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nattikay · 1 year ago

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Jake is a Good Dad and I will Die On That Hill

Howdy Avatar fandom. Over the past six months or so I’ve seen a lot of criticism directed toward Jake Sully as a father, ranging from him simply being a little too strict at best, to outright neglectful and even abusive at worst. This, my friends, is some grade-A nonsense, and today we’re gonna talk about why. Strap in, lads, this is gonna be a long one. Let’s roll.

So before we get into breaking down the events of the main storyline, let’s address the idea that Jake was always the super-strict “military dad” throughout the kids’ lives: put simply, bullcrap.

Out of the film’s over-three-hour runtime, we get to see very little of the Sullies’ lives before the RDA’s return—only about six minutes’ worth. If Jake was meant to be this strict militaristic dictator during this time period, especially in a way that would significantly impact the kids’ character development and their relationships with him, this would be the time to show it, or at least hint at it. But instead of any of that, we really get quite the opposite. Jake laughs and plays with the kids:

Jokes around and cuddles:

Teaches Neteyam to fish:

He even says in his narration:

“Happiness is simple…whoever thought that a jarhead like me could’ve cracked the code?”

Guys, this is quite literally the best time of his life. This man absolutely adores his family with every fiber of his being, they are his whole world. Like, look at him! He has stars in his eyes!!

We have zero reason to suspect that Jake was overly harsh or strict in a way that would impede his relationship with his kids during this time. The Sullies appear to be a normal, healthy, close-knit family.

It’s only when the RDA returns and reignites war that things change.

I’ve seen some people claim that Jake’s personality changed it the second movie. I disagree—it was not his personality that changed, but rather his priorities.

A1 Jake was a disabled marine vet who was offered his brother’s contract after said brother was unexpectedly murdered by some thug on the street…and part of the reason he agreed to take that contract was that there really wasn’t much else left for him back on Earth, so why not go? A1 Jake had just about nothing left to lose, and therefore could afford to be more reckless.

A2 Jake, however, is another story altogether. A2 Jake can’t just run around poking and prodding and taking risks like A1 Jake did because now he has a wife and four children who rely on him and who he loves more than anything else in the world. It’s not just himself he has to look out for anymore, it’s them. He now has everything to lose. He says as much himself:

Not to mention that he’s older now. Did you really expect the 37-year-old father of four who’s been leading the clan for 15 years and is suddenly thrust back into a brutal war to behave exactly the same as the 22-year-old fish-out-of-water ex-marine sent to fill in for his scientist brother out of the sheer convenience of sharing a genome? A2 Jake’s behavior is not a sudden 180 from his personality in A1, it’s a natural progression and reaction for his character given the changed circumstances.

“A father protects. It’s what gives him meaning.”

This is essentially Jake’s thesis for the movie. This is his #1 priority, his purpose, the lens through which all his actions must be viewed in order to understand them, and it’s important to establish it upfront because it sets up everything else.

With that in mind, let’s take a look at the train raid sequence as its aftermath. Jake begrudgingly allows his now-teenage sons to participate in the war party—from a distance, as spotters. Neteyam seems content to fill this role, but Lo’ak, against orders, eagerly insists that they “have to get in there”, even goading his brother:

Tailed by an exasperated Neteyam, Lo’ak grabs a weapon from Tarsem and lets out a half-hearted warcry:

...let’s be honest here, Lo’ak doesn’t really seem to be taking this raid anywhere near as seriously as he should be; he’s treating it more like a game—on which point, y’know what, let’s pause to talk about Lo’ak for a moment.

Because the primary purpose of this post is defending Jake, it may at times appear that I am being overly critical towards Lo’ak. This is not my intention—I love Lo’ak as much as I love the rest of the Sully family (which is a lot lol). I think the things he struggles with are reasonable and valid struggles to have considering his circumstances. However, that does not always mean that he is in the “right”. Jake and Lo’ak’s conflict through the movie is not as simple as “son right dad wrong” or vice-versa; rather, it stems from a generational/age gap in experience and priorities.

In this case, for example, Lo’ak is treating the raid more like a cool action game than a real battle with real stakes. Which may not be much of a surprise—he’s 14! He’s young, he’s naive, he’s never experienced anything close to real war until the past year or so—he probably genuinely does not fully grasp the stakes of this situation just yet. And why should we expect him to, really? He’s never had to before.

Jake, on the other hand, knows the stakes all too well. This ain’t his first rodeo. He was a solider both on Earth (where he was injured severely enough to become paralyzed from the waist down) and then again on Pandora driving out the RDA in a battle that killed several of his friends and allies, including almost completely wiping out the entire Olangi clan.

Jake understands the risks of war and doesn’t want his kids anywhere near it. We see this not only in the film where he only allows Neteyam and Lo’ak to participate in the raid “from a distance” and ultimately fleeing his own clan altogether once his kids are directly threatened, but also in the comics in which he consistently turns down Neteyam’s pleadings to participate in the war efforts. Unfortunately for him, his sons do happen to be coming of age at around this time and there’s only so much he can do to keep them out of it, so he tries to let them participate in relatively safe ways, like as spotters.

Lo’ak…doesn’t understand this. Not really. And that leads to him recklessly taking unnecessary risks—be it out of curiosity, to get in on the action, or even simply to prove himself. Which understandably scares the crap out of Jake.

When the raid is over, Jake desperately searches the rubble for his sons. He finds Lo’ak quickly and makes sure he’s alright:

…before taking off to search for Neteyam, who he also promptly checks over for injuries.

which is something I’d like to point out here: although Jake sometimes gets gruff with his sons, he never leads with that. He always always always makes sure they’re ok first. That’s important. We’ll come back to it throughout the post.

Anyways, it’s only after making sure that Neteyam is ok that Jake’s initial bout of fear subsides and morphs into frustration and anger: what were you thinking?! And it’s a fair question. If the boys had followed orders, they wouldn’t have been at such risk in the first place. Once the party returns to High Camp, Jake addresses this point with them, reminding them that by disobeying direct orders they put themselves in very serious danger, and reiterating to Lo’ak in particular that his recklessness nearly got his brother killed and grounding him.

In other words, Jake’s response to his sons going against his orders was…a lecture and a grounding. That’s…a pretty reasonable parental reaction, actually. Sure, you could nitpick and say his tone was too harsh, but given the situation, I struggle to blame him…

…which leads into the next relevant scene: while Mo’at and Kiri tend to Neteyam’s scratches, Neytiri gently chides Jake for being too hard on the boys, concluding with the infamous line: “This is not a squad. It is a family.”

Now, what I find interesting about this scene is that neither party is really in the wrong here. Jake is doing his best to fill his role as a father by watching out for his kids’ physical safety—even if it means being a little strict. Likewise, Neytiri is filling her role as a mother by looking out for her kids’ emotional well-being. As she should!

That said, I think people who use this line as proof of Jake’s supposed parental failure are forgetting the context. While Neytiri’s line is true in general, when the boys sign up to participate in a war party, they kinda do become a “squad”. In that moment, in that context, they are a squad, they have to behave like one lest someone gets hurt if not killed.

I also think they forget Jake’s reaction to Neytiri’s line:

Look closely. There are tears in his eyes. This dude was terrified of the possibility that he may have just lost one of his sons in the raid, and all his strictness stems from that. And Neytiri seems to recognize this as well, as she can’t seem to decide how to respond. She probably worries about the same thing, after all, even if she handles it differently.

On that note, let’s look at the next time Lo’ak disobeys instructions: going to the old shack with Spider, Kiri, and Tuk, where they first encounter the recom unit.

Something interesting about the aftermath of the recom rescue is that no one gets lectured this time actually. Remember what I said about how, no matter how upset he is, Jake always checks to make sure the kids are ok first and foremost? Sure enough, that’s what he does here:

Not only for his daughters, mind you, but also both his sons (we’ll address the daughter-favoritism claims later):

With the recoms now targeting the Sully family specifically, Jake, feeling out of other options, makes the difficult decision to flee and find refuge among the Metkayina clan.

whoops, there’s that “protection” theme again

When their request for sanctuary is somewhat reluctantly accepted, Jake calls a family meeting and tells the kids this:

Remember how earlier we established how “a father protects” is essentially Jake’s thesis for this movie? Well, this is an offshoot of that: Jake believes that hiding amongst the Metkayina is currently the best was to keep his family safe; therefore, throughout the Sullies’ time with the clan, Jake’s primary goal is to lay low and get along with the clan so as not to tread on their hospitality and get kicked out (even if and when that means setting aside one’s own pride). This, then, is the lens through which Jake’s actions must be analyzed while his family is staying with the Metkayina.

The first time this becomes relevant is after Neteyam and Lo’ak’s little scrap defending Kiri from Aonung and his posse. Jake is clearly not thrilled about Kiri being bullied, but again, his top priority is keeping his family safe and right now this entails maintaining a good standing with the chief, which in turns means that his sons getting into brawls with Tonowari’s son is a very bad look. Which is why, after a moment of internal conflict, he asks Lo’ak to apologize to Aonung (he even tries to explain when Lo’ak protests:)

On that note, while remaining on good terms with the clan has to take precedence at this moment, Jake is clearly quietly proud of his boys for kicking butt, as we see from his exchange with Neteyam (though yes, it is unfortunate that Lo’ak didn’t get to see this bit).

…which brings us to one of the bigger moments that people point to when accusing Jake of being a bad father: the “you bring shame to this family” line. Now, I can understand why this line doesn’t sit right with viewers initially, especially since we have just seen firsthand the truth about what Lo’ak experienced over the past few hours. However, when you consider what’s going on from Jake’s perspective, the line is not quite as unreasonable as it first seems.

Let’s back up a bit to when Lo’ak first returns to the village after meeting Payakan. At first Jake is just relieved that his son is ok (remember: he always checks first)

In fact, once it’s clear that Lo’ak is ok, it seems Jake just wanted to let it go and head home…the real conflict didn’t begin until after Lo’ak lied to take the blame for Aonung.

Up until this moment, Jake only knew Aonung’s side of the story, that he’d taken Lo’ak outside the reef and he got stranded there (it’s unclear whether Aonung specifies that he abandoned him out there on purpose, the little punk, but I digress). But when Tonowari (rightfully) declares Aonung’s responsibility for the incident, Lo’ak speaks up to take the fall, claiming that the whole ordeal was all his idea, which Aonung had tried to talk him out of.

Lo’ak does not have a reputation for lying…but he does have a reputation for pulling reckless stunts that put himself and others in danger, so for better or for worse, Jake has literally zero reason not to believe this claim.

In other words, for Jake, the situation has just gone from “my son got taken advantage of by the local bullies and put into a precarious situation but he’s home safe now” to “my son dragged a bunch of other kids to a dangerous location where he knows he’s not supposed to go despite the chef’s son trying to talk him out of it, endangering both his life and theirs, getting lost in the process, and thereby worrying and inconveniencing the entire clan on whose hospitality we rely by making them go out of their way to arrange a whole search party in the dead of night just to find him.”

…yeah, no wonder he was flippin’ ticked. No wonder he “didn’t want to hear it” when Lo’ak tries to explain that he was “only trying to make friends”. We as the audience know that’s true, of course, but as far as Jake knows in that moment, based on what Lo’ak himself claimed just moments ago, he was trying to “make friends” by…dragging them out to a dangerous location despite their protests thus jeopardizing both his and their lives as well as his family’s standing in the clan who can kick them out at any time. Yeah, I wouldn’t want to “hear it” either.

When you look at it from that perspective, “you brought shame to this family” doesn’t really seem quite as extreme, does it?

And yes, I feel for Lo’ak here, really, I do; he’s just been through a lot and yes based on the actual events that just occurred his father’s anger is the last thing the poor kid needs and I totally get why it would upset him…but at the same time, I can’t help feeling that he kinda brought this particular lecture on himself by voluntarily taking the blame for Aonung. Not really sure what he was expecting: that Jake would somehow read his mind and understand the way things actually went? That he would see through his lie and praise him for being so amiable towards Aonung by taking the fall perhaps similar to how Neteyam so often claims the blame for Lo’ak’s own reckless shenanigans despite how rude Aonung had been to him thus far? Or perhaps he just blurted out the blame claim as an olive branch of sorts to Aonung (genuinely trying to “make friends” in a way) without really thinking about the consequences of doing so. Who knows. But regardless of how Lo’ak did or didn’t think things would go, I think it’s a little unfair to blame Jake for his reaction. Based on his knowledge of the circumstances, which in turn were based on Lo’ak’s own account given only moments before (remember, Jake had zero reason to suspect he was lying), his reaction is actually pretty understandable.

Speaking of Lo’ak’s adventures with Payakan, the next time we see him clash with his father is when Tonowari lectures him for bonding with the outcast, and Lo’ak defends his new friend. Remember: Jake’s top priority is keeping his family safe which currently means not getting kicked out of the Metkayina. Lo’ak, regardless of whether or not he was in the right, was clearly upsetting Ronal and Tonowari in this exchange—Neytiri is actually the first to step in and warn her son:

…and when Lo’ak persists anyways, Jake has to step in in hopes of smoothing things over with the chief.

