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partywithoutsmiling · 7 months ago

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Some musing on the Wanderer!Branch AU

(Okay, bit of a chaotic lore dump incoming, as this is probably the first time I am putting it to words)

Okay, important info first:

I headcanon it that Branch- and thus the other Brozone bros- are half-pop half-rock in their herritage; this headcanon is an old one, ever since World Tour dropped, and honestly only supported by the fact that Total Eclipse of the Heart that Branch sung as trolling is considered a Pop Rock song XD But hey, one doesnt need to have many reasons to make headcanons pff

(I have some tentative lore about his parents- and his grandparents- too, and how that would effect Branch and his Bros growing up, but I will leave that for a separated post)

But anyway, with Branch's Pop side being moderated by his Rock side, he would have always felt a bit out of place among his tribe, even he grew up perfectly happy with no tragedy in his life (I know switching Branch's and Poppy's place when it comes to being grey is all the rage right now, but I still feel most are missing all the necessary nuance to really make it work, but lets not get into that pf)

Obviously, that feeling of not fitting it only got hundred fold worse since his PTSD and him being grey, as Pop Trolls doesn't seem to be known for mental health support. Branch eventually leaving is not him going 'Screw you all, I will find someone who appreciates me' (much like Clay did) but more of a 'I am sorry, I won't get in your way anymore, I wont be a burden'

Basically massive amount of self-loathing and severe lack of self-worth. When Branch had his final breakdown and decided to leave, I don't think it would be with the precise goal of finding anyone (yes, part of him hopes he would be able to find his brothers and at least find closure one way or another, no matter how much it terrifies him).

Honestly, Branch probably didn't dare to examine his decision to leave any closely than he needed to, lest it would stand out to him for what it really was- a suicide trip.

This was Branch that doesnt know anything about the wide, outside world; he knows Bergen Town, knows of the old Troll Tree, and now knows the Forest and their Troll Village. But everything else is uncharted territory for him. He knows of the Neverglades, because of a faint memory of John Dory constantly talking about them when he was a baby, but has only a vague sense which way they are (I headcanon they make up for the border of Pop and Rock territories)

His preparation for the trip was abysmal, and so was his plan in general. He just picked a direction- opposite of Bergen Town, away from them- and started walking. When he first encountered the towering high peaks of Classical Territory, he immediatelly recognized that they can't be the Neverglades- very much not fitting the description that he remembered, so he walked past/around them, smack dab into Country territory.

Compared to others, I don't think the Country Trolls would have been very welcoming to him at the beginning; used to hard life, inhospitable land and abundant death, Branch would be an unexpected disturbance; obviously not a Classical Troll, who borders with them the closest but never comes down from the skies, obviously not a Funk Troll, who with their technological advance might as well be myths at this point- and obviously not a Pop Troll, since he doesnt shower them with obnoxious music and doesnt even look the part.

Had he been at his 100%, they would have probably been quite content to send him packing, figuring he was just a Rock Troll going solo career (little insert headcanon: Rock Troll Rite of Passage is going on a Rock Tour, and sometimes the more adventurous Rock Trolls strays into other territories to bother and cause mayhem other trolls. Barb's Rock Tour was her Rite of Passage, and being a freshly fanged Queen, she took it to another level)

But Branch quite helpfully collapsed on their doorstep, half starving and dehydrated, and they weren't so callous as to leave him there for the elements to take care of him.

Naturally, their help hardly came for free, and even if they didn't ask, Branch would have already feel indebted to them for wasting resources on his wellbeing. A Survivalist himself, he easily spotted the tight budget they were running, and felt guilty for being a burden yet again.

To his surprise, when the country trolls found out he was a hard worker, a skilled architect and wiz engineer, they completely turned their wariness around.

It was the start of his 'finding himself' journey, but for the first time, Branch started to feel... appreciated. Yes, these trolls didn't know him- but they looked at him, looked at what he can do, and called him accomplished; they were praising his skills, and called him valuable.

(But some sense of danger remained with him; as far as he believed, 'Branch' was left behind to rot away in his bunker. So when introducing himself, and habit got better of him, he started with "Bra-" but caught himself and finished "-mble"; and that new name, 'Bramble', stuck XD Still a plant name, still close enough that he can learn to repond to it- and honestly, feels like fits him better right now, as he feel all out of sorts)

It was only the first step, maybe, but it was a step toward feeling that he had some worth.

I think, out of all the Tribes, he stays with the Country trolls for the longest; yes, the life there is hard, but that is perhaps why he feels most welcomed there. There are no useless nonsense parties, no senseless dancing- the times when they can finaly wipe their brow and relax is when the community gathers together and they just... talk. Sit around, share food, look at the stars and reminiscence.

It's all very subdued, and even though Branch is the most obvious outsider ever, he feels like one with the community, and that by itself is already healing a deep wound he didnt know he had.

When the country trolls finally start singing on their good day, Branch is rather taken aback (He forgot, that Trolls are Trolls, and Trolls sing)- but the sombre and slow melody and topic of the country speaks to him, and while he doesnt join- and they dont push him to join- he listens, and he appreicates.

It is with Country Trolls that he heals most of his trauma when it comes to music. His Grandma and his Brothers leaving him are still a big guilt that weights him down- and something he wont address for a long time- but Country trolls shows him that music can be wildly different. He still doesnt sing, but when offered to be taught to play a banjo (XD), he probably doesnt refuse- mainly out of fear of insult, but also because for the first time in his life, he wants to actually try.

As time passes, his more curious side comes out- he asks questions, wants to know everything- up to this point, he didn't even know that the Country trolls were country- and to them it was obvious what they were, so why would they need to introduce themselves?

That line of questioning leads to the explanation of the other Tribes existing, and that each Tribes' music is different.

And for the first time in his life, Branch felt something alien to him- burning Wanderlust. (Bit of his Rock herritage showing, eh? Solo Rock tour, Rite of Passage~?) The thirst for knowledge was always there- after all, his bunker had many journals filled to brim with information about what he discovered in the foods, helpful tips for survival and many plans for inventions- but those were always done out of necessity, discovered and noted down so that he could live another say. Never before he had a desire to discover simply for the sake of discovering.

Never before he also actually felt like he had the option to do so; the world has always been an inhospitable wilderness to him, only filled with a small handful of trolls and a town full of monstrous giants. His childhood was filled with memory of a large iron cage, and that trapped feeling didn't change; after all, his Bunker, for all that it offered him safety, was a different type of cage too. The whole Troll Village- Pop Village, as he learned now- was another cage as well. Gilded one, made of ignorance.

And so he knew his time with the country trolls came to an end- and it was because he grew to respect them and appreciate them, that he doesnt disappear in the nigh and haltingly tells them his decision to leave and explore.

Memories of his Brothers' argument echo through his mind as he waits for the inevitable blow up, but.... he is once again surprised when the trolls just accepts this decision and wish him all the best- going as far as to help him pack- properly this time- and wheedling out of him a promise to check in once in a while, whenever he is in the neighbourhood.

Equipped with a non outdated map, he decides to make visit all the other territories one by one, starting from Country and heading right towards Classical, going around in one large circle around Pop Territory- Going to Techno after Classical, and to Rock right after that. Funk is largely a mystery to him- the Country trolls are at this point content to believe they are just a myth- much the same way a unicorn is to us- but Branch wants to keep an open mind.

After all, he himself had no idea other kind of trolls existed, so why dismiss the Funk Troll existence right away?

His travels to Symphonyville proved to be as challenging as was the start of his trip towards Country territory. Being high in the mountains- higher than anywhere Branch ever went- really showed him that walking is easy only when the road is straight and flat.

The air growing colder and thinning, he probably doesn't make the best first impression neither- especially in his dishevelled state, he is once more mistaken for a Rock Troll, and it takes a gargantuan amount of effort to convince anyone that he is simply there to learn music, and not cause any trouble.

Out of all the Tribes, he would stay with the Classical trolls the shortest. They are strict teachers, and their culture is very frigid and traditional- and Branch knows that he would have to wildly change himself to fit among them. Yet looking around, seeing the tall spires of the buildings around him, he finds he doesn't really want to. The grandiose of everything is rather intimidating- but even if he tried his best, he would never fit well among the classical trolls, always limited by something (like his ability to fly)

And realizes that was okay. That was acceptable. And that the classical trolls knew he wasn't a good fit now, and would hardly ever be a good fit ever- but they never expected him to become someone he is not. He asked them to teach him and so teach him they will- but you cant force a white sheep to grow black wool anymore that you can force a black sheep grow white.

The moment they realize Branch is there to learn and not wreck their peace like wandering Rock Trolls tend to do, they definitelly warm up to him more- but it still with the mildest of disapprovals since compared to them, Branch looks like a scrunkly kitten and all of them are just itching to groom him properly XD

Branch himself is amazed at the variety of musical instruments that exists and very quickly finds that he is not a progidy in plaing them all pff. Wind musical instruments are most likely completely beyond him, and after some attempts gives them up for a lost cause. Percussion fairs a bit better; he definitelly has some idea how to keep a beat and a rhythm, but even there he finds playing piano the most comfortable out of them all, with drums being a close second.

It is with string instruments that he trully shines, especially those that he can play with his own hands, without the need to use a pick or a bow; a tentative hint at his connection to music, the vibrations just send shivers down his spine and makes him feel more close to the sound his playing produces. (Guitar and Harp becoming his favourite instruments from the get go).

Getting to Techno was trickier. Them living underwater makes access to their territory rather impossible- unless Branch happens to meet someone willing to cross then bridge between Land and Sea XD

It makes for a rather convenient introduction for minor genres; the land bordering Classical and Rock seems to be as the perfect land for various minor tribes to cohabit in peace.

Are there Techno Opera trolls? Siren like beings, that found their homes on the deck of boats, sailing from and to an island after island? Techno Classical that built their living on the coast line, wanting to be close to both land and sea?

In any case, Branch discovers that even with music it's not so simple as shelving it into labels, and that it is ever growing, ever evolving. He never manages to actually visit Techno Reef, but he doesnt' need to; compared to other trolls, the Techno Trolls are not insular, and quite happily come to the surface or to the coast, both to vibe with the offshoots of their genre, to discover what they came up with, but also to simply make friends and have fun.

It was the first time Branch encountered a large party not unsimilar to that of a Pop Troll one- and yet for all that the party was just as loud and wild as he was used to seeing, the sight of it didnt really fill him with uncontrollable panic. It definitelly helped it was once again more about the music and the beat itself, and about the mood of the partygoers than it was about the singing; it was about experimentation and trying out new things- and yet not every troll was dancing around like maniacs. They had the stage for sure, and large crowd was gathering there- but there were also the fringe areas and corners, where Trolls just sat and chatted and bopped to the beat. Not forced to do anything they didn't want to, simply allowed to have fun in their own way.

He doesnt really interacts with the Techno Trolls that much, beyond when there is a party happening on the surface. Gravitates more towards exploring the Minor Territory, and discovering that it holds more than just Techno Classical/Opera. Not wanting to stray too close to the border with Pop, he nevertheless encounters encounters various offshoots of Pop as well- and the K-Pop gang as well

This definitelly allows him to learnt that even the Trolls Kingdom are not free of corruption and the bounty hunters are not starving for contracts- crime does happen in the troll kingdoms, and when the local police force comes short, the bounty hunters are the next best thing to employ.

Speaking with the K-Pop gang, he learns- with a bit of unease- that there was an old contract unfulfilled, that searched for all the Brozone Brothers, and thanked his lucky stars he can in no way be connected to them. It was considered a cold one, where there was no hope among the communities of it ever being cashed in- but the knowledge someone was looking for them- specifically for the younger of the brothers (Him, Floyd and Clay) made him wonder who could it be.

(Part of him entertained that it could be John Dory)

(Other part dismissed it right away. After all, JD did specifically state 'Goodbye Forever'- why would he make the effort to employ bounty hunters to find three of his brothers, if he was even alive to do so?)

That meetings seems to set of a string of bad luck- at least, that's how he feels. Continuing down to Rock territory- of which he is most wary (after all, he was constantly being confused for one, and expected to cause mayhem and destruction- so what kind of Trolls Rock Trolls were to earn that reputation?

A very specific kind- wild and chaotic.

