#same with the kids but i am way less feral about them-i am counting them in as my babies as well | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

littlefreya · 3 years

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Vanilla Milkshake

Summer: Henry and a long time friend hangout at their usual spot when things turn chaotic because of an innocent misunderstanding...

Prompted by:

Oooh Freyaaaa I just *need* some scene featuring Henry and ofc drinking milkshake.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Unamed OFC (no description of ethnicity or body type).

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: RPF, major fluff, friends to lovers, sexual innuendo, mild seduction, sex talk, an unwanted boner, Henry being a boomer, Henry having a meltdown.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own.*

A/N: So, first thing first, thanks @agniavateira for quickly beta’ing my work! And of course thanks @the-soot-sprite for bouncing ideas with me and being an emotional support. Decided to go with friends for lovers because I live for that stuff. Also, I am aware that “Milkshake” can be interpreted in several ways but for the sake of the story I went with that particular reference. Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. 🖤

Title: Vanilla Milkshake

“I swear, this diner looks like Barbie had an orgasm all over the place.” A whimsical grin sliced between Henry’s marble cheeks. Eyeing the pastel-esque surroundings, he huffed scornfully and adjusted the cap over his nest of unruly curls.

“Remind me again why we always meet here, young lady?”

Staring at the beastly man who barely managed to squeeze into the plastic-pink faux leather booth, she couldn’t help but chuckle. Henry carried himself with something that was both eloquent yet unmistakably feral, reminding her of a burly forest creature. Sturdy tree trunks stood for limbs, torso, and shoulders—the widths of icy mountains and a blanket of thick fur coated the entirety of his body, deeming him a dangerous bear.

No wonder he preferred himself clean-shaven. The sharpened edge of a razor kept him a cut away from becoming ‘Henry the Barbarian’.

Seeing him surrounded by pastel and sparkly fairy dust brought far more joy than she could ever imagine. The utter look of contempt gleamed on the surface of his shifty eyes.

Oh, by God, how much he hated glitter!

“And what would you know about Barbie’s orgasms?” she teased with a crooked eyebrow and a comical suspicious glare.

Readjusting his cap over the messy mane of chocolate curls, Henry offered a terrible wink and shrugged, “a gentleman never tells.”

Her fingers rapped on her thigh while she contemplated whether to allow this naughty joke slide, but then the urge to provoke him was far too great. After briefly chewing on the inside of her cheek, she broke into a wicked grin.

“Is that… like a role play you have with the missus? She’s Barbie, and you’re G.I.Joe? Because I kinda don’t want to hear about it, but then I kinda do.”

Henry’s smile gradually faded along with the playful glee in his eyes, his melancholic gaze dropping to the sparkly table. He slumped into a heavy sigh, “If by missus, you mean ‘Miss Hand’, then no… not really.”

Dumbfounded, she frowned at Henry with confusion when then it struck her; a sense of incredible embarrassment drained the blood from her head to her gut.

“Oh…”

“Yep.” Henry blurted and grabbed the menu, pretending to be incredibly interested in the kids’ meal options.

Just in time to rescue them from a prolonged awkward silence, the waitress arrived with their order, serving Henry a hot cup of double espresso while she received a tall glass of a luscious vanilla milkshake.

“Enjoy your drinks, guys!” the waitress smiled sweetly and kept her eyes glued to Henry as she walked away. But the gloss of the waitress’ flirtatious excitement was lost on him; drenched with greed, Henry’s blue sapphires were fixated on the generous scoops of ice cream and the dark chocolate swirls that decorated his companion’s dessert.

“Henry, my eyes are up here!” she provoked and grabbed the straw between two fingers while throwing an amused glance at his simple cup of coffee. Henry followed her gaze and scoffed before raising the cup to his mouth and blowing to cool his drink.

The way his lips pursed together and his finger stroked the ceramic surface did not escape her observation. A sudden tingle swam down the length of her spine once it resonated in her mind that kind, charming, and beastly Henry was now single. Here they were, long time buddies, but now sitting together felt less comfortable than before. Her limbs felt like pins and needles while staring directly at his eyes was as risky as staring at the sun.

“Cheers,” Henry mumbled and took a sip from his cup.

Almost jolting in her seat, she stiffened and then grabbed her straw.

“Cheers.”

Giggles came from the other side of the diner. Among the retro gumball machines and rounded plastic bar stools, the waitress and a colleague leaned against the counter and stared at Henry, who turned his head for a brief moment and tipped his head.

Their giggles turned even louder.

She frowned.

“So, have you been single for a while?” she heard herself asking with a rather urgent tone. Right away, a look of contrition crept on her face as she regretted her verbal onslaught and lack of sensitivity.

Henry directed his gaze back to her and watched as she slowly sipped from the milkshake and then suckled the cream off her mouth.

Absentmindedly, he licked his lips. “Since May. How about you, weren’t you with…?”

“No, ended, dodged a bullet.” she spat and pumped the straw up and down the thick beverage. “My milkshake brings all the boys… except it doesn't.” she sighed.

Henry frowned and shook his head with confusion. “What? You never told me you make your own milkshake. How come I never had some?”

Her face abruptly froze, her eyes rounded with surprise before she snorted so loudly the waitresses stopped their whispering.

“Umm… Hen?” she called out, trying to hold herself from bursting into chuckles as her friend accidentally asked for a very sexual favour, “you honestly don’t know what ‘milkshake’ is slang for...?”

“Uh…”

“Omg, you’re such a boomer.”

“No, I was born in ‘83! I’m a millennial. But please, indulge me.” he begged and crossed his arms together.

Clearing her throat loudly, she did her best to fight the wicked grin that stretched on her already painful cheeks and wrapped her fist around the straw. “So you know... how… certain male bodily fluids are sometimes white and creamy...? And when you perform a certain motion it’s like you’re shaking it…?”

Henry blinked and became silent. An unbidden rush of blood pooled at his groin as he watched her thumb graze over the tip of the straw and her fist pumping it into the smooth liquid in a slow, gentle motion. Wickedness glazed her eyes, but he tried to dismiss it as nothing but their usual playful banter; yet his adam’s apple bobbed up and down while his shoulder tensed at the oddly arousing sight of her performing a sinful act on a milkshake.

There was an unmistakable stir in his cock and for once, he was thankful for narrow spaces as it hid his predicament.

Leaning forward, she opened her mouth and swirled her tongue around the straw. She went deliberately slow, making him watch while she playfully licked and suckled the tip until finally wrapping her lips around it and taking a generous sip.

Henry gawked utterly smitten, unaware that his jaw was nearly at the floor.

And to make things worse, she moaned—not too loud—but definitely enough to make his shaft harden more.

She wasn’t sure what stirred this whimsical boost of confidence, only that seeing the large, handsome man pale at her provocations made her feel like the most powerful woman on earth. She also gathered she’d regret it forever and a day once they’ll part ways, but it was too late for that now.

Gingerly she pulled back, though not before allowing a single drop of cream to trickle down the corner of her lips.

“Oops,” she smirked casually, wiping the cream with her fingertip and sucking it clean.

“Please stop…”

It was then when she noticed that Henry’s playful mien was all but gone. Far from amused, he glowered with a clenched jaw. “If you’re going to keep doing that, I’ll have to leave,” he stated matter-of-factly.

A rush of panic made her freeze in her spot, the same needles that pricked her skin were now setting jolts of electric bursts. “I’m so sorry, I crossed the line,” she said and covered her mouth with shame, “did I offend you? Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No, no, not at all.” Henry’s voice softened right away, and he reached a hand in the air, as if trying to stop her from leaving. The last thing he wanted now is for her to think he is angry with her. If anything, he wished they could spend more time together, not because of his obvious arousal, but because for the first time in a long while, he was having fun.

Still, she looked at him so utterly distraught.

“Then…?”

Henry scanned the diner as if trying to make sure no one was staring or taking any photo and then shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His eyes altered between his spread thighs and her several times, trying to signal toward his… trouble.

“Oh...” she gaped.

An odd sense of pride began to permeate her chest, battling over the burning embarrassment that flamed up her neck and cheeks. At this point, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel, only that it was definitely the most awkward hangout they had to date.

Problem was, she never knew when to shut up.

“Is little Henry hungry?”

Hearing those words, his brows dropped to an irritated sulk. “There is nothing little about it.”

“Ha! Prove it!”

It was as if the entire diner and perhaps the world fell into silence. Had the clatter of the dishes being washed in the back kitchen not rung their ears, she would have thought she grew suddenly deaf.

“I didn’t mean it… sorry, I’ll stop,” she mumbled slowly and pressed her fingers to her mouth while shaking her head at her stupid behaviour. That was it, this was to be the last afternoon she would ever hang out with Henry and right now, she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.

Henry chewed onto the inside of his cheeks, trying to stop the words that came faster than his thoughts.

“You didn’t?... Because I’ll definitely be up for proving...”

She blinked at his words and tilted her head, hoping that he won’t notice the wild tremors that shook her limbs, “What was that?”

“I... yes? No?...I… fuck!”

Henry lowered his head and slapped his palms across his face, rubbing back and forth with an utter meltdown while mumbling, “Forgive me,” a couple of times. He couldn’t care less of what the waitresses or whoever was watching would think of him; all he cared about was to make her feel comfortable around him again and maybe… even make her like him?

“Henry?”

Soft and warm her voice called to him, slowly pulling him from his anguish like a sailor being rescued from a sunken ship. His blue sapphires shone, an ocean of confusion and anxiety still pooling within while he peered back at her face that was now smiling at him a mixture of comfort and exhilaration.

“Would you like some of my milkshake?”

#henry cavill #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfiction

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delicrieux · 4 years

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☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 10: BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN

y/n is back in brooklyn for the holidays. thinking that a stream will make her feel less homesick for cali, she starts working on her famously titled hentai.free.srv. what was supposed to be a relaxing stream turns into a special delivery about two hours in.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 2.2k ─── ❥ req: Here's one... You know those apps for delivery like Domino's or whatnot... What if reader is streaming Among Us with Corpse, and reader mentions they're hungry and Corpse offers to order them food, and readers like no no it's fine... Then there's delivery at the door (Corpse ordered beforehand)

author’s note: fucky format is also back in town baby!!! also if you find any mistakes - no u didnt <3 thank u everyone for enjoying this story sm i literally cant believe how feral yall going strawberry cow was a nuclear explosion im still recovering tbh. got an ask a while ago and decided to incorporate it into myso. happy holidays everyone! myso will continue on monday!

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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Indeed, being soft on any social media platform was the biggest disgrace and needed to be eliminated post haste. Moreover, it was a slippery slope - once you start flooding your timeline with cute imagery and heart emojis, what will stop you from posting inspirational Facebook quotes? Disgusting. If Rae were here, she would chide you (not you thinking about her as if she’s dead or something). For once in your life, you feel like you deserve it.

Alas, you hope this little chaos you’ve caused is enough to throw everyone off. The stans, especially. You know the hashtags, you’ve seen ARMY scourging for info online with the same fervor and ruthlessness 1 Direction fans hacked airport security cameras just to spy on the boys. If you had any dirty secrets online, they are out to the public now - thankfully, besides the Harry Styles stan account (with edits and all), you have nothing. Though, now that you think about it, exposed nudes would have been better than your Punk!Harry edit receiving almost a million views. God, your life’s a fucking mess.

Your fans aren’t the only ones out for info - you, too, are trying to decipher Rae’s message. Code: Barbecue Sauce. The two of you had come up with it roughly two years ago, around the same time when you promised that if you didn’t find significant others by the time you’re 40, you’ll just marry each other. It was one of the many rules found in your friendship codex. Barbecue Sauce signifies information - an exchange of information. And depending on how it ends or begins (”So I’m sitting there” alludes to Rae, “On my titties” alludes to you), secret data on that person is given away, usually free of charge.

But why? And to whom did Rae give away what? You had pestered her mercilessly and even sent some voice messages where you were crying. You were only crying because of a video of a grandpa smiling you saw on TikTok, but you are a snake, and so you put those tears to good use. If streaming doesn’t work out, you’ll just become an actress. Hollywood would love you. Your PR firm sure as fuck wouldn’t, though.

Rae was having none of it. She said you’ll figure it out eventually. Told you to channel your superior puzzle skills. You were quick to remind her that you can barely count to ten without having an aneurysm. Oddly serious, she admitted that she worries for you sometimes. Why only sometimes?! you demanded. She merely sighed. uttering under her breath something that sounded closely to “Boke.”

You leave her for barely a week and she’s already neck deep in the gay volleyball anime, hoodie and cardboard cutout and everything. Your life is falling apart.

But Brooklyn is nice. It had snowed when you stepped off of the plane. Thousands of snowflakes sprinkling into your hair, dotting your cheeks and nose. You missed this sight back in Cali. You missed your parents, too.

Home cooked meals, old sweaters, your old room and about 40GB worth of old high school pictures on your computer. You went through them all one night. Some were stomach churning, cringe inducing nightmares. You were especially fond of those. Texted some of your friends that were still in Brooklyn, met up, decided to bake. Bad idea, Rae was the resident chef back in Cali. Besides laughing till your stomach hurt, and almost burning down your kitchen, nothing all that significant happened. Somewhere down the line, at about 3 am, half-way through a cheesy rom-com you had the overwhelming urge to text Corpse.

That’s where the problems really started. God, you missed California, missed being in the same timezone with a guy you hadn’t even met yet, how embarrassing is that?! You missed skating around and taking pictures of the beach in the setting sun, sending it to him, silently wishing he was with you to admire the view.

You really want to call him. And to hang out with him. But for some reason, the thought of that springs up immediate anxiety and you shy away from asking. Him sending you cute good morning texts doesn’t help, either. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t know that you’re a blushing, stuttering mess each time you read “baby”.

Late evening. Your stream is already set up, people are slowly trickling in and you greet them with a grin and a soft “Hello! Hi hi!”. You did your best to make your room a perfectly chaotic backdrop - led lights, an embarrassing amount of anime merch and plushies. You always try to balance out your weeb side by dressing hot as fuck for your streams - today’s inspiration just so happens to be egirls. Mostly because you watched one too many egirl make-up tutorials on TikTok, and also because you’ve been listening to Corpse’s song all day.

Yeah, no, who are you kidding, you dressed up this way because you were hoping Corpse was watching your stream. You didn’t forget your cat headphones, either. You know he likes them. You want to make him suffer. Perhaps then, finally, he will ask you out, so you wouldn’t have to.

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“I feel like,” You start when you put away your phone, staring idly at the chat, “I feel like I need a new name for you guys. Calling you guys after two years of streaming is just... weird, no? I also don’t respect men so I don’t want to call you guys. Like, so many creator’s have, like, a name for their fans. Uhm, Cody Ko has the chodesters, Kurtis Conner has, uh, folks? Kurtis Town? Citizens! Markiplier has mommy issues--” You can’t help snorting, “So, I’ve been, like, thinking - I know, shocking! - so I was thinking I’m gonna name you cockroaches. Because you’re grimy little shits impossible to kill. And also then I can use the legendary Minaj meme ROACHES!”

Your stream enthusiastically echoes ROACHES, making the chat swim. Yes, if anyone would enjoy such a name, it would be your audience. You’re as equally proud as you are disturbed.

“Well, anyway.” Leaning back into your chair, you throw your arms out with a bright grin, “Big dick is back in town, baby! If you noticed the backdrops different, it’s cuz I’m in Brooklyn now. Don’t ask me when I will return to Always Sunny, I don’t plan that far ahead.”

While Minecraft boots up, you decide to answer a few questions.

r u dating sykkuno?

You want to smack your head into the keyboard, but as it is, you can’t exactly afford a new one, so you refrain, “No, Sykkuno and I are not dating, we are just good friends. Uhm, I’m not sure how much I’ll have to repeat this, but, we really aren’t, so if the roaches could chill - Oh my God, that sounds so stupid, I love it - uh, yeah, if the roaches could chill that’d be great.”

the roaches lmao sounds like we’re a sports team

“Oh shit, yeah it does, uh-- maybe I can make like, jerseys or something. That’d be cool, I think.”

how disappointed are your parents with the way your life turned out?

“My parents are actually not disappointed at all!” You say with a cute little smile, “Uhm, they’re both really proud, actually. They’re glad I found something I love doing and made a job outta it. Dad finds my Youtube videos endearing. Yes, they watch pretty much all of my videos, unless I explicitly tell them not to. And yeah, with all the fucks and thirsting for anime characters. Uhm, it was very embarrassing at first, but I mean, after a while, shame just...doesn’t exist anymore, I guess? Funny thing about my parents, actually, when they watch my videos-” You eye catches a comment, “Oh! No, they only watch my Youtube videos. They don’t know how to use Twitter, thank God. Uhm, anyway-- when they hear a name they don’t know, like, I dunno, Dabi, or something, they google--” You’re grinning by now, eyes crinkling, giggling softly, “--who that is, and buy me like, merch and stuff. It’s really cute.

can i be adopted by ur parents plz

will you and corpse ever collab?!

You were about to answer, though the man of the hour himself decides to do it for you.

Corpse_Husband: yes.

Okay, not to say your heart skipped a beat, but it totally did. With a pleased smile, you nod, like one of those bobble head toys sold at the dollar store. The motion is oddly reminiscent of Sykkuno’s own nod. Perhaps you had picked it up from him. The chat seems to notice.

pack it up, sykkuno

More questions pile about this mysterious collab you and Corpse are planning. Yeah, you’d like to hear more about it, too, since he single highhandedly decided one was happening right now. Corpse remains silent. Fine, keep your secrets.

“Okay, guys, oh, I mean, roaches, Oh my God--” You’re covering your mouth, giggling, “-calling all roaches, calling all roaches, calm down. Everyone grab a snack and a blanket I’m turning up the music volume so we can all chill. Entering chill zone. Entering chill zone. Roaches, prepare.”

we are prepared

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An hour or so passes and you grow hungry. It shows with the amount of cakes you had baked in your server. Currently, you find yourself throwing eggs at the wall of one of the renovated houses, your face scrunched in concentration and slight frustration. 24 of the 50 eggs have been wasted. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some chicks around here?” you had uttered under your breath, until, finally, a screech - the egg finally spawns a mob. Your mouth falls open, “Aww, look!” You approach it, so small, walking in zigzags beside you, “It’s a baby chicken! Die, bitch.” The baby chicken is no more as you swing your bedazzled (you have mods) diamond sword. You’re cackling by the time the dust settles.

y/n is a child murderer

“Roaches,” You address your fan-base, spurring another fit of laughter - you can’t get over the name, “I think I’m like, forgetting that eating in Minecraft won’t actually make less hungry in real life.”

take a break and go eat queen <3

“Fuck no, we starve and die like men. Now I actually really need another chicken.”

Another twenty minutes trickle by and you’re trying to lure back a panda from the jungle when there’s a knock on your bedroom’s door. Whipping your head to the side, you slide down your headphones. At the same time, your mom pokes her head through the ajar door, “MOM!” You scream, “Get OUT of my room I’m playing Minecraft!” But your yell has no actual bite to it, as you don’t manage to hide your smile. Your mom laughs, doing some sort of sign language and motioning for you to follow her with her head. That or it’s some sort of performative dance.

“I’m live right now,” You tell her, pointing at your screen. She knows this already, though, “do you want to say hi?”

The roaches spam the chat with friendly hellos. You mom, quite impatient now, waves you over.

“Sorry, roaches, mom needs something. Be back in a bit!”

Stopping the stream, you rush out of your seat and pleased she slinks into the hallway. “What’s this about?”

“Your pizza came.”

“My what now?” You echo, confused.

“Domino’s. You ordered pizza?”

“What? No? I was busy with the stream, I never--”

Thankfully, you had managed to grab your phone from your room before you exited. You almost choke on spit once you read the messages.

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You decide that it’ll be impossible to stream after experiencing what you had just experienced. You tweet out a quick apology to the roaches (God, that fucking name) and say that you had a breakdown but you’re okay. That is as a close to the truth as you managed to muster. It’s a sad sight, chewing and crying; your mom winced when she saw your state - disheveled hair and rundown eyeliner and everything. “D’aww,” She had muttered, caressing the top of your head, “don’t cry my little raccoon.”

If anyone was ever to ask you where did your chaotic nature come from, you’d answer with my mom. To make yourself feel better, you took a selfie - duck face and peace sign and the horrible 2000′s angle. Sent it to Rae.

looking hot, her message read.

thanks, was all you replied with.

You couldn’t just leave things as they were. Once you calmed down, you wanted to text Corpse, but how would you follow up the ungodly caps lock and screeching? Impossible. An idea sprung to mind, one that was brave. Taking the first step.

Instead of sending a text, you sent a voice memo.

“Thank you for the pizza, it was delicious.”

You voice still sounded a bit raspy. His reply was instant. Your heart skipped a beat. He sent a voice memo back.

“Glad you liked it, baby.”

He was going to be the death of you.

