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mouwrites · 11 months

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HEY SO I HAVE A SPECIFIC REQUEST BUT HOPEFULLY AN AMAZING WRITER LIKE YOU CAN UNDERSTAND IT!! so basically, I'm looking for a one-shot with butters and a female!reader that's a lot like him. So butters walk in on the reader doing SH (totally don't have to do this at all!!) And just some comfort in general for that would be nice. If you need a reason, maybe it would be parents (as in connection to the reader being like him) TY BYE

Here ya go sweets! I swear you guys are too nice to me,,

!!!!TW FOR SH!!!! (nothing graphic) PROCEED WITH CAUTION LOVELIES!!!

National Suicide and Crisis Lifeline: 988 or chat online / Crisis text line: text HOME to 741741

South Park - Butters Walks in on You

Butters balanced his basket in one hand while he used the other to turn your doorknob. Normally, he would’ve knocked, but today was different for two reasons: one, your parents were out for the evening, and two, he wanted his visit to be a surprise.

Closing the door behind him with his foot, he began his search for you. Where could you be? Living room? Nope. Kitchen? Nada. Your bedroom? Not there either.

His eyes landed on the sliver of light coming from the bathroom. The door wasn’t closed all the way, which meant he’d be able to walk in without putting down the basket. Perfect!

He used his shoulder to push the door open, smiling hugely as he sang out: “Y/n!”

He dropped the basket.

You. On the floor. Hurt. Hurting yourself. Eyes wild, prey-like. You were both frozen, locked in each other’s gaze.

Butters was the first to move. He practically lunged at you, dropping to his knees and moving your hands away from your wound. He took the weapon from your hands and sent it skidding across the tile floor.

“Oh, geez… Y/n, this looks bad. Where do you keep your band-aids?”

You took a moment to respond, still in shock. “Th-the medicine cabinet.”

Butters gave your hand a squeeze before standing up. He found the first-aid kit and began treating (to the best of his inexperienced ability) your wounds. Fear and fret covered his face like a mask, and his hands shook as he worked.

“Why did you do this?” He asked. He sounded like a wounded animal.

You sniffled. The tears that had been brimming your eyes since he walked in finally spilled, rolling down your face in heavy cascades. A choked sob burst from your throat.

Butters pulled you into a tight hug. You buried your faces in each other’s shoulders. Your tears and wails were absorbed by his shirt. You gathered the soft fabric in your fists, clinging tight while you cried.

“I’m sorry,” you quivered.

“What? Why are you sorry? I’m not mad at you.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. You simply sat there on the bathroom floor, your sobs shaking you and Butters both.

You found the courage to compose yourself. Pulling away, you diverted your eyes from Butters’. “It’s just…”

Butters held your hands, waiting patiently for you to speak.

“My parents. You… y-you know how they are.”

“I do.”

“The-they… before they left, they grounded me again.” The tears were coming back as you recollected. This time they fell silently. “I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t my fault,” you whispered.

Butters didn’t need any more context. He knew all too well how your parents would blame you for the most trivial things; he knew because his parents did the same.

He placed a hand under your chin, gently lifting your face so you could meet his gaze. “It wasn’t your fault,” he assured you.

You nodded, your face still scrunched in anguish.

Standing up, Butters pulled you to your feet with him. “Come on, let’s go find that fluffy blanket in your basement.”

As he turned around, you saw his eyes light up. You followed his gaze to a basket on the floor. It was on its side, and spilling from it were dozens of your favorite cookies, fortunately wrapped in plastic wrap.

“Oh!” Butters dropped to a squat and began picking up the cookies.

“Butters…” you whispered, placing a hand over your heart. “You didn’t.”

“I did! I knew you’d be alone tonight, so I wanted to surprise you!”

His jovial tone was infectious. “Color me surprised.”

You stooped down to help gather the goodies, but he waved you off. When the basket was full again, he balanced it on one hand and took yours in the other. You followed him into your basement, where the fuzzy blanket you both adored waited for you.

Taking the basket and the blanket into the living room, Butters handed you the TV remote. While you set up your favorite movie, he wrapped the blanket around both of you and unwrapped a few cookies, divvying them up between the two of you.

You leaned against his chest as he reclined on the couch, smiling faintly as his hand wandered across your back. Every few minutes he’d plant a kiss on the top of your head or say “I love you” or give your hand a squeeze.

The next thing you remembered was waking up in the dead of night to a notification from your phone. It was from your parents. You almost panicked, but the text’s content actually made you smile. They’d be gone for the next day or so. Butters, who had also woken up, smiled when he read the text. You shared a kiss that tasted like cookies before nuzzling back into his chest and lulling back to sleep.

Thank you anon for this request!! And thank you for reading, stay safe guys <33

National Suicide and Crisis Lifeline: 988 or chat online

Crisis text line: text HOME to 741741

(divider by saradika)

#tw sh #sh tw #south park #south park x reader #butters stotch #butters stotch x reader #butters x reader

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doctorbunny · 3 years

Text

MILGRAM theory time: Haruka!

This isn't going to go super in depth (famous last words) but there's a few heavily debated parts of Haruka's MV I want to share my findings/thoughts on because I think this is my new special interest and during my quest to get best boy's song to 1 million views I have been looking over his first MV with a fine tooth comb so to speak.

Disclaimer: As the Jackalope said in the "This is the MILGRAM" trailer, we don't necessarily know everyone's crime from just the first video, its possible that a lot of things will be re-contextualized in the second MV, however I am not psychic or bilingual and thus will only be working with content released before August 20th 2021 and translated into English (which could cause some language/cultural details to be lost on me as translation is not a 1 to 1 process).

TW for discussions of ableism, child abuse, murder and animal death. Also this is really long so sorry to all the people that follow me for non-MILGRAM stuff

Firstly, I want to start on the topic of Haruka as a person. He is disabled. He does not have 'the mind of a child' (although he is 17, making him legally a minor in both North America and Japan). He is not just 'child-like'. And he is not mentally ill (well he might be, in the sense that many disabilities like Haruka's have strong comorbidities [where a person has two or more conditions but neither directly causes the other] with anxiety, depression and PTSD, but usually when I see people talk about him 'struggling with mental illness' they go on to refer to aspects of his disability). Sometimes on tumblr, people like myself, will see canonical traits written into a character and identify them as being traits associated with our disabilities/mental illness and headcanon them as such. Sometimes this even involves saying things like "It's basically canon!" Although we understand that these characters were probably not the result of a writer intending to write a disabled person. When I say that Haruka is being written as a person with a neurodevelopmental disability, I mean the writer intended to write a disabled character and wrote them in a way that they wanted the audience to pick up on. As an autistic person (which is one of many neurodevelopmental disorders and also something I probably didn't have to specify because who else would be writing an essay about a series they got into a few days ago at 11 o'clock at night) I really like how Haruka has been written so far. There's definitely some parts of him that have been exaggerated so abled normies can pick up on his disability (namely how his MV 's main motif is really child-like drawings) but the writers also included a lot of smaller details I appreciate like how it is noted he avoids eye contact when talking to other people and is depicted as nervously pulling at his sleeves in official artwork, or how he says he finds his prison uniform (which has tight straps) 'relaxing' and when he gets nervous/tense, he will dig his fingernails into the palm of his hands. (These last two potential being examples of 'self stimulation' [aka stimming] where a person seeks out specific sensory stimuli in order to help regulate their nervous system/emotions, in this case the tight uniform creates a comforting, secure feeling [you may have heard about some people preferring to sleep under weighted blankets for this reason] and digging nails into his palms sounds uncomfortable/painful but is done in an attempt to deal with a greater sensory discomfort caused by the situation/environment) I also appreciate the depth he is written with, he struggles to communicate verbally but in his MV and interactions with other inmates is shown to have insecurities, opinions and a consistent thought process (this is all basic character stuff but unfortunately not always present in disabled characters)

Also I want to add that (in terms of what we've been shown so far) Haruka did not kill anyone because of his disability/mental illness. Disabled people are not inherently more innocent than abled people. But there is no disability/mental illness where a symptom is that you kill people and real people have to live with the stigma when you speak carelessly and suggest things like "Haruka is the kind of mentally ill person who kills people as a cry for help" 🧂 (or at the very least real people have to read BS like that and cringe). TL;DR Haruka is less child-like and more onion-like (as in, he has layers) 🧅🧅🧅

Now is the actual theory stuff, oops:

Every prisoner in MILGRAM is supposed to have committed murder in some way, obviously considering Yuno just had an abortion (which i personally do not consider an act of murder) whilst Mu literally stabbed someone to death, this definition is stretched a bit. But it is not agreed upon yet who Haruka killed/how many people he killed or why he killed.

In his MV he is shown to have chased after his dog into a forest, seen something off-screen, then beaten something into a messy pulp with a rock. Some people think the dog is a red herring and that Haruka actually killed his mother/the girl from the fireworks show/his brother. I do not agree.

First: I believe Haruka when he says he doesn't have a brother. The MV literally starts by Haruka looking in the mirror and then switching between the him now

and a really similar looking younger child who just so happened to be a key feature of his memories (I don't have the vocabulary to explain it but its like cinematic parallels that establish this is the same person at different points of their life)

Its not impossible that this is Haruka's secret younger brother, but i think its unlikely. I saw someone saying they had to be different people because Haruka looks less happy than the child but like, most 17 year olds are less visibly happy than when they were 7 (or however old the child is meant to be). Life happens.

So when Haruka is shown pushing the child around and eventually strangling him, this isn't meant to be literal (homicide or suicide), but a representation of how conflicted Haruka feels about his younger self, who may have committed the murder (if you've ever been kept awake cringing at memories of something you said in the past and wishing you could go slap some sense into your former self, this is like that but 10 times more self loathing). The lyric "I am always repeating yesterday," implies he might think about this specific past event a lot.

Moving on, its pretty well accepted that Haruka's parents were abusive in some way and Haruka internalised a lot of it: he constantly apologises, he says in his interrogation questions that his one wish come true is that "[he] want[s] to be loved" and describes in his MV how when he couldn't find the words he was looking for ("you're unfair") one of his parents "would get angry at me and say “You’re hopeless.”". He seems to know its unfair but also still says he 'loves' his family, possibly mistakenly believing it is his fault, but also showing an awareness of his situation (and how his parents might behave).

Now, the MV is stylised in a way that makes certain details unclear, but there is one clear detail showing that Haruka's dog was killed

This is the first close up of Haruka and the dog. Haruka's mother is just out of frame supervising, but they look pretty happy. Notice how the puppy has a silvery chain for a collar. Somehow, this dog gets out of the house but only Haruka is shown chasing after it (whether his mother was searching elsewhere or didn't bother following her disabled son into the forest is unclear). Either way, young Haruka is now in the forest, unsupervised.

By the time he finds the dog, there is already blood, suggesting it was initally attacked by something else.

is this a sigh of relief from a boy whose finally found his beloved pet or a jealous weakling glad that nature took its course and he is finally free of that meddling mutt stealing all his mummy's attention? /j

I think this shock at the discovery that 'there is blood on his hands' could imply that rather than literally getting the blood from his dog, Haruka has seen his already injured dog and realises that if the dog got out because of him (he is previously shown to be aware his parents seem to blame him for everything) then he is the reason his dog is injured/dying and will be blamed for it. (this scene plays over the lyrics "It’s fine, though it’s really not It’s really fine, though I don’t really think so When I tried to understand it, You’ll make that disappointed face again" suggesting he is trying to avoid making his parents disappointed and letting the family pet escape into danger is something that could make them very disappointed)

now we get into rock murder (this is present-day Haruka implying that this is either: not how the scene really played out; the writers really wanting the audience to know that this was Haruka's doing and not someone else's; or this turns into a separate incident that happened much later [although note that the red sky and blue moon is the same as when young Haruka first appears at the start])

b the corpse is beyond mangled now, but its clearly the dog because the silver chain collar is still there, to the right of the body. (circled in red for your convenience :3)

My hypothesis is: Haruka didn't set out to kill his dog, but upon finding it injured (we don't know the severity aside from bleeding and also it not being able to run away from Haruka kneeling down above it w/ a big rock so it could range from treatable with a lot of vet help to already on death's door, TBH I don't think Haruka would know the difference) He knew he'd be blamed for this; made into a villain who let the poor puppy come to harm. He panicked and killed the dog out of some idea that it would make him the victim here (since he'd be found crying over a dog corpse, which might make a parent go comfort him rather than getting angry about what could've happened to the dog). This is over the lyrics: "I cried, I screamed I wanted to be a pitied and loved weakling I was in denial, I was in denial I just had to make sure I’ve become a victim, I’ve become a victim" (there's another theory that he was also jealous of the dog, which could work here too, since this is not some calculated plot; rather its a rash decision) This ties in with his Japanese song title (translated as Weakness) which is a play on a phrase sort of like "The strong eat, the weak do not" to become "The weak are eaten by society" or "The weak eat each other to survive" [once again I am reminding everyone this is based on second hand information from the youtube comments section (from users mitchki and Alphaistic) because I do not speak Japanese] This second meaning (The weak eat each other to survive) makes sense under the reading that Haruka killed his dog in order to 'survive' making his parents disappointed for the dog escaping.

Miscellaneous points:

We don't know where Haruka's necklace came from yet, it must be a gift since the most expensive thing he's ever bought was cotton candy. The younger child in the video isn't wearing it and neither is his mother or the girl in the purple dress.

Haruka's home seems quite big, at the start we can see a large flower garden outside the window and there's a forest in walking distance. This might suggest his family is quite wealthy

Haruka probably did go to school at some point as homeschooling is not a legally accepted as an alternative to public schools in Japan. (However it is estimated that up to 5000 families homeschool, this is uncommon) A lot (about 62%) of Japanese schools apparently have a 'special needs' classes and there are about 505 schools focused on educating intellectually disabled students (although I do not know which sort Haruka would've needed as whilst intellectual and development disabilities can be comorbid they aren't the same). Now, if children aged 7-14 don't go to school, their parents receive a fine, but its possible that if Haruka's parents are wealthy, they just paid it to avoid sending him to school. (This might imply they wanted to hide him or were generally ashamed of him in some way) However high school education (for students over 14) is not legally required and its likely that even if Haruka went to elementary/middle school, he hasn't been around people his own age in at least 3 years. As he seems quite lonely and glad that the other prisoners give him attention.

I don't think Haruka's parents are divorced and if they are, its not his father who left. Haruka mentions in the 30 questions that he thinks he disappointed his father. But still includes him as part of his family ("My father and mother and me"). A theory I've seen is that his father was disappointed by his son being disabled and left. but developmental disabilities (especially in non verbal and semi verbal children like Haruka) can be diagnosed before the age of 3, so I feel it is unlikely that Haruka would bring up his father if he left that early in Haruka's life

All MILGRAM prisoners have covered one of DECO*27's older vocaloid songs (DECO*27 is a well known producer who composes the music for MILGRAM) Haruka covered 'Two Breaths Walking' (https://youtu.be/puXLfVWrz2Q) which is about a boy's first relationship and how his mother's jealousy set him up for failure as the relationship becomes toxic (specifically it has some very funny out of context lines like "Whose breasts are you sucking on now?") so yeah, mommy issues: the song (Also: some people say in the song, the boy kills the girl at the end, but this isn't literal, TBW is the first of a trilogy of songs about the same relationship, it is followed by Android girl then Two Breaths Walking: Reloaded and the story resolves with the couple reuniting as adults and getting in the relationship again, although its not necessarily as abusive as before, its still implied to be codependant ending on the line 'We should live like oxygen tanks, sucking breathe from the words each of us exhale, until our last breathe')

In all seriousness, the scene where younger Haruka is walking through the city with his mother but it keeps repeating until older Haruka pulls the younger one away might indicate an attempt to focus the happier memories of his parents (since this is also over the lyrics "Why is it breaking? Tell me why? Please don’t change If I tried and couldn’t say it, You would get angry at me and say “You’re hopeless.”" which depict a worse scene) I think both his parents are still physically present but have become far more emotionally distant, not giving him as much attention, which exacerbates his loneliness from not having any friends his own age to talk to

And if one of his parents did leave? I think its likely his mother since she is shown disappearing out of his reach after the dog-incident (inferring she got angry/disappointed in Haruka anyway) This could also be where he got his necklace from: Its something his mother used to wear (although this is 100% a guess) and that's why its shown to be important to him

This one is just me, but i didn't realise until a rewatch that when Haruka is watching the younger him and the girl running together, the background has fireworks. Haruka mentions fireworks being a key memory to him so I wonder if this was one of the first/last times he got to make a friend...

On three separate occasions in the interrogation, Haruka mentions not liking animals. Despite this, he is depicted as sleeping with a rabbit plush and on his birthday art (I'd include that too but tumblr only allows 10 pictures per post, so here's a link) he is standing next to a giant blueberry and strawberry cake with two bunny themed biscuits at the side. Through my experiences of seeing Japanese fandom art on pixiv, sometimes rabbits are used to insinuate a character is cute and timid in fanart.

Meaningless details: Haruka sleeps with his necklace on; he sleeps on a bed and not a futon; at first I thought he woke up holding his plush's hand but his hand is merely next to the toy; and considering the state of the pillow and blanket, I wonder if he moves a lot in his sleep or if the is just because in this case he seems to be waking up from a nightmare about the dog incident...

Final note: I've spent so many hours writing this I don't remember if i was building up to any big finale or not but I hope you enjoyed reading this! Feel free to add on in the comments/reblogs.

#haruka sakurai #milgram #milgram theory #001 #text post #essay #long post

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sunshinee0-0 · 3 years

Text

Annoying

Paring: Seo Changbin x GN Reader

Warnings ⚠: Cursing, mention of butt, farm animals, friend's to lovers, kissing and mention of wanting to kiss somebody.

Word count: 2,833

AN: Ah! I'm so sorry this took forever @i-say-choco-you-say-ice-cream and i hope this is kinda like your dream! This is now named my longest fic and thank you for the inspiration :) anyways I hope you like bickering with Changbin. Enjoy

"Come on Binnie, hurry up." You yell as you watch Changbin speed walk towards you, "You know. Mrs Kim wont like us being late." You sing.

Changbin playfully hits your arm, "If she scolds us i'm going to blame it one you!", "What did I do? If anything she should scold you!" He scoffs, "I'm not the one who took a 20 minute shower." You gasp dramatically, "I only took 5 minutes in the shower!", "Yeah times 4." He says without missing a beat.

Without notices you guys make it to the sweet old lady's house. Changbin nocks onto the door a few times before the door opens reviling a skinny old lady. "What took you guys for ever?" She questions glaring at the of you both. Like he said, Changbin points at you and blames, "It was their fault, they took 20 minutes in the shower.", you poke Changbin's arm before grumbling, "I didn't take 20 minutes in the shower. He took 30 minutes picking out an outfit and doing his hair."

She looks between the both of you before signing, "You guys are a hand full." Shaking her head, she walks away before adding, "Get inside and close the door, we don't live in a damn barn!" You and Changbin giggle and laugh at that statement considering that the only reason you guys are there is because of the barn she does own. Although she is great company.

Mrs Kim grabs a few things before going out the back door and yelling at you guys to follow her. You and Changbin quickly make your way towards her. Stopping by her side, you give her a questioning stare once she looks over at you. "How else are we going to get to the farm?" Your eyes go widen in realization that she owns all this land. Looking behind you at the house, it starts to look tiny and tinier as you guys make your way towards the farm.

