of the models. We didn’t have a separate crossbow that was equip-able by the chars. They had to like, crop one off a darkspawn and remodel it. And that became Bianca” (quote: Mary Kirby)

“Dwarven mages are exceedingly rare.” [???]

If DAO was a classic fantasy painting, DA2 was a screenshot from a Kurosawa film or a northern Renaissance painting. (Here Matt Rhodes was commenting on art style)

John Epler: “In any one of our games, there’s a 95% chance that if you turn the camera away from what it’s looking at, you’ll see all kinds of janky stuff. The moment we know the camera is no longer facing someone, we no longer care what happens to them. We will teleport people around. We will jump people around. We will literally have someone walk off screen and then we will shift them 1000 meters down, because we’re fixing some bug.” John also talked about this camera stuff in a recent charity Twitch stream for Gamers For Groceries. There’s a writeup of that stream here

Designing Kirkwall pushed concept artists to the limits of visual storytelling, because it has a long history that they wanted to be present. It was once the hub of Tevinter’s slave empire, so it needed to look brutal and harsh, but it also then needed to feel reclaimed, evolved, and with elements of contemporary Free Marches culture

The initial plan was for DA titles to be distinguished by subtitles not numbers, so that each experience could stand on its own rather than feel like a sequel or continuation. (My note: New PCs in each entry make sense then when you consider this and other factoids we know like how DA is the story of the world not of any one PC). Later, DA2′s name was made DA2 in a bid to more clearly connect the game to its predecessor. For DAI they returned to the original naming convention. (My note: so I’d reckon they’d be continuing the subtitle naming convention for DA4)

DA2 was initially code-named “Nug Storm”, strictly internally

The Cancelled DA2 Expansion - Exalted March

This was a precursor to DAI

It was meant to bridge the gap between DA2 and DAI

It focused on the fallout from Kirkwall’s explosion, with Cory serving as the villain

Meredith’s red lyrium statue was basically going to infest Kirkwall and it would end up [with what would end up] the red templars taking over Kirkwall and essentially being Cory’s army

To stop him Hawke would have recruited various factions, including Bela’s Felicisima Armada and the Qunari at Estwatch, forcing Hawke to split loyalties and risk relationships in the process

It was meant to bring DA2′s story to an end and end in Varric’s death. DG was very happy with this because all of DA2 is Varric’s tale. The expansion was supposed to start at the moment Cassandra’s interrogation of him ended in the present. “And we finished off the story with Varric having this heroic death.” It tied things up and would have broken many fan hearts, something BioWare writers notoriously enjoy. But between a transition to the new Frostbite engine and the scope of DAI, the decision was made to cancel EM, work any hard-to-lose concepts into DAI, and in the process save Varric’s life. DG has talked about the Varric dying thing before

Concept art for EM explored new areas previously not depicted in the DA universe, with costumes that reflected next steps for familiar chars. Varric was going to war, what would he have worn? With Anders, if he survived DA2, the plan was to present a redeemed Warden

A char that vaguely resembled Sera in DAI was first concepted for EM. This fact was mentioned near this concept art (see the female elf) and this concept art of Bethany with the blond bob

The writers sketched out plans to end it with Hawke having the option to marry their LI. This included alternate ceremonies for party members like Bethany and Sebastian if the player opted not to wed. There was even a wedding dress made for Hawke. This asset made it into DAI (Sera and Cullen’s weddings in Trespasser). The dress can also be seen in DAI during an ambient NPC wedding after completing a chain of war table missions

The destruction of a Chantry was explored in concept art as it might have happened in EM. This idea ended up carrying over to the beginning of DAI. (My note: Lol, the idea that DA2 could have had 2 Chantries being destroyed in it 😆)

World of Thedas

Sheryl Chee and Mary Kirby started with “a disgusting little dish called fluffy mackerel pudding”. In the middle of DAO’s busy dev period one of them (they can’t remember who) found a recipe online for this, scanned in from a 70s cookbook. “I don’t understand why it was fluffy. Why would you want fluffy mackerel pudding?” MK says. “We loved it so much we included it in a DAO codex.”

This led them to create more food for Thedas, full recipes included, like a Fereldan turnip and barley stew from MK and SC’s Starkhaven fish and egg pie. The fish pie became Sebastian’s favorite. “To me it made sense for it to be fish pie because a lot of the Free Marches are on the coast”, SC says, “It was something that was popular in medieval times, so I thought, let’s make a fish pie! I looked at medieval recipes and I concocted a fish pie which I fed to my partner, and he was like ‘This is not terrible’”

For WoT the whole studio was asked to contribute family recipes which might have a place in Thedas. SC adapted these to fit in one Thedosian culture or another, including a beloved banana bread that localization producer Melanie Fleming would regularly bake to keep the DA team motivated. “Melanie’s banana bread got us through Inquisition”

DAI

It says part of DAI takes place in or near the border with Nevarra [???]

This game was aimed to be bigger than DA2 and even DAO in every conceivable way

The first hour had to do a lot of heavy lifting, tying together the events of DAO and DA2 while introducing a new PC, new followers etc in the aftermath of the big attack. DG rewrote it 7 times then Lukas Kristjanson did 2 more passes

DG: “Our problem is always that our endings are so important, but we leave them to last, when we have no time. I kept pushing on DAI: ‘Can we work on the ending now? Can we work on the ending now? Can we do it early on?’ Because I knew exactly what it was going to be. But despite the fact that it kept getting scheduled, whenever the schedule started falling behind, it kept getting pushed back... so, of course, it got left til last again.”

“The reveal of the story’s real antagonist, Solas, a follower until the end, when he betrayed the player”. “Solas’ story remains a main thread in Inquisition’s long-awaited follow-up” [these aren’t DG quotes, just bits of general text]

Over the course of development they had 8 full-time writers and 4 editors working on it. Other writers joined later to help wrangle what ended up being close to 1 million words of dialogue and unspoken text. While many teams moved to a more open concept style of work for DAI, the writers remained tucked away in their own room, a choice DG says was necessary, given how much they talked. All the talking had a purpose ofc as if someone hit a bump or wall in their writing they would open the problem up to the room

As writing on a project like DAI progresses, the writers grow punchier and weirder things make it into the game. This is especially the case towards the end of a project (they get tired, burned out)

Banter and codexes require less ‘buy-in’ (DG has talked about this concept a few times on the Twitch streams) from other designers. DG liked to leave banter for last as a reward because it was fun. Banter begins as lists of topics for 2 followers to discuss. These may progress over time or be one off exchanges. One banter script can balloon to well over 10k words. “The banter was always huge because we were always like, laughing, and really at that point, our fields of fucks were rather barren, so we would just do whatever”

The bog unicorn happened pretty much by accident. It was designed by Matt Rhodes and was one of his fav things to design. They needed horse variations and he had already designed an undead variant which was a bog mummy [bog body]. irl these are preserved in a much different way to traditional mummies. When someone dies in a bog their skin turns black and raisin-like. The examples we know of tend to have bright red hair for whatever reason. It’s a very striking look and MR wanted to do a horse version of this as he thought it’d be neat. 5 mins before the review meeting for it he had a big ‘Aha!’ moment, quickly looked up a rusty old Viking sword, and photoshopped it through its skull like that was how it died. “And I was like, ‘I just made a unicorn. Alright, in it goes!’” It got approved. “So we built the thing. It fit. It told a little story”

With the irl Inquisition longsword, one of the objects they tested its cleaving ability on was a plush version of Leliana’s nug Schmooples

The concept art team explored a wide variety of visuals for the Inquisitor’s signature mark. It needed to look powerful and raw but couldn’t look like a horrific wound. In some cases, as cool as the idea looked on paper, they just weren’t technically feasible, especially as they had to be able to fit on any number of different bodies

Bug report: “Endlessly spawning mounts! At one point during development, Inquisitors could summon a new horse every time they whistled, allowing them to amass a near infinite number of eager steeds that faithfully followed them across Thedas. “You could go charging across levels and they’d all gallop behind you,” Jen Cheverie says, “It was beautiful.” Trotting into town became an epic horse siege as a tidal wave of mounts enveloped the streets. Jen called it her Army of Ponies”

The giants came from DA Week, an internal period when devs can pursue different individual creative projects that in some way benefit DA. They also had a board game from one of these that they were going to put in but they didn’t have time. It’s referenced though. It was dwarven chess

Josie’s outfit is made of gold silk and patterned velvet, with leather at her waist. She carries “an ornate ledger” and she has “an ornamented collar sitting around her neck, finished by a brilliant red ruby, like a drop of Antivan wine in a sunbeam”

Iron Bull’s armor is leather. His loose pantaloons and leather boots give him agility to charge

On DAI in particular, concept artists took special care to make sure costumes would be realistic, at least in a practical ‘this obeys the laws of physics and textiles’ sense. “While on Inquisition, we thought about cosplay from a concept art perspective. Given how incredible a lot of [cosplays] are, I now am not worried about them. In fact in some cases in the future I want to throw them curveballs like, ‘All right, you clever bastards. Let’s see if you can do this!’”

2 geese that nested on the office building and had chicks were named Ganders and Arishonk (it wasn’t known who was the mom or the dad). Other possible names were Carver Honke, Bethany Honke, Urdnot Pecks, Quackwall, Cassandra Pentagoose, the Iron Bill, Shepbird, Garroose, Admiral Quackett, Scout Honking, HChick-47 and Darth Malgoose

Bug report: “The surprising adventures of Ser Noodles!” DAI was the first time the series had a mount feature, meaning this had a lot of bugs. A lot of the teams’ favorite bugs were to do with the mounts. There was a period of time where the Inquisitor’s horse seemed to lose all bone and muscle in its legs. They had a week or so where all quadruped legs were broken. It was a bit noticeable in things like nugs and other small beasties but the horse was insanely obvious. “The first time we summoned the horse [for this] and started running around, the entire QA exploration room just exploded with laughter.” Its legs flapped around like cooked fettucine, leading testers to lovingly nickname it Ser Noodles. At galloping speeds the legs almost looked like helicopter blades, especially when footage was set to classic pieces such as Wagner’s Flight of the Valkyries

For DAI the artists were asked questions like “What would Morrigan wear to a formal ball? Can Cassandra pull off a jaunty hat?”

On DAI storyboarding became the norm. John Epler: “Cinematic design for the longest time was the Wild West. It was ‘here’s a bunch of content, now do it however you want’, which resulted in some successes and some failures.” Storyboarding gave designers a consistent visual blueprint based on ideas from designers, writers and concept artists

Quote from a storyboard by Nick Thornborrow (the Inquisitor going into the party at the end of basegame sequence): “Until Corypheus revealed himself they could not see the single hand behind the chaos. A magister and a darkspawn combined. The ultimate evil. So evil. Eviler than puppy-killers and egg farts combined.”

A general note on concept art:

In the early stages of any project, before the concept artists are aware of any writing, they like to just draw what they think cool story moments could be. It’s not unusual for the team to then be inspired by these and fold them into the game as the project progresses

– From Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

3K notes · View notes

whumpzone · 3 years

Text

Linden & Colton - 18

(masterpost)

and so the slow process begins

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, discussions of intelligence

Pet- Colton, Colton didn’t realise he’d been asleep until he woke up. He had dreamt of nothing. How he had slept after the stress of yesterday was beyond him.

He suddenly saw Master in his room, a place he’d never been before, stood in the corner waiting for him to wake up and face his punishment. He cried out, pulling himself up and raising his hands protectively.

But-

He blinked. It was a shadow. The gap between the old wardrobe and the wall. Tall, thin, quiet. Just like Master. But Col was alone and he let out a long breath.

Master had probably heard him yell, though. He’d be here soon. So Col wasted no time and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He turned back to tuck his little teddy bear Chu under the covers, where Colton felt it was safe, and headed out into the corridor. Here, he was fair game. He didn’t know why Master never entered his room, but he had stuck to it vigilantly so far. It only made Col feel more aware of his own vulnerability as soon as he stepped through the door.

Master was downstairs, doing a puzzle in the local newspaper, and he looked up as Colton approached. His face brightened into a smile, the biggest he’d ever seen. Master never smiled like that. Col had to fight against the urge to freeze or drop to his knees.

“Good morning, Col,” he said, showing all of his teeth.

Oh, god. Master wanted him to reply. He wanted words, now. He finally knew that Col had been hiding them all this time, and he wanted to delve in, find out how he could twist them and use them to stroke his own ego and entrench his slave’s subordination.

Or perhaps he just wanted to hear his Pet wish him a good morning for the first time. Stop fucking overthinking.

“Good morning,” he ducked his head in reverence, “Master.”

“Wow. I still can’t believe you can speak. I’m so- I’m so proud of you, Col.”

What? Why? “…Please forgive me for not speaking sooner.”

“It’s my fault,” he sighed, which made Col tense up even more. “I just- wow. Where to start? Well, come, sit, have breakfast with me. Cereal?”

He gestured at the box already on the table. Colton obediently sat and took it in his hand with almost no trouble. Master noticed, and nodded happily. He was certainly pleased. It still made Col very uneasy, but he did seem to be doing something right.

He had never heard Master speak in such an excited tone, before. But he was silent while Pet- Col- ugh- made himself his breakfast. He could feel Master’s eyes on him. He was allowed to take the first bite, and then the interrogation began. It was obvious Master had a lot of questions.

“So- okay, first, what made you speak, yesterday? I never asked.”

Colton chewed and swallowed. It helped his throat feel a little smoother, although it was still very rough from disuse. His voice was small and unsure. “You… I saw- I saw Jaffa. At the bottom of the stairs. But I didn’t mean to- I’m n-not accusing you of anything, I know you wouldn’t hurt her I just, I wasn’t sure if you had… seen her, Master.”

He flicked his eyes up to Master, to gage his response. He had just accused Master of being a bad pet owner. Of being neglectful of Jaffa. Master seemed to parse this information, and then smiled.

“She does blend in, doesn’t she? Too bloody well sometimes. I’m so glad you stopped me. And that was so, so kind of you Col. Well done.”

He just nodded, and turned his face away. He supposed…. Master saw it as him looking out for Jaffa, rather than undermining his intelligence. That was a lucky escape for him. He knew that with his old master, any sign of insubordination would have been swiftly beaten out of him.

“Colton,” Col looked up. Master looked scary. Why was he smiling that like? What was he thinking? Col didn’t feel any closer to understanding him. “I know this is new, and I know you’ve not spoken in months. I won’t make you do loads of it, okay? We can take it slowly.”

“Thank you, Master,” he hazarded, although he didn’t see why Master hadn’t just forced him to speak from day one, if he wanted it this badly.

“God, but it makes me realise, I know so little about you. And now- I can ask. And if you want, you can reply. I’m really happy.”

“There’s nothing to know, Master. I’m just a Pet,” he mumbled. The spoon faltered in his hand. Cutlery was still a challenge.

“I know you’ve got a busy brain in there,” Master pointed a slender finger at his slave’s head, to emphasise his point. “I know you’re bursting with thoughts and ideas.”

This made Col look up, properly. An accusation like that came with dire consequences. “No, n-n-no, I’m not, I promise, I exist to serve o-only, I’m just a dumb Pet. Yours to use as you please.” Spoken exactly as his old master had taught him. Well- he would have been belted for stammering. He was out of practice.

Should he kneel? Well, yes, he should, but was it right, when he knew Master liked him on the furniture? But, god, he had to prove his point, he couldn’t let Master think he was starting to rebel, or forget his place.

Bitterly, he thought about how he knew this would happen. This was why Pets didn’t speak.