Compared to other Territories, no-one blinks when he just walks in and continues deeper into the Kingdom; and he can finally see why he was mistaken for a Rock Troll. Muted colours, sharp smiles and even sharper claws, it was like walking into uncanny valley, where nearly every troll wears his face. At that point, unknown to him, his colours are not completely grey and black, so he is sporting some faint hues, and very quickly learns that thanks to the direction he came from, Rock Trolls think he is from an Offshoot genre; either Punk Rock or Pop Rock (though they obviously hope for the former) They reconsider him to Folk Rock when he brings out softer tunes that he plays on a borrowed guitar; and for the first time in a while, Branch is asked to sing.

He panics, obviously- playing musical instrument is one thing, but getting over his trauma from singing is another- and quite swiftly and bluntly refuses, cringing after to wait for the inevitable "You are a Troll, why don't you sing?"

Only... it never comes. There are shrugs, and one "Cool." and then he just gets invited to an Indie Rock show, and that is that.

Completely baffled at this easy acceptance, Branch agrees out of shock, before he can trully think it through- and realizes it's the first time since he left Pop Village (at this point probably nearly two years ago) that he thinks back on its inhabitants and namely Poppy.

He feels rather guilty, for taking this long to really give them a concrete thought. Like yes, he did think of them at the beginning, when he lived with the Country trolls- but that was only in general way, comparing the different livestyles. He never really chose to think about the people he left behind.

Now, no longer blinded with grief, self-loathing and rampart paranoia, he does remember that not all adults in his life went out of their way to activelly fail him. King Peppy, for all that he was unequipped to deal with Branch's issues, tried to check up on him regularly; his Grandmother's friends or those who knew her, made it their goal to be kind, even if Branch tried to avoid them out of reminder what he caused

Hype, Trickie, Boom and Ablaze were old friends- his childhood friends- the ones he made after his brothers left, and the ones he pushed away after he went grey- and yet they still managed to be around, noticing them from a distance, even as he stopped speaking to them.

And then there was, of course, Poppy.

Just starting to mature when he left, it's not quite a crush that he feels for her (not yet anyway), but there is still some sort of appreciation for her- some part of him, that subconsciously aches at the need to be close to her, and feeling just that bit of her warmth and positivity- one that made him wistfully keep all her invitations and listen to the sound of her recorded voice.

For the first time, he wonders how they reacted to his disappearence. Wonders if they miss him- or if they curse him. If they do both- like he felt conflicted towards his brothers, the older he got and the more obvious it became that they are not coming back.

It was that thought- the comparison to his brothers- that pushed him to hesitantly think about returning back to Pop Village; to his bunker, to his old life- to Poppy.

It was a tentative thought really; truthfully, the desire was a half hearted spur of the moment, and not something he would drop everything for. He didn't miss his old life; where he was the village hermit, the outcast, the weird one. Besides, he just arrived in Rock, and he still had a whole adventure ahead of him, trying to find the Funk trolls.

And so, When in Rome, do as the Romans do- and so Branch steeled himself to attend a party, one that he was specifically invited to; after all, he had been at parties before now, within the reach of Techno Reef, it's not like this one is any different

Only it kind of felt like it- yes, the music was harsher, the beat went harder- but the harmonizing of voices reminded him so close of his own tribe that it just left him feeling jittery- and at first, yes, the party made him tense and hardly participate, but as it went on, song after song, he could feel himself slowly relax.

(Besides, there was something about rock music, that send warmth straight to the core of his being; something about it resonated with him more than any other music did, besides Pop- and where before he fought hard to not allow it to do that, perhaps, just this time, he could try the opposite)

(After all, they were underground, where Branch always felt the safest, and the Bergens had no idea other tribes even existed- he could indulge a little)

Of course, fate has a funny way of entertaining itself, and in the second of his indecisiveness, he gets bumped into and trips and falls- or he would, if pair of hands didn't steady him, and familiar voice asked him if he was okay

And Branch suddenly felt altogether three years old, getting fed empty promise and watching his older brother disappear through the entry to his Grandma's pod

And he is now in present, left staring at nearly 15 years older Floyd, his brother clearly living the best life, happily away from Pop Territory (away from Branch)

His name drops from his lips before Branch can stop himself, and that has Floy pause and squint at him- obviously not recognizing him, obviously trying to place him- before something clicks and his eyes widen and he goes pale

Branch most likely punches him- and then finds he cant stop heaving in fury and goes punch him again, not allowing Floyd a word in (honestly, he is not punching very hard, not apart from that first one)

Of course, Floyd is hardly alone, probably in a band, and his band mates are not keen on having their member be attacked by a random troll

Brawl very easily breaks out- honestly nothing new among the Rock Trolls- and ends up with all of them, especially Branch, thrown in a cell for their troubles, much to the protest of Floyd's bandmates, who curses and claims innocence

For the first time in forever, Branch feels hollowed out; yes, he had been hoping for a closure- but honestly, he had expected to find all of his brothers dead; not finding any of them living happily away, their youngest brother not even a blip of concern in their mind.

He certainly never expected it from Floyd, who essentially lived a stone throw away; who clearly was able to cross the distance it took from Bergen town to arrive in Rock troll's territory, just shy away from the Pop one.

------------------------------------------------------------ This is where I will stop the musing for now XD;

Obviously there are more things to add; Barb would make appearance, not yet as a Queen but definitelly in charge of keeping any Rock Trolls in line (she is not called a Princess because the Rock Trolls don't use that title for their heirs) and while Floyd is aware she is the future Queen, that information doesnt get shared)

The discovery of Funk Trolls still awaits as well, as does Branch's return to Lonesome Flats, as he had promised to do

But that's for the next time :)

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls fandom #trolls branch #wanderer!branch au #Lore #lore dump

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birdiescanfly · 4 months ago

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Jake Seresin: Self-Esteem

I've been thinking about Hangman lately, and I can't get the thought of him as being a bit insecure and traumatized by his childhood out of my head. So obviously I need to flesh it out more, but I’m thinking Jake grew up poor. In my experience, this can lead to a very disorderly life which is why he likes to keep things so perfect and clean (His styled hair, his crisp uniform). Being dirty all the time as a kid, living in a dirty place, or even just not having nice clothes is something that like really effects Jake and that’s why he tries so hard to present himself in a certain way. Not only that, but growing up being called trashy and dumb kind gives you a complex so I think Jake would likely push for a different view of himself, even if its asshole perfectionist. Thus the creation of ‘Hangman.’ People see him as uppity and/or finicky, a clean freak, and a loner who only thinks of himself but like, it all comes from a desire to NOT feel like he did as a child. To prove himself.

I imagine him growing up Deep South, Bible belt all the way. A trailer park kind of life. I think that the reason he leans so far away from his old life is because he got a lot of backlash during his academy days maybe? His commanding officers and peers probably had preconceived notions about him, especially if his parents were laborers with no higher education. (Neither of my parents graduated high school, and you wouldn’t believe how many professors I’ve had that find out I’m a first generation college student, and immediately treat my like an idiot.) I think, for Jake, it would be made even worse if he had a really thick accent. Maybe Jake even tries to hide some of natural drawl and slang. I often see him proud of his accent in stories, but I bet that during those first academy years, he just wanted to fit in. He wanted to prove that he belonged with people outside of the hicks he grew up around. (Up for interpretation, maybe he adored his family but he leans away from them to distance himself from that life cause he doesn’t feel like he fits in anymore, or maybe his parents were shit stains, up to you), but nonetheless, there is a divide between Jake and them now. It’s a very much “you chose them” mentality. Makes him feel in between worlds and that he’s always trying to prove that he belongs to his two spheres of life.

So yeah, Jake hides his accent because people think he’s dumb when he uses southern phrases or slides words together. So Jake hates dirt and disorganization, and he cleans and clean and cleans, he takes two showers a day and maybe even still feels a little filthy. Maybe he still feels like he’s not smart enough, or good enough. And yeah, Jake grew up trailer trash, he’s got to prove himself a little more, he’s got to push a little harder than everyone else. He’s got to be number one, or he’s nothing, right? But he’s got Hangman for that. Hangman can be number one, he can be the perfect pilot and he can be clean, and he can prove that he’s worth more than anyone ever thought.

I am in fact projecting, but what are comfort characters for, right? And also, I just love reading about everyone’s theories about why Jake is such a loner who leaves people behind, and I adore even more the stories that dive into Jake’s self-esteem issues and childhood.

I’ve got more to this idea, (Hangster all the way), but this is too long as it is so I’ll just make another post.

#jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #Hangman has self-esteem issues #'Hangman' is a coping mechanism #god I am in too deep #word vomit #this got away from me

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nataliaromanovasworld · 2 months ago

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Through the Fire, Into Your Arms - Part 1

Through the Fire, Into Your Arms Masterlist

Through the Fire, Into Your Arms Backstory

Part 2

Summary: The Avengers have taken you, saving you from Hydra but you don't know that. You don't know anything. The team can't find anything about you. What is happening to you?

Warnings: mentions of torture/harm, panic attack

w/c - 3.2k

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Faint voices echoed in the distance, but they barely registered through the fog clouding your mind. You stirred, your senses slowly coming to life again, but something was different. The air didn’t carry the damp, metallic stench you’d grown so accustomed to. Instead, it was cleaner, almost sterile, with a hint of something unfamiliar that set you on edge.

Your eyelids felt heavy, resisting your efforts to open them, but instinct urged you to push through the haze. Slowly, you pried them open, wincing as the bright, unforgiving light flooded your vision. You blinked, letting your eyes adjust, and as the world came into focus, more confusion settled in.

The room was nothing like the cold, dark cells you usually found yourself waking in. The walls were pristine white, almost too clean, and the space around you felt… different. Sterile, yet somehow comforting in the quiet simplicity. There were no restraints digging into your skin, no chains rattling as you moved.

For a moment, you laid still, your heart pounding in your chest, trying to piece together where you were. Your surroundings didn’t fit with anything Hydra had ever put you in. This place, with its soft hum of machines and the distant murmur of voices, was too peaceful, too calm.

But that calm only deepened your unease.

With a deep breath, you tried to push yourself up, your muscles weak from the effects of the mind control and whatever had taken place to get you here. The memories of your last mission were hazy, fragmented. All you knew was that this wasn’t Hydra.

If not Hydra, then where?

And who had taken you?

You shook your head, trying to clear the swirling questions and anxious thoughts that threatened to overwhelm you. Focus. Overthinking would only make things worse. As the fog in your mind began to lift, your senses sharpened, and you became acutely aware of something unsettling – eyes were on you.

Keeping your movements slow and deliberate, you carefully turned your head in the direction of the unsettling feeling. That’s when you noticed it – a large observation window. Beyond the glass, two men stood, their gazes fixed intently on you. One of them, tall and confident with a goatee, and the other more reserved with a thoughtful expression and glasses struggling to stay on his face. They were deep in conversation, their words too low for normal hearing. But you weren’t just anyone.

Tuning out the other sounds that echoed around the unfamiliar room, you honed in on their discussion, every word coming into focus with crystal clarity.

“- not sure it worked,” said Mr Goatee, his tone very skeptical as he glanced back at you. “She’s still on edge, like she’s expecting an attack any second. If we really reversed the mind control, shouldn’t she be more… I don’t know, disoriented? Confused?”

The quiet one replied, “The process isn’t instantaneous Tony. We’ve seen this before with others Hydra controlled. She needs time to adjust, to remember. The mind control was strong, stronger than we’ve seen before, but the procedure should’ve cut through it. We just need to give her space to come back to herself.”

Mr Goatee, now known as Tony, shook his head, his doubt evident. “I don’t know Banner. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. What if it didn’t work? What if Hydra’s grip is still-“

You clenched your fists, their words sinking in. They had done something to you, something they believed would free you from Hydra’s control. But you weren’t sure how much of their conversation you could trust. Your body felt different, your mind… clouded, yet clearer in some ways.

Did they know you could hear them?

Were they your captors or your saviours?

Your train of thought was abruptly interrupted by the sharp crackle of an intercom, followed by a booming voice echoing throughout the room.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Mr Goatee’s voice filled the sterile space, laced with sarcasm but underpinned with caution. “I see you’re awake and… alert. That’s good. Means your senses are intact.”

You could see him now, standing in front of the large window, his gaze locked onto you with a mix of curiosity and wariness. The reserved guy stood beside him, his expression softer, almost sympathetic.