"Also, Y/n honey you left your bike here.", "Oh I did? I was looking for it everywhere!",you respond "We' where looking for it everywhere." Changbin corrects. You shove his shoulder before continuing, "Thank you Mrs Kim-" he shoves you right back, glaring at him you repeat his action, which makes him push you back and you do the same.

Mrs Kim coughs to get your attention, once your eyes are on her she glares at the both of you. You give her a sheepish look in return whispering a quite sorry. She signs before changing the subject, "You know my husband use to own this farm before he passed." You look at her a apologetically before you quietly apologize, "I so sorry-", "We are so sorry." Changbin corrects again. You glare at him in response before whispering, "Not the time Binnie, not the time." He mumbles a quiet sorry back before Mrs Kim continues.

"He really loved this farm." She says, you didn't notice that you guys had arrived. She takes out a key chain full of keys, trying to figure our which one belongs to the barn. "He would wake up at the butt crack of dawn just so he could feed all the animals and water all the plants." Finally being able to pick the right one, she unlocks the door before continuing. "He was the nicest man I had ever met, had the kindest heart, that's why I fell in love with him."

She walks into the barn making her way towards the horse stable, the two of you trailing behind her. She stops in front of a white doted horse as Changbin excuse himself and goes to get bucket of water. You make your way towards the hay stack and grab one. She continues as she softly pets the old horse.

"He really loved Mingy." She signs, "He loved all the animals, but she really stud out to him." She moves out of the way so you could drop to stack of hay inside of the stable. Changbin makes his towards the two of you, carrying two buckets of water, he moves to give Mingy her own and does the same to Mina.

"I am so sorry for your lost Mrs Kim and I'm sure he was an amazing person." You smile at her as you drop Mina some hay as well. She waves you off before reassuring, "It's alright.", "How about I tend to these two old sillies and you guys can tend to the chickens, yeah?" You look at her with worried eyes, wanting to know if she was okay all alone. "I'm old but I know how to take care of two older horse's." You know that she can, but that's not what your worried about. "I'll race ya, last on there is a rotten egg." Changbin cuts off your thoughts, "Hey- wait your cheating!" You run after him.

Mrs Kim shakes her head before whispering to Mingy, " Ah~ Young love"

You bend over to catch your breath as you glare at Changbin. He smirks at you, hand on his hip, "I guess your to slow Y/n." Glaring at him, you make your way towards him, "I am not slow! Y-", "Am to!" , "Am not! Your just a cheater." You poke his chest accusingly. "I am not!", "You are so!" Changbin glares at you before softly poking your nose, "Don't blame your slowness on me!", he turn to tend to the chickens like he was told."I'm not slow! Your just a cheater!"

_______________________________________

Your day was full of farm animals and Changbin's annoying voice, and surprisingly it was better then you thought it was going to be. Sitting at the dinner table while Mrs Kim prepares a dinner, you and Changbin argue about if avocados where fruits. "They have seeds!", "So what? Their vegetables" "They are not!", "They are so!", "Binnie! They are not! Just like how tomato's are fruits because they also have seeds, like strawberries and blueberries. And every other fruit."

"Wait... tomatoes are fruits..?" Huffing you get up for the table and making your way towards the front door. "Wait!?!" Changbin gets out of his seat a bit to fast making his chair scrape against the floor, you and Mrs Kim wince at the sound it makes. "Me and Y/n are going to the beach." He announces to Mrs Kim, grabbing his jacket.

"I'm just trying to go somewhere without him." Mrs Kim looks at you pointedly before she nags, "Make sure to come back before supper." You nod and Changbin gives her a thumbs up and reassures her, "Don't worry Mrs Kim, we'll be back before you know it." She nods and does back to doing whatever she was doing. As you guys walk out. Changbin decides to speak up, "Hey Y/n? How come bananas don't have seeds?" Changbin looks confused as you lead him out of the house.

His eyes go wide, "Wait a minute, are they vegetables?" Shaking your head, you pat him on the back before an amazing thought runs around in your head. "Race ya!" And with that your off. He watches as you run towards the beach, once he realizes what you've said he's running after you screaming, "You cheater!!"

_______________________________________

Changbin watches you cross your arms as he catches his breath, "I win!", "You do not!" "I do so!!", "You cheated!" You scoff, "Just like you did at the farm." Changbin opens his mouth before closing it again, he softly grabs your wrist and leds you towards the beach line. "Just shut up and look at the ocean or something." Changbin watches as you turn your head to watch the waves crash against the sand. He watches as the wind takes pieces of your hair. He turns his head and signs to himself as he remembers that the two of you are just friends and nothing more will come out of it.

You look back at Changbin as you notice the way his eyes look a bit distant as he looks at the sand, you notice the sun gently creasing his face making him look like some kind of god. What you don't notice is the way your cheeks heat up and turn a bright pink. Huffing to yourself, you turn towards the sea again and your eye catches something..is that a bird?

Squinting at it you notice it was a bird, what was it called again? Hero? Herman?You have know idea but you hit Changbin's arm repeatedly trying to get his attention. "Ow- Y/n stop hitting me." He whines, "Changbin look, look" you point at the bird sitting on a pillar minding its own business. "What- Y/n its just a bird." He deadpans, "I know but what was it called again? A hero...a..", "You mean a heron?" "Yes! Yes! Take a picture!", "Y/n it's just a bird-", "I know but just take the damn picture!" He signs before taking out his phone and snapping a picture of the peaceful bird.

"There happy?" He questions showing you the photo, you happily agree before looking at the time. "Oh shoot, Binnie its almost dinner time.", "I'll race ya? It will be fair this time?" You agree before the both you start running towards her house.

_______________________________________

Once the both of you arrive at front of her house the two of you are already start playfully arguing, "I win!", "You do not!", "Do so!" Entering the house there's already two plates full of food waiting for the both of you two get seated. Mrs Kim is already sitting in her seat waiting for the two of you with a pen and a crossword puzzle. "Ah, there you two are." She puts her pen down and waits for the two of you to sit down.

Once seated she says a quick prayer before digging in, you and Changbin also dig in once she's done.

The dinner table was lively as you and Changbin talk about what happened at the beach and Mrs Kim talks about the thing she did when she was younger. Changbin talked about some of his friends and his job. Mrs looks over at you and speaks, "So Y/n What do you want to do once you get your degree?" You think for a few minutes before answering, "I don't know, I kinda want to become a writer."

"I don't think people read books anymore Y/n" Changbin teases, "No, you just don't read books anymore." You tease right back. "Hey I read!", "Yeah when your forced to." Changbin looks offended before shoving some rice into his mouth.

After dinner you and Changbin offer to clean the dishes, which she agrees on. While the two of you are cleaning Mrs Kim puts on some kind of K-drama that immediately pulls you in. So you start watching the drama while trying to do the dishes. Changbin gets bored after an hour of watching the so called 'boring show' and starts to flick water at you.

Turning to look at the manic that just got you wet, you flick some water at him in return. He smirks at you before dipping his hand in the water and flicking you back. You repeat his actions and flick him back. He starts to laugh quietly and does the same to you, and soon enough the both of you are covered in water and soap laughing as Mrs Kim goes and grabs a bunch of towels.

Once You and Changbin are done drying the floors and finishing the dishes, you go to the bathroom to dry up and Changbin waits with Mrs Kim, you hear some chattering going one as you dry off and change clothes. After a few minutes you walk out in fresh clothes that we're left in Changbin car, once you get out he goes in. You sit on the couch next to Mrs Kim and thank her, "Thank you for today Mrs Kim." She gives you a kind smile and you continue, "I would love to stay but I have to head home." She looks at the time. "Y/n honey, its 11:55 and its already very dark, how about you stay here? It wont be very safe to go out."

It takes a bit of convincing for you to agree. "Alright..." You sigh and Mrs Kim does a little cheer. "You can share the spare bedroom with Changbin.", "Changbin? He's staying to?", "Yeah, I had to convince him as well." She mutters something that you don't catch. Changbin walks out wearing a grey shirt and some sweats. "She convinced you as well?" You nod your head as he signs, "Thought so."

The three of you are quiet before Mrs Kim speaks up, "The spare bedroom is in the hallway to the left, if you need anything..well you know where everything is already." She bids you two goodnight and heads to her room, you two find the spare bedroom which only has one bed. But the two of you don't really mind, seeing as you guys have shared beds before. But to you it feels a little different seeing as the last time you did share a bed was when you where 10 and didn't have the fattest crush on him.

Changbin makes you take the side closer to the wall because he 'didn't want the closet monsters to get you' which makes you laugh. But in reality he just wanted to be closer to the outlet. Once he turns out the light, he runs towards the bed and jumps on it, "The monsters almost got me Y/n" and that makes you laugh even more. "Y/nnn!! Stop laughing! It was a life or death solution!" He whines. You shakes your head trying to mask your laughter, "Alright alright, i'll stop laughing at you."

He grins, something you don't catch because of the dark. "Good night Y/n~" You turn over to face the wall, "Good night Binnie." There's some shuffling behind before you feel Changbin's arms around you. "Y/n?" His voice is a bit more serious, "Yeah?", you hear him sign. "I don't want...I really...I just.." You hear him sign once more before he speaks up again, "I really cherish our friendship, and i'm really really lucky to have you." He leans his head on top of your as he tightens his hold. "But I want more- and I know its selfish, but just this once." Your heart beats repeatedly against your chest and you wonder if he can hear it as well, maybe feel it.

"Binnie what do you mean?" You know exactly what he means but you still ask. He draws invisible shapes on your arm as he speaks, "What I mean is..I want to be able to kiss you, be able to hug you, be able to call you mine." Your face lights up a bright red and your heart is beating to fast for your brain to comprehend. Words run though your head as you think on what to say, "You always hug me though..." And that's all that comes out. He chuckles before snuggling his face into your neck, warm breath hitting your skin. "You know what I mean." There a silence and the only thing you can here is your heart and Changbin's breathing.

"I like you too." You whisper so quietly that you think he didn't hear you but he did. He hums a soft low hum and you feel his smile as he responds back, "Good." And that's all he says, all you say. The room envelops in a comfortable quietness as you smile as well. A tiny soft simile, closing your eyes, you snuggle closer to Changbin.

The sun glares at you through the currents telling you to get up. You feel for Changbin only to be met with nothing, signing you get out of bed to go look for hin. Finding him in the kitchen making coffee, you walk towards him. "Good morning Binnie" you yawn stretching, before you give him a back hug leaning your head onto his back, "Morning beautiful, would you like some coffee?" You blush at the nickname. "Yeah..i could use, some uh coffee." He lowly hums and it rumbles with in his chest. "I thought you liked tea?", "I do I just need something to uh wake me up." He laughs and turns around to face you, you hear the coffee pour into the mug as you stare into his alluring eyes.

He cups your cheeks as you stare at him wide eyed a bit shocked. "You look so cute." He mutters, leaning his forehead against yours, "May I kiss you?" You shake your head repeatedly afraid if you talked you would stumble over your words. He leans in, his soft on yours. Pulling back a bit to soon, he leans his forehead against yours. The both of you didn't say a single word but you both knew that you where in love.

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hughiecampbelle · 4 years

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Baby Teeth (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,321

Inspired By: kind of based off this imagine

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomrecs @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan @captivatedbycillianmurphy @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87

A/N: Just a lil something that's been collecting dust in my writers block folder for a while. I am so sorry about the lack of posts my loves, things will go back to normal very soon. Thank you for your patience and understanding 💜💖💜

Gif Credit: @nofckingfighting :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

Burned out. Burned up. Your entire body turned to ash, bits and pieces of charcoal cracked off in your bed, dust coating the cheeks of your children, the remains of your lips burned into his cheeks. A crushing weight on the bones of a ruin, your cracked foundation threatening to cave in. Too strong a wind would have collapsed every strength you had just to pull yourself together, to get out of bed every morning and face the day. Fragile. Exhausted. The circles under your eyes threatening rain, staring back at him from across the table. Prominent. Resembling bruises. He couldn't remember the last time you'd slept through the night, the last time you truly relaxed. You were the result of a house fire, a burning building, a candle left unwatched. You were the stresses of the day, the what if's at night, every terrible thing that could ever happen to you, your family, him. You watched the ghosts so no one else had to.

You could only describe it as drowning. Wasting in the bath, your skin pruned, unable to breathe, choking, your head above water. Your heart racing, rejecting the very body it slept in, pounding, screaming, clawing it's way out. Your breathing labored, conscious, too loud to be your own. The air stung. Tiny hands patting the door, giggles erupting from the other side, a whine escaping one of them. They shouldn't be up this late. Past bedtime. How long had you been sitting here? Pull yourself together. Pick yourself up, one step at a time, one breath in, the next out. Sloppy buttons, wet hair, hands shaking, steadying with the doorknob. A second thought, a want to go back, to scald your own skin in the tub until it was floating in soggy chunks and pieces, too big to be washed down the drain. Maybe that would lessen the weight, the pressure, the tension. Maybe it wouldn't. You were always too forgiving with your chances.

Tossing, turning beside him, startled by the dreams. Even in sleep, these things were inescapable. A terrible feeling left you raw, scared of the dark, checking under the bed, in the closet for things made of shadows. He'd caught you, only once. Frantic, searching for relief, for a pairs of eyes to look back at you. Looking for something you knew wasn't really there. If you didn't check, something bad would happen. It would show up. Exhausted, in a yawn he beckoned you back to bed, holding you close. If you got up again, he would know. Didn't matter. No eyes. Not under the bed, not in the closet, not waiting the corner for you to turn your back. Another night safe. Another night awake. Too late to check the soil, to press your palm to the soft wet grass the way you used to. No use, though. Six feet under. There wouldn't be a heartbeat anyways.

The doors, the windows, every lock you could remember checked twice. Sometimes, when the dark was too quiet, too still, you'd carry them one by one to your bed, needing them to be close, to be safe. Apologize for waking them, stirring them from their sweetest dreams, tucking them in with a kiss and a promise of everlasting love. One in your arms, another in his, the rest lay where they fall. Objects of comfort, stuffed animals and pacifiers, baby dolls and cloths littered the bed like landmines. Little hands and feet ice cold pressed against you, a welcomed discomfort. He didn't flinch as he was pulled at, tugged on, all of it a reflex now. Hush them, rock them, will them to sleep again. Without the cap, the coat, those starry night eyes of his closed, he almost looked human.

Baby drool dried in the pillows, tiny snores filling between you, but the distance was an ocean wide. Call it what he may, he knew you were right. Burning greater in these moments. The only one awake, aware, left to brew in your own worries. Regret spilling over your insides, erroding you, your belly full of every bad decision. This life took its toll. The threats. The violence. The way he almost smirked when the blood of others finally washed out of his collar. A second death. The moment that ring slipped around your finger the Grimm Reaper started stepping on your heels. You'd done enough. Faced enough. Scars across your mind, body, and soul the result of the Blinders and their drama. Recovery never easy, the aches and pains living even after the scars have faded, that shop becoming a constant reminder. You put up with it though, because you loved him, and because saying yes was your decision.

But it was not theirs.

A big family, that's what you always wanted. A home full of warmth, of love, of enough mouths to feed to start an army. Hesitant, he was, but not for the reasons you should have been. The world wasn't so scary for a man who saw war. When he walked, others moved. When he spoke, they quited. His presence demanded everyone's attention. He never realized though, he brought that war home, back to Birmingham, to your bed, in his blood. He was only scared of the father he'd be. But you? You knew how easy soft skin caught on the sharpest edges of this life. Every scrape, bump, bruise, cry, it only made the dangers that much more prominent, that much more deadly.

First smiles, first laughs, first words and steps. He promised he'd be there for it all, each of them. Sometimes he was, sometimes he wasn't, but he tried. He loved it, celebrated every milestone no matter how small. You were more careful, more cautious. The first day of school, first tooth, first crush, and every broken heart after that, all of it meant they were hurling towards adulthood, towards their own freedom. For a Shelby, the likelihood of seeing another day dwindled as the candles on the cake grew. Tommy assured you, over each crib and sleeping infant, he would do what it took to protect them, no one would ever hurt a hair on your child's head. Talk was so easy, though, so cheap. He promised the same the night of your wedding, and at your bedside every time after that when he failed. You couldn't bear the thought of history repeating itself in them. If it was between you and them, you made him promise, cross his heart and hope to die, stick a needle in his eye, he would save them.

Always.

He knew. You didn't tell him, but he knew. They all did. They could read in the ways you dug at your skin just to calm down, the ways you paced back and forth, how attentive you were to every coo or gurgle, the glaze over your eyes when they spoke of anything yellowed by the past, brightened by the future. This moment was the only place your thoughts could live. Life was too heavy right now. It wasn't just you and him anymore. It wasn't only your broken bones, or the ringing in your ears, or the paralyzing fear when anything resembling a gunshot pops. It was theirs now and you knew no matter how easy it was to put the blame in his hands, it was your fault, too. It was a decision you both made, a step you took together. Your children were your world, a slice of your own personal heaven, proof there was someone looking out for you after all. They were your pride and joy, the only happiness you found when the thought of a smile was impossible. They were also your greatest weakness, a vulnerability like no other. If anyone ever wanted to get through you, hollow you out, they would use your children against you.

No one knew that better than this family.

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rwbyconversations · 4 years

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The Scarlet Letter: Let’s talk about RWBY’s male LGBT rep

I have been sitting on this post for nearly four weeks waiting until the 15th due to the Before the Dawn spoiler rules.

So let's start with a blunt statement: RWBY's male LGBT representation has not been good. If the series' handling of female LGBT rep is good (which... well there's worse shows) and the general standard for how you write LGBT characters in a show like this, its handling of male rep has been... how not to. And Before the Dawn kinda solidified the idea in my head that the show's handling of its male LGBT cast just isn't good enough, either by the standards of when RWBY began in 2013, or today in 2020 when compatively massive steps have been taken over the past decade to show a more diverse list of characters... or at least a more diverse list of female characters.

I don't wanna make this a pissing match over how over-or-under-represented male or female LGBT characters are, but I feel like it's safe to say that the majority of the trend-setters for modern romances, especially in western animation, have been between women. Korra and Asami from Korra, Chloe and Max from Life is Strange, Marceline and Bubblegum in Adventure Time, (insert the relevant Steven Universe characters here, never watched it), and more recently, Adora and Catra in She-Ra and Luz in Owl House.

Compatively, while studies have shown that in general male LGBT characters get more appearances on a purely numerical level, in general they're more one-off characters there to pad a roster, or played more for comedy (see Josh Gad in the Beauty and the Beast remake or the gay guy in Avengers Endgame that was more notable for how hard China and Russia snapped him out of existance). The only big male-LGBT focused media I can think of from the last decade would be Yuri On Ice, Moonlight, IDW's Transformers: More Than Meets The Eye (Chromedome/Rewind best pairing fuck you Roberts for issue 16) Love Simon, and the anime adaptation of Banana Fish.