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tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband imagine #corpse social media au #corpse husband fanfic #social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x y/n #corpse husband fic #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #myso #make you say oh

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bangtae-sohotddaeng · 3 years

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nugatory | p.jm. | drabble

pairing: jimin x reader (ft. taehyung)

rating: m (18+)

genre: smut | angst | college!au

summary: Park Jimin is many things. Park Jimin is a responsible, smart, handsome and musically talented Taekwondo black belt. Park Jimin is Kim Taehyung's best friend. Park Jimin is a good friend. Park Jimin is a compulsive matchmaker. Park Jimin is many things – but he is not the guy you should be sitting in a car with, right now.

warnings: swearing + sexual situations (nudity, semi-public sexual acts in a car, fingering, penetrative sex) + possible allusions to some infidelity if you squint?

word count: 3.2 k

note: y’all. i couldn’t let butter!jimin keep ruining my life without acting out a bit, could i? this one started off as a pwp, but then i ended up combining it with a plot i had in my head for a while, and this turned into more plot and less porn, but. i’m okay with that, tbh. also! i’ve used one my older styles of writing (going back to 2016-ish) with this one. hope you all like it~ 🥺💜

— masterlist

— feedback is always appreciated!

Park Jimin is many things.

He is an astoundingly handsome, cheerful – and yet somehow mysterious – psychology major that you shared Freshman year's communications class with. He is the only rich kid among the majority on campus that doesn't flaunt his wealth to scholarship kids like you. He is kind, helpful, generous – did you mention handsome? – perfectly athletic and perfectly aesthetic.

Park Jimin is a responsible, smart, handsome and musically talented Taekwondo black belt.

He is also someone that gets excited at the prospect of claw machines at fairs. He is also someone that looks at the universe with galaxies in his eyes. He is also someone that doesn’t realize he will always be more exquisite than any art his best friend might ever create.

Park Jimin is Kim Taehyung's best friend.

He is the guy that stood next to Kim Taehyung when Taehyung asked you to the Freshman dance. He is the guy that told you Kim Taehyung has the most gigantic crush on you. He is the guy that set you up on the first of your many dates with Kim Taehyung.

Park Jimin is a good friend.

Park Jimin is a compulsive matchmaker.

Park Jimin is many things – but he is not the guy you should be sitting in a car with, right now.

"You really don't have to worry about me, Jimin," you mumble, eyes flickering all over his face – you always tend to drink him up the best you can, whenever you can. “I know I stupidly called you here, but I was just in shock. I’m okay, now. I’ll be fine.”

"No, I do have to worry." His fingers thread through his hair, your eyes hopelessly follow. "This was stupid and reckless of Tae. I'm sure he'll come back to his senses soon."

You blink. Jimin really has absolutely no grasp of this situation. But he obviously thinks he knows everything, which is making this conversation progressively difficult.

(His muscles bulging beneath his jeans and the t-shirt he wears are a contributing factor in making this conversation difficult, too, you won't lie.)

You breathe out, partly to collect your thoughts, and partly because you've been inhaling too much of his heady cologne and it’s making you think about—

Things.

It's making you think about things. That you should have no business thinking about. Because you and his best friend have been going on dates. The same best friend who is currently, as you speak, on a date with someone else. Alluding to the reason why you have called up Park Jimin to see you in a confused panic, after ten, at night, at your place.

"Taehyung – he, um. He didn't see us going anywhere. We'd been on nine dates, but… He said he didn't think I was actually as into him as he is into me. He didn't want to go on like that."

Jimin’s lips part. His brows hike up. You shrug, forcing your gaze away from the gloss on his lips.

“It’s been that way for a while. We were barely even texting. I think he has concluded that I don’t like him like that.”

Jimin rests his forearm on the steering wheel, almost leaning over the center console to catch your gaze. "Do you?"

His eyes pull you in like always and you're lost, just staring into their depths, as your mind ceases to think up thoughts that don't involve you and him naked and tangled up with each other in—

"Sweetheart?"

Your intake of breath is sharp, short and cold. Your insides are just as warm, turning everything in your head into incomprehensible mush. "Y–y–yeah?"

"Are you into Taehyung the way he is into you?" he whispers, and you follow the shape of his lips as they move. “Because you must know, he’s liked for a whole semester.”

You lick your lips, mindlessly nod, and then reach out with a finger to trace his cupid's bow. He doesn't pull away, he doesn't even flinch. "What do you think?"

His warm breath washes over your fingertip as you press it against his lower lip. His body jolts when your nail rims the plush cushion. "I… think he's my bestest friend in the world and he's basically in love with you…"

You shake your head, and your other hand travels past the console to grip his thigh. Your nails dig in. His breath catches. "He's on a date with someone else, as we're speaking."

"I just—he was so into you, I thought you'd be good for each other."

Past the cloud of, well, something incomprehensible, there is disappointment in Jimin's gaze. And that is how you know he means it. You shouldn't be surprised, really, because Park Jimin always means everything he does, he doesn't have a single conniving bone in his body, but you still are. Part of you has hoped against hope that he set you up with Taehyung to get closer to you, himself. Which – sounds like a really flawed plan and doesn't really make much sense, now that you think about it.

But you still hoped.

Now—

Now, though. Now you know otherwise.

"How can I be good for someone else when I have never even been good for me?" you don't know why you confessed to that, but the words just tumble out of you and you let them. "I'm a mess, Jimin," you whisper, accentuating your point by massaging his lower lip by your index finger. "I destroy people, and I nearly destroy myself in the process. I am an emotional and psychological train wreck. He's better off without me. Anybody would be better off without me."

Jimin grips your hand on his thigh with his own. “Not anybody,” he murmurs, and through his furrowed brows and muddled eyes, you catch an emotion you have been well acquainted with for years, now.

Longing.

Your heartbeat picks up as Jimin massages small circles on the back of your hand. You remove your other hand from his face.

“Yes, Jimin, anybody,” you say with conviction, even as you desperately hope for him to offer himself up as an alternative. “Everything is a wreck inside of my head. I can’t do relationships, I can’t even date someone without messing up.”

His pupils expand and his tongue flicks at his lower lip. His hand tightens in a grip on your other hand. His gorgeously bleached hair curl over the side of his head. "You don’t have to date, then.”

You scoff. “Taehyung would never go for—”

“I’m not talking about Taehyung,” Jimin’s voice comes out three octaves lower. “And you’re not talking about just anybody.”

You nearly stop breathing as he brings his free hand to your face, pushes a tendril of your hair behind your ear and traces a knuckle down the side of your face, your jaw, to hold your chin.

“You say you’re not good for you. Can you try to be good for me, then?" He pulls your face closer to his. “Would you let me save you from destroying yourself? Let me try to take care of the wreckage, hmm?”

Your body spasms when he reaches for the hand you’d retracted, pecks your finger before pulling it into his mouth. His tongue swirls, his teeth scrape and his eyes roll back as he sucks. He lets go with a pop.

Boy, would you let him take care of whatever he wants.

"Can you, sweetheart? Can you be good for me?" He sounds like he’s at the brink of something, just teetering on the edge, waiting for you to flick a finger before he free-falls.

Well. You’ve been teetering for years now.

"I want to be.” You don’t sound like yourself when you speak.

And you don't sound like yourself when he pulls you on top of him. You don’t sound like yourself when your back hits the wheel, your thighs cage his, your hands instinctively twirl in his hair, and –

Your core presses up against his length.

He's hard and straining against his tighter than sin jeans. You claw at his t-shirt. He takes it off in a swift, smooth motion — agile and rhythmic in everything he does.

You don’t feel like yourself when your eyes feast him. Because how could you ever get this lucky? How could you ever get to feel Park Jimin’s shirtless self beneath you? You had long since succumbed to your destiny of perishing in pining.

And yet, here you are.

You lean back to marvel at his toned, chiseled angles, you let your fingers smooth over every groove and crevice and line of sinew muscle you can reach. You trace his tight abdomen, nails scraping at the last of his eight-pack before veering towards his toned v-line. You shiver at the dark promises it leads to, looking up to meet his eye. And you shiver more when his feral gaze catches you.

Then he pulls you into a kiss and you're lost.

He tastes like stale coffee and breath mints and bad decisions –

He tastes delicious.

His tongue plunders your mouth, teeth bite into your lips—he pulls, pushes, drinks up, feasts. You throw your all into the kiss, meeting him in the middle with your tongue swirling with his, teeth latching on to suck at it. He groans into your mouth – all loud, and guttural and manly. And then he stops. Pulls away.

His wholly black eyes dig into yours. His lips are wet, swollen and bitten. You did that.

"You have to at least talk to him—"

"I have another important business to tend to, currently."

You grind against him and make your point. He bites down on his lip. His arms snake around your waist to cage you against him, he pulls you down on him.

You don't recognize yourself when you moan.

Your shirt is off, your shorts are pulled down and your panties are pushed to a side—

"You can never tell him." Park Jimin glides two fingers over your wetness, making a bigger mess of you. "Never."

You don't intend to, because what you do with Park Jimin in your apartment's parking lot at eleven pm on a Saturday night is nobody's business but yours.

His fingers part your entrance and slide in you abruptly, and you see stars. Your head tilts back on a long, drawn out moan, Jimin’s fingers picking up pace inside you. You rock on his hand, you claw at his arm, you desperately latch onto his shoulders and rest your forehead against his to ground yourself. He watches you with his half shuttered eyes threatening to eat you up whole.

His lips press into yours, tongue swiping through your mouth, curling up behind your teeth – it's messy, it's sloppy, it's the most arousing kiss of your life.

His lips drag down the column of your neck, tongue licking at the sweat droplets quickly gathering above your collarbones, his fingers curl inside you, his teeth latch onto your shoulder.

You explode under his thumb's press against your clit and sob into his neck when he drags its nail over the sensitive bud. “Jimin, Jimin, too much~ ah!”

He presses some buttons in his fancy car and his seat inclines. He pulls you to the backseat with him. “You okay?” he breathes on your face, hovering inches above you.

“Never been better,” you truthfully breathe back, heart coiling in your chest at the radiant grin he rewards you with in response.

A blast of hot air hits your forehead, your thighs and your shins. You jump, realizing he has turned some sort of hot air blower on. “For privacy,” he says, gesturing to the rapidly fogging windows, and then flicks a switch to make the air stop.

You both gaze at each other. Your eyes flicker all over his face to save every last bit of it to memory. You self-consciously swallow when you see him do the same. “Jimin…”

He leans down to sponge a kiss to your sternum, and then your hips buck into his as his tongue licks a path on the wells of your breasts peeking above your bra. A breathless moan leaves you when he scrapes his teeth over your cloth covered nipple.

You both pause for a moment, wide eyes locking in surprise.

And then you’re ravenous.

He strips you bare when you tug at his belt, and you rush to return the favor. You struggle with getting his boxers past his plump ass as he grips onto your flesh, peppering bites down your hips, squeezes your boobs, licks at your nipples—

You grip him, warm and heavy, and glide your thumb over the leaking tip. His head falls into your nape, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. “Jimin, ple~ase,” you moan.

He plucks out a golden foil from his wallet, meeting your eyes as he tears the packet and rolls the condom onto himself.

Your hands are pinned next to your head in a flash, his tongue teases your pulse point, teeth toy with your earlobe, and you writhe in want under him, eyes watering at the sweet torture.

And then he fills you up with a single thrust.

You freeze on a gasp.

His hair hangs over his eyes, irises lost to the lust storming in his pupils, his mouth gapes open, his chest is heaving.

“You good?” His voice is deeper than the ocean.

You've never been more turned on in your life.

He hisses at your frantic nod. “Words.”

“Yes. Yes, oh my God, Jimin, move—”

He thrusts into you at an unforgiving pace. Your whole world literally tilts off its axis as he meets that spot inside of you, and your body wrings beneath him, twisting up to hold onto some buoy to ground you, but he is unrelenting even as you grip at his neck — his teeth encase his lower lip, brows furrow and eyelids flutter as he drives deep into you.

You groan at the sight, moving your hips to meet him. You rock with him, never catching your breath, and your nails just dig dig dig into his meaty back, drawing patterns all over the smooth, delicious surface.

Your release closes in on you, and you chase it with your mouth clamping onto Jimin’s neck, your eyes screwed shut as you groan into his skin, until—

He draws back, standing on his knees above you like goddamn Adonis in this goddamn huge SUV of his, and the sight of sweat droplets trailing down his neck, framing his pecs and racing down his tight abs has your whine of protest dying in your throat as you gawk. His lips are parted as he breathes, a couple of sweat soaked hair strands sticking to his brow, and his eyes —

Oh God, his eyes have an animalistic gleam in them as he hooks his arms beneath your knees, and drags your hips to him.

You cry out when he enters you at this angle, every thrust pushing at what feels like your cervix, and the pleasure is so blinding it's almost painful. One of his hands maneuvers to your center, a finger rubbing at your clit, and you yelp out a distorted version of his name, completely unwarned when waves over waves of hot, sweet, toe curling climax crash into you.

Jimin chases you into completion, his broken moan of your name filtering to you through the post-orgasmic buzzing in your head. His lips connect with yours as he relaxes your legs. You both pant into each other's mouth after two, lethargic, sticky kisses.

Your sweaty bodies make a disgusting sound when you detach, and both of you scowl together, laughing when you catch each other’s expressions. You sit up on jelly legs, barely able to sit on your ass when your sensitive center protests.

You both dress up in silence, although you don’t feel it to be awkward in the least.

You’re still mulling over how to frame in words what you have felt for him for nearly three years, how to tell him and even what to tell him when you’re such a relationship-phobe, when Jimin releases a long sigh.

You look up in surprise. That was not a contented sound. It was one of… was it defeat?

Jimin looks at you with a serious face.

Your heart plummets.

One of the many things that make up Park Jimin is also his brutal morality. And right now, you can see it in his face that he thinks he’s done something wrong. Your shoulders hunch up in subconscious defense — you will not say a word, you decide.

“Taehyung is my best friend in this entire world,” he begins, stomping firmly on any remaining embers of hope left in your chest. “He can never, ever, ever know this happened, okay?”

You give a numb nod.

“I’m sure he’ll come back around and try to talk to you again. If that happens, don’t feel like you owe me anything, okay?”

You look up to find Jimin’s eyes searching your face. He looks so soft and grave and sad, that it hurts to look at him. You look down and nod again.

“I — I feel like you two will happen, you know, when the time is finally right.” His words sound stiff. Practiced, even. “Don’t let this come in the way of that.”

Even though you decided you wouldn’t say anything, your mouth is nearly bubbling with too much to say, at this point. You take a deep breath. “And what if he doesn’t come back. What then, Jimin?”

Jimin looks at you with wide, clueless eyes. “He…will. At some point.”

“And what about until he comes back? Am I expected to wait around?”

Something crumples in his expressions. “No, of course not. You can do whatever you want. Even after he comes back, you don’t owe anybody anything.”

“Whatever I want, you say?” you ask him quietly, your heart thudding in your throat.

Jimin swallows, obviously catching on. “I mean…I guess?”

“You guess?”

He licks his lips and his gaze zeroes in on yours. “Whatever you want, yes. Certainly.”

“Great.” You take his acquiescence for what it is, and grab his wrist. “Okay, then. Until he comes back, right?”

Jimin nods, haltingly, gaze switching between your hand and your eyes. “Right.”

You feign a smile you don’t actually feel because something about this doesn’t sit right with you. This boy, you realize, deserves a lot more than being someone’s dirty little secret. He is Park Jimin, after all, a guy that is so many things that you could never run out of listing them and—

Park Jimin is a gorgeous celestial metaphor in himself.

Because he may look at the universe with galaxies in his eyes, but he is your only galaxy, and all your stars shine at you through him when he smiles.

Park Jimin is many things — but he is not the guy you want to just casually fuck.

But your pathetic self would take anything he would allow.

And so you pull his hand and stumble out of his SUV, sharing shy glances with him as you pull him with you up the stairs, all the way to your dorms.

Park Jimin is many things—

To you.

nugatory (adj.) – worth nothing or of little value.

#bangtanarmynet #thebtstown #ksmutclub #clubjimin #bts smut #jimin smut #bts angst #jimin angst #bts jimin #park jimin #bts imagine #jimin imagine #*mine #f: nugatory

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themirokai · 3 years

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POI 02x10: Shadow Box

Buckle up my beloved buttercups. This one was A Ride and I have a lot to say. Let’s get to it.

1. I’ve seen so many GIFs and stills of this scene that encountering it in the wild so to speak is totally thrilling.

GIF by @deelylah-sedai Original

And I’m sure everyone and their brother has made this observation but “It’s your turn to dry him” means that this is something they do together with some frequency!! I just love that hint that they have an entire domestic life that we don’t see. So much room for fan fic.

Also “he’s your dog, Mr. Reese,” sounds a lot like me describing our kid to The Husband as “your daughter” when she’s being particularly stubborn.

GIF by @gallifreyan-detective Original

Which, a) 😍🥰☺️ but b) I literally wrote in my notes* “something bad is going to happen”.

Me, to John:

Never admit you’re happy when you’re the protagonist of a TV show!

* Yes I take notes, these posts take effort, shuddup.

Carter: Do you listen to all of my conversations?

Reese: More or less. You’re looking nice, Carter. Maybe this Cal Beecher would be good for you too. So long as he treats you right. He messes with you he’ll be hearing from me.

Carter: Okay, alright, look. We’re going to have to set some boundaries here.

Reese: Well, sure. Things get heavy with you and Cal, we’ll tune out right away.

There is, of course, the fantastic sibling energy here. But I am loving the implication that John and Harold listen to Carter together. Like instead of having the tv or music playing while they’re eating dinner together, they just have Carter’s wiretap on in the background. (See also point 1 about off camera domesticity.)

The whole act of the show that starts after Harold leaves the “charity.” (Yeah we’re counting this all together to keep the post to 5 things)

- John asks Harold what the armed guys talking to Chapple look like.

Harold: Like you, to be honest - low key and vaguely menacing.

A+ description of John.

- Excellent commentary and screenshots here.

But I would like to call out some of my favorite lines from this as well…

- John, on hearing that Harold intends to break into a shady charity at night, alone: When I said you needed to get out more I didn’t mean that. Let me take care of it.

And the next time John tries to ask Harold on a date he is going to make it crystal clear that he means Harold should get out with him to a nice restaurant or a baseball game!

- John: Finch get out now. I’m on my way to you, please just walk away now Finch.

“Please”. He is pleading with Harold to get safety!

- Look at the total fear on this man’s face! He has lost Harold once to Root and he is TERRIFIED of it happening again.

GIF by @benedictinlove Original

- Shayne: If you hurt her you’ll be sorry.

John: Same goes for you and my friend.

Shayne, you are speaking with John Reese who will go completely fucking feral if you harm one hair on Harold’s head.

- So listen, Shayne and Abby hugged and kissed when they were reunited and the camera was on them for a minute. All I’m saying is that we don’t know what John and Harold were doing in that minute. Maybe John crushed Harold in a hug? Maybe Harold touched John’s face and assured him that he was really alright? Maybe they kissed? As far as I’m concerned canon is as silent on the matter as it is on their dog washing history.

GIF by @gifsontherun Original

John’s look at Harold in that last GIF is one part “Don’t you dare do anything dangerous ever again” and one part “Harold likes a motorcycle. I have a motorcycle.”

GIF by @cocoabuffster Original

Just beat me about the head with a spoon. I have nothing to say. I am dead now. I have perished. Tell my child I love her.

MUSICAL NOTES (a new feature of this series inspired by a wonderful Anon!)

Man, has there ever been a more raw, visceral “we are fucked” song than “Gimme Shelter”?

Also, everyone needs to watch the documentary 20 Feet From Stardom in which Merry Clayton talks about being pulled out of bed in the middle of the night while pregnant to sing “Rape! Murder!” and then giving one of the most iconic vocal performances in the history of rock n roll.

Side note: I stg there was a scene in which Harold is wearing a waistcoat with a really subtle leopard print silk backing. It’s not the dog washing scene. I cannot for the life of me find a picture of it. If anyone can find me photographic evidence of this magnificence you will have my undying gratitude and … I don’t know … some fandom-related boon TBD.

#miro does poi #person of interest #long post #shadow box #irrelevants #rinch #can anyone tell me how to caption my gifs the right way using the mobile app?

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johnconstantinesdick · 3 years

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Okay *cracks knuckles, accidentally dislocates fingers* @agentscamander-romanoff and @steel-phoenix took the bait and enabled me by asking me to elaborate on my Children of the Watch origins theory. Which means I am about to go ABSOLUTELY feral.

Apologies to anyone for having incorrect Star Wars lore, I’ve barely consumed canon content and I don’t intend to start now. Also sorry if anyone has already said this! I’ve never seen this particular theory/interpretation and it’s made me go a bit insane.

Warnings: discussion of child abuse, cults, and the aftermath of genocide. I don’t go super in depth on any of it but it’s there. Also, I typed this in the notes app of my phone and autocorrect hasn’t quite submitted to some of these names.

SO. I’m going to break this up into sections. 1. Exploring canon 2. Extrapolations/Connecting the red string 3. What does this MEAN??? 4. Complaining about Bo-Katan.

First off, though, here’s my thesis: Children of the Watch is a “splinter group” made up of the children that Death Watch stole, indoctrinated, and abused. They’re also not a cult (Death Watch is though lmao).

