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fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 years

Text

Grays

Frankie Morales x f!reader

{ Grays Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Grays Part II }

Rating: M

Summary: Frankie wants you to cover up his grays. You want to knock some sense into his salt-and-pepper head.

Warnings: Insecure Frankie in need of self-love comes with his own warning, Reader is a hairstylist and has a related nickname, no physical descriptions other than that Reader has hair that can be dyed, not-quite-friends to *respectfully looking* dynamics, mentions of hair, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, sexual innuendos, lots of teasing and banter.

Word count: 4.8k

Notes: The origin story is here if you missed it. This is dedicated to my Frankie soul sister LJ @prolix-yuy who encouraged me to write this many months ago ❤️ As always, I’m an anxious mess writing for a new-to-me Pedro boy, so please be gentle with me (cos it's my birthday week) 🥺

I have a part 2 (with smut) in mind. I love where this leaves off, but who am I kidding. I probably won’t be able to help myself 😂

The bell on the door chimes with a sweet tinkle, cutting through the low, insistent purr of the hair clipper buzzing in your grasp. You don’t look up as you spy broad shoulders and a battered Standard Heating Oil cap crossing the threshold out of the corner of your eye.

‘Are you lost, Morales?’ you drawl indifferently, focused on the task at hand. ‘I have an appointment with Pope today, not you.’

‘He booked it under his name. Thought you’d take it as a prank if I called in myself.’

You look up to meet his gaze reflected in the mirror sitting in front of Greg, your current customer. ‘I wonder why he’d think that.’

Frankie shrugs, leaning against the reception counter with his arms crossed. ‘Beats me.’

You snort. ‘Really? You’ve insisted loudly and repeatedly for as long as I’ve known you that you don’t see the point of going to a hairstylist when you can have Pope cut your hair with kitchen scissors in his bathtub.’

‘C’mon, Shiv.’

‘Oh, he knows my name,’ you gasp sarcastically. You turn to Greg, who’s clearly amused by this exchange, and loop him in. ‘He usually just grunts at me.’

At this point, Ashton - your apprentice and all-round salon maverick - makes an appearance. Clearly having caught the tail-end of your conversation with Frankie, he glances between the two of you with an arched eyebrow. ‘Are we back to chasing customers away, boss?’

‘Sit his ass down but he doesn’t get a free drink,’ you instruct. ‘I’ll get to him when I get to him.’

Ashton goes ahead and ignores your orders point blank, per usual. After hanging up Frankie’s jacket and settling him at the station furthest away from you in the far corner of the salon, you see him sneakily give him a coffee. He can never resist the handsome ones.

You take your sweet time with Greg, cleaning up his sideburns, even though you’re basically done with him - just to tick off your waiting customer.

Not that it works, and you know it won’t. He just sits there, his wide frame filling up the chair, still as a rock. The dog-eared, months-old magazines strategically placed on the table for idle reading lie untouched. That’s Francisco Morales for you.

You’ve been orbiting each other since sixth grade, as all kids in your close-knit neighbourhood do. In fact, most of your customers went to your school.

You don’t even remember how it started - probably at a sleepover - you discovered one day that you’re handy with box hair dye. By freshman year, you were colouring your fellow classmates’ hair in the girls’ toilets after school, earning enough pocket money to keep your cabinet at home fully-stocked with new hair products on rotation.

Your ever-changing hair colour got you into trouble with the headmaster more times than you can count, who nicknamed you Shape Shifter. Your friends abbreviated it to Shifter, then over the years, whittled it down to Shiv, and it stuck.

After being gifted a set of styling scissors for Christmas one year, you started hanging out at the neighbourhood salon, hustling for an apprenticeship. You practised what you observed on your fellow students, giving out haircuts on the bleachers on non-game days for a couple of dollars (the fee waived if something went disastrously wrong).

That’s how you first met Benny - his then cheerleader girlfriend took him in for a haircut when it got too long for her liking. When you eventually opened your own salon years later, he was your first paying customer, having come home after being honourably discharged from the army.

During the early days, when you struggled to fill your appointments and he couldn’t win a fight to save his life, you made a pact. You would do his hair at a heavy discount for his posters and promotions, and in return, he would let you use his photos for the salon’s marketing.

And it worked. Well, not that you had anything to do with him turning his fortunes around on the MMA circuit, but he had everything to do with getting customers through your door. It only got busier when Santi joined the ranks a couple of years later, and even though Will only shows up when his hair gets really unruly, they both sit in front of your camera with no complaint in return for mate’s rates.

Having these guys on your salon’s social media keeps both the gents and the ladies booking up your appointments.

Frankie Morales, though, is a different animal.

When you finally appear over his left shoulder, his coffee is all gone and he meets your eyes in the mirror nonchalantly. He’s leaning his whole weight on his right elbow on the armest, his left arm outstretched and blunt nails tapping on the table, the only hint of impatience he’s giving away.

He’s good at that - he’s the laid-back one out of the boys, the one who hangs back and observes with arms crossed, but quick to crack a grin and throw in a wicked barb when the occasion calls for it. Nothing ever seems to faze him, and probably nothing does - you hear that makes a good pilot, and from what Pope lets on, he’s a damn good one.

It also makes for highly effective bait for the ladies. He’s a popular fixture on the local bar scene - let’s face it, all of the boys are. You’ve seen him in action more than once when Benny or Pope invites you along on a night out, more often than not without Will since he had a baby girl with his high school sweetheart last year. Frankie’s brooding, quiet, beer-sipping act often works better than Benny’s over-the-top flirting or Pope’s Casanova bit.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Hands on your hips, you goad him, ‘Alright Morales, how do I know you’ll pay up, you cheap bastard?’

‘Pope says to put it on his tab.’

‘Music to my ears.’ You tap him on the shoulder. ‘Sit up and off with the cap.’

With a grumble, Frankie lifts the cap up by the beak, ducking his head as he does so. He tosses it onto the table offhandedly and shifts in his seat, but you’re not fooled by his unconvincing air of indifference. From the way he plasters his palms to the top of his denim-clad thighs, as if to stop them from fidgeting, you know he’s feeling vulnerable.

You can’t say you’ve ever seen Frankie without his headgear - now that you think about it, he’s been wearing it since high school. Heck, he might have gone through several incarnations of that blasted hat in the years in between. You’ve caught glimpses when he lifts it up to fix his hair, but otherwise, all you see is what peeks out from underneath, the longer wisps that coil around his ears and the curls at the back.

As it turns out, there’s really nothing to hide - sure, the cut is blunt and his hair lacks shine, but both can be easily fixed. You step into his space and comb through his locks, starting at the base of his skull and working your way up the sides.

The contact startles him - he practically jumps out of his skin, and you don’t miss the way the veins on the back of his hands pop and he digs his nails into his legs.

'Easy, boy,' you soothe with a teasing undertone, earning yourself a glower from the pilot. As much as you enjoy needling him, you do want your customers to be comfortable. So you let slip a deliberate but genuinely appreciative hum as the dark tendrils, subtly tinged with grays, part softly at your prying fingertips. ‘Wow, your curls are really thick.'

He looks up, an unsure frown on his brow. ‘Oh. Is that bad?’

‘No, Morales, it’s definitely a compliment,’ you tell him encouragingly - your bark has always been worse than your bite. ‘What do you use to wash your hair? It’s a bit dry.’

He shrugs. ‘Shampoo.’ At your insistent stare, he snaps, ‘What?’

‘Don’t lie to me, Morales,’ you warn him in a stern voice.

He huffs and gives in. ‘Fine. It’s a 2-in-1 body wash. I get it at the gas station, happy?’

You shoot him a smug grin as he rolls his eyes. ‘Well, you’re using proper shampoo from now on, and conditioner.’ He opens his mouth, a complaint on the tip of his tongue, when you hold a finger up at him. ‘Don’t argue with me, mister. I’ll throw in a couple of bottles on the house to get you started.’

‘Fine,’ he concedes. Unfailingly polite even when grumpy, he adds, ‘Thanks, Shiv.’

Your trusty swivelling stool screeches in protest when you drag it over on its wheels, before you take a seat and address the elephant in the room. ‘So - I’m guessing you’re here because of the wedding.’

You get a grunt in response. Scratching a particularly scrappy patch of his beard that has turned prematurely silver, he says, ‘My ma says I should cover up my old man grays for it.’

You snort, shaking your head. ‘Ha! And you tell your mother I say - hell no, ma’am! I will do no such thing.’

Frankie blinks at your unexpectedly adamant response. ‘What?’

‘I said, hell no,’ you repeat. Turning his head to the side with two fingers on his stubbled cheek, you comb his locks upwards to study the way the grays blend in softly with the umber, matching the ashen flecks in his beard. He doesn't start as badly at your touch this time, but there’s a telltale tick in his jaw, and you can almost hear the tension that thrums just below his skin where a late summer tan still lingers.

‘See how your grays are mainly coming out on the underside?’ you point out. ‘I like the way they just peek through the brown, it gives more depth to your curls. Natural highlights, if you will.’

He looks unconvinced and swipes at a smattering of silver with dismissive fingers. ‘Dunno. Thought the grays make me look old.’

You chuckle. ‘You’re no spring chicken anymore, Morales, and I mean it in a good way. Grays are natural - they will look even better when you start using actual shampoo and conditioner. Trust me, the salt and pepper works on you. I’m not dyeing your grays, and that’s that.’

For the first time today, Frankie turns his head and looks directly into your eyes. ‘My mother’s coming back to town for the wedding, you know. And she remembers where you live.’

You laugh. ‘Go ahead and send her my way, you know I’m not scared of her.’

He scoffs at your big talk. ‘You should be.’

Your relationship with the Morales matriarch is complicated, to say the least. She was always hard on you when you were a kid, thinking you were too wild and undisciplined. Now that you’re grown, you’re still torn between your admiration for her as a single mother who raised a good man, and the woman who never tires of dishing out criticism, warranted or not.

You give him a reassuring pat on the back, solid and warm under your touch. ‘Leave your mother to me, Morales. The grays stay, and I’ll make sure you steal the show at the party.’

‘Your funeral,’ he quips.

‘You just worry about getting yourself to the wedding,’ you retort, cracking your knuckles. ‘Now, are you ready for some pampering?’

Frankie rolls his eyes, but you see the corner of his mouth tick up in a vaguely upward direction - and you take it as a win.

‘Relax, Morales.’

‘I am relaxed,’ he insists through gritted teeth.

‘You’re about as relaxed as a cow on the butcher’s block. Unclench.’

For someone as economical with words as he is, his body certainly says a lot. Every single part of him seems hellbent on making his discomfort known. He breathes a frustrated exhale through his nose, brow deeply furrowed, his glare burning holes into the ceiling.

The leather seat of the backwash barely contains his tall build, his t-shirt stretched to the seams across his chest as he leans back into the basin. He’s bouncing his left leg irritably, the tight denim straining against his lap.

You try - valiantly - not to gape too obviously at the conspicuous bulge nestled snugly between his thighs under his belt buckle. But you can’t avert your eyes from something of that size. It’s against the laws of physics. Or something.

Even from where you’re standing, at the top of the basin peering down the slope of his body, its heft is clearly testing the structural integrity of the zipper of his jeans. Imagine the view from the other side -

Clearing your throat, you bodily press down on Frankie’s shoulders which are coiled up like the hood of an angry python, forcing them to loosen up. He jerks as if he’s a copper wire and you’re electricity. You tease, ‘So sensitive. You act like you’ve never felt a woman’s touch before, Morales.’

‘You know that’s not true,’ he growls at you, the prominent vein in his neck starting to pulse in frustration.

‘No, you’re right - I do know,’ you smirk, dragging out your syllables.

Your tone has him frowning at you, upside down. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I mean - I know,’ you repeat with a conspiratorial wink.

He narrows his eyes at you. ‘What do you know, Shiv?’

You wriggle his eyebrows at him suggestively, enjoying yourself far too much. ‘I own a salon, Morales. I hear things from the ladies about town.’

One large palm reaches up to shield his face in embarrassment, a pained groan escaping between the gaps of his fingers. ‘For fuck’s sake - kill me now.’

You laugh, wrestling his hand from his face to with an impish grin. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve only heard good things so far - Frankie big boy Morales.’

He blushes so hard that his ears and neck go a livid red, and for a minute, you’re actually worried that he’d pass out from not enough blood reaching his heart. Not keen on the prospect of having to explain to the emergency services that you teased the poor man into an aneurysm, you turn on the water and cut short your little chinwag with a good-natured chuckle.

His hands are still tightly clamped around the armrest when you carefully run the shower head along his hairline and behind his ears, soaking his curls. His biceps flex from the tight grip and the lean muscles strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt.

At least he closes his eyes when you start with the shampoo. The velvety lather froths as you patiently wash his hair, which clings to his wet curls like vanilla frosting. The deep crease between his brows eases with each gentle swipe into his locks, and the invisible force pulling his lips downwards slackens. By the time you rinse out the bubbles, you don’t miss the way the tension in his body unwittingly goes with it down the drain.