It sucks that this upset Lo’ak, especially because we the audience know that Lo’ak is right about Payakan, but again, Jake is currently more concerned with not getting kicked out of the clan than with his son winning an argument about the validity of a tulkun’s outcast status.

...aaaand here comes the hardest part of this essay to write. Admittedly I wasn’t aware of this argument until recently, but now that I know it’s out there I feel obligated to address it here. Apparently some folks are out there claim that Jake did not display a sufficient amount of emotion at Neteyam’s death, and this somehow proves that he wasn’t as attached to his sons as he should have been. And all I have to say to that is: did we watch the same movie??

That man broke upon his son’s death. Did he wail and cry like Neytiri, no, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t heartbroken—wailing and crying simply aren’t how his character responds to trauma. He’s a solider, he’s probably trained to delay any external breakdown at least until a given battle is over.

But you can still see it in his face. You can hear it in his voice which breaks and shudders when he realizes that Neteyam is dying and tries to give him a few last words of comfort, wanting so desperately to ease his pain to the best of his abilities.

...yeah. This man is broken in this moment.

…but his job isn’t over yet. The battle is still raging. He still has three more kids who still need him. As much as he may want to, he cannot take the time to fully grieve in this moment.

…which brings us to the big one, the main line people point to when arguing that Jake is a bad father:

Now, let’s be honest: was this an awful thing to say? Yes, absolutely. Should Jake apologize to Lo’ak for it after the fact, if he hasn’t already? Definitely, one-hundred-percent. I’m not disputing that in the least.

however…

In this moment, Jake has just spent the past however-long locked in a vicious battle, and hardly minutes before watched his firstborn son bleed out in his arms. And now he learns that his daughters—one of whom is a pre-pubescent child with no chance of defending herself—are still caught on the “demon ship” with the recoms, who have just very clearly proven that they have absolutely no qualms with killing these kids. Quaritch taunting in his ear certainly is not helping.

The only thing Jake could properly focus on in that moment was getting Kiri and Tuk off that boat. Repeat: he wants to get his kids OFF the demon ship, not risk bringing any of them back ON. On top of that, Lo’ak, as established very early on in the film (see: train raid), has a reputation for struggling to follow orders…even when not emotionally devastated by the death of his brother.

All these things considered, is it really any wonder that Jake did not want Lo’ak coming along on this mission? He’s already lost one son, why in the ever-loving flip flap would he want to risk losing the other by intentionally bringing him back to the danger zone with no guarantee he’ll come out again, especially given his apparent propensity to ignore orders and throw himself into danger?

Heck, the only reason he lets Spider come is that Spider knows where the girls are and, unlike Lo’ak, Spider doesn’t have that same reckless reputation. Spider, in that moment, appears to be able to compartmentalize the fresh trauma well enough to focus on the task at hand, and can be trusted to do as Jake asks. Lo’ak…can’t. So, Jake wants him to stay behind.

Did he express it horribly? Absolutely. But saying one stupid insensitive thing in a moment of numbness underlaid by grief, pain, and fear does not make him a horrible dad overall, and I think it’s a little unfair to say that it does.

On that note, I do not believe for one moment that Jake genuinely blames Lo’ak for Neteyam’s death. Now, Lo’ak may well view it that way and I’m sure it’ll come into play for his character arc in future movies, which can be a topic for another day, but as for Jake’s perspective, no. I don’t think he truly blames Lo’ak. Even if he couldn’t necessarily process it all right away, I think he knows that Lo’ak is going through as much heartbreak as the rest of the family…especially given that Jake himself has firsthand experience losing a brother. He just said something dumb in a moment of pain.

(On the topic of Lo’ak being unable to follow orders, less than five minutes after Jake, Neytiri, and Spider leave for the ship, Lo’ak…immediately disobeys the order to stay safe on the island and heads back out to the ship anyways. Obviously in the grand scheme of things it’s good that he was there to save Jake from drowning after the scuffle with Quaritch, but still, good gracious son. Way to spectacularly prove your dad’s point.)

So now we come to the point where Lo’ak saves Jake’s life. After a mutual choke-out with Quaritch, Jake is left to drown until Lo’ak finds him and pulls him to the surface, at which point he gasps for air and chokes out Neteyam’s name.

This can be interpreted in a few ways. It could be that Jake is so accustomed to Neteyam being the “responsible” one that he irrationally thought it was him coming to the rescue, momentarily forgetting he had died or somehow thinking maybe by some stroke of fate he pulled through after all—this seems to be Lo’ak’s assumption, given that he promptly corrects him.

Now, some may take Jake’s “oh, Lo’ak…” as a show of favoritism, or proof that Jake values his first son above his second. I don’t think this is the case though—I don’t think Jake’s apparent disappointment is about Lo’ak being there so much it’s about Neteyam not being there. In other words, it’s not a personal slight against or disappointment in Lo’ak, but rather a form of still-very-raw grief for Neteyam who, remember, only just died, like, an hour ago.

It could also be that Jake is still so distraught following Neteyam’s death that it’s consuming his thoughts…he was able to shove it down and compartmentalize long enough to fight the recoms and get Tuk and Kiri off the boat, but that compartmentalization broke down while he was literally drowning and it took him a minute to focus and put things back together (which he manages to do a moment later when Lo’ak tries to apologize for his brother’s death):

The most excruciating interpretation I’ve seen is Jake thinking he had drowned and is rejoining Neteyam in the afterlife. ouch. Though that is, of course, just speculation.

Regardless, at this point Jake has just about given up. He’s exhausted, he’s in agony, both physically and emotionally. He’s completely drained. He wants Lo’ak to live but is ready to give up on himself (“I can’t make it. You can.”). It’s only when Lo’ak insists:

...that Jake realizes he still needs to press forward. Because his other kids still need him. His other son still needs him and he’s not willing to give up on him. So he takes a deep breath (literally), puts his trust in Lo’ak, and lets his son lead him through the flooded passageways out of the wreck. When they finally break the surface, we have this lovely moment:

This moment is a resolution to one of Lo’ak’s primary emotional conflicts throughout the movie: living in the shadow of his legendary war hero father and prodigious older brother, finally getting the recognition and affirmation he so craved from that father. Some might argue that in terms of “ideal” parenting that this kind of moment should have come sooner, or that Jake’s recognition of his son should never have been in doubt in the first place, and while there may be some truth to that, I struggle to really blame Jake for it for reasons I just spent the past 4000 words discussing. I think the fact that this moment happened at all shows that despite their clashes and struggles and miscommunications, Jake does and always has cared very deeply about Lo’ak; his lectures and frustrations come not out of malice or some personal distaste, but out of fear for his well-being.

We see Jake comforting Lo’ak again after the family returns to Neteyam’s body on the rocks.

As I said before, I don’t think for even the briefest moment Jake genuinely blames Lo’ak for Neteyam’s death. I don’t think he would be comforting him like this if he did.

…which, I suppose, brings us to Neteyam’s funeral, and Jake and Neytiri visiting his spirit within Eywa. No parent should ever have to bury their child and good golly gracious this scene ripped my heart out but I digress. I don’t even really have a lot of commentary to add to these scenes…just…just this. It speaks for itself.

look me in the eye and tell me this man “doesn’t care about his sons”. I flipping DARE you.

Well, that concludes the debunking of scenes that supposedly make Jake a bad father. But before we go, let’s look just briefly at this scene of him being a good dad with Kiri. I didn’t mention this earlier because while I’ve seen a lot of complaints about Jake’s interactions with Neteyam and especially Lo’ak, few people have qualms with the way Jake treats Kiri and Tuk—in fact, many people claim that he shows favoritism to his daughters, going out of his way “baby” them and treat them more gently and lovingly than his sons. I disagree and hope the above has done a thorough job dispelling that notion: Kiri and Tuk don’t go around throwing themselves headlong into the same kind of danger that Neteyam and Lo’ak do. They aren’t begging to participate in battle, they aren’t disobeying orders that land them in mortal peril.

In other words: Jake lectures his sons more than his daughters out of necessity, not nepotism. Remember: Jake’s #1 priority is protecting his family, keeping them all safe and alive. That means that when one of his kids pulls a stupid stunt that puts them in danger he feels the need to crack down on that in hopes of preventing it from happening again. Lo’ak is, quite frankly, prone to pulling those kind of stunts, so he gets lectured a lot. Kiri and Tuk do not typically pull such stunts, so they don’t get lectured. It’s as simple as that, really.

Buuuuuut now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s talk just briefly about Jake comforting Kiri.

Like with the scene of visiting Neteyam’s spirit, I don’t have much commentary to add to this scene—it’s a very sweet scene and it speaks for itself really. Jake is very gentle and doing his best to listen to Kiri, even if he is a little unsure about her claims. He doesn’t criticize or invalidate, he just tries to be there for her. What can I say, that’s a good dad right there ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

One last little point before we wrap up for real: the fact that Lo’ak and Neteyam occasionally refer to Jake as “sir”. I was originally planning to address this earlier but it didn’t quite fit in with the flow of the discussion and I consider it such a minor point anyways, I figured I could save it for a side note—but seriously, it baffles me what a big deal people make of this.

It would be one thing if “sir” was something that Jake strictly enforced, if it was the only thing he allowed the kids to address him as, if one of them called him “Dad” and he barked back, “no! it is sir!” But…literally none of that is the case. He never explicitly asks them to call him “sir”, and they call him “Dad” just as often if not more.

The kids referring to Jake as “sir” in tense moments is a simple show of respect, nothing more. I recall my own dad also wanting to be called “sir” when we were in trouble and it was never really an issue. And I suppose your milage may vary depending on where you live, but growing up in the southern US, “sir” and “ma’am” are just very common basic courtesy in many situations (not just familial).

Sooooo….yeah, the idea that Neteyam and Lo’ak occasionally calling Jake sir is somehow proof of Jake being too strict or cold or whatever else is really making a mountain out of a molehill. It’s not that deep y’all.

…aaaand I suppose that’s it for this post.

In conclusion:

Look guys, Jake does not have to be your favorite character. You don’t even have to like him, or agree with everything that he says or does. He isn’t perfect (which, by the way, literally no one is). But if nothing else, I hope this behemoth of a post has at least helped you understand his character and why he acts and reacts the way that he does.

Jake Sully may not be a shining beacon of parental perfection from a psychological development perspective (and all things considered, expecting him to be such is, quite frankly, a little silly), but good golly gracious he is trying his absolute darnedest in incredibly difficult and precarious circumstances beyond his control i.e. the RDA coming back to quite literally take over. This man’s family means absolutely everything to him and I’m done sitting back and watching y’all slander him just because he didn’t react to x situation the way you think he should have.

thank you and good night

#avatar #avatar 2 #way of water #jake sully #lo'ak

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gigglesandfreckles-hp · 5 months ago

Note

could you do please number 18 for the prompts you posted?

I absolutely love everything you write. I've even read a lot of your Star Wars fic and ive only actually seen a couple of the star wars movies 🤣🤣 you are just such a gifted writer!

i went a bit AWOL on this and it got away from me! i call this…jily-adjacent??? hope you don't mind, anon! x

from these prompts

“This is ridiculous.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re not enjoying this quality time as much as I am, Evans.”

Lily rolls her eyes, even though he can’t see her through the door. “You know,” she grunts, pulling the skirt up, and smoothing her top down over the hem, “most people opt to go out for a pint or something.” She appraises herself in the tall mirror, then swings open the door to the dressing room. “Just posing an alternative for the future.”

Sirius grins at her. “Don’t act like you didn’t love picking the outfit I’m likely to die in.” He motions for her to turn around and tugs at the skirt, clicking his teeth with the same disappointment he’s shown at the last several options.

She sighs and walks back over to the rack, grabbing the next choice: a midi-length black dress, with puffed sleeves that make her think of her great-grandmum.

“God, this is awful,” she says, pulling it off the hanger.

“In case you’ve forgotten, Evans,” Sirius says, taking the dress from her hands and holding it up in front of her, “you’ve removed ‘going out for a pint’ from the equation for us.” He pokes at her stomach as he turns to put the dress back up on the rack.

Lily smiles automatically at the reminder of what Sirius declared to be the ‘only good fucking news since fucking Hogwarts’ when she and James finally told him last week. She pops back behind the dressing room door, making quick work of the skirt and shirt ensemble, and pulls her own jumper and jeans back on. The jeans feel tighter today than usual, and she wonders if it’s because of the baby or if she’s just imagining things.

“Anyway,” Sirius says, from outside the dressing room, “maybe we should just try some Muggle shops. This place isn’t doing it for me anymore.”

Lily snorts as she pushes back through the doors, once again in her own clothes. “We’re going to the bloody Malfoys’,” she says, lowering her voice. “If we show up in Muggle clothes, we’ll be murdered in the entryway.”