1. Exploring Canon:

Okay, so. Canonically, Death Watch has abducted, tortured, and brainwashed children. Arla Fett is an example of that, having been abducted at the age of 14 after her parents were killed and she was subsequently brainwashed into becoming an assassin for Death Watch. She didn’t even hesitate when she found out her brother was alive! That’s how strong the conditioning was! She was so fucked up from it that she spent YEARS in a mental facility, and she outright begged a Jedi to wipe her memories in exchange for a favor. DEATH WATCH DID THAT. And you CANNOT tell me she was the only one they’ve done this to. PLENTY of fic writers have extrapolated off of this and mentioned it, but it’s important to me that everyone know this shit is absolutely rooted in canon.

Another Death Watch Child Abuse Fun Fact: Dred Priest and Isabet Reau, two of the trainers of the clones, canonically had Death Watch leanings and tried to instill Death Watch beliefs in the clones by FORCING THEM TO FIGHT EACH OTHER IN SECRET BATTLE CIRCLES THAT ENDED UP KILLING SOME OF THE CLONES. THEY WERE CHILDREN AT THE TIME, IF IT WASN’T CLEAR. WHAT THE FUCK. If THAT’S not an example of Death Watch abusing the kids under their care then I don’t know what is. It’s suuper not a stretch for me to think that this wasn’t an unheard of thing in more official Death Watch circles.

Also canonically, Bo-Katan has referred to Din’s covert as “Children of the Watch”, and Din, despite obviously being an important and respected member of his community, doesn’t recognize the name, which implies to me that it’s not a name the covert chose for themselves. Rather, a moniker that was given to them after they splintered off of Death Watch. Since this isn’t an opinion and it’s more just… information, I’ll trust Bo-Katan on this one.

We also know for sure that Din’s covert IS connected to Death Watch in some way, seeing as the flashback sequence very clearly shows Mandalorians in blue and gray beskar’gam, the colors of Death Watch. HOWEVER… the Armorer, who seems to hold a high position of authority in the covert, wears gold and copper beskar’gam. Din wears unpainted (v2) or mismatched colored (v1) beskar’gam (I do grant that his paint color counts less towards this because he’s pretty much one of the only people interacting with the outside world and so colors associated with Death Watch are probably a no go no matter what). Paz Vizsla’s armor is a very dark blue with yellow and cyan details and, oh my fucking god I didn’t even know this but he has a fucking MYTHOSAUR SYMBOL ON ONE OF HIS PAULDRONS. THE FUCK???? THAT’S LITERALLY THE SYMBOL OF THE TRUE MANDALORIANS IM. Ok. Okay. I needed a minute. Like I KNOW that the mythosaur skull is Mandalorian symbol in general but I think it just hits different when a Vizsla is wearing it, you know? Especially because the placement is the same as Jaster Mereel’s???? Literal founder of the True Mandalorian movement????? Excuse me???????

Let’s uh. Let’s get back to armor. I can address that… later. So. Anyway. Armor is super important, and it’s uhhh very telling that the covert doesn’t emulate the Death Watch colorscheme strictly. Like, yeah, there’s gray and light blue in there, if you go through some wiki pages, but they’re not the only colors they use, and the Armorer doesn’t even have either of those colors! And she’s the biggest authority we’ve seen! Very fucking interesting!! Bo-Katan still has her armor painted in Death Watch colors! And yet she’s derisive of Din’s covert! Verrry interesting!

We also know that Din’s covert emphasizes children VERY much, more than Death Watch ever would have, imo. It’s expected for the adult members to provide for the foundlings (and it’s VERY interesting that the kids are seemingly all referred to as foundlings iirc. More on that later.), and even though Paz disagrees with Din working with the empire, he and the other members of the covert immediately and with no hesitation come to Din’s aid for this child that Din hasn’t even claimed as his own—it’s amazing! And I will note that Bo-Katan and her warriors do the same upon their initial meeting with Din—Koska dives into danger with no hesitation as soon as Din says the child is still in danger. We see that this solidarity does come at a price for Bo-Katan, though, while the Armorer sees protecting a foundling as a duty that is completely worth all the trouble it brought.

Fascinating also that Boba was 100% on board to help out Din to save Grogu past what Din or anyone else would have expected of him, while Bo-Katan had to be bribed into coming by the promise of Moff Gideon and the darksaber. And she thinks she’s somehow more Mandalorian than him.

And NOW, going way back in time to the beginnings of the True Mandalorian movement, we know that Jaster Mereel originally authored his Supercommando Codex by looking back through history to the Canons of Honor and the Resol’nare, and he took those ideals and ideas and he modernized them to create a set of moral guidelines to follow. And people loved that shit! Death Watch had to infiltrate the True Mandalorians and then trick the Jedi into slaughtering them just to get rid of them, because Jaster’s charisma and his sexy sexy morals were too strong. (God. I fucking LOVE Jaster Mereel if you couldn’t tell.) Anyway, there’s precedent for Mandalorians looking back to their history to bring forth old ideas, repurposed to a modern context. We also know that, canonically, Din’s covert follow the “old ways” of not sharing names and of never taking their helmets off in front of others.

Moving on.

2. Extrapolations/Connecting the red string:

So if we extrapolate from the fact that Death Watch are, uh, super fucking abusive towards the kids that they stole/their own kids, then we’re left with… this group of kids, who have been mistreated and indoctrinated for a LONG TIME, and possibly don’t have that great an understanding of non-toxic Mandalorian culture. And if they’ve been abducted or rescued, whatever, they might not fit back in with the places they were taken from, or they may not have a place to go back to, or they may not even remember where they’re from originally. It’s some prime angst material! Good stuff.

And if we pull the implication from the names that “Children of the Watch” is a splinter group off of Death Watch, it really does make you think… huh, you know what? These two things may be one in the same. Maybe.

And, like, we know that Jaster Mereel and Din’s covert both looked to Mandalorian history to find pillars for their community’s morals. Jaster did so in the middle of a lot of political turmoil, as a way to say “Hey, we can still be Mandalorians in the ways that matter, but being Mandalorian doesn’t mean being a morally bankrupt conqueror. We can have honor and still wear armor and fight and uphold the Resol’nare.”

And I think Din’s covert did so when they were struggling with unlearning the toxic ideals that had been shoved onto them by Death Watch. I think they had to figure out their own way of being Mandalorian or else they would have crumpled under the pressure. And so they looked back to the old ways and picked out the more extreme interpretation of Cin Vhetin (clean slate) which says that, once you swear the Resol’nare and become a Mandalorian, your past doesn’t matter, it’s what you do now that does. You don’t take off your helmet, and you don’t let others know your name, because those things don’t matter to who you are and what you do. (There’s also the issue of the helmet and name rule being an important defense tactic to protect the covert, seeing as how Mandalorians post-Empire are the survivors of genocide. There’s already a fantastic post on it here)

Related, another Mandalorian saying is “Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la.”, meaning “Nobody cares who your parent was, only the parent you’ll be,” which IMO fits in very nicely with how I’m interpreting Din’s covert. It’s all about your actions and future mattering more than your past. I think that when the covert was splitting off and being built, this would be a huge component of them healing. Because the way they were treated and indoctrinated by Death Watch doesn’t have to affect their future actions. They don’t have to perpetuate the cycle of abuse, they can build a covert and a community around caring for foundlings.

Now, onto the foundlings! I find it very interesting that, whenever the covert’s younglings are mentioned, it’s always as foundlings. I think this implies that there’s a focus on saving and raising children more than there is on sharing blood with them, and I think that the covert would be more inclined towards communal raising than typical family units, if only to keep everyone in check and to protect the children from ever being treated as they were. I also find it VERY interesting that there’s a lot of emphasis put on returning children to their own kind. I don’t think Death Watch would have employed that practice, and I think that’s another example of the covert wanting to make their community a better place for children. I think it’s likely a lot of them didn’t get that choice, and they had to leave their cultures and people behind. And so they want to give that choice to their children.

I think it’s also amazing that, like. They keep finding and raising children instead of deciding they’re too damaged or whatever to have kids. Because it doesn’t matter if they have baggage or trauma when a child needs them. That’s FANTASTIC. I’m losing my MIND. It really doesn’t matter who their parents were to them, just the kind of parents they will be. It’s all about breaking that cycle and deciding to be better and I LOVE THAT.

3. What does this MEAN???:

Well. What this means is that Din’s covert has a very clear set of motivations and structure when it comes to how their covert is run. It’s not a cult; in fact it is specifically a group created by cult survivors who are determined to not do to others what was done to them. The rules may seem weird and strict at first glance, but they have a clear purpose and rationale, and no one is trying to amass power. They’re just… trying to do better, and be better.

(This also means that I’m 99% sure that, with the assistance of time travel, at least half of the covert would be SUPER INTO Jaster Mereel. I like to imagine that Paz had, like, a poster of him on his little sewer bedroom wall. I fully believe he painted that mythosaur skull on his pauldron in honor of a good man who was killed by Paz’s own relatives for standing by his morals and daring to try to reform and rally Mandalorians. I also think it would be funny if, like, Din doesn’t know shit about ANYTHING to do with modern history, but Boba mentions that his grandfather is Jaster Mereel and Din is like “OH I KNOW THAT GUY! Yeah he’s cool, he’s the historical crush of like, my entire covert.” And Boba is like. What.)

It also means that it can be up in the air about whether Din was found by Death Watch before his covert splintered off, or if his covert was still just wearing Death Watch colors when he was found. Fun thing to play around with, but right now I don’t want a solid timeline.

Hmm just thought I should add: while the Armorer does seem to have a position of authority, I don’t think the covert can be structured politically with clans and houses like other Mandalorian groups. Like, clan just means family in this context, and is less a part of hierarchy, and I don’t think they would even recognize houses within the covert? Like they MIGHT decide to call themselves part of House Djarin now that Din is Mand’alor, but before that they weren’t like. House Vizsla with Paz as the leader just because they used to be Death Watch. I don’t vibe with that. This isn’t really super relevant, I just wanted to add it.

4. Complaining about Bo-Katan:

Anyway Bo-Katan is absolutely full of shit and it’s doubly disgusting that she’s standing there in Death Watch armor, seemingly still allied to this fucking cult of imperialism and conquest, and she accuses Din of being in a regressive cult, and she implies that the way he engages with the Resol’nare is wrong and like. Repressed or something. God I hate Bo-Katan. But I love to hate her. She’s horrible but I want her to be included in the list of Din’s friends but not the list of people he’d trust his kid with. I have contradictory Bo-Katan feelings, whatever. The most important thing is that all of her opinions are horrible, like, all the time. And we shouldn’t trust her when she says Din’s part of a cult. Literally why does anyone take that at face value. If we’re taking her word as the authority on Mandalorian issues then I guess Boba and Jango aren’t Mandalorian!!! Seriously.

TLDR; Din’s covert (aka “Children of the Watch”) is made up of survivors of childhood abuse, torture, and brainwashing at the hands of Death Watch, and they’re dedicated to making sure their children don’t go through the same thing. They’re not a cult, but Death Watch sure was! Jaster Mereel is the love of my very aromantic life and Bo-Katan’s opinions can’t be trusted. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

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cargopantsman · 3 years

Text

Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

Trigger warnings: All of them, because I am lazy. Also none of this is sensical.

Utter, hyper-caffeinated brain noise.

The problem with the concept of a "sense of self" is it already tries to concretize an amorphous abstract. It makes us want to point at some thing and say "Well... that's me." Whether it is a set of ideals that we try to live by, a set of activities that brings us a sense of joy or fulfillment, or, gods forbid, and entirely different and other person that "completes us."

I've always had an affinity for trickster figures and shapeshifters. The wearers of masks, the truthful liars, the artisans of duality, yada, yada. Since I was a child my first instinct has always been to blend in. If into the background, great, but if need be, if I needed to blend into the social fabric around me, I could do that too. To throw this into the high school backdrop; I wasn't a social butterfly, I was shy as could be, but I got along with the jocks, the goths, the nerds, the art freaks, the band kids, the preps, the whatever. Where ever I was I could fake that I belonged there. I was comfortable drifting in between worlds. (Looking back, I could have caused a lot more chaos with the information I was privy to at the time...[Oh, there's a constant point. I'm good at keeping secrets, keeping confidence. I'll lie my ass off to keep a secret.]) Does any of that really help drive a sense of self though? When your natural instinct is to mirror, to blend, to fade? When your point of pride is walking into a room unnoticed and, even better, leaving a party unseen? Does being a ghost count as an identity?

"Expression of Will" comes to mind... what does that mean? Ok, so some abstract thing is inside of you and you manifest it objectly outwardly. I was an artist. I made images in my head and "kind of" manifest them on paper. Some times people see that paper... I was a writer... images in my head "became" words and some people saw that. I combined them into comics. Some people Saw that. Is that a lasting affect? Maybe the fights I've been into?! That time in 2nd grade someone was picking on a friend and I laid them out... the time in 8th grade someone was picking on me and clocked them down. Or in high school when someone decided to start some rumors and I held them up by their throat in the air until they turned blue? That was an inward thing that manifested outwardly. Nevermind good or bad, but was any of that... me?

Hmm. The beast. The primal... come back to that later.

"Expression of Will," "Expression of Will," "Expression of Will" ... What the fuck even is "Will"? Is this why philosophers get their heads so far up their ass? Is it a desire? The will to live.... living requires eating and the amount of times I forget to even do that... Maybe been looking at the phrase all wrong...

Will to Live (noun) It isn't a thing.

Will (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Why does that sound better?

Desire to Live (noun)

Desire (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Okay, that feels better even, but still... Sense of self, will, desire, expressions thereof. Are these just the aimless desires and wills? The fleeting flights of frivolous fancies festering forlornly in frontal cortices?

The self with the will can direct the desires towards living. "Get in the fucking robot Shinji!" "I don't wanna"

The (ghost) with the (strength) can direct the (impulses) towards (being). Getting too close to a concept of a soul on that one huh?

Forget self. It's a useless moniker right now. There is no self. It's just this mind alone for the first time in its entire life. (Not alone alone, there are friends, but they've learned more about me in the past two weeks than the past 6 years so...) "What did they learn?" asked the projection of self that defines itself by interactions with other.

I thought we were forgetting self.... not an option really. Sentience is a bitch like that. But they've learned I'll put up with a lot of bullshit under the guise of strength and integrity when I should've callously called this whole thing ages ago. That I can shut myself down completely in the interest of bodily-self preservation. (Not Self-self preservation, fuck the English language). What did I sacrifice? What did I shut down?

Everything.

That is less than helpful.

The Beast. Vince. Your Shadow.

My Shadow...

What do you desire?

Blood in the cut, tears in their eyes, power over someone that wants that power over them...

Do you want that? I don't want it, I just need it. No... I want it.

Is that all you are? A sadist? An animal?

Maybe... probably not though. A caretaker, and a sparring partner. A trickster and a shapeshifter. A crafter whose tools are destruction.

Next problem, grandeur. Mythologizing everything. But how to see a thing if you don't blow it up/magnify it?

You lack a sense of self because no one ever tested your sense of self. No one actually fought you for who you are. To find out who you are. The ex didn't. An old friend did until she got scared by what she found there.

You don't want to be yourself because it's not nice is it? You were raised to be nice.

College. I controlled the group. Never hit anyone after high school aside from set matches in classes or sparring for funsies. They all saw my eyes and stopped if they were getting out of hand.

The Dom-Friend.

Don't use the d-word on me.

Destroyer? Yeah, that one's fine. That one fits. He says as he carelessly tosses lit matches around his entire life. Can we bring up the phoenix or is that too grandiose? Why shouldn't it be grandiose? We spend every day of our lives going through the same kind of tedious bullshit all the time why not make our inner lives a bit bigger, a bit richer?

A bit darker.

Why do you want them to bleed? Hurt and comfort. That's a big theme, a trope if you will. Why not have both at the same? Why not let her think that I'm about to kill her but let her rest in the trust that I won't? Why not let me think that I'm about to break her while believing she is the most precious thing in the world?

Caretaker. A caretaker kills all the time. Tearing out weeds, uprooting the prized plant to move it to a better place for its growth.

Growth.

The self isn't going to be found just in ones self... not in another either. No, the self has to be found in everything. The things one wants to run to and run from. The soul (oops) is formed by what it crashes into right? The mind recoils from traumas races towards panaceas, why not, if one can, flip the polarity on the two. Bring the darkness screaming into the light so you can see it, bring the light quivering into the darkness so it can loose its terrifying brillance. Balance in all things right?

You're not a very positive person, they say. No... I'm not. It lashes out in bad ways sometimes, sure. Control, control, you must learn control. But being negative isn't bad. Not if you can grow from it. No plant can survive the sun for 24 hours. Trees sleep in the winter. We sleep, we heal, we grow.

Self-Destruction!! That's a fun one... seven fucking months downing a bottle of whisky a night. Whooo boy. Do Not Recommend.

Got a nice stay in the underworld though and trudged up a lot of shit. Now I'm sitting here with my ears ringing because I finally hit the personal limit on Monsters and my brain is overclocked enough I can finally see shit at 4 angles at the same time. I am a god damned quantum supercomputer of emotions right now.

Faith and faithlessness are the same thing. Have faith, trust the future, don't expect anything, don't plan your now for your future. Sounds sadly like live in the moment type bullshit, but life is weird and people are complex. Shifting drifting clueless animals that want to be safe but don't want to get stuck in anothers arms even when there is one whose arms are so safe.

The damage runs deep... and two people with damage running that deep. Hmm. How much healing can falling do? The other just puts a bandage over a puncture wound and both try to ignore it, but then the blood gets pumping, the heart pounds and poisons surge to the surface. It's neither one's fault really. Life is a trial of knives and we don't always have time or concern to tend the wounds properly. There's always something else that needs to be taken care of first.

Divorce is a helluva drug. It is maddening, the freedom to finally to be yourself is line having the lineart stripped off, there is a terrifying infinity in front of you and the only thing to do for awhile is melt. Let the slings and arrows just pierce and sink in. Anyone else tries to push the sludge of you into a shape might get hurt when they find the arrows. I want to go absolutely feral in a way. In a way the whole COVID mess is keeping me under lock and key so I'm just prowling around the empty house like I always have been, but now there's some sense... of purpose.

I'm raging against any depression, the executive dysfunction is going to have a talking to. The sense of self is going to be found in stripping this house down to bare walls and making a blank canvas. Bring everything down, ruin it all, start again.

My self is emptiness, it always has been. I can be anything, but I should be wary of ever wanting to be something. (My career options are AWESOME). But this is a different emptiness than before. Before I pulled the trigger and splattered the brains of the marriage across the floor I was just a void, and inky black pit of nothingness. Somehow, having the Shadow rise up and finally start getting along with the rest of me, the emptiness isn't.... void. It's just nascent possibility and that shouldn't scare me.

It does, of course, terrify me. First time in 40 years being legitimately alone is terrifying, should have done this kinda thing when I was 20, but... I was an idiot back then (60 year old me laughs from the future). But I think I can get a grip on the concept that "I" don't exist, but I'm real... ever changing ever dynamic, not who I was while I was married, but a mix of the me before, a angry beast now, and something yet unseen in the future.

#personal bs #vince rising #dan falling #don't try this at home kids

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hopeamarsu · 4 years

Text

Hurt

Flip Zimmerman x female reader

Word count 1,538

Warnings: Mention of hospital, stitches, needles and bodily injury (nothing is really described in detail, but they are there). Slightly murderous and feral Flip.

A/N: So, I had to have some minor cosmetic surgery last week because of an irregular mole and currently have some annoying stitches on my body. I guess you could say that this piece is inspired by those four little buggers and the process of waiting for the day when they come out. When I started rolling this idea in my head, I could only picture Flip, so I’m dipping my toe into writing Flip, hopefully it’ll turn out alright.

“Colorado Springs Police Department, Zimmerman.”

“Flip... Please do not freak out, but...”

Flip Zimmerman sat up in rapt attention on his desk chair as he registered your timid voice. A voice that was laced with a hint of hurt and something else he couldn’t quite place. You normally didn’t call him during the day, both of you had busy jobs and he knew that as a school teacher you had even less time than him to take a break during the day. If you were calling him, something had to have gone wrong.

“Baby girl, what happened?”

“...I’m in the hospital.”

A million things went across his mind as he waited for you to speak, to explain more, to ease his mind. Had something happened at work? Were you hurt? Was someone else hurt? One of the kids you taught? Did someone touch you without permission? Who he had to hunt down if they had hurt you?

“It’s really not a big deal, just four stitches and that’s only because the doctor doesn’t want it to scar...”

All of his blood rushed in his ears as he reached behind him to grab his jacket from the backrest. You were hurt, bad enough that a doctor had decided to poke needles at you and you were saying it wasn’t a big thing? No, no way in hell.

“Y/N. What. Hospital.” Flip basically barked out, the receiver giving out a crackle, in danger of snapping in two, as he held it so tightly in his hand. He could feel Ron and Jimmy turning to watch him in surprise at his tone and words, but he couldn’t care less in the moment.

“St. Agnes, near the school. But, Flip, honey, it’s not a big...”

“Do not move. I’m coming to get you.”