So it's no surprise that RWBY basically follows these ideas. It's big romance is (unless the writers are very stupid) going to be between Blake and Yang, their first out character was Ilia, Coco got sent to the Book Dimension where she confirmed "I use my sunglasses to perv on women without their knowledge" which uh... yeah you can definitely tell RWBY is written by men... and Volume 6 had Saph and Terra being a good example of an LGBT couple without any real drama. In the last three years alone, the show has drastically increased its lesbian and bisexual characters, alongside even including its first out trans character in May Marigold (albeit only revealed on Twitter). In general, these depictions of sexuality have been pretty OK. Would have liked it if Ilia wasn't immediately written out of the show after Volume 5 as it made her feel a bit more disposable than intended but whatever, subject for another day.

RWBY's male rep though is a bit spottier. There's the plant bois in Volume 5's premiere, we nearly had Pilot Boi until some last-minute revisions, and... Scarlet.

Why Scarlet's a bad launchpad for male LGBT rep

I don't like Scarlet or how his sexuality has been handled. Scarlet's homosexuality wasn't revealed in the show, or by the writers, or even in anything that's actually canon. He's confirmed gay in his sole of dialogue in a non-canon fan anthology, where the manga's Twitter team had to say that Miles suggested the idea and approved of it.

In short, Scarlet is Dumbledore'd, where his sexuality is revealed in out-of-show material and in a way that doesn't make it supremely obvious (Miles himself never commented to confirm this so this news was limited in how far it could spread. I'm genuinely curious how many people still don't know Scarlet's gay), and Scarlet himself is a nothing character who was written out of the show after Volume 3 and only reappeared in Before The Dawn, half a decade after he vanished. Compared to Ilia, as this came out after Ilia's entire arc in Volume 5, it's not a great starting point for mlm rep. But things would have been forgiven if it had gotten better, if the show did have more male LGBT characters introduced, even just on the Saphron/Terra level of just being around for a few episodes before leaving. Then it would have been a misfire but then we could all say "Things got better."

It... didn't. Which is why when Before the Dawn released in 2020, a full two years after Scarlet was first confirmed gay, while the franchise had more than doubled its wlw rep, Scarlet remained the one male character in the entire franchise who had a name and liked men. I remember vividly a fake leak for After The Fall which claimed Yatsuhashi would come out to Velvet and admit to having a crush on Fox. And I remember as well how many people were disappointed when it was said to be false, because it would have been nice for Yatsuhashi's character, especially after the fleshing out he gets in the CFVY books. If Yatsu had come out as gay in the books I'd like his writing enough to say he's a good case for rep, albeit with the caveat of "This is all in side material." But in reality, the leak was fake and Coco was confirmed gay instead.

Unfortunately, Before the Dawn proceeded to ruin Scarlet and made me at times feel genuinely uncomfortable as a queer man! Let's talk about that.

Before The Dawn is crap and Scarlet's writing is borderline offensive

I hate Before the Dawn. It's... bad. I read it while on a vacation and the only solace I had about the entire thing was that I'd bought an M&M chocolate bar. The bar was finished before the book. That bummed me out. It's not a very well written book, the prose is very Early 2010s YA Writer, none of the characters are memorable and there's various Fun Incidents like "NGDO using children as bait for Grimm," and "Neptune's hydrophpobia being used as a threat to torture him and the scene is played for comedy."

Theo was cool. I can't wait to see him as written by good writers, he should be a highlight of the Vacuo arc.

I had two hopes for Before the Dawn- "Don't be bad," and "Let Scarlet and Sage be well written." I'd liked how After The Fall had handled some of its characters (barring, y'know, Coco perving on women), especially Fox and Yatsu who were surprising in how much I liked them. I was looking forward to seeing Myers give Sage and Scarlet similar treatment- two relatively nothing characters meant he'd have a blank slate to write them however he wanted, he could give them unique personalties and if nothing else it could be cool to see their Semblances.

And then I read the book. (Sage fans I am so sorry for you, you got baited harder than Johnlock fans)

Scarlet's a giant dickhead in the book. It's his sole character trait and his inner monologues go on, and on, and on about how much he hates Sun, how he revels in mocking him. Most of his dialogue is sarcastic put-downs about Sun and how lame he is, and Sun is never properly allowed to defend himself or point out how going with Blake meant he was able to help save Haven Academy.

(hey remember when Sun in Volume 6 expressly says to Blake "I was a bad leader for ditching Neptune and the others, and I need to work on that" only for Before the Dawn to have him staunchly refuse to accept that he let the team down? I don't think Myers did but I do)

Scarlet being a ratty bitch would be one thing if, again, the franchise had done more rep. He'd still be a badly written character, but it wouldn't sting as much. But because Scarlet is still the only expressly confirmed male LGBT character in canon (the book teases that Nolan is gay but there's never confirmation either way beyond him smiling at Scarlet), it means that he has to represent that entire ideal. So when the one gay man in Remnant is being an asshole and a snide loser, that means that by extension, this is how the franchise sees gay men. And that fucking sucks! I wanted to come out of Before The Dawn singing its praises, I wanted to like the book, but it was a massive letdown, especially coming off of the other big 2020 RWBY controversy involving gay characters.

Yeah. We're doing this.

Clover and Fair Game: Technically not queerbaiting. BUT:

Let's pre-empt this: Clover wasn't queerbaiting, and Fair Game, while cool and I dig it, kudos to them for becoming one of the top 5 RWBY pairings on AO3 in one year that's fucking impressive (I say with mild malice as an IronQrow main), never had a chance. The writing never seriously boosted it barring one interaction which was flirty (them talking in the lobby of the Schnee Manor), and everything else was out of show boosting through the social media teams and CRWBY hyping it themselves by saying they liked it. If you wanna blame people, blame the animators who went off-script with stuff like Kim Newman adding the wink as a deliberate nod to the Volume 4 waitress, or the social media team deliberately using the same policies for Fair Game as they do for Renora and Bumblebee.

It wasn't Eddy's fault that things escalated, and he himself has said that in retrospect, he should have warned people that this never had a shot.

But I can't blame the Fair Game fanbase. Because Fair Game took off like wildfire. It came right as the fanbase began seriously asking for more male rep, Qrow's pretty hot, and the Clover wink came right after the Great IronQrow Reawakening of November 9th, 2019. The rocket was primed, and they rode it to the moon. Finally, to these people, after seven years RWBY seemed to be doing something with mlm rep in show. People started getting into RWBY just for Clover and Qrow's interactions. And if heroes were boring, Watts and Tyrian also had a fantastic dynamic that made Nuts and Volts one of the more popular villain ships overnight. Things seemed to be turning around! RWBY was remembering that gay men existed! You could hear the choir sing!

... And for those people, that meant that episode 12 hit like Truck-Kun.

People got pissed. People were horrified. And it didn't help that some members of CRWBY had said in the build-up that episode 12 would have some shots that made them nauseous (probably the Tyrian thumb thing) Out of context, it looked to these fans like CRWBY were basically laughing at their suffering, like they were saying "Lol, you thought you had a chance, get fucked, I hope your vomit burns on the way up."

Yeah, Fair Game was never gonna be canon, and I think some people ran too far with it. But in the wider context of how desperate RWBY's mlm community had gotten for basic crumbs of content? I can see why they'd run with what they had. The writers aren't at fault for what happened, but CRWBY didn't help matters. And that desperate mix of what felt like official backing from the crew, jokes about how cute the ship was, and the hope that finally the show would have onscreen rep? I can see why people ran with it.

So why is the show more lackluster in depicting mlm characters?

Money. Let's be honest, most RWBY fans don't care if the show doesn't have good male rep. I'm willing to bet some of you reading this won't care and just dismiss it as not being that big a problem. I don't think the writers care if the show doesn't have good mlm rep because they're not poaching that market. They're after what they see as a bigger, more lucrative market, which in this case is female LGBT rep. That gets people buying games, watching shows, raising awareness and boosting awareness of your property, which means you make more money. In short: Two women kissing hits more markets and generates more attention than two men.

Am I saying that Miles, Monty and Kerry deliberately sat down seven years ago and said "We're not doing gay men because it won't generate enough ad revenue and traffic to be worth the loss in revenue from homophobes?" No, that's silly. But I'm saying that it's less important for them, and it shows in the things that are small and add up. Things like Miles not verifying Scarlet's sexuality or retweeting the manga account's confirmation to spread the message (compared to how he enthusiastically confirmed Ilia being a lesbian himself during the Reddit AMA). It shows in how Pilot Boi would have been the first mlm character only to die in his second full episode until M&K were told about the Bury Your Gays trope. It shows in how Shannon believes that Ozma is "megaqueer" and Miles jokingly laughs it off instead of confirming it, leaving it to just be Shannon's headcanon. It shows in how actor shipping is compared between the mlm and wlw ships, where Arryn and Barbara's frequent pushes for Bumblebee are seen as "official confirmation that it's endgame" while Michael and Kerry saying they enjoy Seamonkeys is treated as "well it would be cute if they did it, but they're never going to."

I'm not gonna say anything like "CRWBY are gonna have Qrow end up with a woman like Robyn out of spite against the bad apples of the Fair Game crowd." I'm not gonna say that I don't think CRWBY cares about male representation in the series. It is, however, definitely a low priority for them, and because that leads to gaffes like Scarlet's writing in Before The Dawn being offensive in his depiction, it only makes the contrast between the sexes all the more painfully apparent.

I'm kinda tired of waiting for Rooster Teeth to show that they do care about mlm. I'm kinda tired of RWBY's male rep being written like it came from a 1993 time capsule where I have to enhance the screen to see a guy holding a sign of Sun's abs or be content with the only onscreen rep still being the plant bois in Volume 5. I'm tired of how often the crew dances around answering basic questions about sexuality (and age, and birthdays, and heights, and so on) by treating it as a spoiler question, as if just wanting to know what way people swing would ever be a spoiler. I'm just... tired of all this. When the best mlm rep in Rooster Teeth's history remains the two dads in Camp Camp who show up in a few episodes, that should say something really bad about your company and your biases (To say nothing of the recent Red vs Blue seasons and their blatant queerbaiting for Grif and Simmons and the whole can of worms that is Donut).

I'd like to not feel like I'm borderline unwelcome because I'd like to see two men in this show kiss, and that the sole thing that represents people like me in this show is some British twat who complains about sand.

I'd just like to feel like my sexuality isn't a joke to Rooster Teeth (or at the very least, be like Donut and have it be a funny one). But at this point after the last few years? I feel like a very uncomfortable punchline to them. And it just sucks.

#rwby #rwde #fair game #queerbaiting #rwby before the dawn #mlm #lgbt #rwby analysis #Rooster Teeth #clover ebi #scarlet david

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sokkastyles · 4 years

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Thanks for asking! I realize I never elaborated on the Jet/Zuko parallels so here goes.

Season one Zuko/Jet are both extremists, though on opposite sides of the war. Zuko will stop at nothing to capture the Avatar. Jet will stop at nothing to rid the world of the Fire Nation. Zuko is the fallen prince, while Jet is the war orphan, both trying to restore what they’ve lost. And both have significant interactions with Katara.

Focusing on book one first, I’ve already written about how Jet manipulates Katara, which makes it worse not only because she did have romantic feelings for him, but because she was totally taken in by his whole freedom fighter thing. He also manipulates Aang and tries to manipulate Sokka, but Katara was the main one who felt betrayed by him. Katara has such a big heart and fighting spirit but at this point in the story she is fairly naive, and it shows here. She probably never considered before this episode that somebody fighting on the right side could be a bad person.

I also looked up the mouth wheat thing because I’ve seen it a lot in anime for similar “tough guy” characters and as that other post I reblogged said, it is a stand-in for cigarettes. I also found out that it’s supposed to represent a banchou, which is a juvenile delinquent gang-leader. And Jet is the leader of a bunch of feral kids, although they are ostensibly revolutionaries. Longshot, Smellerbee, and the Duke do seem like they have good intentions, and they often call Jet out on his behavior.

I also think there’s a comparison/foil with Katara’s interactions with Zuko in book one, which revolve around the necklace and his attempted kidnapping of her. Zuko tries to manipulate Katara using her mother’s necklace but is not very good at it. Not necessarily because he has any moral compunctions but because he’s just not that socially adept. He is most often the victim of his father and sister’s manipulations and the few times he tries to copy them he fails ridiculously, because he is incredibly literal-minded. He’s blunt and often fails to understand things that aren’t directly spelled out. He is not a manipulator.

I’ve also seen people compare Jet flooding the Fire Nation village to Zuko burning down Kyoshi Island, in order to make Zuko look worse, but as I’ve said before, Zuko burning down Kyoshi Island was not intentional, it was something that happened as a result of reckless firebending. That doesn’t make it any less bad, but it seems like it’s been popular recently to add this to the list of things that make Zuko “problematic,” so much so that I actually forgot that scene and was surprised when I rewatched the scene recently and discovered it wasn’t the intentional razing of the village that some people on tumblr make it out to be. Zuko’s fault there was simply not caring about the collateral damage in his pursuit of Aang. He wasn’t intentionally trying to burn down the village. Plus, if we were being honest, all the gaang would cause destruction wherever they went given how much bending they do. That’s not something the show dwells on, though, the way that superhero movies don’t dwell on New York getting destroyed for the hundredth time (unless it’s a deconstruction of the genre).

What Jet does is much more deliberate. He’s aware that what he tricks Katara and Aang into doing will cause the deaths of innocents, and dismisses Smellerbee when she tells him so, and he’s aware that the gaang will not approve of his actions enough to hide it from them. There’s also an interesting elemental parallel/foil, Jet destroys a village with water and Zuko destroys one with fire - foreshadowing that water can also be destructive? Hama, anyone? Robert Frost said it.

I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice is also great, and would suffice.

Anyway.

Book two, the Jet/Zuko parallels/foils are much more explicit, and highlighted by the fact that they actually meet in book two. Zuko’s on redemption road, although he doesn’t know it yet. Jet explicitly states that he wants redemption, although he’s still doing the same things he was doing before. He enlists Zuko in helping him steal stuff because he thinks he’s entitled to it, and I guess you can argue about whether it was justified, since the captain was treating the refugees unfairly, but Jet mostly seems interested in stealing food for himself and his group. To be fair, Prince “ew, poor people” Zuko doesn’t exactly have egalitarian motives, either, which is why helping Jet steal food is a regression in his arc. It’s him donning the Blue Spirit identity (although without the mask) once more because he’s trying to get closer to the material life that he lost. It’s also hilarious that when Jet asks Zuko to do this, Zuko’s dumb ass is like “well, Uncle did tell me to make friends.” Sometimes I wonder who was more naive, book one Katara or book two Zuko. Iroh is like “god, I leave him alone for five minutes and he joins a gang.”

When Jet keeps pressing Zuko about joining the Freedom Fighters, Zuko says no. Again, not for any moral reasons, but because he knows that if Jet keeps pressing, he might find out who Zuko really is. Zuko is honest with Jet when he says “I don’t think you want me in your group.” Not for good reasons, again, but the claim that Zuko somehow manipulated Jet is absolutely wrong. Jet was the one who approached Zuko and made assumptions and got pushy when Zuko said no.

Jet does genuinely want and try to change, but his major temptation is finding out that Iroh is a firebender, which he finds out right after he gets pissed that Zuko rejected him so I do think that was part of his motivation for going after them, considering how pushy Jet acted with the gaang when they rebuffed him. Jet, of course, fails the test, although what happens to him certainly isn’t his fault, even if he did make mistakes. It’s a tragedy that in the end, the choice to turn his life around was taken from him, and he was betrayed by the people who he thought were the good guys. This also highlights the theme that sometimes people on the “good” side can be not nice people, which in turn paves the way for Zuko’s redemption and the wider theme that it is actions that matter the most, not which nation you are from. Separation is an illusion, folks.

Zuko’s test happens first when he attempts to steal Appa, the last time he dons the Blue Spirit mask, and then in “The Crossroads of Destiny.” Unlike Jet, Zuko doesn’t know he’s being tested, he doesn’t know he needs to change, although Iroh keeps telling him he does. The change happens in Zuko without him realizing it.

Katara tries to heal Jet, and Jet dies. Katara almost heals Zuko, and Zuko betrays her. And this time Aang is the one who almost dies, who Katara has to heal. This certainly contributes to Katara’s mistrust of Zuko later on, all three of these events tied together. And all three boys are people she has romantic tension with.

Which brings me to another reason I dislike Jet, or rather, what he is meant to be in Katara’s story. Many people have pointed out that Katara is romantically attracted to Jet, and his superficial resemblance both to the “bad boy” trope, and to Zuko. There’s a reason Zutara shippers make this comparison, although I believe its purpose in the narrative was actually to be anti Zutara and provide support for Kataang, but because the writers really didn’t know how to write Kataang properly, it ends up as the opposite.

Recently I saw a post by a popular blog that was anti Zutara that cited Jet as an example of Katara having “low standards.” And like, I can’t entirely blame the post for its misogyny (Katara is FOURTEEN) because this is what the writers want us to think. Katara’s attraction to Jet is very much playing on the “girl develops a crush on the jerk who doesn’t care about her” stereotype. This is, subtly, one of the ways that the show punishes Katara for not returning Aang’s crush. Interestingly, in this episode Aang doesn’t get jealous of Jet at all, and doesn’t even notice Katara’s attraction, but that’s because Aang in this episode is also still naive and in his early stages of his attraction to Katara, and also thinks Jet is super cool. Sokka instantly hates Jet, though. And Sokka is right, but he also has flavors of the over-protective big brother. I do remember that this episode left a sour taste in my mouth because of the (thankfully downplayed) implications that Katara is a silly girl who falls for the “wrong” types of guys because women don’t know what they want and need a man to help them “discover” their feelings. I also think this is meant to be subtextual in Katara making the hat for Jet which Aang ends up wearing, because Aang is the “good guy” who really does care about Katara, you see? Thanks show, I hate it. To be fair, I blame the writers for this, not Aang. Aang is just having fun hanging out in a treehouse and gets to wear a cool homemade hat. It’s the writers who put this weird misogynistic pressure on Katara.

It’s funny though when people compare Zuko to Jet in order to prove Zutara wrong, because when you compare the two, Zuko is the one who ends up looking better, the one who works hard to repair his damaged relationship with Katara, who genuinely did change. The one whose life she could save after he had done the work to save himself.

#zuko #katara #jet #zutara #anti-kataang #kinda

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letspurpletogether · 5 years

Text

Out of the Void || BTS

↳ Summary: The one where the boys stumble upon that one fic and they all end up reading. (This is a crack fic inspired by @btssavedmylifeblr’s Void, because my own words are not enough to describe how an amazing story Void it is, and what a outstanding writer Bee is).

⇢ Warnings: BEWARE OF SPOILERS!! This things should be full of them so I suggest you to read all of Void before reading this just in case. Also, for those entitled rude anons: stop demanding updates from the fan fiction writers like they owe you shit, cause they don’t! And stop coming at them to complain about their publishing schedule. This is done for fun and for free, if you can’t be patient and respect their creative process then fuck off!

A/N: Also, I had so much fun writing this. I wanted to keep adding and adding stuff. However, since english is not my mother language i had some trouble describing the scenes the way I pictured them in my head. Therefore, I decided to leave it like this for now.

(TT-TT) Im sorry, Bee! I did try my best, I know it doesn’t do Void justice. But I still wanted to write it for you because Void is such an amazing story!

That’s it! Please,enjoy!

→ 01

[...]

He shouldn’t be doing this.

Hoseok checked over his shoulder again before turning back to the phone in his hands. It wasn’t like if someone were to come into his studio right now and catch him watching porn.

Hell, this was so much worse.