“Excuse me,” Sirius says with a haughty sniff, flicking his hair over his shoulder, “but please don’t speak about my delightful family like that.”

The witch who offered to assist them earlier, before Sirius more or less told her to shut up and leave them alone glares at them from the desk, clearly annoyed that they’re still there and haven’t bought anything yet.

Lily turns back to watch Sirius as he pulls another dress from a nearby rack, frowning as if its existence has deeply offended him. “If the charms wear off and we end up looking like ourselves, who do you think they’re likely to kill first?” she asks.

“Still you,” he says with a regretful sigh. “It’s just such a shame you’ve committed the heinous crime of being born, Lily Potter.”

Sirius and Lily continue to scan the small shop for a dress that could work, but every time Lily finds something remotely bearable, Sirius shoots it down with a comment about the hemline being wrong for her body type or how the style is too 1977.

At Lily’s huff of frustration, Sirius shrugs. “If you just wanted someone to smile and say you look pretty, you should have brought James.”

“Yeah, because he’d love the reminder that we’re going on this mission without him.”

“I tried to get him instead of you,” Sirius reminds her. “Moody said Prongs doesn’t look as good in a dress. Something about the legs.”

“Just find me a dress, Black.”

“What shade of blond?” he asks, referring to the assortment of charms they’ve settled on for their disguises. “Platinum or more of—”

“Why does it matter?”

He affords her the same look of annoyance he’s reserved for the clothes up to this point in their outing. “It’s basic colour theory, Evans.”

She rolls her eyes, but replies, “Like a…honey colour?”

He nods and continues flicking through the hangers. “Speaking of Prongs,” he says, without looking at her—and they weren’t just speaking of him, so Lily knows whatever he’s about to say has been on his mind for a while.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got some orders.”

“Orders,” Lily echoes, lifting an eyebrow.

He still doesn’t turn to look at her. “If things go tits up, at the Malfoys’, you’re getting the fuck out of there.”

Lily frowns. “Not with—”

“No way, Evans. You’ve—” He turns around now and leans against the rack. “If you wanted to play the hero, you should have thought about that before you got yourself knocked up, alright?”

Lily's brows knit together, and a flicker of irritation sparks in her eyes. “Don’t be so—”

“Obviously, I’m buzzing about the baby! So is Prongs. He—well, Merlin, you don’t need me to tell you. You have to live with the git. But come on, Evans, you can’t be stupid anymore.”

“Stupid anymore?” she bites out. The witch at the desk glances up from her magazine again, but Lily doesn’t care. She steps closer to Sirius, dropping her voice dangerously low. “You and my husband can both fuck off with whatever that is. And I think it’s pretty rich that you and him, of all people, have devised a plan for me to be less stupid, when you two have a patent on the personality trait.”

Sirius laughs loudly, throwing her off kilter. He pats her cheek. “Never change, Evans.”

“What is wrong with you?” she demands.

“Don’t you think,” he says, watching her with a smirk, “that maybe there’s a reason you ended up with Prongs? That you ended up with all of us, really? That maybe it’s not because you even us out and curb our rebellious tendencies, but maybe—just maybe, you’re a little reckless and impulsive, and yeah, a little stupid, too?”

She sputters. “That’s not—”

“If you weren’t,” he continues, still grinning, “my telling you—a woman carrying a literal child in her uterus—to get the hell out of dodge when curses start flying at the Malfoys’ wouldn’t be so personally offensive. In fact,” he tilts his head, “it would probably just seem like common bloody sense.”

Lily opens her mouth to continue to argue with his ridiculous line of logic, but he holds up a hand to stop her as he pulls a deep purple dress from a rack. He holds it against her and smiles widely.

“This is the one, Evans,” he says with certainty.

She examines it sceptically. “Are you sure? Isn’t it a little—”

He scoffs loudly. “Lily,” he groans with indignation. “Please buy this bloody dress. Your wedding dress was literally horrid and if you’d just asked me, you could have avoided—”

“Oh my God, okay!”

#my fic #blackevans #jily #sirius black #lily evans

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possiblyawesometmblr · 1 month ago

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in a hyperthetical modern au, what tv shows or music you think your characters would like?

rubs my little hands together. i have absolutely awful taste in television which is sure to reflect in this here we go

arisanna: she's a crime drama girl. i am so certain of it. criminal minds all day every day. vexed or unvexed the answer is the same. i have no idea why she gives off this vibe but my god she does. she also has pretty much every episode of bluey memorized because she puts it on for her siblings constantly (and loves it herself, let's be real).

sylph: i grab sylph and grant them my love of cartoons. they are that guy who's seen every episode of steven universe and gravity falls and star vs. the forces of evil and adventure time and bob's burgers and rick and morty and amazing world of gumball and south park and

owen: i have a list of lil headcanons for owen that have very little impact on the plot and one of them is that he LOVES star wars. all of it. yes, even that movie. yes, even that show. boy has watched every star wars show disney has put out and loves all of them. my boy loves sci fi and has probably seen a lot of doctor who

rowan: she loves competition shows, but only if they're actually DOING something. stuff like cooking competitions or singing ones or dance ones, she's all in, but she HATES dating competition shows. sometimes juniper will watch something like the circle with her so they can poke fun at it the whole time. "babe they're not even DOING anything how come these people get a shot at winning money for NOTHING"

mal: mal watching tv looks like this

#their playlists honestly give off their music vibes #but to sum it up #ari listens to a lotta sad stuff and also musicals #sylph listens to 2010s pop and ninja sex party #owen is a little teenage emo kid #rowan listens to everything and anything #and mal would be a rock kind of person #arisanna fable smp #fable smp #bound smp sylph #bound smp #skybound smp #terramortis smp #cantripped #mythos and magic #also beckett from wwsmp is just me with a thicker accent. draw your own conclusions

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olderthannetfic · 5 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/663370772509802496/do-you-know-what-the-origin-of-the-sold-to-one

So I was looking at this old post of yours (in your fandom meta tag) and has anyone else noticed that Hogwarts AU fanfic and meta about if this or that character from another fandom would be Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw has completely disappeared? I assume that this is related to JKR’s transphobia making her (understandably) persona non grata to a lot of online queer people of the kind who dominate fanfic fandom at least on AO3 (I’m less familiar with Wattpad or other corners of fandom that are overwhelmingly cishet and writing het, and the Bridgerton drama has taught me a lot about just how out of pace a lot of them are with even elementary queer stuff, yeesh). but I was wondering if others have noticed that. It did seem to really start to crater around 2019-20 when she stopped being coy and blaming it on “middle aged moments,” and started openly making transphobic tweets and writing essays about it rather than just “liking” others’. Like when I was into Yuri on Ice circa 2016-18, it was still all over that fandom, even though people were already souring on the actual official franchise stuff such as those terrible Fantastic Beasts movies.

So I’m mostly active in anime, JRPG and Western genre TV fandoms so I was curious if this was also happening elsewhere. I’m also wondering if the fact that actual HP fandom seems to be increasingly divorced from canon (like fanon pairings of characters who never interacted in canon being the most popular lately) is related to this too.

Cuz having a Hogwarts AU used to be a sign that a fandom had Arrived. I remember in 2016 you saw people doing house sortings for the people on the frickin 538 political podcast. Now I never see any of that even with huge fandoms.

It’s interesting to me given that it feels like her transphobia hasn’t dented much of her popularity with non online nerd culture. Like the third Fantastic Beasts movie failed but those had never been good and had been declining in box office numbers already. But the Hogwarts Legacy game sold really well. You still see HP in stores all over the place with other nerd culture staples like Star Wars and Marvel. Still constantly see brands doing collabs. I often find non online friends and family, including many who are genuine allies to the trans people in their lives, who have no idea about her transphobia. Or they’ve only heard a little and assume it’s some weird insular online culture thing that is just fans nitpicking, maybe having heard about some other Twitter “canceling” over nothing and figuring it’s like that. They’re always shocked and horrified when I tell them what she’s actually saying and doing.

Interesting question.

For me, as an Old, it just feels like Hogwarts AUs are part of my childhood, and why wouldn't they be less common now? But realistically, if they actually are declining, it does mean something.

There's no way for us to know if the "Would X be a Hufflepuff?" posts are really a thing of the past. That could be a question of whom one follows or of fans leaving one's platform. But we can at least poke at some AO3 tags and see if they show a pattern.

The relevant tags are Alternate Universe - Hogwarts and its metatag Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting.

There are 21,426 works in the metatag. Obviously, not everything uses the tag, but it's a starting point. (Some cursory playing with filters on big tags makes me think that maybe around 3/4 of HP AUs are actually tagged with a relevant AU tag.)

If we look at the AU tag itself, the numbers have come down in the last few years. (This year is obviously only half over, so we'd expect those numbers to be smaller.)

But we have to take into account how big the archive itself was. It's been growing significantly since it opened to staff accounts in late 2008 and then more widely in late 2009, so the overall rise doesn't mean much, but the recent drop might.

It does seem like there's a downward trend lately, but it doesn't look like it's falling off a cliff.

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effypcfcwrites · 6 months ago

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The Owl House

(Originally posted on my personal Facebook dated April 25, 2023)

This is probably the first time I'll be posting a detailed review of a piece of media that I like, so witness me sing all of my praises for this animated series from the House of Mouse, because wow, I've never been so invested in a Disney show after rewatching Gravity Falls.

For those unfamiliar, The Owl House revolves around Luz Noceda, a teenage girl who stumbles upon a portal to an alternate world called The Boiling Isles, meets a witch named Eda Clawthorne, learns magic under her tutelage and eventually enrolls in Hexside, a magic school where she makes many friends and goes on multiple adventures.

I binged this whole show in a span of weeks and even stayed up all night on my day off to finish it up to Season 3, the first 2 Seasons being on Disney+ and the latter on Disney Channel's YouTube page.

Simply put, I love it so much! I love how it reminds me of Avatar: The Last Airbender, Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back, and, dare I say, Harry Potter, which it even poked fun at, at times. Well-deserved, considering J.K. Rowling’s transphobic views and HP’s underlying anti-Semitic undertones.

I loved the pop culture references to Thor: Ragnarok, Howl's Moving Castle, Metal Gear Solid, and even Hades, among many others! I thought those were very clever and funny, and just a treat for fellow nerds, geeks, and fans of fantasy stories, anime, and video games.

I love the LGBTQ+ representation all throughout the show, which was such a bold move considering Disney’s iffy stance on the subject. None of them were antagonized for it, and it was treated as something normalized in both the Human and Demon Realms. The show featured 2 gay dads, non-binary and aromantic-asexual characters, and one of the internet’s favorite sapphic/WLW couples Lumity, which is the ship consisting of canonically bisexual Luz and implied lesbian Amity Blight, whose rivals-to-friends-to-lovers relationship was just so wholesome, so natural, and very healthy, considering they're both teenagers. Suprisingly, there was very little melodrama, not once were they petty towards one another whenever either party did something wrong, and they never got tired of showing affection towards each other. I found myself shamelessly gushing over how cute, adorable, and supportive they were together, and tearing up a lot during key moments of their relationship, especially when they both found themselves in dire straits as the story progressed.

I love the writing and the character development of them all! None of them felt static, they all grew throughout the series, maturing, getting better, and healing from their own insecurities, trauma, and guilt. The humor and comedic timing was a nice touch, and I was really taken aback by how S2 ended on such a dark cliffhanger with all stakes raised to the roof, similar to A:TLA S2 and The Empire Strikes Back, as mentioned earlier. That season wasn’t afraid to have such a grim ending, with such a great payoff by the end of S3 which is worth celebrating.

I love the animation and art style, which blended colorful and whimsical with eerie and ominous in just the right amounts. As a sucker for animated movies and series such as Adventure Time, The Prince of Egypt, and Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, it was just such a delight watching it.

I love the overarching message of the show, which is to be truly yourself, to embrace your quirks, and never to limit yourself and your potential based on what the majority of society and the powers-that-be expect from you. All throughout, you’ll find the characters challenging pre-established norms and roles, and it’s just so satisfying seeing them all win.

11/10 top-tier show. Don’t @ me, it’s hard for me to find something I disliked about the series. It's definitely a must-watch, especially if you're sick and tired of all the bleak nihilism of modern adult animation, and you just want to baby your inner child and escape to a whimsical fantasy world with characters you can all relate to. Betting my bottom peso you'll all be hooked, like I was.

#tv show reviews #the owl house #TOH #luz noceda #eda clawthorne #king clawthorne #willow park #amity blight #gus porter #hunter toh #hunter golden guard #raine whispers #eda the owl lady #lilith clawthorne

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tialinffxiv · 17 hours ago

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Always wanted to get that sickly greyish green hue to your game or lead the war against machines (and genAI)? Well, look no further! Here's Tia'sTea: "Matrix" a reshade preset that will make you feel like a star of this famous movie. You can grab it for free here: ko-fi.com/s/eec87d3573

-background of the preset was made using my screenshot from The Stigma Dreamscape dungeon (slightly edited in Paint) -my presets are free to use and always will be -no generative AI was used to make it and never will be in any of the presets I will release -if you want to show me results then I will be more than happy to check it! Poke me in your post or use my tag on Bsky: #Tia'sTeaPresets or DM me~ -if you have any issues with preset then let me know and I will try to help!