When your nails slide slickly into his hair with the conditioner, his stubborn body finally, slowly unfurls. His head tips back of its own accord, baring the column of his strong neck as he leans inadvertently into your touch. Colour returns to his knuckles when he releases his death grip on the backwash.

You smile to yourself, scraping your fingertips along his scalp in a firm massage, watching his chest rise and fall as he teeters on the brink of consciousness.

As your thumbs trace a confident path down the back of his skull, they appear to find a particularly sensitive spot near the base of his neck, and it's as if a switch is flipped. You witness the exact moment he breaks - his back arches off the leather seat, his obstinate lips part with a strangled half-sigh catching in his throat as he yields his full weight into the palm of your hands.

If you're not careful, you could get used to this.

‘Still with me, Morales?’ you tease quietly.

He garbles incoherently, and you grin.

Frankie practically molds into the chair like warm wax when you shepherd him back to the styling station. You’re so chuffed with yourself that you don’t even feel the need to gloat at the way his eyes are glazed over and how his head lolls into the soft pressure when you run a fluffy towel through his hair. The man recoiling at the mere brush of your fingers a distant memory.

You run an assessing eye over him, brushing out his locks to gauge your game plan. ‘I like this length on you, so I’ll just trim the split ends and tidy up your sideburns. You’ll benefit from some layering too - it’s a bit heavy on top right now.’

From the way he blinks owlishly at you, you know he doesn’t catch a single word. He shrugs and says matter-of-factly. ‘You can’t do worse than Pope.’

The salon is quiet this afternoon, as it tends to be on Wednesdays. You let him enjoy the peace for a little bit and tap your foot to Ashton’s playlist as your styling scissors move over his curls in metallic snips.

‘Tip your head forward for me,’ you instruct, sliding around the back of his head on your wheels as you probe, ‘So - how are you feeling about the wedding?’

The fabric of his t-shirt bunches over his shoulders as they quirk noncommittally.

‘It’s just a few days away.’

He makes an indifferent noise. But you’re not so easily dissuaded from conversation, and he knows it.

‘Can’t be easy - watching your ex get married.’

Frankie pins you with a long-suffering stare in the mirror. ‘We broke up a year ago.’

Getting onto your feet, you ruffle your fingers through the crown of his curls. ‘Yeah, but you dated for years. She sure moved on quick.’

He huffs a sardonic laugh. ‘Thanks, Shiv.’

Swapping out the styling scissors for blending shears, you argue, ‘What? It’s a legitimate observation. I’m just making conversation here.’

‘Or we could just sit here quietly.’

Ha. As if you ever listen to him. You press on, ‘Why did she invite you anyway?’

Frankie’s sigh sounds a lot like surrender as he humours you. ‘It’s a damned if she does, damned if she doesn’t kind of situation, I guess. The whole town’s invited.’

‘You sure she isn’t trying to flaunt it in your face or something?’

‘Flaunting implies I still care. I don’t.’

You give him a juvenile nudge nudge, wink wink. ‘Well, on the bright side, you’ll definitely get laid, being the heartbroken ex and all. Chicks love that shit.’

He dispatches a side-long stare in your direction. ‘I’m not heartbroken, and that’s not why I’m going. And you know none of this is any of your business, right?’

‘You’re no fun,’ you pout.

He quips, ‘As a professional hairstylist, you really should be better at making polite conversation.’

You snort. ‘Do you really think it’s a good idea to call me rude when I have scissors in my hands?’

Frankie watches you work in the comfortable lull that’s settled between you, gliding the blades along strands of his curls pulled taut, before running a fine-toothed comb through to brush out the loose tufts. Soft coils land on the floor around his chair as you work your way methodically through his layers.

‘Are you going to the wedding?’ he asks eventually.

You shrug. ‘Maybe, depends on my schedule. I gotta say, I’m kind of curious to see how tacky it will be.’

At his eyebrow sternly cocked, you argue, ‘I know she’s your ex and all, but she’s always been a bit tacky. I mean, that remodel of your house was just tragic.’

Frankie frowns. ‘How do you know all this? You’ve never been to my house.’

You wink. ‘Benny tells me everything when I do his hair.’

He pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Of course. Benjamin fucking Miller.’

You give him a pat on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, I’m on your side, if it helps.’

‘I don’t need you on my side.’

You flash him an insufferable grin. ‘Too bad, Francisco. I am and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

The hairdryer drowns out any further conversation, and Frankie quietly studies you as you cord your fingers through his hair, ruffling it as it dries.

It’s still a bit damp when you switch off the hairdryer and reach up to pull a couple of jars from the shelf above. ‘On the day of the wedding, I want you to wash your hair just before you style it. You have a hairdryer at home, right?’

He throws you a pointed look. ‘I’m not a heathen.’

You grin. ‘Down boy, just checking. Now, you’ll dry your hair until it’s still a bit wet, like so.’ Presenting the styling mousse to him, you say, ‘Then go on and grab some product - you only need a dollop.’

He dips his index finger into the pot, scooping up a generous blob. Your attention is unexpectedly piqued at the sight of his hands.

Have they always been so big?

Realising he’s staring at you in wait, you shake yourself out of it. ‘Ok, rub the mousse onto your fingertips and run them all over your hair, combing from root to end.’

Frankie does as he’s told, face set to a serious scowl as he impeccably goes over each section of his locks, staring into the mirror to make sure he gets every strand. For the first time, you see the pilot in him up close, and you wonder if he’s this thorough about other things, like -

Laundry, your mind interrupts as it careens on the brink of the metaphorical gutter. Get your shit together, Shiv.

‘Good,’ you smile when he’s done, hoping he doesn't see the strain in it. ‘Now, I want you to rake your fingers through the roots when you dry your hair all the way.’ In demonstration, your nails burrow into the base of his thick hair, then you wriggle your fingers upwards towards the ends. ‘It will give you lots of volume and really show off this cut.’

Passing him the hairdryer, you watch him critically in the mirror. He imitates your movements, a bit clumsily and far too cautiously. Leaning down to his ear so he can hear you over the whir, you instruct him, ‘Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.’

He chokes and pins you with a wide-eyed stare in the mirror that glances right off your oblivious self. Along with your words, nothing about this exchange would register in your head in any other way until much, much later tonight, when you replay the conversation in your head in that limbo between sleep and wakefulness.

It may or may not have you squealing into your pillow in latent embarrassment - and something else.

But for now, you’re happy with the way his hair has set, and you gesture for him to switch off the hairdryer. Turning his chair towards you and away from the mirror, you scan your eyes over him and make small adjustments - tucking a couple of strands behind his ear here, a couple of final snips there.

As a final touch, you bury your fingers into his locks, dragging your fingertips through the roots to impart a final tousle so that the curls are loose and soft. You preen at the way he sways into your contact, all shyness gone, his hooded eyes half-closed - before he seems to catch himself and sits up with a self-conscious ahem.

Grabbing a small bottle from the shelf, you say, ‘Last thing - your beard is a bit dry as well. This oil will keep it nice and moisturised, just two or three drops after you wash up in the morning will do.’

Tipping his face up by the crook of your finger and opening up his neck to you, you smooth the ointment along both sides of his jaw, rubbing circles into his neatly trimmed whiskers and all the way up his sideburns. Sliding downwards, your hands seek out the closely shaved stubble tucked beneath his chin. Then, by sheer momentum, your palms continue down his throat in a slow, sticky descent, until the pads of your thumbs slot into the hollow between his collarbones, your fingers resting at the base of his neck where you feel his pulse rabbiting underneath.

The air thickens and shifts between you. When he swallows, you feel the ripple of the moment against your fingertips.

His eyes are on you, and suddenly he’s too close, his skin too hot under your hands. To your horror, something akin to shyness rears its head and you almost stumble backwards to put a safe distance between you.

Scrubbing the oily residue from your hands on a towel, you break the moment with a wink and a steadier smile than you actually feel. ‘You look good, Morales. Ready to take a look?’

‘As if you would take no for an answer,’ he mumbles under his breath. Fondness might be too strong of a word - but you don't think you're imagining the faint trace of amusement in his voice.

With a dramatic ta-da, you spin his chair around with a flourish.

Frankie Morales is obviously not a vain man - he most likely owns five pairs of jeans that he’s worn on rotation for the past fifteen years, his t-shirts are washed ragged, and his trusty leather boots have seen better days. He probably doesn’t use a mirror other than for purely utilitarian purposes, like checking if there’s something stuck in his teeth from his last meal.

But right now, by the way he’s holding his breath as he meets his own eyes in the reflection, you can tell that he’s really looking at himself for the first time in a long while.

You pretend to busy yourself with tidying up the styling station as you discreetly sneak glances at him, feeling strangely bashful for intruding in this moment. When he remembers to breathe again, he tilts his head left then to the right, and back again, even swivelling his chair from side to side so he can peer round the back.

You’ve parted his waves to the side, the lighter cut allowing his curls to carry their natural shape. The healthy sheen, courtesy of the mousse, tempers his grays to a softer, burnt silver that catches the light fetchingly as he moves. Reaching up, Frankie pushes back a stray curl that falls over his eyes, and his back straightens in a quiet show of confidence.

Running a salon is hard work and often thankless. But on days like this? You know you’re meant to do this.

A dramatic gasp draws both of your attention. Ashton is clutching at his chest, backed up against the neighbouring styling station, gaping at Frankie. ‘Mister - you look good enough to devour. Look at that salt and pepper, I’m living for the grays. Doing the Lord’s work, Shiv!’

You laugh as Frankie flushes, scratching an invisible itch on his forehead. You brush the loose hairs off his shoulders with a towel and give him a nudge. ‘See? I’m not the only one who thinks you look good with the grays. You better stock up on the condoms, Morales, the ladies will be all over you at the party.’

He shakes his head self-deprecatingly as he stands up, rubbing his palms on his jeans, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. ‘I doubt it, but - thanks. I appreciate this, Shiv.’

He shrugs on his well-loved burnt yellow jacket, the one with the sleeves perpetually folded up above his wrists and grabs his cap. You hold out a paper bag with the free shampoo and conditioner you promised him, throwing in a jar of hair mousse for good measure. ‘You’re welcome, and you better not put your hat on again this afternoon after all that hard work.’

His fingers brush yours when he takes the bag from you, then, as if it’s the logical next thing to do, he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your right cheek, his stubble coarse against your skin - and you know without looking it’s the gray patch in his beard that brushes against your jaw as he draws back. You fumble, feeling heat prickle the back of your neck and blooming in your rib cage.

He flashes you the most self-assured smile you’ve seen on him this afternoon, which has you biting your bottom lip. ‘I won’t. Maybe see you at the wedding, Shiv.’

It takes you five full seconds to regain motor functions. By the time you unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, Frankie’s already out of the door with a spring in his step.

In companionable silence, you and Ashton watch the pilot strut - because that’s what he’s doing, he’s strutting with a confidence that becomes him - across the road through the glass front of the salon.

‘What a dish,’ Ashton sighs dreamily, flopping into a chair as if his limbs have given out. ‘I hope he comes back soon.’

You smile. A girl could always hope.

Notes: It's the first time I'm using a nickname for a Reader, but I have a real soft spot for Shiv, and I think she deserves one. I'm not sure where the fandom stands on this, does it disqualify the fic as a reader insert? If anyone has an issue with this, please let me know! For me, Shiv has no physical descriptions so to me she's still a reader insert.

I don't know if anyone expected this kind of dynamics between these two, but it's been so much fun to write with a bit of antagonism in the mix. I hope you enjoyed this, reblogs and comments are so, so appreciated as always. Thank you for reading ❤️

#frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfic #frankie friday #queue

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 10 months

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more limited cards for book 7??

Ortho has his Cerberus Gear card, Lilia has his Right General card, now Sebek is getting his Eternal Knight card… I’M SENSING A PATTERN HERE 🫣 Dropping every so often with book 7 updates… Plus, these appear to be linked to the player titles you can earn by owning 10 of a particular character’s cards. Ortho’s is Guardian of the Underworld (Cerberus is the guard dog of the Underworld and Lilia’s is Seeker of Cradles (referring to how he found Silver all those years back). The composition of Sebek’s Knight of Lightning invokes imagery of his UM (which we learned last update), and he appears to be wearing the armor of the night fae soldiers and is using a polearm (?), which makes me think he's going to participate in an important battle in the next update. A high definition version of the artwork shows that he seems to be wet from rain, as it’s all over his skin and weapon. You know what else???? We see half of his face... and the other half obscured by a mask... his hair is down (which is only ever down in the mornings when he has just woken up and is still in a more vulnerable kind of state). Is this symbolism for Sebek finally coming to terms with his mixed heritage 😭

Y’all think… Idia, Malleus, and Silver are also going to get limited time cards in relation to future book 7 updates and those player titles??? Ain’t no way they’d only do it for half of the relevant characters in book 7 and leave it unfinished… (Maybe TWST will even get to doing them for the full cast eventually?? Though I don’t know when they’d find the time to squeeze in releases for the rest of the boys 💦) fbdjvwjsnzkww I wonder what they’ll be???