“We know you’re feeling a bit… disoriented,” Tony continued, his tone more measured. “But I need you to understand that you’re safe here. You’re not with Hydra anymore. We brought you here to help you.”

The other stepped forward, his voice gentler as he spoke into the intercom. “We know this is a lot to take in, but we’re here to help. Just take your time, okay? We’re not going to hurt you.”

Your mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of your memories with what they were saying. Hydra wasn’t here. You weren’t in their clutches. But if that was true, then where were you? And could you trust these men who claimed they wanted to help?

Noticing your hesitance and the turmoil flickering in your eyes, Goatee’s confident demeanour softened ever so slightly. He exchanged a quick glance with Glasses before speaking again, his tone more patient this time.

“Let’s start with something simple,” he suggested, “Can you tell us your name?”

You stayed silent, your heart pounding as you weighed your options. They seemed sincere, but sincerity could be faked. Hydra had taught you that much. You tilted your head slightly, narrowing your eyes as you studied the two men behind the glass, trying to read them, searching for any sign of deception.

Glasses, sensing your caution, took another step closer to the window, his voice calm and reassuring. “I’m Dr Bruce Banner, and this is Tony Stark. We’re with the Avengers. We’re not your enemies. We’re just trying to help you find your way back – back to who you really are.”

Your gaze flickered between them, absorbing their words, dissecting their body language. Tony’s impatience was tempered with genuine concern, while Bruce exuded a quiet, steady calmness. Neither man appeared to be lying, but after everything you’d been through, trust didn’t come easily.

Eventually, the weight of the silence became too much to bear. Your throat felt tight, your voice rusty from disuse, but you forced yourself to speak. “I don’t know who the avengers are,” you admitted.

Tony and Bruce exchanged puzzled glances at your quiet admission, their confusion evident.

“What do you mean you don’t know who the Avengers are?” Tony asked, his tone tinged with surprise. Bruce’s brow furrowed as he leaned closer to the intercom, trying to understand.

But you just shrugged, the movement small and almost dismissive. Without offering any further explanation, you turned away from them, shifting your focus to the far wall, retreating back into the safety of silence.

Tony and Bruce watched you in silence, realising they wouldn’t get any more from you right now. With a shared look of concern, they quietly left observation room. As the door clicked shut behind them, their muffled conversation began to drift down the hallway.

Tony ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his tone. “She doesn’t even know who we are. How deep does this mind control go?”

Bruce shook his head, his expression troubled, but his thoughts were running in a different direction. “It’s possible it’s not just mind control Tony. What if… what if she’s never been exposed to the outside world at all?”

Tony paused, his frustration giving way to concern. “You think Hydra kept her completely isolated? Like, from everything?”

Bruce nodded slowly. “It’s possible. If they captured her young enough, they could have kept her in the dark about everything outside of Hydra. She might not know anything about the world beyond what they’ve shown her. No knowledge of history, of people… not even who we are.”

Tony sighed, the weight of realisation settling in. “That’s… worse than I thought. We’re dealing with someone who might not just be brainwashed, but completely sheltered from the world. We need to know who she is, what Hydra did to her, and how long she’s been under their control.”

They reached the main control room, where the rest of the team was tirelessly sifting through Hydra’s data, searching for any clue about your identity and the horrors you’d been subjected to.

“We’ve got to figure this out,” Tony said, determination hardening his voice. “If she’s never even known the world outside of Hydra, then we’re facing a whole new challenge. We need answers, and we need them fast, before we can even begin to help her.”

The team gathered around the control room, faces tense with frustration. Hours had passed since they began scouring every bit of Hydra data, but nothing substantial had surfaced. Screens flickered with endless strings of information, yet none of it provided a clear answer to who you were or what Hydra had done to you. The deeper they dug, the more elusive the truth became.

Steve was the first to break the silence, his voice rough with irritation. “This can’t be it. They had to have kept records. We can’t just be hitting dead ends.”

Natasha crossed her arms, her brows furrowed. “Hydra didn’t leave a trail, at least not one we’ve not found yet. Whatever they did, they covered it well.”

Tony, pacing restlessly, pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re wasting time. She doesn’t remember anything, and if we don’t figure it out soon, she’s going to spiral.” He paused, glancing at the others. “Maybe… maybe we’re going about this wrong. What if we don’t need to dig through their files? What if we just –“He hesitated, his eyes moving to Wanda. “-go into her mind?”

Wanda stiffened, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest. “No.”

Tony frowned. “Wanda-“

“I said no,” she interrupted, her voice firm. “Going into her mind after everything she’s been through – she’s fragile. It’s too risky. I won’t do that to her.”

Tont threw up his hands in frustration. “Then what do you suggest? We’re running out of options here.”

Wanda’s expression softened, but her resolve remained. “I’ll talk to her. I can feel her pain from here. Forcing our way in is the last thing she needs. I’ll get through to her, but it has to be on her terms.”

Steve nodded in agreement. “Let her try. Pushing her might only make things worse.”

Tony sighed but relented. “Alright. You’re up Maximoff. But we can’t wait too long.”

Wanda didn’t waste another moment. She turned and left the control room, her pace quick but deliberate as she made her way to your cell. As she neared the door, she could feel the weight of your emotions, a thick cloud of fear, confusion and pain. You were trying to piece together your fractured memories, but the harder you tried, the more overwhelmed you became.

Inside the sterile cell, you sat hunched over, your knees pulled to your chest. Flashes of Hydra, of cold steel and harsh lights, played in your mind like a broken film reel, each memory crashing into you with a force that made your breath hitch. It was all jumbled, fragmented. The missions, the experiments, the pain – it all blurred together. The faces of people you had known, or thought you had known, were vague shadows. Nothing felt real. Nothing felt certain.

The memories you did manage to grasp onto, the ones that surfaced, felt like daggers stabbing into your consciousness. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing it all to stop, but the flood wouldn’t cease.

Wanda entered the room silently, careful not to startle you. The air was thick with your distress, and she could feel it pressing down on her. She could sense how close you were to breaking. Without saying a word, she moved closer.

“I know it’s overwhelming,” Wanda said softly, her voice cutting through the chaotic noise in your head. “You don’t have to face it alone.”

You flinched at the sound of her voice, but you were too lost in the swirl of memories to muster a response. Your breathing was ragged, and the sharp edges of the past continued to slice through you. The weight of the memories – both real and twisted – swirled in your mind, leaving you confused, panicked, and angry. Every time you tried to grasp onto something tangible, something real, it slipped away like sand through your fingers.

Wanda sat beside you, her calm voice pulling you out of the hurricane of emotions for a brief moment. But the confusion roared back, louder and more chaotic. The room felt too bright, too clean, too… wrong. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be – where?

The panic twisted in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You could feel Wanda’s presence beside you, her gentle voice telling you she wanted to help. But the words, they didn’t make sense. They weren’t connecting. What did she mean by help? Help you how? What did she want from you?

“I’m here to help,” Wanda’s soft voice reached you again, but instead of feeling comforted, it grated against the rising panic in your chest. You didn’t understand what she was saying – what did she want? What was the point of her being here? You didn’t even know who she was.

Without thinking, you shot to your feet, backing away from her, your pulse skyrocketing. “Help me? What – what are you – what do you want?!” The questions came out in a sharp, ragged burst. Your hands trembled, and you clenched them into fists, trying to control the overwhelming emotions crashing through you.

Wanda stood slowly, palms open in front of her, trying to show she meant no harm. “It’s okay,” she said, voice soft and measured. “You’re safe now. I’m not here to hurt you. I – “

But her words blurred in your ears, drowned out by the chaos in your head. You didn’t understand. Nothing made sense. The anger boiled beneath your skin, sharp and dangerous, and you felt it rising like a tidal wave you couldn’t stop.

“No!” You snapped, the word laced with panic and fury. “No, I don’t- what is this? Where am I?!” Your heart pounded, and you felt the muscles in your body tense, ready to lash out, your instincts telling you to defend yourself from the unknown, from the confusion clouding your mind.

Wanda took a careful step toward you, but the movement sent a shock of anger through you. She was too close. Too calm. You didn’t know her. Didn’t trust her.

“I’m not – don’t come near me!” Your voice cracked, and before you even knew what you were doing, you swung at her, your reflexes kicking in. Your fist barely grazed her, but it was enough to show the depth of your panic. Wanda’s eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly stepped back, hands still raised in a non-threatening posture.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she repeated, her voice gentle but firm, though you barely registered it over the roaring in your mind.

Your chest heaved, your breaths coming out ragged as you tried to make sense of everything. Nothing was right. You didn’t understand where you were or why you were here. The memories were fragmented, slipping away every time you tried to grasp them. Hydra. The cold metal. Bucky. Steve. Missions. Pain. Fear. Torture. It all blurred together.

Wanda stayed where she was, watching you carefully. You could feel her eyes on you, the weight of her gaze pressing against your skin, and it made you want to scream. Every part of you wanted to fight, to run, to escape the confusion that was clawing at your mind.

“I… don’t understand,” you muttered, your voice breaking as your legs wobbled beneath you. “Why are you – why is this happening? What do you want from me?” The tears stung at the back of your eyes, but you fought them back, refusing to show that weakness, even as your confusion suffocated you.

Wanda took a slow breath, her eyes full of empathy. She could see your internal battle – the conflict between wanting answers and the instinct to protect yourself from everything unfamiliar. “You’re not alone anymore,” she said gently. “But I know it feels like everything’s crashing down. It’s hard to understand… I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through.”

Your fingers twitched, still ready to defend yourself, even though Wanda hadn’t made any more moves toward you. But her words… they stirred something. She wasn’t pushing. She wasn’t forcing anything. Yet it all felt too much – too overwhelming.

“I don’t –“ You shook your head violently, tears finally spilling over as frustration built to a boiling point. “I don’t know how to – how to talk, how to… understand… I can’t… I can’t…”

Your knees gave out, and you collapsed onto the cold floor, hands clutching your head as if you could physically hold your mind together. The anger, the confusion, the fear – they all crashed over you in unrelenting waves.

For a moment, everything was chaos. Your breath hitched, your chest tightened, and the noise in your head drowned out everything around you. But then, you felt a presence, warm and steady. Wanda hesitated for just a second, but then gently knelt down beside you, her arms slowly, almost cautiously, wrapping around your trembling form.

At first, you tensed. The contact set off a flare of panic inside you. Instinct screamed at you to pull away, to fight, to defend yourself. Your breathing grew erratic, heart pounding wildly in your chest, your body coiling tight as if waiting for the next blow.

But then, you heard her voice.

Soft. Soothing. “It’s okay,” Wanda whispered, her breath warm against your ear. “I’m here. You’re safe. Just breathe.”

Her words seeped into your mind, cutting through the fog of fear. There was something about the way she spoke, the calm, unhurried cadence of her voice that slowed the frantic beat of your heart. The tension in your muscles slowly began to ease, though the panic still clawed at the edges of your consciousness.

Wanda held you firmly but gently, her arms a steady anchor as the storm inside you raged on. She didn’t push you away or pull you tighter – she simply stayed, her warmth bleeding into the cold that had gripped you for so long.

You let out a shaky breath, your body still trembling, but something within you began to crack, if only slightly. Her presence – so calm, so constant – was something you hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime. The comfort, the softness of it all, was unfamiliar, terrifying even. But at the same time… you didn’t want to let it go.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, you allowed yourself to sink into the warmth of her embrace. Your muscles relaxed, bit by bit, as if surrendering to the safety Wanda was offering. The walls you’d built, the armour you’d wrapped yourself in for so long, began to falter under the weight of her quiet reassurance.

You weren’t alone. Not in this moment. Not anymore.

Tears spilled from your eyes, the silent sobs shaking your body as the emotions you’d fought to bury surged to the surface. Wanda didn’t speak, didn’t try to fill the silence. She just held you, her arms providing the comfort you hadn’t known you needed.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to feel… safe.

#marvel #female reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #future natasha x reader

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threefolddefencespeech · 4 months ago

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WorldCon!

So - WorldCon's over. I'm safely back home, very tired, only mildly ill, definitely getting the con drop or at least experiencing far too many post con emotions (what do you mean there won't be another one nearby for five years?). So perfect time to write a bit about it. I'm not going to get everything in here, but let's ramble incoherently about some highlights.