Especially considering how he was supposed to be working on the rap arrangement for the new song, and not checking out a piece of fan-fiction... If Namjoon were to catch him he was going to give him hell for days.

He had strictly advised the six of them against it several times, but to be honest Hoseok was to eager to find out what happened next to actually acknowledge the suggestion. Besides, he was he eldest of the two and it wasn’t like he had to listen to his band member. Joon was only the leader when the cameras were out. Inside their dorms he couldn’t even remember to wash the dishes when he was supposed to or take the clothes out of the dryer so they wouldn’t end up a crumble mess the next morning.

Also, it was all Jimin’s fault.

His dongsaeng had sent him the link without any explanation last week. It was a silly thing they did to each other trying to make the other cringe with whatever weird-ass story they could find, mostly on Twitter. It was all for the laughs but they had stopped doing it when Hoseok had accidentally send Seokjin a rather explicit piece that involved Jimin and Yoongi in a threesome with some kind of catgirl trying to get her pregnant. It was meant for the young boy, of course and that slip of hand had resulted in a hysteric Seokjin exposing them right in front of the others.

Hoseok has been so embarrassed after that he couldn’t even look at Yoongi in the face for a whole ass week. Even though his hyung had said it was fine. It didn’t help that Taehyung and Jungkook wouldn’t let the topic die either. Those rascals, he made sure to make them wore their asses off in the following dance practices.

But anyways, he and Jimin had agreed to stop.

So it was a surprise to receive a new link from him after a couple months. He’d ignored it at first, being too busy with practice and rehearsals to bother with checking it up. But yesterday while waiting for his appointment with the cupping therapist, he’d absentmindedly opened it and was actually surprised with what he’d found. Written in English, it was a space story... and they were astronauts!

At that moment he been too oblivious to care and read the warnings or summary on top of the post. For a moment of innocent wonder he actually got caught up in the first scene. He was a scientist in space, it couldn’t get any cooler than that! But of course, he had soon realized what type of story it was.

The problem was that it didn’t start right off with the porn part like most stories he’s found while browsing the darkest depths of the ARMY’s fandom. He’d read some weird shit himself, demons, half-animal people, male pregnancyㅡHell! even tentacles once. The kind of things his fans could come up with was exhilarating, and it blew his mind that the weirdest and kinkiest were for some reason the best well-written of allㅡ.

But this story was different.

It had a storyline, an actual estructure, inciting incident, clear stakes, the whole pack. Years listening to his father reviewing novels and short-stories had resulted in him developing an appetite for well-written stories. And even though the main character was that Y/N type their fans where so keen about, she wasn’t plain at all. She struggled, and that was nice to read. Besides, all that astronaut stuff sounded so legit that he almost consider the possibility of the author being an astronaut herself. He’d always been a fan of fantasy and sci-fi since he was child and his father brought him the entire collection of Jules Verne’s novels for his eleventh birthday. Stories about voyages to far and unknown places were his guilty pleasure, so of course he got hooked up with this piece faster than he’d ever with any other he’d read so far.

But he couldn’t finished the chapter that time because the masseur was already calling his name. The scrolling bar told him he wasn’t even half way through it, so he’d copied the link for later and went to the therapist office. So now there he was resuming his reading with renewed eagerness.

The main character had just arrived at a green house inside the ship. And there was Yoongi.

Hoseok huffed and raised an eyebrow when he realized this scene focused all on his elder. Wasn’t he supposed to be the main character here? Not that he complained, though. Yoongi’s fingers where indeed nice after all and wouldn’t blame the girl for obsess over them. But in most stories he’d read there was always a lead, and he assumed by the first scene it was going to be himself. Maybe this was a threesome?

He quickly scrolled back up to the story information, searching for the pairing section where he knew his questions would be answered. /OT7 x reader/

He flinched.

“All of us? What...?”. Did that mean everyone was a love interest? Or that the main character was supposed to screw all of them at once? How was that supposed to work if there was just one woman in the whole crew?

Oh wait...

The realization hit him. Of course, that was the whole plot. Seven guys and one girl, and they had to fight for her love? It was something like that for sure, wasn’t it? She would pick one of them and then they’d have sex. He kept reading—

«Your deepest darkest fantasies- the ones you always turned to on your most stressed and anxious nights - were the ones involving the entire crew. The idea of them finding out what a slut you were for them and passing you between them filled you with an embarrassing level of arousal. You would imagine them taking turns filling you until all your thoughts of loneliness and emptiness had been fucked out of you. And you would sleep like a baby.»

—or not...

He scratched his chin, a little confused now. Was this actually going to be gangbang? Or more importantly, was he actually going to read this till the end? He did like threesomes, not that he’d been in one... Yet. Their schedules hardly ever allowed them to properly date someone, and hooking up with a random stranger was way too risky with the level of fame they’d reached at this point. But the idea of threesomes was very appealing, although he’d never actually consider having a gangbang with all his members. However... he wasn’t going to cross off reading about one just yet.

Just as he was about to resume his reading, the door flew open and Jimin‘s face appeared. “Hyung!”

Hoseok jumped in his seat, his phone fell on his lap.

“Shit...!”, he took a deep breath and glared at his band member. “You almost gave me a heart attack, Jimin!”

A sly grin appeared on the youngest face.

“Why? What were you doing?”

Hoseok cleared his throat. Had he been discovered?

“Nothing”, he lied so poorly he wanted to smack himself on the face.

“You were totally reading it, weren’t you?”, Jimin chuckled. “Did you get to the video part already?”

“No, what video part?”

Jimin raised both palms.

“Sorry, not going to give you any spoilers”

Hoseok rolled his eyes. “Anyway... Why did you send it?” He asked, retrieving his phone and unlocking the screen again. “I thought we agreed on not doing that anymore”

“Yeah, but Taehyung send it to me”

“What?” Hoseok frowned, and turned around in his chair to face the boy. That was a surprise. “Why would he...?” He shook his head, sometimes Taehyung needn’t a reason to do the most random things.

Jimin simply shrugged.

“He also sent it to Jungkook and Namjoon-hyung”, Jimin ran his hand through his hair and giggled. “I think everyone is reading it now”

“Wait- What?!” Hoseok chuckled and raised an eyebrow. “Are you for real?”

“Haven’t you checked the group chat?”

“No, I was...” Hoseok pressed his tongue against his cheek. “-reading”.

“Huh”Jimin wiggled his eyebrows. “Is cool isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s ... interesting”, he conceded. Jimin let himself in and plopped down on the spare chair he kept in his studio in case he needed to work with the senior producers.

“Who do you think she’ll choose?”

“For what?”

“Come on, hyung.” Jimin snickered, “You know what I mean”

“Are you sure she is supposed to choose one of us?”

“What-? Obviously...”, Jimin shifted on the sofa, his face stared confused at Hoseok for a moment. But then he gasped, suddenly realizing what he mean. “Do you mean-? All of us?!”

“Why not?” Hoseok shrugged. “It’s just a story, anyways. You know some of our fans like kinky stuff and there’s nothing wrong with that”

“I mean! I know that! Its not-”. Jimin’s face turned a bright shade of red. “W-we shouldn’t be reading about that. What if they get... ideas!” He brought a hand to his forehead and looked back at him with a worried expression. Hoseok spluttered in a laugh, but it soon dwindled when he realized Jimin was actually serious about his concern.

“Jimin...”

“Goddamnit...!” Hoseok observed as his younger member stood up and facepalmed himself “I’m an idiot! I bet that was Taehyung’s plan all along”

“Taehyung’s plan was to have us... read fan-fiction?”

“About a gangbang!”

Hoseok rolled his eyes.

“It’s just fan fiction, Jimin. Not a proposition”, he said, but Jimin wasn’t paying attention to him anymore.

“The others can’t read that. I have to stop them”, and he was about to storm out the door, but Hoseok had to stop him.

“Hey, hey!”, he grabbed him by the elbow. “Now you’re just exaggerating”

“No, I’m not”, Hoseok couldn’t comprehend why Jimin was so scandalized. “We can’t have a gangbang, hyung!”

“No, no, no!”, he “First of all, no one is having a gangbang. Second of all, why does it bother you so much?”

“It doesn’t!”

“Really?”

“I just don’t want to be... I don’t want to share a partner with the six of you”

“Why, you’re worried she might like it too much and dump you?” Hoseok teased. However, upon seeing Jimin getting all self-conscious, the smile was erased from his face.

“Jimin, come on. You don’t really think that would happen”

“I don’t know, you are all good looking and mature, and more talented that-“

“Stop it. You are not less than us, stop beating yourself so much specially over a fictional situation. Do you forget who has the third largest fan base among us?”

“It because ARMY likes when I act all cute and pretty, and want to baby me like a child. I’m the cutie, the tiny one...”, his voiced turned into an almost whisper at the end. “I’m never the big... manly man...”

“Jimin...”

“What?”

“This isn’t about the story, is it?”

“No... yes- well, not this one...”, he paused, looking at his feet, bashfully. “It’s just the other stories...”

“What other stories?”, Hoseok asked, but Jimin just shrugged. “I don’t get it...”

“Ugh- hyung it’s nothing really”, he was quick to reply, standing up again. “You are right, I’m so over-reacting... it’s just a story”

“Okay...”, Hoseok leaned back in his chair and looked again at Jimin who was standing next to the door. Hands behind his back, like a child waiting to be scolded. “You sure that’s all?”

“Yep”, that extra ‘p’ sound at the end was enough evidence that he was lying. But he was also aware of Jimin’s uneasiness so it was probably better to let him off the hook for now.

“Well, then...”, Hoseok rubbed his neck. “I really should get back to work then”

Jimin gave him a short smile and left without saying another word. Hoseok turned around in his chair to face his computer and actually get some work before the day was over.

But maybe...ㅡHe glanced at his phone next to the mouseㅡ, just maybe... one more chapter wouldn’t hurt either.

[...]

It was past three am when he arrived back at the dorm. He usually wasn’t the one to stay overnight at the studio like Joonie and Yoongi-hyung. But time flew from his grasp like an oiled rope after he finished the first chapter and he had to stay late to finish his assignments. He didn’t want Pdogg-hyung to yell at him in their next briefing. However, the pull of the story was too strong for him to resist.

He had gone to sleep right away, and with the first light the next day he was already reaching for his cellphone and logging into the Tumblr account he had created just for this. He needed to know what happened next, story-Jimin had to be out of his mind to give the main character a video of him masturbating. It was a risky move, he wouldn’t think Jimin was capable of it in real life... Maybe Seokjin-hyung was shameless enough to pull that one out, and Taehyung...

“Yeah, probably Taehyung...”, he mused to himself as he propped himself down on his elbows.

“Probably Taehyung what?”, Jimin’s sleepy voice asked from his side of the room.

“Oh! Jiminie, did I wake you?”, Jimin shook his head and asked again what he meant by ‘probably Taehyung’. Hoseok sat on his bed and stretched his arms. “Nothing, it’s just this story...”

“Why do you keep reading it, hyung?”, Jimin groaned and covered his face with both palms in exhaustion. Hoseok simply chuckled, Jimin’s concerns where silly. Plus, he wasn’t going to deny himself the pleasure of a good story just because his roommate thought his best friend was trying to get them to have an orgy.

“We are not having a gangbang, just relax”

Jimin huffed but didn’t argue further.

A sudden nasal shriek shattered the morning’s quietness and reached their ears through the door. Hoseok almost jumped off his bed to Jimin’s, what on earth was that? It sounded like some kind of hysteric bird .

“First you send me that porn thing and then you wanna talk about gangbangs?! Gangbangs!!”

Okay, that hysteric bird sounded like Seokjin now. And by the volume of it, it was coming from the kitchen.

“It’s not like that, hyung! You don’t even listen!” And that was definitely Joon’s.

Hoseok exchanged confused glances with Jimin that soon turned into curious ones. As if on cue, both of them got up their beds and ran into the kitchen to check on their band members.

Namjoon was leaning on the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in one hand, the other scratching his forehead. Meanwhile Seokjin was beating some eggs in a plastic bowl, ranting about how much porn was acceptable in a household.

“It’s not porn! It’s basically literature!” Namjoon sounded as much fed up as he looked embarrassed. Seokjin let out a sarcastic chuckle.

“It’s porn! And you are a pervert!”

Namjoon rolled his eyes.

“If you could just read it-!”

“I have enough with the viruses that keep popping on the computer because of you shady search historial!” It was hilarious just listening to them arguing back and forth like and old married couple. But Hoseok was more curious about whether they were talking about what he though they were.

“Is this about the space story?”, he chimed in, resting his elbows on the marble island across Seokjin’s cooking station. Jimin climbed on a stool next to him.

“You too, now?”, Seokjin huffed, giving him and Jimin disgusted look. “Not that I’m surprised, considering your fascination with breeding cats”

“It was a cat-girl! And that was a mistake!” Hoseok’s ears suddenly burned. “But whatever...”

“Wait- So did you read it, or not?”, this time Namjoon was the one to speak.

“I am reading it, I’m on chapter two”, he replied and Jimin nodded along.

“Did you get to the video part right?”, Joon asked and before Hoseok had a chance to speak, Seokjin’s loud huff cut him off.

“Can I cook in peace without having to hear about how much you want a gangbang, pleaaaaase?”

“Com’on, hyung! I never said I wanted a gangbang!” Namjoon shot him a glare before turning back to Hoseok. His hands came to fondle with the fruit bowl in front of him. “What I was trying to explain to this hyung is that I do think it’s an interesting guessing exercise for figuring out the extends of human behaviour in such adverse conditions”

“But you said you wanted to do it!”

“No! I said to explore it as in talk about it! WITH WORDS!”, Namjoon glared at their hyung, as a faint blush covered his cheeks. It was clear that “If you could’ve just listened for a moment instead of acting like a scandalized prude!”

“Yeah, hyung. It’s just a story, you are over reacting”, said Jimin, taking Hoseok by surprise considering all he had to say about it last night.

“Well, forgive me for not wanting a gangbang!”

“No one’s having a gangbang, for God’s sake!”

“I wouldn’t mind”, a fifth voice joined the conversation out of the blue and all the heads turned in the direction of the hallway.

Yoongi-hyung was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and messy bed hair. A slight frown hardening his features. He’d most likely woken up because all of the noise.

Seokjin let out a sarcastic chuckle.

“You too, Yoongi?”

“How long have you been standing there?”, Jimin asked. Yoongi shrugged off a yawn and walked over to grab an apple from the bowl Namjoon was holding.

“It’s hard to keep sleeping with this hyung nagging so loud this early in the morning”, he pointed to his eldest and bit on the fruit.

“You know what?!”, Seokjin scoffed, and put aside all his cooking implements. “Y’all can make your own breakfast! Seriously...”

And walked away.

“So noisy...”, Yoongi mumbled as he munched on his apple.

“You read it too, hyung?”, Namjoon asked. Yoongi turned to him, leaning on his elbows. Hoseok’s eyes betrayed him as they followed Yoongi’s movements and the way he arched his back, lifting his ass in the air so subtly.

“Since Tae shared it in the group chat I figured I should give it a try”, he shrugged seemingly desinterestedm, but Hoseok knew him better than that. Yoongi liked to pretende he didn’t care about stuff other that making music, but it was clear to him by the way he was behaving, that the older rapper had enjoyed the story a little bit too much. “It was good”.

“You’re only saying that because you are not the main character”, said Jimin.

“At least I’m not the character that gave the girl a video of me jerking off”

“First of all, she asked! and second, you messed up big time keeping that memory card, hyung!”

Yoongi sneered at the younger boy.

“I got her off, you didn’t”

“Wait, what are you-?”

Jimin’s face turned a bright red, his nosetrils flared. Namjoon just chocked a laugh, almost knocking off the fruit bowl. For a moment, Hoseok only stared in confussion at them. He couldn’t recall something like that happening in the story yet and he realized they were probably far ahead of him.

“Hey! Don’t give me any spoilers! I haven’t reached that part yet”.

But Yoongi and Jimin just ignored him, continuing their teasing banter.

“I don’t think she’ll forgive you. EVER!”

“She was thinking of me while fucking you”

“At least I got to- to... be with her!”

“You can’t even say fuck without blushing. Space-Jimin is lightyears ahead of you”, a smug grin appeared in Yoongi’s face, clearly pleased with his joke and Jimin’s fuming face.

“That’s a bit rich coming from you, hyung”, Namjoon said with a smirk. “I mean, last time I checked you couldn’t even look at Halsey in her training clothes without turning red as a beetroot”

“That’s-!”, Yoongi coughed, a bite of the apple going the wrong way. Suddenly matching Jimin with his red cheeks. “That’s different!”

“Neither one of you would ever dare to act like the way the author portraits you. Just admit it”, Namjoon snickered. “You don’t have what it takes”.

“Oh, and you do?”

“I’m just saying if the seven of us where trapped in a spaceship and there’s just one woman for miles and miles...”, He crossed his arms, chin raised proudly. “I’m guessing you’d be too shy to get her attention”.

“It’s not a competition, anyway. It’s a story and it has already been written”, argued Yoongi. “And I was her first choice”.

“Technically it was Hobi”, Jimin pointed out. “She was so ready to throw herself over him in that lab scene”.

“Well Hobi doesn’t count here because he did nothing”

“Excuse me?”, Hoseok scoffed. “Clearly I’m the best character, unlike others I’m actually being professional”.

“Yeah, right. Professional until Yoongi-hyung tells you he screwed the main character”, Taehyung popped up from behind him making Hoseok shriek in surprise, followed closely by a sleepy-faced Jungkook.

“You little-! You almost killed me!”, Taehyung only laughed, joining the his chuckling hyungs.

“And he didn’t screw anything- anyone!”, said Jimin.

“Well, his fingers did”.

“Stop talking!”, Hoseok shoved Taehyung aside and shook his head. “You’ve already spoiled the story for me enough as it is! At least let me finish the chapters before we talk about this”.

“Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t talk about it before breakfast”, Namjoon scratched his chin. “Gguk, go tell Jin-hyung he can come back now”.

“Why, was he here?” asked Jungkook.

“He left because he didn’t what to have a gangbang”, Yoongi answered, almost offended, like he was telling Jungkook his hyung had turned down some fishing trip.

Jungkook’s eyes where suddendly wide open.

“What-?!”

“It’s the story, nevermind!”, Jimin waved a hand in the air in dismissal.

“Wait, so we can’t have a gangbang?”

“Are you serious right now, hyung?”, Jimin gave Yoongi the side eye. His hyung response was simply shrugging.

“I like to keep my options open”.

“Yeah, maybe one thing you shouldn’t keep open is your mouth”.

The group erupted in laughter at Jimin’s witty comeback. Yoongi raised the hand that held half an apple and pretended to throw it at Jimin’s head, only to join the laughter when the dancer fell from his chair by his motion.

Hoseok chuckled and shook his head.

What a way to start the day.

. . . .

#void #btssavedmylifeblr #space au #bts reaction #bts scenarios #jung hoseok #pov #bangtan smut #crack fic #bts crack #fic inside fic #fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bts reacts to fanfiction #yoongi #bts smut

892 notes · View notes

monkey-network · 4 years

Text

Top Ten Best Characters of SU

Hey everybody, it’s Chuggaaconroy. Welcome back to more Ronaldinho Soccer 64. It’s been a while and I’ve never done this before so why not? Let’s celebrate this trash anime respectfully with my all time favorite characters. Let’s do this...