The receiver went flying as large cowboy boots stormed across the room, taking the phone with it. Ron, sitting closest to Flip’s station, could hear the faint voice calling for Flip from the phone as he looked at the retreating flannel covered back, eyes wide.

You were sitting on one of the waiting room chairs as Flip walked inside. Well, walking was a kind term for the sound of thunderous stomping that you could hear before you saw him. You watched him make a sweep across the room before he settled on you. A few seconds later the mountain of a man dropped down on his knees before you and worried eyes found yours.

“Baby girl, what...” His voice broke and eyebrows pinched together as he kept sweeping his eyes across your features and hands trailed over your body. You smoothed his cheek and smiled, hoping to alleviate the worry on his handsome face. You buried another hand to his hair, scraching lightly at his scalp in a way that always soothed him.

“It’s nothing bad, Flip. I promise you.” You tried to input as much of calmness into your voice as you could, to make him understand that you were alright. Your Flip was a protective one, you didn’t need him going off the rails with what you were about to reveal. “Just a small accident that happened at the school. There is nothing to worry about, trust me.”

He took a couple of breaths through his nose, hoping silently that he could light a cigarette here. He really needed the nicotine right about now, his chain-smoking on the ride over a proof of that.

“Tell me. Please.” The words were still a little choked as they were whispered. As far as he could feel and see, you were in one piece, no blood or missing limbs. You looked pretty much the same as that morning when he had left you at the gates and kissed you goodbye, promising to pick you up after the school was over. But he knew that it was only an illusion. One that would shatter as soon as you spoke.

“Well... Joshua and Michael were fighting again during art class. They had their hands on some clay carving knifes and as I went to stop them, one of them accidentally stabbed me.”

Stabbed you? With a knife? And you claimed you were alright? How in the name of everything that was holy were those boys still breathing? He could feel his blood boiling again, a nervous tick on his knuckles. His nostrils flared in anger.

“Honey, I need you to calm down. I am fine, I promise. The nurse at the school looked me over, but told that it was better if I came here instead. The doctor decided that I would need some stitches, just to make sure that the area does not get infected and so that it doesn’t scar. At least not badly.”

There was a possibility that you would get a scar from all of this? That was it, Flip was going to kill the boys responsible for hurting you. Ron could help him dispose of the bodies and Jimmy could run interference. There was a nice stone quarry outside of the city they could use for the job, nobody would be the wiser.

“Where?” He ground out, your hands the only thing that kept him from bolting to his truck and going hunting for those responsible.

You gestured at your chest and Flips eyes widened. That bastard kid had stabbed your tits? Oh, they were going six feet under. He must have flashed murderous anger in his eyes one too many times as the next thing he realized was that you had placed both of your hands to his cheeks and forced him to look you into the eyes.

“Flip. It was an accident. You cannot plan to murder anyone. I am fine. I promise. This is only a precaution.”

“I’m not planning to murder anyone.” He didn’t care that he sounded like a petulant kid at that moment. He wanted to hurt them for hurting you, but if you didn’t allow him to kill, he could do other things to them to make sure nothing like this happened ever again. “Can I...”

“No, absolutely not. Flip, they are seven years old, I do not want you giving them nightmares either. They are scared enough as it is.”

Fine. He held out his hands as to surrender to your will. But then he turned his attention back to your body, wanting to rip the cardigan off you so that he could see your skin. Make sure that you had been given all the care you needed and he could sooth his worrying mind that all was going to be okay.

“Show me.”

If the doctor had done a sloppy job, Flip could settle for him as well. The idea of it all sickened him. That someone had poked a needle into your perfect skin, threaded it back together, leaving ugly black strings in there to tighten the skin for days to come. That had to have caused you discomfort, to make you even more uncomfortable and he wanted someone to pay for it. He would gladly burn the world at your feet to easy any pain you had, physical or otherwise.

“I’ll show you once we are home. I promise. But I need you here with me now.” You kissed him then, wanting to feel those velvet lips move against yours, make you forget the afternoon completely. Despite what you’d told Flip, you had been slightly shaken by the experience and the pain that was still ebbing from the needlework. And you knew that he would provide comfort for you, make all this go away.

Flip was a full-body kisser so it was no wonder that once your lips touched his, he wrapped his arms around you. He pulled you to his lap, right there on the hospital waiting room floor. Hands danced across your back, slipping lower to grip your bottom. Flip desperately wanted to slip his hands under you skirt, he needed to feel your skin on his skin.

There was almost a feral need coarsing through his veins. He wanted to run away with you on his arms, tuck you under him on a bed with silk sheets, where nothing could hurt you. To place kisses everywhere on your naked body, taste the salt of your skin with his tongue, bring you to the edge and to heaven, time and time again. Make it all go away, leaving nothing but pleasure behind.

But before he could act on those desires, before the kiss could get too heated (a reccuring thing with Flip and those sinful lips of his) you pulled away. You pressed small kisses to his lips as you grounded both of you back to reality. “There is one thing...” Another kiss “...I still need to tell you.”

Flip quirked an eyebrow at this. What more could there be?

“So, there are some rules we need to abide to while I’m healing. No heavy lifting and nothing can poke the wound. Also, I cannot go swimming in the next ten days and a day after they do come out. And... I can’t sweat heavily or jostle the wound. That means sex is out.”

“Fuck.”

His week just went from bad to worse.

Tagging as requested @aloneandsleepless 😉

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x female reader #cw: bodily injury #cw: stitches #cw: needles #cw: hospital #my writing

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nyodrite · 4 years

Text

@a-world-in-grey @illusorygardens @sparklecryptid @hamelin-born @secret-engima because each of you seemed interested in this idea

so.

the entire thing is 30% Nyx's fault and 70% Ramuh's fault. because a non-Lucis Caelum wielding the Ring of Lucii left it's mark and made things.... incorrect in terms of Nyx's death

the Ring kind of laid claim to Nyx's soul and, instead of going to the afterlife he was supposed to be at, was trying to drag him into the Crystal

which Ramuh decided nope, not going to happen and just pushes Nyx's soul into the reincarnation cycle somewhere outside of the Crystal's influence

so eventually Nyx Ulric is reborn in a galaxy far, far away as Jango Fett which, with Ramuh kind of... intertwining with the Manda/Force/whatever, means he'll be able to go where he's supposed when he dies this time

of course when people find out about Nyx being reborn elsewhere many decide that they have to follow him

and more were tossed into things as a kind of... rehabilitation program?

the Fetts

only Arla and Jango are reincarnations

Selene winds up reborn first because detangling Nyx from the Ring took a bit longer

she isn't born Knowing, none of them are, but when Jango is born and Arla holds her brother for the first time she Knows

Jango spends most of his childhood unaware. He finds it a bit odd why Arla seems to be both amused and oddly delighted each time he calls her ori'vod but his sister is weird so he just goes with it

then their parents are killed and, amidst blood and fire and death, he remembers

then Jaster is dragging him away and he fights because he just got his sister back, just remembered what it was like to lose her and have to live without her, he's not letting it happen again

and he warps

(Nyx doesn't have magic, not like a true Lucis Caelum, but the Ring - for all that Ramuh severed it's connection to him - left... echoes.

He can still warp, it's familiar and easy as breathing to him, and he can reach out and share magic with someone but he has no armiger, he can't make potions or elixirs, what shields and elemental magic he can do is limited

but it's enough)

Nyx tosses the blade - a kukri, like he used to have, like their mother owned and taught them to uses as children in Galahd - his sister got him and warps back into the burning house

Arla - Selene, he knows it in his bones, can see it in how she switches from shooting a blaster to using a kukri to dig into the gaps of the armor as easily as she breaths - is fighting two Death Watch, she's holding them off but more are coming they just have to wait

so Nyx doesn't

He darts in, wraps an arm around his sister - has a moment to see horror cross her face - before he is warping them both out the house

the - king - Mand'alor definitely has questions when they appear so suddenly but there are more pressing matters and Nyx has time to figure out an answer

(Nyx never has to answer those questions, the Mand'alor always has a special connect to the Manda and Ramuh makes use of this to explain enough to satisfy Jaster

and if Ramuh hints at Jaster adopting both Fetts, despite Arla being technically old enough to be considered an adult, well that not favoritism that's just logic)

Jango and Arla become bounty hunters, though it's less of a full time thing and more of a I'm done dealing with politics I'm gonna go hunt something thing, and because they've no need for subtly decide to "hide" who they are by going by Nyx and Selene Ulric when on a job

technically both of them are in line to be the next Mand'alor and there pretty much even in terms of who the people want to be the next one

however, neither of them want the responsibility - or the politics, or the paperwork - and so basically try to... talk up the other as the better candidate

Nyx neatly solves this by taking on a bounty that leads to him getting a job on Kamino. and sure, it sounds super shady but there's no way his sister will be able to find him in time to keep herself from being declared Mand'alor

this holds out until the Alphas are made and then Nyx has a moment of oh shit i am a dad of a hundred and counting now

there is much panic and flailing, the comm message is basically incoherent

Selene starts praying for Libertus to show up because she left her brother unsupervised for one job. ONE. and this happens? clearly he needs his proper braincell back

and on that topic, let's head to the other, non-Ulric reincarnations real quick

Libertus is either Obi-Wan or Feemor, it depends entirely on how much I want Obi-Wan to have a proper big brother and Libertus to fuss over Obi-Wan's self-care, self-esteem and just everything really

if Libertus is Obi-Wan then Titus is gonna be Feemor, if Libertus is Feemor then Titus is going to be Dooku

which, you know what. I like that. Libertus is now Feemor, Obi-Wan gets his big brother and Titus is Dooku

so when that mission to Galidraan comes up, Dooku goes and sees Jango for the first time and suddenly Titus comes rushing in. and he's confronted with what is clearly TWO Ulrics before him

he is a Sigh

on the upside the mission ends mostly peaceful, none of the True Mandalorians are killed by Jedi and Death Watch gets dealt with

and there is now a, kind of nebulous, alliance between the Jedi and Mando

Titus!Dooku returns to the Jedi Temple and decides to reconnect with his lineage instead of isolating himself because clearly that kind of stuff didn't work the first time

and then he meets, after much scolding of Qui-Gon, Feemor who he can already tell is Libertus just waiting to wake up

he promptly tells Feemor that he should pay a visit to Mandalore as soon as possible and meet the future - because Nyx definitely saved Jaster on Korda 6 - Mand'alor

and Feemor may have intended to do so, however begrudgingly, but then he found a padawan and didn't really have time for a side trip to Mandalore

(which is good because he definitely would have stopped the clones from happening)

as for the rest.... well Crowe is Asohka, of course. For some reason I really like the idea of Luche as Xanatos du Crion?

Sonitus is Mando, not sure if he's reincarnated as someone already, but he's the kid of an armorer. Tredd I'm thinking Pre Vizsla maybe?

Pelna I'm thinking him being over in Corellia, not sure if he's a Corellian Jedi or if he winds up as a senator. Axis... I have half a mind for him to be Maul — or maybe Feral?

anyway, everyone only remembers when they see Nyx, hence why Titus!Dooku is trying to get Feemor to meet Jango

Sonitus actually remembers before Titus does, he's the son of one of Jaster's armorers and runs into Jango when he's old enough to start helping his buir

after that, Luche is actually the next to remember — because if I recall, Jango is only three years younger then Xanatos and the year Xanatos became a padawan was the same year that a some kind of pandemic spread through the galaxy, starting with Mandalore. so that sounds like a good set up to a potential mission for Jango and Xanatos to meet

next would be Tredd, which happens because Tor Vizsla dies via two protective Ulrics and so the Maat Mando'ade take in most of Death Watch after killing a bunch of the higher ranked ones

and then the few of Death Watch who got away set up Galidraan to try and wipe out the Haat Mando'ade and Titus remembers

Pelna and Libertus actually run into each other and make friends before remembering then, shortly after Feemor leaves Corellia, Nyx arrives and then Pelna remembers

honestly, Libertus is one of the last to remember but with multiple instances of where he just almost runs into Nyx

Luche!Xanatos finds Axis!Maul, drags him to meet Nyx and remember, then promptly returns to the Jedi Temple declaring he has a new padawan

then the clones happen and Ramuh gives Selene a break and reveals that Feemor is Libertus so she goes marching up to the Jedi Order and lowkey kidnaps Feemor - and his padawan who is having the time of their life right now - to drag him to Kamino

and then Feemor meets Jango and seconds later Libertus is yelling at Nyx over dying - then he finds out about the clones and yells some more over that

Crowe is the last one to remember timeline-wise but that's just because she's born later, she basically remembers as soon as she's taken to the Temple because Libertus is on creché duty with Nyx and she sees them

thats all I remember so BACK TO THE CLONES

the clones are raised as both Mando and Galahadian, and they get to choose—

choose if they feel more Galahadian, or if the want to swear to Resol'nare and be a proper Mando'ade instead of a Mando-raised Galahadian

of course there are those who are both, who have their armor painted in clan colors and clan braids not only in their hair but on display - in braided leather strips hanging from their armor

the clones also get to choose on if their names - not just if they want to name themselves or if they want Nyx to do it (and if they'd want a Mando or Galahadian name) but also if they want to be a Fett, Ulric or any combination of the two, or even something else entirely

after Selene finds out, and drags Libertus into things, a plot is hatched to kidnap the clones

Titus gets dragged into things because he's an older and respected jedi, and might be on the council, and basically changes the "order"

so the four of them wind up taking all the clones, now into the thousands with the oldest - Alphas - being preteen age?, and just flying first to Mandalore then straight to the Jedi Temple

they head to Mandalore first so that Selene can officially declare them citizens, Jaster gets to learn he's a grandfather thousands of times over and Nyx gets yelled at again

then they take any clones that didn't decide to stay on Mandalore over to the jedi temple where they waltz up to the jedi council and inform them about the army ordered for them

eventually it winds up with the rest of the clones getting added to the creché, in their own clans though raised along the jedi younglings

things get restructured a bit since most of the clones are not Force-sensitive, though some ARE because that's cool, and there's no way Nyx is going to be kept from visiting his kids

so you got some retired Mandos now in the creche with entire clans of clones that they've adopted, doesn't matter if they're a Fett or Ulric

you also got clones that straight up adopt various jedi so there's that too

anyways, Luche!Xanatos is the one who figures out about the chips which ignites all the protective rage and an investigation over just who ordered the clones though that winds up a bit of a dead end for a while

misc.

I'm not entirely sure if the Clone Wars happen here? if it does occur then it's not gonna be Republic vs Separatists because there's no Dooku to be a puppet leader — instead I think that winds up with the Sith Empire actually being reformed?

(which, has many a reincarnations seething because they already dealt with an evil empire and now there's another)

if that happens then Dathomir gets raided at some point for Sidious and Plageuis to steal Nightbrothers to raise as acolytes to help with their war

which in turn leads to some Nightsisters to side with the Jedi/Mando side because that's their future being stolen — also so Crowe!Asohka can learn about their magic and stuff because that'd be amazing

ANYWAYS

the ffxv world, i think the planet is still called Eos in it?, does in fact exist. it's just a planet floating in wild space

it is also a very, very long time since the happenings of ffxv

not sure if there's still people on planet or not, but it's definitely wilder and less tamed, all overgrown and filled with creatures

not sure which reincarnation finds this... let's say Pelna because I barely even mentioned him

hhhhhhh

Anakin Skywalker... I am not sure — he's brought to the temple young because there's no way anyone is gonna let slavery slide and Ramuh might have noticed his birth and started poking at someone to go investigate

Shmi winds up free and adopted, Shmi Skywalker-Ulric maybe? she works with Selene and both take the Senate by storm whenever they have to visit

Anakin winds up and Ulric by virtue of being Shmi's son

Libertus, purely out of self-defense, promptly adopts Obi-Wan to braincell for the newest Ulric - or, well, Obi-Wan may already be adopted by then and Lib just yeets his baby brother at the little Ulric to braincell

.....i think that's all the thoughts i have right now

#star wars #ffxv #long post #which i am sorry for but i did this on moble and can't do the read more thing #but i tagged it so people can skip!!

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theatresweetheart · 5 years

Text

Snap-traps and Misconceptions

Summary: In a world where humans are viewed as pests, Logan is constantly asked to set traps “just in case.” However illogical he believes this to be, he is pleasantly—and completely—surprised to find that the trap actually works.

Warnings: Humans treated/seen as pests, talk of death, brief mention of torture, broken limbs, panic attack, fainting, fear, brief descriptions of blood, morbid curiosity, dehumanization, main character treated as a lesser being, swearing, main character referred to as an “it.”

Pairings: Platonic Analogical, Platonic Logince.

Word Count: 5489 words

Taglist: @isle-of-gold @anonymous-bean

+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

“Just- put one out at least,”‌ Roman had insisted—rather earnestly—earlier that morning before he left for his Saturday rehearsal.

The thing in question being a trap. The kind that was designed to catch a pest and keep it stuck in place. Apparently it didn’t matter to his roommate what kind of trap it was as long as there was something. Preferably, as he had said, one that would snap closed and put the creature out of its misery.

One could hate a pest, but still have enough mercy to give it a quick end.

“You’re being paranoid,”‌ had been the quick response. Logan hadn’t even looked up from his notebook as he nursed his morning coffee. “You know for a fact that your chance of encountering a human nowadays is slim-to-none.”

“I‌ am not being paranoid!”‌ Roman had squawked back indignantly. “Come on Logan, just humour me for once. One trap, that’s all I’m asking. One. Because you can never be too sure. Who’s to say they’re actually extinct?”

“Science,”‌ Logan hummed, already easily recalling information on the topic. It was a debate he and Roman had been through plenty of times and a subject that Logan was particularly well versed in because of it. “Research. The proof being a study that has been conducted continuously over the past 20 years. Statistically speaking, it has been said that humans have been extinct for little over 15 years.”

“It has been said,”‌ Roman had cut the other male off, looking as if he had just won the argument with that single statement. Roman had slipped his jacket on and slung his bag over his shoulder. He was just twisting Logan’s words to use against him. “And before you can whine about it, I‌ even took the liberty to go out and buy a single trap. Just one. I could have gotten two or seven, but I‌ didn’t. That’s how great a roommate I‌ am.”

Truthfully, Logan didn’t quite understand what the whole fuss was about.

He’d grown up with the same information any other child had. Yes, humans could bite and hurt you, even possibly get you sick, but so could literally any other creature. So, what made a human any different from any other small animal?

He had always been told that humans were feral creatures. They would bite, scratch, tear and maim, but it was all in their own self-defense and not so much for the fun of it. If one was hurt by a human, it was because that person had done something to frighten it and make it fear for its life.

True, there were some animals that would injure an individual just to elicit a sense of pleasure, but every human that Logan had ever stumbled upon had been more afraid of him than he was of it.

Humans were animals that usually only lashed out when they felt threatened or out of control of their situation and needed to defend something of theirs or themselves.

When Logan was younger and humans were more commonly found, he had known kids in his grade that would catch the little things and torture them. Some of the kids he had grown up with had stolen utensils from the science lab to stab and wound and graze, while some went more natural and used their hands and fingernails to maim. Giggling as the human squirmed and cried for release. The other kids had found some sick satisfaction in watching the poor creatures beg and plead and sob, only to have their wails silenced under a shoe or the pressure of a book or—God forbid—someone putting the human in their mouth and disposing of them that way.

It was incredibly disturbing.

Not to say that Logan didn’t have his own morbid curiosity at the time, but it never exceeded trapping a human under a glass and then watching them huddle against the opposite side of the containment.

Even now, he wasn’t entirely convinced he would kill the little creature just as everyone else had done. As people would probably continue to do.

He had always been more interested in a kind of a catch-and-release thing.

It was far more useful to actually study the human alive, when it could talk back and answer questions.

He had wanted to keep one to study, to talk with and get the truth about rumours and prevalent misconceptions, and Logan almost had gotten away with it. Until his mom had found the jar in his backpack, immediately chided him for bringing the dangerous disgusting creature inside the house before tossing it outside without a second thought.

She had made it quite clear that she wanted nothing to do with humans. She had made his father put out traps that were well disguised, as a human would be able to see something that was just laid out for them to wander into. It was either because they had began to understand the cages and baits being left out and could recognize them for what they were, or humans had a higher level of intelligence then what they were given credit for.

Of course, some of the traps that his kind had made were incredibly obvious and humans would easily be able to discern them from the rest of the natural environment.

They certainly weren’t as dense as teachers and other adults posed them to be. His class had once done a project on it, focusing on the natural behaviours of humans and such.

It had been fascinating in the moment.

Learning about rumours; a common one being that humans had venom, which was what got people sick. Or if they just carried diseases and it was spread through their saliva and injected after a bite. It was a ridiculous notion, of course, but a ridiculous notion that had terrified countless people into believing it.

However, as Logan grew up and human sightings became less and less frequent, he had felt his curiosity dwindling and had instead focused his energy into more important and pressing matters; such as graduation and finding a suitable University.

In all honesty, he had almost forgotten completely that the creatures had existed in his lifetime, that there had ever been widespread panic about it. Immunizations, countless public warnings, ways to disinfect your home flashing all over the TVs, ways to protect your children and pets, et cetera, et cetera—up until he had met Roman.