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #gpose #ffxiv screenshots #reshade preset #Tia'sTea presets

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astxrwar · 10 months ago

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drops of blood [1/4]

SYNOPSIS: Bucky Barnes has some wires crossed. He fixates on a barista at a coffee shop near his apartment, and tells himself it's fine as long as he keeps his distance. Except you keep making that distance smaller.

Rating: M

Word Count: 7k

CONTENT WARNINGS: Off-screen violence. Series will enter gray territory in later chapters; angsty guilt-ridden stalking, exhibitionism, consensual-but-not-safe-or-sane vibes all the way down. teehee.

Read on AO3

[ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ]

When you’re a teenager— no, not even, when you’re a preteen, in middle school— a crew of surveyors for a Russian oil company finds a plane frozen in the Arctic. You’d just finished up the section on World War Two in history class; two weeks ago you’d been sitting in a hard-backed chair with the lights off trying not to fall asleep while watching a Netflix documentary about the life and death of Steve Rogers, the prototypical American Hero, that your teacher put on presumably to get out of having to actually teach. You had to fill out a worksheet about it. You had homework asking about the ways that national ideals of heroism have changed over time. You spent a whole class period talking about that, comparing and contrasting Captain America and Iron Man. You had to write a five-paragraph essay about whether or not you thought the American Hero archetype would even exist without Captain America’s death.

Except Captain America is not dead.

Captain America is alive.

It is 2012, and a lot of things are popular. The Hunger Games. Gangnam Style. The new Batman movie, the one with Christian Bale. A type of teenage and pre-teenage girl exists—has existed, will continue to exist— and while there was NSYNC and Backstreet Boys and whatever the fuck else in the 90s; right now there’s Twilight and One Direction and Justin Bieber.

Captain America comes out of the ice. Captain America is 6’4 and muscular and blond and blue-eyed and unfailingly kind, and then he goes on to join up with a bunch of other people—superheros— and saves the world.

The end result, the one that anyone with a brain could have seen coming a mile off, the one that gets referenced by late-night talk-show hosts and poked at in grocery-store gossip rags and sometimes said outright in interviews with the guy on national television, is that Steve Rogers— Captain America— kind of ends up rounding out the “teenage girl obsessions during the ‘10s” list.

And—

Well.

You were never big on any of that.

Your friends were, though, and so you let yourself be dragged through the onslaught of new Netflix specials and you dutifully and appropriately emoji-reacted to every Battle of New York youtube compilation and Vine edit they sent to you and you even went to the movies to watch the new remastered docudrama about the life and now the not-death of Steve Rogers, and—

You never really liked blonds, so.

His friend, though—

His friend was kind of cute.

Sergeant James Barnes. Twenty-eight, dark-haired and blue-eyed and attractive, in a charming, boyish kind of way.

Fast forward ten years. There’s some weird drama with a helicarrier and some entirely anticlimactic fight at an airport and then an alien kills half the population of the world and then they all come back again, courtesy of Iron Man’s sacrifice and your middle school history teacher one-hundred-percent predicting the future with the whole “the American Hero trope is dependent on the hero’s death” shit that you totally didn’t understand at the ripe age of twelve—

Anyway. Life happens, basically. You grow up. You’re not even friends with those girls anymore. Not uncommon. And that crush on cute little baby-faced James Buchanan Barnes lasted all of something like three months— one of those fleeting childhood infatuations you have on people who are safely unobtainable, like rock stars or fictional characters or guys who are very, very dead— after which time you never really thought about it again.

And now you’re twenty-three and working closing shifts at a coffee shop in Brooklyn while figuring out what your life trajectory is even going to be, adjusting as best you can to your fucking daily customer base having quite literally doubled in the last six months, that part of you that’d read his entire wikipedia page on a phone with an actual physical slide-out keyboard at two in the morning an entire eleven years ago so far away it feels like something even less than a memory.

Except one night in April this guy walks in. He’s dark-haired and blue-eyed and wearing a leather jacket and matching gloves; he comes up to the counter and he makes startlingly unbreaking eye contact that freaks you out a teensy bit— a lot— and orders a coffee, black, and nothing else, and you stare right back kind of temporarily immune to the weirdness of it because you know him, why do you know him—

It clicks as you’re pouring the coffee into a reinforced cardboard cup and it stuns you so completely that you almost overfill it and wind up less than a second away from burning the shit out of your hand.

Sergeant James Barnes.

He looks the same, kind of, but also not at all— you sneak glances at him while you fumble for a lid, the harsher angles of his cheekbones and the wider set of his jaw, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and the lines setting into his forehead and the way he doesn’t really have any of the baby fat left in his face that he had in all the photos you’d seen of him.

“Thanks,” he says, when you give him his coffee.

His smile, or his attempt at it, looks more like a grimace than anything.

You expect him to leave, then, but he doesn’t— he goes over to one of the tables in the lobby, the one by the window in the corner of the room, and he sits there and he drinks his coffee and he stares out at the street. It’s dark already; late November, almost December, the solstice approaching. It’ll be a long while before it’s still light later than 4:30.

He stays there for a long time, and the awareness of him prickles at the nape of your neck as you work, filling orders for a dwindling trickle of customers and starting the long and arduous process of cleaning up everything for close.

Sometime around 9:30 you go into the back to try to get started on dishes; the doorbell chimes when you’re about halfway through, and you grumble under your breath and rinse soap suds off of your forearms and resolve to pretend you hadn’t lost track of the hose and accidentally soaked the whole of your shirt from about the sternum down—

There’s nobody waiting at the counter when you come out, though.

And Sergeant James Barnes is gone.

You expect it to be one of those things. Everyone in New York has one of those things. They’re great party stories. One time I sat next to Denzel Washington on the subway. Michael Keaton bought a phone from me when I worked at Apple in Midtown. I ran into Steve Buscemi at this one mom-and-pop bagel place.

I served coffee to Captain America’s not-dead friend in Brooklyn.

Except next week, same day, he’s there again.

The lady in front of him is getting something stupid complicated and being annoying about it. Two pumps caramel, two pumps vanilla, two creams and two skim milk, three sugars and make sure to melt it first, if you don’t, I’ll know, Jesus Christ, make your coffee at home—

The guy who is maybe potentially Barnes laughs.

You said that out loud, apparently. Mumbled it under your breath, or something, quiet enough that the lady hadn’t heard, just shot you a suspicious look and sipped at her drink and then left without a thank-you, apparently satisfied. It’s just you and him now, your coworker off doing food prep in the back room and the lobby empty.

Somehow, he’d heard you. And he’d laughed. It was a weird sound, sharp and rough and cut short like he hadn’t meant to and like he’d tried to make himself stop; his expression is flat, and he’s not smiling, but there’s something— lighter, about it, than when you’d seen him last.

“Black coffee?” you blurt out, before he can say anything.

He blinks. He’s doing that thing again— the staring.

“Easy to remember,” you say, by way of explanation. “Simple.”

His mouth twitches at the corners, not really a smile, yet, but still— something. That lightness to his expression, impassive as it is, hasn’t faded. “Yeah, just black,” he says. “Thanks.”

You make it for him— ‘make’ is a stretch, you pour it, and that’s all, really— and he takes it back to that same spot by the window in the corner, nurses it as he looks out into the street, the sky cast that bruised purple color when the sun’s gone below the horizon but the light hasn’t faded, yet.

You try not to stare.

Same deal as the last time; he stays.

“Hey,” your coworker’s voice drifts from the back room, “You want to sweep the lobby or do the dishes?”

“Lobby,” you reply, extremely fast, thinking about last time and the hose mishap and how your shirt hadn’t dried until basically the end of your shift, but also thinking about maybe-Barnes sitting by the window and how part of you really fucking wants to know. Even if it’s not him, if it’s just some particularly uncanny lookalike, you wonder if it happens a lot. The being mistaken.

You make it through about maybe five minutes of actual lobby-sweeping before you become physically incapable of resisting your curiosity.

“I always got pretty good marks in history,” is what you tell him. Because saying “are you Seargant Barnes” seems kind of— rude.

He stiffens, and he drums his gloved fingers on the lid of his coffee cup, and he doesn’t look up or say a word.

“Your photo was in a bunch of the textbooks,” you add, twisting your grip on the broom handle, back and forth. It’s definitely him. The haircut. His face. Older, a lot less boyish, but the same eyes. “Sergeant Barnes. 107th.”

He doesn’t look at you. Speaks very deliberately. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

There’s this bright jolt of satisfaction at being right, followed pretty quickly by a pang of guilt at the thought you’d irritated him.

“Oh—um, no, definitely not, I’m sure it’s— annoying, probably, getting recognized,” you say, stumbling over the words. “I— sorry, I shouldn’t have— bothered you.”

He does look at you, then. He stares. You’d been fidgeting, still, but under the force of his gaze every muscle in your body goes tense and still, frozen solid, and nerves prickle up at the back of your neck, raising the hairs there. You have to fight back the urge to shiver.

“No,” he says. “It’s never happened before. Don’t— don’t be sorry.”

You open your mouth. Close it again. Your hands resume their twisting around the broom handle before you abruptly decide you do need to actually finish the chore you’d set out to do.

You tell him one last thing, before you go back to it. You’d always kind of felt weird about saying this kind of stuff; it gets touchy, particularly after Vietnam. Not really a great practice to get into, the whole “thank you for your service” schtick, because a lot of them don’t see it that way, and every war after that was even more complicated and your opinions on those are— similarly complicated. But World War 2– that was different. It wasn’t US military overreach. It was necessary. And he’d been drafted, you remembered that.

“Hey,” you say, very soft. “I just— Thanks. For— you know. Serving, when your numbers came up. It couldn’t have been easy, I mean.” you clear your throat, shift your weight, suddenly feeling very self-aware. “Coffee’s on me, next time, okay?”

Something flickers across his expression, like a ripple over the surface of a lake. Whatever it was, it’s gone before you can make sense of it.

You spend most of the week thinking he won’t come back next Friday. But he does. There’s nobody in front of him in line, this time, and like the time before your coworker is off in the back, which means it’s easy to slip him his coffee and conveniently forget to ring it out.

“Thanks,” he tells you, his voice a lot quieter. Softer, too.

You smile at him. His mouth twitches back, like maybe he’s not sure if he should return it, but wants to.

He takes the seat by the window again.

He keeps coming back. You try to make small talk but it feels stilted and awkward. It kind of makes you sad, a little bit, seeing him sitting there for hours, alone.

On your day off, in early January, you go grocery shopping.

You spend about 25$ in total and you make a split second decision to grab something out of the ordinary that’s on-sale. Dude was raised during the Great Depression, you guess he’s not the most experienced in the realm of the great big world of Weird Things You Can Purchase At The Modern Day Grocery Store. It’s meant to be a sort of peace offering, a look-I-can-be-normal-about-it, let’s-be-friends kind of deal, if he’s going to keep hanging around the coffee shop. You’re not sure if he, like— wants that, friends, or if maybe it’s just that he doesn’t want to be alone, but you figure it’s worth a shot.

Part of it is that he interests you. Part of it is that your job, as much as it sucks less than a lot of other service jobs, is very mundane, very normal, often very boring, and James Buchanan Barnes being a regular customer is easily the most interesting and least boring thing that has ever happened to you at work. Or— ever, honestly.

And maybe that’s selfish, to want to talk to him for that reason, but— whatever.

On Friday, like last week, you get there and you clock in and you try to casually scan the lobby, the floor littered with straw wrappers and crumpled napkins and empty sugar packets, the tables tacky with flavored syrup and coffee stains that you’d need to clean later, chairs around them arranged haphazardly and not pushed in, and—

And in the back corner, sitting low in his seat, baseball cap tugged down and shade over his eyes and fingers drumming restlessly against the side of a paper coffee cup, is James Buchanan Barnes.

The excitement you feel, then, is not really the kind you’d expected to— the last time you’d thought about him had been middle school, and even if it’d been just that three months, you remember with startling clarity that girlish, daydreamy kind of interest, how it felt, pleasant and mild and entirely harmless. Whatever you feel right now is not like that at all. It’s sharp and it’s visceral and it’s real, not a fantasy or the result of your imagination, not directed towards some fiction of a person that functioned as a safe receptacle for the things going on inside your head, but an actual individual human being.

It’s just interest, just curiosity, what you feel— you don’t have a crush on him, it’s not like you’re still in middle school and still interested, like that, in even just the general category of person that crush had represented. And the person sitting in the lobby isn’t the person– the fiction– you’d even felt that type of way about, anyways. You don’t know him, and he’s obviously nothing like the guy memorialized in every Captain America docudrama miniseries on Netflix. No, James Buchanan Barnes is a real human being, a very different human being, one that’s a stranger to you and you think— you guess— probably just as much of a stranger to that other, safer, softer, more boyish version of himself.