“Whoa, okay, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just meant- you’re not stupid, are you? I can tell. And that’s a good thing.”

Col just stared at his hands. He wanted to pause time, step out of his body, and float away. Somewhere without any questions, or expectations, or constant riddles. He was stupid. He knew that much.

Master’s voice brought him back to reality. Glancing at him, Col saw his smile had grown even bigger. His skin prickled.

“I think you’re Welsh.”

“M-Master?”

“You definitely are. You’ve got an accent. You’re Welsh, Col. Wow, now I’m kind of sad. Like, how on earth did you end up here?”

What was he implying? “I’ve… always been a Pet,” Col tried, but it was clear he didn’t believe himself, and from the way Master’s eyebrow slowly raised, he didn’t believe him either.

Colton had always been dimly aware that there was an other him, who had taken up the before-time. He was the one whom his old master had had to train so effectively, he was the one who had all the bad thoughts and urges. Col knew he didn’t start as a Pet. Or else his old master wouldn’t have had to torture him like that for so long.

He was a ghost in Colton’s brain, and Col didn’t know if he was locked away or completely dead. Were parts of him still hiding somewhere, curled up in a place that old master couldn’t ever reach? Or had he been completely laid out and hacked to pieces, until only Col remained. Thinking about it made him want to burst into tears. Some nights, when his mind was loosened by sleep, he felt like he missed him so much.

. . .

Linden didn’t push it. He knew most Pets didn’t retain any memories from before their conditioning. He shouldn’t have asked, really. Just… the realisation that Col had a background, he had lived before becoming the trembling man before him, made Linden ache.

He still wanted to curl up whenever he thought about how long he left it before he realised Col could speak. He hadn’t wanted to push him, there were a myriad of ways he could have been made permanently mute, and he had pretty much fallen into a routine at this point. But the knowledge that all this time, Col was patiently waiting for the chance to talk, probably wondering why Linden wouldn’t let him- oh, christ. He was so embarrassed and ashamed.

He suddenly had so many questions all on the tip of his tongue, that he couldn’t think where to start. He also really didn’t want to bombard the poor boy. But still… just a few, surely, wouldn’t hurt?

“So obviously I’ve named you Colton, but, if you actually do have a name, please tell me. We can use that one instead.”

Colton shook his head. “My name before was- was Pet.”

“Pet?”

“Yes, Master. Or bitch, or, um, mutt. Or toy.”

He hid it well, but Linden could see the shame in Col’s face. At least that meant he realised how fucked up it was.

“Those aren’t fu- those aren’t names,” he growled. “That’s just plain cruel. You don’t deserve that. Do you like being Colton? It’s not too late to choose another name for yourself, love.”

Col waited until he had swallowed down another spoonful of cereal before he spoke. That seemed good, to Linden. He didn’t feel pressured to reply immediately.

“Colton is a nice name, Master. It’s not my place to have likes or dislikes but I, uh, I am happy with it.”

Another quick glance at his face. Linden was getting used to them by now. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jaffa rolling around.

“Likes, dislikes, they’re fine. Don’t worry about that. But if you like the name, then it’s yours until you say otherwise. Oh, and- don’t worry about calling me Master. Honestly.”

Col stopped chewing, his shoulders hunching up suddenly. “I’m sorry, M-, uh, sir, sorry. I didn’t realise I shouldn’t, I’m sorry, I know- know that’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothed. Sir was fine, he decided. From the way Colton had panicked, he didn’t want to push it any further. “You didn’t know.”

“Thank you, I’m- I’m sorry, sir.”

“You’re fine, you’re good. You’re doing great with talking, Col. I’ll put the kettle on.”

He had long learnt to pick his battles. Hearing Colton talk about being a toy to be used made him fucking sick, but he could tell that sentiment was deeply, deeply ingrained. He knew a recital when he heard one. Those weren’t his words. They were a tiny window into whoever had fucked him up like this.

. . .

Master was sir now, when Colton spoke. Col could learn that. But it didn’t change anything, right? Master still wanted him, didn’t he?

as usual, the first half of the taglist:

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread

@vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whump @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate

#linden and colton #pet whump #deconditioning

304 notes · View notes

possiblyimbiassed · 3 years

Text

The lying liars who lie

Years and years late to the party, I’ve finally gotten my hands on all the DVDs of BBC Sherlock, and I thought it would be fun to watch the extra material carefully, one piece after another, and also listen to at least some of the show makers’ commentary of the episodes. But at this point, after S4 where DVDs seemed to be a constant lying device in general, I tend to look at them with a bit more suspicious eyes...

I still love the show of course, but now that I’ve taken this deep dive into all the special features, I find them a truly hard thing to try to wrap my head around. Even this long after the fact, I’m amazed by the amount of shameless, self-congratulatory BS in the DVDs, where the people involved can’t have enough of complimenting each other and their show, while they skillfully avoid to discuss anything actually meaningful about the plot line. ;) For example, Moffat claims in the S2 DVD that “In fact, you’ll never see a more obsessively authentic version of Sherlock Holmes than this one”. But if we follow their light-hearted commentary, which basically takes the show at face value, I’d call that not just hyperbole, but an outright lie. If you want to see the ‘authentic’ stories from ACD’s work in this show, you’ll definitely need to go much deeper into the subtext and meta levels - neither of which are mentioned on these DVDs of course. Here’s my own (rather subjective) ‘review’ of the whole thing, trying to pinpoint why I view most of the commentary of the show from its own makers as an advanced art of deception.

(My musings under the cut)

Series 1 - a wealth of extra material

First of all - as many of you probably knew already - the whole of the Unaired Pilot is added to the DVD of S1. In the extra material about the making of the series, they (Sue Vertue, Mofftiss and others) talk about what things they changed between the Pilot and ASiP, claiming that many changes were necessary improvements once they knew that they had a whole series and a lot more time at their disposal.

Which I can perfectly understand and agree with in general. But I think what’s missing in their discussions is more interesting than what’s actually there (”Mind the gap” ;) ). Things that I would expect from the show makers when they go to the trouble of comparing the pilot version with the aired product. There’s not a word, for example, about the fact that they added both Mycroft and Moriarty to the story in ASiP - two characters who later turn out to play major roles and appear in almost every other episode until the end of TFP. Or about the choice that one of the screenwriters would play Mycroft.

Neither do they discuss why they chose to relocate the place where Sherlock was challenged by the cabbie from 221B to Roland Kerr’s School of Further Education. Instead they focus on the details, like for example the new design of the interior of 221B.

Not to mention the fact that almost every scene in the Pilot is mirrored in ASiP (as pointed out long ago by @kateis-cakeis X), but at Angelo’s in the Pilot Sherlock follows the events with the cabbie while looking in an actual mirror. I even noticed that in the Pilot the cabbie is offering Sherlock dark-coloured bottles with the pills in them, while in ASiP those bottles are transparent, as if the cabbie is offering Sherlock to play Black or White in the chess game that he is simulating. What’s with all these mirrors, though? Not a word on the DVD... ;)

Now, even though these rather remarkable choices are neglected together with a great bunch of minor ones, I still think that the most interesting fact about all this is that they actually included the whole pilot version within this DVD, which is sold by the franchise. Why even do this, when it raises far more questions than it answers? The only logical reason I can come up with is that they’re laying out a track of little hints that anyone with a deep enough interest in the show to actually buy the DVDs can try to follow. And it seems to me that lying by omission is one of the first steps in the long line of cryptic and misleading author comments on this show. But at the same time, they clearly want the fans to have access to it all, even the abandoned version.

Moving on to Series 2, time for bigger lies

In the extra material of this DVD Benedict himself describes how his character "faces one of his deadliest enemies in the shape of Love, and it comes in the form of Irene Adler, who is this extraordinary dominatrix [insert here a bunch of superlatives regarding Adler]...”. And then we see how Adler whips Sherlock with a riding crop (without any kind of consent, I have to add) while he’s lying on the floor, and we have Lara Pulver telling us how it was to have a go at Benedict on set. So Holmes whips dead bodies and Adler whips living; seems like a match made in hell! :))

Gatiss claims, grinning with his whole face, that “they’re clearly, absolutely made for each other”. OK, so I think we can see Sherlock being intellectually impressed by Adler, and even trying to protect her from Mycroft, and we can see John acting jealously. We can also see her being dressed and styled as a perfect, female mirror of Sherlock. But I’m still at a loss what all this has to do with love on Sherlock’s part? Especially since he’s not even responding in any fashion to her various attempts at seducing him.

And there’s more: Paul McGuigan, the director of ASiB, claims that the scene where Sherlock has a conversation with Adler inside his Mind Palace about the crime case with the car that backfires "is a part of a kind of love story, if you like...” No, I don’t. Maybe it’s just me, but if their aim really was to convey to their audience a love story between Sherlock and The Woman, I think they failed miserably. All I see is a guy ’mansplaining’ to a clever woman how to use her brain, while she’s trying to flirt with him by expressing her admiration (to no avail, though) and make deductions at the same time. Nothing new under the sun, really. John did the same thing repeatedly in ASiP (without making own deductions) and got far more attention from Sherlock, but I’ve never heard any of the show makers call that ”a love story”. But by ’lie-splaining’ the scene with Irene to the audience, they try to manipulate us all to see it as such...

In all the direct commentary of this episode, where Steven, Mark, Sue, Benedict and Lara are present, I get the impression that every time they even touch on the relationship between Sherlock and John, they hurry to add the term “friendship” or “man love” or similar words in case they forgot them at first, avoiding even the tiniest possibility that there could be anything more going on between them. They even explain that when Irene calls them “a couple” she does not mean anything romantic. This whole approach feels almost paranoic in the midst of all the laid-back jokes and light-hearted talk about the filming. It’s as if a sort of restrictive, heteronormative filter or blanket is being constantly applied, to teach the audience the ‘no homo’ lesson of it all. And the more I listen to this, the more tiresome it becomes.

In the commentary Moffat does reveal an interesting detail, though: that the ‘Flight of the Dead’ in ASiB was inspired by a cut out scene in the Bond movie On Her Majesty's Secret Service. To me this is just one more reason to question the ‘authentic’ quality of this scene, as opposed to possibly taking place in Sherlock’s Mind Palace. But I digress...

Listening to the commentary in general, it’s like it’s aimed to distract the attention from what’s going on at the screen rather than highlight it and try to explain their intentions. They do mention that Irene didn’t actually ‘beat’ Sherlock in the end of ASiB, but there’s no explanation of this obvious deviation from canon, where Adler does indeed fool Holmes, taking advantage of his prejudices.

The rest of the extra material of S2 is mostly about technical stuff, special effects and such, and also about filming techniques and Benedict’s delivery of fast deductions. But the part I really do love is the one where Andrew Scott talks about how much he enjoyed playing the scene where Moriarty dances before breaking into the Crown Jewels. That’s one of my favorite scenes of he whole show. :) Also, the takeaway message from this DVD is Moffat’s words at the end:

“These are still the formative years of Sherlock Holmes, and the most important thing about this series is not that it’s updated; it’s the fact that those two men are still young and they’re still at the beginning of what they don’t yet know is gonna be a lifelong partnership”.

And then comes Series 3...

...and its extra material, with the most blatant attempts at deception so far, I believe. At this point Sherlock is called a “psychopath” by both the show’s characters, John’s blog, Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman as if it were true, which is a big deviation from ACD canon. That simply doesn’t happen there; while Holmes is sometimes described as eccentric, no one in the books is ever claiming that Sherlock Holmes has some kind of mental illness leaning towards cruelty and egotism - not even his enemies say this about him. In the show, however, they begin in ASiP with making him torture a dying man for information (something that is not included in the Pilot). And in S3, where they avoid discussing the reason why they turned Mary Morstan into a ruthless assassin, this major shift is glossed over by the fact that in the same episode (HLV) they also turn Sherlock into a murderer, who cold-bloodedly blows the brains out of a blackmailer for threatening to make said assassin’s crimes public.

But without ever getting into the “why” of it all, the cast and crew seem overly happy and smiling describing these rather morbid choices as something positive; “fantastic”, "fresh and new” and "amazing” are their choice of words. Benedict claims that Mary, who has literally shot and almost killed Sherlock in HLV, is now "a new best friend of Sherlock’s”. Amanda claims that Mary “is protecting John” when she shoots Sherlock in the chest. Now they’re both psychopaths, and poor little John is forced to stomach them both because he’s addicted to danger. In Amanda’s words, Mary also “kind of gets in between the two of them, but she wants them to be together as well”. Which is a load of BS considering that Mary tries to kill the protagonist of the story.

Lars Mikkelsen thinks it’s “such a good script” because “you’re mislead as an audience”. But he never gets the chance to expand on what the misleading actually contains, because then Mofftiss cut in to express how much they love playing with “what ifs”. As if this whole mega-budget project of a show were just a big experimental playground without any actual story to tell.

Benedict repeats his line from HLV that Magnussen “preys on people who are different” and Moffat also says he “exploits people who are different”. Which is really confusing, considering what we can see Magnussen actually do in the show. Lady Smallwood and John Garvie are two well-established, powerful governmental politicians whom Magnussen blackmails by finding their respective pressure points. In Garvie’s case his pressure point seems to be alcohol problems in his past, but according to media he’s later arrested on charges of corruption. Lady Smallwood is blackmailed on the basis of her husband having sent compromising letters to a minor many years ago, in spite of later claiming that he thought she was older and stopped when he found out the truth. And then Magnussen is blackmailing an assassin who recently threatened to execute him but shot Sherlock Holmes instead, in order to try to get at Sherlock’s brother Mycroft, another powerful governmental figure.

But what does media seeking out dirt on certain people in power and their families have to do with “people who are different”? Despicable as the method may be, isn’t this unfortunately how political power play usually works in our society? Or are TPTB somehow a repressed minority group now? Unless this whole “people who are different” accusation is actually about something entirely different, something that none of the show makers even cares to mention... ;)

In these DVDs, none of the involved persons is ever discussing the change of roles with regards to canon, though, or the (lack of) logics in this turn of events, or even a hint about the narrative motivation behind them. It’s all about the great Drama, the extraordinary visual effects and the aim to endlessly “surprise the audience”. Which is fine by me to a certain extent, but when this is all that’s being said, it feels extremely superficial, as if the audience is merely seen as a bunch of consumers that have to be triggered more and more by horror, special effects and cliff hangers to be able to appreciate the show. (“Warm paste” indeed, like Gatiss has later criticized some viewers of wanting...) While the "why”; the idea behind this surrealistic adaptation, made by self-proclaimed fanboys of ACD, is not even touched upon. Around this, the silence is total and therefore totally confusing.

Maybe I shouldn’t even go into Series 4...

...but why not, since I’ve already started? :)

First of all, there’s a lot of extra material on this DVD and I particularly love the parts about the music and composing and Arwel Wyn Jones’ work with the design and build-up of John’s and Mary’s flat and the interior of 221B. Those bits are truly enjoyable. What I could live without, though, is the leading commentary that kind of instructs us, the audience, how we should interpret the show.

Benedict is on it again on this DVD, telling us that in TST they picked up where they left off in S3 and “It’s a very happy unit of three people that then become four.” Why does he feel the need to make this statement, considering how S3 ended? Actually, if there’s anything I totally fail to see in S4, it’s happiness. The banter between the three of them may seem entertaining for a while, but who could have a relaxed, warm relationship with someone who tried and almost succeeded to kill you less than a year ago? Without any sign of remorse? Now there’s a dark tone of discomfort and mean jokes that feels forced and not even a bit happy to me.