Just to quickly speculate on Malleus, Silver, and/or Idia’s potential cards:

King of the Underworld (Idia) — Idia finally wakes tf up and gets off his ass to contribute to the rescue 😂 Perhaps he reconnects with his family to figure out the situation and goes full mad scientist/hacker mode?? Not sure what the outfit would be but I’m picturing he’s looking deranged and dressed mad cyberpunk-y.

Knight of Dreams (Silver) — This one, I think, is the most easily predicted. Many Silver cards mirror Sebek’s, and since Sebek’s card seems to feature him in the armor of the night fae, Silver’s may feature him in the armor of the Silver Owls. (Maybe Silver will even magically get his blonde hair back for the brief shot of the initial card art www) This may be tied with Silver fully accepting his royal lineage (ie his old family) while also embracing those he has sworn to protect now (his new family). It may or may not also be associated with Silver “waking” Lilia and/or the spell on him finally breaking thanks to Lilia’s true love. I would genuinely be shocked if this guess was wrong or not close—

Ruler of the Abyss (Malleus) — Two thoughts: either this kicks off the series of OB boy cards people have been speculating about for years OR this will kick off the start of the OB boys “fully realized” series, since the other OB boys have similar titles. However, it should be noted that these same titles are also very close to, if not the same as, the book titles (1-7), which may not be as triumphant in context given that they serve as the main antagonists for their respective books. So either we’re getting Malleus Full Crazy Mode or Malleus maturing a bit and finally learning to let his loved ones go. In both cases, I see him dressed up like the prince he is, looking regal and yet lonely.

Do you guys have any ideas??? (They don’t necessarily have to he for Idia, Silver, and/or Malleus! One of my friends suggested merform Jade and Floyd for potential Undersea Advisor and Undersea Marauder cards—) If you do, feel free to share them ^^

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riverlikethelake · 2 years

Text

Tìfyawìntxu

Summary: Your training starts, and you can't quite figure out Neteyam. Tension is thick, you know next to nothing about anything but the research done about Pandora, and you wish you could hear his thoughts, know what he thinks about you.

Pairing: Neteyam x Avatar!reader

Word count: 8.5k

Warnings/notes: mentions of death, depression, angst, fluff, development of platonic/familial relationships, Spider tries, Protective!Norm, foster family in the lab, the pacing isn't really what i wanted but we're getting there, slowburn, slight enemies to lovers, Neteyam and reader are in denial

series master list | Would stardust fix us? Part two

Newtons third law: Action & Reaction

His third law states that for every action (force) in nature there is an equal and opposite reaction. If object A exerts a force on object B, object B also exerts an equal and opposite force on object A. In other words, forces result from interactions.

You learned about Newton’s laws 4 years ago when Grace mentioned them in one of her logs, she was explaining her an another scientists research on the Ikrans, their anatomy vastly different from anything alive on earth and they wanted to compare them to Pterosaurs. Flying fascinated you after that, fully diving into any books you could find on physics and birds.

Like how you wanted to learn about everything on Pandora, compensating for never being able to see it, you wanted to know everything about flying, maybe if you knew enough you could imagine what its like.

“And she just let you in like that?” Norm questions, from across the table, pulling a chunk of bread off his piece with his teeth. You nod, widening your eyes and smiling, just as surprised as your foster father.

The two scientists look between each other, a moment passes and Norm shrugs “I mean Jake got in for about the same while the relations were significantly worse, it’s not unimaginable” He nods to Max who has a tentative look on his face.

He purses his lips and shakes his head to himself “Y/n I’m not sure how i feel about this” He speaks hesitantly “I mean i don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be in the link pod for extended periods of time, all day every day” You frown at his words, your shoulders slumping, demeanor visibly changing.

“Max..” Norm says in a low whisper, moving his hand to shield his mouth from you, as if what they’re saying isn’t to be heard. Max looks at him, he tilts his head carefully. After a moment, Max purses his lips and turns to you, “We can continue this conversation later, tell us about what you saw” a guarded smile forming on his lips.

You don’t like how he changed the subject, feeling as if they’re hiding something from you, but you take a deep breathe and start recalling the forest, every image of it engraved in your mind

The decompression door goes off and all your heads turn, Spider walks through, pulling off his oxygen mask and tilting his head to the side to stretch his neck.

“You’re late” Norm speaks through a full mouth.

“Aren’t I always?” Spider asks, a smirk on his face. “Jake and Neytiri wanted to talk to me about Y/n, they wanted to talk to her but you were disconnected by then” he explains motioning his hand towards you as he walks over.

You frown “They told me i could go to sleep?” You state confused. He shrugs and plops down next to you, grabbing a piece of bread from your plate and taking a bite.

“Yeah but I guess they forgot that you can’t really be ‘woken up’” He mumbles through the bread in his mouth “It was funny seeing Jake get all fumbled about forgetting” he laughs, pointing at Norm who cracks a smile.

“The mighty Olo’eyktan, you’d think with how attached he is to guns he’d still have some human left in him.” You roll your eyes as they take turns making jabs at the ex-marine. You make eye contact with Max who shares your expression, a smile cracks on both your lips as you roll your eyes and he shakes his head.

You lean over and nudge Spider’s shoulder “Y’know Spider, this means you don’t have to try and remember every detail of your day.” You grin. His smile falters for just a moment, a look passes through his eyes but it blinks away before you can recognize it. “And you can take me to all your favorite places”

He leans back in his chair, keeping his eyes on you before he grins. “That’s as long as Neteyam doesn’t take up all your time” your eyes widen, you purse your lips nervously and glance away. You hadn’t thought about the training yet, Neteyam had yet to leave your mind but you honestly don’t know what to expect with the upcoming training.

You shake your head and open your mouth to deny the accusation but he interrupts you, “Or maybe you’ll get all spiffy and serious like him” his smirk has doubled in size now. At this, you roll your eyes and throw your plastic fork at him.

“I will not, I doubt he’s gonna even pay much attention to me” You lean back in your chair and grab your stolen bread out of your brothers hand. You hadn’t realized Norm had gotten up until hes reaching over and placing a food tray in front of Spider and taking his place in the chair across from you.

Spider leans forward and immediately starts stuffing the food into his mouth, earning a “manners, please” from Max.

“Knowing Neteyam, he might not pay much attention to you but he’ll take his job seriously” Norm states, leaning onto the table. “And he won’t go easy on you” Your eyes dart to Max to confirm his statement, he nods and you throw your head back and groan.

Spider chuckles and pokes at your head making it loll to the side. “Don’t worry Bug, me and Kiri will be on your side” He comforts, pinching at your ear. You move your head to be facing him, you raise a brow and his smirk returns “Lo’ak might try and make things harder” you roll your eyes.

“Of course, what are friends for” You mutter, reaching your hand over to flick his forehead

Norm strides into your room, flipping on your light and pulling off your covers. You groan, flipping over to your side and curling in on yourself. “Rise and shine bug!” he bends down and ruffles your hair “village life starts early so if you don't wanna be late you should get up” you groan and swat your hand at him before rolling back onto your back.

“Maybe a more careful approach next time?” You murmur, squinting your eyes to help them adjust to the light. He laughs and places his hand on your back as you start to pull yourself up, he slides his arm under the bend on your knees and picks you up.

You slip your arms around his neck, your head lolling into his chest. “I can walk” you mumble out, your eyes squint close as he exits your room, subjecting your sensitive vision to an even harsher and brighter light. His chest rumbles, considering your comment before carefully placing you down, keeping his arm your yours for support.

Thankfully, the movement didn’t rush to your head and you remained composed. The walk to the moin area wasn’t far, your eyes still blinking in annoyance when you reach the table. Norm pulls out a chair for you and immediately your scooting closer to the table and resting your head into your arms. A chair scratches the floor next to your and a hand is shaking your upper arm.

“And the princess has risen!” Spider teases, sitting down in his chair and scooting closer to you. You raise your head and realize he had placed your breakfast tray down in front of you. You shoot him an annoyed look for his comment, aware at how you were always the last to wake up.

Despite always waking up late, you barely slept, staying up late at night stuck in your own thoughts, it was going to be a hard adjustment to wake up earlier.

You reach over and pick a grape and pop it into your mouth, chewing sluggishly as your eyes slowly blink open.

“Hurry up, usually i’m out the door by now but I thought id wait for you” The statement pulls a smile at your lips, you straighten up and pull your arms above your head to stretch. Spider’s not the most patient or thoughtful person you know, but you’ve grown to appreciate little moments like these, softness peaking out of the nonchalant exterior he puts up.

The difference you feel when you open your eyes is immediate, maybe it’s the fact that your avatar isn’t sick like your human body is, but there’s something else. The smell of the forest, the rustle of the village and jungle outside of your tent, the air is fresh, moist and sticking to your skin compared to the sterile air of the lab.

It still dark, just a hint of light streaming in through the cracks and makeshift windows of your tent. You pull yourself up from the hammock and take a moment to look around your tent, having been too giddy to really take it in last night. It’s empty, save for a table and some bowls, and of course your hammock and a few spare furs Kiri brought you. It’s not quite homey, a guest room at best, but your room back at the lab isn't much better. The blinding white walls and medical equipment just inches away from your bed always made it feel more like a hospital than a home, so this tent is already a step up.

You run your hand along the walls, feeling the material beneath your fingers, squinting to see the intricate weaving and texture. You want to decipher what it was made out of, what plant, what the technique was, why that plant, when did they find out that plant and that technique worked best. You furrow your brows, you can’t place what it was made out of, it reminds you of the cloth of Jake's battle band but thicker.

You run your eyes across the rest of the tent, looking for a clue when the blanket covering the entrance flaps open. Your freeze, your head snapping towards the entrance, making eye contact with Neteyam. He’s just barely visible, peaking in, holding the blanket aside with his forearm. For a moment he examines you, looking you up and down before glancing around your hammock. You’re frozen in place, hands sweating under his gaze unsure of what to say.

His eyes come back to you and it feels like there’s a dumbbell in your chest. “You are up.” he notes, his voice carrying through the silence of your hammock. You glance down at your hands, wringing your fingers together.

“Norm told me it would be a good idea” You didn’t mean for your voice to come out in a whisper, you’re worried he didn’t even hear you but he nods.

A moment passes before he speaks “You should join us for breakfast” a brief smile presses against his lips before it's covered by the flap, you stare at the spot he stood for a moment before taking a deep breath.

You’re met with the village, alive and waking up, preparing for the works of the day. You’re only a few feet behind Neteyam, meeting his eyes when he briefly glances back at you. You follow behind him anxiously, resisting the urge to look around, wanting to seem as small as possible when you feel the stares follow you.

You speed up your pace, catching up to Neteyam, hoping his presence will shield you from the intensity and distaste that seemed to stab into your skin.

In contrast, Neteyam seems to embody power, with others nodding in his direction when he passes by. despite the feeling on eyes on you, you're almost completely ignored when in Neteyam's presence. Warriors and hunters looking to him with respect and idolization, domestics and gatherers watching him with fondness and curiosity, unmated women unable to keep their eyes off of him.

You wonder what a spectacle you two must be, the chief's son who stays humble under the bows of respect from others, and the outsider stuck by his side, suffocating under the intense air around him.

Neteyam notices your unease but does little to acknowledge you, he’s still unsure of you. You’re harmless, raised by scientists loyal to his people, close friends with his siblings, and the sister of an extension of his family, rationally he shouldn’t have any hesitation in your presence.

But rationality is quick to become scarce, he’s learned. Yesterday he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, analytical of the unknown sky person Eywa brought him to. Today; he can’t bring himself to look at you, unappreciative of the way his body and mind freezes at the mere thought of you.

The only other time he’s felt this was when he came face to face with a pack of nantang, unable to draw his bow or knife, only able to dodge the beast that lunged for him when he heard his sister scream for him.

His uncertainty isn’t absurd, you’re not a danger but he doesn't know you. He’s never actually met someone new, everyone in his life is someone he’s known, even the Na’vi he doesn't know have been present long enough to never raise a second thought in Neteyam’s mind.

You’re a complete mystery to him, you’ve lived not even that far away for 17 years, he’s known your brother for as long as he can remember, and his siblings have apparently been visiting you since before they knew how to hunt. Yet somehow, your mere existence has seemed to go unheard of by him.

He watches as you sit down next to him nervously, a close but comfortable distance, and starts fiddling with your fingers. You look severely out of place, still wearing your human clothes and keeping your head down, but you seem invisible almost. Like he could look away for a moment and you’d blend in with the background instantly, like if he reached out and touched you, you’d dissipate into the air.

He considers testing the theory, watching you out of the corner of his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring until Kiri lunged at you from behind, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling your back to her chest, nuzzling her cheek against yours.