10. Blue Diamond

“But Monkey, she was a genocidal potato. How could you like a character that was problematic at all angles?“ Answer to that question is who cares....... Blue Diamond to me was the best of the Diamond Authority. Her mellowed out demeanor made for a great contrast with how threatening she could be. Lisa Hannigan provides a great, soothing voice. And while the season 5 finale was shit, I was at least okay with the idea that Blue would be the more reasonable of the three. Really, besides the fact Blue has such a blessed ass, she was less of a joke compared to Yellow, White, & Pink and I have to appreciate that.

9. Jasper

CC West’s video on her honestly summarizes how I feel. She was as much as an antagonist as she was a powerhouse fallen hero consumed by her goals. Reminds me a lot of Charles Muntz from Up, this being obsessed with seeing things through even if defeat is inevitable. Too bad Future fucked that up at the end, but I can’t blame the character for them basically doing nothing beyond killing her. She’s only better than Blue simply because we saw better from her.

8. Bismuth

The only reason she’s lower compared to everyone else is because she didn’t leave as lasting an impact on me. Beyond her debut and ‘Bismuth Casual’, her presence isn’t as solid as I hoped. Then again, it’s her pride that honestly stuck with me the most. Reminds me a lot of my grandpa in how she loved who she was and how she wanted to be there for the others beyond anything. She’s somebody that’d make you stronger if you were with them. If they gave her more, thought out episodes, she would’ve definitely made it to the top five.

7. Lapis

Would’ve been cooler if she bloodbended. Personally, her character kinda helped me understand my insecurities as somebody that felt pushed/pulled around as a kid, even by those closest to me. She took the barn yeah, but unlike before she didn't force anybody to come with her while her fears were kinda just. She hurt Peridot but I'd say it's less her fault & more of the Sugar juggling too much & working out very little. In the least, they gave a good character that beat herself up over trying to do right and is still learning. I understand those that don't like her, I'm just saying as bad as SU can be with coordination, there's some merit to behold with even its worst of elements and Lapis is an attribute to that. Friend of mine said she is what Catra from Nu She-ra would be but better and I can sort of agree.

6. Greg

I of course couldn’t leave out one of the better dads of cartoons, but it’s unfortunate to say that the reason he’s this low on the list is because of his passive nature throughout. Yeah he’s caring, and while I wouldn’t want him to become a helicopter parent, I would’ve liked for him to be more active in Steven’s life. Future kinda ruined him for me because the fact that this dude couldn’t try taking him to a doctor and gave the idea that the gems were negligible parents made me too conflicted to say he’s deserved of best parent in cartoons.

5. Steven

I’ve shit talk this show for plenty of times, but I honestly can’t hate the titular starchild himself. It’s namely the fixed perspective on him that bothers me the most because focusing on him essentially sandbagged everyone else’s development that could’ve been given to them separate from him. And if you think I’m wrong, you’re probably a pathetic fanfic writer. He’s kinda balanced in a way, he has a consistently charming personality, but the story they gave him ranges from “good” to “sucking fucked”. Before Future made a penis kaijuu out of him, I enjoyed his more mature side and I wish we could’ve seen more of that as opposed to one season. All in all, he’s a great protagonist, certainly holds his own, but I wish his story could’ve worked out better.

4. Pearl/Amethyst

Amethyst’s growth as a character is heavily due to Steven’s influence and in turn she does become the more mature Crystal Gem in that she understands herself enough to carry herself independently. And in turn, this gradually gave her the strength to be there for Steven when no one else could at the time. Pearl didn’t have as similar an impact, but equally makes up in her personality and growth individually. Even with the story around Pink Diamond soiling the bed a little, I still got to see Pearl hold her own with Steven being there to help her have a better outlook for herself and to stop clinging to the past. And she’s the funniest of the original three, don’t @ me. I would’ve added Garnet, but the best arc about her doesn’t even involve her.

3. Spinel

What can I say? She’s the best thing to ever come from this series. She was a great antagonist, a tragic figure that actually earned my respect, and a literal bouncy character that spoke more to me than any other. Can’t help but say she resembled the heart of this show, better and worse. Only reason she’s not number 1 is that I had to wait 4 years, she deserved more than a wack film, and Future basically gave her one episode’s worth of an appearance. But if the only problem is that there wasn’t more of her, you did something right.

2. Connie

Voice of reason. Sword fighter. Scholar. Otaku. Shit, wHy cOuLdN’t sHe bE tHe pRoTaGoNiSt? Whining aside, I did enjoy how they made her, in contrast to Steven, have a better balancing act between being a Crystal Gem and being a child with parents that actually gave a shit about her future. Her growing into her own after Steven helped her break out of her initially conditioned shell, like Amethyst, her and Steven scratches each other’s back. Wish she did more as a warrior, but they definitely made the most of her being the voice of reason. And yeah, should’ve been the main character instead of Steven, but hey, the creator had a Tumblr. Not the best place to find remarkable ideas or people that aren’t sociopaths disguised as cartoon fanatics.

Honorable Mentions: Lars, Ruby, Yellow Diamond, & Pumpkin

1. Peridot

She’s the most fully realized character in the show. Has her bumps in the latter half of the series, but I can safely say I enjoyed every moment Peridot got. I’d say she became a joke, but the meaningful scenes we get of her make up for it. Her story arc is front and center and is the one character that Future didn’t fuck up with her central episode. Plus she’s green, and as we all know, green characters are generally worth the love and respect they deserve. She isn’t the reason I stuck with Steven Universe, but she is definitely what made this a good series upon everything.

So that’s it. And... if there’s any takeaway from this, it’s that Avatar: the Last Airbender is still better.

#steven universe #su #steven universe future #suf #su critical #top ten #long post #thanks rebecca

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hrfiction · 4 years

Text

Trivia Tuesday: Deleted Scene from God’s Plan

Just found out this was a thing and think it’s brilliant to see the way other people write and think. I would recommend exploring the Trivia Tuesday Tag, its so interesting and there are a lot of awesome writers there.

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This Tuesday’s prompt is:

Creators: give a “behind the scenes” look at one of your works. This could be things that got removed or changed, the origins of ideas/details, whatever you like!

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Deleted Scene: Lucifer’s Falls off the Balcony

Originally this was supposed to be Lucifer’s “aha” moment where he grows as a person and sees his life flash before his eyes. Then i realized I needed a scene with him and Ezria instead where he is forced to go to heaven for the last time.

Scene was originally in Chapter 4: Reverence. Lucifer, drunk off his ass and grieving, has just climbed onto the edge of the balcony and yelled at God to end him. Amenadiel has had enough of his antics.

“I’m not going to encourage this behavior. When you feel like talking, you know where to find me.”

Lucifer groans.

“Awww come on, Amenadiel!” he says, amused at Amenadiel’s discomfort.

“You’re supposed to be the good son!”

Lucifer moves to put his cigarette case into his pocket. He pushes his hand too far and feels the case slip from his fingers. It falls past his pocket and bounces off the railing. He turns to catch it, but moves too far and loses his footing.

“Shit!” he hisses as the cigarette falls out of his mouth, and he goes careening off the edge.

Amenadiel turns around just as Lucifer’s feet pass the bottom of the balcony.

“Luci!” he gasps.

From where he lays, falling a story a second, Lucifer stares up towards the balcony with a strange déjà vu.

He’s drunk, but in his drunkenness and at this moment, there is clarity. He looks up towards the night sky, and for a second it opens up, and he’s staring at an endless expanse of stars and gasses.

Instead of his house robe, he wears the white and golden robe of his childhood. It is stained, and he can feel the warmth that flows through him isn’t alcohol, but blood.

His wings are bleeding.

His eyes water as suddenly his entire long-life flashes before his eyes. It is sad and beautiful. Quick, yet haunting. Each memory digs into his skin, grabbing at him like a thousand hands.

It is whole and incomplete.

Full, yet unfinished.

It is everything he has ever done and the things he never had a chance to do.

Of his fall from heaven.

Of watching humans torture themselves.

Of authority and command.

Of leading and punishing.

It is a thousand years of burning and weeping.

Of falling lustfully into pits of pleasure that do nothing to drown the pain.

Of drinking and of drugs.

Of finding someone who sees through it all.

Of pining and feeling the tinge of hope.

Of feeling love, real love.

Of wanting to be better.

Of fearing becoming the worst.

His eyes begin to well with the realization of his own mortality.

Of the end.

Of wondering where he will go from here.

Of realizing he did this to himself.

Of wondering if she will blame herself.

Of hoping, praying, she won’t.

It was his fault and his alone.

He had been stupid and prideful. He had been selfish and narcissistic.

God only provided the path. It was Lucifer who chose to rebel.

It was Lucifer who chose to fight back until his wings were bloody, and he was falling from the heavens.

It was Lucifer who built an army and a world of his own, who had upset the order of things and turned his family against him.

It was Lucifer who came to earth and gave humans what it was they wanted. Who defied God at every turn as if it were a sport.

It was Lucifer who fell in love and demanded Chloe love him the way he wanted her to.

It was Lucifer who pushed her away, who blamed her for not waiting.

Finally, it was Lucifer who climbed onto the balcony like a fool and lost his footing.

It was him who was falling to his death, feet away from probably the only brother who cared to save him.

Even after he had looked down at him and blamed him for things that Lucifer had done. Even after Hell and Charlotte.

Even after Uriel.

He turns his head, the ground approaching much faster than he feels it should. He can feel the wind smacking against his back, the feeling of weightlessness, and being so heavy at the same time.

It both the longest few seconds of his life, but somehow it also feels like the shortest.

Suddenly, he understands it all.

What luxury he had indeed, he thinks. And now he was a poor man wanting – hoping – for a few more seconds.

He turns back to see the face of Amenadiel, his wings spread and his eyes wide.

“Luci!” he yells, his hands reaching out to grab him. His eyes in panic and determination.

Lucifer can’t hear him over the sound of time rushing by his ears. He can see Amenadiel’s face, though. All the worry and fear.

He had a world of people who would weep for his loss, but he was too busy feeling damned to see it.

Lucifer reaches out, even as his eyes are is filled with the knowledge that it is too late. He will hit the ground and splatter into a thousand pieces before Amenadiel even touches his shadow.

It is over, he thinks, and he wouldn’t be able to give her a proper goodbye.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice cracking beneath the weight of it all.

Beneath the realization that he had been his own executioner.

He had an inkling. He had confessed himself to Chloe, all of it, but the words paled in comparison to feeling it. To knowing it deep within his spirit. Of seeing it all rush into his mind in what would be his final seconds.

He had been in denial, but death made denial impossible. There was no room for it here.

He doesn’t know if this death will be his last, but it feels final. It feels like him disappearing now would be him disappearing from the lives of everyone he’d ever known. By the time he came back, if he came back, they would be long dead; fallen from their own mortal coil.

And it is a coil, he thinks.

It tenses in his gut and feels like a bowling ball lodged in his intestines. It’s heavy and laden with fear and regret, ready to spring into action on the moment of impact.

“Luci!” Amenadiel yells as he too does the math in his head and realizes he won’t make it in time.

He pulls his wings back, gathering air beneath them that pulls them farther apart.

Lucifer watches him, sorrow in his eyes. In sorrow that knowing, like the Detective, Amenadiel will blame himself. But it isn’t Amenadiel’s fault, or Chloe’s fault, it is his and his alone.

He scoffs and lets a brief chuckle leave his lips as tears fall from his eyes.

Mortals and their guilt.

He relaxes his body, no longer fighting the current but rather welcoming it. Ready to succumb.

He closes his eyes and lays back as if floating in a pool of water. He accepts his fate. He did this.

He made a choice and will accept the consequences.

He shuts his eyes and waits for an end.

Except the end never comes.

The sound of time rushing past his ears stops and is replaced with low hum and heavy panting.

He opens his eyes slowly, no longer feeling the wind on his back.

Instead of being met with the night sky, or perhaps the fog of limbo, he is met with a far more familiar sight.

It is the light fixture above his living room.

He tilts his head and furrows his eyebrows.

“What the-“

“I did it,” Amenadiel says, shocked.

He starts to laugh maniacally, shocked, and relieved that he did it.

Lucifer turns his eyes downward to see Amenadiel standing at his feet, a wild look in his eyes.

He slowly sits up, completely confused about what the fuck just happened.

“I did it!” Amenadiel says again, “I got my gift back.”

“I …,” Lucifer says, his brain not processing it, “You …”

“I slowed time. Just enough that I could get to you and bring you here.”

“I … but that never works on me,” Lucifer says, confused.

“Well, you were never mortal before,” Amenadiel says.

Lucifer slowly stands up, still stumbling and drunk but sitting in the clarity that near-death has given him. It isn’t the kind of clarity that comes and goes, waning with the tide of new desires. It doesn’t hide behind reinvigorated pride or self-interest.

No, this clarity holds steadfast to him.

Even with the realization that is isn’t over, that he will have time to do all the things he wants, he still feels seconds away from death’s door. Like now that he realizes how valuable time is, he realizes how little of it he actually has.

It was no longer something to be wasted.

This must be what Chloe feels like, he thinks, and suddenly the idea of waiting for him – for anyone – for two years seems …absurd.

Even more so, expecting someone to wait for two years seems unkind.

The shock of it all wears off slowly as he stands there, staring into nothingness. The adrenaline in his system cutting through his inebriation only slightly. Amenadiel is saying something, joy in his own heart, but Lucifer doesn’t hear him. When he finally tunes back in, he turns to Amenadiel, his eyebrows furrowed.

“How did you know that would work?” he says, turning to Amenadiel.

“I didn’t,” Amenadiel says, “but what was my other option?”

Lucifer swallows, his eyes still wild, and his hands shaking. In one move, he pitches forward and wraps his arms around Amenadiel, holding him tightly.

“We did it,” Amenadiel says with a smile.

Lucifer just holds onto him, his eyes welling with tears even as he tries to choke them back.

It feels like too much. To be on the other end of it all. How did mortals do this everyday?

“We called them weak and irrational. Judged them for their impulsiveness and lack of moral code,” Lucifer says, his tears now tears of anger and rage.

Of feeling foolish and cruel.

“Look down on them like they were nothing more than animals we crated. Treating them like undesirables,” he continues.

Amenadiel furrows his eyes, realizing Lucifer is holding onto him in a way that isn’t just a thank you for saving his life. It’s … tight, like he was holding onto life itself.

“Luci?” Amenadiel asks.

“How can we be so merciless?” he asks, horror and contempt in his voice.

Amenadiel holds onto him, realizing what he is saying.

“So apathetic,” Lucifer continues.

Lucifer clings to Amenadiel, the tears falling from his face.

“Are you okay?” Amenadiel asks.

He nods, trying to hold onto what little he has left of his composure.

“Good,” he says, nodding, “Good. Yes.”

Amenadiel stands there, Lucifer still holding him tight.

When Lucifer stops shaking, he clears his throat and steps away from Amenadiel.

“Thank you,” he says sheepishly as if the idea of genuinely thanking Amenadiel was new.

Lucifer turns and slowly walks back over to the bar, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He gets halfway there before he doubles over and vomits. With the added adrenaline in his system, his stomach is now too unsteady to hold the excess liquor in his system.

Lucifer gasps between each cramp before spitting and stumbling over to the barstool to have a seat.

“Mortals have incredibly weak stomachs I am finding,” he says.

Amenadiel smiles, still happy that his powers worked. God must …he pauses.

“Luci,” he says, his eyes wide,” do you know what this means?”

Lucifer nods, “Yes that I need to move to something two, three stories at max.”

He reaches into his pocket to pull out his cigarette case before realizing why he had fallen in the first place. It wasn’t there.

“and perhaps that I need to quit smoking,” he says.

Amenadiel walks around the couch, around the vomit, and approaches him at the bar.

“I got my powers back to save you. Father doesn’t want you dead.”

Lucifer nods, “and neither do I. Seems we finally have something in common.”

#lucifer morningstar #fanfiction #trivia tuesday #fanfic #a03

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stereksecretsanta · 5 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @welshwoman1988!

Read on AO3

*****

Memories

Chapter 1: The Wolf with No Memories

A wolf with no memory woke up, walked to the lake to drink his water, came back, and sat down under his tree again. Then, with a sudden burst of excitement, it got up to go for a run. Maybe this day was going to be different (please let it be different).

“Derek?” Stiles asked, his hand in front of him. “Der? Is that you?”

The wolf snarled, stepping forward, and Stiles almost screamed. Maybe it wasn’t his Dreek, maybe it was just some random wolf about to eat him alive. “Please don’t kill me,” he said.

It paused. It almost looked like he was raising a non-existent eyebrow and, for a moment, Stiles was sure. This had to be Derek, his dumb feral werewolf royal husband who really needed to chill and turn back.

“Hey,” he said, taking one step toward the animal/werewolf. “Hey, look at me. If you ARE Derek, and I reaaaallllllllllllllly hope you are, I need you to change back.” He looked into its eyes. “Please. For me?”

The wolf seemed to pause and Stiles relaxes. He’s just about to pet it, but it turns, running back into the forest.

He was right. It was different. He now had a memory: one. Of a feeling.

“Any luck?” Laura asks, sitting on Stiles’ bed as he closed the bathroom’s door behind him. He let out an incredibly high-pitched scream that definitely didn’t make the birds outside run away.

“Get out!” he screams. He’s wearing only a pair of boxers and that’s not even the most concerning thing. “How’d you manage to get through the guards? I told Scotty not to let anyone in!”

“I came through the window,” she said. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“No, that IS where Scotty was making out with Isaac and Allison. Liam and Mason were outside, and they love me too much.”

She sighed. “Fine. I got Cora to do her magic thing.”

Stiles shook his head. “Cora likes me better.”

And the writer didn’t want to waste too many words on this, so Laura finally admitted it. “I got Peter to do his magic thing,not Cora. And I didn’t tell him it was your room because he likes you better too. You’ve taken over this house.”

“Riiight, house,” Stiles says, snorting. “You LITERALLy live in a place.”

Laura laughed. “But seriously,” she said, sombering up, “Did you find him?”

Stiles gave her a sad smile. “I did,” he said, looking down.. “And?” she prompted.

“And I spoke to him like an idiot,” he replied. “Right before he went back into the forest again.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder as he sat down next to her. “It’s not your fault, you know,”

“Then who’s is it?” he asked, looking into her eyes. “If had been there for him, maybe-”

“No maybes,” she said. “Stiles, it wasn’t your fault. It will never be your fault. Derek was going through a rough time, but so were you. He wouldn’t blame you either.”

“How can you be sure?” His voice was bitter. “You can’t ask him.”

She remained silent. Then, in a flash, she stood up. “What if we can?”

He wasn’t sure where he was or what he was doing but he could remember something. An emotion, a song, a color. He could remember happiness, a warm glow inside of him as he stared at someone- Stiles. That was the someone. Stiles. And he was calling him. A feeling of calmness washed over him and he sat down under a tree, reveling in it’s shade. Stiles was calling him.

“Is it working?” he asked, his voice strained. “Can he hear me now?”

Cora nodded, her crossed in concentration as she stared at the orb. “He should be. According to me, at least. You can start speaking. Just imagine his face in your mind’s eye as you do.”