But Martin tells us how excited John and Mary are about starting a family and Amanda mentions how much they’re looking forward to the baby. Again and again it’s repeated, as though trying to rub it in: “they’re in a good place, they’re a loving, married couple”. Yeah, right - a child that (judging by TSoT) wasn’t at all planned and now with an assassin for a mother... Twice we see the new parents complain that their daughter has the mark of Satan on her forehead and debate which horror movie she’s from. The clichéd hypocrisy of it all is sickening, and I’m willing to bet that it’s really meant to be. ;)

But Gatiss chimes in, deciding for us all that the christening of Rosie is “a funny scene” and “they’re enjoying each other, enjoying being on adventures as a three”.

An interesting detail is that Gatiss also tells us that the working name of this episode was “The Adventure of the Melting power Ranger”. So this little blue guy was that important? :) And - even more interesting - is when he says: “Cake is now the code for violent death”. So how should we interpret Sherlock, John and Molly going out to have cake in TLD then, on Sherlock’s (supposed) birthday?

These might be jokes, though, but when they tell us that Sue cries every time she sees Mary’s death I strongly believe they must be joking. How could anyone feel truly moved by this overly sentimental long monologue where far more efforts are put into reacting to Mary’s speech than saving her life? And John’s mooing like a cow, is that also moving? :)

One thing Martin says about TLD that actually disgusts me is regarding the morgue scene where John assaults Sherlock and Sherlock lets it happen: “From there, really, their relationship can only sort of rebuild, that’s the absolute worst it can get”. As if outright physical abuse would be something that makes you want to rebuild a relationship? Wow - just wow... How far can they go with this crap?

Anyway, when we finally arrive at the absurdity of TFP and Sherlock’s ‘secret sister’, everything is of course discussed as if she actually does exist on the given premises, and everything she does is ‘real’, no matter how impossible it would be in real life. The abandonment of any attempt to have the story line make logical sense is skillfully covered up by more distraction with fascinating technicalities of the film making process. This is where Gatiss makes his now almost classic statement that after Sherlock and John jump out of the window at 221B when a grenade explodes there, it’s just “Boop! And they’re fine.”

Of course there’s no serious attempt at explaining this logically. Except perhaps Gatiss claiming that they both landed on Speedy’s awning - whatever good that would do to them, since the awning is leaning downwards, but never mind... But we never even saw that happen, did we? A great deal of time is then dedicated to show all the precautions to have Martin and Ben jumping safely at low level onto a madras supported by empty cardboard boxes.

Sian Brooke did say something interesting about Sherrinford, however, that got me thinking. She said that Eurus “wants revenge for the years and years that she has been held captive” there, isolated, and that in TFP the Holmes children are now “lab rats” and “it’s an experiment”. On a meta level, I think we can indeed see this episode - and maybe the whole show - as a kind of experiment, but maybe we, the audience, are also lab rats? Since Sherrinford is slightly shaped like a film camera (not commented in the extra material, of course), it leads my thought to all the adaptations through the years and years where Holmes and Watson have not been allowed to be together. A whole century when Sherlock Holmes has been held captive, restricted by the very same sort of heteronormative filter that all this extra material imposes; it’s like Sherrinford, isn’t it? Which gives all the more meaning to Moriarty’s arrival to the island, accompanied by Freddy Mercury’s “I want to break free”...

I think I’ll let the final words in this little exposé come from Mark Gatiss in The Writers’ Chat (my bolding):

“Moriarty is a fascinating thing in that in our sea of ongoing lies, one thing we’ve genuinely been completely consistent about is telling people he’s dead. But no-one believes it! And it’s a rather brilliant thing.” Again - self-congratulatory statements. But instead of providing some actual evidence of the death of this character, who has kept popping up in almost every episode since his supposed demise, they think that the more a confirmed liar repeats something, the truer it gets? And the more we’re supposed to believe them? Well, all we can do is wait and see. :)

Tagging some people who might be interested:

@raggedyblue @ebaeschnbliah @sarahthecoat @gosherlocked @lukessense @sagestreet @thepersianslipper

My earlier meta on a similar topic (X)

#bbc sherlock dvds #Deception in BBC Sherlock

225 notes · View notes

ohheyitsokay · 3 years

Text

safe

part 9 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francisco (Frankie, Catfish) Morales x reader

wordcount: 2.3k

warnings: none, lots of kissing

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

In this chapter, you discover how truly committed you are to a man you’ve only been on one real date with.

notes: just a head’s up, next week will be the last chapter of this series! I’ll give a proper thank-you then, but I also have a couple (at least three) one-shots in the universe because I... want to. hope that’s okay!

When you were younger and you attended the baseball games under the summer heat with James, you spent more time watching the people in the crowd than the players. Vague knowledge of the rules and even your grandfather’s enthusiasm weren’t nearly enough to keep you interested during the long stretches of advertisements. Now, the moments when Santi was getting strike after strike were exhilarating instead of boring and you grinned with pride, like it was personal each time the ball found it’s home in Frankie’s glove.

This season had been a whirlwind as you began to appreciate the game because of the players, and you didn’t think you had any more room for excitement.

That was, until Francisco’s mother decided she wanted to attend with you and James.

The sweet catcher hadn’t even had time to apologize and offer an alternative before your grandfather stepped in, and the rest was history. You didn’t mind, of course you didn’t, how could you? It was strange, spending time with her so early in the relationship but it made you happy that she was so excited about you. The two of them hung on your elbows, and you laughed at how awkward it made walking through the narrow gap to your seats.

From somewhere in her bag, she produced an entire tupperware of homemade pan dulce, sugar filling the grooves on the bottom, and you settled in. You were fairly sure that wasn’t allowed but you were helpless against her sweet, determined face so it only made sense security would be too.

It wasn’t work, talking to her, she felt like an auntie or a friend’s friend – someone you half already knew, and who certainly knew you. She filled the silence with stories and questions and only heard the first half of your answer before excitedly pointing at her son and his friends on the field. It felt like you were at a kids baseball game, how she clicked her tongue and freely gave them advice as if they could hear her.

At some point, Will stole second base and her and James began a conversation around you. She called them niños and matched your grandfather in her personalized affection for them. You wondered if you should feel guilty for your lingering eyes on the son of the woman next to you, but she half encouraged it, telling you he got his legs from his padre.

When the opposing team was up a point, she muttered pobrecitos and grabbed your hand and prayed for Benny’s next hit.

You caught pieces of Frankie, in her. Or more accurately, you realized what parts of her he had grown into, and learned about his younger self from her eyes and her tone and her smile. Your poor grandfather was probably exhausted but you drank it in.

“Francisco was saving all his money from his work for the neighbors – his team was taking him to watch a game at this very stadium!” Without even looking she handed you a pastry, shaking sugar onto your lap until you took it. “But then his escuela collected donations for the orphanage. I told him, you know? I told him if he gave all his money I couldn’t help him, he wouldn’t get anything from the stadium.”

Her eyes were warm in yours and she squeezed your arm, trying to communicate her pride. “Mi frijol gave it all! And he did not even complain, not even once!” You smiled at her, trying to answer however you could that you understood. Maybe not completely but you saw how much he cared about other people, how hard he tried.

Around the eighth inning, she quieted, smiling gratefully when you produced an extra water bottle. Her hand was soft and maternal as it rubbed your shoulder, a foreign but pleasant feeling.

“His hermana tests him all the time,” she murmured, and you nodded cautiously. When she resolutely added, “You give him strength, hija,” you almost cried right there in the stands.

You settled for covering her hand with yours and squeezing back.

When they won, no one cheered louder, no one was prouder, but you and James gave it your best shot.

“So,” Frankie looked at you, his big brown eyes full of questions. Alone, you couldn’t resist him, much more when the rest of them matched his gaze.

You were all at Tom’s rental, unexpectedly. He didn’t tell anyone, but he had burst into Molly’s office, only to find it empty. It had bothered him, and when he was bothered, he took extra effort to pretend that he was not. The new opportunity to spend post-game evenings with decks of cards and childish snacks had already become the highlight to his friends, so he figured he could do that. Just a little bigger, a little better. And it’s not like any of you had enough information to say no.

The elders had long since gone home, and now they all wanted to know what secrets his mother had spilled about them.

You laughed at their faces, feeling a little devious with the power. Before giving anything up, you stuck your tongue out at Santi and meandered to the kitchen, feeling them watch you as your filled your champagne flute with apple juice.

“She didn’t say anything,” you said with exaggerated elegance, lounging against an unnecessary column.

The act broke when you had to dodge a pillow.

“Okay, okay,” you held up your free hand in surrender. You looked at your catcher with a wink before grinning almost maliciously at Santiago. “She told me she had to bring Santi socks twice last season, and one time she saw Benny eat a hot dog off the ground.”

They erupted in teasing and you waited for it to quiet a moment before you added, “And she shared that Tom,” you drew out his name for extra emphasis, “Goes to the same hairdresser as her, and she once threatened to dye Will’s pants pink for calling her ma’am one too many times.” The men were howling with laughter like they hadn’t since college, shoving each other and half tackling one another, shouting their defenses and stories alike.

When Frankie extracted himself he found you curled on the armrest of the couch, watching with amusement. His hair was messed up and his eyes crinkled in the corners. “What did she say about me?” he asked under the noise and he settled next to you, trying to be confidant as he wrapped his arm around you shoulders.

He liked that he could feel your shrug.

“That you’re practically perfect in every way,” you relaxed into him and it felt so natural he could hardly imagine it wasn’t always like this.

Francisco was spending his day off with his family, doing some projects around the home, but so it surprised you when your phone rang.

It surprised you even more that it was Benny, inviting you to lunch. Just to talk, I’m not being weird, he said, backpedaling when you teased him about being a little late to ask you on a date. Is that okay? He seemed just a little bit nervous, which made you laugh. Of course, you were more than happy to.

The longer you knew him, the more you understood why they all treated him like a little brother.

He was already at the restaurant – Thai food, his choice – as friendly and kind as the first time you had met him. Unlike then, you weren't even a little bit nervous sitting across from him, despite the glares of the women at an adjacent talking the two of you were still new friends, so it wasn’t quite effortless, by the made up for it with his genuine enthusiasm.

If he had something on his mind, he didn’t get to it right away, the first half of your lunch hour spent talking about you. For how loud his personality seemed sometimes, he was well spike and well mannered, and curious about almost everything. You checked the time, before finally asking if everything was okay with him, and the shortstop ran his fingers through his hair, looking past away.

His foot tapped on the rug, and you used your chopsticks to push your remaining food into a small mound in the middle of your plate.

“I’m paying, by the way,” you looked up, back into his eyes, your own eyebrows drawing together to shake your head.

“I owe you,” he defended himself before you could voice your dissent, and when he added, “for looking out for me,” you softened.

“Relationships aren’t transactional, Benjamin.” It was a gentle scold, true, but relenting.

Broad shoulders shrugged.

“Think of it as a thank you,” he said, and you let him talk. For all that his brother and the guys worried over him, he wasn’t as young and naïve as they thought of him. His eyes and ears were sharp and it’s not like he hadn’t heard the stories, seen what they were protecting him from.

“You help us look after each other,” it was almost like he rehearsed it, and his blue eyes confirmed he had been meaning to say this to you for awhile.

“And you look after me.” That nervousness from before came back, and you wondered if he still hadn’t quite gotten to the part he was meaning to say. Ben launched into a story in between flagging down the waiter and you let him pay, but even when the receipt came, he didn’t stand.

The story stuttered to a halt and you rested your chin in your palm.

“Will and Frankie have been talking about Tom – saying he’s been off.” It was abrupt, and you waited. He was restless, his habit of changing the topic becoming even more prominent. Both of you knew what he meant.

It was messy, hard, existing with them.

“Would you… will you stay?”

There was a burst of warmth in your chest, a wave of affection as if he confessed outright how much you mattered to them.

You stood, smiling and offering your hand, as if he needed help standing.

“Yeah, Ben, what are friends for?”

He looked so relieved that you hugged him. Although, you suspected he would’ve hugged you regardless, if you had given him a moment.

After work you had a voicemail and a text from your… from Francisco, and you drove over to his place. Walking up the stairs in the cooling evening air felt strange, like it was humming with potential.

He greeted you with slow kisses, his rough hands wandering your skin and clothes like he was still grasping that you were real. If you could’ve thought, you might’ve wondered why he called you over or looked around his apartment but it didn’t matter because all you could think of what him. The gentle scrape of the hairs on his face over your cheek, your neck, the needy pull of his fingers as he curled his fists into your outer layer.

His mouth, moving in ways you’d thought you’d never quite felt before, leaving you breathless.

It didn’t escalate, neither of you pushing for more, but when he finally moved away, he was pulling you onto the couch and under his arm.

“Hi,” he said, looking flushed and happy, despite the flash of anxiety in his eyes.

“Hi,” you figured you mirrored him, and you let out a rough cough of laughter.

Francisco joined, and your head found a rest on his shoulder, cheek squishing from the closeness. The tips of his fingers wandered over your skin, and it felt like a habit years in the making, to catch up with him about his day, his family. A stretch of silence followed, and your realized he was tired.

“I should probably make you dinner or something,” he whispered, almost to himself, dark eyebrows drawing together. Suddenly you felt shy, aching because you should’ve brought something, should cook or… he was the one who had a long day, but this was his home.

You had memorized the feeling of his hairs on your waist, and yet you didn’t know if he would be okay with you cooking in his home. Actually, you didn’t even know anything about his home.

Looking around, you compromised.

“I’m good, Frankie, I had a big lunch,” taking in the simple furniture and quickly cleaned surfaces, you didn’t notice his head tilt, shoulders rising slightly with tension until you looked back at him. The sweet man had realized he hadn’t heard about that part of your day yet but he didn’t want to pry.

“Benny got me thai food,” you offered, which only increased his distress. Your hand slipped into his as you explained.

“I think he’s just scared I’m not going to stick around,” you sighed, hoping he felt like that was as unlike as you did.

Against your head, you felt him nod, but he didn’t say anything for a moment.

“He’s right, though,” his voice seemed higher, as shy as you’d been a moment ago. “Things with us, with me are… a lot.”

As he always did, he was asking you more than you said, and you wanted to honor it so you though, really thought about what you were getting yourself into.

“Frankie, you told me you wanted me to be a part of your life,” you kissed the corner of his mouth, which pulled as he smiled hopefully. “I want that too, if you’ll be part of mine.”

A little rougher than they’d been before his hands tugged you into him, a solid kiss. No questions were buried in the touch, and it made you feel like you were floating.

Long moments later, you laughed a little, too warm to feel shy.

“Does this make me your novia?”

You weren't sure if the color on his cheeks was warming because of embarrassment that you caught the word in his mother’s talk, or because he hadn’t actually asked yet.

“Yeah,” a final kiss, on your forehead sealed the deal.

And when you moved away, it was to explore his kitchen for something to cook for the both of you.

translations:

pan dulce: pastries

niños: boys

padre: father

pobrecitos: poor babies

escuela: school

mi frijol: my bean

hermana: sister

hija: daughter

novia: girlfriend

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge

hey batter batter taglist:

@icanbeyourjedi @studyofawearymind @hnt-escape @athalien @the-witty-pen-name @daffodin @sarahjkl82-blog @pintsizemama @anaaaispunk @pjkimrn @dobbyjen @stuckontheceiling

edit: take 3 having tumblr save the taglist on this thing

#francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie x you #frankie x reader #catfish x you #triple frontier baseball au #hey batter batter #maybe i don't know people

56 notes · View notes

st0nesnglitter · 4 years

Text

Womanizer

Singing ”Womanizer” at Sirius after a fight.