You yelp before being thrown into a fit of giggles. “Kiri, do not scare me like that!” You place your hands on her forearms that rest against your collar bones. She pulls you back further, positioning herself on her knees so she can rest her chin atop your head.

“Y/n, you are are up early.” She teases, rolling the ends of your loose hair between her fingers. You tilt your head back in an attempt to get a better look at her when you see Lo’ak pop up from behind her, leaning over his sister to poke his finger at your cheek.

“Yeah aren't you usually like, just going to sleep by now?” He places his hands on Kiri’s shoulders for stability as he leans over you both to place his face in front of yours, his braids hanging down. You stick your tongue out and push at the side of his head, you thought that since you technically complied with what he wanted by leaving the lab, he’d give up his pestering habits he developed over the years.

Whenever he felt like you were paying too much attention to the computer or something else he blamed for your disinterest in leaving the lab, he’d do anything he could to get in the way of it.

“I’m not up by choice” you state, keeping eye contact with the na’vi as he repositions to be sitting next to you. “I’m just as surprised as you are” a grin spreads across your face in sync with the boy next to you, you hear Kiri sigh before she pinches your cheek.

Neteyam watches your interaction with his siblings, he wouldn’t be surprised if he has whiplash from how quickly your entire demeanor changed, how differently you act with people who aren’t him. Just seconds ago you looked like you were ready to lie down and melt into the ground, now you were much more relaxed, the quiver in your lips replaced with a loud grin.

He didn’t know that you being up at this time was apparently unusual, he half expected it when he came to check up on you. You didn’t tell him that was an ordinary occurrence, but you sure didn’t tell him it wasn’t one. The information you offered his siblings doesn’t contrast what you told him, in fact you didn’t tell him much, not that he asked for much, but it’s vastly different, much more personal.

His point is driven home when Tuk comes bounding through the crowd and throws herself into your arms. “Y/n! Y/n! So it’s true!!” The young girl cries, she wraps her arm around your neck and plops herself down onto your thigh. Her eyes beam up to you, a massive smile stretching across her face as she stares at you in awe.

A soft giggle escapes your lips as you wrap your arms around her and pull her closer, her back against your chest. You smile, repeating her name in a fondness their mother often does. Tuk nuzzles herself into your hold, grabbing your hand and holding it in front of her face to marvel at.

Tuk sputters out as many comments as she can while you and Kiri giggle at her excitement, Lo’ak rolls his eyes and falls back from his heels to sit flat on his butt.

“Are you coming with us today?” Tuk’s question makes both you and Neteyam pause, making brief eye contact before she babbles on about what she has planned. “I wanna collect fruit! I reeaaallly think you’d like Yovo, it’s so sweet and-”

Neteyam reaches over and places a hand on her head, she turns her attention to her brother, her excitement not faltering. He offers her a soft smile before speaking “I’m sorry Tuk-tuk, but it’s my job to teach Y/n” He watches as her head tilts, Kiri and Lo’ak’s attention on him now too. “That means I have her today.”

A stiff pout reaches Tuk’s lips, she glances up to you for some kind of consolation but you simply offer her an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry Tuk, but I promise I'll still spend time with you” You brush a braid that fell in her face behind her ear “and once I’m done with my training then we’ll have more time together than ever!” She tilts her head, considering it for a moment, she glances between you and Neteyam before burying her head into your chest.

“You promise?!”

“I promise”

You’re so sweet with his sister, the softest and fondest smile on your lips.

He can’t explain the unpleasantness he feels.

Neteyam doesn’t look back as he strides through the forest, he knows you’re behind him, your raucous stumbling letting him know you’re just a few feet behind him.

You, on the other hand, struggle to keep up with him. His long strides and adept knowledge of the forest give him an advantage you can’t dream of attaining. You try to keep your eyes on him, not wanting to lose him in the forest, but you keep having to look to the ground to watch where you’re stepping.

You doubt Neteyam would let you get lost, you don’t know how long he had followed you, but you know that you weren’t alone for the majority of your time in the forest yesterday. You still try to keep up, jumping over logs and narrowly dodging trees and other sudden obstacles.

A branch jutting out from a nearby bush snags at your shirt, feeling the pull, you immediately turn around to undo the catch, but your foot catches on a surfaced root as you step back. A yelp leaves your lips before you even begin to fall, you throw your arms out to try and find stability in something but it’s useless.

You pull your arms up to protect your head when a pair of hands find purchase under your armpits. Neteyam pulls you up and towards himself, peeking his head over to see the source of your fall as you straighten yourself out.

“Must I carry you?” A smile perks at the corners of your lips but you quickly smush it away. You shake your head and turn to face him, his head tilts forward as he examines you. “You are like a baby, learning to walk” he speaks lamely.

You smile shyly “I have a hard enough time walking in my human body, this will definitely be a learning curve” you try to joke but it falls flat as he scrunches his brows and tilts his head in confusion. He stares at you like he’s trying to speak to you through his eyes, like he’s saying a million things and you’re just not getting it.

After a moment he shakes his head and turns around, continuing his path through the forest. His pace is slower, you notice when you struggle less to follow him. You tread the forest for a few more minutes, you try to keep your focus on Neteyam, knowing that this wouldn’t just be a leisurely walk, but you can’t help the way the forest captivates you.

The weight in your stomach grows with every step, every new specimen you get a glance of, you can’t explain what the feeling is, but you don’t want it to go away.

You snap your attention to Neteyam when he stops abruptly, he looks up to the trees and glances at the surrounding flora.

“What is around us?” He asks, his question catching you off guard. Vague yet intense questioning must run in the family…

You glance around, taking in the forest and vines, plants and creatures growing and living around you. “The forest” You’re technically not wrong, but you know there’s more to it than that so you scramble to say more before he comes to resent your shelteredness more than he probably already does. “Life, plants and animals”

Again, you’re not wrong, but the look he gives you tells you that you’re off the mark. He keeps his gaze on you, looking at you from over his shoulder before turning his attention to a short bush-like plant on the ground. He bends down and plucks two large seeds from the center bulb of the blue plant.

Lionberries, or Cynaroidia decumbens, it’s one of the lesser researched plants, but still well known. He stands up and hands you the seed, carefully you take it and cup it in your hand.

You study it for a moment before looking up to him. “This is the umm.. Kllpxiwll?” You speak slowly, wanting to get the pronunciation right, he tilts his head and nods, a small smile on his lips.

“Kllp-xi-wll” He repeats, sharpening his pronunciation in the beginning “You know of it?” he steps closer and takes a bite out of the second seed. Nervously you glance from the seed to him and nod.

You fiddle with the seed in your hand, feeling the texture and density of it for yourself. “I’ve studied the logs Grace made about the forest” Your eyes dart around the trees, landing on different vines and plants, names popping in and out of your head “um uh this is good for protein right?”

He nods carefully, he takes another bite out of the seed and motions towards yours. Nervously you take a bite, it’s an earthy flavor, a little bitter but its mellow enough to be enjoyable, like the piece of dark chocolate Norm found and gave to you years ago.

He steps back towards the plant and plucks one of the leaves, he rubs his fingers across it several times before running his fingers along the tree next to you, a faint blue mark left behind.

“Around us, is our way of life” He speaks in a mellow voice, keeping his eyes on the shapes he lazily draws with the pigment “When ground up, these leaves create a much more vibrant paste that we use for painting”

He turns to you and holds out his hands, one with the half eaten seed and the other covered in the pigment from the leaf. “Everything here is apart of the way of life we have created, a plant is created from the energy of Eywa” He gestures to the green surrounding you “Animals feed on the plant, using the energy for themselves, we then hunt those animals and use that energy”

He steps forward and swipes his thumb down the center of your forehead, leaving a faint blue mark that blends in with the color of your skin “And once we die, we return the energy back to Eywa” His eyes meet yous “and a plant is born”

Slowly you nod your head, it’s basic science, you learned about life cycles when you were 8, when you were first really getting into the scientific part of everything. It’s an easy thing to understand but somehow this feels deeper, it’s more than just the basic life cycle lesson.

Everything you’ve learned up till now has been through the eyes of a human born on earth, someone who grew up with the way of life that almost destroyed the beautiful planet you stand on now.

You wonder if earth was once this beautiful.

The way humans perceive things is inherently different from the Na’vi, from what you’ve heard, life on earth was kill or be killed, take for yourself and don’t look back. An unimaginable way of life for those on Pandora. So everything you have learned isn’t wrong, scientific wise it might be more than the Na’vi themselves may know, but something tells you that it’s not right either. Perhaps it’s the perspective you’ve learned it through, it’s the same information, but completely different meanings.

You knew that things would be different outside of the lab, being an avatar, but the revelation makes your mind feel paralyzed. It’s barely been a day since you found out you had an avatar at all and you can already feel the humanity of your existence being challenged.

Neteyam saw the change happen, the way your eyes widened and you weren’t just listening to him, but you were hearing him. A smirk passes over his lips as he turns and starts walking away, knowing you’ll follow behind him.

You're exhausted to say the least. Your legs ache from the almost constant walking, the bottoms of your feet sting from the scrapes and pricks from the unforgiving forest floor, your stomach turns and you wonder if you ate too much or too little before you eagerly followed the Olo’eyktan’s son on this journey.

You had been walking for hours, Neteyam wanting to waste as little time as possible. Your head hurt from the constant quizzing he started after you revealed your years of knowledge on the research of Pandora.

You thought you had been making progress with him, his stone demeanor faltering, until your exhaustion got the better of you.

He’d point at a plant or passing animal and you’d have to name it and everything you knew about it. The increasing venom in his stares when you pronounced something wrong only worsened your anxiety, resulting in a less than satisfactory performance.

You pronounced it wrong, you were thinking of a different thing, you didn’t know enough about it, you were just flat out wrong. You just wanted the ground to swallow you whole, you know that you don’t know everything but you’ve studied Pandora your whole life, you know a lot and he’s definitely being to nit picky. It’s your first day being outside of the lab for christ sake! You try to be patient, not let his words affect you, but his snappy comments and rather mean words make you wonder why he even agreed to this in the first place.

“Skxawng, wrong again.” he scoffs, skillfully climbing over a large fallen branch and continuing on, not even waiting for you. The branch is arched and high up, propped up against another tree enough to see through the bramble and vines hanging below it. The tangled vines are too thick to go through, the brush to your sides the same, leaving you with only the option to go over.

You bite your lip and reach your arms up to try to climb the fallen branch but you can’t find a good grip, it’s suspended in the air enough for you to have to almost rely entirely on upper body strength. You grip your fingers into subtle grooves but your fingernails start to sting, so you pull them away. You step back, considering going around it when you notice Neteyam had stopped, you can see his still figure though the vines in front of you.

He stands watching you, narrowing his eyes and observing you. If you went around, you feel it would be failing whatever test you think he’s putting you through. He can’t not teach you, if anything he should understand your hesitation and inability to travel like he does, it would just show him what he needs to help you with more.

But you want to impress him, show him that you’re not just some human that wants to learn for fun, prove yourself worthy of his teaching.

So you take several steps back, eyes scanning the scene when you spot a thick vine hanging from the tree the branch is propped against. Quickly you stride over and pull at it, testing its stability. When it does give, you smile and back up a few steps. You wrap the vine around your hand and pull yourself up, throwing your other hand up and gripping the vine and pulling yourself up till you're at height with the branch. You brace your feet against the free, stabilizing yourself on one before throwing the other over the thick branch.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you once you’ve let go of the vine and you look down. You actually did it. You bite your lip in excitement and swing your other leg over before jumping off and landing on the ground with a thud.

You’re a little disoriented, admittedly, having never jumped from such a height, but you’re on your feet and have no sprained or broken limbs. You whip your head up to meet Neteyams, an excited smile on your lips, full teeth.

He looks you up and down before nodding and turning around. “You are a fast learner, but here…” He looks at you from over his shoulder, gesturing around you “There is no room to hesitate or make a mistake.”

Without a second thought, he continues walking through the forest. You realize what an advantage being blue is, the farther you go into the forest, the more you really have to pay attention as to not lose him. You wonder how he was able to stalk you so well yesterday without even being close or in sight.

You walk for about another half hour, reciting the names and purposes for plants and different animals you pass by, often repeating the ones that show up more than once. You struggle to climb the trees when he insists on it, you’re slow but you manage to make it a fair way up. You can see one of the branches, eagerly, you reach over to pull yourself up to it when you loose your grip.

You scream embarrassingly loud as you fall, grabbing tightly onto the branch or vine you can get a hold of. You still for a moment, still suspended in air, you’re about to take a breath of relief when it snaps and you’re falling again.

The Na’vi are cat-like, you wonder if your avatar wasn’t combines with human DNA if you’d land on your feet, if that happens to the Na’vi in the first place.