The Hugos

My spouse (and the rest of their team) won a Hugo! I am so proud and happy for them - it is, I say with incredible bias and no objectivity, very very well deserved. How could getting to celebrate that not be a highlight?

So. Let's move on to some book opinions. This year, I managed to read almost all of the best novel finalists (bar Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi, which I'm still a few chapters into and ping ponging off. Let's say I'm pretty sure where my opinion was going to lie). So I get to have some more detailed opinions than most years, which is fun/regrettable for anyone who got an earful from me about Starter Villain!

It's always interesting to see what makes the Hugo shortlist. This year, a truly massive gulf emerged between my two favourites, the middle-of-the-roads, and one real "no, really, why was this here?" option.

Out in front were Saint of Bright Doors (Vajra Chandrasekera) and Some Desperate Glory (Emily Tesh). I can already see this post getting enormous, so I'll try and be quick (this is a lie).

Saint of Bright Doors is wonderful - the first chapter introduces us to a clear chosen one narrative, with Fetter raised with a destiny: to kill his cult leader father. The second rejects it utterly. Fetter ignores his destiny and his mother's calls, and immigrates to a city - one that has elements of socialist ideal, but gradually reveals more and more of itself to be a fascist police state, and in every case is wonderfully strange. He joins a group of fellow religious "unchosen ones". He drifts. His father's cult grows in influence, and threatens to pull him once more into orbit - but this is not so conventional a story as to fully let it. And he becomes fascinated with the city's bright doors, which lead nowhere, and are unopenable. In a less talented writer's hands, this would feel disjointed. Instead it's wonderful - a dreamy-but-grounded, mythic-but-real story of aimless reality pitted against religious destiny, of cults and pogroms and the structures that lie beneath the world. I have my problems with the ending. But had I liked it more, I suspect it would have been a worse book.

Some Desperate Glory tells a story of a militarised future human society, living to avenge the Earth. It is also, in many ways, a cult. Where Some Desperate Glory particularly succeeds is that its protagonist isn't an outlier. How many dystopias have you read in which the lead is an outcast, or always felt subtly wrong in the society, never quite fit in? But Kyr is in so many ways this future society's model citizen. Which makes her growth - her experimentation in the wider world - and the ways in which this society still abuses her, and still fails her because she can't live up to its ideals, far more powerful. She's not a comfortable head to make a home in, at least to start with, but it's a far better novel for that. While what the novel's doing is far clearer than Saint, it does go to some interesting places - and explores these cultish power structures on various scales. I have quibbles and gripes. Do I wish more page space had been devoted to developing the novel's visions of alternative versions of Kyr, rather than slamming in character development in fast forward? Yes, and I would have happily sacrificed a few big action setpieces (which is where I suspect that space went) to get there. But it's still a powerful book.

Saint definitely my preference there, but both worthy winners.

Then we had the middle of the pack.

Leckie's Translation State was... fine? I expected more, though. We had some alien weirdness, but it was wrapped around a story which had the exact same plot arc as a typical YA arranged marriage novel, with the characters ending up in exactly the same places you'd expect. Aside from one, who simply gets forgotten about. It was perfectly pleasant, but revolutionising the genre this is not.

Martha Wells' Witch King is a secondary world fantasy, told with a flashback-interweaving-with-present-events structure, in a way that's far more evenly balanced between the two narratives than most, with the past narrative holding most of the explanation of characters and relationships highly relevant to the present. However, it fails to really make it work - it sacrifices a lot of character development and foreshadowing for the actual plot to get this structure working, which means the actual key revelations fall a little flat when they come. It's not a bad book! There's some fun magic system stuff, some mildly interesting possession-of-different-gendered body stuff... but it's not life changing, just a fun attempted structural twist on an otherwise pretty classic secondary world fantasy.

The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi - well, it's a middle eastern pirate fantasy. The historical inspiration is great here - rich and vibrant. But the prose is clunky - it's doing Historical Feminism but in a really obvious, unsubtle way that's clearly just 2024 views projected backwards, or at least that's how it seems from the "ah, we mens often think x about a powerful lady, don't we?" narrator chapter. I like engaging with these topics, but can I wish for a bit more nuance and some better writing? Mind you, I'm only a few chapters into this one, and keep bouncing off. It might get better when I push through. From what others have said, I doubt it - but I can't really say. I'm maybe being harsh from initial impressions here.

So most of this middle group are small twists or weirdnesses upon otherwise pretty familiar genre novels.

Then there's Starter Villain, which is the only "really, why is this here?" novel of the list. I suspect just because Scalzi's a big name in SFF, and name recognition gets you a long way at the nomination stage. While I might quibble with the middle group - probably there was more interesting SFF published last year? - this was a novel-length shaggy dog story. It's not funny enough to be farce or satire - but it's not doing anything else. The protagonist's main defining traits are "very divorced", "likes cats", and I suppose "vaguely nice". Everyone speaks in the same way. And this goes nowhere - other than a few jokes about dolphins and venture capitalists along the way. Maybe if this hadn't been up for the Hugo, I wouldn't have hated this so much. But I expected something. This was my first Scalzi, and I probably won't choose to repeat the experience.

So, how'd the voting turn out? Some Desperate Glory won, which I vaguely suspected - felt like it had broader appeal as a slightly more traditional novel than Saint of Bright Doors anyway. But Hugo votership, why did you do Saint quite so dirty? It's so far down the list. On the other hand - faith marginally restored by Starter Villain ending up in a clear last place.

Which is to say: probably good job overall, Hugo votership, but you're on some shaky ground. :P

The Panels

Panels! I went to lots of them. I was terribly sabotaged by my very first panel, Revolutions in Speculative Fiction, setting the bar far too high. I was largely picking panels based on people + a vaguely interesting topic, with a few exceptions. Ada Palmer's and Arkady Martine's definitely proved that method of panel picking works well.

...after Dublin, the other thing I learned (alongside picking based on people) was that I really shouldn't plan my con too inflexibly or intensively. So despite wanting to go to 4 things in every slot, I paced myself - I missed out on an interesting panel and went to hang out with people or Do Food occasionally, especially when emotion + tiredness demanded it, and I probably had a better con for it.

There were worse panels too. Several on interestingly nuanced topics had a tendency to regress into more basic topics - particularly into cultural appropriation 101. Cultural Appropriation 101 is not a bad panel topic! It's an incredibly necessary one. But it's also a panel I have been to several times now, and while I think other panels should certainly touch on it where relevant, I wanted a bit more than Different Topic 101 from "Ancient Cultures and Context" and the discussion of religion in fantasy, for instance.

Overall though, I had a good time with the panels - even when frustrating (cough, Scalzi showboating and talking over other panelists in "Systems as Villains" when he didn't actually have anything to say, cough), they were fuel for conversation with interesting people, and there were some truly interesting ideas in there too. Maybe I'll manage to incorporate a few into my own writing. I hope so.

Self-Indulgent Gender Stuff

I'll try not to ramble about this too much, but it was pretty significant to my con experience. This was my first con since coming out as a trans woman (it also coincided with my 1 year anniversary of starting HRT). Honestly, coming up to it, I was pretty stressed - despite knowing on paper that a substantial part of WorldCon is queer nerds, it didn't quite make it through to my brain, or at least I suppose endocrine system (I worry about my appearance anyway, and was just coming off a bit of a doomspiral about my features at the 12 month mark, which may not have helped!).

But everyone was genuinely very nice about it - including everyone I already knew, but who hadn't seen me since pre-transition. And you know, it did feel really good to be able to present the way I actually wanted to at other cons (pre transition, I can't deny a certain - large - amount of envy at fem con + cosplay outfits, and I actually get to do some of that now). I even got some compliments on my outfits, which was very flattering (plus one person inexplicably wanting to draw me at the Hugo afterparty).

Did that stop me from worrying? Silly question. I still spent a lot of the con convinced I looked terrible in so, so many ways, and had to frequently borrow some reassurance from spouse and friend (I'm so sorry). There were a few low points. But I'm so glad I did it. Hopefully the start of many more cons presenting more comfortably.

Plus, I have discovered a great secret. My terrible dancing is drastically improved by the addition of a swooshy skirt. (Well, maybe some other stuff helped too, but I'll go with that)

People

I've talked a lot about official, organised things where I was there as a spectator: panels, the Hugos. But really, so much of WorldCon is just spending time with lovely people.

I got to do lots of the con with spouse and a soon-to-be-ex-Oxford friend, who I have really fond memories of doing other cons with. Lots of silly late night dancing. Lots of in depth discussions, from the deeply absurd to the (maybe) absurdly deep (or maybe just the former all over again). I got to see other Oxford friends in the magic con zone! @frith-in-tombs between track stuff and @vivelabagatelle occasionally too.

I got to catch up with other friends, especially the ex-Oxford folks! It was lovely to spend more time with @howlsmovinglibrary again (who also ran some excellent panels, and has definitely sold me on this villainess book), as well as Entourage, @cardboardmoose, and others (if I haven't named you explicitly it's probably because I thought the only way I've got of naming you might be too identifiable, and I don't know your name on here).

I got to meet new people, which honestly is one of the best things at a con. I spent a lovely night chatting to @canmom about all sorts of diversely interesting things, from opera to game design - completely unexpectedly after inexplicably working up the courage to venture a "hey, you're not [tumblr name] on tumblr, are you?" (at least I didn't comment on anybody's shoelaces, is all I can say in my defence). I met a distant friend from Discord and compared very different con plans - and a truly excellent crocheted Mr Pages. I chatted with a few more in panels. I finally got to hang out with Roseanna more than in passing (typically we've wound up communicating only through a mutual friend, Entourage since we've never really overlapped properly - I remember back when she asked me about reviewing, and look how the tables have tabled!) and had a great time dissecting the Hugos. (Another very well deserved Hugo win btw). I also learned that apparently I was referred to frequently as DAF by her and said friend, and she's completely forgotten what it stood for? I have a pressing need to solve this mystery.

And of course, there are some friends I dearly miss being able to con with too. Perhaps one day we'll be able to do so again.

What Next?

As I mentioned, so many post-con emotions! Five years really is too long between travellable worldcons for my liking.

Which means resolution 1 is: maybe I should do more cons? While flying transatlantic for WorldCon feels like a Lot, I've never made it to an Eastercon before, and I think I'd like to.

I've also reached out to plan a few meetups with nearby-ish worldcon people like Roseanna - I miss the con energy, and I think I'd like to get some more chats about books and such in my life. (Alas, distance remains a barrier for yet others!)

I also want to engage with more SFF writing - I read a fair few novels, but I feel like I miss out on a lot of reviews and criticism these days, and I miss that.

And as always, I come away wanting to put more energy into my own creative work - I've been planning a bigger IF-ish game (than my small silly/gift games I've made) for a long time, and maybe this is the time I'll manage the sustained effort to make it happen (and feel like I have My Own Stuff next WorldCon!). Hehe. Well, I can dream, anyway.

I should probably also catch up on sleep at some point.

It was a wonderful, exhausting, fascinating con - thank you to everyone who made it happen, whether more generally, or for me specifically. :)

#worldcon #personal

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an-au-blog · 1 year ago

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Omg!

Really loved the idea of East blue asylum. I have a few questions about it! (If you are willing to hear me out of thought about it, haha) First. Is Sabo really dead or is something like in the Canon where Luffy (and Ace before whatever happened to him) thought he was, but he actually wasn't? (A part of me would love the latter, but the first scenario is also very plausible). Second, I'm wondering about the other East blue villains? We know about Arlong, but the rest? (This isn't me asking about Buggy, of course not, haha)

(Thought I have an idea about the clown also related with Shanks because Shuggy: He was previously interned right after Roger's death, and with help he was able to recover. Maybe that was the reason Shanks recommended the place to intern Luffy in first place, giving him his straw hat and assuring him they've seen each other again once he fully recovered, making a parallelism with the Canon. Now the clown (like Franky) is a volunteer that helps whenever he could and Luffy loves to bicker with him because of his funny reaction about his red nose.)

Anyway! You can take it or not! He could also be a patient, I think that could work too!

Thanks for sharing the idea!

Oh! I'm happy you liked it!

Sabo is considered dead in this au, and just like in the series, both Luffy and Ace had a hard time coping with it and could "see him" from time to time. Losing a second brother down the line was what made him snap. And although I kept Ace's death like in canon, I moved it around a bit to make it the reason to trigger Luffy's disorders. And the series starts when he comes into the hospital.