[A couple things before you start reading.

1. I know that this doesn’t work with the canon timeline and I also don’t know how wizards play music, so please act blissfully unaware of that when you’re reading.

2. It gets a little spicy, so if you’re not comfortable with that it’s totally okay to skip this one.

3. I’m sure Marlene is a nice girl, but I needed someone to be a bad guy and she was the first name I could think of.]

—————

Being with Sirius Black could be frustrating but today he was particularly annoying. After a hard week of studying you two haven’t talked and all you wanted was to get some time alone with him before Gryffindors celebratory party for their latest quidditch win against Hufflepuff. But the interaction you had with him now was not what you wanted the whole week.

He stood before you, arms crossed and with a stern face.

“I can’t just stop being with my friends” he said bluntly and you sighed.

“I don’t mean that you should stop being with them, I just don’t think you need to be with them every night, especially since you spend almost every second of every day with them” you said and copied his pose by crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh cause you are so keen on being with me” he huffed “your head is always in a textbook, slaving away”.

Your brows furrowed and a gasp left your lips.

“You can’t compare me studying to you being with your friends!”

“I can and I will” he said and took a step closer to you “plus I’m not only hanging out with the guys, I have more friends than that and I need to keep up the contact.” You scoffed loudly and raised an eyebrow.

“You talk like it’s your job! And who, may I ask, are these mysterious friends that are not James, Remus or Peter?” You challenged as you saw his face becoming angrier.

“Marlene.” He stated simply and your face dropped.

Not being the most secure person in the world made it kind of hard dating Sirius. You had no doubt that Sirius was being faithful to you, his love for you ran deep and with his past he wouldn’t be able to stand being the one to hurt you. But that didn’t mean that girls would respect his relationship status. Countless of times girls tried to flirt with him and he always turned them down politetly. One girl you wished he didn’t turn down as nice however was Marlene McKinnon. She was on him as soon as you left his side and she. Wouldn’t. Stop.

”And why would you keep up the contact with her?” You asked with a hard tone.

If you had let down the facade of being angry with him he would immediatly soften and tell you the things he already have tenfold: that she’s annoying him and that he would never leave you, that he loves you dearly. But right now it was one stubborn and angry person against another waiting for the other to drop the act first, and Sirius never gave up a competition.

“She’s funny, likes adventure” he dropped nonchalantly and then added “you know you and Marlene has a lot in common”.

Your face scrunched up at the name and his face gained a look of pride.

“In the nicest way possible, love, jealousy does not suit you” he said and that shit-eating grin wouldn’t leave his face.

“In the nicest way possible, fuck you Sirius” you retaliated and left his dorm.

You had gone to your own room and when you were pulled away from the situation you were simultaneously pulled away from your anger. Your eyes stinged but you refused to let the tears fall as you went to the bathroom of your dorm. The party would start soon and your roommates were already in the midst of getting ready. After one look in the mirror you took a deep breath and decided that you had to play his game to win tonight.

Walking down to the party you felt your heartbeat quicken and before entering you took another deep breath, but you were pulled from your mini meditation by your friends who didn’t want to miss anything.

The music was loud and everywhere there were people dancing, making out and drinking. Someone had casted a spell that made the roof sheen in different colors that lit up the otherwise dark room. The energy filled your body and you could finally let your thoughts about Sirius go. You followed your friends to get some firewhiskey and downed it as fast as possible to catch up with the rest of the people on the dancefloor.

After a considerable time you felt a rush from your legs to your head and you could let go. You slowly neared the floor and you started dancing. You felt a pair of dainty hands on your hips and looked up to find Lilys eyes, her cheeks flushed from the heat in the room and the alcohol she’s consumed. A smile broke out and you started dancing with her with your arms over her shoulders. She started giggling and you furrowed your brows to ask what she was laughing at and she leaned in to your ear.

“Looks like we have a crowd” she whispered and nodded in the direction of one of the couches and you looked over your shoulder.

Behind you James and Sirius sat beside each other, looking deliciously handsome, with whiskeys glasses in their hands and their gazes trained on their girls. The skintight dresses and your dancing hade definitely gathered their attention but they were broke out of their trance when a girl sat down next to Sirius and your eyes darkened. Marlene.

Siriuis turned his head toward her and he gave her a smirk. The way she placed her hand on his shoulder and not so subtly looked at his exposed chest that peeked out from his white dress shirt made you see red and you decided to put the plan you had prepared in action.

You whispered in the ear of the guy who was playing the music and he looked at you quizically but nodded and you mouthed a ‘thank you’ as you walked back to Lily.

“What did you do?” She asked as you started to walk past her and to the couch where your black haired boyfriend sat and you grabbed his wrist.

“Can you come with me please?” You smiled and pulled him onto his feet. Sirius face changed and he tried to figure out what you were doing. As you led him to the open floor the beginning of the song you had requested started playing. You smiled sweetly at Sirius as the first words played out in the common room before you grabbed his attention by starting mouthing the words.

“Superstar, where you from? How's it going?

I know you got a clue what you're doing

You can play brand new to all the other chicks out here, but I know what you are, what you are, baby

Look at you gettin' more than just a re-up

Baby, you got all the puppets with their strings up”

Sirius kept his gaze on you like his life depended on it and he slowly started to realize what this was for, drinking up the words booming from the hidden speakers.

“Fakin' like a good one but I call 'em like I see 'em

I know what you are, what you are, baby”

As the chorus approached you got closer to him, pressing your body against his and placing your hands on his pecs.

“Womanizer, woman-womanizer, you're a womanizer, oh, womanizer, oh, you're a womanizer, baby”

His lips parted and everything clicked as you sang the words with a hard gaze. Instinctively he grabbed your waist and watched you totally mesmerized by your bold actions. He had always seen you as timid, especially when it came to your relationship. Secretly he had wished you would yell at Marlene not only so he didn’t have to but to see you stand up for yourself. But he would be lying if he didn’t admit that he found this both amusing and kind of hot.

“Boy don't try to front, I-I

Know just, just, what you are, are-are

Boy don't try to front, I-I

Know just, just, what you are, are-are”

One of your hands moved up to the nape of his neck and started to play with some of his hair. His grip on your hips tightened and he bit his lip as you pulled slightly. Your lips turned into a pout as you sang the finishing words of the chorus, feigning an innocent look.

“You got me goin'

You're oh so charmin'

But I can't do it

You womanizer”

You had to gather every little drop of self-control to not laugh as you watched his face drop and you started backing away, his hands trying to push you close to him again. A smirk formed on your lips as you leaned against the closest wall and you tilted your head to look at him.

“Daddy-O, you got the swagger of a champion

Too bad for you, you just can't find the right companion”

He got closer and your hand returned to his shoulder, your own eyes following how your fingers moved which made his gaze to follow yours.

“I guess when you have one too many, makes it hard, it could be easy”

You fingers walked down the expanse of his shoulder in time to the beat of the music and your eyes returned to his face.

“Who you are”

His eyes met yours once again. Your finger dragged upwards from the gap between his collarbones, over his adams apple and finally flicked from under his chin, making his head push back lightly.

“That's just who you are, baby”

You mouthed the words with your eyebrow slightly raised as you were hammering your point into his head.

“Womanizer, woman-womanizer, you're a womanizer

Oh, womanizer, oh, you're a womanizer, baby

You, you-you are, you, you-you are

Womanizer, womanizer, womanizer”

As he leaned closer to you, desperate for any attention from you that wasn’t the lyrics of the song ringing in his ears, you started to shift and turned the two of you around. Even though he was taller and in other ways bigger than you you felt incredibly powerful as you pushed him against the wall.

“Boy don't try to front, I-I

Know just, just, what you are, are-are

Boy don't try to front, I-I

Know just, just, what you are, are-are”

Your hands went to fix his collar and straighten out the creases in his shirt.

“You got me goin'

You're oh so charmin'

But I can't do it

You womanizer

You say I'm crazy

I got your crazy”

You grabbed his jaw and made him look into your eyes as you pushed his cheek together to create a pout on his lips as you spat out the last line.

“You're nothing but a womanizer”

—————

I genuinely can’t tell if this is good or not so let me know what you think. I have an idea for part 2 too soooo uuuh watch out for that ig.

#sirius black #sirius x you #sirius orion black #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black x reader #sirius black blurb #sirius black fic #sirius black angst

274 notes · View notes

timelesslords · 3 years

Note

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.” and/or “Is that blood?” “…..No?” for the prompts please

thank u💕

send me a sentence starter and I’ll fill it for Percabeth

Annabeth Chase was just about ready to murder her boyfriend.

Capture the Flag night had started innocuous enough. Athena and Poseidon cabins had allied themselves, as was usual these days, and Ares was their biggest opponent. Annabeth had a stellar plan, a foolproof plan, some might say, a plan that all but guaranteed them to win.

Except for the fact that her idiot boyfriend couldn’t resist abandoning his post the second the field looked clear. It was a trap, it was so obviously a trap that Annabeth had no idea how he hadn’t seen it.

She had to give Clarisse some credit. Using one of their captured players as bait while also exposing the flag just a tad— it was exactly the type of thing that would draw Percy away from his post, to get him to abandon the plan.

They’d still won. Trap or no, it would be hard not to. But as soon as Annabeth realized Percy had abandoned his post, a very distinct mixture of anger and fear starting building in her gut.

And watching him run back to the blue team’s side, flag in hand, flushed with success, had only caused it all to boil over. There’d barely been time for his stupid, excited grin to slide off his face at seeing her expression before she stormed off.

He followed her. She’d expected him to.

“You left your post,” Annabeth said, before he could even ask.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. We still won,” Percy said, jogging to keep up with her.

It’s not about winning. It wasn’t even his compulsive need to play hero either, though that would have been enough to make her mad too.

“You didn’t follow the plan,” Annabeth snapped, refusing to look over at him even as he caught up to her, matching her pace easily. Curse him for being taller than her.

“Look, I saw an opportunity—”

“You saw a trap that was tailor-made for you—”

“An opportunity,” Percy repeated, cutting her off, “An opportunity to save one of our players and get the flag, and I took it. And we won. So what’s the big deal?”

What was the big deal? Just that his stupid savior complex wouldn’t stop playing out over and over again, even in the smallest ways. He didn’t even realize he was doing it sometimes, like just now. It wasn’t about Capture The Flag, not really. It was about the fact that he felt the need to throw himself in the most dangerous situations so someone else didn’t have to, even when it was just a game.

And there were plenty of times in his life, plenty of opportunities past and future for him to do the exact same thing when it wasn’t a game, when the consequences were very real and very dire.

She hated how mad it made her, because what was she supposed to say? I’d rather you let some other sap take the fall so you can live into your twenties?

And how was she supposed to tell him any of that when he was looking at her all smug and expectant?

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole,” Annabeth spat, doubling her pace.

“‘Beth—” he started, but he should have known better than to call her that when she was pissed at him, because her glare alone was enough to shut him up.

“Annabeth,” he tried again, “Come on.”

Annabeth stopped, whirled around, just about ready to give him a piece of her mind when she noticed a small spot on his shoulder. Some of the anger building in her chest deflated.

“I— is that blood?”

Percy glanced down at his shoulder. The bit of his orange camp shirt that was peering out from the gap between his chest and shoulder armor was starting to get stained a sticky brown color.

“...No?” he said, glancing back up at her with guilt in his eyes. All in all a thoroughly unconvincing lie.

“Percy,” Annabeth sighed.

“Clarisse nicked me with Maimer, it's not a big deal.”

It wasn’t a big deal. It really wasn’t. He’d probably gotten Clarisse back easily and they’d both laugh about it tomorrow.

Only, Clarisse wouldn’t have had the chance to use Maimer on him at all if he’d stuck to the fucking plan instead of throwing himself into the line of fire. And the next time he did this, what if it wasn’t just a cut? What if it was something much worse?

“Don’t stop being mad at me just because I’m bleeding,” Percy said, noticing her shift in demeanor.

“You don’t want me to stop being mad at you?” Annabeth asked, one eyebrow raised.

“No—” Percy said, running an agitated hand through his hair, “I mean obviously I don’t want you to be mad at me, but I barely even know why you’re mad at me and unless you tell me now you’re just going to be more mad later once I’ve stopped bleeding.”

“I’m still mad at you,” Annabeth said, but she’d already stepped forward, loosening the strap of his armor with quick practiced fingers. He let her do it, standing statue still.

“I’m sorry your plan didn’t get the credit it deserves,” he said, finally, “It was a good plan.”

Maybe you should use it next time rolled through her head, but then he might think that that’s what she cared about when that wasn’t it at all.

“I don’t care about getting credit,” Annabeth said, moving on to the other side of his chestplate, undoing the left strap the same as she’d done the right. “I don’t even care that we won.”

She saw his eyebrows jump slightly in surprise, but he managed not to say anything stupid in the next few moments, which had probably taken a lot of self-control.

“What do you care about, then?” he asked, shrugging off his chestplate. Most of the bloodstain had been hiding itself beneath his armor, and now that it was off it looked much bigger.

“You got hurt,” Annabeth said, eyes refusing to leave the patch of blood on his shirt.

“You were mad before you realized I was hurt,” Percy pointed out, “More mad, actually.”

“You wouldn’t be hurt at all if you’d ignored that stupid kid that got himself caught and stayed at your post,” Annabeth said, folding her arms over her chest. She still wasn’t looking at his face, but she could see his expression shift in his periphery, understanding starting to roll over his features.

“Ah,” he said, and Annabeth knew he understood, or was starting to. She felt a lump forming in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

“Would it kill you to let someone else take the fall? Just once?” she asked.

“Annabeth…”

“It’s not just this, you do it all the damn time,” Annabeth said, well aware that she sounded like a whining brat and not caring at all, “I don’t want to get sucked into some other stupid prophecy or a stupid quest, and I don’t want you to think you have to just because you’ve got the best chance of making it out alive. I just want us to survive long enough to go to college, is that too much to ask?”

She finally looked up at him, still trying very hard not to cry. Any trace of humor had vanished from his face, leaving it uncharacteristically resigned and serious.

“No. It’s not,” he said.

“Really?” Annabeth asked, voice small, still not quite believing him.

“No, you’re right, I—” he sighed heavily, eyes dropping to the ground, “I guess I’m just used to doing that, I don’t even really think about it.”

“Maybe you should,” Annabeth said, digging the heel of her sneaker into the dirt, arms still crossed over her chest.

“I will,” he said, and it sounded like a promise, “We’ve both done enough, and I—I’m not saying I’ll be perfect at it, but I am saying I’ll try.”

Annabeth took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. Trying was good. She could work with trying.

“Nothing world-altering,” Annabeth said, glancing up at him again. He was already smiling softly.

“Nothing world-altering,” he agreed.

She was still a little mad at him, and they were both gross and sweaty and he was still a little bloody, but she stepped forward and hugged him anyways. He hugged her back easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“So really, Capture The Flag is still fair game,” he said, as soon as she was safely in his arms.

“I’m going to kill you,” Annabeth said, but it came out with more laughter than she’d intended it to.

“At least fix me up before you do?” Percy asked hopefully.

“Fine,” she said, wiggling out of his embrace and tucking herself into his side instead. He wrapped an arm around her waist easily.

“But I better not have to next time,” she warned. He just smiled, pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“You won’t. I promise.”