Your survival instincts aren’t… good. Anyone raised in the forest would surely do better than closing their eyes and freezing as soon as they feel any type of fear or pain, if you don’t die from the fall then you’re going to die from embarrassment and humiliation.

You can only wonder what Neteyam must be thinking when you feel yourself stop, the ground isn’t as painful as you thought it would be. In fact you don’t even feel the ground, you’re still half suspended in the air.

Slowly you open your eyes to a worried Neteyam, his eyes are scanning your body for any sign of injury before they meet yours. You grimace, about to apologize for your oafishness when he kneels down and carefully sets you down.

You’re on your knees and he’s grabbing your arms, inspecting them with a frown on his face. You silently let him, still frazzled by the experience and not wanting to bother him. His hands ghost across your skin when they land on your shirt, torn at the bottom and along the side up your your armpit.

It doesn’t sting, so you assume the rip is the worst of the damage. After a moment he pulls back and glances over you one more time before meeting your eyes. “Are you ok?” The question snaps you out a state you didn’t realize you were in.

His face is serious, all you can do is nod. A beat passes and he nods and sits back, he stares at you for a moment. “You climbed well…” The statement is awkward, maybe because you’re still in shock but you take a moment before responding.

“I fell” your voice is quiet, you have to clear your throat after it comes out raspy and crackly.

“You made it far” He keeps his gaze on you, intense as always “I am surprised you didn’t fall sooner” You glance up and see a smirk sneaking onto his lips. A quiet chuckle escapes your lips, you wrap your arms around yourself and shift so your legs are folded and you’re no longer on your knees.

“I’m surprised I’m still alive” You joke, rolling your eyes and looking back up to the spot you fell from. Neteyam furrows his brows before leaning forward and pushing at your shoulder.

“You wouldn’t have died” he states, you raise your brow questioningly and he looks up to the tree before pursing his lips “You would have just… hurt a lot” He adds, a wry smile forming on his face.

You roll your eyes again before laughing “I don’t think Norm and Max would ever let me leave my room again” You lean back further and hit the tree, letting all your weight rest against it. “Injuring my avatar in less than 24 hours? I definitely would have thought i’m cursed”

He tilts his head, confused again by your statement, but chooses to drop it. “I think my dad would skin me if i came back and the daughter of his closest friends was injured”

You let out a laugh “Considering how you’ve been able to save me from myself several times, it wouldn’t be your fault at all” You point out, you loom down and start drawing random shapes in the dirt. “Plus i doubt he would care much, maybe he’d be upset but no way you’d take the fall for it.”

He shakes his head “He would definitely care, plus you’re my responsibility” He lazily points to you “You’re like a baby” you roll your eyes “It’s my job to teach you, if you get hurt it’s because i failed to teach you.”

Theres a beat of silence before you frown “That’s stupid” you mumble, keeping your focus on the array of lines and crudely drawn shapes in the same spot of dirt “I’m not helpless” you state. You glance up for a moment only to be met with a raised brow. “I’m not! I mean I’m here because the Tsahik saw some kind of worth in me”

You feel that churning in your stomach you always get before you retreat back to your room, curling up on your bed and pulling up a research log or movie to occupy yourself with. This is the longest you’ve been around someone who wasn’t one of your dads in… years.

Spider, Kiri, and Lo’ak would come around a lot, but it wasn’t for long and when it was, all the attention was on an argument Kiri and Lo’ak were having or Spider, never you. You don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t know anything about actually being in the forest or talking to people. Lo’ak and Spider did most of the talking, it was easy to listen and occasionally egg them on.

Neteyam, he didn’t speak. Silence around him was deafening, it wasn’t the kind of silence you could have with Kiri or your dads, it suffocated you, so you talked. You talked to fill the space but you don't know how to talk! You’ve made it this far but the lump forming in your throat makes you think you’re going to throw up before you can carry on the conversation.

He stares at you for a moment “Why else would I be teaching you?” The statement strikes you.

You stare blankly at the ground beneath you, trying to decipher his words, trying to decipher how you feel about them.

Before you can decide, he stands up and nods for you to do the same.

“Lead us home”

A moment passes

“... huh?”

He gestures to the direction you came from “Lead us home, we are not that far out.” Slowly you tilt your head, staring out into the deep forest before looking back to him.

“You’re serious?” It comes out quieter than you mean, nervous. He nods.

“I am here, we will not get lost” He steps out of the way and reaches for your upper arms, nudging you closer “I trust you were paying attention?”

You nod, you were definitely paying attention, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of what’s around you, but you’re nowhere near confident enough to lead yourself back home. Going alone far into the woods yesterday was simply a one-off situation, excitement completely taking over your sense of logic.

Another beat passes and you don't make any move to start leading you both home. You look down to the floor, much more interested in the flowing grass than the multiple different looks Neteyam could be giving you. Nervously you wring your hands and bite your lip.

Neteyam watches you for a moment before sighing. You were making so much progress, the park he saw in you yesterday came out, only for a moment before retreating back, and he was faced with the nervous girl that seemingly only came out when he did something.

Maybe he was pushing you too far, but he wanted to get this over with. He doesn’t know what to think of you and he doesn’t want to. You’re a human, a dreamwalker that just so happened to be interested enough in Pandora to catch Eywa and his grandmother's eye.

His father was once in your place but that was different, not only was he Toruk Makto, but he made a choice to join the Na’vi and stay on Pandora. He had an entire life back on earth, everything he ever knew, and he gave it up to protect and learn from the people. You don’t have much of a choice, yeah you could choose to stay in the lab, reject his grandmother’s offer to learn, but why would you? There’s nothing else for you. He doesn’t doubt Eywa’s judgment, but he wonders if it would be the same if the choices weren’t so… definite.

“Fine, but tomorrow you will learn.”

You’re exhausted when you get back to the village, you pull up enough energy to entertain Tuk, listen to her story about her day. Your voice is quiet but smooth when you respond, she nuzzles closer to you everytime you speak, seemingly making her sleepy.

Kiri and Lo’ak sit around you asking about your training, you honestly don’t want to talk about it but you don’t want to give them the wrong idea, so you give them vague and brief answers. It doesn’t take them long to pick up the vibe and change the subject, at least it doesn’t take Kiri long, Lo’ak needed more of a harsh nudge to his side from his sister when he asked a probing question to get the memo.

As soon as you eat, you go back to your hammock tent to sleep, waking up in the pod almost immediately.

The headache you get is splitting, a hissed groan escaping your dry throat. Norm is at your side with a glass of water “Hey kid, you came out at just the right time, dinner is about ready” He places a hand on the back of your head as you take the glass and gulp down the water as fast as you can.

He helps you over to the table where Max sits across from you and slides a screen over. You look over it but only look back up at him confused.

“I thought we could open the Avatar program back up, a little un-officially but you’re the youngest Avatar driver in action, and the only one trained by the Omaticaya, after Jake.” He explains, pulling the screen back and replacing it with a food tray. Carefully you scoop a piece of food into your mouth.

“You’ve watched enough logs for me to not have to explain them” a smile creeps onto both your mouths. Look down to your food and think.

“Why?” you finish chewing the food in your mouth and swallow before continuing “I mean the research wouldn’t exactly benefit us, it’s not like we have any inexperienced drivers or scientists readily available to test something new”

He chuckles, shaking his head “Kid, if we wanted successful research that would ‘benefit’ us, we wouldn’t have become ‘rogue humans’ and stayed on a planet that doesn’t want science at all.” You look down at your food and consider his words.

And with that, the Avatar program opened again. After eating dinner you sit down in front of the video camera and talk about your experience.

It was therapeutic, especially when you did them late at night when you were completely alone. You talked about how weird it was to be in a new body, a healthy one. Being able to walk and run, feel the forest floor and see the forest.

Talking about Neteyam’s lesson was more or less something you wanted to avoid. You were embarrassed but you also didn’t know how to talk about Neteyam. You had this preconceived notion of him, you didn’t take it to heart but it was still your only knowledge of him. You couldn’t decide if it was right or not, you couldn’t decide how you feel about him.

You didn’t get to talk to Spider much, being busy with the log and then falling asleep almost immediately. You didn’t get much time at breakfast, waking up late because you spent so much time recording your log. So when Spider was out the door, your link pod was closing and you were in the jungle, laying in your hammock as the slimmer of sunlight creeps into your tent.

You’re not so tired anymore, the perks of being an Avatar you guess. You don’t hesitate this time, leaving your hammock and joining the bustle of the village with as much confidence as you can muster.

“Tuk! Don’t go so fast! Mom wants you with her for breakfast!” You hear Kiri yell, before you can really process anything, a small figure is slamming into your legs, almost knocking you over.

“Y/n! Y/n!” She grabs both your hands in hers and starts jumping up and down, she’s way to energetic for this early in the morning. A fond smile creeps onto your lips and you reach down, scooping her into your arms and bringing her close for a hug.

“Oh tuk tuk tuk..” You murmur her name as she wraps her arms around you neck, her hands fiddling with your loose and messy hair. You smile as Kiri jogs up to both of you, smiling and reaching over to place a hand on Tuk’s back.

“Tuk you cannot run off like that!” Kiri scolds as calmly as she can, you chuckle as Tuk just whips her head around with a quick “Sorry Kiri!” before turning back to your hair, mumbling something about the beads she wanted to braid into it.

You offer her a smile “Good morning Kiri” you giggle, she stares at Tuk for a moment before turning her attention to you.

“Good morning Y/n, more training today?” She asks, Lo’ak walking up next to her, raising his brows to say he’s wondering the same thing.

You nod, smiling as Lo’ak rolls his eyes. “God you’re gonna have such a stick up your ass by the time Neteyam is done with you” You gasp as Kiri punches his shoulder, both of you gesturing to a now confused and curious Tuk.

She looks at you wide eyes, humming a confused noise before you tell her nothing was wrong, she shrugs and goes back to the loose braids she was making with the underside of your hair. You glare at Lo’ak as he puts his hands up and laughs. “Point proven” He mumbles out, being met with another sharp punch to his shoulder.

“Well i’m glad you finally met Neteyam, making up for all the years you hung out with us but never him huh?” Kiri nudges your arm, wriggling her eyebrows. You roll your eyes and shake your head.

“If i’m gonna learn the ways of the people then i’m going to be spending a lot of time with him.” You state with a sign, you roll your eyes as Kiri and Lo’ak both chuckle, making comments about your ‘soon to be closeness’ with their brother.

Tuk pulls back for a second, a wide and curious smile on her face. “Y/n!” she whisper yells, you turn your head so your ear is facing her, playing along with her childish habits. She giggles before leaning in and ‘whispering’ even louder “Do you have a crush on Neteyam!?”

Her question catches you off guard, making you freeze, a slight blush heating your cheeks. Kiri and Lo’ak, who both unintentionally leaned in to hear Tuk, burst out laughing. Lo’ak with his full chest, doubling over, over dramatic laugh he always does. Kiri, in contrast, throws her head back and stifles her laugh a bit by covering her mouth with her hand.

You send the two siblings a quick glare before looking back to Tuk. “No no Tuk, he’s just teaching me” you’re quick to clarify, flustered by her question.

She giggles “But if you diiiiid, then you could be my sister!” she exclaims, patting your shoulders excitedly. Kiri and Lo’ak look to you, you widen your eyes as if to ask how on earth such a young child knew all this?

Kiri raises a brow to Lo’ak who shakes his head and mouths “it wasn’t me”

You shake your head and look down to Tuk. She’s a persistent girl, she latches onto an idea and rarely ever gives it up, her easily distracted demeanor misleading you to think she’d forget, only for her to bring it up with as much determination months later.

You think for a moment before nuzzling your head into her cheek making her giggle. “Oh but Tuk-Tuk I love you so much already!” You glance up to Kiri who steps forward and places her hand on Tuk’s head.

“Yeah Tuk, Y/n doesn’t need to mate with our brother to be your sister” Kiri explains, Tuk looks back to her and thinks for a moment before smiling and turning her head back to you, nodding vigorously. Kiri leans into your ear and whispers “Nice save”

You give her a smile and lean closer to her “You too” you say under your breath. Lo’ak appears from behind you both, throwing his arms over both your shoulders, wedging himself between you and the older sister.

“Besides, Tuk, if Y/n were to mate with anyone it would be me!” He states proudly, shooting you a sly grin. Before you can react, he’s looking over his shoulder and calling out to someone behind you. “Isn’t that right Neteyam?”

You can feel your body freeze, you feel your blood run cold as you turn your whole body, Lo’ak briefly taking his arm off you to turn with you, placing his arm across your shoulders again and leaning against you more.

Neteyam stands, several feet away, carrying several logs of wood, a confused look on his face. “What?” he asks, looking between you and his siblings. You can hear Kiri angrily asking Lo’ak ‘what the fuck is wrong with him’

Lo’ak grins at you before looking back to Neteyam “If me and Y/n mated then she and Tuk could be sisters!” His voice is loud in your ear, his hand reaching up from next to you head to pinch your cheek. Lo’ak’s always had a bit of a flirty personality, it was a joke between the two of you to flirt sometimes, always acting out dramatic scenarios as a kid, but it’s been a while since he showed any form of interest outside of his usual flirt.