In reality, Sabo isn't really dead. He almost died in a house fire but by the time they rescued him he had hit his head and gotten temporary amnesia. He grew up trying to remember who he was and by the time he did, he felt like he abandoned his brothers and felt like he couldn't barge back into their lives. Luffy was going to become a firefighter because of what happened to Sabo and Ace was volunteering for safety patrols. They had entire lives that he was no longer part of, but he just couldn't resist going to the funeral. Good thing he managed to outrun his brother.

(for people with no context: here)

Technically, keeping Sabo dead would make more sense in the real world, but I think it'd be more interesting and a bit more sad if he wasn't and Luffy kept seeing him. The first time he saw him was a bit before Ace's death. He told his big brother but he just went "I know, I sometimes see him as well... Like a mirage of the kid we used to love," but Luffy's just like "No, I saw him as an adult! He was real!" And it was a bit concerning but they decided, oh well, he's been a bit of an odd child anyway. But then Ace died and Luffy ruined the funeral because he was supposedly chacing his other brother. It was bad enough that he went in a state of shock for a full three days, but this was too much... Everyone keeps telling him that they're both dead. Accidents happen. But he refuses to believe it and slowly starts creating this makeshift world to fit the trauma of losing his family.

It got worse when he found out he got admitted into a facility. I believe he goes to visit him later on under a fake name, but tells him that he can't tell anyone he's alive. He said it mainly because he knew they'd probably think he was losing progress and double his pills.

As for the rest of the villains (Buggy)... The marines are just guards who won't let him leave - or in Luffy's eyes, suppressing his freedom. (Except for Garp, he's just his grandpa and he's in the military in real life as well. He comes to visit his grandson whenever he can but it's very painful for him.) Axehand Morgan is just an asshole guard who got fired for abusive behavior. His son had the same internship that Koby did and they both left after a while but would come back after some time later.

For captain Kuro, I think he'd just be one of Usopp's lies. Maybe he was an ex of Kaya's (before Usopp came along) who used her for her money and he told this big story about how he tried to kill everyone and how he saved the day and was all heroic for Kaya and sent him running for the hills. Luffy liked it so much that he put his own little spin on it and added himself to the story.

As for Buggy, I honestly didn't really think about it. But if I had to, I initially thought he could be a patient, but I didn't like that, so I thought "Maybe a guard", but that wasn't fitting either. But I think I got it! What would make a kid believe someone is a rival, become an ally, back to annoying kinda rivals and so on and so forth? Well I think one of his favorite uncle's exes would do just fine.

Outside of Luffy's world, Shanks and Garp have a normal relationship of tough love, the only thing Garp blames him for is spoiling Luffy and Ace too much. The boys have lived with Shanks for a long time and had seen a lot of his love life. His first love - Buggy, who was a part-time clown for kids' parties. Makino - who was Luffy's favorite because she would cook him tasty food, unlike Shanks who only ordered takeout. Mihawk - the cool goth, who was neurodivergent, (so is Luffy) so there was a kind of unspoken bond there. And then Buggy again.

In my mind, Shanks ran back to him after Ace's death for comfort. Buggy, now grown with a real job and no longer a part-time clown, stayed in Luffy's mind the evil clown who loved money and that's why he broke Shanks's heart. (Or that's how he saw it...)

...

But then I read yours as well and I liked it! I like the idea of him getting help after Roger's death. I think that maybe him or a parental figure were afraid that he was too emotional and could potentially get depressed. So he went to see a psychiatrist and they decided it's best to take him in for a little while, just to make sure he handles grief in a healthy way that wouldn't be harmful to himself or people around him. Maybe that's why he broke up with Shanks. But he was too embarrassed to tell him that he had such a hard time handling death, so he lied about it. He lied and made up a different reason to leave.

And now that I think about it, this - him knowing how hard loss can be, could be the reason why he was so willing to welcome Shanks again. Because he's been there and he knows that it hurts less if there's someone next to you and he wants to be next to Shanks.

Thanks for the ask! I'd love answering any other additional questions if you or anyone has :))

#east blue asylum wing au #one piece au #asl brothers #shuggy #answers #op

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treason-and-plot · 1 year ago

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“Do you like your dinner, Dad?” asks Henrietta. “I helped Apollo cook it. I’m very, very good at cooking, you know!”

“I’m sure you are, Princess,” says Roy while Henrietta’s sisters make scoffing noises and roll their eyes. Why anyone would prefer to eat slices of pale, insipid veal over a juicy piece of rib-eye steak is beyond Roy’s comprehension. He supposes the dish that’s in front of him could have been a lot worse, though- it could have been served with a mushroom sauce. One should always be grateful for small mercies.

“Hey, guess what?” he says, looking around the table. “Something really exciting happened today!”

Violet smiles at him.

“I got Harrison Steiner a six-figure sponsorship deal with Herbalife!” Roy says. Violet’s smile stiffens.

“Who’s Harrison Steiner?” says Joanna.

“He plays soccer with the Bridgeport Eels,” says Angus.

“That’s right, Son,” says Roy. “He’s only just turned eighteen, and already the world's his oyster. All thanks to my business acumen, expert negotiating tactics and extensive networking skills!”

“He’s also super-fast, has incredible mastery of the ball and is a machine when it comes to kicking goals,” says Angus.

“Well, okay, that too,” shrugs Roy.

“Actually, that’s not our only exciting news,” says Violet, putting down her knife and fork. “Would you like to tell everyone what else happened today, Roy?”

“Why don’t you tell them?" says Roy, stabbing at his veal. “Seeing as you were the one lucky enough to receive the phone call.”

“Okay,” says Violet. “This afternoon the people who are looking after your mother rang me, and they said we’re all allowed to go and visit her tomorrow! Isn’t that fantastic?”

The girls exchange glances.

“What’s wrong?” says Roy.

“We don’t want to go to a mental hospital,” says Alexandra. “It sounds scary.”

“It’s not a hospital, it’s a treatment facility,” says Violet. “It’s a lovely old country house surrounded by beautiful lawns and oak trees. Your father’s been there to visit people lots of times, haven’t you Roy?”

“Yeah, that’s right. In fact, your own Grandma's been a patient there!” says Roy. “As well as Freddie and at least a dozen more of my clients. You know, they should name a wing after me after all the business I’ve sent their way. Or at least offer me some type of discount. But instead they can't even offer me the courtesy of a phone call. Anyway, to answer your question, Alex, it’s not a scary place at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.” He hate-chews his last sliver of veal and pushes his chair back. “I don’t mean to break up the party, but I’ve got to go and see Anya soon, so can you all cut the chit-chat and eat a bit quicker so we can fit in a game of kicky bag or something before I have to race off?”

#Roy #Violet #Henrietta #back to bridgeport #5 years later #Alexandra #joanna #angus #apollo #Rogue

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possiblylando · 2 years ago

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Chainsaw Man 123 'Early' Analsys.

This chapter gives us a lot to chew on unlike the previous ones which where just fully mystery. Which is why I'm not really sure where we start. I guess at the beginning of the chapter? Yeah.

So this chapter we meet the falling devil. I can't say I was expecting this but I was right about this current body she's using being made from the corpses of the people that jumped off the apartment complex. She's got rather weird theming as she's a Primal Fear who is also a Chef despite it not really fitting with her fear. I guess Primal Fears can have hobbies?

"Hor D'oeuvre, La Root Vonla" is french for something. Someone who speaks french probably has a better translation (If you speak French lemme know the correct translation in the comment or reblogs) but I have to use google translate which was really shitting itself on this one. So the rough translation is: "Appetizers, The Will Route" It being an Appetizer means that this is probably the weakest of her attacks. Things are gonna get a lot worse from here on out. "The Will Route" is clearly in reference to the attack's affects.

It appears the way to overcome this first attack is to come to terms with your past Trauma so that it doesn't weigh on you as much if at all. Falling says "A word of warning- Those who don't finish their food will taste death." which seems like it's directly referring to the way to escape the attack Then we get a flashback of Asa's life soon after the Typhoon Devil attack. This probably only takes place a few Days-Weeks after the event due to Asa's hair still being about the same length as it was in the original flashback.

Left 102 Flashback, Right 123 Flashback. It's pretty clear that Asa has been using the Cat (Crambon) as a substitute for her mother. She's become anti-social and solitary only spending time with Crambon. (Which is fair by the way). At this point Crambon and her School Uniform are the only things she has left of her mother. Then we get this evil fucking bitch

She is easily one of, If not the most evil human character we've ever met.

Up until this point everything seems fine. Asa is willing to try to move on from her mother's death for the good of those around her by letting Crambon move on as well. It's a moment of personal growth.

This bastard could've easily said "Yes, Crambon's fine" even if it was a lie. But instead:

I don't know if this is Asa's mind making the situation worse than it actually was. She might not have even said this but the way Chainsaw Man does it's flashback they're rarely if ever wrong due to human memory being at fault. This demon of a person was so upset about Asa having literally anything to find comfort in that she killed Crambon. Back to the real world we get some more information on the attack.

Reading through this chapter I thought they this was going to be a literal falling attack. Where Falling just lifts up a bunch of people and drops them to die. But the reality is much worse. Anyone who is unable to deal with their Trauma is dragged straight into hell. This is a Therapy Session by Fire. You WILL overcome your emotional baggage or die. Which is why it's important it's Asa in control of the body right now. Since Asa is the one who has to overcome her Trauma to escape this situation. Thats the end of 123. Time to the-- Uh.. I don't know what to call this section. Post-Chapter analyses? Whatever. Now I think the solution to Falling's attack has already been revealed. Chapter 102 was when we got the flashback of Asa's Mother's Death. In the same chapter we get a flashback of Yuko giving Asa her shoes. It's the same chapter when Asa resolves to try and be better.

Even if Yuko is gone now she'll still have an affect on Asa. I hope this is the case cause that'd be nice. Here's what I think we're gonna be seeing in the coming chapter(s) 1. Asa is able to accept that her past Trauma can't be changed and that it wasn't her fault. (Hopefully we get that Yuko mention in some way cmon) 2. Denji shows up and has to deal with his own issues fully (Unless the attack has ended by then) This last one I'm not confident will happen but it'd be cool. We see the first death of a Primal Fear at the hands of Denji & Asa/Yoru. Additionally I wanna know what the deal with Falling is. Her whole theming is rather weird. She's the falling devil yet she's a chef? It doesn't quite seem like something a Primal Fear would do. But I guess they can have hobbies as well? That's all I've got for now. 123 End Question:

Would you?