“Okay,” he said, trying to calm himself down. “Uh… Derek. Derek, is that you?” No reply. “I hope you can hear me. Cora’s set up this weird magic witch thing. It should allow me to talk to you. Can you come back home. Please. We- we all miss you. Laura, Cora, me-- even Peter seems different. “I know that it was hard for you, losing Talia like that, but we can fix it. Together. All of us,” he took a deep breath. “Just please come back. We need you hear. And-” he closed his eyes “-in case I never see you again, I want to say-- it has been an honour loving you.” Lauar placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. His eyes were starting to water, possibly for the millionth time today.

Somewhere, under a tree, a wolf with the memory of only a color, a feeling, a song, a piece of cloth, a scream and a heart given, started his walk back home.

Chapter 2: And he Lived Happily Ever After

He wasn’t going to lie, Stiles cried when he saw the wolf on his doorstep. He had called for everyone, screaming at the top of his lungs. It was him. He was back.

Then the initial excitement had worn off, and the fights began. Should they tell the kingdom their prince had come back, but as a wolf? How will he get turned back? What does he remember? All the council meetings turned into screaming matches, him and cora against Laura, them against him, the others against all three of them. He was miserable and, and the way everything was happening, sure that he was going to get kicked out of the castle if he didn’t leave first.

But he chose not to dwell on those thoughts, instead of spending the rest of all of his waking moments with the wolf, who followed him everywhere, trying in vain to bring back memories.

It was only on the 18th day that he started to pack his bags, and sent a letter to his father asking if he could stay with him.

A color Gold. Gold banners hung down from every building. Derek smiled, gold was the color of his kingdom, and his favourite one. It was his crowning day (as a prince) today. But he was also late to said crowning because of his manservant. “Hurry up, Stiles,” he complains. “I’m doing it as fast as I can, sire,” Sties says, with a smirk on his face. “If only someone hadn’t messed up their hair by accidentally putting glue into it.” “It was a mistake anyone could have made,” he protests, “special since someone kept it right next to the shampoo bottle.” Stiles rolls his eyes, placing his gold crown (a small one that would be replaced by the one Laura would crown him with) on his head, pride evident in his eyes. “You’ll be an amazing prince,” he said and, after a moment of hesitation, gave him a small kiss on the cheek. He then hurried out of the room, leaving behind a shocked and red Derek.

Laura hadn't stopped smiling for days when Derek came back. She smiled till her face hurt and even when she didn’t want to anymore. She felt like it was the right thing to do. AFter all, you’re supposed to smile when you’re happy, aren’t you?

But some part of her, and not a small one either, wasn’t. A part of her wanted to scream. Derek wasn’t the only one who had lost his parents in the fire. And while Derek had Stiles and Cora had Peter (who had always favoured his smaller niece over her) and Malia, she had no one. Yet derek had been the one who had run away, and she had been left behind. Left behind to pick up the pieces.

Sometimes she wished she wasn’t the eldest or the queen. Sometimes, she wished she wasn’ anything at all.

A feeling Derek was, to put it simply, drunk. Incredibly drunk. “Stiiiiles,” he slurs. “You’re here.” “Of course, sire,” hsi manservant says. “Where else would I be?” Drek frowned. “Don’t call me sire. I don’t like it when you call me that.” Sties laughs. “Need I remind you that you were the one who told me to refer to you as sire and only sire, sire?” Derek feels nice when Stiles laughs. He feels like smiling. He loves it when Stiles laughs. It’s such a musical sound. It makes him turn to jelly. Whenever it happens, he has this feelin.. A warmth being pumped through his blood. A tingle in his stomach and a (nice) shock in his heart. “Call me something else,” he says, not trying to ignore the shock. “I order you.”

Sties doesn’t speak for a second, his brow furrowed as if he’s trying to think of something. “Fine,” he says, a smile creeping up his face. “Prat.” His voice is filled with such pride and that is when Derek realise he’s in love. He doesn’t ignore it.

Cora didn’t feel anything at all after her big brother came back. She doesn’t feel bad about it either. He left them. He left her. When they needed to be together, he left. He left them for six months filled with sleepless nights and tears, and wondering whether they'd have to add his name on a grave alongside their parent’s. He wasn’t there when Laura was crowned, or when Stiles had a breakdown and didn't talk for weeks. He wasn’t there when Cora called him. He. Wasn’t. There. And then, just as they started to adjust, he came back. So, no. When Derek (and it wasn't even him, really) came back, Cora didn’t feel anything. And she wasn’t going to be sorry for that.

A song “And I cried when your grave was dug” Stiles hums, alone as he polishes the muddy armour by Derek’s bedside. Derek keeps his eyes closed. Stiles’ voice is… good. His voice was filled with so much emotion, that Derk feels like crying himself. Who could Stiles have lost? What could have invoked so much emotion in him? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“And I cried when you called me down.”

Derek wasn’t an idiot, he knows that Stiles has magic. And so does his little sister and his creepy uncle. He also knows that his mother would never allow magic to coexist with werewolves. He wasn’t even sure if she liked humans, it didn’t seem like that when she thought Cora was one. Derek wanted to open his eyes, demand why Stiles didn’t tell him. Tell him everything.

“But the only time I didn’t.”

Instead, he says. “Stiles will you shut the windows. Some horrible bird is screeching outside.” “Oh shut up, you prat.”

Was when I didn’t have any tears at all.

Peter was not heartless, thank you very much. He was happy to see his nephew. Perhaps not as happy as he should have been, but it was more than his nieces could say. He could see that they wanted their brother back, not a wolf. The only one who had any hope left in them was Stiles, and even that was deteriorating quickly. The man hadn’t been the same, even before the fire had happened. He knew that he and Derek had been having trouble, but it had never been anything to worry about. But no… he wasn’t the same. And, Peter worried, he may not stay. Speaking of Stiles, he seemed to be sneaking out. “Where are you going?” he asks. “Your case seems to be awfully big.”

Stiels forze, turning his head back. “It’s not what it looks like?” he says, feebly.

Peter stares at him blankly, he’s not sure if he wants to have this conversation right now. He’s tired. He’s so tired. “I think,” he says, “that it’s exactly what it looks like.”

And, although his heart is breaking and hs mind aches, Peter soldiers on because he will keep the family together. Because it is all he has got.

A piece of cloth “Please don't’ do it,” Stiles begs. “He will kill you. Theo is using magic, Derek. You’ll die.”

Derek swallows. He knows that it is the truth, but he has to do this, He has to. “In case-,” his throat clogs up-- this may be the last time he sees Stiles (later, it strikes him that it wasn’t his sister or parents he was thinking about, he was worried he would never meet his manservant)- “In case I don’t come back.. May I have a favour?” He mentally chides himself at how dumb he sounds (ad so does the author) but he is a dead man walking, he will do what ne needs to do today.

Stiles seems taken aback, but he nods. He rips of his blue tunic and takes Derek’s left hand. “You better come out, sire,” Stiles says as he wraps the favour around Derek’s arm, “Or I’ll kill you before he can.”

Derek nods, for it is all he can do.

Laura did not need an extra headache when she wakes up in the morning.

“Lydia,” she says to her maid and lover, her eyes closed “Why have you woken me up so early?”

Lydia’s face is pale. “Peter has called you, Lau-m’lady,” she says, taking out a dress from her closet. “He says it’s about Stiles. That Stiles is leaving.”

Laura’s eyes snap open. No. “No, no, no, no,” she says. “He can’t leave.” This cannot be happening. First her parents, then Dreek, now Stiles? She couldn’t let this happen. She would not. She would not be helpless again. This family couldn’t lose anyone else.

Lydia bows, obeying etiquette for perhaps the first time in her life. “I couldn’t believe it either. But he has said so himself.” Laura scrambles out of bed, not bothering to bateh or change int oteh gown that Lydia has now kept on the bed. She needs to talk to her brother (in-law-- but that was just a small detail).

A scream “I still don’t get why we have to do this,” Stiles complains

“Because,” Derek says, turning his horse, “it’s fun.”

He hears Stiles shift uncomfortably behind him and for some inexplicable reason, he wishes that they were sharing a horse.

“Surely you can’t think that killing animals for no reason in fun, Derek,” his voice now quiet and Derek has never heard him so angry. He’s sure if he turns back, he’ll find Stiles with his mouth set in a grim line and his eyes alight with a cold fury. “Would you hunt a wolf, if given the chance? Would you hurt a human, simply because it was fun? If given the chance, would you stab me like you did countless soldiers, simply because I existed. Because I said the wrong thing? I was just a servant, right? And you were having fun. ”

Derek remain silent, unsure of what to say. He wouldn’t-- Of course, he wouldn't. Gods, Stiles knows that. He does, right?

He hears Stiles laugh bitterly and he wants to scream. “That’s what I thought,” he hears him say. “The mighty prince Derek shouldn't have to care for a manservant.”

He turns just in time to see the arrow pierce Stiles’ stomach. The scream came from him, but it was a sound that haunted both of them for years to come.

The throne room is completely empty, with the exception of the two guards (she knows its Stiles’ friends, Scott and Liam), Stiles himself, Derek in his wolf form, Peter and Cora. Stiles has head rested on the table and he looks so dead that Laura wants to cry. She takes a seat. “Now,” she says. “What’s all this talk about leaving?”

“He was sneaking out of the castle last night,” Peter says. “WIth two bags filled with most of his clothes.”

Laura wants to ask why he was out, but she knows the answer will be something ominous like “I was going for a walk” so she doesn’t waste her time.

“What happened, Stiles?” she asks, near tears. “Are we not enough for you?” He doesn’t answer. “Answer her, goddammit,” Cora says. She’s shaking and Laura place her hand on her little sister’s. She’s never been like this. “I am so done,” Stiles says. “I know that my problems are nothing compared to yours but I can’t do it anymore. Everywhere I look I see him-- Derek. The actual Derek. All my memories of him-- then I see his wolf form and it’s not him. We didn’t get him back. All we got was a wolf with no memories.” He looks up. “I just-” his voice cracks. Cora gets out of her seat, hugging him. Laura and Peter following her suit.

“We’ll be here for you, Stiles,” Cora says. “Just.. don’t leave again.” Laura hears Derek howl and she turns toward him. His eyes are wide and he’s changing, changing back- It’s him. It’s Derek. Standing right in front of him. “Stiles,” Derek says. “Stiles. Stiles, gods I missed you so much>”

A heart given “He’ll be fine, right Melissa?” he asks, Stiles’ cold hands enclosed in his own.

“Yes, sire,” the physician answers him with tired eyes, and Derek guiltily realises that he is not the only one who has been up all night. Melissa was like a mother to Stiles and she had accepted Stiles as her son at an early age. She cared just as much as he did, if not more. “He should wake up in a few hours, at the most. Thankfully, the arrow did not pierce anything important.” Derek turns towards her. “You go get some rest,” he says, gently. “I’ll stay here with him.” She doesn’t protest much, clearly in need of sleep. He sits down next to Stiles. “What have you gotten yourself into now, you idiot?” he says. “That arrow was meant for me. The assassin said it herself. Not for you, for me. Why did you have to take it? Why?”

“You know a thank you would be fine.” Stiles says, one of his eyes open and a shit-eating grin on his face.

All Derek does is kiss him in return. ( “I love you, you… prat”. “Hey, that’s my word!”)

And the wolf, who is now a human, got his memories (including ones involving a color, a feeling, a song, a piece of cloth, a scream and a heart given) back. And he lived happily ever after.

#welshwoman1988 #stereksanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

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edelwoodsouls · 5 years

Text

the light behind your eyes

The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, pre-relationship

You'll never go through with it, he said. Watching the blood drip, maybe he doesn't know Jon as well as he thought.

Word Count: 2464

Ao3

inspiration

(this art and this show apparently single-handedly cured my months-long writers block, i only started the show like a month ago, holy shit im in love)

The Institute's halls are darker than they used to be.

He's not sure when it happened, really. Just a few short years ago, he could have called this basement home. It didn't matter that he was sleeping there, that his real home was writhing with worms - that wasn't what gave it that comfort, that warmth. But the knowledge that someone was always there, the camaredie of close-quarters living and near death experience...

He misses it. He misses Tim, with his awful sense of humour. Sasha's laugh. Even Melanie's angry tirades about whatever was pissing her off that week.

He misses keeping Jon company over slowly cooling cups of tea late into the night - not talking, not acknowledging each other, simply existing quietly in the same space, an assurance that he wasn't alone-

He laughs out loud at the thought, the sound echoing like a gunshot down the hollow corridor, because isn't that the point? He's miserable, he's lonely, so it must be working. It'll all be worth it.

But still. The corridors feel cold and empty. Even though he knows Melanie is around somewhere, probably using the pages of some ancient research tome as cigarette paper, and Daisy has been haunting the spaces between the stacks for the last few weeks. And Jon, of course, most likely recording another statement and pretending it satisfies that primal itch in his soul that screams for fresh trauma.

It feels more like a haunted, ghostly archive than the home of several nearly-human disasters who should really be banding together for emotional support.

In these moments, with the others sequestered away in their own problems, Martin likes to wander the halls himself. It's so hard to leave the office without making human contact usually, but over the last few months he's come to sense the pathways of the others, how best to avoid their company. Almost like a sixth sense, or - ironically- a third eye. He takes the chances when he can, stretching his legs, letting himself get lost in the ghosts of better memories.

He's not sure if it's voluntary, or a method of making himself feel more Lonely.

It's the early hours of the morning now, not that he can tell without windows. He hasn't seen sunlight in so long, he's sure his skin must be paler than the pages of a Leitner - even turning on the overhead lights makes him squint.

His footsteps echo off the brick. It must be raining outside, he thinks, because there's an odd, sharp smell in the air, damp and cloying. He almost wants to run outside, feel it on his skin. Maybe it could wash away his - his Loneliness? His attachments? Which would he prefer to lose more at this point?

He can't deny the power that slipping through the cracks, going unnoticed but noticing everything, makes him feel.

His feet guide him thoughtlessly, in tracks he's paced a hundred thousand times before. Through the stacks of old statements, still barely organised from Gertrude's original mess - fifty years is a hell of a lot of statements to manage, after all, especially when the mess is deliberate. Past Tim's old desk - it's Daisy's now, technically, but Martin's never really been one for change.

Of course, his feet always lead him to Jon's door.

He hates to admit how many times he's sneaked up to the small porthole window in the door, peeking in to check in on the archivist. He's seen Jon recording statement after statement, seen him staring absently into stone-cold coffee for hours, seen the absent-minded scratching of burn scars, the many times he's been straight up passed out on top of a mound of files. Only sheer will-power has kept the door firmly between them.

He'll only sneak a quick look, Martin tells himself now, tugging absently at his shirt sleeve. Just to check that the archivist is still alive and breathing - not that anything else is possible now, he supposes.

His thoughts are interrupted by the unmistakeable sound of Jon groaning, a low, agonised noise that sounds forced out involuntarily, through gritted teeth. Martin's heart stutters. For a moment, his feet still. Then he's speeding the rest of the way down the hall and, before he can think better of it, throwing open the door.

Martin freezes. Hand gripped white-knuckled around the door handle, to keep himself standing upright, to keep himself grounded so he doesn't throw up at the sight before him.

That scent is thicker in the air the moment he opens the door, and he realises with a plunging horror that it isn't raining outside, that the stench now shoving its way down his nostrils is metallic and all-too familiar.

Jon is sat at his desk, as he always is, slumped over it, head held in his hands like he's about to fall asleep on the pile of blood-soaked papers below. But it isn't fatigue dragging at him now. It's the steady stream, the waterfall of crimson forcing its way past his palms, curling past his fingers in almost mesmorising, intricate patterns, dripping audibly onto the statements below.

Spread before him among the papers are an assortment of tools. A kitchen knife, a letter opener, a screwdriver - is that a blowtorch? With a sick sense of humour, Martin notices the corkscrew he had kept so closely for protection during the Filth's first attack, now sticky with blood, clutched limply in between Jon's fingers.

His voice cracks as a strangled noise emerges froom his throat in place of words. He swallows down the bile, resisting the urge to clamp a hand over his nose. "Jon?"

Silence stretches deafeningly across the table. Jon doesn't even react to the sound, though his limbs are shaking with a brittle tension.

The corkscrew slips slickly from between the archivist's fingers, clattering on the table like a gun going off, and yet the silence rings louder still. There's an awful static in the air, like when Jon uses his abilities, except now it doesn't seem to stop, doesn't seem to end, just reverberates in his head to the point of pain. Like the very air is crying out silently in pain.

A small sound emerges from behind Jon's hand. He still hasn't moved, hasn't looked up, but Martin would recognise that dry chuckle, tinged with disbelief, any day. It's a sound that's brought him no small amount of delight to hear over the years, even when that disbelief was more indignant and exasperated at Martin's incompetence, because it meant that he had Jon's attention - had, in some way, broken through that stiff upper lip that Jon had once been adamant on presenting.

Now it sends a horrified shiver down his spine. There's no pain in that laugh, just a resignation.

"Martin." The word is spoken so softly he almost doesn't hear it - a whisper, a prayer; a drowning man accepting his fate.

Panic rears, finally, inside Martin's chest like a suddenly startled animal. "Jon, Jon are you okay-" Stupid, stupid, of course he's not bloody okay, but what else can he say, with Jon sitting so calmly as he bleeds out onto his desk? "I'll- uh- hang on a sec, I don't have my phone with me, I'll call the ambulance, oh god-"

You won't go through with it, Martin had said, in a voice as cold as he could make it, as detached and unwelcoming as he could bear. You're a coward, looking for an excuse.

Hit Jon where it hurts the most, cut off any emotional connection keeping them tethered. It's the only way, he told himself, ignoring the sick satisfaction he got from finally scaring Jon the way Jon had often scared him.

He'd really thought he was right, but apparently he doesn't know Jon as much as he thought he did. Or maybe it's his fault, he drove him to this. Who and what has Jon got left, without Martin? Abandoned by those he loves, treated as expendable by Basira, blamed for things he can hardly control by Melanie and Tim, left alone to face that wide, unrelenting eye that pulled their strings.

Jon is far more Lonely than Martin has ever managed to be, and he isn't even trying.

The words continue to fall from his mouth in a panicked babble. "Do you have your phone with you, Jon? Jon? Or did we reconnect the landline after the last attack? I know the hospital ignores calls from the Magnus Institute when possible, but surely they can do something, it's gonna be okay-"

"Martin." Jon lets one of his hands shift slightly, and a trickle of red bursts forth onto the pages. "I guess-" there's that endearing, terrifying laugh again- "I suppose its for the best, that you didn't agree to come with me."

"What?"

"Would've made this a bit awkward, if you'd said yes."

And finally Jon raises his head, and Martin is horrifyingly unsurprised when deep brown irises meet his own. Blood still drips from the nearly-healed whites of his eyes, spilling over like tears. He can see the tissue knitting back together before his eyes, until the only evidence that anything awful ever happened is the drained pallor of Jon's skin, and the sticky wash of half dried blood spread around him like a pool. He's clearly been at this for a while, judging by the dry patches, and the variety of tools at his disposal.

Martin can't take his eyes off the sight. "I..." The words vanish on his tongue like so much smoke.

It's almost worse, he thinks, that Jon is healing so quickly. That the one avenue of escape offered to the rest of them is closed to him forever by the very thing he's attempting to flee. He hadn't regret saying no to Jon, shutting him down, not with the very existence of the human race hanging in the balance - and he still doesn't. It's the mental image of him hidden away in his office, unnoticed, hacking away at his own face for hours without anyone so much as wondering where he was, noticing his cries of pain, that makes him sick with guilt.