You keep thinking about how he looked at you, unbroken and unwavering and eerily fucking precise, how his eyes hadn’t even move at all, focused so intently that it’d made the hairs on the back of your neck raise and goosebumps prickle across the tops of your shoulders and all the way down your arms and your gut instinct yell, loudly, there is something not right about this guy!

You’d read his Wikipedia article again. It’s been updated since; lots of shit came out since 2012. You’d heard about the Winter Soldier stuff, but reading about it in detail— it’s bad. There are probably several things that are not exactly right about him, now. That’s fine, though. The way the world is these days, there’s stuff not right about everyone.

You’re occupied with a steady and annoyingly constant stream of customers until about 8:00, making coffees and sandwiches and trading on and off with your coworker in the back room, where you’re trying to get the brunt of the stocking and dishwashing done before they leave at 8:30. You’d been fucking busy, and you’re annoyed, you got cream from the dispenser machine all up one of the sleeves of your sweater so you’d had to take it off, and there’s fucking caramel sauce stuck to the hairs on the flat of your forearm near your wrist and gluing them to your skin and that grocery bag of fruit is sitting on the back table next to your jacket and your gross sweater and your house keys and it’s staring at you. Accusingly.

Your coworker leaves.

You steal a careful glance over the coffee machines at the lobby, just checking, just to make sure that he’s still—

And he is.

Cool.

It takes you a few minutes to kind of— dredge up the guts to go talk to him, another few more for the last trickle of late-night coffee-getters to start to finally taper out, and then you do it. You gather your resolve and your nerve and whatever else, courage, too, probably, and you go out into the lobby and you stand in front of his table and you wait for him to, eventually, look up from where he’s been staring, kind of sullen-looking, out of the window.

“I looked it up,” you blurt out when he does, before you can think better of it, “Online. Apparently supply chains were really small, in like. The 30s. So people could get stuff, right, but a lot more of it was— local. You know that, obviously, but, um.”

He just looks at you. Unblinking.

“Anyway,” you say, trying to ignore the weird kind of twisty feeling of your nerves in the pit of your stomach; jesus christ, he stares, a lot, “Anyway, I had this neighbor when I was a kid, right, and he was— his family, they were refugees. Immigrants. He was learning English, but I made friends with him by using my allowance to buy things at the grocery store, like, weird things, stuff that he’d never had before. So we could— try it. For– fun. And I thought– well. There was a sale, today, so.”

You gesture to your hand; awkwardly, helplessly, god, this is weird, like ice-breakers on hard mode, if the ice were less like a frozen-over pond and more like one of those miles-deep Antarctic glaciers. A tissue-thin plastic bag, the knotted top of it held in your fist, the lone fruit inside just kind of– sitting there.

He finally blinks, and then he shifts back in his chair, and he looks at you some more, his gaze unwavering and solid and heavy like it has actual, physical weight to it, like it’s pressing down on your shoulders and forcing you into the ground. “Are you— have you been trying to make friends with me?” he says, in a tone that’s kind of incredulous and a lot disbelieving and tells you absolutely nothing about whether or not he’d actually be amenable to that.

Whatever.

Fuck it, you think, and then you lift your chin and you meet his eyes and you make yourself stare right back, stubborn and deliberately unflinching. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I have.”

His expression– it’d been flat, impassive and unreadable, but something cuts right across it for a fraction of a second when you say that, quick and sure as a knife. For that one heartbeat of a moment he looks expressive and alive– you think he might even look stricken, actually, and you wonder far too late if maybe this had been a mistake, if you’d upset him. Done something wrong.

But then it’s gone, so quickly that you think you must have imagined it.

He leans back in his chair, and he looks down at his empty coffee cup as he taps it absently against the table, like he’s thinking it over. When he looks back at you the sum of his features are wholly neutral, except for his mouth, which is quirked up at the corners, just a little– not a smile, not with the way his lips are pressed together, into a hard, unwavering line, but it doesn’t look like something bad, either. It doesn’t look negative.

“Okay,” he says. “All right, shoot.” He jerks his chin towards the bag in your hand. “What’ve you got?”

You tear the side of it with your fingernails and dump the contents on the table. “Pomegranate. Had one before?”

His mouth twitches up more, and this time it does look like a smile, the beginnings of one, like he’s repressing it. He clicks his tongue and stretches his legs out under the table and shakes his head, just a little. “Yep,” he says. “Struck out on your first try.”

“No way Mr. Great Depression is more worldly than me.” You decide you’re going to interpret that as an agreeable reaction. There’s only one chair at his table, so you drag one over from nearby, the legs making this awful grinding sound against the tile floor. “I’ve never had one, so I’m taking half. Only fair.”

You fumble in your pocket for your knife to cut into it. He stares at it, when you pull it out, and then stares at you, “What do you have that for?”

Some nameless tension inside of you unwinds at the realization that he’s not just sitting there in stone-faced silence, anymore.

“Walk home after close,” you reply with an easy shrug; the conversation no longer feels like the world’s most awkward one-person performance or like actually physically pulling teeth, and that’s— pretty cool. Feels like a victory. “I usually finish at like, eleven-thirty. Not super dangerous, or anything, but better safe than sorry.”

Barnes makes a disapproving sound— what you think is a disapproving sound— under his breath when you flick the blade open, and grabs the pomegranate from the center of the table. “Too short,” he says, jerking his chin at it in your hand, “Gonna be a pain in the ass, let me.”

The knife that he pulls from what you think must be a sheath on his boot is a straight blade without a handguard, matte black and tapered to a point and without a doubt longer than four inches. Long enough to halve the pomegranate in one clean cut, sharp enough to bite into the laminate surface of the table underneath, just a little.

“That’s definitely not street legal,” you say, mostly joking.

Barnes stares at you. It takes you a second to realize that’s— new. Relatively speaking.

“New York made anything over four inches illegal, plus butterfly knives and switchblades,” you inform him. “I think in the 50s.”

He makes some noncommittal sound of what you assume is probably distaste, and stows the knife back in his boot.

“Don’t worry,” you say, “I’m not a snitch.”

He doesn’t smile, but his expression lightens a little.

On the table, the pomegranate is split neatly in half, and the little pebbled fruits inside the open skin glint in the warm light from the overhead fixtures. Like flecks of garnet. Or drops of blood.

“Could get these in the fall, sometimes,” he says, looking down at it. “Used to pick the bits out with a sewing needle. Made it last all afternoon.”

Your brain conjures up the image of the baby-faced Barnes, maybe sitting on the curb or the front steps of a building. You wonder what the details of the memory are. You wonder if little scrawny Steve had been there, or if he’d been alone.

You don’t ask.

“I don’t have a sewing needle,” is what you do say, “But—“ your nametag is clipped to your shirt, a flat slip of plastic with a pin on the back, and you unfasten it and slide it across the table.

Behind you, the door hinges creak and the bell chimes and you sigh, long-suffering, and get to your feet with an exaggeratedly affected eye-roll.

“I’ll be back,” you tell him, “Customer.”

You go to take the order and then midway through making it the doorbell sounds again. Midway through making that, same deal. This happens, at night, a trickle of customers just fast enough to keep you working nonstop, now that you’re the only person running the store. It goes on for something like ten minutes, which irritates the shit out of you despite the fact that it is technically your job. It’s nine-thirty at night and you’ve been at work for six hours and what you want to be doing is picking this dude’s brain, not making fucking coffee and bagels.

And also because a part of you is aware that he usually leaves around now.

He’s still there, though, when you come back; on the table there’s the husk of one half of the pomegranate, this pale and washed-out color like corn silk, and a neat pile of seeds on a recycled-paper napkin. Barnes has the other half and he’s poking out little grains of red with the safety-pin end of your name tag and biting the pieces off the tip, breaking the fragile skin between his teeth. He looks— calmer. Kind of wistful.

You realize this must be the first time he’s done this since he was a child, all the way back in a Brooklyn that doesn’t look anything like this one. Living alongside different people. Walking different streets. Breathing different air.

“That’s for you,” he says, nodding at the little bits of red, the empty husk, “I thought— since you’re working.”

You blink at him, and then you smile, a small, grateful one. Something flashes in his eyes, when you do; you aren’t paying much attention to it, still thinking about him, being so out of time. How strange this all must be. How much you really did mean it when you said you wanted to be his friend.

Barnes seems to realize when he brings the pin to his mouth again that it’s attached to your nametag. “Sorry,” he says, stilted and stiff and awkward-sounding, again, “I— you probably don’t want this back, now.”

“‘S fine, you can throw it out, if you want— I have so many.”You slide back into the chair and fish out of your apron pocket a blank one that you’d grabbed from the back, not knowing he’d gone and picked all the seeds out of your half already. “I forget them in my pockets, they keep ending up in the washing machine.”

His expression relaxes, a little. He catches the kernel of fruit at the end of the pin between his teeth and bites down until there’s a burst of red in his mouth. Stabs another, works it free of the shell, the flimsy little white membrane around it wilting in on itself. You watch him do that for a minute, contemplative and silent. His mouth is red. His tongue, too, when it darts across his bottom lip. Makes you think about rocket pops from the ice cream truck in the summer. Makes you wonder if they had those, back then.

“Did all that work for nothing, huh?” he says, after a while. You startle out of your thoughts and blink at him, nonplussed; he glances down at the pile of seeds on the napkin. “Thought you wanted to try it.”

“Oh,” you say, eloquently. “Oh, yeah. Duh.”

The first gem-glittering marble of fruit is softer than you’d expected and ruptures between your thumb and forefinger, staining the pads of them all red. You think about summer, as a kid, when you’d fall and scrape your hands on the asphalt hard enough that they bled. It’s almost the same color.

The second time the seed is firmer and it bursts sharp and tart and faintly sweet between your teeth. “Kind of like cranberries,” you say, taking another.

The pile is gone quickly, leaving just the napkin, the juice, like a dark wine stain. You lick your fingers clean. He’d been staring, the way he kind of always stares, but when your lips close around your thumb, he looks away.

You learn a bunch about food in the 1940s, mostly by accident.

Mangoes were a thing; they’d had some growing down in Florida, and you could get them seasonally. Pineapples used to be so rare that rich people would display the whole fruit as a centerpiece at parties and things, way back in the very early 1900s and up through the Great Depression, too; but by the time the 30s rolled around you could get the canned kind at the store. Watermelon was a thing, too, but they all had the solid, jet-black seeds you weren’t supposed to swallow; somebody’d bred those out of the commercial ones sometime after Barnes had slipped out of time.

“I gotta just go straight for the really fucking weird stuff,” you muse, mostly to yourself. It’s late and it’s quiet in the shop and it’s raining outside, the street slick and black and reflecting the light from the lampposts. He stays later, now, leaves closer to 10:30; you’re kind of proud of that. That he seems to like you, your company. Or at least doesn’t dislike it.

“You could just ask,” he says, sounding just the slightest bit exasperated, “If I’ve had something before.”

“No,” you tell him, deeply serious, “No, that fucking ruins it, Barnes, it ruins the surprise.”

He looks at you blankly. A few seconds too late, you realize you’ve never actually said that, out loud. His name. You don’t call him Sergeant in your head anymore, it seems too formal, but James seems too intimate, and you hadn’t asked— hadn’t wanted to ask, hadn’t wanted to pry— if he still thinks of himself as Bucky.

He doesn’t say anything.

Barnes it is, then.

Gooseberries used to be way more popular, all the way up into the 1920s, even though technically it was made federally illegal to grow them a few years before he was born. It was an attempt to stop the spread of this fungus that’d jump from the bushes to pine trees, killed huge swathes of them up and down the Northeast, decimated the lumber industry. He tells you his Ma used to make tarts and pies from them, in the fall when they were in-season, but eventually the farms upstate started getting shut down, and it was too expensive. The federal ban lifted in the 60s, you learn via Google, but production never really ramped back up again— they didn’t even have them at your regular grocery store, you’d had to go all the way to Trader Joe’s.

They taste kind of like green apples. He’d looked the way he did with the pomegranate, that first time, wistful and softer and like he’s remembering. It’s really the most you’ve ever seen behind whatever practiced and controlled exterior he maintains, beyond flashes of almost-smiles and eyebrow-raises and pointed looks. You want to peel that veneer off like peeling the skin from a fruit, get underneath it, get to the flesh of him; when this thought occurs to you, you bury it immediately, as deep as it will go.

“White pine blister rust,” you read aloud off of your phone, crossing the lobby to his table, coffee cup in one hand. You set it on the table for him and he reaches for it with a mumbled thanks. “That’s what it was called, the fungus-thing. According to wikipedia.”

Barnes blinks at you. He takes a long, slow sip of his coffee, even though it’s still probably a little too hot, not that it matters to him; and then he sets the cup down and frowns and says, “What the fuck is wikipedia?”