#chainsaw man #chainsaw man 123 #csm #csm manga #csm 123 #falling devil #asa mitaka

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loremaster · 9 months ago

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the premise of rain code band au

so you have context for whatever i end up drawing for it

so yakou started out in a band with yomi and friends (probably like. seth and dominic... no martina yet), he was the guitarist and yomi was the singer... they definitely dated though neither of them would ever admit to it now

but yomi of course is an asshole with a big ego that keeps getting worse, yakou puts up with it until he meets his (future) wife who convinces him to stand up for himself. yomi of course does not take it well, invites martina into the band and starts dating her instead. yakou gets ostracized by the rest of the group and quits the band, settles down, gets married.

she isn't a musician but she's still got a beautiful singing voice. she loves to sing along to his guitar playing. but eventually she dies (probably due to medical malpractice. fucking huesca) and yakou gets so depressed he doesn't touch his guitar again for years

meanwhile the whole world is obsessed with famous pop idol SHINIGAMI!!!!!! despite (or because of?) her abrasive personality she has tons of die-hard fans... but nobody knows anything about her personal life. she's a total mystery off the stage!

shinigami's success is really due to yuma and makoto (twins??? idk). makoto is her pr manager who handles her public image and her schedule; yuma is her creative director and songwriter, the genius behind her catchy tunes.

yuma is very competent at his job but is not enjoying his life. he feels immense responsibility for her success, and overworks himself so shinigami can keep topping the charts. he's not much fun to be around, and doesn't trust anyone else with his duties. shinigami and makoto conspire against him for his own sake, and fire him - or at least, send him on an indefinite leave. shinigami says his songs are shit. he takes her seriously.

yuma is moping down the streets when he meets yakou, also down on his luck... yakou takes pity on the kid and gives him a place to stay. he has no idea who yuma really is, and yuma doesn't tell him - mostly because of the shame of being fired. so yakou treats him like an unpaid intern.

somehow yuma ends up inspiring yakou to pick up his guitar again... which inspires yakou to put out a flyer for band auditions. he's not expecting any responses, but halara, desuhiko, fubuki, and vivia show up and he's impressed with all four of them!!! NOW THEY'RE A BAND!!!!

but... they start out as a cover band because they have no original songs. (desuhiko tries to write original songs. they are very bad.) yuma wants to help but he doesn't want to make himself a big deal... so he ends up sneakily slipping a song he's anonymously written under the studio door for yakou to find. the song is great... but the other band members can't seem to get the hang of it.

from then on the story would take more of an episodic nature, where yuma gets to know each of the band members' idiosyncrasies and learn how to write music (still anonymously) that fits their style. (i'd actually imagine the audience wouldn't know yuma's deal yet either, that'd be like... an end of the season reveal. i guess i'm imagining this as an anime huh) and in spending time with each of them he gets to actually befriend them as well and invigorate their passion for the band and willingness to work together. each time they'd get a cool new song that has a cool new solo for the focus character/instrument of each... episode? yeah

i'm going to post more about what those individual character based adventures will be later (feel free to supplement with your own ideas)

for now i am tired good night

#rain code #master detective archives #mdarc #yuma kokohead #yakou furio #others mentioned but it's mostly about these 2 and how they meet #i cannot be tempted to withhold spoilers for another au i got shit to do #so yall get this wip. enjoy

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elfhunk · 22 days ago

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if i may ramble for a moment:

i need to start volunteering in some youth programs again when my health stuff is sorted out.

i have been dealing with a lot. i am definitely pretty sick in the brain. i will remain private about the gruesome detail, but i have had to check in with myself a lot lately. it hasn't been scary. just a new phase.

but i am walking away with a singular feeling of needing to survive so i can be a better role model for men & boys than they have currently. they deserve better than this.

like... what are their options presently? twitch streamers and youtubers who are affable nice boys? grindset libertarian gym rats & supplement shills? or, y'know, fascists?

or in... increasing frequency, a combination of the three!

in an environment where we mock or patronize even the slightest deviations from hegemonic masculinity to declare carrying a tote bag as fruity.

i can't help but observe a tendency to either minimize yourself into a harmless clown, or become addicted to the pursuit of power & superiority.

i can't help but see people who describe their ideal man as a golden retriever and take pause. a feeling of dread that hits my stomach every time i look in the mirror in the gym bathroom.

i often wonder if anyone wants us to be more than that. i don't know what to do with that feeling. but i know what many other men have done with that feeling. you do, too.

it's not an insignificant piece of how we got here.

i've joked with other people who've worked in youth programs that our job was to keep young white boys from becoming nazis.

and i need to be direct. this is an issue white boys & men are facing. this is our problem.

i am looking at exit poll data and remembering how important that job was.

because i have talked to a lot of boys who still feel like there's no space for them to be a complete human being in contemporary culture.

they feel like their existence is fundamentally harmful, and that the only way to achieve a "positive" masculinity is to ask for nothing and to receive nothing in return. to be stoic and stalwart. to be an impenetrable knight in shining armor with nothing inside. they live in a perpetual state of dimly simmering shame, worried that they are only making the world worse by their existence.

most suffer silently. brief admissions of vulnerability shared usually around some kind of fire. they worry they're burdening their partners with the emotions labor. so they shut up. they man up.

or, they fall prey to the ideology promising them that their rightful place in the world has been stolen. there is a reason they're sad. there's a reason they're angry. the reason is that they no longer have the mandate of heaven. and that it must be reclaimed by force.

and that is why am worried about men.

i want to help. even if i can barely help myself out of these cyclical & self-destructive expectations.

i can't pretend that i am above this as a gay man. it's important that i don't pretend. it's important that i acknowledge the parts of me that beg me to be less of a faggot so i could just fit in and get that power back. i have to shut that part of me up. the parts of me that still fetishize images of male power and domination without a second thought.

i have to start having these conversations with the other men in my life.

there's something really not okay with us.

that's it. thank you for listening, if you are reading the thoughts of one horse who has been without ADHD medication for well over a month but has entered a sort of dissociated zen state.

it's just been the one salient thought i have had all day on the matter.

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ming-sik · 5 months ago

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worldbuilding is like drawing backgrounds in that the main obstacle people have to it is conceptualizing worldbuilding and story as two separate parts of the story when the worldbuilding of a book is quite literally part of the story. the elements of the world that are established by the plot are worldbuilding, characters' backstories are worldbuilding, and the different forces that affect the narrative are worldbuilding. it is apparently really tempting to dismiss all wordbuilding criticisms as nitpicky or just say that i shouldn't have expected any better, but the reason i'm irritated that ascendance of a bookworm's linguistics are underdeveloped is that it affects the story, since the ancient language which is a major plot point becomes incredibly vague and unsatisfying because the languages of YS are simply not developed enough for it to be a load-bearing narrative element. this is also why i actually don't care if the fanbooks explained my complaints, because i know better than anyone that if you're good enough at spitballing you can just keep making excuses forever(even if those excuses make things worse), but even if an explanation was invented at some point, the worldbuilding of the actual story is what matters because that's really no better than saying "sure, the dialogue is bad, but the author wrote some extra dialogue that kind of fixes the pacing issue. it's in a fanbook that was written after the series was finished and there's no specific place in the actual books where it fits".

and also, most importantly, i judge worldbuilding not by its depth but by its quality. i am a reasonable man. i love akyaku reijou tensei oji-san to bits and its worldbuilding is thin as tissue paper because they establish exactly what they need to for whatever plot point to work and nothing else, but because the introduced elements do actually support the narrative and comedy i have no complaints! the one within the villainess' world is set up for a single hero to sweep it, but that plays into the story's theme of this world being a video game set up for a single protagonist to sweep so it's the differences that are interesting, and the main strength of the story are the character dynamics which are facilitated by the worldbuilding. i don't know why all of you fucking hate worldbuilding so much, personally i find it fun to learn how the world around me works and think about how aspects of it might work in a different world, but i don't actually need to be condescendingly told that AoB isn't meant to have the most watertight worldbuilding ever. if the worldbuilding was only what the story needed to move forward BUT those elements were interesting, cohesive, and thematically satisfying, i would not be hating. but they're NOT. despite banking so hard on random worldbuilding elements, everything in AoB is so poorly developed that nothing that ever hinges on a piece of worldbuilding feels narratively satisfying and not like it was pulled out of the author's ass just now.

but finally and most importantly, i don't fucking care if Kazuki had fun, why does the story contain not one but TWO evil foreign nations(one of whose etymology is "STINGY GREED") and zero other mentioned countries with the Ahrensbach commoners who share a border with Lanzenave being so unfamiliar with them that they exclusively call them "foreigners" and are relieved that they're "purged"? Why do they kidnap noblewomen as breeding slaves? It can't be that YS' view of them is inaccurate because it's repeatedly stated to be objectively true in universe because the worldbuilding of AoB just has it that Lanzenave is identical to a middle eastern stereotype country. i don't give a fuck about logistical explanations for this worldbuilding, the result is that it is xenophobic, and i think our protagonists enacting THE PURGE OF LANZENAVE at the action climax where all the greedy rapist drug lord warmongering foreigners are turned into slaves is conceptually bad.

this is BAD. i am CRITICIZING AOB and saying that it is a BAD STORY because this aspect MEANS THAT THE STORY IS BAD. i understand that i tend to phrase things neutrally but i am making a VALUE JUDGEMENT that this is a PROBLEM.

#'are you saying characters are never allowed to do morally bad things' no but you can certainly wilfully misinterpret me that way

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discobrainrot · 2 years ago

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did you say to ask for more harrykim hc? bc i want some more!! it can be canon or au (any of your choice) im not picky

LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

You're getting Canon Kim and Harry this time, but if someone sends me another (without specifying) I'll probably do Swap AU stuff!

1. It's not just Harry who's in love with Kim - it's Harry's Skills.

Whether they're something that occurred because of Pale Exposure or a symptom of something else, they're a part of him. His Skills are how he experiences the world. It's just as much them romancing Kim as it is him.

So when Harry falls in love, every Skill falls hard and fast, too. The INT Skills, particularly Logic, are taken with Kim's mind. The PSY Skills admire his dedication (to his passions, to the RCM, to his partner), and Volition is relieved that they've been drawn to such an (outwardly) stable force.

The FYS skills got it bad - Shivers sees how Kim fits into Revachol's greater puzzle like a missing piece. Electrochemistry has... a lot to say.

But the MOT Skills? Oh god. They're obsessed. Kim is cool, calm, and collected. He loves machines. Even with his eyesight, he's still a damn good shot. He's so suave. They. Want. Him. So. Bad.

At the end of the day, Kim is romancing one person in 25 parts. It's all-encompassing, and at first, it's strange. But after a time, he can't imagine being loved another way

2. Kim didn't expect Harry to stay interested in him.

Look, I can't picture Harry as anything other than a scatterbrain. It's partly because of my scatterbrained way of playing the damn game, but it's my headcanon, and I'll cry if I want to.

So, when they first met, Kim watched Harry flit around Martinaise like a speed fuelled (or until-recently-speed-fueled) bumblebee. He buzzes around, finds something, pursues it for a while, then sets it down and forgets. Kim watches Harry blow past his old partner without a word and worries that he might be in Jean's place one day.

Well, almost Jean's position. Maybe a worse one. It's not a stretch to imagine Harry getting distracted or bored of Kim. But this is the happiest he's felt in a long time, so he decides to ride it out. Take the joy where he can. He'll deal with the hurt when it comes.

But then Harry doesn't get bored of him. Instead, he wants more. And more. And more.

And then Harry stays over at Kim's place on weekends.

And they're investing in more board games. And Harry knows just the way Kim likes his coffee. And he makes dinner whenever he comes over. And, oh, Harry's lease is almost up, so he might as well move in. And he buys posters and photos to hang up. And he paints "This Is Something Beautiful" on their bedroom wall. And Kim knows he won't get his deposit back, but he doesn't fucking care.

And then it's been a year, and Harry has some of his old memories back, but mostly he's been making new ones. And anyone who matters to them knows what's happening, but no one says a word. And they don't hold hands in public, but the look Harry gives Kim lets him know how badly he wants to.

And then it's been a few more years, and they move to a different apartment. And the heaters don't work, but that's okay because they keep each other warm in the winter. And Harry holds Kim close as they dance in the kitchen. And Kim's vision is getting worse, and Harry's got a bad heart, but they live the best lives they can. And they plan a wedding that they know they'll probably never have.

And Kim pretends he doesn't hear the city as she speaks into his heart.

And Harry pretends he doesn't hear Kim cry when he realizes they can't stop what's coming.

And then it's been so many years that their grey hairs outnumber all the others. And Harry doesn't talk about La Retour, but Kim sees how much he thinks about it. And he holds Harry's hand in public because it feels like the world is ending anyways. And the corners of Harry's eyes crinkle when he smiles, and it still makes Kim's heart swim even after so many years. And Harry still sees a halo behind Kim's head.

And they dance between detritus and rubble as an old radio plays. And they remember their kitchen. And they say the names of old friends. And far away, someone smiles and says theirs.

And La Revacholiere holds them in her broken arms and cries. And they hold her in their lungs. And they cry with her because of their loss. And they cry with her because they've survived.

And they love.

3. Harry has, like, big I'm A Bottom energy, right?

Right???????

#kimharry #harrykim #Disco Elysium Shipping #Disco Shipping #Misc Ask #Ask Meme #DE Hot Take #I'm not sorry for any of this <3

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lestappeninchidents · 2 years ago

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I've already been in a pitiful emotional state for days now, reading real nonsense about Charles' talent is putting me even more on edge. I do think I understand why he's so hard on himself, it's because everyone is waiting for him to come around and never let him make a mistake like he has to be a war machine.

I would love to see these people criticizing him, behind the wheel to see if they do better. Then to compare him to Max or Lewis as if they never made a mistake, is a real bullshit. Has everyone forgotten Max's debut?

He wanted to be on top all the time so badly in his early days, that it earned him the nickname crashstappen. It was a horrible nickname. What allowed Max to reach the top was the evolution of his mind as he got older and wiser. He was able to let go at certain levels.