He acted as though the threat was still real and it was obvious that Roman’s parents had instilled the fear of God into their son. Logan had tried to reassure him countless times, with hard facts and research not to mention, that humans were no longer a threat to their kind. There was literally no reason to have such an irrational fear of them anymore.

And even if humans weren’t extinct, Logan was positive that they wouldn’t be foolish enough to walk into the home of someone who was so obviously superior in every single way. It would almost be as if they were setting themselves up for failure.

“Fine,”‌ Logan had relented eventually, gaining a blindingly bright grin from Roman. “If only to appease your nonsensical worries.”

“Thanks Logan!”‌ Roman had chirped back at him before slipping out the front door. “You’re the best!”

Of course, after he had found the trap still packaged in the grocery bag that had been left on the kitchen counter, he thought of it as being trivial and unnecessary. Even as he was setting the trap in the living room, Logan didn’t expect to actually catch anything. He was positive that the thing would sit there, collect dust and that would be that.

But if having it set eased some of Roman’s anxieties—and shut him up about it for a while—then fine, he would go through the motions.

Not to mention, a secret part of him was silently hoping one of the creatures would be caught in the trap. Of course, it was more for the scientific aspect of it. Certainly not because of that childish spark of wonder. That way, as well, he might actually have the chance to understand why everyone was so up in arms about them, without the fear of being caught harboring one.

His mother had always been too vigilant when it came to him, as he had tried to sneak multiple living creatures into his bedroom to study under close observations. She had always been on him within minutes. Now, as an adult, he would be able to make his own decisions without the risk of someone trying to make them for him.

It was unlikely and if the trap remained empty, then he would be able to finally prove to Roman that there was nothing to be worried about. Apparently facts didn’t mean anything when you couldn’t see the proof right in front of your face.

And if Logan was right—which he knew he was—the trap itself would remain void of anything even remotely interesting.

So, as evening rolled around and he was sitting down at the kitchen table studying for his final midterm, the sound of the trap snapping shut on something with a high pitched yelp following quickly afterward was something he hadn’t been expecting in the slightest.

At first, Logan had even thought he’d imagined it.

It was illogical to believe that. Clearly the noise had been real and there was a creature stuck in the trap in the next room over, but a part of him was still reeling in shock.

Then there was the fact that it had happened so quickly after it had been set.

It had been a little under 6 hours since Logan had hidden the trap under the couch- a place where his father had always set traps. It had always seemed to work quite well. Even as a child, he could remember trying to pester his father to let the creature live but it had always been for naught. The human would beg, trying to find ways to sway his dad, but it never worked. His father had been a strong willed man and ignored the panicked promises.

Logan hadn’t liked it but there was nothing he could have done. Besides, that was the way of the world.

Humans that allowed themselves to get caught, even by accident or by chance, were susceptible to the laws of nature.

And that meant losing out to the dominant creature.

However, he had to remind himself that just because the trap had caught something, it didn’t automatically mean it had caught what he thought it had. There was a good possibility that it had been another animal, something that was far less elusive and commonly found in households.

Even with that being said, it didn’t stop the hesitant excitement at the prospect of finding a human from flooding in.

A part of him realized a bit belatedly that if he sat in utter silence, even going as far as to hold his breath, there were soft sounds that he could barely make out over the natural sounds of the home. Whatever was caught in the trap was very much stuck and it didn’t seem to be as if it was going anywhere.

Not that Logan minded; if it truly was a human caught in the trap, it would hardly be a discovery if it managed to scamper off within a few minutes.

Feeling elation beginning to bubble, Logan eagerly pushed away from the kitchen table and headed toward the living room. The closer he got, the louder the little sounds were and the more he felt as if this situation was really happening. Now that he was older, and if there really was as human trying to escape, no one could tell him any differently. Roman could bitch and whine about it all he wanted but if Logan kept the creature away from him, he was sure it would be fine.

Perhaps it would be better to keep the creature a secret.‌ For a while, at least.

Rounding the corner into the room, his eyes went to lock onto the couch immediately. He couldn’t see what was there from this vantage point, but he was very much aware that something was there.

As the creature seemed to register the bigger presence in the room, the sounds softened and even disappeared entirely. It was a defense mechanism, a survival instinct to make oneself appear invisible, to go completely silent and as still as physically possible.

Almost as if one could hide in plain sight, even if they were completely visible.

Taking a breath to steady the anticipation, Logan took his first steps into the living room before approaching the couch with a calm demeanor and paced, calculated, quiet steps. There was no reason to terrify the tiny creature more than it probably already was.

Logan got down onto his hands and knees, ducking down low enough to peer underneath the couch itself.

“Oh.” Logan hadn’t even realized he’d made the noise of astonishment until he was lowering himself down to lay flat on his stomach.

There, under the couch by the back wall, was a minuscule humanoid figure who sat paralyzed in the darkness of the chesterfield’s underbelly. Wide eyes drifted to Logan’s features before they locked on each other with unwavering gazes. Before long, the human’s chest began to rise and fall in a rapidly unsteady and obviously terrified pattern. The two of them stayed like that for a what felt like ages—which was probably closer to a minute or so rather than forever—engaged in the oddest staring contest Logan had ever been involved in.

It was as if they were both waiting in anticipation for something.‌ For the other one to do something.

The human was obviously waiting for Logan to lash out, injure or kill it, which was proven by how it was trying to lean away from him, shoulders bunched and body titled away from him as best as it could.

Body language was easy to read, even on such a small subject.

Of course, even leaning away from him wasn’t going to do anything since the trap, and the human in turn, were easily within his reach.

Wanting to get a closer look, Logan pulled himself forward a bit. In response to this innocent movement, the human had flinched further away from him, trying to draw further in on itself as best it could, but a sharp noise of pain drew the human’s attention right back down to its lower body. However, the creature’s eyes flickered between Logan and the trap snapped shut on its leg religiously, as if it wasn’t sure what was the bigger threat at this point.

Logan wasn’t afraid of it escaping.

Actually…he wasn’t afraid of it at all. Which brought back the earlier question of why and how so much panic had spread because of such tiny little things.

Had it all been started by some runaway rumour and people had taken it seriously enough to nearly wipe out an entire species?

Looking down at this little human, it was so simple to see just how terrified it was of him. The wide panicked look on its features, the crazed horrified expression in its eyes. Even with the way it was trying to discern how it was going to die. Whether it was by Logan or by the trap.

Truly, the human was more afraid of him than he was of it.

“Look at you,”‌ Logan mused under his breath, watching the human flinch again at the sound of his voice.‌ “Aren’t you just fascinating.”

Being tucked under the couch though was proving to be incredibly uncomfortable and it was hard enough to see the little human as it was, so Logan’s next course of action was to pull the creature out into the light where he could properly examine it.

After a second of readjusting himself, he reached his hand forward only to pause when another yelp from the human sounded. He furrowed his brows for a moment, looking rather perplexed. He was just simply going to move the creature out of such a confined space and into the open, what could it possibly be so upset about?

Then it dawned.

Considering the human’s perspective, he supposed it would be a rather frightening sight.

“Ah, I‌ see.”‌ Logan lowered his tone a bit more, watching as the little one’s eyes stayed locked on him. “I only want to get you out from under here. I‌ mean you no harm.”

Even if the creature didn’t understand the words he was saying, he could at least hope it would find some comfort in the gentle tone. He was speaking to it in a quiet voice, trying to soothe the frightened animal without presenting himself as more of a threat.

The human shook its head, its expression only growing more distressed and Logan was left reeling for a second time that night.

The human could understand him. Which meant it could speak. Which meant he could get some of his questions answered.

That could wait, however. He quirked a brow, trying to prompt another response. “You’d rather stay under here?”

The human nodded quickly, turning its head away and ducking further down into itself. Logan noticed that it was trying to protect its shin from more harm. It was obviously in fear that Logan was going to take this advantage to either kill it or hurt it further.

While that would be anyone else’s intention, it wasn’t his. Not right now, at least.

He hummed, more to himself than anything. However, this was not going to work for much longer. The human could whine and complain and carry on for as long as it wanted, but Logan really couldn’t stay in this position anymore. His shoulders were starting to cramp and it really wasn’t comfortable in the least. So, with that in mind, he began to reach forward again, this time completely intending to bring the little thing out into the light no matter how it reacted.

The human, predictably, cried out. The noise was sharp and terrified and Logan felt a slight pang at it, but schooled the expression and grabbed the trap around the edges of it. Far enough away from the animal itself if it decided to try and bite him.

With that settled, he shifted himself backward and dragged the trap along with him. In little under 15 seconds, Logan was sitting back upright in the living room.

This was a far better way to actually see the creature itself. And it would be far easier to study its mannerisms this way as well.

Which briefly reminded him he’d need to find a suitable living space for the human before he could get his hands on either a cage or a terrarium. He made a mental note to deal with that issue later. Right now, a box would most likely suffice, especially with how injured the little thing seemed to be.

Finally getting to actually see it however, was a whole different story. Not only were there two heterochromia eyes staring up at him with evident distrust, but there was blood staining the creature’s pant leg. The shin itself didn’t…look right, to put it lightly.

The little chest was rising and falling even faster than before and Logan realized that hovering over it like he was, was putting an undue amount of stress on the little thing’s nerves. The last thing he wanted was to have the human’s heart stop due to its distress and then lose his only chance in ages to actually learn anything about the species.

“Since I‌ know you can understand me, I’m going to ask you to listen to these instructions very carefully.”

The human’s expression crumpled for just a moment, before it bared its teeth and hissed at him.

Logan couldn’t say he was surprised.

Obviously the human still thought it was in danger, so he lowered himself back down onto his stomach, head resting on his arms as his eyes flickered over the little thing. Certainly, from the human’s perspective, Logan was the one threatening it, so there was no wonder why it was acting the way it was.

When he was a child, he had seen other kids ignore the warning signs like these. The hissing was an obvious one but there were other physical displays of displeasure such as stepping back, growling, baring one’s teeth, scowling. It was times like those where kids had gotten hurt. And it was all because they weren’t perceptive enough to understand that the little creature was literally warning them that if they didn’t back off, the human would defend itself with whatever means necessary.

In this situation, Logan was the dangerous one and he wasn’t oblivious to that fact.

“I do not wish to repeat myself,”‌ he spoke up, but his voice was significantly softer, trying to make himself seem less like a threat. “But I will if that is what makes you understand that you are not in danger.”

The human eyed him, its lip curled up into a sneer even if its eyes were telling a whole other story.

“You are safe,”‌ Logan made sure to say it with enough force behind it to ring true. Even if the creature was seconds from its panic. “I‌ will not harm you. Now, take a breath and try to relax to the best of your ability. I will not force you to do this, but it is in your own best interest to calm down and think rationally.”

At first, it didn’t seem as though the human was listening to him, or wanted to listen to him but after a few heartbeats passed, Logan noticed that the creature’s chest wasn’t expanding nearly as quickly as before.

Which meant he was being listened to and understood.

And his words were true. He wasn’t planning on hurting the human. Not if he could help it, at least. Injuring it would instill a new sense of terror into the creature and it would fear his presence at all times. Humans were known to shut down when they believed their chances of survival were nonexistent. Which then meant Logan wouldn’t get honest or concise answers—if he would get any speaking at all. If his presence caused nothing but fear, it would take double the effort to get the human to trust him again.

Two mismatched eyes looked up to Logan’s hazels again and he could see more than just residue fright in them. There was an honest confusion behind them, which also spoke to why the human was still leaning away from him as best as it could.

Before he could even think to say anything, however, the little one beat him to it.

“…why are you doing this?”

Logan knew humans could speak, but he didn’t think he would get conversation from it so quickly. Especially not after nearly scaring the thing half to death and catching it in a trap that very obviously broke its shin.

However, he was genuinely confused by what it meant. “Why am I doing what?”

The human looked as if it wanted to move but jostled its shin. The creature bit out a hiss, its hands fluttering over the blood stained article of clothing, wanting to touch it but knowing that it wouldn’t benefit it in the least if it did.

“Talking to me,”‌ it clarified as the wave of pain seemed to pass long enough to form a coherent sentence and grit it out. “This is some sort of sick game, isn’t it?” The look of horror almost returned as if the human seemed to have some sort of dawning realization. “You’re talking to me to lull me into a false sense of security and then that’s when you’ll do it. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“I‌ can assure you that is not my plan.”‌‌ Apparently the human still didn’t believe him, which was easy to tell since it was still glaring at him. Unrelenting and distrusting, but Logan really couldn’t fault it for feeling such a way. If the human understood how Logan’s kind had been raised, then he would have to be foolish to believe that the human would trust him at all.

The creature snorted in his direction. “Then explain why there’s a trap snapped shut on my leg right now,”‌ it spat, “if killing me isn’t your goal, what’s the point of it?”

Logan supposed it had a point, actually. “Consider it a precaution for my roommate’s irrational phobias,”‌ he said casually, his fingers drumming the ground in a rhythmic pattern idly, “though, I can’t say I’m dissatisfied with the outcome of setting it in the first place.” The human’s multi-coloured eyes widened at the implication of that, and Logan was quick to realize he hadn’t phrased it well. “I haven’t seen one of your kind since I‌ was a child.”

The human tilted its head away, eyes scanning the ground as if it was looking for some sort of escape. The creature’s shoulders were tense, but they also seemed to be trembling a little. Of course, Logan didn’t think the human was over its fear of him, but he had at least thought they had reached an understanding; the understanding that he wasn’t a danger.

However, just before he could advance the conversation toward a topic that was better suited for what was to come, the human was speaking in a quiet voice, obviously scared of the answer Logan was going to give it yet morbidly curious enough to want to know its fate.

“…what are you going to do to me?”

Logan wasn’t one to soften the truth, so he didn’t. “I‌’m going to study your mannerisms and natural behaviours. I also would like to debunk some common spread myths and rumours about your kind, so having you coherent and conscious is beneficial to both you and myself.”

This, apparently, was not reassuring. The little human’s eyes only seemed to grow wider—if that was possible—and all the terror came flooding back. It only took Logan half a second to realize that it was beginning to hyperventilate again.

“Y-you’re,” the little one heaved, “you’re not letting me go.”

Logan furrowed his brows, thoroughly confused at this point. Did the human really think it was going to be released? Not when its leg was as broken as it was and certainly not with how many questions Logan had for it. He had been waiting literal years to get this chance and he’d be damned if he was losing it now. He pushed his glasses up to sit comfortably on the bridge of his nose. “I thought that was evident?”

The human shook its head. Of course the information wasn’t meant to comfort it, Logan had at least thought that the creature would understand that this was for its own well-being as well. This whole situation wasn’t only to benefit himself (though, that was a rather large portion of it) but it would also help the human survive longer than it would have in the wild. At least here, the little thing would live a more fulfilled life.

It would have a more balanced diet, a reliable and consistent source of food and water, and not to mention a safe place to sleep without the risk of a larger predator finding it. This set up was not designed to be cruel.

Then again, Logan also knew that humans are very sociable creatures, which led him to believe that this little one did not live alone. Which could then in turn grant him the chance to study two humans. Of the same colony, no less. The box he had would have to be a substitute homestead for the creature, but he was reassured that as time goes on he would be able to provide a more spacious living area.

Eventually.

That being said, Logan would need to discuss the fact that the creature was, in fact, staying and Roman wouldn’t be able to change his stance on that. He knew his roommate would practically beg him to either get rid of the thing or “put the little creature out of its misery for Christ’s sake” because even if Roman wasn’t a fan of humans, he was ever the hero with a bleeding heart.

However, as Logan’s attention shifted back onto the human in front of him, he was surprised to find that it was unconscious. It must have hyperventilated so much it had shut itself down. It was a commonality with his own kind as well. So having something faint on him was not something Logan was unaccustomed to. He remembered when he was younger how some other kids would pull dumb jokes on each other, or show their friends how they could make themselves pass out by holding their breath.

In this case, though, Logan was positive that the little human hadn’t done it on purpose.

To knock oneself out in the presence of a being that could do literally whatever they wanted was not a tactic to keep oneself alive. If Logan had been anyone else, they would have taken this opportunity to kill the thing without the worry of it staring at them with big, pleading, scared eyes.

It was a reason why his mother had never been able to kill a human and always had his father dispose of it.

“Well,” he murmured to himself, reaching forward more confidentially now without the threat of being bitten, “that’s unfortunate.”

Seems he’d have to wait to get his first few questions answered.

Then there was the fact that Logan didn’t exactly know what had caused the creature to faint in the first place. Had he come off too strong and overwhelmed it? Possibly.

Pulling the trap closer to himself, Logan quickly undid the latch that released the metal bar; the one snapped shut on the human’s limb. As soon as it was released, the little body seemed to relax a bit. The human was completely limp and Logan could use that to his advantage. He set his hand down next to the trap and carefully nudged the motionless form into the bowl of his palm. He quickly cupped his hands together and left the trap forgotten on the floor.

It had been years since he had held a human in his hands, and Logan had easily forgotten just how light they were. They practically weighed nothing!‌ He made another mental note to weigh the creature and jot down it’s height and weight and other peculiar physical oddities—the body type of the human was hard to make out thanks to the over-sized patchwork jacket hanging off of its frame.

His curiosity was piqued further as he held the creature. The human itself was incredibly small. The little one, curled up on his palms the way it was, was no longer than his littlest finger. When he had held humans in his youth, they had been big enough to hold with two hands, but now. Now, as a grown adult, the little thing—if it were to be completely spread out—probably wouldn’t even cover the entirety of a single hand.

There certainly was a lot more physical information that he could just gather from looking at it but the more in depth and interesting answers would hopefully come from the creature itself.

A part of him wondered idly if the human was full grown itself. It looked as if it was, but looks could be deceiving.

Logan carefully rose into a stand, not wanting to upset the precarious position the little one was in nor jostle it more than necessary. He didn’t want to cause it more pain than it was already in. That reminded him, he really needed to treat that shin. While it would be easier for Logan to have the human incapacitated, which would keep the animal from running off on him (when it was conscious), he wasn’t cruel and the human would want to be able to move and stand and walk around on its own.

Logan could hardly imagine being bedridden for the rest of his own life, never mind the idea of never getting the chance to walk on one’s own again.

That and if they managed to actually establish a working relationship and even the smallest amount of trust, then Logan wouldn’t have to fear the human escaping. Besides, if they began to actually get along and the human realized it had a good thing going on here, then everything would be simpler and far less emotionally charged.

Logan was well aware that when the human awoke, it would be disorientated and terrified and angry and in pain– which could and would heighten more of these feelings, but for now he was going to treat the human’s injury and deal with the emotional turmoil that will come when the creature awoke.

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rosesloveletters · 4 years

Text

self-ship reference

this is a repost from my old blog and the self-ship tag I filled out quite a while ago, but I’d like to keep this as a reference on here for my main self-ships with J and Pat. I have added more onto the original post and tweaked some things - I truly enjoy sharing about them now❤❤ I will probably add to this from time to time to update things, just so I at least have some record of it somewhere; I wouldn’t want to forget them❤

I now also have ship names for J, Pat and I:

J / Jack x Rosie = Jaie

- first two letters of his name and last two letters of my name❤ (literally pronounced as ‘J’)

Patrick Verona x Rosie = Verose

- first three letters of his last name combined with my entire legal name (Rosie is just a nickname of mine.)

last updated: november 29, 2020

please do not read if you are not interested in or comfortable with self-shipping.

word count: 3,568

Date you got together?

J: 10/22/19. I was aware of J when I was 8-9 years old but we never had a relationship or anything. He and I “found each other” again last October. I feel like he found me when he knew I was ready for a relationship with him. I had a whole lot going on when I was younger and I still do, but I think I’m in the best mentality I could be and I’ve grown up a lot in the past couple of years. I was not where I am now and I am strong enough to handle his persona.

Pat: 3/30/20. Pat and I got together a few months after J and I, but it seems almost like the same amount of time. We really didn’t get to become too close because J overpowers him and monopolizes my time whenever he can. We only started to get closer a few months ago because J was distant enough to let Pat come closer. The two used to find it difficult to coexist, but they’ve been able to work it out. Now, Pat and J are almost as close as each of them are with me. They still bicker and call each other names, but it is done with love rather than malice.

Favorite personality trait?

I love all of their personality traits, but for the sake of being succinct I’m only sharing one for each.

J: His ‘devil-may-care’ attitude. I heavily admire that J can do whatever he wants regardless of the rules - he’s untouchable and nothing can hurt him. I wish I could have a taste of that and perhaps that is one of the reasons I’m drawn to J; he gives me an outlet and a way to experience that kind of freedom that is unattainable within my real life.

Pat: His independence and how he isn’t affected by what others think of him (I know I said only one for each but I admire both of these qualities equally). I always admire independence because I am very independent as well. And as someone who used to be very concerned with how others saw me, I admire the lack of that quality in Pat because I strive to be that way every single day. I don’t want to be defined by what people think of me. Watching Pat be a good person in spite of his reputation inspires me so much - that is the exact sort of person I’d like to be.

Favorite physical trait?

I love all of their physical traits, but for the sake of being succinct I’m only sharing one for each.

J: His hands. I can always tell when J is touching me, rubbing my back or holding my hand. His hands are so distinctly him. They’re calloused and rough, but I love the way he softens from the inside out when his hands are on me and the gentlest touch is almost ironic coming from him.