Neteyam looks between the two of you, Lo’ak is smirking like an asshole, tilting his head back in the defiant way he started doing the past few years. Tuk is looking at him bright eyed and shaking her head up and down, her intentions much more innocent than her brothers, genuinely excited at the idea of the girl she’s been so fond of being apart of the family.

Kiri seems to share his confusion, looking at their brother with an annoyed and baffled look. She turns her attention to him, shaking her head, the scene resembled the almost everyday occurrences when they were kids. Kiri compliant with Lo’ak’s antics while avoiding being an enabler and encouraging Neteyam to let it go. Neteyam and Lo’ak at a standstill, except this time its different, it’s no longer about Lo’ak unable to hold back from his adventurous personality and Neteyam only wanting the best for him.

The air between You and Neteyam as he makes eye contact with you is thick. This situation mirrors the game they’ve been playing their whole lives except you are here.

“Yeah” his voice is flat. You stand there awkwardly, eyes following his retreating figure. Lo’ak cackles and Kiri scolds him more loudly.

“C’mon it was funny! And I didn’t do anything wrong!” You hear Lo’ak defending himself from Kiri, reasoning it’s not a big deal and Neteyam could take a joke. “C’mon Y/n, stop pouting like that, It wouldn’t be that bad if we mated”

You finally pull your eyes off of Neteyam, who was now sitting in front of the fire, meeting Lo’ak’s grinning face. This is the boy you’ve known almost all your life, the one who’d stay in your room for hours on end despite how cramped it was for him. It’s Lo’ak.

You smile lamely “What is that Kiri says?” You raise your eyebrows, Kiri stepping closer and flicking Lo’ak’s forehead. “I would drink acid” you articulate, leaning into his face, grinning. He rolls his eyes and laughs, pushing you back by your shoulder.

You were focused on recovering from the situation that you failed to notice Neteyams eyes on you.

More drama and romance is to come! been a little busy but i've def got some ideas lol

#avatar #avatar: the way of water #avatar twow #avatar 2 #neteyam imagine #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam x reader #protective neteyam #spider socorro #angst #fluff #x reader #reader insert #writer #neteyam sully #neteyam #avatar the way of water #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you

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ryuichirou · 20 days

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So i'm reading your yandere/hypnosis post and i get to Vil being utterly jealous enough to try on Rook; and it makes me think about his drive and the second place club lol (Leona, Jamil and Vil) like D: poor them they're always outranked by that ooonnee person! Can our boys catch a break? whether that person knows or not I always tend to feel bad--especially for Vil since i remember his inner speech in book 5 and the fact that his most trusted person ended up being such a big fan of the person who makes him feel like second best. wait i love rookvil i think i made myself sad LOL NOoo--aahh I rambled im sorry, i guess the main question i wanna ask is what do you think about those particular three always having to come second to their respective counterparts? I think your opinions and insight is so interesting that i'd like to know your thoughts on this! and you don't have to answer for all three characters if you dont wanna I was just curious on your thoughts! Anyways, have a good day and stay hydrated! it's hot this summer oof

Anon! Took some time to get back to you as well, sorry for the late reply. Summer is already over, but it’s still SO HOT…

Without diving into just how much I love the ending of book5 and the whole Rook-Vil-Neige thing (I feel like I talk about it all the time LOL)… It is interesting how these Vil, Jamil and Leona always get to be second best, isn’t it? But ironically, I don’t think I ever grouped them in my head based on this. Maybe it’s because of how different their situations are? But also now that I think about it…

Vil isn’t better than Neige, and he tries to be better by working hard.

Jamil is better than Kalim, but he can’t be better because of his status.

Leona may or may not be better than Falena in some ways, but he doesn’t even bother.

Ignoring the fact that this “better” is always subjective and in actuality things are more complex than that… and also trying not to sound like an armchair therapist that’s just telling anime boys “you should have done this you idiot”, but.

Jamil got the most development in that sense because this internal conflict is very straightforward, in fact, he was the easiest one to describe with these little sentences I just wrote. Jamil wants to stop pretending to be worse than he is, he wants to work hard and to show how great he is without being forced to get worse results than Kalim. He is only the second best because he consciously allows Kalim to be the best whenever he is given this choice. And he isn’t always given a choice: a lot of times the system decides for him, just like when Crowley chose Kalim to be the housewarden. Still, even in that situation, Jamil knows for a fact the shape, the density and the nature of this ceiling he can’t break, he’s been aware of it for his entire life. This is why it’s easy to pinpoint moments of Jamil’s growth: when he expresses how much he hates pretending to be worse than Kalim, when he says that he won’t hold back anymore, when he gets to dance and rap at VDC as a lead-vocalist and, ironically, when he gets scolded by Leona in ch6 (I have some issues with their sub-story, but still).

With Vil, the difficult part is to understand what exactly he understands as “beauty”: I mentioned it in a bunch of Vil-centric posts, but we’ve seen how in-canon he was described as too beautiful, therefore not as relatable as Neige. So this isn’t about beauty, and in a way I think this isn’t about Neige either. This is about Vil’s own feeling of self-worth and self-expression, and how people perceive him; Neige is just a very good point of reference, a good metric, especially considering that they always end up being compared to each other and that comparing numbers of followers is easy and seemingly objective (which is a cruel trap a lot of people fall for).

What I’m trying to say is that Vil isn’t fully and constantly aware of “the shape of this ceiling”, or rather why he can’t reach Neige; this is why we had that ending to his book. This isn’t solely about skill or quality, but those are the main things Vil focuses on.

And Leona… I am not sure about him, to be honest, because it boils down to one problem that I have with him: I am not sure what he wants.

It’s easy to compare him to Jamil because it seems like his issue lies in being frustrated with the system: he will never be the first because Falena is literally the first born son. But I don’t think it’s fair to compare a prince with a servant like that, because even though Leona wouldn’t be the king, he still has a lot of power and opportunities, and we’ve seen Falena valuing his strong points and expressing that he wants Leona to help him. One might even say that he invited Leona to be by his side, as a brother and an equal. But this isn’t what Leona wants in actuality, is it?

His “ceiling” seems to be obvious, but I guess his actual frustrations lie elsewhere, and those are kind of difficult to see because of how inconsistent he is. But maybe it’s just me being frustrated with his character again lol

I am replying so late because I really thought I would have some kind of conclusion about this whole thing, but it seems like I don’t lol Still, it was an interesting topic to think about.

Thank you for your ask! <3

#replies #about characters

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crow-hoards-things · 5 months

Text

The Bad Batch Series Finale

FULL DISCLOSURE: This is a vent post. I’m angry and hurt. After I get this out of my system I’ll be more open to discussing the positives of the episode.

Warnings: Ranting, Spoilers

Hooo boy. Okay. I am… less than satisfied?

Quick rundown since I haven’t posted much of anything Bad Batch related: Tech is my favorite Batch member, immediately followed by Crosshair. I’m also a HUGE Republic Commando Nerd (read all the books, played the game, despised Bad Batch as a whole initially because I felt the commandos were being unfairly ignored, can sing + translate Vode An, etc.) and Scorch was my favorite Delta. The Bad Batch grew on me shortly after Season 1 finished up, and I immediately latched onto Tech when I began watching. He’s the reason I watched the first two seasons. (Crosshair + delusions about Tech were the combined force behind watching the final season)

NOW, onto my actual thoughts on the episode, in no semblance of order because my brain is still trying to process, Ft. Cry count:

• Wish Tech was here. He would’ve loved the Zillo being freed.

• “‘Cause I’d do the same thing” no you wouldn’t. Fives would’ve. The you I fell in love with would’ve yelled at Fives about it being a terrible idea and then promptly gone along with it anyway. That said it was a really cute moment and I loved his nonchalant little “come on” afterwards.

• C: “Echo or Omega?” W&H: “Omega” THEY KNOW THEIR GIRL SO WELL

• When Hemlock went to get the operatives I got excited thinking maybe, just maybe we’d get Tech back.

• CROSSHAIR LOST HIS FREAKING HAND!?!? WHAT THE HECK!?! I will never stop being salty about this. He’s been through enough. [Near Tears]

• Rampart sucks

• Nala Se got to blow stuff up and I appreciate that even if I don’t really like her

• I’m glad Wrecker’s okay. He had me scared for a bit. Hunter, conversely, never really did? He’s Omega’s Dad, he had to survive.

• Did anybody else see that one operative whose helmet seemingly had goggles built into it? We had a lingering shot on his helmet for a few seconds and they looked like a red version of Tech’s goggles.

• SCORCH IS DEAD AND YOU’D BETTER BELIEVE I’M MAD ABOUT IT! [First shedding of tears]

• HECK YEAH, HEMLOCK IS DEAD!!! [Tears of relief combined with grief over Scorch]

• I’m so glad Omega hugged Crosshair first. I fully expected her to just run to Hunter, and Crosshair needed that hug.

• Echo’s goodbye was disrespectful. 0/10. He’s family and they don’t even care that he’s leaving???

• SOMEONE IS MISSING FROM OUR NICE LITTLE GROUP SHOT!

• I never really got super invested in the dynamic between Omega and Hunter, but the ending between them was cute I guess.

• We were robbed. We could’ve gotten Crosshair and Wrecker as old men and we were robbed.

• Tech is dead. Like, seriously, really and truly, dead. As a delusional “Tech’s alive guys, trust me” fan, it feels like he just died all over again. I’ll talk more about this later because I’m not over it. [Que sob-fest]

alright, circling back around to my main gripes, in order of appearance:

#1. Scorch.

I hate how they handled him. At first when he showed up I got super excited. That was my boy! In the Bad Batch show!! He’s making an appearance!!! Maybe they’ll do something with the Delta boys!!

Even as the episodes went on and I started to suspect where his path was leading, I consistently would go “Scorch!!! <3” every episode, because that is my boy and I love him dearly.

The levels of offended I am on Scorch’s behalf are not within my ability to express with words. The complete and utter disrespect he was shown over his time on the show is appalling. Why bring him in if you’re going to drain him of all his personality, make him have zero plot relevance, and then murder him?! They could easily have made a new clone for that, as seen by the number of operatives who exist and got 0.5 minutes of screen time.

But no. They brought in a beloved character with 10 seconds of canonical screen time prior, stripped him of everything that made him lovable, didn’t even have him DO ANYTHING, and then murdered him. It feels like a spit in the face and a kick to the gut all at once.

I will mourn. I’ve already cried and I’ll probably cry again. But right now I’m angry and I think Scorch deserves to have people be angry about how he was treated.

#2. Tech

Yes. I admit to having been a “trust me guys, Tech’s alive” person. I will also admit that at the end of episode 13 I wanted him to stay dead because I had zero faith they could satisfactorily bring him back.

My gripe is not with him staying dead. Yes, it feels like losing him all over again. Yes, I will mourn him again. Yes. That sucks. It’s not what’s making me mad.

What makes me mad is how his death was handled.

• It served ZERO purpose narratively other than to up the stakes and make us worry about whether anyone else would die (Spoiler alert: They didn’t. Tech was the only one who died) • Nobody mourned him. No one seemed affected by his death at all. No one cared. I don’t care what anyone says, that will NEVER be okay. • The first actual mention of Tech *dying* was in the finale. Sure, we’ve had name drops and goggle appearances, but actually talking about what happened? One line. One. Freaking. Line.

I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face, you know? He deserved better and so did we. He was a part of that family and they couldn’t even be bothered to address the responses to his death. He was beloved by many of us and they couldn’t even respect him or his fans enough to treat his death like something to be mourned.

That’s wrong, no matter how you look at it.

#Crow’s cawing #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch #star wars tbb #Star Wars The Bad Batch Tech #tbb tech #star wars republic commando #republic commando #tbb scorch #clone commando #clone commando scorch #tbb spoilers #Star Wars The Bad Batch spoilers #spoilers

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halfetirosie · 7 months

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Character Ask meme- Edmond

@xenole I hope you know that you opened the floodgates, and this was going to be even longer but I forced myself to stop before I went fully off-the-rails...

♡♡♡Edmond♡♡♡

First impression

Believe it or not, my first impression of Edmond actually wasn’t good! I was like, “Damn, he’s pretty, but he’s such an asshole!” He seemed stuck-up at best and unnecessarily mean to Eiden at worst. I felt a wee bit better about him when he told Yakumo that the knights that bothered his village were being punished, but I still didn’t like him very much.

Impression now

*Deep inhale*

EVERYDAY I REPENT FOR MY PAST ACTIONS!!!!

I LOVE EDMOND AND WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR HIM!!!!!

Yo. The GAP MOE. He acts all cold and professional at work, but then we find out that he’s sensitive??? And addicted to sugar??? (Literally a sweetheart!) And he’s basically an otaku that reads erotic book series in his spare time??? (SO DAMN RELATABLE????)