Because Charles crashed during free practice and made a mistake at the French GP, so that's it, he's finished and he'll never become world champion? No, but seriously, you'd think Rome was built in a day. One day it's Charles, one day it's the team, one day it's Fred who doesn't make decisions fast enough, one day it's Carlos (even if I don’t have him in my heart, he's still a good punching bag for people it needs be say).

At some point, you have to give time to time and the right to make mistakes. Even if I love Max, I wish we could stop comparing them in this way. They didn't have the same education, nor the same background. Max arrived very young in F1, he had more years to perfect himself (this is not a bad criticism, it's a fact) and above all he has a team that lets him make mistakes because he is HUMAN. A diamond needs to be polished to become a jewel, that's exactly the case with Max. I’m proud of what Max became and how he succeeded to just let it go some things that allow to him the champion he’s today. And it will be the case of Charles, I’m sure. It drives me crazy to read that Charles doesn't have the mind. The mind of what??? LOL anyone in his place would have gone crazy with what happened at Ferrari. I would have just crying at each interview and insulting everyone.

Lewis is already having a hard time with what is happening at Mercedes, even though he is an immense champion. Can you imagine how he would have finished if he had been with a team like Ferrari? Charles has the best mental state, as does Pierre, who has been suffering for years. It's a miracle that he hasn't been spun around in an interview or on the radio. Then let's stop criticizing Vasseur, he's the only Ferrari director for a while who takes his balls to say stop. We don't fire everyone in one day to hire the first person who comes along.

I repeat, Rome was not built in a day, a concrete plan, a strategy is worked on over months. People are too bad with Charles, they can't find a fault, so we need someone who doesn't fit into the cliché of the virulent and aggressive pilot off the track. So clearly we are still in the policy that being humble and calm is being weak. I understand better now why people are rotten to the bone, this vision of thinking represents well the problems that affects F1 for years that only gets worse. We criticize the FIA, but these kind of "fans" contribute to this degradation.

#f1 #charles leclerc #formula one #max verstappen #formula 1 #ferrari #cl16 #shame on these people who’s the audacity to say these kind of things like if it’s a fact…#it’s a miracle that charles succeeded to be vice champion last year with happened everybody forgot it of course #< we keep only the negative thoughts it’s always more easy #lestappen #< they look like each other but they’re not the same they’re completing each other

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sissytobitch10seconds · 5 months ago

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Running

Fandom: Helluva Boss Summary: Blitz's shit day gets even worse when he sees a familiar face. It spurs him into something horrible that he can't really take back, but at least he didn't hurt anyone else this time. Warnings: Depression, PTSD, anxiety, binge drinking, explicit depictions of poverty, and manic episodes Word Count: 5,600 Ship(s): Blitzo Buckzo & Loona

Archive link!

A/N: So I saw a post asking for a fic of Blitz scribbling his face out of all the pictures in his apartment and this is what it turned into. For those of you who don't know, I'm very into Blitz and all of his messy, messy angst so it was really fun for me to get deep into it. This fic is heavy, so make sure to read the tags and proceed with caution if any of those things could trigger you. Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3

The streets of Imp City were overflowing with people, both sinners and other imps. It was hard to navigate them on a good day but it felt as though he were back in the circus when he tried to push his way through them now.

He’d had another shit day, which wasn’t exactly rare for him. He was good at beginning to dig a hole and then just never stopping, at least until he reached bedrock or the shovel was taken from him by someone that had more common sense. He’d been like that all his life, which was how he had ended up where he was instead of on top of the world like a lot of other imps from his circus had.

The billboard for Fizz’s newest show appeared just in time to remind him how much of a failure he really was.

The two of them had been best friends for years, ever since Fizz was left at the circus and the attempt to find his mother had been for naught. They had been joined at the hip from that moment onward, always practicing and performing with each other. When they got older they grew apart as they began to find the niches that fit them best. Blitz began to perform exclusively with Barbie because the twin angle was a really good selling point, but he was always right beside his best friend as soon as he was off the trapeze or highwire. Fizz had seemed to like it, sharing all the same interests as Blitz even if their interests became different as they grew up.

Then the fire had happened. Blitz still wasn’t quite sure why the tent had lit so quickly or why the fireworks had been stored inside of the giant canvas death trap they worked in every day, but he had lost everything on that day. He had been turned away from his best friend’s bedside not only after the fire, but every month that he returned to try and contact him. Eventually he had just given up trying, Fizz didn’t want to see him and now he knew why.

While Blitz had been shoved out of the circus and had no one to fall back on, Fizz had a massive corporate sponsor. He had gotten the best prosthetics and a place to live while he was recovering. Blitz had gotten the cheapest fake eye that money could steal and had lived on the streets for an entire year before he had gotten his first job at Loo Loo Land. Fizz had been able to pursue the dream that he’d had, getting hoards of adoring fans and billboards in all seven rings. Blitz was struggling to keep his business from closing and putting all of his friends and family out of house and home.

He knew that he deserved it, since the fire was his fault in the first place. His father had read him the riot act after he had woken up in the hospital, it was a lecture he was never going to forget.

He tried to shake those words off of his shoulders now. They were ringing through is head and falling out of his ears so that they doused his body with the uncomfortable memories of what his life had been like back then. But it had been almost fifteen years and he was an adult, not some kid that was desperately vying for any kind of adult approval that he could get.

The reminder that he was an adult and didn’t need the approval of those around him reminded him of the options that he had to deal with his bad day. The customers that had spat in his face to seethed too long about how shit their lives had been wouldn’t be able to stick with him if he scrubbed the wounds that they had created off with some alcohol. He was technically supposed to be heading down to the store so that he could pick up some dinner for him and Loona, but she had mentioned something about going out with some friends.

While Blitz was glad that she was getting to know more hellhounds, he wasn’t sure if he totally approved of the crowd that she was hanging out with now. They pulled her away from him whenever they got a chance, which he could understand since she was a young person still living at home with her adoptive father. It hurt him, though, because when he had first adopted her she had followed him around wherever he went just to make sure that he wasn��t going to send her back to the pound like her last couple adopters had. She had since learned that he was exactly the opposite and she wasn’t too keen on that either, so she was pushing him away so that she could have her own space.

With that being said, he knew that she wouldn’t be at home. The last couple times that he had tried to get her to spend some quality time with him, even just as friends instead of father-and-daughter, she had bailed so that she could spend time with people that were more her speed. He knew that he would have done the same when he was a teenager or young adult, if he hadn’t lost his mother to those damn hellfire flames.

The memories were piling onto his mind and refusing to leave him alone, which just hardened his resolve. He turned at the corner where he was meant to continue going straight and began to search for whatever skeevy dive bar he could drink dry and run out on. Most of the establishments like that in Imp City were run by sinners, so he didn’t really give a shit if they lost a bunch of money on him. They’d already had a chance at life and he was on his first, so they could pay to let him forget all of the shit that was haunting him.

He found one without having to do too much searching. The first bar he had come across was overflowing with drunk college-age imps, so he had passed it by and instead come to the one a little further down the block. It was only six o’clock in the evening so there were very few people inside, for Hell that was. Thirty people all drinking and talking amongst each other felt like something that he could handle in the bad mood that he was in. He hadn’t quite gotten to the point where he needed to drown his sorrows in the biggest bottle of alcohol that he could find, yet.

The establishment wasn’t the shittiest place that he had ever been, but it also wasn’t really nice in any sense of the word. The wood of the walls had peeling wallpaper around the seams and at the top, in a way that spoke of too many humid days and not enough upkeep. The wallpaper itself was a nice yellow color, likely to disguise all the cigarette smoke that he collected there in a way that the ceiling simply couldn’t. The ground was covered in a collection of peanut shells, hay, and sawdust. The seats were all made of the same dark wood as the floor, underneath all the clutter, but the stools had some dark red fabric on them that was beginning to peel away from the base of the seat. The walls were mostly barren except for a couple framed and signed pictures of the Sins of Pride and Gluttony.

He sat down on one of the barstools as far away from everyone else as he could get. He waited for the bartender to pop up from where they were down inside of the bar, fixing the soda machine. It was one of the only bad things about drinking that late into the evening, that being that he had to put up with the repairs and maintenance of the establishment before he could get served.

Blitz felt his heart stop and then jump into his throat when he saw that the bartender of this particular place happened to be a Fizzbot. They were colored according to the bar, with yellow colored skin instead of the white that was common on most other Fizzies and red clothing with the symbol of the bar on their chest.

“I thought that this place was run by a succubus,” Blitz blurted out before he could think of anything better to say. He had never had a good relationship with the robot versions of his childhood best friend, mostly because the first one that he had ever dealt with had been when he was working in Loo Loo Land. That job had been the worst thing that had happened to him because of when it had come into his life and the kinds of things that he had been put through while he was trying to earn enough money to stay afloat. At least with IMP he had some say about where he was going to be on most days, even if the deal with Stolas was beginning to get to be too much.

“What, you don’t want to flirt with me, Blitzo?” the Robo-Fizz asked with a wink of one of his red eyes.

A cold shot rang through Blitz all at once. He had thought that the Fizzbot in Loo Loo Land had heckled and jeered at him because that was what it was supposed to do. There was a show for the children that included a lot of jabs at the parents so that they would spend a lot of money trying to dunk the Fizzbot afterwards, not that they would ever be able to get that stupid paddle to move more than a centimeter backwards. He had assumed that the robot knew his name because he worked there, it was a device that was made to remember the names and faces of the people that were in the park so that it could convince kids to come back again.

The fact that an entirely different model knew his name and was already trying to heckle him meant something that he wasn’t sure was going to sit entirely well with him. He had never come to the bar before, outside of peaking in so that he could collect M&M when they were getting ready to go on another job, which was how he had known about the other bartender. This robot knew his name and what kinds of things he liked without ever having met him before.

“How do you know my name?” Blitz managed to get out around the panic that was clogging his throat.

“I know all about you, Blitzo! After all, how can all of Hell not be aware of the firestarter that almost ruined their favorite jester?” the Robo-Fizz asked. He was speaking softer now, so that the other patrons in the bar wouldn’t be able to hear what he was saying. Blitz was beginning to regret coming to the bar at this time of night, if he had come later there might have been enough people that he could persuade someone to buy him a drink instead of having to deal with a being that hated him without even knowing why.

“I didn’t- It was an accident,” he got out around a choked voice.

“What? I just asked if you wanted the firestarter jester,” the Robo-Fizz cackled at him. “Are you sure that you didn’t already come in drunk, friendo?”

That was something that he wasn’t expecting.

Blitz was fully aware that he had spent most of his childhood daydreaming instead of actually paying attention to the world around him, but none of his daydreams had ever gone that far. He had heard about people regressing back into nightmares or memories when they were faced with something that triggered them back to a traumatic part of his life, but he didn’t want to admit that what happened to Fizz had fucked him up so bad he wasn’t even hearing people speak properly to him.

He slipped off of his seat and said, “Suddenly, I’m not thirsty anymore.”

He was once again glad that there was barely anyone else in the bar because only a few of them turned their heads to follow him as he stumbled out of the bar. He was so glad that he wasn’t in one of the better establishments where an underpaid bouncer would have to walk him to his apartment to make sure that he didn’t die on the way home. Even though they were in Hell and the sinners had lowered a lot of the moral values that the hellborn used to have, it was important to bars and restaurants that they be known as a safe place to come. All of the places where people went when they wanted it to be a bloodsport were in Wrath and Envy, not Pride.

Blitz stopped when he got a few doors down and placed a hand on his head. He couldn’t get Fizz off his mind, and not the way that he had been struggling with when he was a teenager. Instead of images of what their future might be like, what Fizz might taste like when they kissed, or the way that his body leached warmth when they cuddled together, the only thing that he could hear was the jeering from every person that he had ever loved. Fizz was the loudest, informing him that he was truly unloveable and even if he had managed to get himself together long enough to actually confess, there was no way that it would have been reciprocated.

Then came the image of his most recent girlfriend, the relationship that he had actually tried to sustain before he had given it up to try out hook-up culture. Verosika had been so pretty and so kind to him in the beginning, whispering sweet things every time he wrapped an arm around her waist when they were at a bar. She had gotten so mean towards the end when he was pulling away from her to try and save himself. He didn’t blame her for doing that, he had been the worst boyfriend in the entire world to her and no doubt deserved everything she had dolled out and more. The last thing that she had said to him had been over the phone when she was screaming at him for taking her car and maxing out her credit cards, which was the end of their last ever date.