Pat: His smile. Pat’s smile is brighter than the sun and more inviting than a hot bath or a warm cup of cocoa. I would do absolutely anything to see his warm smile, anything.

Couple song

main songs:

Faithfully - Journey

Lover - Taylor Swift

Daylight - Taylor Swift

Your Song - Elton John

Pet peeves…

J: If I have food he’ll just kind of grab off my plate, he never fully washes the shampoo out of his hair so he comes out greasier than when he got in, he’ll drink after me because he knows I hate that and won’t drink any more so he gets the rest, he won’t just get in the bed normally he’ll flop down and kind of mess around or bounce obnoxiously until he’s “comfortable”, gets crumbs in the bed, (J annoys me a lot, can you tell?) He also has this new habit of waking me up by digging his fingers into my hair and scratching the back of my head really obnoxiously and it is terrifying when I’m not prepared for it lol.

Pat: Pat doesn’t annoy me half as much as J. The only thing is that he tends to be very clingy and I’m pretty independent and, when I get in a certain mood, I do not want physical affection and it can get under my skin a bit. Most of the time this is not an issue because I love affection; it’s only the rarest of occasions. If I’m in a rotten mood, sometimes I won’t want him near me because I know he’ll try to hug me and I’m not wanting it.

Favorite outfit on them?

J: his normal, hexagonal patterned shirt, vest and suspenders make me feral, but seeing him in a regular t-shirt is quite a treat. He gave me one of his shirts and I’ve got it in my closet. I wore it on Valentine’s Day which is what got me through the day (J and Pat both know I hate that day). When J’s got me on his lap, I like to play with his suspenders while he’s wearing them; he is amused but doesn’t know why I like them so much.

Pat: his gray, striped, long-sleeve top and dark jeans. I love and live for the simplicity of it. He has a silver chain around his neck and it peeks out beneath his shirt collar and I like to play with it when he’s holding me. J thinks I just get bored, but Pat thinks the reason I have to be playing with something is more of a nervous habit (Pat’s right).

Favorite meal?

J: he likes meat and rarely cares what kind it is. He is partial to steak, but he’ll eat pretty much any meat you put in front of him.

Pat: tomato soup and grilled cheese. This is our go-to comfort meal and Pat and I make it for each other often.

Early bird or night owl?

J: It depends. J doesn’t ever sleep a whole lot, but he leans toward being more of a night owl because he’s more active and alert under cover of darkness. We see less of him at night because of this but he still will lay down with us and rest for a couple of hours at a time. He’ll take cat naps during the day if need be.

Pat: Pat used to be a night owl before he met me and when he used to go to bars and play pool. Now he’s an early bird like me; he likes to stay in because he can’t wait to get into bed and cuddle every night. He also does a lot during the day and he gets tired so he will go to bed early because he really needs the rest.

Snorer or sleep talker?

J: he usually doesn’t make much noise in his sleep because he rarely gets into a deep sleep. There are very rare occasions when his body needs a deep sleep and is threatening to give out unless he does so. During those times, he snores so freaking loud. Pat and I usually leave the room because it’s so loud we can’t get any sleep. Fortunately when he needs a heavy sleep he does so during the day when we aren’t around so he doesn’t feel like he has to stay awake to make sure we’re safe.

Pat: Pat doesn’t snore but he sometimes mumbles in his sleep a tiny bit, especially if he’s dreaming. He’ll mumble under his breath and press his whole body against mine (it’s my favorite thing ever).

Do you have any pets together?

We don’t, mainly because J wouldn’t help me with any pets because he’s not around enough and none of us would want the same kind of pet. My pets are my own thing, even though they are both are nice to my pets and have no problem with them at all.

Pet names! (Both from them and yours for them)

J’s for me: (My) Rosebud/thorn, (My) wild red rose (J knows that I hate my name but he still insists on variations of it. He says that he admires roses because you have to accept being poked by a thorn or two to admire their beauty. It makes sense but I don’t know if he actually believes that or not), prickly pear (another thing with thorns - I’m seeing a theme here, J), sweets, doll, little one (occasionally)

Mine for J: I mostly only call him J or Jack (we worked through me calling him by his real name and now he’s not as bothered by it.) Pat and I both call J either soldier or sergeant sometimes. On rare occasion, I call him Jack-Jack.

Pat’s for me: Strawberry (because of a comfort item I own), Buttercup, baby, babygirl, sweetheart, girlie, hazel eyes (occasionally), wallaby.

Mine for Pat: Pattycake, lover-boy, Koala, Kangaroo Boy (he used to hate being called this, but we made it into a joke and now he likes it though only if I am the one using it.) J also calls him ‘brat’ or ‘kid’.

How often do you fight? What starts fights?

J: J and I bicker a lot but our fights are pretty rare. When we do fight, it’s usually my fault. I confront him with the fact that I don’t think he cares or that he’s here with me for some ulterior motive. Most of the time he will fight back because it’s just his nature to do so. We’ve spent time apart in the past because of this and I’m still learning that he does care, but the way he does so is much different from what Pat does. J gets pretty pissed off when I tell him I think he hates me.

Pat: Pat and I have never had a fight (this used to be because we didn’t spend as much time together - J is very overbearing when he’s around and he pushes Patrick away from me; he doesn’t like sharing - but now it’s because we just get along really, really well.) If we ever did have a fight I don’t know what would cause it or why we’d result to petty arguments and disagreements. Pat can be rather gruff and dismissive when he needs to be, but he is only that way to strangers (and J, occasionally). He is very open and loving towards me - he isn’t a big talker to others but to me I can’t ever get him to shut up.

Who apologizes first?

J: I do, unless J has done something severe, then he’ll come into my room at night and slip in unnoticed just so that he can give me the closeness I want. I found myself having to apologize for pushing him away because I do that a lot and he doesn’t deserve it. He is caring in his own right and I am hard on him for no reason sometimes. He forgives me and eventually starts coming around again. J apologizes with subtle touches. He might put his hand on my thigh or brush the back of my hand with his thumb or put a hand on the small of my back. He knows how much I crave little touches like that and it’s his way of saying sorry.

Pat: As I’ve said, Pat and I haven’t ever fought but I like to think we’d apologize at the same time. Pat and I don’t really hold grudges so when we do fight or argue, we’d be fine ten minutes later. We also know how to talk through our disagreements so it never goes so far as arguing. Pat doesn’t let me push him away. When I try to do that he just cuddles harder and tries to make me smile (it works and I hate him for it, just kidding).

Big spoon or little spoon?

J: Big spoon, always. He lays on the far side of the bed near the windows. He doesn’t worry about being as close to the door since it’s locked but he likes being close to the windows since they’re right next to my bed. He’s always firmly pressed up against my back with his arm around my stomach. J has an aversion to having anyone at his back; he feels much too vulnerable in that position.

Pat: Big or little spoon, depending on his mood. Pat loves to love and be loved. If he’s feeling soft and gentle he might want to be the little spoon. Most often he’s the big spoon when J’s not around. Pat and I get tangled up in each other when we sleep. Sometimes he’s on top of me or vice versa. However we’re sleeping we’re always touching somehow. We don’t have the typical sleeping arrangement of big spoon/little spoon. We are a mess when we sleep in the same bed.

Dom or sub?

J: Dom. It isn’t in his blood to be anything but. He watches out for me and Pat, deeming that since we’re both significantly younger than him that we need care and protection. Our sex life is much the same - J is dominant. J is also the more…sexually driven of the two.

Pat: Pat is a switch. He’s a sub for J and a dom for me. He’s hotheaded and gets under J’s skin, but J will not relinquish control. It took Pat a while to accept that he would be J’s sub and we are still working on it heavily, even now that they are close. He isn’t completely comfortable doing everything (J is fine with that) and so they’re still taking it very slowly. It took Pat a long time to even let J get close to him in the bed while we’re sleeping. Pat sticks to me a lot more than he does with J. Their personalities clash somewhat and Pat still wants to get to know me better without J getting in the way. We’re working on teaching J the definition of sharing. Pat and I have only been intimate a few times and we cherish those times.

What are their kisses like?

J: long, intense, fiercely passionate, burning, hot-blooded, daring, bruising, boundary-breaking (sometimes; J gets really carried away). He likes to cup my cheeks in his hands when he kisses me hard. I like to think he enjoys my soft skin, almost like he’s comparing the softness to his rough and mangled flesh. There’s no malice or jealousy to be had; J likes his scars because I like them and he is never apologetic for who he is. Fire courses through my veins when we’re kissing - J’s lips make me forget my own name.

Pat: voluptuous, sensual, shameless, delicate, universal, intimate, lingering, and sometimes tentative. Pat’s kisses are all-consuming and turn my brain to mush. His lips are soft and inviting and are where I always lose myself. He isn’t as experienced with physical affection or sensual intimacy like J and I, so he sometimes kisses with an innocence about him, but his kisses are fierce and forceful because of how much love there is to be had. It’s new and refreshing; He is never overbearing or comes on too strong (even though he kisses so hard sometimes). Fireworks go off in my heart every time our lips meet.

What do they smell like?

J: aside from gasoline, greasepaint, gunpowder and sweat, he smells like sandalwood, black coffee, flames, burnt embers, smoke and (sometimes) rainwater.

Pat: Cinnamon and cinnamon buns (one of his favorite snacks), spicy cologne, apples & his breath smells (and tastes) like peppermint.

What are their hugs like?

J: J’s hugs are strong, bear-like but affectionate, protective and resilient. Sometimes they’re stiff but still heartfelt in a way only J is capable of. J’s type of hugs keep me in the here and now. Whenever he hugs me I can be nowhere else but in the moment, grounded, holding onto him for dear love.

Pat: Pat’s hugs are tight, warm like the sun on a cool spring morning, they’re sometimes spontaneous and end in a gentle wrestling session and other times they’re adamant of love and of care. His hugs are just as protective and convey safety and comfort as much as J’s do. When Pat hugs me it is like the personification of a cloud: snuggly, soft, cushiony; love unfurls in my chest every time his arms come around me.

Who is more protective?

J. He takes the liberty of protecting Pat, William and I even though we’d obviously do the same for him. He doesn’t like to hear that though. We’re all younger than he is, as I said before, so he feels like it’s his obligation since we’re all in a committed relationship. He is the protector. However, now that William has come along, he is insistent that he can protect himself and he helps J defend and protect, whenever he can (this is what the two argue about the most.)

Interested in children?

J: nope.

Pat: I think he might be if we were much older, but at the time, no. Him and J are both aware that I do not want children and are more than fine with it.

Who needs the most TLC when sick?

J: J throws things at us if we try to get too close when he’s sick. He’s a baby and needs care but doesn’t know how to ask for it. He will do everything he can to push us away so that we won’t stick around and help him through his sickness.

Pat: Pat is like me - he’s a big baby when he’s sick, though he feels extremely guilty asking for anything. He mainly wants someone to stay with him so that he isn’t lonely. He won’t ask for food or water or someone to lean on because he’s too weak to get around by himself, so I have to insist or bring him what he needs without him telling me to. I’m very much the same way. I have to have someone with me when I’m sick or else I get very lonely and upset (I am not afraid to admit that - last year I was so lonely when I was sick that it still bothers me. I’m so glad I had J to keep me company).

Who says ‘I love you’ first?

Me. J doesn’t ever say it with words, but actions speak louder than words anyway. I’d much rather someone do something to prove their love than just tell me. I had an experience where an old love told me constantly that they loved me. They just repeated over and over ‘I love you’ and I got so numb to the phrase by hearing it and saying it back that it stopped meaning anything to me. I love that J isn’t afraid to love me or admit it; I love that he finds ways to show me his love rather than tell me about it.

Pat and I say ‘I love you’ a lot but it always means something to me because of the tone of his voice when he says it. He likes to say it because it encompasses everything we feel for each other. It means more to me because he usually follows it with a kiss or a hand squeeze or something like that to emphasize its truth.

Which of you is more accident prone?

Me and Pat, hands down. Though J and I have the same perplexing issue where we will get cut or something and not feel it so we won’t notice until hours later. For some reason we don’t notice it or we don’t care enough to acknowledge it. I end up with all kinds of cuts and bruises and I also drop stuff a lot. Pat always gets hit with things or he’ll drop the bottle of shampoo on his foot in the shower and slip while trying to pick it up or something like that. Now that William is in the picture, he gets hurt about as often as Pat and I do, though he rarely flinches or even acknowledges his injuries or pain.

Bed hog?

We are all literally the biggest bed hogs it’s a wonder none of us have ever fallen out of bed. We start out squished together in our own separate spaces, but gradually overnight we take over each other’s spots and end up on top and underneath of each other, hands in each other’s hair, legs tangled and pressed in between others, pillows thrown around haphazardly and blankets wrapped practically in knots around our bodies. God only knows why or how we always wake up like this but it’s so comforting being this close to these men.

Who loves the other the most?

We all love each other equally, even though they don’t get along all the time and they fight over my attention occasionally. We have a very strong bond, unlike anything I’ve ever had before. I connect with them and they with me. We don’t fight over who loves who more. It is mutually understood that we all care about each other and love each other the same, we just show it in different ways.

#self-shipping

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anchoredtether · 4 years

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2020 Writing Roundup

Stolen from Rue! This was fun to reflect on!