#percabeth #ty for the prompt!#I was hoping someone would send in the blood one lol #percabeth fic #percy jackson #Annabeth chase #percy x annabeth #annabeth x percy #heroes of olympus #hoo fic #pjo fic #i imagine this sometime post BOO pre-apollo series #anon #prompt fill #hoo #pjo

103 notes · View notes

amlovelies · 3 years

Text

from which they never recovered

fandom: fhr pairing: Julia Ortega/f!sidestep (Cynthia Basri) rating/warnings: M--alcohol use/abuse as well as death/suicide reference. light spoilers for retribution. there’s some soft fluffy moments, but it ends with pretty heavy angst words: 2.4k read on ao3

“They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise

1525 days before

Julia winces and drops her hand. The angle she needs to start the braid is putting too much pressure on her injured shoulder. Her long dark hair is still damp after the shower washed away all the traces of blood and grime and God knows what else the fight had left on her. She could just leave it alone, let it air dry, but that’ll just mean a bigger fight later. Better to grin and bear it now, get it braided and tucked away even if hurts. It’s just pain. Julia is no stranger to pain.

“Let me idiot” Sidestep says from as she rises from her chair on the other end of the breakroom.

“What are you plotting?” Julia narrows her eyes. She never should have introduced her to Anathema. Themmy had always enjoyed pranks, but they had gotten much more effective ever since Sidestep had begun hanging out at HQ.

“Nothing, I promise.” It’s amazing how Julia can hear the eye roll behind the unmoving mask. “It’s just a little pathetic watching you struggle, old woman.”

Not afraid to ruffle feathers this one, maybe that’s why she likes having her around, even if the old barb stung a little. That’s fine, two can play at that game, “do you even know how to braid? For all I know you could be bald under there.”

“I know how to do lots of things, Marshal.” Sidestep crosses to stand behind the couch, and Juila has to tilt her head back to keep her in her sights. Is she flirting?

“Oh really? Have any other skills you’d like to show me?” Julia replies with a wink. Is she flirting back? This is new.

“Do you want help or not?” She doesn’t wait for an answer instead pushing Julia’s head forward and beginning to gather the hair in her hands.

Julia is used to other people touching her. The doctors checking on her mods, the media team preparing her for an appearance. Hair and makeup and wardrobe buzzing around her making sure she looks presentable, attractive, heroic. It comes with the territory. So why then is a quiet tension building in her stomach, a fluttering awareness of how close Sidestep, no not Sidestep—Cynthia, stands? It’s still a new concession, the name, a small piece of the mystery of Sidestep. She rolls it around in her mind, still not used to it, but the moment feels too personal, too intimate for aliases.

Her gloves are off, Cynthia’s bare fingers brushing against the shell of her ear, the back of her neck as she gathers all the loose strands together. Cynthia’s breath ghosts over on her scalp, her body standing so much closer than usual. Cynthia’s movements are soft and timid; the braid is looser than Julia would prefer, as if she’s afraid of making it too tight of pulling her hair, of hurting her.

A world of difference from training where she never pulls her punches. Julia had gotten more than a handful of bruises from their sparring matches. Had given them too, Sidestep was never one to tap out, just a single minded intensity and desire to win. Julia could understand that.

“I should have been quicker,” Cynthia’s words breaking the silence. Her voice cracking, just a little, just enough to make Julia reach back and grab her hand. Her skin is cool, softer than she expected.

“And I should have been more careful.” A gentle squeeze of the hand

“Fat chance of that happening,” Cynthia says with a laugh, extracting her hand, and returning her attention to finishing the braid.

“You know me,” Julia’s chuckle is soft, her hand slowly returning to her lap. Her skin tingles, itches and she fiddles with the emitter. “I’d be a hell of a lot worse off than a sore shoulder if you hadn’t been there.” Hospitalized for sure, maybe dead.

“I couldn’t let that happen when you owe me dinner.” A final twist and the braid is finished.

“I better clear my debt then; c’mon I know just the place.”

1329 days before

“You don’t even know what I look like.” Cyn paces back and forth in the empty training room. Frustration rolling off of her in waves.

It had been six weeks, two of which Julia had spent worried sick because Cynthia wouldn’t return her calls. Finally breathing a sigh of relief when she’d shown up at HQ as if nothing had happened, resolutely sidestepping all of Julia’s attempts to get her alone, to talk to her about the kiss.

Like dealing with a skittish animal, Julia had done her best to give her space. This was all new for her too, but dinner was a safe place to start, wasn’t it?

“So?” Julia smile is soft her voice certain, “I know you.”

“You only think you do” Cynthia scoffs, her pacing finally stilled as she stands with her arms crossed. No doubt glaring behind the mask.

“Then show me, tell me.” Just one step closer. She isn’t moving away.

“Nosy.”

“I am.” A pause, “I would also like to kiss you again.” It comes out softer than Julia had intended, more an admission than a tease.

She waits. Waits for a quip or an insult, something caustic and sharp, a way to put more distance between them, but it doesn’t come. Just silence.

A deep breath, and then quick, so quick, Cynthia’s hands are moving and the mask is off. Her voice is hard as she asks, “still want to kiss me?”

She looks smaller without the mask, smaller and younger and fragile. Just Cynthia, not Sidestep. She won’t meet Julia’s eyes. Her stance rigid and fierce as if expecting some sort of condemnation, as if Julia would take one look at be disgusted.

“Very much so,” Julia admits, and it’s the truth. She’d hardly allowed herself to speculate on what lay under the mask. There were things she knew; facts gathered from the bits and pieces she had seen. The warm tawny color of her skin, the full swell of her lips, the way her smile goes crooked, images which had haunted the edges of her dreams.

“You’re ridiculous,” Cynthia’s voice is brittle, all the hardness from before falling away.

Had she really expected rejection? Couldn’t she see how beautiful she is?

“I’ve been told that once or twice.”

She’s rolling her eyes, but she isn’t pulling away as Julia tilts her face up. Her lips are chapped, but still soft. Soft, like the gasp that falls out of them just before their lips meet. Cynthia’s arms rising to wrap around Julia’s neck, and the kiss deepens into something molten and breathless.

The kiss breaks, and Julia pulls back. Not far, just enough to watch Cynthia’s face, to try and memorize her features and make them fit into the idea of Sidestep, for her brown eyes to begin to replace the white of her mask in her mind.

She kisses her again, a small peck, and Cynthia chases her lips. Pulling her down, the kiss is hungry and unexpected. Soon, too soon, she’s moving away. Mask pulled down, features concealed, only the familiar blank visage of Sidestep and even that is turning away.

“I should go,” mumbled almost as an afterthought as she nearly runs for the door. Julia watches her go hoping it won’t be weeks until she sees her again.

518 days before

Cyn is sleeping again. Good. Maybe those dark circles under her eyes will start to fade. She’d slept for most of the drive, passing out almost as soon as they left the city limits. Something is wrong, has been wrong for weeks now. Should have forced her to go to the hospital after the nanosurge. Thrown her over her shoulder and carried her there if she had to. It wasn’t right to see her this way. Julia knew using her telepathy took a lot out of Cyn. Had seen her drained and exhausted, but never like this.

The city would be smoldering ruins if the military had their way. Julia would be . . . she shudders at the memory. There wouldn’t be anything left but her mods. No piece of Julia left to bury, just Charge.

Cyn had saved them all, and maybe broke herself in the process.

At least she’s at the ranch now. Oh, it had taken days to get her to agree, but in the end, Julia had worn her down. Mama hasn’t quit fussing over her; Cyn has offered little resistance, probably just because she is too sleep deprived and weak to protest, but it’s still a victory.

Julia rejoins her mother in the kitchen. The last thing she needs is for Cyn to wake up and accuse her of watching her sleep. It would be true, but she can’t let her have the satisfaction.

“You should have brought her sooner,” Elena admonishes.

“I tried, Mama. She’s stubborn.”

Her look is pointed, “so are you. Never stopped me.”

“It’s not the same, Mama.” Julia sighs. They’ve struck a delicate balance the last few years. Cyn still disappearing on occasion, but only for days at a time. Not like before when she would be gone for weeks at a time. Reappearing with no explanation, but always looking worn. She keeps hoping that one day Cyn will share her secrets and let her help.

Mama purses her lips, and Julia knows that look, knows she has more she wants to say and prepares herself for the old arguments and questions. Questions she wishes she had the answer for. Or at least wishes she knew Cyn’s answer. Julia knows hers, has for a while now.

A shuffling sound as Cyn joins them and stops the lecture in its tracks. The circles are still there, but the deep crease between her eyes has softened. Good.

“Did we wake you mija?” Mama voice is gentle unlike the glare she shoots at Julia. As if she hadn’t been talking too.

“It’s fine,” Cyn says with a yawn. “I’ve been napping too much today as it is,” she adds as she leans against Julia.

It’s still a surprise when she’s willing to do that. To lean in, to hug, to kiss, to initiate contact rather than waiting for Julia to bridge the gap. Perhaps it’s a testament to how much stopping the nanosurge took from her. Cynthia not just accepting comfort, but seeking it out. The nosebleeds haven’t stopped, but at least they are less frequent. Leaning down, Julia presses a quick kiss to Cyn’s temple. She doesn’t even push her away.

“Well, in that case, come help me with the vegetable, and Julia can work on the sauce.” Mama says as she begins grabbing ingredients and piling them on the counter.

The three of them work well together, and Julia doesn’t even mind being the butt of all their jokes. Not that she’ll let them know that, after all she has a reputation to uphold. The bruising to her ego is worth it though, because at least Cyn is smiling and laughing. Almost looking like her normal self. Julia doesn’t trust her when she says she’ll be fine, but she hopes its true. Maybe a few days away from the city will be enough.

Later, Cyn joins her outside. The stars are an unfamiliar sight, so used to the neon haze of Los Diablos, it’s easy to forget about them. It’s strange to think that they are still there, just hidden. They feel so much a part of the ranch and the open air, of childhood and more innocent times. A different world than the one of heroes and villains.

Slipping her hand in Julia’s she whispers, “I won’t say that you were right, but thank you.”

Julia can’t hide her smile as she captures Cyn’s lips in a kiss, but at least she resists the urge to say I told you so.

6 days after

She’s out of tequila. Fuck. Her edges are coming back into focus and there’s nothing to dull them.

There’s a bar in walking distance, or she could get a cab. Have it take her to the wrong part of town, maybe get into a fight. Feel someone’s bones crunch under her knuckles, pretend it’s her own face. It’s all her fault after all. Should have trusted her instincts, should have made her stay out of it. Should have been quicker, should have had a firmer grip. Flash of green and the sound of breaking glass, right there in the back of her eyes. Nearer is better. Just need to get another drink. Need to make it all disappear, stop feeling the skinsuit slipping out of her fingers. Stop seeing her face (oh god she’ll never see her face again, never hold it in her hands, never see her crooked smile). Tequila, she needs more tequila.

Her braid is a sad and tattered thing in her hands. Jagged edges where she’d had to fight to get the knife through the thickness. She shakes her head and it feel light, her hair swinging around, wrong. It feels so wrong. Everything feels wrong now.

It still feels unreal. An empty coffin in a grave marked by a fake name, it can’t be real, it has to be some cruel joke.

The braid goes in the trash, she can’t look at it anymore. Can’t look at it without feeling Cyn’s ghostly hands. Always so careful and thorough (not anymore, they can’t do anything anymore), pulling loose strands back from her temple. It had been such a fragile thing at first. A closeness she hadn’t looked for. She could never have expected the way the touch of her hands would make her breath catch. Need more tequila. Have to keep the memories at bay.

The feeling of loss when the braid was finished and Cynthia stepped away. As if she knew the first thing about loss then (is that her laugh?)

She’d been such a coward. So afraid of pushing too hard, but she’d lost her anyway and it was her own fault. She’d lost her anyway and the words she never said burn in her stomach. Tequila. She wants to drown them (it won’t be enough) wants to drown herself.

Tequila. She’s no stranger to pain. She just needs (needed to tell her, will never get to now) more tequila.

tagging: @lord-king-saint, @roses-and-roo @lilyoffandoms @pearlsandsteel @kittlesandbugs and @bunny-loverxiv

#this hurt #it's about the slow building of intimacy #crossing those thresholds and then things are never the same #you are never the same #anyways I have lots of big feelings about chargestep #yes I know cyn is very soft #compared to a lot of other steps #but I love her okay #if: fhr #lovelieswrites #fhr ortega #ship: chargestep #ship: you’ll be her ruin #oc: Cynthia basri

33 notes · View notes

yoditorian · 4 years

Text

lacuna- part 5

din/reader

i want to say a massive thank you for everybody who’s supported the content creator strike, it’s really important to draw attention to the issues we face and hopefully it’ll mean that engagement goes up and people will start respecting creators more 💛 as always, a massive thank you to @brothersdrxke for drifting with me on this

MASTERLIST

word count: 3.4k

warnings: probably some swears, poetic allusions to smut, din experiences emotion, 18+ no babies thanks

You don’t see Din for years, but he never fully leaves your mind.

Green Squadron gets pulled every which way across the galaxy, and you follow your orders. From the outer atmosphere above Scarif, to the Battle of Yavin, to some Outer Rim planet you barely spent a day on where the white ground turns red with every footstep. You see more stars than you ever thought possible. Mercifully, the endless missions and drills leave you little time to wonder what the Mandalorian might be up to in your absence.

You’re not thinking about him under hails of blaster fire and explosives, nor while you duck and weave through smoke and flame to cover your teammates in the air. But he comes to you in the small hours, hours you spend trying to sleep, hours you spend wishing you were tucked up close against his side. You still claw through your memory for his smell, long since disappeared from the blanket you keep with you. Metallic and warm and home.

You’ve not used that word to describe anything for a long time, but it feels right.

Still, you live. Life in the Rebellion keeps you busy. Between meetings and missions and drills, you barely have enough time to eat, or sleep, or think some days. You’re grateful for that. The people around you are just as engrossed by war, but they don’t seem to let it get in the way. There’s love and light and laughter and you let it engulf you when you can. Nights spent in the rec rooms on your assigned cruiser, playing games of sabacc or keeping friends steady on barstools at the tiny cantina. People don’t stop living, so neither do you. Shara and Kes had married as soon as he was between missions, not long after she’d held your hand in a death grip at the prospect of her possible pregnancy. And you’re the first to hold their little boy when he comes, a week earlier than expected and furious, screaming into the galaxy. Life is good. But it’s missing something.

You try to live, at least. You freely give out smiles and stories and time, but you can never bring yourself to take it further. They always lean in close and you keep the distance. Break eye contact. You can’t do it. It’s not right. To do that to him. Even through the radio silence, even through the way you feel him just out of reach. You’re always kind about it, and nobody ever takes it badly, eyes soft as you apologise and tell them you’re spoken for. He hasn’t, but you are. That’s how it’ll always be.

He creeps into your dreams until he’s always there, his arms the only thing you can think of in the moments before you sleep.

Somewhere outside, you’re always outside with him. And there’s no armour or uniforms or obligations, just you and him and the sky as it turns a soft shade of pink. He’s not wearing his helmet, something you know as solidly as you know how to fly, but you can never quite stretch up to see his face. You don’t mind. You don’t mind because in this reality, he loves you. He tells you he loves you, over and over, and that’s enough. It doesn’t last long. The clouds roll in, dark and heavy, and Din’s warmth disappears from beneath you. Instead, you’re swallowed into the black as Captain Antilles tells you to suit up and move out. You don’t know where you’re going, but the weight sitting in the pit of your stomach makes you certain you’re not coming back.

You wake up in a cold sweat, breathing hard, and try to bring your heart rate down. Other pilots in the barracks are fast asleep around you, breathing in unison. Except one.