You are completely and entirely unlovable, Blitzo Buckzo.

He knew that it was true. The only person that had really loved him was his mother, and the only reason for that was because she was a good mom and he was her child. He couldn’t imagine Tilla as anything but a doting, adoring parent who would love him despite all his faults while also pushing him to do better and go further. She had loved him even when he had messed up his routine, even when he had flubbed some of the numbers on the accounts to try and get the circus a little bit of savings, even when he and his sister were in the worst spat they’d had to date.

Barbie might have loved him at some point, but she had left the same way that everyone he adored did. She had been his other half, his mirror in many ways so that she completed him the way that the reverse side of a coin did. The reason that they worked so well together when it came to performing on the high wire was specifically because of that bond they’d had together. She hadn’t ever put herself in the line of fire when his dad was screaming at him, but he wouldn’t ask her to. She was more delicate than he was and he had always been there to protect her. Until he had lit the only home that they had ever known and gotten their mother killed.

He hadn’t even realized that he was walking until he almost ran into someone on the sidewalk. The stout sinner turned to cuss at him in a language that he didn’t understand and he just took off. He knew the way back to his and Loona’s apartment like the back of his hand from anywhere in the city, so he didn’t have to think about that as he ran. He just focused on the way that his heart was hammering above the voices in his head and how his lungs burned while they tried to drag in the sulfurous air of his home.

He raced up the steps of the apartment as quickly as he could and then had to stop. He stood in front of the door with his hands shaking so badly that he could barely even separate his house keys from the clicker for the van. Finally, he shoved the key into the lock and opened it so that he could fling himself inside. He slammed the door shut and crumbled down against the finished wood, as if that would somehow make him less noticeable to the voices that were following him around in his own head.

Blitz brought his knees up to his chest as he placed his hands over his ears to try and drown out the thoughts plaguing him. He had been doing so well, putting on such a brave face to the people around him at work and coming into his office. He couldn’t believe that it was all crumbling down around him because of one shitty day at work and the bartender where he was going to drink his sorrows ended up being a Fizzbot.

At the reminder of alcohol, he tossed his keys down beside him and then got up so that he could find what was left in the liquor cabinet. Loona must have raided it recently because the only thing that they had was an entire vat of Millie’s awful apple cider from the year before.

He normally would have just rolled his eyes and instead chosen to eat nothing but dry cereal right out of the box, but he needed something to take off the edge so desperately that he was willing to risk the stomach ache he had gotten the last time he had tried it. So he wrapped his hand around the top of the massive bottle and yanked it out of the cabinet, not even bothering to close the door. He walked over to the kitchen counter and pried the stopper out of the top, which released the sickly sweet aroma into the air. Millie apparently used to make this with her parents back when she lived in the ranch in Wrath, but she had a specific type of apple tree that simply couldn’t be found in Pride back then. The type of apples that had been used for the cider were the wrong ones, far too sweet and thus making a much stronger alcohol than was comfortable going with the flavor.

It was exactly what Blitz needed right now, he reminded himself when he almost put the stopper back onto the bottle. He discarded it down to the ground and then took a massive swig from the top. It burned the sides of his mouth and along his gums before it warmed his throat and stomach. He felt like he had when the Fizzbot at Loo Loo Land had dared him to eat a chili pepper from earth on stage and he had spent the rest of the night in agonizing pain. He wanted that feeling again, wanted to be reminded that the anguish plaguing him wasn’t something that had to stay in the unphysical realm of his mind.

He drank from the bottle until he felt like he was going to puke and then set it down. He let the alcohol flow into his system and numb the pain in his mind, as well as the tips of his fingers and toes. He hadn’t even noticed that he was crying until he felt the water dripping off his chin and onto the counter he was standing in front of.

All he could think about was the fire, even though the pain felt different now that he was bathing in the last remaining alcoholic beverage in their home. He had thought that getting drunk would make his bad day better, and in some ways it had, but in other ways it had made it so much worse.

He could still smell the burning flesh from his best friend, and the aftereffects that came with fireworks, stinging his nose. The scars on his hands and face ached with the reminder of when he had gotten them. He could hear Cash telling him that Fizz would never want to see someone like him, that he was holding his best friend back from the life that he really deserved. He could hear Barbie saying that she didn’t want to see him and that he was going to ruin her chances on getting out of rehab clean. He could hear Verosika, the most recent of the people he had driven away when they were trying to love him, reminding him that those around him would be far better off if they didn’t have to put up with him.

His body was moving on his own then, searching the house for the one device that would fix the problem.

His apartment was relatively barren despite the fact that he had lived there for over half a decade. The walls were painted the same shade of blue that they had been when he had first moved in despite his landlord’s offer to change the color when the other places around him were renovated. They had a couple of holes in the wall from accidents when he had brought his one night stands home before adopting Loona. Her door was the most decorated place in the main part of the house, with all of the caution tape and ‘do not enter’ signs plastered over it. The only thing that he had ever bothered to put up were the photos that he had collected or recovered.

A lot of them were the ones that he had taken when he had first started IMP. He had a set done with him and Loona were she was scowling and looking unimpressed at the camera or at him. The longer that he looked at the photos, the more he noticed that he was the only one smiling in them consistently. He had thought it was funny the way that his friends and family were scowling at him when he took the pictures, he knew that he was overbearing and overwhelming on a good day. Now all he could see was the moments that they were going to pull away from him, the actions that stepped over their boundaries and made them hate him like he had done with all the others.

He found the item that he had been looking for and then uncapped it. The smell of marker and cider mixed together in his mind and made him feel slightly nauseous, but he pressed on. He walked over to the wall and took the first photo off the wall, opening the back with his fingers until the tips were bruised and uncomfortable, so that he could remove the picture from the frame. He then flipped it over on the ground and scribbled out his face so that the smiling, grinning idiot staring back at him was finally silenced once and for all.

After the first one, a sense of mania took over him and he couldn’t stop. He took down each of the picture frames, one by one, and pried them open. He didn’t stop when he heard the wood or glass inside warping with his frenzy to get inside. A couple of the backs snapped when he was a little too rough with them, but all he did was wince.

His lungs burned again, like they had when he was running. In a way, he was running again. He was running from the pain that he brought people and the anguish that he would be plagued with when they left him again. He wasn’t literally running away from his problems, his legs were stagnant and his muscles weren’t aching from the exertion. He was running away from the future that was staring him in the face, just over the horizon and yet far too close. The words of the Fizzbot, of all the people that he had loved before the fire, and the imagined words of the people he loved now were ringing in his ears. It made him not want to stop even after his fingers had been cut open by the nails in the walls and the fixtures on the back of the frames. He couldn’t stop running, not until the future was nothing more than a blacked out abyss.

The marker had left black ink all over his hands and the alcohol sat heavy in his stomach. He got up from the floor where he had opened the last picture frame and then wandered over to the couch, collapsing down on top of it. He was still crying, his body making him more drunk by dehydrating him the entire time that he was going through his crisis. The blackness of the marker on his hands consumed his eyes and mind as he passed out.

---

Loona smiled awkwardly at her friends as they dropped her off in front of her apartment building. She didn’t really like them all that much, but she was desperate to have some connection back to the realm that she had come from. She was grateful to Blitz for adopting her and giving her a job so that she wasn’t put down by the pound for getting too old. She really was, even if she never showed it. Despite all the love he gave her and all the attempts he had made to make her feel comfortable, he would never make a pack. That was something that only other Hellhounds were going to be able to give her.

She wasn’t sure that the girls that she had been hanging out with were going to be able to fulfill that need either, though. It felt like they did genuinely want her around sometimes, they would invite her to things and make sure that they included her in the conversation which was a first. However, there were moments and things that the others did that made her worry that they didn’t really want her in their friend group and were just doing it because they took pity on her.

Her brain was full of stormy thoughts as she walked up the long staircases to her apartment. She found that the door was open, which meant that there had either been a break in or her adoptive father had made it home before her. After the day that he’d had at the office, she was surprised that he was home before two in the morning when even the scummiest of bars would begin to close down.

Loona opened the door and then immediately realized why he had been home before her. The entire apartment reeked of the cider that they had left fermenting in the back of the liquor cabinet after Millie had given it to them. Loona had been meaning to throw it out for months but only ever remembered that it was there when she was getting them both something to drink, which was never a time when she wanted to do physical labor in any sense of the word. The stuff was basically corrosive to anyone that tried to drink it, they had all gotten really sick after they had opened the first batch. Millie was the only one with the constitution to last through the bellyache that came after the first sip. Loona certainly hoped that the drinking experience had gotten better in the time that it’d had to stew in the cupboard.

The next thing that she spotted when she closed the door behind her was that all of their pictures had been taken off of the walls and were scattered outside of their frames on the floor.

She dropped her bag down next to the counter and walked first to the open bottle of cider. She placed the cap over it so that she didn’t have to smell the heavy alcohol as she worked. She then made her way back over to where the pictures were, the ones closest to the door ad picked the first one up.

Loona felt her heart sink low into her gut when she saw what had happened. It looked like a four-year-old had been released into their apartment with a marker and help. The picture was one that they had taken of the entier group when they had opened IMP for the first time, with all four of them standing in front of the brand new embossed door and grinning at the camera. She was standing further away from him than M&M were and wasn’t even smiling that much. She was pretty sure that she could even see her phone in her hand and her finger flipping through social media posts.

Guilt began to creep up the back of her throat like bad heartburn. She knew that she had been tough on him as she searched for that fabled feeling of pack, but she had never thought that it was that bad. Something inside of her was broken, she knew that. It was why she had never gotten adopted when she was in the pound and why she had trouble genuinely keeping friends.

She tried to ignore the feeling as she collected the frames and pictures, placing them in the biggest open space in their living room. Eventually, the guilt eating her up became so big that there was no way she was going to be able to ignore it, so she had to do something that would satiate it instead of simply making it more ravenous.

She laid all the pictures down on the ground and then picked her adoptive father up, laying him down properly on the couch. She placed a pillow under his head and rolled him to the side so that his face was out towards the windows and the TV instead of directly up at their ceiling. She removed his jacket and button up shirt so that he was in nothing but his wifebeater and a pair of boxers. She wasn’t going to go so far as to put him in his pajamas, that felt strangely like it was invading his privacy and might also go poorly if they had to do extra laundry with their limited funds. So instead, she placed the horse blanket from the back of the couch over him and tucked a trashcan right next to his face at the side of the couch.

For extra points towards removing her guilty conscious, she plugged his phone into the charger next to his end table and then got a glass of water, some imp pain killers, and some crackers set out next to it so he would find them when he woke up.

“I don’t know why you did this, but I’m going to fix it for you, Dad. Lucifer knows that you’ve fixed my mistakes enough that this is basically just a simple return,” Loona mumbled to herself once the task was done.

She returned back to the stacks of pictures and frames. Every single one of them had Blitz’s face blackened by the marker she had found still clutched in his hands when she was cleaning them up. There was no way that she was going to be able to get that off the same way that she might have if it were pencil of even pen. She just tucked them back into their frames and then closed them up with the side of her claws to avoid pressure bruises on the pads of her fingers. She removed the negatives or extra copies that he had missed from the back of the frames and kept them in a neat stack that was to go in her bedroom as soon as she had finished.

By the time that her normal time to go to sleep had rolled around, each of the picture frames had been returned to where they had been when they left for work the day before. The pictures were never going to be the same, each of them with Blitz’s face and only his face, blacked out with the ink from his marker. The only one that had survived was the blackened photo of himself and two female imps inside of his wallet, so Loona took a picture of that with her phone to make sure she could have it copied if anything happened to it too.

One day she might know why her father had decided to do what he had done, she might understand why he had adopted her as well. One day she might be able to fully grasp why she felt such a strong pull towards him and the other IMP employees instead of just pushing them away by saying the rudest, brashest, cruelest things that she could to them. Today was not that day, but it was a step in the right direction.

#fanfiction #fanfic #writing #ao3 #archive of our own #helluva boss #blitzo buckzo #helluva boss blitz #loona #helluva boss loona #running fic

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