You laugh without meaning to.

The skin slips, a little, whatever’s underneath peeking out, bruised and soft and bloody, but then you blink and he’s fine. Watching you, expression light and practiced. Whole, again.

In February something happens.

Your coworker tells you before he leaves, pulls you aside in the threshold of the door to the back room to mumble, “there were some dudes out back by the garbage when I took it out before. I was getting bad vibes, I don’t know, just— be careful.”

There’d been a string of robberies through the borough, all within some convenient distance of the subway line, and the store is probably three blocks away from one of the platforms. The back door is one of those that opens only from inside the store, the other end flat and lacking a handle; you leave it propped open when you run to take the garbage out. You’re not stupid, is the thing. The guys, whoever they are— it could be nothing, but it could be that they’re waiting. Waiting for it to be just you, waiting for the door to open, waiting for the opportunity. You have a knife, but it’s a flimsy ten-dollar gas station piece of shit, mostly for intimidation and not for actual use; you’re also well aware that using knives in confrontations tends to make things worse rather than better. Bring that shit out and you’re asking to get it taken from you. Asking to have it used on you.

You could try to call the cops, but more than half of them have been requisitioned by the GRC, and you know what they’d tell you. Unfortunately at the moment we’re understaffed and can’t afford to respond to predictive calls. Please let us know if and when something illegal occurs. Practiced and perfunctory and something people joke about in your neighborhood, because there’s really nothing else any of you can do. Your coworker can’t stay, either; he can’t afford to pay the babysitter another hour, not on minimum wage.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I’ll be fine.”

And it is okay. You will be fine.

Barnes is there.

It’s a Wednesday, so it’s just sheer fucking luck that he’s here at all; he must be able to see it, in your face, when you come bursting through the little swinging gate-thing and out into the lobby, because his hands tighten into fists where they’re resting on the table.

“Oh my god I’m so glad you’re here,” you say, breathless and frantic and very much meaning it.

There’s a flash of something on his face that makes you think of heat lightning or splintering ice of the second right before a pomegranate seed bursts between teeth. You are not thinking enough about things that aren’t your immediate anxiety to register it.

“I need your help,” you tell him.

He grows progressively stiffer as you explain the situation, and when you’re done he says nothing, just stands up and pushes his chair in and says, real low, “I’ll go— talk to them. Don’t worry.”

The bell above the door chimes when he leaves.

You stand there at the edge of his table for what feels like some impossible amount of time, every muscle in your body wound up like a spring, jaw clenched so hard it’s starting to drive the beginnings of a headache somewhere on the top of your skull—

He comes back.

“Are you— did they—“ you break from nervously picking at your fingernails to make some vague and anxious gesture. Barnes looks fine, unscathed, cool and neutral and controlled as ever, but when he looks at you it makes something base and instinctive deep inside of you buzz with— alarm. Or— something.

“They were just— being stupid, just drunks,” he says, and maybe you’re imagining it, the thread of tension in his voice. “It’s fine. It’s all— it’s fine.”

You feel yourself visibly relax. “Oh, god, thank you so much, dealing with drunk guys is— it’s the worst.”

He flinches, when you say the first words, just a little, his eyes almost closing and the muscles around them going just briefly tense, like he’d managed to suppress most, but not all, of the instinct. “You don’t— you don’t need to thank me.”

You study him for a minute, like maybe if you look hard enough that flicker of whatever it was would come back, linger long enough for you to make sense of it.

“All right, fine, no thanks. Thanks rescinded,” you say finally, bemused. “I’m going to refill your coffee, though.”

You say it with your hand already half-outstretched, close enough that he can’t stop you even with his reflexes, and whatever entirely reactive and entirely accidental noise of triumph you make when his hand closes around empty space is— not on purpose.

His mouth twitches, the closest you’ve ever seen to an actual smile.

Something in your stomach flips.

You shove that shit down, too.

When you come back with the coffee he’s sitting back in the chair with his legs stretched out and he’s staring out the window again.

“Thanks,” he says, when you set it down.

“Oh, so you can thank me, but I can’t thank you?”

His mouth twitches again. “Yes.”

You make some entirely performative tch sound of affected annoyance as you retreat back behind the counter; you still have to take the garbage out, clear out the pastry display case, start emptying and scrubbing down the coffee pots you’re not using now that business has slowed to a crawl.

“Are you still coming Friday?” you call out to him, over the hum and hiss of the espresso machine running through the automated cleaning program, the milk foaming wands steaming in pitchers of sanitizer water, all of it loud enough that you’d never be able to hear him over it, something you realize too late, “Sorry, hold on, I should have asked before I—“

“Do you want me to?” His voice is clear and close and you startle reflexively; he’s at the counter, at the register, staring. Always staring. You thought in the beginning you’d get used to it. It’s not uncommon; those with power stare, and those without cast their eyes down and away. It’s the nature of customer service jobs in New York City. You meet a lot of powerful assholes in suits who make more money than you probably will ever handle in the entirety of your life, and they look at you and talk at you rather than to you, like you’re nothing, a rodent or an insect or something even less than that. You’ve never once flinched away from any of their stares, and never so much as felt like you wanted to, either.

James Buchanan Barnes doesn’t look at you like that at all. He doesn’t look at you like you’re lesser. He looks at you like he can see you— like he can see right through you, like you’re transparent, like everything going on in your head is out in the open, visible, vulnerable, or maybe like he just wants it to be. Like he’s looking for a door hidden somewhere in the minutiae of your expression, some way to force himself inside and pull all of your thoughts and secrets out like unraveling a spool of thread.

He doesn’t look at you like you’re not human. He looks at you like he knows, precisely, intimately, exactly how human you are, and that’s—

Kind of worse. Or maybe it isn’t. It’s definitely weird.

You realize with a start that he’d asked you a question, and you’d been silent for way too long. You tear your eyes away from him and focus on pulling all the cup lids out of the tray at the edge of the counter, sweeping the donut crumbs and sugar crystals and coffee grinds out and onto the floor.

“I mean—,” your tongue feels thick and clumsy in your mouth and it trips over the words, the syllables, stumbling and uncertain. “Not if you have plans, I— you don’t have to.”

“I never have plans,” he scoffs, scathingly self-deprecating, and then there’s the steady rhythm of his fingers drumming against the counter and you feel it on your neck, the hairs raising there, that he’s staring at you still, “I just—since I came today, I thought maybe you wouldn’t— I don’t want to bother you.”

You freeze, stack of iced coffee lids in one hand, half-lowered back into the now-spotless tray.

You force yourself to look back up at him.

“You’re not bothering me,” you say, stressing each word, like it’s important. It is important. “You’re— I like you. We’re friends.”

That thing, from before, the almost-maybe-flinch; it happens again, and you feel your own expression do something reflexive in response, your lips part and your brow furrow in the seconds before you can school your features back to composure. Whatever he does, the control he has over his affect; you’re not very good at that.

“Besides,” you say, into the silence, eyes cast back down and focused on filling the lid tray, “I found something you’ve never tried before, this time. And since I paid for it already, you are, in fact, contractually obligated to be here.”

He laughs, the same kind of laugh, the only kind of laugh you ever get from him; the cut-short one, like he doesn’t mean to, like he’d tried to stop it.

Like he couldn’t.

Barnes leaves at about 10:45, and you bring the trash out right before he goes, just in case. You wouldn’t have seen it if it weren’t for the fact that you were still kind of nervous and had your phone in hand, shining the washed-out beam of light back-and-forth across the little fenced-in area by the dumpster, trying to keep the garbage bag at arms’ length to avoid getting some disgusting coffee sludge mixture on your shoes where it’s leaking out of the corners.

The light catches on it. It glitters, captures your attention, red against the sun-bleached gray concrete. Pomegranate seeds. Shards of garnet.

Drops of blood.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #i'm uploading all of the things to tumblr. finally.#fic; drops of blood

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this-acuteneurosis · 1 year ago

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So Im all here for the Pretty Ladies who dress nicely doing all the politics, wonderful court intrigue right here, are we gonna talk about in the back ground the majority known Male characters are in War killing dying thing? this story IS about the back room deals and others as main setting, (although we should tease you about dodging the wars in Star Wars sometimes just as a little poke.) curious cause the 4 main Male politco 2 are enemies in Rush and Palps. Kamino had a fem evil Senator! use??

Who wants to talk about ✨🌈Palpatine🌈✨!

There haven't been a lot of opportunities to talk about the structure and the influence of our main villain textually in the story, because Leia is kinda blind to her own bias, and also a lot of stuff that I have as part of his character just...doesn't come up.

So, keep two things in mind as I talk about DLB Chancellor Sheev Palpatine and pull back the curtain just a little.

His character is coming pretty exclusively from the OT and PT movies (with minor exceptions).

I'm taking advantage of a lot of silences and time period circumstances to draw conclusions about his character, so don't be surprised if I say something that isn't said out loud at some point.

Ready? Let's go!!

The OT features an overabundance of male humans in positions of power in Palpatine's government. This may have been balanced out slightly by novels that I haven't read or newer shows that I haven't watched, but the people Palps promoted to his special seats of power (Moffs, military leaders) are overwhelming human men. If we stretch canon to include the two Clone Wars cartoon series, the only women brought into Palpatine's plots are brought in by Dooku or other associates, not Palpatine himself. Of the three apprentices Palpatine has, two are human and one is humanoid.

I don't think I'm breaking anyone's brain to assert that Palpatine is sexist and racist. I know I'm not the first person to suggest or write this sort of character.

What I'm going to assert, beyond those points, is that Palpatine is only really impressed with himself, and assumes that anyone lacking qualities that he has is progressively less useful and important than him. So he's also, for lack of a better word, Force-ist.

(Ugh, nope. I still don't like it, but I don't have anything else.)

Palpatine absolutely has loyalists and panderers that are women. But as far as DLB is concerned, he's not promoting them, searching them out, or impressed by them. So women are going to be antagonists in this story more incidentally. On a small scale. Major antagonists are going to end up frequently being male and human. And I'm not going to try and change that.

Only tangentially related, but a little important because Leia comes into the Senate through Padmé's office, because of the prejudices listed above, I will pretty much die on the hill that Palpatine loathes Padmé. And he really loathes that he loathes her. That he has to have any feelings about her at all.

She's young. She's a girl. She isn't Force sensitive. He plucked her out and carefully curated her early political experience and was probably violently influential in her success in getting elected the first time. He had a tiny, fragile, 14 year old stumbling under the weight of the crown, ready to start his civil war and initiate the end of the Republic. She gets him elected. His plan is flawless.

Until it turns out that she has a spine, and humility. She has the courage to face danger and the grace to bow to another sovereign power. She trusts Jar Jar Binks when he suggests that the gungans have an army. Like this is somehow a viable plan for taking back her people, when Jar Jar isn't even slightly popular or powerful.

And she wins. Palpatine loses Maul, he loses Naboo, and he loses the opportunity to start a war. She sets him back a solid decade, at 14. On a hope and a the thinnest apology.

DLB isn't so much about creating a perfectly equitable Star Wars universe. I'm not equipped for that, and it wasn't the goal. This story is about a bunch of ladies doing politics and kicking Palpatine's plans to the curb because he was always vulnerable to the people he dismissed the most.

Palpatine's plans had the Jedi and the Senate in a steel trap of lose-lose situations. But he loses, over and over, to kindness, compassion, forgiveness, and diplomacy. He's stymied by it. He literally can't plan for it. I've had all sorts of fun having Leia and Padmé do "mother-daughter" politics together, but I love that in RotJ Luke Skywalker looked the Emperor dead in the eyes and said, "No. No you can't make me do this." Like his mother would have. It had to drive Palpatine completely nuts. And it worked.

Anyway, all that to say, there's a lot of story left, and I'm not going to give away all of Palpatine's plans and plots. But part of how Leia got this far without any resistance was that Palpatine saw a short, unconnected woman from the outer rim, had no idea she could use the Force, and went, "Not important."

And he was very, very, very wrong. :D

#Don't Look Back #Sheev Palpatine #Padmé Amidala #Leia Skywalker #Luke Skywalker #politics #bias #I won't say there are no “bad women” in SW #but do a count sometime at how many of them also...stop being “evil”#and get a redemption arc/story #or are just in it for the money #not malice #there are a lot of interesting things to explore on a meta level #about women in the GFFA

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jtwritesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

A Mama and Her Baby

This is my first comm for my friend Arya! They wanted a simple and sweet mama baby time and I think I nailed it pretty well with the regression popped in and some hypnosis. I hope you all enjoy and just know I'm still open for comms! ______________________________________________________________

Arya sighed, shuffling into the apartment after a long day of work, having had to work a double because a coworker didn’t show up. He kicked his shoes off at the door and tossed his jacket onto the hook, the house already filled with the smell of spaghetti being made. Arya slowly shuffled into the kitchen and smiled, seeing Draven working on the spaghetti. “Shoulda guessed, you always make it when any of us have a bad day.”