“You have a lot of those,” Shara whispers, the rest of the squadron still snoring, “Bad dreams, I mean.”

“Did you get a holo today?” You don’t want to talk about your dream. The fear still courses through you, it seemed so real. Missions are getting more and more dicey as each side gets more and more desperate, it’s not clear who’s winning anymore. If anybody. You can count on one hand the number of pilots who’ve come back completely unscathed in the last few months.

“He’s talking properly now, I swear every time I see him he’s bigger.” She’s trying not to cry, and you have the good grace not to mention it. Being away from her son for this long leeches at Shara’s spirit. Little Poe is safe and happy and being doted on by a relative of Kes’s, far away from the Empire’s reach. But sleep escapes her most nights, replaced by the pain of watching him grow from a distance, and the very real threat that she won’t get to see him grow up at all. You stretch your arm out across the narrow gap between your bunks and find her hand in the darkness. It’s all either of you have.

“We’re flying out to the Endor system in 36 hours. The second Death Star is mid-production, not operational, we’ll hit it before it’s done.” There’s none of the sarcastic warmth you’ve come to expect from your team commander over the years, this is it. The final stand. The noise of the cruiser’s hangar fades away as your brain switches to fight mode and you process your orders. The end of the Empire, or the Rebellion. Three possible outcomes: you win and live, you win and die, or you lose and die. The Empire will not leave survivors. Like any good pilot, you pretend that the odds don’t scare you.

You’re going to lose people. Friends, colleagues, strangers will fall, but that’s the risk you run in the Rebellion. Every single person would lay down their life at a moment’s notice if it meant the chance of success. You’re the best you’ve ever been, a veritable armoury of skills that would make your sixteen year old self faint. If it was down to just you, you’d make it out of any dogfight no doubt about it. You have no fear when you’re in the air. But it’s not just you, is it? It’s Shara, and Green Squadron, and the Rebellion at large. If any of them go down, there’s no question that you’ll follow.

You’re fumbling through your pack the moment you realise you’ve made it back to the barracks, alone, the solitude is far too rare and you’re not about to waste it worrying. You’ve pressed the talk button and brought the comm up to your mouth before you’ve even figured out what you want to say. Hopes that he’ll answer, or hear you at all, aren’t exactly high. But you’re desperate enough to give it a go.

“I’m going to the inn at Mos Espa. The one from before? I’ll click when I’m there, if you’re around.” You don’t tell him that it’s because you’re pretty sure you’re going to die. And you love him, even if he doesn’t know. And you’re selfish, ultimately. You just hope he can’t tell you’re trying not to cry.

“-if you’re around.”

Your voice echoes around the cockpit of the Razor Crest, and Din tries to ignore the way it ties his stomach in knots. He misses you, so much more than he thought he would. It’s like there’s a space inside him where only you fit, like his lungs threaten to collapse without you.

He should pretend that he didn’t get the message, like the way he pretends that he doesn’t keep the long-range comm pinned to the control board of the Crest, like the way he pretends he doesn’t think about getting in touch with you every second of every day. It’s the first time he’s heard from you in a while and there’s a new bounty puck burning a hole in his pocket and he really shouldn’t be thinking about going. Except there’s something in your voice that he can’t quite work out. He doesn’t want to go so far as to call it fear, but he can’t sit there wondering. He can’t sit there as if he hasn’t missed you.

So, Din powers up the Razor Crest, and locks in the coordinates for Mos Espa.

You hadn’t even needed to ask Shara to cover for you, she offered the second the word Mando slipped out. You’ve held her through nights where all she can do is miss Kes, she understands the pain you feel every time you spot the comm in your pack. You’d asked her once if she thought you were being silly, pining over a man whose face you’ve never seen. She’d only told you to shut up, that he’s clearly not just some guy you sleep with when the opportunity arises.

“You don’t lose sleep over dick, Lieutenant.”

And she’s right, even if you’re afraid to put any other word to it.

The room hasn’t changed, although you’re not sure why some part of you had expected it to. The desk and chair are still in the same place, the bedding still a faded red, even the light in the ceiling has the same tattered lampshade. You stand by the small window, watching people’s shadows grow long as the day comes to an end. Still no word, no sign, nothing from Din.

The suns set, and he’s not here. He’s not coming. You hate how much you want to see him, just once, before you have to leave. You’re about to curl up on top of the bedcovers and sleep, until two knocks on the door echo loud and clear.

You look rough. Din doesn’t want that to be the first thing he thinks about you when he opens the door, but he can’t deny it. Your shoulders sag with exhaustion, stress, and there’s that fear he didn’t want to admit to hearing before. It’s not him you’re afraid of, but somehow he knows you won’t even acknowledge it.

“Been a while.” Years. It’s been years and that’s the first thing he can think of to say?

He’s here and now you can barely move. You spent so long preparing yourself for him not to show that you have no idea how to react now that he has. It feels like you’re walking through cobwebs.

“Yeah, it- it has been.” This is really not how you envisioned this would go. But he’s right, it has been a while. Maybe the more hopeful part of your heart wanted you to just pick up where you left off, but you’re not even exactly sure where that would be.

Din makes the decision for you. He strips his armour slowly, setting it on the desk in the same way he did the last time you stayed here, and never once takes his eyes off of you. You can feel it, like he thinks you’ll disappear if he looks away. Maybe you will.

Your jacket is already draped over the back of the chair, the night not yet cold enough to warrant more than your tattered t-shirt. It’s the one you wear under your flight suit. You’d left your old blanket on your bed back on the cruiser, you need his scent on this instead. You need to keep him with you when you take to the skies, just in case.

He steps closer to you, helmet still in place, until he’s all you can see. The cold metal presses down firm against your forehead, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels right. In any other context, it might scare you.

“I need you.” You can’t keep the tremble out of your voice, only hoping it makes you sound desperately horny rather than terrified. Your hands knot themselves in the thick fabric of the flight suit over his chest and he just holds you there for a moment. Bare hands skim your back, reaching up underneath your shirt to find your skin. They freeze when he finds a symmetrical set of scars. The marks feel old, settled, but still carry a heat that feels more recent than the ones he’s used to feeling.

“Prod, I think the medic said it was. Don’t recommend that.” Your half-hearted laugh travels up his fingertips.

Din’s mind flashes back to years ago, to the crime syndicate he slaughtered, the ones who’d treated torture like it was dinner and a show. The rebel pilots he’d freed-

“We had the bantha-prod on the other one yesterday. Oh, the screaming.”

He decides it probably wasn’t you, the galaxy is a big place and there’s more wannabe crime lords than womp rats. The chances of you being the second pilot are slim, and if one group was using bantha-prods on prisoners there’s no doubt there would be more. They’re convenient, easy to get your hands on, and pack a decent punch. He lets his fingers rest on each of the pronged scars for a moment, and leaves it at that.

You keep your forehead pressed to the helmet and let Din strip the layers between you, breaking only when he leans back to lift the old t-shirt over your head and your eyes slip shut against the dim moonlight. You can’t see much with them open but you need to feel him, all of him, and you know he trusts you not to look. Your mind is reeling so much that you don’t even hear him slip the helmet off, you don't register that he’s bared himself to you as much as you’re bared to him until he’s pressing you down against the threadbare blankets.

It’s there that you let him consume you, take over every square inch of your skin until you belong to him completely. Just for this isolated moment, as if the war doesn’t exist. And you revel in it, you lose yourself and let him guide you through it all. Committing his every touch, every kiss, every breath to your memory. This is what you’ll think of when you go down tomorrow. You’ll think of him and the tight feeling in your heart when he kisses you and you’ll remember that he took care of you. Even when you can’t get your hands to stop shaking.

You’re in your head, he can tell. But Din knows you, far better than either of you are willing to admit, and he knows you won’t tell him. So he throws everything he is into it. Into this time with you, no idea when he’ll get to be with you again. If ever. And for once, the fear for his creed is silent. He pulls you into him until it’s impossible to tell that you’re not one single being. You need this, clearly, and his heart is so firmly in your hands that he’ll give it to you. He’ll put everything on hold for you, every time.

You’re the first one to rise from the bed, barely having caught your breath before you’re rummaging for your clothes on the floor with your eyes still clenched shut, and that’s when Din knows something’s definitely wrong. He can hear your hands shake as you pull your t-shirt back over your head.

“Hey,” He leans forward to catch your elbow, but you shrug his fingers away, “What’s wrong?”

“I have to get back to base.” Is the only explanation you offer. Din huffs and the sound makes you flinch, too sharp in the dark, as he pulls you back to the scratchy sheets. Your hands find his broad chest and you take a second to focus on his breathing, on the way his ribs expand, until you can find the right words.

“Cyar’ika.”

“I think I’m dying tomorrow.”

He says nothing. You don’t expect him to. What are you supposed to say when somebody tells you they’re going to die?

“Din, I-”

He surges up to kiss you, breathing you in and surrounding you until he is all you know. All you ever want to know.

“Tell me when you live.” He whispers, pulling his lips away just enough to speak, and hopes you’re tired enough to forget the way you promise as you tuck yourself back into his chest. He can’t let you say the words, he knows he’ll never leave if you do.

It doesn’t take much convincing to get you to stay. A few hours, he says. He’ll wake you up when you need to go, he says. You know he will, he’s never given you a reason not to trust his word. And you let yourself relax into him, curling into his side and wondering what would happen if he didn’t wake you up. What if you just stayed here, the two of you in this room, for the rest of forever? It’s a nice enough thought to clear your mind and let sleep take over.

You wake before he does, hours before the suns are meant to rise and you know it’s time to go. It hurts, to think about leaving Din here in this bed to wake up alone. Like the last time. You hope he’s not too upset with you as you fumble blindly for the rest of your abandoned clothes.

While he has seen far too much cruelty, and been far too kind to you to deserve this, you leave him sleeping. Better for him to wake at dawn and be angry with you than to wake now and convince you not to go. You know he would. You’ve never much believed in the Force, or love for that matter, but every path you’ve ever taken has led you straight back to him. That’s got to count for something.

But love isn’t something you get to have. You’re not foolish enough to convince yourself that it is. Although, if anything in the galaxy could come close, it would be Din. You leave your heart behind with him, tucked up close beside his in the tangled sheets. He’ll keep it safe, you can trust him, of that you’re certain.

“You ready?” Shara’s trying her best to sound upbeat, and you have to hand it to her. It’s difficult not to feel like this is the end, hers is the first smile you’ve seen all day.

“I think we both know the answer to that.” You reply as you tug her into a hug. You squeeze each other almost uncomfortably tightly, but part of you feels like it might be the last chance you get to hold your best friend. She’ll feel every ounce of love you have for her, even if you crack each other’s ribs. Your matching dark green flight suits feel far too new, too starched and solid, for the firefight you know is coming.

“You smell like boy.” She mumbles into your shoulder and you huff out a laugh.

“I’ll see you after.” You say when she pulls back. Neither of you are sure you’re right.

But you are. The comms fill with cheers as you watch the second Death Star crumble, the remnants of the fleet around you falling. And you can breathe. Your work, the Rebellion’s work, is far from over but this? This is everything you’ve been working towards for years. It’s hard not to feel relieved for just a moment. You catch Shara as she zips by, following her down to Endor’s surface.

You’ve barely unclipped the safety belts before she’s wrestling you out of the cockpit and down to the forest floor. You land in a heap of laughter, maybe a few tears, and wait for the adrenaline to settle.

“We did it!” Shara’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it as you clasp her cheeks in your hands and hold her there. You’re both swept up into somebody’s arms only a moment later, Kes Dameron’s booming laugh filling your ears, and you let the joy wash over you. You’ve gotten through the worst of it with this, your little found family of rebels, intact. If only it wasn’t so glaringly obvious that someone is missing.

Later into the night, you pull yourself away from the party, slipping down a ladder from the treehouses and making your way to the ships. It takes a moment to remember exactly where your A-Wing is, and another to dig around in your pack to find it, but you breathe a sigh of relief as your fingers close around the comm. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever will come.

“I made it.”

There’s a second, a click from the comm, and then another.

Din finally lets the tears fall, and he can breathe again.

As though the man on the other end thought better of what he was going to say. The party still rages above your head, and you try not to let it get to you.

TAGLIST (lmk if you want on or off):

@brothersdrxke @remmysbounty @aq-vetina @1800-fight-me @mandos-co @kesskirata @sarahjkl82-blog @firstofficerwiggles @keeper0fthestars @wille-zarr @rebloogggs @thevoiceinyourheadx @plants-are-better-than-humans @schreibsuchtis

#the STRESS trying to format this to post i swear i'm this close to throwing my laptop out a window #i had to copy paste every individual paragraph can someone come and kill me pls #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #lacuna #liz does words #smut

76 notes · View notes

official-weasley · 3 years

Text

Meant to Be (Charlie Weasley x OC)

What happens when Bill brings home a girl and Charlie is completely awestruck by her?

WARNINGS: cursing, mentions of alcohol, struggling with self-love, emotional self-destructive behavior, and mentions of mental health problems, mentions of death and loss

Chapter 20

Rhylee

“Are you ready for this?” Lyla looked deep into my eyes, gripping my shoulders tight.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I inhaled sharply and exhaled slowly.

“Okay, let’s go through it again before you leave.” I nodded to let her know I was ready.

“What did Dr. Whitmoore say?” She asked.

“I have to forgive myself.” I answered.

“And?”

“Stop tormenting myself.”

“And?” She tilted her head.

“Let the past stay in the past.” I closed my eyes.

“And what do you have to be?”

“More positive.”

“And what do you deserve?” She raised her eyebrows.

“To be happy.” A smile twitched at the end of my lip as I realized that I finally believed the words that came out of my mouth.

They weren’t empty anymore. They had meaning and they were finally true.

“And you…”

“I love myself.” I swallowed hard.

“Good girl.” Lyla grinned proudly at me. “I think you’re ready.” She scanned me from head to toe. “Turn around.” She reached for my hand and twirled me. “Now go and redeem yourself.” She winked at me and smacked my arse so I let out a surprised gasp.

I checked myself out in the mirror one more time and apparated. I know I was a bit late and I was hoping that most people would already be there so that I won’t have to talk to anybody. To be honest, I was just trying to avoid Charlie. The closer I got to the tent the more nervous I got.

There was a moment where I actually thought I will never see him again and here I was about to watch his brother get married. I took a deep breath and entered the tent. It seemed I was just in time as everybody sat down and Bill made his way to the center of the room. He looked dashing and I couldn’t stop the smile spread over my lips as I saw how nervous but excited he was at the same time.

I couldn’t be happier for him. As much as I couldn’t believe he invited me to the wedding. We still kept in touch and wrote a few letters per month to one another but we haven’t seen each other for over 5 months. Not since we bumped into each other in Diagon Alley.

Since he was on my list of people to apologize to, I invited him for coffee and told him everything. His reaction was pretty much the same as that of Lyla’s. It warmed my heart to see him looking at me so understandingly. It made me feel great and bad at the same time. I was finally out of my loophole but that made me realize just how foolish I was to even fall into it.

A few seconds after Bill took his place ready to get married, Charlie has positioned himself next to him. I was looking at him as if I have just seen the most beautiful creature on the entire planet. As I caught myself staring at him with my mouth slightly open I knew it was pointless denying the fact that I was still madly in love with him.

He was the man of my dreams and he was everything I could ever wish for in a person. Realizing all that shook my nerves even more. I snapped out of it just as Fleur started walking down the aisle. I have to keep it together and I have to keep myself from running away. He was the last one I needed to talk to. The last one I needed to apologize to for my stupid mistakes.