Everyone is welcome to use this same format if they’d like to do the same!

~~~~~~~

S T A T S

Words written:

A whooping 232,867 - which is more than half of all the words I’ve written on Ao3 in the past seven years LOL. I guess I wrote to keep myself sane this crazy year.

O N G O I N G: S T A R T E D / U P D A T E D

AN UNORTHODOX APPROACH (21,586 words)

First new fic of the year, this is my Shrek AU! I really adore this fantasy AU and it’s fun to explore such a crack concept and treat it seriously. It’s also a Pikelavar AU of sorts.

DEFENDERS OF AURITA (62,538 words)

Only updated my fantasy AU epic with one chapter this year, and I’m actually kind of sad I didn’t work on it more. It’s been hard to find muse for it when it hasn’t gotten nearly as much traction as other projects.

PARADISE LOST (13,013 words)

Another new fic started in June, this is a Zootopia AU! Heavily inspired from Zootopia, Beastars, and The Last of Us, it’s an apocalyptic future involving hybrids, people who have animal traits in order to combat a deadly strain of cancer. Plus I just love fox!Lance and rabbit!Pidge.

SCALING BACK (6,041 words)

New fic started in March, this is one I’ve had stewing on the backburner for quite awhile actually, and decided to start. It’s basically canon but Lance is actually a merman and hiding it from the team. It surprisingly fixes a ton of plot holes and fits with canon narrative.

SHATTER AND TESSELLATE (19,661 words)

This new project kind of took over my life if you couldn’t tell from all the art I’ve cranked out this past year for it. Oddly enough the idea just kind of hit me one day in March. I think Rue’s “worst timelines” got me thinking along those lines and I came up with the idea of Honerva seeing into the future and kidnapping the future paladins and turning them galra to prevent Voltron from defeating the Empire. So it’s a Galra AU but in the worst way possible.

SIX IMPOSSIBLE THINGS (7,243 words)

Another new fic started in August, this Wonderland AU I’ve had notes and ideas for since 2018 or something. And it’s hilarious because I thought of Lance being the Cheshire cat long before Pike existed. Thanks to lots of brainstorming on Discord I’ve figured out a lot more worldbuilding for this AU and I can’t wait to expound on it.

SLIDING LEFT MAKES MR. RIGHT (2,788 words)

Crack Tinder AU which says I posted in 2020 but I think I wrote it in November/December of 2019. This is a oneshot and it’s taking me forever to finish because it’s hard for me to write short things lol.

THE VACANT ETHER (31,121 words)

This is from the Stories in the Dark bang back in October 2019 and I’m still working to finish it. Post s8, horror, cosmic Reaper AU. This is a favorite AU of mine because of how nicely it fixes and explains all the plot holes of s8.

WHAT TIDES MAY BRING (20,704 words)

The Mer AU that Rue and I started writing last year! I really adore this AU and the Plance family feels it has, and sadly I’ve been slacking on my end with writing the next chapter but I hope to get more content in before MerMay this year.

WHERE SAPPHIRE ROSES GROW (31,101 words)

I wrote a lot this year for my Beauty and the Beast AU. I’m quite pleased I finally got to the part where Lance learns Pidge is a girl because that’s when things start moving into motion (and obviously the romance starts developing, but still not for awhile yet because I’m a sucker for slow burns).

WHERE THE SUN MEETS THE OCEAN (8,620 words)

I barely touched my Atlantis AU this year. This is another AU that doesn’t get as much love so it’s hard to find muse for it at times.

R E F L E C T I O N S

Best title

I am really fond of Shatter and Tessellate. Not only does it sound pretty and gives great imagery but it’s symbolic of how the paladins are broken and put back together.

Worst title

Probably Paradise Lost. It’s unoriginal (I stole it from the book by John Milton) though it fits the themes of the fic. But I also couldn’t think of anything better and I do find it funny that shortened it becomes PL which is like Pidge/Lance.

Best/worst last line

Best: from Where Sapphire Roses Grow:

She opened her eyes to see Lance looking up at her with his captivating irises as brilliant a blue as the very sapphire rose that cursed him, eyes that were still human.

“I swear to you Lance… I will figure out a way to break your curse.”

Worst: from Paradise Lost:

“Please…” she says in a muffled voice between sobs. “I can't - I can't do this alone."

“You won't have to,” he promises softly as he holds her close. “I'm here. I'm right here..."

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

I wrote uhhh.... way more. Than I thought possible considering all the stress that happened this year. I started six new fics and progressed a ton in others.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

This is a hard one to choose... but based on the content I covered this year for the fic as opposed to the fic itself, I’d have to say Where Sapphire Roses Grow. It’s so fun writing feral Lance and him protecting Pidge from the wolves was one of my favorite scenes to write this year.

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

By a freaking landslide, Shatter and Tessellate. This really caught me off guard - I never thought this fic would be so popular, especially considering it starts out as a kid fic of sorts (paladins are all early teens at first) and most people don’t like kid fics. It’s also quite dark and highkey horror? So I’m shocked it’s so well loved.

Story most underappreciated by the universe?

By far The Vacant Ether. I thought it would gain a lot more traction considering everyone and their dog wants a s8 fix it fic, but then again TVE covers really dark topics and is technically a horror fic. So I shouldn’t be surprised it isn’t for everyone. But I am really happy with how it has turned out, even if less people read it.

Story that could have been better?

All of them Hmm. I feel like Scaling Back could have been more imaginative, considering the second chapter mostly follows the events of a canon episode with little divergence.

Sexiest story?

None of them have really gotten to that point yet... though I have been working on some future steamy scenes for some fics. If I had to pick one though probably Where the Sun Meets the Ocean because Pidge ogles Lance in that one.

Saddest story?

Yikes this is a hard one. I think I have to say Shatter and Tessellate, because not only does that one cover death and kidnapping, but metamorphis and body horror. And it’s all the more sadder because they’re just kids.

Most fun?

I think the one most fun to write is Where Sapphire Roses Grow. I love the time period, I love monster!Lance, I love Pidge and Lance bickering, there’s just so many good points to it. Plus BatB is a classic I loved and grew up with as a kid so it’s really fun to write out the themes I love.

Story with single sweetest moment?

I think Lance comforting Katie in Shatter and Tessellate when she asks him to call her by Pidge from now on fits this one. Lance and Pidge have a lot of little moments like this in this fic but this one in particular is very tender.

“Pidge is cute,” he finally says as he nervously rubs his wrist. “Reminds me of Pokemon.”

She makes a small sound which he thinks is an attempt at a laugh and turns her head to face him, tucking her hair behind her ear. “That’s where Matt got it from, actually.”

He smiles at her. “Is Matt your brother?”

She nods. “I’ve always loved owls, but I had a hard time saying it when I was learning how to talk. I watched Matt play enough video games that I could say ‘Pidgey’ though, and so I started calling any owl I saw as Pidgey. At some point the nickname Pidge stuck.”

Hardest story to write?

Easily The Vacant Ether. It covers a lot of heavy and dark topics and it’s hard to really nail the horror vibe sometimes. But also Sliding Left Makes Mr. Right solely because I can’t write short one-shots to save my life LOL.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Not really? Aside from just... cranking out a ton. I suppose starting 6 new fics can count as taking a risk. Keeping up with all my projects is also a project but I somehow manage to do it.

Proudest Achievement:

I think Shatter and Tessellate reaching so many kudos and hits. I seriously was not expecting that.

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

Just keep writing I guess. I do have two ambitious plans, to finish Not All Pain Heals, my Teen Wolf fic that is long overdue to be finished, as well as The Vacant Ether which is the fic I have planned out the most and would be easiest to finish.

#fanfic writing roundup #2020 stats #Ao3 stats #my fanfics #plance

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rayshippouuchiha · 5 years

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I came out of Endgame with tears in my eyes and my heart filled up to the brim with absolute seething rage.

Even as I write this now my hands shake with some sick mixture of sadness, rage, and bitter disappointment.

So I preface this by saying that I am emotionally compromised and some of my views might shift with time and distance.

But, for better or for worse, this is my first rage flushed take:

I am so disappointed and so angry that after all of the tension, all of the build, all of the time and sweat and tears, all of the loyalty, we were rewarded with this.

Endgame had its high points, I’m not saying that it didn’t. There were some genuinely funny moments and some heart rending ones as well.

Every single second Tony Stark was on screen was flawless as always. Robert Downey Jr. once again proved why he and he alone was suited for the role of Tony Stark and the task of carrying the majority of the MCU for the past 10+ years.

That’s not to say that the rest of the cast wasn’t good. All of the actors all obviously brought their A game and then some when they were allowed to by what I loosely call a script.

So yeah, there were some highs.

But when its comes to Endgame’s low points?

Its low points were subterranean.

They lowered the bar and then they dug underneath it.

Again I’m writing this basically fresh from the theater and with my emotions still high so do forgive me if this is a bit jumbled around or if I ramble a bit as I cover some of the real issues I had with the film.

So, first thing to address was the overall tone of the film.

For this to be the much glorified Endgame, the “battle of our lives”, there was, in my opinion, a distinct lack of true tension in this film. Instead of a fraught, nail biting, tension filled ride, Endgame is more of a ... brisk jog through some vaguely sticky situations.

Instead of playing the story straight and giving the situation the gravity it deserved, the narrative went out of its way to put humor that served no other purpose than to ruin what tension had been previously built. And, in my opinion, the tone of the film suffered for it.

The humor and jokes were humorous, I’m not saying they wasn’t. I genuinely laughed out loud in the moment. But I also feel that, with the majority of the comedy that was wedged into the narrative, the film suffered for it.

Now let’s move on a bit to the actual plot of the film. Again, forgive me if I bounce a bit:

Jeremy Renner was breathtakingly heartbreaking as Clint Barton. Renner was finally allowed to stretch his legs a bit in this film and he proved that, had he been given the chance, he would have given us a Clint Barton to take our breath away.

Watching with Clint as his family died helped to set what should have been the tone for the majority of the film from there on while reminding us of just what was lost and just what was at stake all at the same time.

Chris Evans brought heart to his portrayal of a Steve Rogers who seems both lighter and more weighted down in this film than ever before.

Scarlett Johansson’s Natasha finally showed more emotion than “head tilt”, “lip purse”, and “arched brow” and it was beautiful.

The brief flash of friendship and affection between Nebula and Tony was perfect and heartwarming as well. Nebula was magnificent as the “feral space cat desperately in need of softness and a friendly hand” when placed side by side with a slowly withering Tony Stark who is, even at his lowest moments, still kind to this alien cyborg he doesn’t know but to who he owes his life. They flowed together with an onscreen chemistry in their few moments side by side that felt organic and aching.

Together Tony and Nebula embodied a truly important life/plot point of “meet kindness with kindness and kindness will be your reward”.

Moving forward in time hearing Tony vent his anger and his pain and his distrust at Steve was cathartic in a lot of ways.

As was watching Tony rip the arc reactor from his chest and slap it into Steve’s hand.

In this moment Tony is handing Steve his metaphorical broken heart and leaving someone else to, for once, try and pick up the pieces.

But then, unfortunately, things go rather steeply down hill from there.

With Tony out for the count in a hospital bed the others hunt down and execute Thanos with basically a hand wave and all hope for the stones is lost.

Until deus ex rat-ina unleashes Scott Lang from the quantum realm and the logic of the film takes a sharp left turn.

Scott Lang was missing for 5 years.

To him it was 5 hours.

To which I say, why did Janet van Dyne, age during her stay in the quantum realm? If, according to the MCU canon, every year in our world was roughly only an hour for Scott Lang, then why didn’t Janet come out of the quantum realm only 30 hours older instead of 30 years?

I feel like the answer is probably “because” but yeah maybe I’m just fuzzy on my Ant Man so if I’m wrong then just ignore that bit please.

Also, just a side note, I adore how it’s been 5 years, Wakanda is very much an ally and still up and running, and yet Rhodey still don’t have working legs. But alas, racism.

Moving on.

So with the main villain dead and Tony Stark having solved time travel in his living room, because I stan legends only, we’re now subjected, and that is the very word I’d use to describe what happens next, to what is called a Time Heist.

Cute.

Also Bruce Banner and Hulk have now merged Steven Universe style despite Hulk being scared green-less 5 years ago. But that’s all good, Bruce smoked a ton of weed, they meditated, went on a cleanse or whatever.

Either way Bruce finally did that character development that everyone had been shouting at him since Avengers 2012 and accepted Hulk as part of him and they’re now Dr. Hulk which was … something that happened?

A thing that they chose to do. The direction in which they set their narrative wheels and then powered full steam ahead and plowed us right over in the process.

But yeah, Time Heist! That’s the way to go, the only way apparently.

Because going back in time to stop the Snappening isn’t an option due to reasons that are explained and still look and feel paper thin but probably just honestly boils down to “Russos”

Our intrepid heroes will now split up and surf through time Bill and Ted style to collect the Stones from different points in history.

Yay.

So the rest of the film is basically that, a big old jewel hunt through space and history where the Russos attempt to fool us into thinking their plot points are cohesive and cool by donkey punching us repeatedly in our nostalgia-sacks.

We’re treated to, in no particular order, such hits as:

“Ah 2012 and the invasion of New York only not as interesting but Tony Stark is very much an ass man, but then we been done known that.”

“The Ancient One and her still very distracting skull vein coming at you right now”

“LOKI YOU LITTLE SHIT”

“The one time I envied Scott Lang because, for a split second, he got to be inside Tony Stark”

“Let’s watch Tony Stark simultaneous take a Hulk to the face and have a small cardiac event all at the same time but from different angles”

And let us not forget

“Tee Hee Hee us white bois just had to find a way to make sure Captain America say “Hail HYDRA” but it was for “spy reasons” so weren’t we clever???????”

Yeah boys, great job.

So edgy.

(Although as a side note I do agree, Steve Roger’s ass really is America’s ass and I’d like to thank him for that. Personally.)

But then, of course, Endgame would not have been complete without:

“Steve Rogers stares longingly and creepily at Peggy Carter from behind a window, further backing up his one defining character trait in the MCU which is the inability to move on. Also she doesn’t look up at all despite being a trained spy and all around badass who probably should have noticed the 6 foot slab of American Beef staring at her from less than a foot away, dark room or no dark room.”

And then my personal favorite:

“Tony Stark sees Howard Stark, the father he described as “calculating, cold, he never told me he was proud of me, never even told me he loved me” but it’s all good cause Tony’s a dad now so looking back all he sees are the good times with his emotionally neglectful and abusive father who says there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his unborn kid and now they awkwardly hug while I try not to scream “FOOTAGE NOT FUCKING FOUND HOWARD AND NO THAT ONE 3 MINUTE VIDEO DOESN’T COUNT YOU SHIT” at the screen and explode in pure rage.”

Joy.

Truly a scene that was necessary and fit the narrative of Howard Stark’s personality and was needed for Tony to uh get closure or grow as a man and a father or something …

It totally wasn’t yet another excuse to give a canonically abusive father screen time in a way that seems genial and sweet in an attempt to give them a bit of redemption that they neither earned nor deserve.

But yeah, whatever, moving on.

Also Rhodey remains an absolute gem and he and Nebula get shit done.

Only oops, not so fast.

Because apparently the only one who is going to run into the whole “two of you can’t exist in one place at one time without consequences” rule is Nebula who, despite her bitchin orange stripe/badge of character development, managed to like synch up with her past self?

Because she didn’t turn her bluetooth/quantum entanglement function off I guess.

Either way Orange Stripe Nebula, O’Snebula as I call her, has accidentally air dropped all her files into OG Nebula’s mental iPhone.

So yeah now big old Past Grimace knows what’s up.

Ooops??

So shit goes down and then Past Grimace is like “you need to Trogan horse this shit, least favorite daughter” so OG Nebula does because “daddy issues”.

Dr. Hulk puts on the gauntlet and Kentucky fires his arm bringing all the people lost in the Snappening back to life now, 5 years after they got dusted.

Which is … honestly a recipe for disaster in so many ways. What about the people, like the guy in Steve’s support group, who have started to move on?

What about the people who have remarried, have built new lives?

All of that’s ruined now.

It’s fantastic all those people are alive again but jobs, housing, food, healthcare, government, all of it is back in massive disarray across the universe.

And bringing those people back does nothing to bring back the people who didn’t die in the Snappening but died from causality instead. All the deaths caused by suicides, by car/bus/train/plane/ship/etc crashes, by a lack of first responders, by the civil/world/interplanetary wars that probably raged across the universe due to entire governments disappearing?

All of those people are still dead.

The Snappening killed half of all life in the universe. Causality probably killed another good ¼ after that.

And Dr. Hulk’s Un-Snappening saves none of them.

This isn’t a true solution, it’s a shitty band-aid.

But yeah, Russos so….

Moving on.

Yadda Yadda Yadda, plot plot plot. OG Nebula goes undercover, Past Grimace ends up in the future, there’s some fighting (which was admittedly BAD ASS), shit happens, and Tony saves the day like we all knew he would.

YAY!

Despite the massive rambling up above I’m not gonna plot out the entire movie right here though a lot will probably get covered coming up because here’s where I get down and start talking about the various character arcs too.

Because what a wild fucking ride those were.

Okay to take it from the top Scott Lang’s arc was fine. Beyond my questions about the quantum realm his was clear cut and fine although I do wonder at his luck at being, apparently, the only Scott Lang in San Fran to go missing. Well either that or he was staring at some other Scott Lang’s name instead of his own and in that case “awkward”.

Bruce’s arc was … look I could have done without all of the cringy Dr. Hulk stuff that they played up for laughs. If they were gonna brush Hulk being terrified under the rug they could have found a better way to do it besides just erasing the duality between Hulk and Banner with a hand wave.

But yeah, Russos.

Carol Danvers was beautiful and magnificent and completely brushed aside. Yes she was out in the universe handling shit, yes I know they did that so they could focus on the core Avengers, etc etc etc.

But it’s a damn shame that Carol Danvers, and her glorious haircut, was reduced to being the sorely needed and totally badass cavalry and last minute ace in the hole when she should have, logically, been a part of the vanguard. Honestly I have thoughts on why Carol’s entire character should have been saved completely for the next phase of the MCU instead of introduced so late in this one but I digress.

O’Snebula was a perfect shining bionic light and I love her.

Gamora is now alive in the future but at what cost? Not that her life isn’t worth something on its own, it totally is and she deserved the loophole resurrection 10000%.

Shit’s gonna be awkward though cause she doesn’t love Quill, she doesn’t love the Guardians, doesn’t really know O’Snebula or the universe she’s been thrown into. She doesn’t have the memories or the experiences or the character growth and even if she does go back to her family she’ll never be the same person.

Now her and Quill’s relationship, if they ever have one again, will be reduced down to Quill going “you fell in love with me once you could do it again despite us no longer having the shared experiences that bonded us together”. Same can be said for the rest of the Guardians as well.

Guess we all know what the plot of GotG 3 is gonna be about.

And that brings us to the story lines that really and truly upset me.

Which is basically all the rest of them.

Natasha/Clint’s combined story-line, Thor’s everything, Steve’s … Steve, and then finally Tony.

Now the Natasha/Clint story-line started out promising.

Clint’s rage and pain was obvious, his heartbreak poignant. His decision to use all of those to cut a bloody swathe through the criminal underworld was both Dramatic(™) and understandable.

Natasha’s love and grief for him, her desperate attempts to hold onto what she has left by throwing herself into her new job, was a perfect demonstration that Natasha Romanoff is very much not a robot. She was exhausted, frayed at the edges, and she had tears in her eyes, over Clint. And then she pulled herself together, slipped her mask back on, and pushed her way forward. This was all excellent.

It was also a nice narrative callback/parallel to have Natasha be the one to go out and bring Clint in from the cold.

Natasha plays touch stone, plays stability, for Clint and for many of the others. For the first time Natasha is truly portrayed as a person all the way down to the core instead of some witty quips in a catsuit. Plus her eyebrows finally came back from the war and her hair looked good again. So there was that.

Clint and Natasha’s arc comes to a climax on Vormir as they search for the Soul Stone and Red Skull, the Nazi cockroach that he is, gives them the same spiel he gave Thanos.

To get the Soul Stone you must give up the life of the one you love the most. A soul for a soul.

Narrative wise this is consistent, we all knew this would happen as soon as they started searching for the Stones again. It was obvious.

It was also obvious that Clint was the perfect sacrifice.

He’s got nothing left, his family is dead, he’s already lost the people he loves the most, he’s spent five years being a borderline monster.

And he is also, without a doubt, the thing that Natasha loves the most.

Clint was ready and willing to go, ready to die for the blood on his hands, ready to sacrifice himself for the chance that his family would be saved.

Ready to lay down on the wire and let Natasha walk over him for the sake of everything.

Clint dying made sense, was narratively sound, and heartbreaking.

All of which are only a few of the reasons why Natasha’s death was such a goddamn betrayal.

Instead of following along with the narratively sound death of Clint Barton, an Avenger that’s been ignored for most of the films as is, the Russo brothers instead chose to fridge Natasha.

Clint dying would have been the perfect mirror to Gamora’s death.

Gamora was a daughter unwillingly sacrificed by her father to destroy half of all life in the universe.

Clint would have been a father willingly sacrificed by a friend to save half of all life in the universe, his own sons and daughter included.

But no, we didn’t get that, instead we got a gratuitous scene of Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, splayed angel like and bloody on the rocks below.

Instead they fridged the Black Widow, the only woman of the original Big Six, because they couldn’t bring themselves to fridge a man.

So Clint gets the Soul Stone.

Such a fitting end for the Black Widow right? Dying in a man’s place, mourned on screen by a circle of men, but ultimately set aside rather quickly.

I understand why Natasha wanted to be the one to go, I understand that she didn’t want Clint’s family to lose their husband/father and that her true family was the Avengers. I get that. It doesn’t mean I enjoy or agree with the decision they made any more.

It doesn’t make me any less tired of watching female characters die for the sake of men and their families.

Natasha Romanoff sacrificed herself for the universe and her family and that deserves respect even if I absolutely hate it as a narrative choice.

Oh and what about the absolute NERVE of the Russos to have that awesome Lady Power Battle Strut happen but only after they killed Natasha, one of the Big Six?

Bitter? Me? Nooo.

Now, moving on to Thor.

Thor.

Oh my actual God, Thor.

The levels of disrespect Thor, Chris Hemsworth, and the fans were shown with this character arc/story-line in Endgame is breathtaking.

The absolute, shameless disrespect.

They turned Thor into a cowardly, drunken slob who has spent the last 5 years ignoring his responsibilities to what’s left of his people and instead has spent his time drinking, sulking, and literally yelling at kids over PSN??

Endgame’s Thor has the bullshit reasoning that he needs to stop trying to be who he thinks he should be and instead be who he is.

Which flies completely in the face of literally all of his character development from Thor all the way to Thor 3 and then Infinity War.

The entirety of Thor 3 was Thor’s hero’s journey culminating in him finally being the king he was always meant to be. Finally maturing and stepping forward to lead his people.

I am supposed to believe that Thor, depressed and guilty or not for not killing Thanos when he had the chance the first time, just abandoned his people like that?

I’m supposed to believe that Thor would piss all over everything the majority of his family and friends died for?

I’m supposed to believe that Heimdall, Loki, countless soldiers, and The Warrior’s Three and Lady Sif (I guess), all died to protect Asgard, died for the people and for Thor, and Thor just what? Turns his back on all of that to become a drunk?

No, Thor wouldn’t do that. Thor should have been down there beside Valkyrie working those fishing vessels when Bruce and Rocket came calling. If Thor had any hesitance to join them it should have been, “I can’t abandon my people, I am needed here.” He should have been fiercely guarding the tiny fraction of Asgard that’s left.

Thor’s depression and guilt was valid. Don’t mistake me on that. But they played it for jokes. They made him a caricature of depression, made him “gross” and incompetent and the butt of the jokes, and in the process diminished what should have been a painful and poignant arc for Thor.

Instead we got Big Lebowski Thor, bathrobe included, who does stand up and fight yes but, in the end, gives up his crown and just fucks off to space to have petty pissing competitions with Peter Quill so he can?? find himself?? despite finding himself in Ragnarok already???

Thor’s entire arc in Endgame was shallow, mishandled, and disrespectful to the character, to Chris Hemsworth, and to the fans.

You, we, he, all deserved better than this.

Now we get to Steve.

Steve Rogers, Captain America himself.

I’ve had a lot of salt about Steve’s character and actions in the MCU but, all of that aside, he deserved so much more than what the Russo’s did to him in Endgame.

Hell he’s deserved so much more than what’s been done to him since post-CA:TFA.

But this is about Endgame specifically soooo….

Steve’s shown leading a support group in the beginning of Endgame, is shown talking about moving on and moving forward and learning to let go. Which is wonderful. It sounds like the exact character development we’ve all been waiting for for Steve.

Which is, of course, the exact moment when Steve goes “nah just kidding, we don’t ever move on”.

Which, given the circumstances, is pretty fair. If Steve was only thinking/talking about Thanos and the events of Infinity War.

But of course he wasn’t.

CA:CW should have been the end of the Peggy Carter saga for Steve. He mourned her, he was finally moving forward, he’d kissed Sharon, he threw everything away to save Bucky, he gave up his shield, etc etc.

But no. Endgame finds him right back there, clutching that goddamn compass, and making moon eyes at a woman who we all thought went on and lived a life without him, got married, had kids, and generally existed outside of Steve Rogers.

But no. The Russo’s had to take that away from us too.