Draven smiled a bit at Arya and nodded, gently patting his back a bit “I know my ba…friends well and…I know what’ll always cheer em up.” Arya nodded as Draven looked him over “Why don’t you go get into some more comfy clothes hun.” Arya looked down at his work uniform, nodding a bit as he made his way to his room, sighing a bit and not even noticing the sparkle of magic glittering on his back.

Arya shivered a bit as he walked into his room, wondering if he’d left the fan on only to see it off and frown before shrugging a bit and starting to undress. He tossed his work clothes into the hamper and sighed a bit before looking for a change of clothes, slipping a pair of shorts on and smiling a bit as he noticed something he hadn’t seen in years.

He pulled out a shirt and smiled, swearing he’d gotten rid of it before moving but now…here it was, he just smiled a bit as he pulled it on and looked down at it, it even looked as good as new…he could’ve sworn it had a hole in it. He just shrugged a bit and walked to the door and back out to the kitchen, noticing Draven smiling softly at him “Uhhh…yeah?” Draven just shook her head “Oh…nothing hun.”

Arya frowned a bit at that but shrugged a bit “So uh…when’s the sketti gonna be done?” Draven looked at it and thought “Well…it’s still got some time, along with the bread, so…I’d say 15 minutes, think you can wait that long?” Arya blushed a bit as he realized he did kinda sound like a needy kid before nodding “Y…Yeah I can wait”

Draven nodded and smiled softly at Arya “Why don’t you go watch TV or something hun, a watched cook doesn’t…cook” she seemed to get a bit lost in the allegory but just chuckled a bit before gently shooing Arya out. Draven had to stifle a chuckle though as she noticed she was just the slightest bit taller than Arya now, not that he’d notice of course. Arya made his way to the couch, sitting down and pulling up disney plus and scrolling through.

Arya sighed a bit, finally deciding on throwing the first Star Wars up as he laid on the couch. He began to smell the bread being cooked and felt his stomach rumble a bit as he glanced towards the kitchen. He watched as Draven worked and hummed softly, giving him a bit of a smile and wave which caused a slight blush from him. He went back to his movie, hoping dinner would be done soon as he looked down at himself, smiling at the newer shirt he’d gotten today with Draven at the store.

He just smiled, glad she was so willing to spend the money on him, it made him shiver a bit as he laid there, that same cold feeling that he’d felt earlier. He sat up, checking the thermostat and frowning a bit, seeing it was 72 in the house. He softly sighed a bit and slumped over a bit, hoping he wasn’t getting sick. He didn’t get much more time to think about it before Draven poked her head in with a soft smile “Arya sweetie, dinner’s ready”

Arya smiled and excitedly hopped off the couch, rushing into the kitchen as Draven smiled down at him. Arya frowned a bit as he looked…up? He looked confused, as Draven just softly smiled down at the teen “What’s wrong hun?” Arya crossed his arms a bit, looking up “Wasn’t I…bigger?” Draven just chuckled at that “Hun, you may be having growth spurts all the time, but you haven’t caught up to mama just yet.” She ruffled his hair and he felt that tingle again.

He felt dazed for a second…what was he just talking about? He shook his head a bit and looked up at…mom, yeah, that was the name for her. She just smiled down “Well? You hungry or what?” She motioned to where he normally sat and Arya nodded, making his way quickly over and sitting as she made the plates for them. Arya just smiled in excitement as he waited, mom’s spaghetti was the best always.

She brought it over, smiling still as she set it down in front of the boy, she looked him over, noting to herself that he looked around 11 or 12 currently. “So honey…how was school?” Arya frowned a bit at that, thinking quietly to himself…how was school? Did he go to school? It all seemed…just a bit fuzzy. He just nodded a bit as he looked at his plate. “It…was fine, not lots to talk about.”

She smiled softly at the boy “Really? Nothing fun happened? Nothing you wanna tell mommy about?” Arya shrugged a bit as he started to nibble on the bread “Jus…I dunno, its kinda a blur of a day…” Draven just nodded as she started to eat, smirking as she saw the sprinkles of magic she put into the food already doing their work, the boy’s regression speeding up just in time for sketti~.

Arya didn’t seem to notice the change though, exactly how Draven set the spells up, just softly smiling at the boy as he shrunk, each year being about a minute at this point. Arya slowly ate, glancing every so often up at mama as she watched him, confused as to why she was staring and…why was the table so high up all the sudden? Arya slowly stood in his seat, causing Draven to chuckle softly at the boy “See honey…I told ya you need your booster seat.”

Arya frowned at that, looking down at himself, seeing his bluey PJ’s on him, what he’d changed into upon getting home from school. He frowned even more at that, that didn’t seem…right, but as he thought about it he could only think of him being in first grade, it being a long day as they did…something, something about being outside, he’d come home super sleepy and took a nap in his favorite PJs. Arya shook his head a bit and frowned as none of this seemed right…but his memories were right there.

He just stood there, thinking quietly as he suddenly felt himself lifted for just a second before being sat down in a higher position, looking down and blinking a bit as he saw the booster seat under him now. “There we go, much better, right honey?” Draven said, kissing the boy's head in hopes of clearing up the muddled thoughts of his. Arya felt his head clear a bit, some of that confusion from the day evening out as he thought about…what grade was he in again? Kindergarten? He frowned a bit as mama tapped his hand and he looked at her, she just smiled softly at the boy “Eat up honey, you gotta eat before it gets too cold.” Arya nodded, looking at the sketti in front of him and going to try and eat with a fork, but quickly finding it hard with his little hands. Draven just softly smiled, knowing he’d be reaching the perfect age soon. “Hey honey…do you just wanna use your handsies?”

Arya hadn’t done that since he was little little…but this fork thing was pretty hard to use…. He thought as Draven smiled a bit “Lets get that shirt off honey...don’t need bluey all messy.” Arya just nodded a bit, lifting his arms up on instinct and not even thinking to try and take his shirt off himself, mommy always did it for him, why would now be any different.

Draven gently slipped the shirt off the boy and smiled down at him, kissing his forehead and making sure to slow down his regression, just enough to where she could enjoy these little years. She gently patted his back “Alright sweetie, dig in, mummy will get you all cleaned up after you’re done, don’t you worry.” Arya nodded and smiled, quickly digging into the sketti, picking it up by the handfuls and putting it into his mouth, this was soooo much easier than that silly fork thing.

Arya ate the absolutely delicious sketti mama made quickly, she always made the best sketti, he didn’t even notice as he ate that he got it all over his face and cheeks. Even if he did though he likely wouldn’t care, after such a long day at preschool, he just wanted to relax! They only let him have a little nap! Not even the big naps like mommy gives him. He ate and looked up to mama who just had her phone out, smiling as she snapped pictures of the freshly regressed little guy.

Arya waved at the camera and smiled big, showing just how messy he already was as Draven gave a soft chuckle “Guess someone’s gonna need a serious bathie tonight, huh?” Arya just giggled a bit as he ate. It was only then that he felt an odd…nagging in his brain, like this wasn’t right, he should be…bigger? Arya slowed his eating before frowning softly, and this was not lost on Draven who frowned with him “What’s wrong pumpkin?”

Arya looked up at her, looking confused as she just smiled down at him “I…I was…bigger…?” Draven did a surprised gasp, though one Arya wouldn’t be able to pick up on being sarcastic “You were?? How big? Like…a house?” Arya giggled at that and shook his head “Nuh uh! I…I was as big as you mama!” She looked surprised “You were? Then how’d you get so little and cute?” She said, tickling his tummy.

He giggled and squirmed at that before looking up, confused at the question “I…I dunno” He crossed his arms, confused as to how he got so small. He sat and thought about it before suddenly looking up “Is cause…the cold tingles!” Draven nodded a bit, looking interested much the way you would with any little one telling a story “Oh? The cold tingles?” Arya just nodded and looked up as serious as a three year old could be covered in spaghetti sauce “Yuh huh! Is makin me all little!”

“Well well, that’s no good at all, is it?” Draven asked in a sing song tone, leading to Arya shaking his head. “Nuh uh! Gotta fix it!” He nodded, sure there had to be…some way to make him a big…kid again. Draven chuckled a bit “Honey, there’s nothing to fix, I think you’re just being a silly little boy” Arya looked at her now and frowned “Buh…I gotta…be big” As he looked he noticed something in Mama’s eyes, they were…swirling.

Arya couldn’t help but stare as Draven just smiled at him, gently petting his head “There we go…see? Isn’t it better to just…relax, be all little, let mama do the thinking?” Arya just nodded slowly, staring as his mouth slowly fell open, too entranced to speak at this point as he stared into the swirling pink mess that was his mama’s eyes. She just kept gently petting him, that soft smile never leaving her face “Yes…you wanna be mama’s baby boy don’t you? Just take a break from being a big boy and just…relax.”

Arya just stared into his mommy’s eyes, not even noticing as he slipped down to around two, nor the sudden bulk between his legs. Draven could only smile as she saw the sudden bulk between his legs as his undies became likely one of her signature dragon luvs. “That’s it…just relax, you’re such a good little boy, such a good baby” She gently petted him as Arya just stared into her eyes, drooling.

Draven gently patted his head, chuckling a bit at the now toddler, covered in sauce and in just a diaper “Now honey, I need some help, are you big, or are you little?” Arya in his hazy mind just stared at her, blinking a bit. Big? Little? He was…big right? But he felt so…little. Arya mumbled out a soft “Big…” as Draven chuckled a bit “You’re big? How exactly are you big sweetie?” Arya slowly shrugged a bit at her question, still entranced as Draven smiled softly “Sweetie…you don’t even use a potty.”

Arya blinked again “I…don’t…?” Draven just smiled at the boy “Nope, not at all, you’re too little, I doubt you even know what a potty is, do you?” Arya thought, and at first it felt like that knowledge was all there…but as mama asked if he did it’s like it slipped right out of his ears. He wasn’t sure what a potty was, not at all, but that left him with another question “Wh…where do I potty..?” Draven smirked a bit at that, it was like he was just leaving himself wide open “Why…where do you think sweetie? Where do all little babies go?”

Arya didn’t have to think about this, it was like it was the first thing in his mind, softly mumbling as he stared “In…In their diapers” Draven gave a bit of a clap at that “Yes! Good boy! And what are you wearing sweetie?” Again, he didn’t even have to think about this, it’s like he’d known since the weird bulk wrapped itself around his waist “A…diaper” Draven just smiled at him “So…where do you think you go?”

It’s like Arya could feel the change in his head, nodding slowly as he stared and Draven rubbed his back a bit “Why don’t you then sweetie, we gotta give you a bathie anyway.” Arya looked unsure for the first time as Draven kept gently rubbing “B…But…I’m big.” Draven tsked at that, shaking her head softly “No sweetie, you’re not, you’re my little boy, my baby, and right now, mommy wants you to get all those silly big boy thoughts out.” Arya could only parrot a soft “Get em…out?” Draven nodded “Yep, out, and it’s not as hard as you think sweetie, just give a little push.” Arya looked confused again as he looked at her “Push…?” She nodded again and smiled softly “Yes sweetie, a push, right into your lovely luvs for mama, just push all~ those big boy thoughts right out.” Arya just stared as it all started to click for him, he had to push, push all the big boy thoughts out, just be mama’s good little baby.

Draven watched the boy slowly lean forward, just keeping up the back rubs as she watched and whispered “That’s it…good boy, just push em all out for mama, let that little brain get all empty so mama can give you a changie, a nice bath and then maybe later, even a boobie.” Arya felt his mouth water at the thought of her wonderful milk, softly grunting as he stared, the eye stopped swirling a while ago but he couldn’t help but stare at mama as he softly grunted more.

It was quick, just like mama said as Arya leaned forward, grunting softly as he felt that feeling in his tummy moving down, pushing out into his diaper. As he pushed he felt his brain getting all…empty, like stuff was supposed to be there but..now it was only mama and...how he was a baby. He kept grunting, staring as mama praised him “There we go, such a very good boy, get it all~ out for mama, let all~ those big boy thoughts out.” She said again as Arya felt the weight in his diaper, it gently sagging under him as all he could do is let a soft giggle out at the funny feeling of all that big boy stuff just going right into his padding.

Draven just watched the boy, smiling as he finished and plopped back into his messy diaper, knowing there wasn’t a lot going on upstairs right now “Such a good boy! Who’s mama’s good boy? You are! You are!” She said, gently tickling the boy’s tummy causing him to break into a fit of giggles and kicked as she gently scooped him up, smiling down at the sweet boy in her arms, one that just an hour ago was a stressed adult dreading tomorrow.

She gently carried the boy to his room, one that was already changed due to her magic. His bed was now a crib for his soon to be infant form, his dresser was now still one somewhat, but had a changing mat on top and was stocked with diapers. Long gone was his TV and games, rather it was now a star projector that played lullabies. She just softly smiled at the boy as she laid him on the changing mat and started to make quick work of untaping and wiping him down.