And it is so easy to misunderstand him if you’re only looking at the surface level. Like, yes, his general speech patterns are very rough and blunt, but that’s only because of his upbringing in nobility. He holds himself to a higher standard, but is incredibly humble.

No, really; let’s take a moment to really look at that noble upbringing of his. Aster makes it very clear that many (if not most) of the nobles of Klein are stupid, greedy, and/or corrupt in some capacity—they don’t really care about the common people. Edmond grew up surrounded by that, along with their insane amount of ettiquette, customs, and roundabout ways of speaking. It would’ve been TOO EASY for him to turn out to be a self-absorbed snob, too.

But he isn’t!!! Against all odds, Edmond grew up to be an upright man with a strong sense of justice and concern for civilians. He takes noblesse oblige seriously. He works hard everyday in everything he does; and he does A LOT. Like, A LOT a lot. His full-time job as Vice Captain, plus Clan duties, plus household duties (so that his mother doesn’t have to do any of it, even though she says she can).

It’s no wonder, then, that he’s so goddamn repressed!!!

Sure, he’s a tsundere. But that’s only out of habit (and shyness), rather an actual reflection of his desires. He’s used to stifling that part of himself. He’s used to treating lust as shameful, because he’s afraid of lacking discipline; he doesn’t want to be like all the other trashy nobles in high society.

But through all of his intimacy rooms, Edmond is accepting himself more and more—his sexuality, his essence/magic, and his feelings. While he’s still the strict and hardworking Vice Captain, he’s finding more balance in his life.

Favorite moment

So hard to pic only one!!!

During the White Dat event, Edmond makes his awful dad-joke and looks so proud of himself, it makes me feel so endeared I can barely handle it!!!

The Tranquil Cloud intimacy rooms also hold a special place in my heart. In them, there’s a moment where Edmond deliberately slows his steps so Eiden can walk next to him. Later on in the day, Eiden accidentally finds out that Edmond was following a very specific tip from a certain book:

CUTEEEEEEE!!!! It reminds me of when you're a young kid looking up online "how to know if my crush likes me" or "how to get your crush to like you back" XD!!!

Of course, when Edmond sees Eiden reading that page (which he’d bookmarked and even underlined), he gets very embarrassed. But Eiden is very impressed, moved, and (as per usual) turned on. XD

Idea for a story

It won’t be coming out anytime soon, because there are different stories I have to work on first, but I have started on an Edmond fic! In it, while Edmond is off investigating a drug ring, he ends up raiding a greenhouse filled with plants and animals that were used to make the drugs. After the animals are inspected, those without abnormalities are released back into the wild; however, one of them returns and keeps following Edmond around! Thus, Edmond gets reverse-adopted and gains his own animal friend!

Unpopular opinion

Idk if this is an unpopular opinion or not, but I NEED more of the Edmond intimacy rooms to lean in to BDSM territory!!!

Don’t get me wrong; I absolutely ADORE the romance-heavy rooms. And there have been some rooms that feature light over-stimulation, but other than that? That one fingering scene that had Lord/Knight role-play and then (blessedly) the Elite Instructor Edmond R2 with light bondage and spanking.

But it’s not enough!!!

Come on, devs! You can’t just have Eiden point out that Ed “likes a little pain” in the first sex scene they have, and then do barely ANYTHING with it! I want to see Edmond completely lose his head! I want him to completely let go! I want him to forget his own name, dammit!!!

Favorite relationship

I love it when Yakumo is inflicted with Edmond!!! XD Edmond ruining everything he touches by drowning it in sugar, while Yakumo desperately attempts to stay calm…>:)

More seriously, Edmond’s relationship with Eiden is TOP TIER. With every event he’s featured in, all of the intimacy rooms show him falling deeper and deeper in love. It's the sweetest thing ever!!!!

Favorite headcanon

Mama’s Boy Edmond! I like to imagine that Ed’s mom (who, from what we’ve seen, is super cool) will give him completely unsolicited relationship advice, in typical mom-fashion! Like, the two of them will be causally eating lunch, and out of nowhere she’ll say something like “You know, Edmond dear, the more often someone sees you, the more fond they'll be of you. If the Grand Sorcerer sees your face every day, it’ll be easier to seduce him!” And Ed would practically shriek “Mother! How could you say something so scandalous?!?!” But then later that same day he’ll be sure to swing by Aster's mansion, an be sure to walk by Eiden's room…

#nu carnival #nu: carnival #nu carnival edmond

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jamesunderwater · 8 months

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1. Tell us why you like James Potter! I want a whole essay please and thank you!

"Why I Love Like James Potter" by jamesunderwater 1/27/24

So, I think an important context for my feelings about James Potter is that (as you know) I am a fandom elder. Which means, I already had an extreme attachment to James Potter and his pals before we ever even got the Snape’s Worst Memory chapter. I just looked it up, and somehow I was only ten when OotP came out, so evidently I was massively in love with Sirius Black and obsessed with the Marauders before I hit double digits. (Jesus, no wonder they’re molded with my identity.) The point being – before he was anything else to me, James Potter was the man who bravely sacrificed himself for his family, whose core feature was defined by Sirius’s declaration that they “would have died rather than betray their friends.” He was the guy who figured out how to become an animagus just to be a supportive friend, and based on the few lines that the Marauders have through the Map in PoA, he was hilarious. And really, the fandom kinda just took that and ran with it. So by the time OotP came out and we got so much more information on him – and his dynamic with Lily (cue me sighing dreamily here) – James Potter was already a venerated figure in my mind. -- OMG I just had a buried memory pop up of the Harry Potter Trading Cards as well, which, I don’t think I had one / there was one for James, but there was one for Lily, where she was holding toadspawn?? Or something? and I was in love with her just based on her cute face and red hair and bright eyes, so obviously I’m gonna also be infatuated with the guy who got to marry her.

Okay I got a bit off the point.

I guess reflecting on it, the way I fell in love with James as a character was very different than how I did for Sirius, and it’s in part due to Sirius being alive in the books, but also speaks to who James is, too. I fell in love with Sirius for who Sirius is, all by himself. I fell in love with James for who he is with other people. I loved the guy who would do anything for his friends. I loved the guy who had this magnetic dynamic with the fiery redhead. I loved the guy who was brilliant and loved by all, and didn’t think twice about sacrificing himself for his family. And I think that this has, for the most part, remained the core of why I love him.

But of course, I’ve grown up a lot since then, and so have my feelings and opinions.

– intermission to say I looked back at the ask and realized it only asks about why I like the character, which…somehow changes some of my answer, but we’re gonna try to roll them together –

Okay, so why I both like and love James as a character now has a lot more to do with the nuances of him. I love that he isn’t perfect. He’s multi-dimensional, and I think his character is a great opportunity to investigate growing up. I think that progression is harder to see in some of the other characters (I have thoughts on why but they aren’t the point right now), but James is just this splendid example of how someone can be so fundamentally good, and also be a fucking kid. He’s messy and that doesn’t make him any less of a “hero” or a “good guy,” but not in your traditional anti-hero or villain arc kind of way. I dunno, maybe it’s in part because I relate to this feeling of not always being a “good person” growing up. I could be arrogant, and mean, and over-dramatic, and stubborn, but people still saw me as a good, likable person, and eventually I did grow out of a lot of the harsher aspects of those characteristics. I love that James gives permission for that, to inspect the dualities within people.

And on a basic level, I think he was kind of the picture of everything I wanted to have and be. His physical looks / physique is what I’ve been drawn to in men, and eventually realized it’s what I wanted to look like myself; he has this found family that he’s built that is truly a family, this best friend who accepts him fully and he accepts fully and they’re attached at the hip; he becomes a person deserving of and complementary to a strong, independent, kind woman; and his kid is Harry Potter, who truly is one of my favorite characters of all time. So.

I dunno, I feel like this isn’t as eloquent as I wanted it to be… I’d be very curious to hear other people’s thoughts added onto this (yours and others’!) because I know there’s so much more that I’m missing that other people would say.

I got to nearly 850 words, though, so hopefully this essay is sufficient enough to earn me a B, at least.

[Submitting for Extra Credit: Photo of the frogspawn card from the Harry Potter Trading Card Game]

#james potter #hp #james potter meta #kinda xD #the marauders #fandom elder #jily #the post is here

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isfjmel-phleg · 3 months

Text

About a decade ago, I read The White Feather and found myself relating a lot to its protagonist, R. D. Sheen. Shy, lacking confidence, unable to handle confrontation, more studious than athletic, and getting lectured by everyone about how you Just Need To Stop Being Like That.

Now, after a lot of personal changes and a year and a half of therapy, I reread the book for the first time in quite a while (ever since the Nightmare Class, reading PGW is not the joy it used to be, so I haven't engaged much with his works in years). And I still found myself understanding Sheen, but now also deeply frustrated that almost no one is really helping him with a problem that is not of his own making but the product of a toxic culture that the narrative seems to accept without question.

And there's no intentional malice in what Wodehouse is depicting. It's clear that he--at least at the time when he wrote this book, in his mid-twenties--too was steeped in this culture and never thought to question it. It was the way of the world. It was what society expected of men. It was an absolutely disastrous mindset, as history shows us.

Wodehouse's school stories tend to take a light-hearted view of the British public school experience, and in general that is their strength. But The White Feather differs from the others in that it depicts a darker side of such schools--and perhaps the most messed-up thing about it is that the narrative doesn't fully realize how mesed up it truly is.

We’re introduced to our protagonist—no, we aren’t. Not right away. Sheen isn’t even mentioned in the entire first chapter, which is a conversation between three characters who barely appear at all for the rest of the story, discussing the abysmal state of Wrykyn’s football (rugby) team. This ties this story with the first novel set at Wrykyn, The Gold Bat, whose protagonists are among the people talking here, but for a reader coming to this book with no knowledge of earlier stories, it’s a bit jarring, and one might be tempted to skip this chapter altogether. But its presence indicates the narrative’s priorities. We are not primarily here to concentrate on an individual alone; we must constantly bear in mind that the honor of the school is in potential crisis as long as its athletic record this year is less than stellar. It establishes the nature of the setting. School before all else. Reputation and superiority before all else. Athletics before all else. These are the kind of boys (and men, a teacher appears too) that populate this all-male environment, and this is what they value.

Then, and only then, can we meet Sheen and see how badly he fails to live up to the school culture’s ideal. This utter disgrace of an excuse for a human being has committed numerous crimes, including preferring to stay indoors, being a loner with almost no friends, shunning athletics (except fives, a form of handball, which apparently isn’t athletic enough), concentrating on studies as he prepares for an examination to earn a scholarship, and being afraid of giving offense to the point that he cannot handle confrontation at all. The narrative is sympathetic enough to Sheen, in a pitying sort of way, but it’s made clear that he has problems that need to be addressed. And that’s true enough. Sheen needs self-confidence. He needs to learn how to better manage his social anxiety and handle conflict so that others won’t walk all over him as they tend to.

An important thing that we don’t learn is exactly why Sheen is this way. We know next to nothing about his home life. We don’t even know his given name, the name that would only be used by family and perhaps the closest friends. We find out that he has a dog at home, and there’s a reference that suggests that he might have a sister, but we know nothing about his parents. We don’t even know if he has parents. He is never seen writing to his family, not even when the entire school quits speaking to him. He is never seen thinking or worrying about what his parents might think of him or his school performance. We might be able to infer something from his asking Jack Bruce, “Doesn’t your father mind your motoring?”–as if he expects a father to be the sort of person who disapproves of one’s hobbies and interests. Whatever the case may be, Sheen’s behavior cannot have come out of nowhere. It points to a likelihood that he was raised in an environment where his guardians were authoritarian, expected complete subjection, and valued children being seen and not heard—to an extent even greater than the typical late Victorian / Edwardian family. Sheen has evidently learned from a young age that the best way to survive is to comply, lie low, and not venture too far into anything unfamiliar and potentially dangerous.

This boy certainly has my sympathy. He does not have my contempt. These are not behaviors that one consciously chooses to adopt out of some kind of moral failing. But the narrative, by leaving out whatever story explains why Sheen is the way he is, seems to imply that it is his fault that he falls short of the schoolboy ideal, and the kind of people who surround him reinforce this perspective. Sheen has had only a few friendships, all of which have been basically transactional. Stanning only wants Sheen around when he needs someone to play the piano at forbidden house parties off-campus—having a musician on hand was quite a commodity in the days before radios and music streaming services etc. And then there’s Drummond, who views Sheen as both a mystery and basically a project. Sheen chooses to develop this friendship because he sees in Drummond what he himself wishes to be and hopes that whatever Drummond has will rub off on him. Neither of these relationships are built on genuine camaraderie, trust, care for each other, etc., and it’s clear that they’re doing Sheen more harm than good. Stanning invades Sheen’s study to taunt his studiousness, call him a "worm" for staying in, call him “flabby as a dough-nut” for not playing sports, and then try to convince him to come to another house party. Sheen does not want to do this again after a previous bad experience, but Stanning embarrasses him into admitting that he doesn’t want to go because he’s afraid. The narrative understands that Stanning is a jerk and a horrible “friend,” but when Drummond, whom we’re supposed to see as the more admirable person, enters, he basically does the same thing.