And yes yes I know I know multiverse or whatever but still.

Steve steamrolls his way through Endgame with skill and determination. He picks up Thor’s hammer, finally worthy, which how??? Why??? (perhaps because he’s no longer keeping secrets??? Or maybe that’s just my salt talking? Who knows? Not me?)

And then he fights Thanos head to head.

(Although him wielding the hammer brought up an entire separate set of issues cause I’m pretty sure Mjolnir doesn’t actually summon lightning. Ragnarok pretty much said that the lightning has always been within Thor. Mjolnir was just a control accessory. But, you know, Russos *jazzhands*)

And then, in the end, he insists on returning the Stones on his own.

Only he doesn’t come back like he was supposed to.

Instead we’re given old Steve Rogers.

Because Steve returned the Stones and then ….went and found Peggy Carter and got married and lived an entire life with her ignoring everything he would have known was going to happen to her and around the both of them or something???

Or maybe not if the multiverse thing holds up but then who knows any more???

But then how did Old Steve end up right there by that lake on that day at that right time if he’s technically from a different multiverse???

Either way Sam gets his shield and the mantle of Captain America, which was fantastic, and Bucky more than likely knew Steve’s plan all along but the best read I really got on him was basically “eh” so he might well have been happy for Steve too.

But still, instead of finally achieving peace and continuing to learn to live in the future with Bucky and Sam and the remnants of the Avengers, his family and the life he’s built there over the past years, instead of putting the shield down because he’s learned to let go in the now, Steve only puts the shield down because he chooses the past.

He chooses the past over all of that and all of the people left who love him. Sure the argument could be said that he knew they’d be alright but still.

There is a deep well of dissatisfaction inside of me as to how Steve’s entire ending arc was handled. Why did peace only come to Steve after Tony and Natasha were both dead and then was only found in the past?

No disrespect to Peggy Carter, I adore her, but were the relationships he had in the future worth so little that the past was the only place he could find happiness? A past with a woman that he knows loved him but still moved on and found happiness outside of him, lived a full and happy life without him?

Steve didn’t get a character arc so much as he got a character circle. A character loop. He went right back to where he started.

Endgame erases all of the character development Steve underwent post-Avengers. Just brushes it all under the rug.

The Russo’s stole the character development Steve Rogers spent a decade undergoing to give him their version of a happy ending.

They robbed him and us both of every bit of growth and forward motion Steve has underwent and I will never forgive them for that.

And now we get to Tony Stark.

Anthony Edward Stark.

The Iron Man.

Tony’s arc is, was, the longest and best developed arc in the entirety of the MCU.

It’s spanned 10+ years and has been nurtured and hand fed by Robert Downey Jr.

If Endgame got one thing right, one thing at all, it’s how they handled the majority of Tony’s arc.

From him laying the smack down on Steve once he was home, finally venting his emotions and his anger, all the way to him solving time travel before tucking his kid into bed, and then building an Infinity Gauntlet on his own even though Thanos committed genocide to get the one he had.

Tony Stark’s arc was glorious and expected and sad.

I think that my one almost complaint is that Tony stopped for 5 years. On one hand he deserved the rest, deserved the chance to find happiness. He was hurt and tired and he’d faced his demons and been left bleeding out with the death of half the universe weighing on his shoulders.

He deserved to just stop for a while.

On the other hand stopping is not something Tony has ever been good at, just like Pepper said. A part of me thought Tony would be working, frantically, to find something, anything, to turn back the hands of time. To track Thanos down. To get the Stones and then to get everything else back.

To get Peter and all of the others back.

But that’s not the route they went and I’m … okay? I guess, with that.

Tony was validated and vindicated and everyone would have finally listened to him. It only took the death of half of the universe to do it. But he was too tired, too hurt and untrusting to keep pushing. I can respect that.

But of course once an idea worms its way inside Tony can’t let it go. So he solves time travel on the fly and sets out to save the world.

Again.

His one stipulation is that he will do anything, everything, he has to in order to keep what he has now. His wife Pepper and Morgan, his sweet little daughter.

So of course he doesn’t get to do that either.

After all of the blood, sweat, suffering, and mental illnesses, Tony doesn’t get his happy ending. Not really.

He gets to rest, yes, but he loses out on everything he wanted to do with his kid. In the process of saving the universe he becomes the one thing he never wanted to be for Morgan, a distant father.

A face on a screen, stories, memories other people have.

No matter how many holograms or inventions or whatever Tony left to Morgan, it’ll never replace him.

Morgan got 5 years with her father. She’ll spend the rest of her life hearing stories about him, about how much of a hero he was. And hopefully, with Pepper and all the others behind her, Tony will remain a hero to her and will not, instead, become her version of Captain America. An untouchable symbol that Morgan will never live up to.

So, in the end, Tony sacrifices once again.

Watches the future he wanted crumble to dust in his fingers, lightning scorching him from the inside out as infinity rips him apart.

And he dies there, surrounded by some of the people who love him best.

His best friend.

His wife.

The son he almost had.

And, despite all of that, it is very very fitting that his death was at his own hands.

Thanos could take out half the universe, he could traverse time and space, he could humble Thor, terrorize the Hulk, rip Steve Roger’s up, survive shield and hammer and so much more, but the one thing he couldn’t do?

He couldn’t kill Tony Stark.

The only thing that could kill Iron Man, could kill Tony Stark, was his own heart.

Tony Stark takes the Infinity Stones in hand knowing how this is going to end, knowing that Stephen Strange set him on this path years ago.

Because didn’t Strange warn him? Didn’t Strange tell him outright “I’ll let the kid and you both die to protect the Time Stone”?

Tony just never expected it to take a few hours and then 5 more years for Strange’s promise to finally be fulfilled.

So Tony does it knowing that after everything he’s been through, all of the pain and the suffering and the battles, it was only enough to have earned 5 years of happiness, 5 years of his dream.

5 years of being the father he always swore he’d be.

Tony Stark takes the Infinity Stones and dies for the entire universe, for his family, for his daughter. Dies knowing that he’ll be doing the one thing he didn’t want to do, swore he would never do.

Leaving them behind.

Tony Stark brings us full circle as he stands as both equal and mirror of Thanos once again.

Man to Titan. Good Father to Bad Father. Life to Death.

Tony Stark picks up the weight of the universe and then he dies making sure that it has a future free from the same fear that has haunted him for a decade.

A warm light for all mankind, sent to sleep, to rest, knowing that finally everything will be okay.

And all he had to do was die for it.

So, I’ll close this out saying this:

This was written in one solid push after my first viewing and Endgame was dissatisfying for me as you might have guessed. I am disappointed and angry at so much they chose to do to end out this iconic decade of cinema and to close out these character’s arcs.

There were a lot of points and little details I didn’t get to cover in this and perhaps a lot of points you might not agree with me on.

That’s okay.

Because, no matter what, there is one thing I know for sure.

We, I, will always have Tony Stark and the lessons he taught me. The pain he endured and shared with all of us. The bravery and strength he inspired in so many of us as we watched him struggle with physical and mental illnesses on screen. As we watched him obsess and stress and love and grow.

I have never loved a character more than I love Tony Stark.

I have never been impacted by a character as much as I have been by Tony Stark.

I’m not sure if I ever will again.

So, Tony Stark is Iron Man.

He always will be.

And he saved more than just some fictional universe.

He saved a lot of us along the way too.

And we’ll always love him for that.

#MCU wank #Avengers Endgame #avengers 4 #Avengers #Endgame #A:4

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ottostherapy · 4 years

Text

How to not be an adult - Reunion

Severus Snape x OC

a/n: Still a Snape appreciation month story, cause Snape deserves some love. Excuse my language, not my mother tongue.

post-war au, where Snape survives and returns to teaching at Hogwarts. After disappearing for almost four month, he is to meet his new colleagues.

warnings: none

word count: 1358

Part 1

(gif’s not mine)

Soon the other teachers arrived, some of which Severus knew, some of which he couldn’t recall having met before. Filius Flitwick was late to the feast they had in the Great Hall, which was not to his surprise. The short wizard continuously had a hard time letting go of his wife, or the other way around, Severus didn’t know.

He, himself was sat next to Minerva and Horace Slughorn.

While his former potions professor had a lot to talk about, Severus kept to himself. He watched Septima Vector talking to a rather small, chubby witch, with puffy dark hair, standing to all directions, listened to a vivid conversation between Rolanda Hooch and Pomona Sprout about the effect of Fluxweed in brooms. Nearby sat Poppy Pomfrey, who had taken interest in a neatly dressed witch. All around the staff chattered, yet the air glimmered in a tense.

Minerva cleared her throat and stood up. “I want to welcome you all to this years’ Hogwarts staff!” The professors quickly silenced. “I hope you enjoyed our first meal together.”

Here and there Severus saw a nod. Rubeus Hagrid even managed to rasp an “Of course” between slugs out his massive cup.

“Since we are now a vast mixture of common and new members, I reckoned we get to know each other a bit better before the year starts.” A whisper went through the table of teachers.

Severus and his long-established colleagues vividly remembered the silly games Albus had made them play over and over again.

“I think a quick introduction, a few words about yourself will suffice for tonight.” Minerva paused. “Due to the recent events, I have permitted myself to take a few changes in structure and curriculum, so for the next year we are joined by mental-health experts.” She looked to the neat witch next to Poppy. “At Rolanda’s and Poppy’s request, I have also decided to include a teacher for the sportive students, who are less interested in performing Quidditch, whereas I do question their common sense.”

Severus smiled faintly at her words. Ever since he remembered the older witch, she had been overly-engaged in cheering for Gryffindor to win the Quidditch-Cup. Admittedly, he himself was competitive, ambitious, one could say and he was glad to have been able to smear the victory of his house into Minerva’s face for a few years. Of course, this had never felt as good as the year his friend Regulus Black, captain of the Slytherin team while Severus was still learning had beat the arrogant James Potter in Gryffindor team.

“I did include a little twist for our introductory round”, Minerva summoned a good amount of parchment snippets. “These are quotes I have collected from you throughout the years knowing you, for those whom I don’t know as long, I chose quotes that do not immediately give away they are taken from the interview.” She had the snippets fly to the staff, one for each of them. “Once you introduced yourself you read the quote and then it’s everyone’s turn to guess.”

Horace nudged Severus’ side. “Don’t give me away, Severus.” The elder wizard wiggled his eyebrows at his former student.

“I will be silent as the dead.”

Horace twitched. “Oh no, no. Please don’t say that, dear.” Severus felt his heart sting. For the past years, he had lived knowing he had to die, knowing he had to kill Albus, knowing there were few people who appreciated him. Not to mention his father or his bullies. He was aware Horace valued him as a wizard, he had not expected him to appreciate him as a human being.

“Can I go firs’, Minerva?”, Severus heard Hagrid holler in excitement, to which she nodded.

The giant Gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures-Professor nonchalantly stood up. “Erm, well. My name’s Rubeus Hagrid an’ I am proud to stand ‘ere as the schools Keeper of Keys an’ Grouns, all thanks to Albus Dumbledore. Err, an’ I am also teaching the kids the Care of Magical Creatures.” He raised a hand to scratch his chin underneath the feral beard.

“Thank you, Rubeus.” Minerva gave him an affirming smile. “The quote?”

“Oi!” Hagrid unfolded the paper. “It says: I was expec’ing to see more blood today.”

Severus could barely contain the sneer, that was crawling the muscles around his mouth. He glanced at the very red, laughing Poppy, remembering the remark she had given towards the Slytherin-Gryffindor match a few years ago.

Against his anticipation, the quote-guessing game was a rather fun occurrence.

He found out Filius had gotten an anonymous love-letter the year, that the annoying Lockard had been employed, Pomona regularly talked to random cats around the greenhouses, hoping them to be Minerva, Maia Reed, the witch right next to Poppy had specialised in psychology at a muggle university and even though she looked so strict was a huge nerd for karaoke. Upon the mention of her degree at the muggle university the new professor for Muggle Studies shot her an envious look.

He, Baldwin Sivit, reminded Severus of Arthur Weasley, except he was less red-headed and did probably not have numerous children, he did however, raise the same energy, being all-interested in Muggle artefacts and such. Severus already knew he was not going to deliberately make friends with this person.

“Look, this one even copied his name on the test, we are teaching a year of dunderheads.” Severus shifted. He took a large sip red-wine and tried to look as indifferent as possible. Of course, all of the common professors laughed, knowing exactly, there was only one person in the room to be making these kinds of remarks.

Much to his surprise the small witch with the puffy locks snorted, before she blushed furiously. She searched the other adults’ faces with a curious look. As she reached his dark eyes, Severus couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at her.

“Definitely him!”, she blurted out, pointing at Severus. Her voice was low, raspy, with a delicate accent, he could not match. And if he didn’t know better, he would say she had stuck his tongue out at him.

“Why would you insult a student like this?” Sivit glared at Severus.

Before Severus could speak – he had something along the lines of “It’s not an insult if it’s true” in mind – Minerva intervened. “Professor Snape slips sarcastic remarks every now and then.” She paused, inspecting both Sivit and Severus strictly.

What an understatement, he thought to himself, but Minerva quickly continued: “He however, beholds very high aspiration regarding his students, which usually results in very well-educated young adults.”

“Indeed, indeed. You have, to this day, excelled every student I taught. Besides, did I ever tell you? The students I took over, are without exception experts at basic-knowledge.” Horace nodded in excitement.

“Even Longbottom?”, Severus asked raising an eyebrow. He did not turn his head to face the Potions Master, but his eyes scanned the wizard to his side cautiously.

Horace didn’t answer, instead the witch, who outed him, started introducing herself. “My name is Lilou Frei, I am the new Transfiguration Professor, I have attended Hogwarts for my own education from 74 to 81, some of you might remember me”, she winked at Pomona Sprout, then searched Severus’ face for any emotion, but he kept a straight face. He did not remember Lilou, and he certainly was very displeased with her name. “After graduating, I spent my years in my mother’s hometown in Switzerland, studying the art of turning one thing into another and also turning myself into a duck, because honestly, who doesn’t like ducks, they are lovely!” She cupped her face with her hands, probably thinking of the ducks she was referring to. Severus could not recall having seen a lovely duck, ever. “Oh, and I have an undying love for bouncy castles.” She added straight-faced.

Severus couldn’t help but grin. Ducks, an undying love for bouncy-castles and that bubbly energy of hers. This year would be … interesting.

“My sentence says: You will not regret this; I can turn myself into a duck!” Lilou giggled. “Oh how very unfortunate. This is me!”

#Severus Snape #prosnape #snape appreciation month #snape fanfiction #snape fanfic #snapeloveposts #snape lives au #snapedom #snape x oc #hp

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canyouhearthelight · 5 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 43

The one where Sophia’s administrator is officially hired, and an odd story about black cats features.

Or, “Sometimes the real world is as weird as fiction”

For all that I joked about books being my truest, most lasting love – after all, who still loves the same thing in their thirties that they loved when they were three? – life on the Ark kept me so busy that I was ashamed to admit I did not know where the archives were. However, I was always willing to learn more about the ship and take the chance to meet new people on the way. As such, I tucked the promised tomes into a satchel and decided to walk there, using my datapad as a map. A little voice somewhere on processor four, where my conscience and good will toward people tended to be, told me that travelling on foot would give people the chance to see that I wasn’t afraid, despite what happened. Maybe it would help make them less afraid.

That was three hours ago. Both of my shoulders ached from swapping the bag of books back and forth over the course of my idiotic trek. I was sweating slightly, and somewhere along the way I decided that the ‘little voice’ at the beginning was not, in fact, my conscience or belief in people, but instead came from processor five, home of Bad Decisions. I was completely certain of this, because the same voice had been telling me for the past thirty minutes to burn the books anyway and just be done with it.

To my relief, my datapad indicated that the door in front of me was my destination. Unlike most common areas on the Ark, this door was not labelled in any way that a human could interpret. Early on, Miys made it very clear that the doors were, in fact, marked by the architecture and gave back a specific echo when hit with a certain frequency – one that humans could neither hear nor create without technical assistance. I took a moment to straighten my bearing and run a hand through my frazzled hair before approaching the den of my soon-to-be administrator.

Alistair Worthington was nowhere in sight, but what I did see compelled me to let out a confident and completely dignified squeak. Books. Hundreds and hundreds of real, tangible, paper books. The smell of ink and glue invaded my lungs like the most intoxicating drug ever created. I don’t know what I had been expecting when I imagined there being an ‘Archive’ on the ship, but this wasn’t it.

This was a library. One like I hadn’t seen since I was a kid. Every shred of exhaustion and frustration vanished from my body as I trailed my fingers gently over the spines on the shelves. I honestly wanted to cry from the sheer sensation of being reunited with a long-lost friend. You can keep your hymns, your prayers, and your sermons, I thought. This is the most religious experience of my life.

My reverie was shattered painfully by the sound of a throat being cleared behind me. “Miss, please don’t touch the – Oh. Councillor Reid.” Worthington’s face snapped from stern to surprised when I turned on him, not even bothering to wipe the tears from my face.

Without a word, I untangled myself from the satchel I had been carrying and held it out with one hand. When he just glanced at it in confusion, I shook it. “Your books. I promised I would bring them myself, and I try to always keep my word.”

After only a split second of additional hesitation, the man before me showed the only spec of emotion I had seen in our brief encounters by eagerly snatching the bag from me and digging through it like it held everything he ever wanted. Ah, I thought, arching a brow. So you are human, after all.

“There are two missing.” He actually sounded disappointed.

Shaking my head, I tried to wrap my Councillor bearing around me. “No, there aren’t. Antoine Costa decided to keep Love in the Time of Cholera, since it was made here on the ship and the source does not negate the fact that it is his favorite book. Tyche Reid did agree to donate two of her graphic novels to the archive, but made a personal choice to keep Blankets, as is her right.”

With a sigh, he nodded in terse acceptance. “I suppose I can learn to live with that.”

“Archivist Worthington, there are fifteen books in that bag. None of the books that were donated or reclaimed were found to have Baconist propaganda, so that is all of them beside the two which were kept by their rightful owners,” I pointed out in frustration. “Besides, I carried those down here, on foot. It took me three hours. The least you can do is show an ounce of gratitude.”

He was clearly unimpressed, if the flat look he pointed at me was any indication. “For honoring our agreement and delivering them yourself, yes, I am grateful. However, I did not ask you to foolishly make that trek without the use of a transport, especially not when you are still recovering from your attack if I remember correctly. How you convinced your over-protective sister to even allow this – “

“Tyche does not ‘allow’ me to do anything, Mr. Worthington,” I cut him off icily. “I am a grown woman, and I am capable of making my own decisions.”

“That does not mean they are intelligent decisions, apparently,” he grumbled. “You clearly have more sense than this, I am baffled why you decided to walk down here.”

He had me there. After an awkward silence, I decided to change the subject. “Where did the rest of these come from?” I asked, running a finger along the edge of a shelf. “I know they aren’t confiscated.”

“I brought them from Earth, mostly,” he breathed with a nod. “Maybe three months before I arrived on the Ark, I stumbled across an old book store. Imagine my surprise when I saw that, somehow, it had not been broken into, the books not used for kindling.”

“You may as well have found Atlantis while you were at it,” I replied, not even half joking. In ten years, I had only found one or two books that were in sufficient condition to still read them, and more gutted and burned libraries than I wanted to remember. Book were paper, paper made good kindling. Sadly, religious texts burned the best, since they were usually printed on thinner paper. College textbooks were a close second.

Clearing his throat, he continued. “When I woke up on the Ark, I insisted that either the books come with me, or I go back to Earth. Books are history, I explained. And those who fail to learn from history…”

“Are doomed to repeat it,” I finished with a nod. “I completely agree, and I’m sure Tyche would agree with your determination. She managed to talk Noah into bringing the pets and genetic samples of the wildlife.”

“It is an Ark,” he conceded. “Would be a shame if we left the fauna behind. They did not ruin our world, after all.” He glanced away with a familiar haunted look. We all had ghosts, it seemed. Shaking his head vigorously, he seemed to snap out of whatever memory he was stuck in. “I’m just glad she did not bring any actual mice. They destroy books like nothing else.”

“No mice, just a cat,” I reassured him with a small smile.

“Ah, yes. Mac.” Worthington wrinkled his nose slightly. “A bit cliché, isn’t it? A witch having a black cat?”

“Ooo, someone never asked about the cat,” I sing-songed. “He’s shared, for starters. Mine, hers, and apparently the entire ship’s. But he’s also part of a long-standing tradition, one that goes back further than I can probably tell you. It’s unrelated to the witch thing, although that seems to be tradition, too.”

“Most people find black cats to be bad luck,” he sniffed, making it clear that ‘most people’ probably equated to ‘superstitious idiots’ in his mind.

I shook my head and chuckled. “Not my family, not by a long shot. Black cats always seem to find us, and we always seem to have at least one. No idea why, but I can’t remember a time when a woman in my family didn’t own a black cat.” A glance showed that the archivist was waiting expectantly. “When I was three years old, my family lived in California. Tyche wasn’t even born yet. Someone dumped two newborn kittens on our doorstep, a tabby and a black one. Smokey and Dragon. Mom went that day and got the formula and bottles to nurse them, and we kept them until we had to move across country. Then we were adopted by strays, first in Arkansas, then in Washington… When we moved back to Arkansas for the last time, not a week after we moved in, a gorgeous long-haired black tom showed up on our doorstep. Shadow. He was already grown, and half feral, but he always came back to our house. Not long before he vanished for the last time, one of our other cats, Monster, had a litter of kittens. Nearly every one was black. The girl, Onyx, was our next black cat. Then I went to college, Onyx died of a very venerable old age, and on my way to class one day, a kitten screamed at me from an engine block. I fished him out, and that was the original Machiavelli. Mac is his grandson, by the way. Mac stayed with Tyche, and I ended up with first The Dread Pirate Timmy, and then Nicodemus. There were other cats, but always at least one black one.”

As I told the story, I had been walking along the edge of the room, trailing my fingers along the tops of and down the spines of the books. I glanced over my shoulder to see Worthington’s head tilted and a strong look of thought on his features. “My family is heathens,” I clarified. “As far back as we have a family tree. You have to look really hard to find any major Abrahamic religions in there, and there’s not a drop of noble blood in our veins unless you count the Vikings.”

“Vikings were quite noble,” he muttered, still lost in thought.

“Maybe that’s why we never bought into the whole ‘black cats are bad luck’ thing,” I shrugged. “Cats are cats. They eat vermin, they make good companions. Self-sufficient, not very needy. So. I need to know that you’ll get along well with Mac.”

“Wait.” He shook his head again before taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “What? Why would I need to get along with your cat?”

I turned to fully face him, wide grin on my face. “Because, Mr. Worthington,” I flicked the file toward him from my datapad with a flourish. “You, sir, are my new Administrator. Congratulations.”

Finally losing all his composure, he started sputtering. “You – you cannot be serious. Did any others even apply?”

“Over a hundred, actually,” I confirmed, enjoying myself. “Forty made it past Xiomara Kalloe. Seventeen survived a second, deeper background check.” No need to mention Derek. “You, however, were the only one with a recommendation letter from my sister.”

“She doesn’t even like me,” he argued.

“Not in the criteria for the position, fortunately,” I explained. “And you’d be surprised. You aren’t afraid of her, which is significantly more impressive than you seem to realize.”

“You have clearly never taught teenagers,” he responded wryly. “Nasty little shits, they can be.”

I continued, trying not to laugh. “You’re determined, which is something she understands. But probably the most important is that you were the first person who I encountered after what happened on Level One who didn’t treat me like either a hero or a helpless victim. You saw me as a Councillor, expected me to act like one, and trusted my judgement.”

“I argued with you,” he pointed out.

“Do you not want the position?” I asked, arching a brow at him. He stopped arguing. “Even the fact that you argued with me is a point in your favor, not against it. You argued reasonably, logically. The disagreement was not with me personally, you were simply trying to get me to understand both sides of the debate. I’m not infallible, I’m human. I can be wrong, and today proves it. I can’t have someone assisting me who will agree to whatever I say just because I’m the one saying it. That way lies madness, despots, and the End.”

“I was really the best candidate?” he asked, still skeptical.

“I wasn’t part of the deliberations, so I can’t answer that honestly. But I do know that you were the one that my sister and I most approved of, based on what we knew of you. And the Council agreed on your appointment unanimously. Which means Grey Hodenson also decided, after what I understand was weeks of deliberation, that you were the best for the position. If that does not speak volumes as to your qualifications, I really don’t know what else would.”

“Huh.”

“Like I said, Administrator Worthington, congratulations.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #humans are space orcs #original fiction #apocalypse #earth is space australia

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