Arya looked up adoringly at mama as she cleaned him and cooed at him, telling him how cute he was now and how much better it must be. Arya could only suck on his paw as he stared up at her, smiling at her as she gently finished cleaning him before lifting him up and carrying the now one year old to the bathroom. She turned on the warm water and gently set the boy in as it slowly filled.

Arya giggled as the warm water gently and slowly enveloped him, splashing a bit and wiggling at the warm feelings of the water. Draven smiled, just letting the water come up to about just below his chest line before stopping it and putting some boat toys in for the boy to play with as she grabbed a cup and childrens shampoo.She filled the cup before pouring it over his head, wetting his hair as the boy just giggled and flailed a bit “Nuuuh mama!”

Draven chuckled back “Well someone’s gotta clean this messy little boy, and I know you won’t do it yourself.” She said as she gently started to work the children’s shampoo into the boy's now wet hair. Arya just giggled and splashed as started to play with the toy boats as she gently started to clean him with a wet washcloth, trying to get all the sauce off him while he was distracted with playing.

Arya didn’t make it easy though as he kept giggling and squirming at her trying to hold him still and wipe him down with the funny feeling cloth. Draven could only smile and shake her head at his antics before pulling her phone out and waving at him which led to a wave back as she took a picture to remember the night. She smiled as she dunked the cup back under the water “Okay sweetie, close those lil eyes of yours.”

Arya nodded and closed his eyes quickly as Draven gently poured water over his head, washing the soapy suds out of his hair and into the awaiting water, causing giggles from the boy again as she did it once more to make sure they were all out. She let him keep playing as she gently cleaned him up a bit more, making sure she got all the sauce before smiling and pulling the plug on the bathtub.

The boy watched the water swirl down the drain as he was lifted out by mama, with a towel in her arms as she made quick work of drying off his hair and body. She ruffled his hair dry and smiled as she kissed his forehead upon the boy poking his head out “Alright, let's get you all diapered and then we’ll relax on the couch before beddy byes, how’s that sound pumpkin?” Arya could only nod, most of the words coming at him way too fast for his now little, empty head to fully comprehend.

She carried him back into his room and laid him on the changing table, quickly sliding a diaper under his bottom, applying powder and taping him up quickly. She nodded at her work, she still had the magic diapering touch, before lifting the boy off the table and looking at her choices for PJ’s for him. She gave a small chuckle as she pulled out a romper with the words “Mommy’s lil Rah” with a little picture of a dragon on it “Perfect for my little boy.”

She gently slipped it over his head before gently snapping the crotch and nodding at him as he just gently started to suck on his paw again, looking at it. He knew he should know those words, but they were gone now, mama took em away, but that's okay cause he was just a little baby after all. “Alright, time for some Bluey and then nini time for my little boy.” She brought him out to the couch, slowly sitting and stopping the movie that’d been playing since before dinner, pausing it and swapping quickly to Bluey, chuckling as she noticed the little one in her lap start to wiggle and dance as the theme started to play.

“Do you like Bluey baby?” Draven asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from him. Arya nodded quickly and babbled out a “Wub Bwuey!” as he was already transfixed with the TV. They spent the next thirty or so minutes doing just that, watching Bluey and relaxing, Arya relaxing truly for the first time in a while, though as he laid there, he started to smell a wonderful smell.

He started to look around, wondering if mama had something or lit something, but quickly realized he was much closer to the smell than he thought. He looked back and saw he was right next to her chest, and sure enough, the wonderful smells were coming from her chest. It made his mouth start to drool almost instantly as he stared, something that wasn’t lost as Draven smirked down, the perfect way to get a little one like him asleep.

“Does my little boy want some num nums? Hmm? Does hims want some mama milk?” Draven cooed down as Arya just nodded. She gently undid her shirt before lowering her bra and smiling as her nipple hung in front of the boy’s open mouth. Arya could barely stand it, the wonderful smell was overwhelming his senses as he stared at the wonderful source, and he knew exactly what to do, he was a baby after all.

He latched on quickly, starting to drink and gulp down the wonderful, sweet and almost entrancing milk. He felt it roll down his throat and warm his tummy, causing shivers to run up and down his back as he felt so..loved, so cared for, so close to mama in this moment. Draven just smiled down at the nursing boy, feeling the same closeness as she watched him drink, his eyes slowly shutting as she gently held him, rubbing and patting his bottom as he slowly relaxed more and more into her arms.

Arya just kept taking mouthful after mouthful, feeling himself grow more and more tired with each gulp as he let his eyelids close, feeling just so safe here, he could easily sleep here. Draven watched as that’s exactly what happened, the gulping slowly stopped as he slowly drifted off to sleep. She just smiled softly, holding the boy still, letting him rest as she knew the spell wouldn’t last for more than a few days at most, but for these few days she had her little boy, and he had her, and that’s all that mattered in the end, was a mama and her baby.

#age regression #mental regression #ab dl diaper #diaper regression #ab/dl diaper #hypnosis #diaper hypno

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tokuvivor · 1 month ago

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Well, last night, we had the first of three Halloween Movie Nights for this month, all with a broad supernatural/parallel universe theme to them. So, the highlights:

Skeleton Dance

Me: “That’s gotta hurt” (the cats pulling at each other’s tongues)

@writebackatya falling into the well and @tealottie pulling him back out

The stream cut out, so we didn’t get to finish the short. But if you want to check it out, you can do so right here.

Magica’s Shadow War

The fact that the episode was the original inspiration for Lena

Everyone wanting to smash Magica

@spamtoon: “i fucking forgot about 87 poe”

@puffyducks: “it’s ok the writers forget about 87 poe too”

Gyro’s invention being a camera with a spotlight

Puffy: “they just fucking flashbanged her”

Will: “me when Webby kicked the flash grenade back to Gandra”

Scrooge’s girly apron

The guy at the airport (Gus Goose?)

Scrooge White and the Seven Nephews (courtesy of @shewhowantsmouseears)

Evermore/nevermore

Scrooge covering all the bases with the shadow’s pronouns

Scrooge wearing a moose head

Me: “Keel moose and squirrel”

Mel: “They had to make a moose joke, given how her voice is clearly based on Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle” (Since June Foray voiced both Natasha Fatale and ‘87 Magica.)

Magica’s shadow looking like Madam Mim because of the hair (plus some lore droppage from Mel and @emeraldcity1900)

“Magica’s raven” That’s her brother!

AUGH

Launchpad!

Will: “Do you think every family member immediately groans to themselves whenever Scrooge starts his sentences with “I made my fortune””

Several people: “Yes”

Surprise Webby!

@alex31624: “is like... some shadow war...”

Endless drama with the dime (as usual)

Caro: “I was hoping Scrooge would SHPEDEHOOING the dime out of her hands”

The Other Bin of Scrooge McDuck!

Lena time!

Scrooge in a deep sleep

Lena: “Aaaah…”

*theme song plays*

Will and Caro discussing how the theme song playing would impact the characters in real time

@spamtoon: “hi mark”

Webby’s long-ass speech about Scrooge

Magica being a terrible person

Blink-and-you-miss-it animation error where Lena isn’t wearing shoes

Gavin subplot!

Louie’s Kids

Darkwing Duck and Paperinik references (leading into Donkey Kong reference)

Will: “And then there’s Della! She’s dead.”

Sword horse!

Huey and Dewey being jerks to Louie in this episode

Puffy: “dewey time travel adventure is a touching story about him spending christmas with his missing mother and then louie time travel story is him just going to a 23rd century film set”

@godfrey-the-chaos-duck: “huey needed a time travel story”

Puffy: “I think huey experiencing any time travel would cause him to spiral”

Louie finding out Gavin’s conning them (and that his name is Gavin)

Gavin being like Bradley Uppercrust III

“Bigfoot, you just poked the bear.”

“The power…the body…”

Everyone losing their shit at Lena’s dream scene

Louie beating Gavin

“i win”

“Now go back! From whence you cameee!”

Everyone losing their shit again at the last scene

A Nightmare on Killmotor Hill!

The fact that it’s a peak episode

Violet!!!!

Lena’s song and everyone else’s reactions (including Louie’s “TF did I just watch” face)

Friendship bracelets!

Violet being relatable AF

The fact that Boyd and Gosalyn should’ve gotten friendship bracelets in the show

“Let’s eat pure sugar!”

Us watching this episode coinciding with the server’s one-year anniversary

“Me!” “…Sleep.” (plus Dewey’s offended face)

“YOU’RE IRRITABLITY!”

The boys and Violet sleeping

Glowy stars ✨

The fact that we should’ve gotten a second sleepover episode

The sword horse returns!

The finale foreshadowing

What would Boyd dream of? Does he even sleep? (Plus this incorrect quote from Will)

The sword horse disappearing without so much as a sound effect for it

Dewey High!

Dewey’s love interest (queer allegory)

Puffy: “bro thinks she’s bill cipher”

Godfrey: “if they ever made a deal all of reality would collapse”

Cat Louie!

“Meow. Everyone pat my head.”

Wolf Lena!

WHY HUEY WHY

Seriously, long-legged Huey is cursed AF

Phooey!

Whale Launchpad!

“My dream is just to read more.” “Awesome!”

@hueberryshortcake: “the bond between a girl and her librarian is unbreakable”

Now for Lena’s dream

She looks cool in green, though

Lena would make jokes about Poe

Everyone in their dream forms rescuing Lena

Lena and Webby’s conversation (and the feels that come with it)

Mel: “friendship is magic, the ponies were right”

Alex: “friendship is the best magic”

Magica is dead! (Welllll…)

She actually just lost her magic. Which explains her white feathers. (LOL what a loser)

These drawings from Puffy (minus Violet, she will be added later):

Magica trying (and failing) to do a Darkwing-esque speech at the end

Ghoul Friend

Adorable or horrible style? (It was a joke, though.)

Zombie Goofy!

Screaming Squirrel

Goofy Holler!

“You wouldn’t hit a mouse with glasses, would ya?” (Also the only line in the short, which says a lot about how you don’t necessarily need dialogue to tell a story.)

Goofy died because Max failed the perfect cast

Coraline

Alex: “Coraline won, and everyone leaves”

Keith David being in the movie

Looking ahead to Coco, and talking about how much we will (or will not) cry

@ducklooney: “Skeletor robot on motorbike!” (Wybie)

(About Coraline’s dad)

Puffy:

Will: “Are ya winning dad?”

Blue boy in a painting

Puffy: “woah you know who ELSE is a blue boy in a painting”

I ❤️ Mulch

Coraline’s parents being too absorbed in their work to pay attention to her

The fact that her friends in Michigan gave her a whole billboard to say goodbye to her (courtesy of @story-blossoms-ducks)

Kangaroo mice!

Puffy: “woah.. mirror dimension... just li”

“wait everyone that watched infinity train with me is gone”

The food in the other dimension looking fantastic (even though it’s not real)

The mice are friends

Mr. B’s confusion over Coraline’s name

Puffy: “we're not even in the scary world and everyone is still a fuckin creepy weirdo”

Will: “yeah, isn’t it great?” “they’re good people. Just weird”

The fact that everyone is telling Coraline to not go through the door, yet she still does

Will: “I mean they had mango milkshakes”

Puffy: “wait you’re right I hadn’t considered that”

The garden in the shape of Coraline’s face (feat. the mantis cart)

Mouse circus!

How Lena would fit into the role of Coraline

Keith David is the cat!

Me: “That is a lot of Scotties”

Brain bleach moment with Other Spink and Forcible

Shit gradually will start to go down (Coraline given buttons for her eyes)

John Linnell of They Might Be Giants being the Other Father’s singing VA

Cocoa beetles

DuckLooney: “"You will eat ze bugs and you will be happy."”

Puffy: “-the lion king”

“Bad.” “Lost.” “Bad.” “Lost.”

Coraline and her pillow parents

CAT STARE

Mel: “dammit, beldam, spit will out right now”

Breaking the mirror=seven years’ bad luck

Will: “And she’s hanging out with a black cat who’s always crossing her path”

Into the trap!

Puffy: “girl that is NOT your mother”

@kaitosduckmania: “she is mommy tho”

Coraline trying to collect the ghost eyes (and thinking she’s out of time when it’s still going) (shoutout to the cat on the assist with the last eye)

People having the hots for the Other Mother’s spider form

Destroy the key!

Webby Wybie to the rescue!

That’s all folks! (Not really, the sound was messing up)

Will’s cat watching with him

Puffy and Mel with a Simpsons reference (We’re Sending Our Love Down the Well)

Why is Mr. B’s skin blue?

Will: ““So your sister’s dead. But good news; her soul is no longer held captive by the spider woman.””

It was a good movie. Very unique.

#silly symphonies #ducktales #mickey mouse #coraline #ducktales fandom #duck tumblr #duckblr #duckblr movie night #skeleton dance #magica’s shadow war #the other bin of scrooge mcduck!#a nightmare on killmotor hill!#ghoul friend

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