—

I sat down after dancing with yet another of the Weasley family members. I have no idea who the man was, I just knew he had to be a Weasley because of his fiery hair. I scanned the table to find my glass.

“Good evening.” I lifted my head to follow the voice.

“Hi, Bill.” I grinned at him. “Congratulations again.”

“Thank you.” He sat down next to me, his smile bigger than ever. “What are you sitting here all alone for?”

“Well, I danced with half of your relatives, your mum, and your dad and I think all of your brothers.” I laughed wholeheartedly.

“Most of my brothers.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head at the table where Charlie was sitting.

“I don't think he'd want to dance with me.” I swallowed hard. I felt my palms getting sweaty. I have been avoiding looking at that table for the last 2 hours. “He probably hates me.”

“Oh, I bet he wishes he could.” Bill murmured so fast that I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly.

“What?” I asked bluntly.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing.” Bill pressed his lips together, trying hard not to smirk. “Come on, invite him to dance.”

“What would his girlfriend think?” I tilted my head, waiting for the answer.

“Girlfriend?” Bill asked puzzled.

“I saw them dancing before, Bill.” I rolled my eyes playfully.

“The girl with pink hair?”

I hummed in response.

“That's one of his best friends, Tonks. They went to school together. She's married to Remus, who is sitting...” He scanned the room, looking for someone. “…right over there.” He pointed at a man with a lot of scars painting his face and a mustache.

“Oh.” Was all I could manage and rubbed my lips together.

“You didn't hear it from me but he's single.” He winked with a cheeky grin on his face.

“Thank you for the tip.” All I could manage was a nervous smile.

“Now are we just going to pretend that you attended my wedding just because of me or are you going to do something about you and him?” His eyes moving from me to where Charlie was sitting again.

“He is clearly having fun with his friends, I don't want to bother him.” At this point, I was just searching for excuses.

“Yeah, drinking and singing with the Hogwarts Game Keeper.” He chuckled. “Come with me.” He indicated with his hands that I should stand up and I followed him outside the tent.

I was getting more nervous by the minute. I had no idea where he was taking me until we suddenly stopped in the garden behind the Weasley home and he offered me to sit on the wooden bench, which I almost didn’t notice as it was mostly covered with vines and flowers. Without a single word, he started walking back to the tent.

I sat down slowly, swallowing my nerves. I didn’t like the expression on his face before he left. He looked as if he was up to something and I wasn’t big on surprises. I bit my lip and closed my eyes. My legs were shaking, my heels making sounds as they tapped against the ground.

I lifted my head as I heard someone coming my way.

“What is so important Bill and why are we going to the gard...” My heart clenched when I heard Charlie’s voice. “Oh, hi.” Was all he managed to say when he saw me.

His expression reminded me of the one he had on his face when he saw me at the gate in the Sanctuary.

“Hi.” My voice was barely audible.

“Oh, would you look at that, I think my wife is calling me.” Bill giggled and before either of us could say anything to him, he disappeared.

Charlie slowly made his way to me, the surprised expression still on his face. He sat down next to me, leaving a gap between us that was too big no matter how small it was.

An awkward silence fell upon us, both searching for words. This was my chance. I came here to talk to him, to apologize. I have to do it now.

“Charlie, listen...” I put my hands on my knees to stop my legs from shaking.

“How are you?” He interrupted me, staring at nothing in particular in front of him.

“I-I'm good. How are you?” I wanted him to look at me so I didn’t take my eyes off him.

“Not bad. Was a nice wedding.” He nodded towards the tent.

I calmed down as I felt that he was just as nervous as I was.

“Yeah.” I let out a hollow laugh.

Why was this so hard?

“I'm sorry I didn't say hello to you before.” He turned his head to me and our eyes finally met. “I know I passed you a few times.” He scratched the top of his head, embarrassed.

“It's okay.” I smiled slightly. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to bestow him with a smile. I had no idea how mad he was at me. “I understand. You probably hate me.”

“I don't hate you, Rhy.” I closed my eyes when he said my name like that. He was the only one who called me Rhy and I never wanted to forget how it sounded. “I just wish I understood what was going through your head.”

“Trust me, I wish things went differently.”

This was a good start, right? He just said he wanted to understand and I was here to explain everything.

“Yeah.” His lips curved just a little before returning to their original state.

We fell silent again. We always had so much to talk about and it was never hard. He was always the easiest person to talk to. I felt as if I could tell him anything.

“So where do you work now?” He broke the silence.

“I'm kind of in-between jobs right now.” I pursed my lips.

I didn’t want to talk about me not having a job.

“You know, you can always come back to the Sanctuary. We didn't ban you from it and everybody misses you.”

Including you?

I wanted to ask but let the question die in my mouth instead. It warmed my heart so much that he offered me to return to Romania.

“You look better.” He scanned me with his eyes and I felt my heart beating hard against my ribcage.

I knew exactly what he meant. The last time he saw me I looked like shit. I let myself go completely.

“Thank you.” I gave out a soft smile. “I feel better too. Lyla got me into therapy.”

“Into what?” His face screwed in confusion.

“It's something Muggles do when they have…well mental issues.” I explained.

“You had mental issues?” I liked the concern in his voice a bit too much.

“You couldn't tell?” I asked sarcastically.

“I knew something was up but you didn't want to talk about it so I thought it was because of Nick.” He answered honestly.

“Nick was the least of my problems.” I said quickly.

Nick was the last person I wanted to talk to him about.

“Oh.” The word escaped from his mouth as if I caught him off guard. “That's...yeah...good for you.” He nodded, pressing his lips together and I knew what I said hurt him.

“Charlie, I hope you know that everything that happened between us...”

“Don't.” He lifted his hand at me. “You don't need to explain yourself to me.”

If it was any other time I would stop talking then and there but this was it. It was time for him to know the truth.

“Yes, I do.” I said, determined. “You were right that day in front of the Ministry. You deserve answers. As I said, everything that happened between us was as real for me as it was for you.” My legs started shaking again.

Did I say too much too quickly?

“Okay.” I could see his cheeks turn scarlet and I wanted to kiss him so badly at moment.

I wanted to kiss the hell out of him.

“I just...” I inhaled sharply.

This was it. No turning back now. Here’s my story, Charlie, and please don’t run away when I’m done talking.

“I was in a really bad place. In my Seventh year at Beauxbatons, I didn't read the instructions properly and made a poison instead of a Calming Draught. My boyfriend at the time drank it and he died.” I was staring into nothingness.

I could see with the corner of my eye that he turned to me slightly as I said the last few words and I could feel his eyes on me.

“I wasn't charged for murder even though I begged them to lock me up because I couldn't see how I could forgive myself. It was marked as an accident. I barely finished school and got the job at Gringotts and gladly took it just to get away from everything.” I shook my head.

I was doing better. It got easier to talk about it every time I said it out loud.

“I was fine for 3 years, I thought I was over it. I promised myself that I will never brew another potion and that I will never be with anyone ever again.” I bowed my head. Saying all of this used to make me cry but I forgave myself. I had to. “I thought I didn't deserve it after what I did. And then Bill brought me home and I met you.”

He was still looking at me. I wanted to turn and look into his beautiful eyes that were always so full of compassion and love but I couldn’t. I didn’t dare. I didn’t know what he thought about everything I just said. I didn’t know if he was judging me or not and I wasn’t ready to find out just yet. He didn’t say anything either so I continued talking.

“I know what you felt that day, Charlie.” I said in a whisper. I wanted to talk about us, about what that night meant to me for such a long time. “You think I didn't? I know that what happened between us that night was so far away from a one-night stand. I have never felt such a strong connection to a person before and my curiosity got the better of me.”

I shook my head. I always said it was a mistake but I have to forgive myself for that too.

“I had to see if there was something between us and it killed me when I was right. As much as something was pulling me toward you that much did I want to run away because all that guilt came right back.”

“All this drama between us happened because of something you did at school?” He failed to comprehend and I didn’t blame him.

“I killed a person, Charlie.” I said through my teeth.

“It was an accident.” His voice was so soft, so full of understanding of my situation.

“How would you feel if something you did killed Emma back then?” I finally looked at him.

He told me about his first love Emma one morning when we were looking at the sunrise together. It was a tragedy that they had to break up because of long-distance. He seemed really happy with her.

He didn’t reply to my question but I could see it in his eyes that he was trying to put himself in my shoes.

“See? Now you know how I felt. You felt so guilty about what you did to Bill when we slept together now imagine how it would be if someone lost their life because of a stupid mistake you've made.” I tried to explain further.

“Okay, I'm sorry.” He said gently and placed his hand on the bench, filling the gap between us. “I understand. Continue.”

“What I felt with you that night Charlie, was what I imagined every time someone asked me what do I want in a person. It was just as I imagined it would be with someone I would want to spend the rest of my life with.” I slowly removed my hand from my knees and placed it next to his on the bench, our fingers almost touching. “It was even better than that.”

“Why didn't you ever tell me this before?” He breathed.

“Because I couldn't. I know what I did to you was wrong. I know I was playing with your feelings but I was just so drawn to you I couldn't help myself.” I was telling the truth.

There was no point in hiding it anymore.

“I guess.” He bowed his head, turning it to look straight ahead of him.

“After that, I couldn't stop thinking about you. It came so far that I applied to work in Romania.” I continued.

“That was because of me?” He turned back to me with an incredulous expression.

“Of course, it was because of you.” I gave out a faint smile, our eyes locked again.

“But you also applied for the American Sanctuary.” He frowned.

“To make myself think that I was doing it to switch jobs.”

“And I thought I had battles in my head.” His lip twitched as he moved his hand slightly closer to mine.

“I decided to go to Romania anyways but I knew what I was doing was wrong so to stop myself from doing anything stupid I started dating Nick.” I gave out a deep sigh.

“So you knew he was a prick?” I wanted to laugh at the nickname he gave him but stopped myself just in time, placing a hand over my mouth.

“Of course, I knew!”

“Then why in the bloody hell did you go out with him?” He failed to understand.

“I wanted to punish myself.” I admitted.

Saying it out loud sounded insane.

“What?”

“Look, he wasn't all that bad but he did have a big ego and he only cared for himself.” I wasn’t trying to defend him but I had to make him see why I did what I did.

“So, you thought that being with him was better than being with me?”

I felt something break in me. How could he even think that? How could he even compare himself to Nick? Did he think so low of himself? Did I make him think that way?

“No.” I shook my head hard. “Nothing can compare to being with you in any way, Charlie.” I looked him deep in the eyes and moved my hand closer to his, our fingers finally meeting. “But I thought that if I'll be with Nick then I will stop feeling guilty. I couldn't forgive myself for what I've done.”

“I'm trying to understand you, Rhy, but fuck, do you know what you put yourself through here?” He scratched the top of his head. “What you put me through because of your past?”

“I know. I'm sorry.” I felt tears burning my eyes.

My past didn’t make me cry anymore. I was over it and I was proud of that. The way he said what I put him through. The pain in his voice even though he tried to understand what I was telling him. That’s what brought tears to my eyes.

“Please, continue your story. You're telling me everything.” It made my heart beat faster just knowing that he was still willing to listen.

“When I got to Romania and saw you, all those feelings came back and I hated myself for it. I saw the way you were looking at me, I'm not blind. I just didn't dare to do anything about it. I was falling for you as fast as Bean eats his dinner and it was killing me because I didn't allow myself to tell you.” His lips curved into a smile when I compared my feelings to a dragon.

“But why didn't you? What did you think would happen? That you'd poison me too?”

“I thought I didn't deserve you!” I blurted.

“Rubbish!” He scoffed. “You made a mistake. You are allowed to be forgiven.” He entwined our fingers and I wanted to melt at his touch.

Fuck, I missed him so much.

“I didn't think that.” I said slowly, my eyes on our hands. “I thought that you were too good for me, I still do.”

“Rhy...” He tilted his head, bringing his shoulder closer to mine.

“I know. I said I'm better I didn't say I'm all there yet.” I bestowed him with a smile.

“So why did you sleep with me after the party in the Sanctuary if you felt like you weren't good enough for me?” He continued.

“I was just drunk enough. It was the same as at the Burrow. I wasn't brave enough to do anything about it while sober. The booze got me just enough courage to bury all the bad feelings and just give in.” I closed my eyes, reminiscing on it.

“That you did.” He chuckled.

He actually chuckled!

I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest by hearing that noise. His laugh was always my favorite. He never gave you more than a smile if he didn’t find something worth laughing for.

“Charlie, that night...” I bit my lip and locked my eyes with his.

“I know. It was amazing.” He bent his lips inwards and I could see the night rolling in front of his eyes.

“It was so much more than that.” I couldn’t find the words to describe it.

No one could. But I know we both knew exactly what it meant.

“Then why did you tell Nick? Why didn't you just stop all the madness then and there if it meant so much to you?” He squinted his eyes.

“Don't you get it?” I chortled. “I did it because it meant so much to me. I felt too happy. I couldn't allow myself to feel that. I was terrified of how good it was, Charlie. What I feel for you is something that people describe in romance novels, I didn't even know it was real.”

“So you went back to your boyfriend to torture yourself.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. But not a judgmental one.

“Yes. Trust me I know how it sounds. I thought I deserved to be in pain. I constantly searched for something that would hurt me so that I could redeem myself for what I did at Beauxbatons. I thought that by telling Nick I will make you see that I'm hurting you. I wanted you to get over me, to be with someone better. With someone who won't hurt you.”

And in the process, I hurt him more instead of setting him free.

“There is no one better for me, Rhylee.” He said with a soft voice that woke up all the butterflies in my stomach again. “Don't you get it? Ever since we slept together at the Burrow there was nobody that could compare to you. And you only hurt me because of the things you were doing to yourself. If I knew the reason behind all your actions I would've done things differently myself.” He pressed my fingers together with his, his eyes full of understanding.

“I know. I'm sorry.” I shook my head. “You have no idea how sorry I am about it. I thought I was doing you a favor but I didn't put myself in your shoes. I didn't...” I choked.

“You didn't love yourself enough to be with me.” He finished my sentence.

“You sound like my therapist.” I chuckled.

“So, I am finally understanding what you're saying?”

I replied to his question with a hum.

“And what does your therapist think about your relationship with Nick?” Something in his eyes shifted.

They weren’t soft anymore, they were angry.

“Nick and I broke up in February.” I said.

“Oh, I'm sorry.” He murmured.

“I know you don't mean that. It was for the best.” I assured him.

“So, is Lyla helping you with the baby then?” I turned to him abruptly, blinking.

“I...I lost the baby.” I said with a husky voice.

“What?” Charlie jumped in his seat.

I don’t know why I thought that Bill told him.

“Yeah...” I tried to smile but failed. “The healers said there was nothing they could do. Sometimes it just happens.”

I tried to act strong but this was one of the few things I wasn’t over yet. Yes, it was Nick’s baby, and being pregnant at the time wasn’t something I planned or wished for but something changes when you’re pregnant and it still hurt that I lost the baby. I felt my eyes water again.

“I am so sorry, Rhy.” I could hear how sorry he was in his voice.

Without saying anything else he pulled me into a hug. How I missed his hugs and his smell. He always smelled so nice. Like how I would describe a summer breeze if it had a smell.

“Thank you. It's the reason Nick and I broke up. He blamed me for losing the baby.” I mumbled into his shoulder.

“He what?!” Charlie barked, pulling away from me.