"No need for an ambulance, Martin," Jon's face tugs into an awful almost-smile. "I'll be right as rain any second now. But if you happen to have some painkillers, I wouldn't be opposed. Bit of a headache, you see."

Despite himself, Martin lets out a disbelieving laugh of his own. How the hell did they get here? He even misses the long hours of investigation, the haunting paranoia. Even that was better than this resigned certainty of tragedy. None of them are planning to survive this, and if they do? Where the hell can they even go from here?

His feet carry him over the threshold into the office, and he can almost feel the Lonely loosening its clutches, just a little. He offers a hand out, surprised at how steady it remains in front of him. "Come on, Jon."

Oh, how that soft, shocked expression on Jon's face makes his heart break. The fingers that clasp around his feel like burning, an electricity leaping across his skin. When was the last time he touched another person, skin to skin?

It takes a long time to clean up the blood. Martin wishes it could take just a little longer, every touch rekindling an unnameable something in his heart. Sat in the bathroom, Jon is quiet, retreating into himself. His newly healed eyes are vacant. Martin sponges away the crust from Jon's sickly skin, brushes it from his hair, and Jon simply yields to his touch like a doll.

They find a fresh change of clothes in his locker, but judging by the stale air released from the compartment Martin is pretty sure Jon hasn't changed clothes in a long time. When was the last time he took a shower? Brushed his hair? Hell, Martin can't remember the last time he saw Jon eat. Does he even need to eat anymore?

He throws the bloodstained clothes away, and leads Jon back to his office. The statements on the desk are barely legible beneath the crimson, but as he goes to throw them away, too, Jon's hand catches his wrist, the first voluntary movement in almost an hour.

"Jon?"

"I...need those."

"They're unreadable."

"Not to me."

Worrying his lip, Martin silently hands them back, watching as Jon smooths them out carefully on one of the only clean patches of desk. As if he can feel the gaze on him, Jon looks up, finally meeting his eyes once again. God, that softness in his stare is an arrow in Martin's heart. He's painfully aware that he's viewing Jon without any of his walls up, stripped bare, at his lowest. Once he might've considered it an honour that Jon trusted him this much - wanted nothing more, really - but now he just wishes Jon would get angry at him again. It would make this so much easier.

Martin swallows, throat suddenly a desert. "I have to go."

Jon doesn't look surprised, or even hurt, just nods, gaze never leaving his. It occurs to him that the last time they spoke, Jon probably thought it was the last time he would be able to lay eyes on him.

Silence yawns across the room.

"Talk to someone?" It comes out more of a desperate plea than he would've liked. "Daisy, or Basira, or Melanie-" he knows even as he lists them that only Daisy would be willing to bear Jon's company at this point, and she's hardly in any better a place mentally.

"Okay, well..." Words can hardly be adequate enough in this sort of situation. "Don't, uh, don't get too Lonely, Jon?" The archivist's expression sharpens at that. "Before you can't come back from it."

A second of hesitation. Jon nods slightly, jerkily, as if he hadn't even considered the possibilty. "As long as you remember, I'm always here, Martin. I- I trust you, but if you need an anchor... I can be your rib."

"How romantic," Martin snorts drily, before he can think better of it. A flutter of panic ignites in his chest, but Jon just nods, and the flutter becomes something more like hope.

It's not an assurance that everything will be okay. They both know the impending disaster rushing towards them at full speed as they themselves hurtle towards it.

But it's a promise. A thin, invisible cord, anchoring the two of them together.

Today, whatever fresh hell this is, they can take the punches and commit the sacrifices until they're bled dry.

But tomorrow - what if. If there is a tomorrow, any semblance of future? They can take on the world, together.

He leaves the door ajar when he slips back into the corridor.

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #fanfiction #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #own work

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secret-diary-of-an-fa · 6 years

Text

Secret-Diary’s Annual Awards Show, 2018

Here we are. Xmas is over for another year and the last dregs of 2018 are circling the plug-hole of time like inedible week-old gravy. Soon, the drain-unblocker that is New Year will be emptied on top of it, disposing of it forever… and nobody will be very sorry. It’s always possible that, in the last four days of the year, something incredible will happen. Maybe Will Self will invent time travel and go back to the early 1600s to become Shakespeare. Maybe Theresa May’s face will swing outward like a poorly-secured cupboard door and reveal an electric aquarium where a panel of Sea Monkeys control all her movements and decisions. Barring both of those two events, however, I think its safe to say that 2018 was a complete write-off.

Mainly, this year has felt like an unnecessary and unwanted continuation of 2017. 2017: Part Two, if you like. Brexit continued to drag on like a wounded moose looking for a place to die. The idiotic decision to cast Whittaker as Doctor Who, made in 2017, was enacted here in 2018, causing waves of uncontainable ennui to sweep a nation. The Space Elevator still remains resolutely unbuilt and Elon Musk (mankind’s Token Sensible Person) doesn’t seem overly inclined to do anything about that just yet. In short, we’re standing at the far edge of a year that has been, by and large, a complete and total waste of everyone’s time… especially mine. I’d normally leave my End Of Year Awards for New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day, but fuck it. Almost everything else this year has been vaguely disappointing, so let’s stick to the theme. We’ll ejaculate these awards out early and get it over with. You all know how this works by now: I make up some tenuously-related categories and proclaim a cultural event or piece of media the winner according to the dictates of my own diseased logic and the voices in my head. Let’s just crack on.

THE AWARD FOR BEST DVD OR BLU-RAY RELEASE Normally, I try to make the category names funny, but the best DVD/Blu-Ray released in 2018 was the remastered Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy Boxset. Somebody cleaned up a six-episode sci-fi show from the 1980s and stuck a bunch of special features on it and it was instantly better than anything actually produced in the present day. That’s funny enough in itself, assuming you find cultural atrophy funny.

THE INSTANTLY-REGRETTED WANK AWARD FOR BEST MOVIE STARRING A SEXY FISH MAN … Goes to The Shape of Water, which may actually have come out last year. I also really enjoyed Aquaman, too, but I can’t pretend it was a superior piece of film-making. You know what, though? The fact that there are two movies about sexy fish men having non-conformist adventures says something important. It says “OUR CG ANIMATORS HAVE FINALLY FIGURED OUT HOW TO DO WATER, SO LET THE GOOD TIMES FUCKING ROLL!”

THE BERNIE MADOFF AWARD FOR MOST SUSPICIOUS DISCREPANCY … Goes to Doctor Who’s score on Rotten Tomatoes. Yeah, you knew you weren’t getting through this drivel without having to listen to my opinions on Doctor Who again, so let’s just get it out the way early. Critics gave the most recent series of Whittaker-flavoured Who a 94% rating. Fans gave it 31%. So people who can’t risk saying something culturally unacceptable because they could be fired loved it, while people who cared enough to review it unpaid and had no consequences to fear fucking loathed it. Let’s try not to blame Whittaker, for this though. It’s actually Chibnall’s fault, with his determination to minimise the sci-fi elements in the world’s most beloved sci-fi show. And the BBC’s fault for hiring Chibnall. And all our faults for not dragging every single BBC exec into the streets and whipping them to death years ago. Jodie Whittaker casting was a point-scoring ploy on behalf of a cynical organisation desperately trying and failing to be progressive, but never forget that it’s just the tip of an iceberg made of frozen penguin shit.

THE SPECIAL AWARD FOR RUINING AN ENTIRE NATION … Goes to Donald Trump, who is a fucking arsehole of truly unprecedented proportions. At the time of writing, he’s currently throwing a massive temper tantrum and has shut down entire branches of government just because the real politicians won’t give him the money he needs to build his preposterous, unworkable and illegal border-wall. Thanks to this one pathetic tool’s incalculably large ego, America is currently in a state of abject chaos.

THE AWARD FOR MOST NEEDLESSLY HARROWING TV SHOW Did you see The Haunting of Hill House on Netflix? If not, congratulations: you might need slightly fewer anti-depressants than people who did. A spooky romp through the lives of people who used to live in a haunted house turns into an uninterrupted misery binge when it starts digging into their feelings. One of them is a drug addict, one of them is depressed in a dangerous and unstable way, one of them has issues with intimacy, one of them is a writer reliving his own miserable past for a living and one of them is a straight-up, 24 carat arsehole. Oh, and they all sort-of hate their beleaguered father for not saving their mother (who was mad as a tin of pigeons) from Death By Ghost. Thanks, Netflix. 2018 wasn’t a deep enough well of despair already.

THE AWARD FOR MOST UNDERAPPRECIATED HUMAN BEING … Goes to Jeremy Corbyn, who spent his Xmas dispensing broth and socialist good-vibes in a soup-kitchen. He’s constantly attacked and ridiculed in the media… possibly because the British media isn’t used to dealing with high-ranking politicians who aren’t psychopaths. Also, he once accidentally high-fived Dianne Abbott's tit, thereby gifting the world the most entertaining five seconds of television in history.

THE NAKED BRIAN COX AWARD FOR MOST BEAUTIFUL THING EVER … Goes to Sapphire and Steel, a TV from the 70s that I recently rediscovered. Trying to explain it in normal English will undoubtedly make me sound like a man whose brain is slowly eating itself, because it defies all ordinary conceptions. Nevertheless, I’ll try. It’s about two elements from the period table who are also people from a higher dimension who handle anomalies in space-time using methods that make perfect sense but aren’t necessarily clear to the audience. This prevents entities that often manifest as patches of light or shadow from breaking into time from outside and stealing people or feeding off the resentment of the dead. Make sense? Well, it will when you watch it, and you absolutely should watch it.

THE NAKED STEVE BUSCEMI AWARD FOR MOST EYE-GOUGINGLY HORRIBLE THING EVER This is actually a tie between that time Theresa May attempted to dance and… pretty much the entire year itself. If 2017 was like watching a man fall off a cliff, 2018 has been like watching him hit every outcropping of rock as he plunged downwards towards a merciless ocean.

THE AWARD FOR MOST SLATHERING BETRAYAL OF A FAN-BASE … Goes to Fallout 76, which, by all accounts, turned the bleak, lonely world of Fallout into a perfunctory MMO with all the beloved series’ characteristic and recognisable features sucked out or watered down. A great game series screwed over in the name of chasing casual gamers. Oh, when will the industry learn. Never. The answer is never.

THE SHATNER AWARD MOST DRAMATIC OVERREACTION TO AN UNDERWHELMING SITUATION … Goes to the UK tabloid ‘news’ papers, who went into swivel-eyed paroxysms of outrage and confusion when a handful of drones brought air traffic to a halt at Gatwick Airport almost a week before Xmas. They squealed angrily about how ‘possible terrorism’ and how Xmas had been ruined for thousands of people (despite the fact that they were perfectly entitled to just get on other flights a day or two later). It later turned out that there hadn’t necessarily been any drones, and that air traffic had been brought to a standstill because the police got confused and mistakenly thought that there were.

And that’s more or less it. Lots of other things happened in 2018, but I never made any concerted effort to remember them, beyond noting that they were all pretty bloody stupid. Roll on 2019. I have no reason to believe it will be any better than 2018, globally speaking, but maybe I’ll finally buy a copy of Red Dead Redemption 2 and stop caring.

#Secret Diary of a Fat Admirer #the year in ennui

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littleteatimestories · 6 years

Text

SAVING MILANO

-Continuation of Overweighed Milano-

(Note: Hey, fellow fans and writers! First off, Merry Christmas! It has been a while ever since I did update some drabbles and stories around here. I got really busy with work and I’ve been reading too much fanfictions lately. I’ve been going in with a few new fandoms recently. After Marvel and Assassin’s Creed, I went to Kingdom Hearts then to Transformers. From time to time, I jump from any of these aforementioned fandoms; whichever I find inspiration to. So far, you all know that I wrote many stories for AC and some for KH and Marvel. While I want to write for Transformers oh-so desperately, I don’t think I have the skills to write one since we’re talking about machines in here and I’m not really good with describing mechanical engineering stuff especially for robots. I mean, how do Transformers fanfic writers do that??

Anyway, as a little Christmas gift, here is the second part of “Overweighed Milano” series. If you don’t remember this, you can check the link above so that you could refresh yourselves of the story.

You can check more of my drabbles and stories right here. Enjoy!)

The ship crashed in a marsh. It was no ordinary swamp as it was a deep one, like a quick sand. One of the doors of the Milano opened as a certain raccoon was shooting from his cannon gun an adorable emerald-colored butterfly, which happened to be the culprit as to why their ship crash landed. He actually blamed his tree best friend for bringing such creature with him. The walking tree reasoned out that it wasn't his fault at all.

"Alright, enough about that. We all have our faults here. Rocket, you know what to do. Fix the ship," Peter instructed.

Rocket checked the ship's main engine part and it appeared it was damaged badly.

"Good news, Quill, we're short on parts," Rocket announced in a sarcastic tone as he examined the engine carefully.

The Milano shook intensely, which surprised the Guardians, as it was slowly getting itself eaten up by the swamp. Gamora declared that the ship will completely be submerged after a few hours.

"How are we going to do this then?" Claire asked. The Milano continued to descend itself into the swamp.

Rocket began to give out instructions. "Me and Groot can start with the repairs. Claire, do what you always do. Make sure that nothing, if anything is out there, will stop us from getting this ship fixed. The rest of you will have to get the parts that we need. Gamora, get me a 300 micro-frequency laser. Quill, get me a stuffed animal. A freakin’ huge one."

Before the anthropomorphic raccoon can even give his directions to Drax, Peter interrupted quickly. "Hold on a sec. That's a fake assignment."

Claire scolded him at once upon hearing him say that. "Quill, we don't have time to be complaining about that. Our ship's not going to last long.”

"Tell that to Rocket. Every time we split up, he always asks me to get something that he doesn't really need and laughs about it later."

"Hey, this one's real!" Rocket assured though it sounded like he was jesting.

"Alright, then let Drax get my part and I'll get his."

Drax laughed quietly, seemingly more interested in exchanging their assignments. Rocket huffed.

"Fine. But remember, you asked for this."

Peter smirked.

*****

Claire, as always, became the watchman. She actually preferred this job rather than getting some parts for the Milano to get fixed. As she was standing at the ship's roof and observing the area intently, she wasn’t able to notice behind her that something brown and moving came towards the ship. She then felt the unknown presence when it came into contact. She immediately turned her head at the back and saw nothing at all. She didn't shake the feeling of danger as she took out her dual pistols hidden under each of her sleeves as she went inside the ship with caution.

While in the engine room of the Milano, Rocket told Groot to start the engine so that they can detect the real problem that caused the ship to malfunction badly. Groot did just that as he went to the flight deck to test on the engines. As Rocket was continuing and trying to fix the ship, his instincts activated suddenly and he felt an unusual presence. He ran out of the engine room and looked around the Common Area. He saw a large black shadow figure far across him and this rather irked the talking raccoon.

“Really, Groot? Didn’t I tell ya to start the engine? Geez.” He climbed up to the flight deck.

It shocked him more when he saw his tree best friend already sitting on the pilot seat when he just saw him moments ago. He then questioned him as to how he was able to get here so fast. Said tree explained to him that he had been in the cockpit all along.

"We have an intruder," Rocket concluded. "That Claire. I told her to stand watch. What did she even do?" He pulled out his cannon gun and climbed down the Common Area sneakily until he was face-to-face with Claire herself, who also pointed her pistols at him.

"Claire!" he yelled. "You were supposed to be guarding the ship from intruders! Now we have one inside!" He blamed her.

"Oh I'm sorry if I'm not the perfect watchman! Why don't you do my job then?" she argued back. "Either way, we don't even know what we're dealing here."

"I am Groot? (What are we even looking for?)" Groot queried.

"Why are you asking me? I don't know! Let's just find it!" Rocket sensed something in his quarters as he stepped inside and opened his cabinet to find that 'thing'.

Claire went to Peter's room and she could just cringe on how messy his room was. Typical of him. Groot, on the other hand, went in Drax's room. While checking for anything bizarre, the door just slid closed by itself as Groot was alarmed suddenly. He pounded on it. Claire and Rocket heard the sound as both of them ran outside of the rooms they were in. A weird-looking plant monster finally showed itself up.

"Groot!" he called out to his best friend. He then took out his cannon gun again. "What did you do to him?!" He fired some shots at the monster.

Claire mimicked his actions as she also fired a few rounds from her pistols. However, even though the plant monster had taken quite some holes on its body, it healed itself, just like Groot's regeneration ability.

Rocket roared and put down his weapon as he just attacked it with his bare paws.

"Rocket!" Claire cried.

Said raccoon, though, screeched as he was somehow torched by the touch of this monster. He quickly tapped out the flames that was about to burn him. Claire came to his side and inspected him for any injuries. The plant monster dispersed itself as Groot finally got out of the room that he got trapped in.

"Groot! That thing just burned my fur!" He showed it to him.

Groot observed the area and it looked like everything was normal. He shook his head and said, "I am Groot. (There’s nothing here.)"

Rocket reasoned out with him. "You don't believe me?! Then ask Claire here! Help me out in here, sweet cheeks!" He glanced over at the said Terran female.

She stood and when she was about to open her mouth, the plant monster showed itself again. Her eyes widened as she took her pistols swiftly. "There it is!" She fired again.

"I am Groot!" Groot was surprised.

"I told you it was real!" Rocket proved as he triggered his own weapon at the monster.

The plant monster charged as Groot did the same. The two contenders pushed themselves with force when Groot lost his own strength when his tree-barked hands flamed out. He was thrown to the side and, given this opportunity, swung his arms to get the fire out. Both Rocket and Claire continued firing their weapons at the 'Man-thing', as what Rocket called it. But, the Man-thing kept on regenerating as it swayed its hand horizontally to attack the two of them in one hit. They dodged it by climbing up the flight deck.

"Come and get me!" Rocket taunted as he positioned himself on the captain’s seat. The monster did attack him and he evaded it by jumping to the co-pilot seat and pressed the 'Eject' button. The monster was sent flying out of the ship, and a kaboom was heard and witnessed afterwards. He then cackled. "That's what you get for messin' with me!"

Claire sighed in relief. "At least that's done." She went down to the Common Area to check on Groot. Rocket followed behind.

“You okay, tree?” she asked in concern.

“I am Groot (I’m okay),” he answered.

“Now that’s peaceful around here, I can continue on with fixing the engine. That stupid Man-thing just came out of nowhere,” Rocket mumbled loudly as he walked in the engine room.

"I am Groot (I have a bad feeling about this)," Groot remarked.

Claire patted his shoulder. “It’s probably gone. Rocket blew that thing up in the sky.”

Groot just remained silent and really hoped that the Man-thing was gone for good.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

#Guardians of the Galaxy #guardians of the galaxy fanfictions #gotg x oc #gotg fanfictions #littleteatimestories: oc fanfics

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soundonreadings · 4 years

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Sound On InstaReadings Series Volume 4 with Jillian Christmas & Lauren Turner

Welcome to Sound on InstaReadings Series. Our second installment features readers Jillian Christmas & Lauren Turner and is hosted by David Ly and Cynara Geissler.

Posted here for your enjoyment are the bios of our fine readers and the text of their readings. Thanks!

Jillian Christmas is a queer, afro-caribbean writer living on the unceded territories of the Squamish, Tsleil-Waututh and Musqueam people (Vancouver, BC.) where she served for six years as Artistic Director of Versəs Festival of Words. She has won numerous Grand Poetry-Slam Championship titles and represented Toronto and Vancouver at 11 national poetry festivals, notably breaking ground as the first Canadian to perform on the final stage of the Women of the World Poetry Slam. Jillian's work has been published in a number of magazines and books, most recently Matrix New Queer Writing (issue 98), Plenitude Magazine, Room Magazine (39.1) and celebrated anthology, The Great Black North. Her debut poetry collection The Gospel of Breaking is available now from Arsenal Pulp Press.

Reading text:

(sugar plum)

mommy sat down on the porch to put her foot up. She has so much to tell me today, about the iguana and how it could make aunty run, about the good bush that washes away the bad spirits anyone might put on me. I must take some to charlotteville and bathe with it in the ocean. She tells me too many times about the fish I am already sure I do not want to eat. But I listen. mommy is ninety-nine and she has earned all of her indulgences. So she tells me again about the house she built, how no man helped her do it. When I ask about her mother, she tells me her maiden name was murray. I want to know more about her mother, my great- grandmother. I want to know what she looked like and how she smelled and what she did to stay alive. Was her hair long like mine, was her skin dark like /uncle/?

mommy doesn’t talk much about her mother. Says she liked her mother fine, but she loves her /daddy/. So I listen to her talk about my /great grandfather/ defratis. She tells me he was nice, and fair, with beautiful hair. Half guyanese and half portuguese. She tells me he had plenty money, was a rum dealer with lots of business, rum shops here and there. She tells me how he died at 30 years and how a woman who worked with him told her the story. Some jealous man put poison in his rum so he could steal up all of his business. She asks me if I understand. I do, but as always I have a tough time telling the difference between truth and myth.

Satisfied of my understanding she goes on. She tells me how she loved him. How she cried and threw herself down in the street , just a little girl of five, begging her /father/ not to go to work. She only met him this once, but she loved him her whole life.

When she rolled around and threw a fit to stop him leaving, he reached for his belt, began to unbuckle to lash her into better behaviour, but he stopped himself. Picked her up out of the road and carried her into the store. He told the young woman in there to cook some food and share with her and then he was gone.

mommy says that if her /daddy/ hadn’t died, she would’ve gone with him, travelled to portugal and all over. She says he would’ve left her some money and she wouldn’t have had to work so hard all of her life. Things would’ve been different. She would not have stayed in charlotteville, or married /my grandfather/, (she doesn’t say much about this but I think I already know he was a heavy handed man). I listen. Eventually, in a moment of gratitude, I say that if things had been different I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t exist. That’s what I’m telling you, she replies. My gratitude melts into a kind of passive sadness, she has already measured this option, has found it acceptable. I say, but what about your children? I would’ve had different children. She doesn’t say it with malice, but a tepid resignation. I repeat BUT I WOULDN’T EXIST!

No, you wouldn’t be my child. It’s a reasonable compromise for her, a whole life, house, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren still, gambled on trust for /a man/ only met once, gambled on the kindness of her being fed, instead of beaten.

I think about the longing I have suffered in my life. How I have stretched toward people who would not have stayed even if there were no venom.

The promise of possibility is a trap that has kept me from the joys of my own life.

And what joys am I missing, in clinging to a /daddy/ who is always missing, always walking toward poison and away from food? What love do I dishonour and ignore, in searching for a face I hardly know?

Let them go to their poison /great- grandfathers/ and /daddies/ too. Let them go and leave behind children crying as they will, mourning as we do. Let them go, and let us see what wild plants grow in their absence. What medicines will spring from a line of women with lost fathers and distant /daddies/? A line of maidens and witches who carry their own names and build their own houses, and birth their own bloodlines and cook their own food.

I Miss You Much

I miss you like dark and icy waters miss the warmth of sun’s sweet kisses or lust for the hard hand of wind’s fleeting embraces I miss you like a hungry storm wet and urgent carving torrents through rough and choppy places I miss you deep and aching long and heavy and though you may not heed this truth is by the time you read this I will miss you more already my room is hot the air hangs damp and heady and I miss you I am missing you in places where other lovers’ hands become unsteady at the mention of our skin where others’ sin is weak and thin and other fingers dare not dream to touch come back to me tonight my love I promise I am ready and I miss you much my love MY GOD I miss you much

Lauren Turner is a disabled poet and essayist, who wrote the chapbook, We’re Not Going to Do Better Next Time (knife | fork | book, 2018). Her work has appeared in Grain, Arc Magazine, Poetry is Dead, Cosmonauts Avenue, The Puritan, canthius and elsewhere. She won the 2018 Short Grain Contest and was a finalist for the 2017 3Macs carte blanche Prize. She lives in Tiohtiá:ke/Montréal on the unceded land of the Kanien’kehá:ka Nation.

Reading Text:

excerpt from Stop Bringing Me Here

I want to take the violence out of my life and replace it with a swan pond.

There’s a reading at my alma mater. By attending, I open the nostalgic dam without meaning to, gingerly stepping back into your kitchen.

You have me against the counter, nothing perverse yet – I wanted this.

Onstage, a poet is reciting poems filled with light, weather, and nature.

I hear her animals and I think: How advantageous this woman’s life must be that she can inhabit the pastoral in her poetry.

Do I err as a poet or as a woman? I wasn’t taught to respect either one.

The university reading folds open to a student bar. Presiding over the visiting writers, my former mentor won’t look at me, hasn’t since finding out I’d been involved with you. Gulping my cider like oxygen, I try to visualize sunfish winnowing water into ripples to keep back tears. I want to say: The movements of power aren’t difficult to follow. You weren’t, after all, a rodent tunnelling snow but the cat that pounced in its nest.

Dear [former mentor], Confiding in you felt hazard-filled. I was terrified of blame, the assumption that I tried to capitalize on the power of an older, established man – your friend. Where could he get me?

I never wanted to be gotten anywhere, only to bring myself to the place where he wouldn’t act embarrassed of me. I thought this place existed. If only my appeal wasn’t bound up in the shame he knew to foster.

I trusted you, [former mentor], but you prefer to trust power.

It’s lazy to accuse young women of fucking to the top. Harder to ask why they heard a child’s loon call as love, leapt toward it.

Wait, that metaphor is weak. Turn the child adult, their playtime sinister.

Several men came whistling into my lakeside summer. I swam with them, and that season is no one’s voyeuristic wet dream, except mine.

You upended my life, for a time. I won’t call every fault line pain or pretend we never shared moments that sweetened our brine, making the cuts itch a little less.

Often, those memories carry more pain than your cruelty, that you added value to my life in equal measures to what you took away.

Three years left before I could write that. I’m not sure it’s true.

Moving on didn’t dissuade a part of me from staying entrenched in this. I imagine that’s the part you take issue with. I wonder if you, like my mentor, have recalibrated my culpability to account for your fall.

I didn’t intend to topple you from the pedestal. On TV, a statue in shackles bends like it was never worth admiring and I couldn’t want that for you.

Maybe it was my fault, I tell a friend, trying to hush the sadness that gnaws like the slow hunger of being disbelieved. I should’ve turned him down. Why was I flattered by his interest? Did I believe he was capable of genuine care? How could our relationship grow into anything except a power struggle?

These questions eat beyond their satiation point.

So what, replies society. We’ve all been young and most of us aren’t crying foul about our less savoury trysts. You consented to fucking him and he took it to mean fucking you over. You should’ve been clearer.

I don’t know what I want from this poem. I want to write poems where I’m not dripping across the linoleum with my cunt in your mouth.

It’s a clean request: a plea for poems where birds could take up nest. I needed to talk to you without talking to you, but every line I try goes dead. Let’s take my quiet in handfuls, like a drunken night with too much winter

clothing and it’s always June somewhere.

Fine, have it your way: I never craved his love, only to swallow his prestige with my body, lapping up the Goldschläger cum that clung to the fine mink of his crotch. I was mature in early life and tucked my naïveté up my too-long sleeves. Isn’t that how girls grow up? By pretending we can handle the depths, flaunting our sodden selves like we chose to dive in, rather than hit water from a shove. Swimming is a reflexive motion in ducks. Also in girls.

No matter how softly I cauterize this life, someone asks, But what happened in his kitchen?

It’s my fault. I thought I could enter a man’s home without catching a sliver of his expectation. No, tell me exactly with your bons mots. Spell it out. And what if I can’t, what then? He was nothing I didn’t say yes to.

The men are getting restless, I imagine addressing a lecture hall as I would a horse stable. As if men are no different than beasts broken over centuries, proudly trotted into poetry without fearing their hooves in my stanzas’s soft meat. When they realized I wouldn’t keep quiet, they waited around for me to slip up and write the words they could bridle me with. ::

I am terrified I built my poetry on the backs of violent men. I am terrified. I built my poetry on the backs of violent men.

I am built on the back of violence.

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trashpandaorigins · 7 years

Text

Sweet Child of Mine Ch 8

As a fanfic writer I cannot express how much comments mean to me! These fics do take an exorbitant amount of time to write with flash fics taking me anywhere from an hour to two hours and longer fics taking three hours to five or six. I write for free and all I ask is comments/feedback in return when you like and or reblog!

——–

“I am Groot,” Groot made his way down the main corridor of the Milano, his steps becoming more confidant with every passing day. That was about the only positive thing happening on the ship as far as Drax could tell. Both Rocket and Peter walked in circles around each other, neither one of them speaking to the other. Gamora seemed neutral though based on the overheard conversations with Peter, things were not going to get repaired between Rocket and Peter anytime soon, not even for Groot’s sake.

“You called him what?” Gamora followed Peter into the common room the next evening. Drax hadn’t seen Rocket all day but the periodic lights flickering and small explosive noises from below told him the animal was busy working.

“I know, I know, I didn’t mean it! It was out of my mouth before I could take it back.” Peter flopped down on the stolen couch. “But he keeps making fun of me too and it’s really pissing me off.”

“That’s no excuse, be the better person!” Gamora implored.

“You sound like my mom,” Peter grumbled, shaking his head. Drax watched Gamora look at him, he shrugged and she took a seat next to Peter.

“Someone has to.” Groot shortly appeared in the room, making his way to Peter and smaking at his pant leg with both arms. He had since regrown the broken one.

“Groot, go bother Rocket, please?”

“I am Groot!” The baby, well now toddler shouted, growing a small vine and slapping Peter across the knee in a tantrum. He gave up eventually and Drax watched him go down the hall, babbling to himself as he did so.

“Rocket just…he just doesn’t get it.” Peter resumed, “he’s a part of this family now and he’s got help with raising Groot but all he does is insult us and yell at us.”

“He is not friendly,” Drax put in. “The rodent does not show basic curtesy to anyone.”

“What was it Rocket said to you?” Gamora asked, “about him and Groot being partners?”

“he said, ‘Rocket is all I have left of anything,’” Peter repeated dishearten, “’now that Groot and I aren’t partners.’ Then he threatened to blow my brains out but no one’s reprimanding him for that.” Peter complained, scratching his head. Personally Drax was glad that Groot was a toddler now, that meant he was clearly irrevocably the strongest and largest one on the team. Of course he did feel badly that Groot had to die. He’d seen that grief within Rocket that day. The shock and pain. He’d felt it too. As the they sat on the couch Drax wrung his hands together.

“Groot is back. Yes old Groot is gone and Rocket is upset about this,” he thought aloud. “He does not feel that Groot is his partner anymore because we are a family and now Groot has all of us. He no longer needs Rocket exclusively. But Rocket still needs him.” Drax look at the two of them who stared, surprised. “This is painful for him to realize. It makes him feel vulnerable. On top of that he still blames himself for all of it. And he misses the old Groot.”

“Yeah, but…”

“He is insulting you because he is covering these other feelings.” Drax took a deep breath, preparing himself, “…when Hovat and Kameria were killed, I too smothered that pain with anger. I did not have a family any more. Or friends. But if I had, I too would have lashed out in anger.” Gamora nodded silently. “You called him Subject 89P13,” Peter winced. “This was wrong.” Drax continued, “it is also wrong of him to insult your name. It is dishonorable.” Working together, that was something he had never said aloud before. Drax was used to a solidary existence ever since his family was murdered. He depended on no one and no one depended on him, until now. Ever since they destroyed Ronnan, and seeing Groot slowly grow and relay on them had made the aspect of teamwork all the clearer.

“Well,” Peter groped for some sort of response. “He just….forget it,” he stood, shaking Gamora off and going up to the pilot deck. Drax watched him, shaking his head.

“Peter, Drax is right,” Gamora began taking off after him. The ship’s omnipresent engine suddenly ceased, the Destroyer felt the Milano grind to a stand-still and involuntarily held his breath.

“Flark it Groot!” Came Rocket’s incessant shouting. The large man felt the ship slowly bend sideways, though luckily Rocket had long since bolted things like the community table, chairs and other furniture to the floor. The dishes were not as lucky. Jumping for them, Drax caught three plates just as the Milano listlessly continued to go slanting left. The tattooed alien fell to the floor off balanced and watched as the cabinet doors flung open, sending their array of miss-matched dishes, mugs and bowls come clattering down.

“Groot! No! Gimme that!” Rocket’s urgency escalated. Drax gripped onto the table leg, heaving himself upward, gripping whatever he could to get to the engine room below.

“Rocket!!” Peter’s accusatory yelling echoed down the halls, “I can’t pilot this thing without the engine and the stabilizers! I know your pissed at me but this isn’t funny!”

“Not my fault Star-Bitch! Groot! Don’t!” Drax blinked, halting as the Milano’s lights flickered and went out.

“Rodent, you must control the tree before he destroys us all!” Clumsily feeling his way down the ladders to the engine room he went, eyes struggling to see in the pitch dark. Meanwhile the ship now tilted to the right, sending him off-kilter and fumbling for a grip on the metal rails.

“Groot give that to me right now,” he could hear the vermin ordering.

“I am Groot!”

“It’s not a toy! The entire damn ship is going to be pulled into the nearest moon’s orbit and stuck there!” Scratching and clanging of feet over metal sounded throughout as Drax made his way forward.

“I am Groot!”

“C’mon!” An exasperated Rocket now resorted to pleading, “I need that! Give it to me now or I’ll put you in another time out,” Drax reached out ahead of him, hands finding the metal doorway of the engine room and he stepped inside, throwing his weight as the ship curved to the right. “Tsch! Groot you’re not a damn baby c’mon!” Drax took a step

“Eeek!” He lifted his foot at the sound of Groot shrilling under his boot. He let-up and felt the small plant slapping at his ankles. Without missing a beat the Destroyer stooped down, picking up the little plant. Something hard and metal hit his arm without much impact.

“Good Drax!” Rocket shuffled over, “grab that krutukan desxter from him! He pulled it off!” The raccoon went back to whatever he’d been working on and there were several flashes of white-blue electricity before the power came back on. Groot’s hardened face became all the more sour, large eyes narrowing and putting his chin into a pout. But Drax grinned, Kameria would often pull such a look when she was deprived something she wanted.

“Groot how about this?” He offered reaching to his boot and pulling one of his knives. “If you hand me that desxter, you can play with this. How’s that?” Groot frowned and let out a yelp as Drax stumbled while the Milano rocked again. The little tree only hit Drax with his vines. Drax grinned, Kameria never relented either. He switched tactics,

“Fine, it is probably too dangerous for you anyway.” He put his knife back in his boot and placed Groot on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Rocket gasped, paws wracking his own face in anxiety

“I know what’ I’m doing,” Drax said through gritted teeth. He turned on his heel and turned to walk away. Sure enough Groot dropped the desxter and ran after Drax, reaching for his boot wound his little vines around its hilt. The Destroyer did nothing, watching him run down the hall as best as he could on the angle the Milano was drifting.

“Thank you!” Rocket growled, irritated. He picked up with device and made his way back to the engine. He watched the creature fiddle with the engine. Clapping his large hands to his ears as the ship groaned, only to slide back into its original trajectory. Rocket wiped his filthy hands with a rag and shook his head as Peter and Gamora came down,

“What was that?” Peter demanded

“It was Groot!” Rocket retorted, Drax watched the two of them stare at each other in contempt.

“Well its fixed now,” Gamora said, bringing snapping the two of them back to reality. Peter forced his gaze away from the animal and back to the group. Groot rejoined them evident by the clanging of the knife against some strange gun lying on the ground.

“Groot no! Don’t touch that!” Rocket rushed to the weapon on the floor and scooped up the gun with as much care as one would a child. “That’s a prototype for a new gun I’m designing!” He said, hefting the weapon.

“How’s it working so far?” Peter asked innocently. Rocket glared at him,

“It’s working fantastic Star-…Peter,” he faltered.

“That’s…great!” The human recovered. It seems small to me, Drax thought personally but he did notice the awkward exchange between the two of them. Peter even smiled, Rocket turned back to his gun as Groot let out an erroneous scream at being parted with the new-found plaything.

“Smaller Groot,” Drax knelt down to the tree’s level, “you cannot play with this weapon. You can play with other weapons.” He once again pulled his knife from his boot. “Here. Just be careful with it.” Groot held the knife with fascination, looking it over before growing his vines out as far as he could and went running down the hallway clanking the blade against the walls. Meanwhile Peter looked over the gun and threw it back,

“It uhh, looks good Rocket. Seems really…bad-ass.” The enhanced raccoon just fiddled with it some more.

“Well Drax’s knives should keep him entertained for a bit so there shouldn’t be any more interruptions.”

“Thank you,” Gamora put in. She stared at Rocket askwardly for a moment, opened her mouth, closed it, and left the engine room. Peter made some other idiodic excuse and shortly left as well. Rocket leaned over his gun with even more intensity. Drilling into the main body of the weapon to better lubricate the inner workings.

“Rocket.” Drax stated, the creature looked up, glaring. “I wanted to thank….you,” he began gently.

“Psshh, for what?” He snapped. Drax watched Groot scamper down the hall once more, trip on the floor, and make that face he knew all too well. Quickly he helped the little tree up,

“Cease your crying. You have not been wounded.” Saying such, he picked Groot up and gently took the knife back from him.

“I am Groot!”

“Yeah well playtime’s over bud.” Groot scowled.

“I wanted to thank you,” he began again. “After Kameria was killed, I had not thought I would ever get the chance to care for another little one.” Rocket’s glare softened by just a degree. “Now, I can once again care for something…instead of only fighting.” Rocket nodded, putting his weapon down.

“If I had it my way he’d be his full size already.” Drax nodded but made no reply for some time.

“I know,” he finally whispered and gently lay his large hand on Rocket’s shoulder. The creature let him, his mind flashing back to that same touch earlier right after….right after Xandar. When Rocket had been so small and shocked and broken. Peter was right, Groot had been the only one who had ever cared for him, up until now. They are your family, they care about you. He’d reminded himself of the guardians, but for the majority of his life “they” had been those strange scientists who poked him and stung him, locked him and twisted him.

“I am Groot?”

“That’s Drax, Drax the Destroyer,” Rocket explained and in that instant, everything became clear.

Groot died….has been dead for months. Rocket’s stomach welled with bile at the thought. Groot’s first words to him had not necessarily come with memories attached. Groot, his Groot, was really, truly and totally gone. Forever.

#sweetchildofmine #groot #rocket #baby groot #my writing

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