“It's okay, Charlie. I brought this on myself and I had to deal with it. Losing the baby was my breaking point. I knew I had to get out of it. I hit rock bottom. That's why Lyla got me into therapy. I was in my bed for days and she lost it.” I tried calming him down.

“I would too. She did the right thing and since you look better I assume it helped you.”

“It did wonders.” An appreciative smile painted my face. Getting into therapy was the best decision I have made in years. “I’m not done with therapy but I am making progress.”

“So did you put yourself through enough shit now or do you still have a wish to torment yourself?” He asked in a serious voice.

“No, I'm done. I wouldn't be at this wedding otherwise.” I got shy all of a sudden.

I told him everything he needed to know and this was it. It was time to see if he can forgive me. I know what a bombshell I dropped on him and I know it’s a lot to process and I wouldn’t want to rush him. I just wanted us to be on speaking terms again. I knew I would never get more than that.

“I don't understand.” His brows got closer together.

“I came here to apologize to you besides being here for Bill and being happy for him being so much in love.” I said truthfully.

“Is that the only reason you're here – to apologize?” He gently bumped into my shoulder and leaned closer to me.

Was he going for a kiss?

“Are you sure?” I couldn’t believe it.

I didn’t dare to dream about us ever being anything more than friends again.

“I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life.” He placed his hand on my cheek and I trembled under his touch.

“But I hurt you so much, Charlie. Can you really forgive me for everything I put you through so fast?” I had to know that he was sure.

I had to know that he forgave me for all the pain I caused him.

“I'm still in love with you, Rhy.” He brushed his nose against mine and rested his forehead on mine.

We never said the words. We didn’t have the chance to but then again we never had to. We both knew how we felt about each other.

“If Bill could forgive me for sleeping with you without even thinking twice about it, then you have to know you are already forgiven. I was never mad at you I just felt sorry for you because you were ruining yourself when you could have everything you ever wanted with me.”

That was it. That’s what I needed to hear. I pressed my lips hard against his and I felt my body melting when he returned the kiss. It was just as I remembered. His lips were soft and he tasted like Fire Whiskey which made my lips curve.

“Damn, it feels nice to kiss you and know nobody's getting hurt for it.” He said after pulling away.

“Tell me about it.” I kissed him again.

I finally don’t have to feel guilty for kissing him. He doesn’t have to feel guilty. I could feel the happiness and the realization, that we can finally be together, without the drama without thinking of anyone else, vibrate through my body.

“We needed a long time to get here, didn't we?” I giggled. “Only a few years, give or take.” I joked and kissed him again.

I will never get enough of this.

“Give or take, yeah.” He laughed and kissed my forehead.

“It took us a while but at least we're here now and it feels right.” I couldn’t stop smiling.

This was the best feeling in the world.

“I thought we would never get the chance to be together. There were so many obstacles in our way. Always a reason why we can't be with each other.”

“Is it bad if I say I wouldn't have it any other way?” I cupped his face and searched for the answer in his eyes.

“No.” He shook his head lightly. “It's kind of nice if you think about it. You have to go through hell sometimes to get to the good stuff.”

“Yeah.” He was right. We’ve been through so much. I made us go through so much but in the end, we still ended up together. “Makes you think that perhaps, we were meant to be.”

His lips curved as I said that and I knew he was thinking the same as he leaned in for another kiss.

THE END

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read this story. ❤️ I know it's shorter and it didn't have that much fluff in it and some of you thought I was cruel to Charlie for breaking his heart so many times. I know - my brain comes up with weird stories and I promise in the next one our bean will be nothing but happy. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! ❤️

I know this story isn't as long as the last one but this is how I pictured it. The wedding still gets disturbed by the death eaters. Peter gives Rhylee her job back and she moves back to Romania. Rhylee helps with the Order and she fights in the Battle of Hogwarts. Because of everything that went down and with all of the war trauma she and Charlie move to Britain for a little while to be closer to family and friends and they both go to therapy. After a few years, they move back to Romania and they move in together.

For all of you, that ship Theodore and Gerta (I got a few messages about them and it amused me so much because I love them together) - after Theo never giving up and asking her out all the time, Gerta finally gives in saying yes to a date. She can't believe how sweet Theo is and what a romantic he is. They were dating for 6 months when Theodore popped the question and when they got married all his teammates were his best men.

And as I said yesterday: I know that what Rhylee went through can't be solved with 6 months worth of therapy as is stated in the story. I needed to fit it in the timeline to align everything with Bill's wedding and is the only reason why I picked 6 months. One of my best friends has a Ph.D. in psychotherapy and she told me that with Rhylee's situation of feeling so guilty and wanting to torment herself it is very unrealistic that she would be as fine as I wrote her to be - I am fully aware of that. I apologize if I made anyone uncomfortable with it or if anyone finds it offensive in any way.

#harry potter fanfiction #charlie weasley #charlie weasley fanfiction #the weasleys #weasley family #hp imagine #charlie weasley x oc #charlie weasley imagine #the burrow #harry potter imagine #weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley x mc #bill weasley #harry potter #wizarding world

28 notes · View notes

arcticdementor · 3 years

Link

The University of California system is getting rid of its SAT/ACT requirement. More will follow.

There’s a lot to say. First, we must distinguish between two types of tests, or really two types of testing. When people say “standardized tests,” they think of the SAT, but they also think of state-mandated exams (usually bought, at great taxpayer expense, from Pearson and other for-profit companies) that are designed to serve as assessments of public K-12 schools, of aggregates and averages of students. The SAT, ACT, GRE, GMAT, LSAT, MCAT, and similar tests are oriented towards individual ability or aptitude; they exist to show prerequisite skills to admissions officers. (And, in one of the most essential purposes of college admissions, to employers, who are restricted in the types of testing they can perform thanks to Griggs v Duke Power Co.) Sure, sometimes researchers will use SAT data to reflect on, for example, the fact that there’s no underlying educational justification for higher graduation rates1, but SATs are really about the individual. State K-12 testing is about cities and districts, and exists to provide (typically dubious) justification for changes to education policy2. SATs and similar help admissions officers sort students for spots in undergraduate and graduate programs. This post is about those predictive entrance tests like the SAT.

Liberals repeat several types of myths about the SAT/ACT with such utter confidence and repetition that they’ve become a kind of holy writ. But myths they are.

1. SATs/ACTs don’t predict college success. They do, indeed. This one is clung to so desperately by liberals that you’d think there was some sort of compelling empirical basis to believe this. There isn’t. There never has been. They’re making it up. They want it to be true, and so they believe it to be true.

…

2. The SATs only tell you how well a student takes the SAT. This is perhaps a corollary to 1., and is equally wrong. They tell us what they were designed to tell us: how well students are likely to perform in college. But the SATs tell us about much more than college success. Let me run this graphic again.

…

3. SATs just replicate the income distribution. No. Again, asserted with utter confidence by liberals despite overwhelming evidence that this is not true. I believe that this research represents the largest publicly-available sample of SAT scores and income information, with an n of almost 150,000, and the observed correlation between family income and SAT score is .25. This is not nothing. It is a meaningful predictor. But it means that the large majority of the variance in SAT scores is not explainable by income information. A correlation of .25 means that there are vast numbers of lower-income students outperforming higher-income students. Other analyses find similar correlations. If SAT critics wanted to say that “there is a relatively small but meaningful correlation between family income and SAT scores and we should talk about that,” fair game. But that’s not how they talk. The routinely make far stronger claims than that in an effort to dismiss these tests all together, such as here by Yale’s Paul Bloom. (Whose work I generally like.) It’s just not that hard to correlate two variables together, guys. I don’t know why you wouldn’t ever ask yourselves “is this thing I constantly assert as absolute fact actually true?” Well, maybe I do.

In general, progressive and left types routinely overstate the power of the relationship between family wealth and academic performance on all manner of educational outcomes. The political logic is obvious: if you generally want to redistribute money (as I do) then the claim that educational problems are really economic problems provides ammo for your position. But the fact that there is a generic socioeconomic effect does not mean that giving people money will improve their educational outcomes very much, particularly if richer people are actually mildly but consistently better at school than poorer for sorting reasons that are not the direct product of differences in income. That is, what correlation does exist between SES and academic indicators might simply be the metrics accurately measuring the constructs they were designed to measure.

And throwing money at our educational problems, while noble in intent, hasn’t worked. (People react violently to this, but for example poorer and Blacker public schools receive significantly higher per-pupil funding than richer and whiter schools, which should not be a surprise given that the policy apparatus has been shoveling money at the racial performance gap for 40 years.) All manner of major interventions in student socioeconomic status, including adoption into dramatically different home and family conditions, have failed to produce the benefits you’d expect if academic outcomes were a simple function of money. I believe in redistribution as a way to ameliorate the consequences of poor academic performance. There is no reason to think that redistribution will ameliorate poor academic performance itself.

5. SATs are easily gamed with expensive tutoring. They are not. This one is perhaps less empirically certain than the prior two and on which I’m most amenable to counterargument, but the preponderance of the evidence seems clear to me in saying that the benefits of tutoring/coaching for these tests are vastly overstated. Again, a simplistic proffered explanation for a troublesome set of facts that then implies simplistic solutions that would not work.

6. Going test optional increases racial diversity. This one, I think, must be called scientifically unsettled. However both Sweitzer, Blalock, and Sharma and Belasco, Rosinger, and Hearn find no appreciable increase in racial diversity after universities go test-optional. “Holistic” application criteria like admissions essays almost certainly benefit richer students anyway. What’s more, we have to ask ourselves what “diversity” really means in this context. Private colleges and universities keep the relevant data close to the vest, for obvious reasons, but it’s widely believed that many elite schools satisfy their internal diversity goals for Black students by aggressively pursuing wealthy Kenyan and Nigerian international students, whose parents have the means to be the kind of reliable donors that such schools rely on so heavily. I’m not aware of a really comprehensive study that examines this issue, and it would be hard to pull off, but the relevant question is “do various policies intended to improve diversity on campus actually increase the enrollment of American-born descendants of African slaves?” I can’t say, but you can guess where my suspicions lie.

…

All of that is prologue to the bigger point: the controversy over college entrance examinations stems not from the examinations themselves, but from the fact that they reveal profound differences in human capital that make progressives uncomfortable. The SATs don’t create inequality. They reveal inequality.

…

The racial achievement/performance gap is a curious thing even in the context of an American political discourse that seems to get more bizarre by the day. That the gap exists is, on balance, not controversial. Gaps in performance are observed on essentially every measured academic metric, though the size of the effects vary from context to context, and the general distribution is Asian American students at the top, white students next, then Hispanic, then Black. The Black-white gap in particular has shrunk from the era of (explicitly) segregated schools but progress has not been consistent or linear. Most people in academia and politics admit it exists: prominent Black politicians like Barack Obama and Kamala Harris reference it, every major think tank and foundation operating in the educational space identifies it as a major priority, and the NAACP used to address if often, though their Education and Education Strategy pages have recently disappeared so it’s hard to know where they stand now. These things are faddish but once upon a time every other dissertation written by someone getting a PhD in Education was about the gap. We can observe it even outside of reference to controversial tests, such as noting that the white high school graduation rate is 10% higher than that for Black students. The achievement gap is a thing.

And yet I also find a rapidly-congealing social prohibition against talking about these gaps in progressive spaces. If you refer to a racial achievement gap in a lot of liberal or left contexts now, you’ll find that people clam up fast and get visibly uncomfortable, even if you take pains to point out that an academic achievement gap does not imply an academic potential gap. People just don’t want to acknowledge that gaps exist at all; our racial discourse appears to have become such a blunt instrument that the acknowledgement of racial difference is controversial even when you preface discussion with the belief (that I hold) that the gap is the product of innumerable environmental and sociocultural factors rather than genetics or other inherent differences. Simply saying “Black students consistently score lower on tests like the SATs, have lower average GPAs, and have worse metrics on ancillary concerns like truancy” - again, Barack Obama’s position, Kamala Harris’s position, Cory Booker’s position - is enough for people to start launching into harangues about the inherent violence of those comparisons. People just do not want to talk about this stuff.

…

Those concerns with group differences, at least, have some sort of basic political logic and are amenable to complaints that they are the product of systemic inequality. (They are, but not the inequalities that people think, and again the SAT gap is a result of systemic inequality, not a cause of systemic inequality.) More disturbing to me is the rise of resistance within academia to the notion of inequalities between individuals. When I was in grad school more than a half-decade ago, I observed with some considerable unhappiness that it had become increasingly socially unacceptable to speak of some students as simply better students than others, as being more talented, harder working, or more prepared. All of this was seen as inegalitarian and, eventually, as “white supremacist” even if every student being compared in a given context was white. There were many instructors back then who bragged about giving all students As, etc., and I must assume this practice has only grown over time. In the humanities and social sciences especially there is a growing movement to reject assessment, including grading - the means through which we sort better students from worse - as the hand of illegitimate power that “does violence” to the students who voluntarily attend college.

…

Of course, that complicity in the neoliberal machine is not some recent injustice; it is the very reason that colleges and universities are funded by our society at all. If this trend continues, not just eliminating SAT requirements or increasingly refusing to hierarchize students with grades but in rejecting the entire sorting function of the university, academia will collapse. Wealthy parents aren’t paying Harvard to enrich their children in the humanistic sense. They’re paying Harvard to act as a marker of their child’s superiority in the labor market and the social hierarchy. Employers value college because it provides at least some meaningful information about who will succeed as a worker; remove that function and the financial justification for a hideously expensive system dies. I would love if education dropped its association with meritocracy, but that cannot occur within our current system. The professors who self-aggrandize through their rejection of their hierarchizing function, if successful, would cause the doom of the modern university. (These tenured radicals, of course, never are so moved by the inherent inequities of academia that they quit the profession.)

Today, it is somehow controversial to say “some people are smarter than others,” a reflection of one of the simple brute realities of human life and something that has been accepted as true for thousands of years.

Here is the essence of it: hierarchies of relative academic performance are remarkably stable throughout life, due to differences in inherent or intrinsic academic ability of whatever origin, and the SATs and similar mechanisms reveal those differences in a way that liberal America is increasingly unable to accept. This is the source of all of this angst, not the technical details of whether a test is fair or valid or just, but a liberal intelligentsia that is incapable of honestly confronting the fact that different human beings have fundamentally different intrinsic abilities. I believe in political equality, social equality, equality of rights, equality of dignity, equality of protection under the law. But the notion that all people are equally talented, in academics or anything else, is an absurdity, and as much as people will rush to deny intrinsic difference, I suspect that pretty much everybody knows that they are real. When you were a child you casually assumed that some of your classmates were naturally better at school than others, and you did because it was true.

This is the conversation that I tried, and failed, to force with my book: left-of-center political movements, from center-left to radically socialist, cannot achieve the goal of the greater good for everyone, including greater political and economic equality, while pretending that we believe in equality of human ability. The only way to intelligently address various social, economic, and political equalities related to differences in human potential is to acknowledge that those differences exist. The current rending of garments regarding inequalities within our education system has led to certifiably bizarre situations like the movement, currently gathering steam, to teach math as if it is as subjective as literature or art. But this won’t make Black kids or poor kids or girls or anyone else actually better at math. And if the universities really give up their function of creating an academic hierarchy for political reasons, employers will find new systems that do that, or a lot of people will get hired and quickly fired for not being competent. This is not an intelligent policy approach. Getting rid of the SATs won’t make unprepared kids prepared. It won’t make naturally untalented students naturally talented. It won’t make kids who aren’t smart into smart kids. All it will do is hide the reality of those unpleasant inequalities.

#freddie deboer #read the whole thing #substack

32 notes · View notes