Drummond chases off a couple of boys who have decided to get themselves a free tea by showing up to Sheen’s study and acting like they were invited, taking advantage of his reluctance to stand up for himself. He lectures Sheen about the importance of looking out for himself lest others walk all over him. “It’s for your own good,” he declares. “And it’s really pure slackness that’s the cause of it all.” Sheen tries to counter that he hates hurting people’s feelings, and Drummond dismisses this by claiming that no one at the school has any feelings. He then leaves to run off a younger student who has the audacity to use the bathtub when Drummond wants it—and pokes his head back in to Sheen’s study to brag about how his system of assuming that no one at the school, especially not younger students, has feelings is so much superior to how Sheen would have handled it.

This is not the behavior of a friend. He is not encouraging Sheen to improve himself; he is using his disdain for Sheen’s timidity to feel better about himself. Yes, Sheen does need to develop a backbone. But what has this boy done to deserve the hatefulness with which everyone around him treats him?

The inciting incident comes when there’s an ongoing fight in the neighboring town between Wrykyn boys and some local youths, kind of about politics but mostly about having an excuse for violence. Drummond and Sheen happen to be out during one of these confrontations. The expectation is to just join in with their schoolmates. Drummond eagerly leaps in. Sheen panics and questions the advisability of fighting. And then he walks away as fast as he can. Back in his study, he tries to argue with himself that he did the right thing—he’s in the sixth form and the headmaster disapproves of such behavior from the older boys, there’s no reason for him to get involved in a fight not his own, he wasn’t a coward but rather kept his head better than Drummond!

And the thing is…he’s right. The fight with the town boys was stupid and pointless. He was the only schoolboy there with any sense for getting out. He didn’t know what the fight was really about. He had no personal stakes in it. He was not in any immediate danger or protecting anyone in danger. There is absolutely zero rational reason for him to get involved. He has done nothing wrong.

But the narrative and Sheen’s conscience, steeped in schoolboy culture, don’t see it that way. Sheen is filled with shame as he realizes that “He had been afraid, and had shown it. And he had shown it when, in a sense, he was representing the school, when Wrykyn looked to him to help it keep its end up against the town.” And thus “He had disgraced himself. He had disgraced Seymour’s. He had disgraced the school. He was an outcast.” The priority, according to these values, is reputation and a sense of honor that depends on proving superiority at all costs. Ethics don’t matter. Reason doesn’t matter. Schoolboys are put on this earth to make their house, their school, whatever group they’re part of, be the best, which can only be proven by winning. The point and purpose of a conflict doesn’t matter, as long as one participates and preferably emerges victorious. And woe to anyone who does not conform.

This is a typical mindset of that culture at that time. You could even argue that it led to World War I (which is where all these boys are headed anyway in another seven years). It is clearly destructive. And in this story, we are seeing how destructive it is on a much smaller scale. Sheen is beating himself for making a completely normal and sensible choice. And when Stanning spreads the word, the whole school is outraged, viewing Sheen’s walking out as a moral failing on his part and—even worse!—the part of his house. Everyone is incredibly invested in what this overlooked loner does and does not do all of a sudden. No one questions the outright lies that Stanning elaborates the story with. Younger students call names and throw things at Sheen’s study door, and the older students—“the senior day-room,” a sort of all-powerful student council that can go so far as to “court-martial” anyone who strays from the unspoken rules—decide to “cut him dead,” that is, refuse to speak to him or acknowledge his existence. When Sheen tries to visit Drummond to talk over what happened, Drummond orders him to get out, and the friendship ends there. We’re supposed to see Drummond as a good guy for not ratting Sheen out and shushing the boys of their dormitory who are harassing Sheen. But that’s the bare minimum of decency. The refusal to interact with him is not the behavior of a true friend.

But there is one person who is a friend to Sheen even when no one else will be: Jack Bruce. Bruce, as a day boy (not a boarder) on the Engineering side of the school (most of the boys are on the Classics side), is somewhat socially detached from the rest of the school and rejects the popularity that he could have on the grounds of his father’s importance as a prominent local politician. Like Sheen, he’s a loner who’s quiet by nature. He shows up in the music room to listen to Sheen practicing piano, asks to hear a particular piece again, and thanks him. This is the first time anyone has shown Sheen any appreciation, and it leaves an impact, especially in the midst of being ostracized.

Nevertheless, Sheen believes that he needs to somehow restore his honor, and the only way to restore honor is to fight. He goes to town hoping for another skirmish to throw himself into. Instead, he meets Joe Bevan, who involves himself in a fight not for glory but to defend Sheen, who is struggling to hit a town boy. And instead of berating Sheen, Bevan offers him some friendly advice on fighting technique that includes multiple Shakespeare references. This gets Sheen’s attention. Despite his failure, he’s feeling euphoric since at least he tried and “He had tasted the pleasure of the fight, and he wanted more.” A bit concerning that he’s developing a taste for violence for the thrill of it, but the narrative isn’t concerned about this.

Bevan, a retired professional boxer who now works as a trainer, sees Sheen as a viable candidate for boxing lessons, and Sheen eagerly agrees. He wants to win a competition and prove himself! Bevan, on the other hand, sees boxing as a practical skill that everyone should know for the sake of self-defense and defense of women (who, presumably, are not included in that “everyone” who needs to learn boxing). So Sheen’s lessons begin, and they really are good for him. He's getting the benefit of learning a sport, he develops self-confidence, and he’s building a positive relationship with his trainer. The narrative emphasizes the importance of sympathy in a boxing instructor, and Bevan is regarded as an ideal. He is positive and encouraging with Sheen, never harsh or critical. And that’s exactly what Sheen needs—someone who can see the worth inherent in him and help him see that worth too.

…except that’s not really the point that the narrative makes. Sheen “could hardly realise that he had only begun to despise himself in the last fortnight. Before then, he had been, on the whole, satisfied with himself.” I think what’s trying to be said here is that he used to be complacent, not truly satisfied, but the implications here are unfortunate. Why would his despising himself be a good thing? He has been motivated to improve himself, which is good, and the balance of athleticism and scholarliness that the narrative recommends is a good thing (although I question the stance of Athletics Are Better To Focus On If You Can Only Have One), but he has undertaken this for reasons that stem from self-loathing, and that will cause problems later. The narrative, however, is not concerned with this. Balance and well-roundedness are important, sure, but the issue needs more nuance than it is given here.

And then there’s this: “As the days went by, Sheen began to imbibe some of Joe Bevan's rugged philosophy of life. He began to understand that the world is a place where every man has to look after himself, and that it is the stronger hand that wins. That sentence from Hamlet which Joe Bevan was so fond of quoting practically summed up the whole duty of man—and boy too. One should not seek quarrels, but ‘being in,’ one should do one’s best to ensure that one’s opponent thought twice in future before seeking them.”

“Don’t be belligerent but stand up for yourself when you need to” is reasonable enough, but to pair with a mindset of greater strength equaling greater power and authority and that being the ultimate goal is questionable. This is exactly what Drummond was preaching at the beginning, and it basically commends intimidation of anyone perceived as weak or lesser. And honestly, we don’t really see Bevan putting that into practice necessarily. His defense of Sheen was looking out for the underdog. So, is Sheen’s understanding of Bevan’s philosophy flavored more by the influence of the schoolboy culture than anything his trainer is really instilling in him?

Sheen finally gets up the nerve to confess his alleged cowardice to Bevan, and Bevan’s reaction is to say, “Never you mind, sir […] We all lose our heads sometimes. I’ve seen the way you stand up to Francis, and I’ll eat—I’ll eat the medicine-ball if you’re not as plucky as anyone. It’s simply a question of keeping your head. You wouldn’t do a thing like that again, not you. Don’t you worry yourself, sir. We’re all alike when we get bustled. We don’t know what we’re doing, and by the time we’ve put our hands up and got into shape, why, it’s all over, and there you are. Don’t you worry yourself, sir.” The lack of condemnation in this speech is refreshing to Sheen, who thanks Bevan, but note that Bevan still seems to regard walking away from a senseless fight as—well, not a crime, but still an inadvisable course of action, a forgivable mistake that could happen to anyone, but a mistake nonetheless. They’re men, darn it, and men fight.

Which Sheen proves when a schoolmate tries to appropriate a fives court that Sheen has already claimed and Sheen proceeds to hit him after polite firmness is ignored. This seems an unnecessary escalation (it would have made more sense if the other guy had started something physical rather than Sheen being the one to resort to violence first, which violates the Hamlet principle), but it’s viewed as a triumph for him. It is not enough to develop confidence; he needs to be comfortable with violence to be a proper man, according to the cultural standard.

The other guy, rather than admit that Sheen hit him, spreads lies that fit the public view of Sheen as a contemptible coward, and his house in particular turns more against him, since “The pride of a house is almost keener than the pride of a school. From the first minute he entered the house a new boy was made to feel that, in coming to Seymour’s, he had accepted a responsibility that his reputation was not his own, but belonged to the house. If he did well, the glory would be Seymour’s glory. If he did badly, he would be sinning against the house.” So it doesn’t matter investigating to find out the truth; anything that calls reputation into question must be stamped out. Once again, Drummond puts a stop to this, but it’s because of his sense of fair play, not that he particularly cares about his former friend. When some boys plan to vandalize Sheen’s study and destroy some of his books to lessen his chances of winning the scholarship, Drummond stops them, but only because it’s an affront to the house. Such a noble fellow.

Bruce, on the other hand, gives Sheen a lift in his dad’s car to get him back from Bevan’s before lock-up—no questions asked. When Sheen admits his shameful past, Bruce merely says he had heard something about that and doesn’t react further; Sheen’s reputation clearly doesn’t matter to him. He has taken lessons with Bevan too, and he offers to give Sheen rides to and from and to be a sparring partner. Oh, and next time Sheen practices the piano, could he play that one particular piece? This is an actual friendship, and it’s clear that Sheen is at his best in Bruce’s company as he is in Bevan’s.

Sheen gets further opportunities to demonstrate his newfound confidence. He confronts a boy whom he believes sank the boat that was his only way of getting home; this was not the case, and the discussion ends on a polite and resolved note with no violence. This is positive. When having to supervise the dormitory in Drummond’s absence, Sheen keeps order by using a “swagger stick” (a cane carried by prefects) to beat the younger boys who attempt to tear his bedding apart. The narrative sees this as a positive development too and emphasizes that he must not show weakness in front of the younger boys. Corporal punishment of this sort was typical in such schools, and its use here demonstrates the philosophy of asserting superiority through greater strength/violence. Sheen’s new confidence is something that he needs, but in this culture, unfortunately that must come with a greater desensitization to violence.

Drummond once again proves himself a jerk by rejecting Sheen’s offer by letter to box for the house since “we must have the best man,” but this is apparently acceptable because he wasn’t as much of a jerk as he could have been and didn’t write back with “don’t be a fool” as he originally intended. The house must come before individuals, but for Drummond finally “pity succeeded contempt” and he tones his reply down because Sheen has had a rough time lately (though he deserves it!) and “at one time they had been pals.”

The honor of the house is such a priority that there is debate about reinstating Sheen’s position because they need him to win for them in fives, but the head prefect of the house is too much of a people-pleaser to push for this because it would upset too many people. Unable to compete in any sport for the house, Sheen proceeds to win the scholarship, and the head prefect develops enough gumption to publicly congratulate him at the dinner table, a tradition intended to “reflect glory on the house”—otherwise, no one but Bruce acknowledges his victory. This still isn’t enough to restore his honor, so Sheen is starting to feel that his boxing efforts are pointless now that he has no opportunity to use his skills to compete. This hasn’t been about learning the skill for its own sake and for his personal betterment—this is still about trying to please others. Sheen has never really stopped being a chronic people-pleaser; he has just learned to channel that in a more socially acceptable direction. There’s also a gendered angle to his anxiety to win a competition; he doesn’t care so much about how his skills will benefit him in life when he wants “a chance of proving himself a man with his hands.”

He really has nothing to prove. He has plenty of reasons to respect himself. But in the culture that he’s stuck in, none of that matters. The only thing that matters is what others think of you and whatever group you belong to—that determines one’s worth as a male, and neither he nor anyone else around him has thought to question that. What he needs to hear is that competition to restore his honor shouldn’t be the point of all his hard work, that the skill and the qualities it builds in him are their own reward, and other people don’t get to define his worth for him.

…instead, Bevan’s response is to point out a new opportunity for competition that Sheen has overlooked. He can go to Aldershot to compete with boys from schools all over the nation. His desire to restore his honor through winning is thus endorsed by the narrative. He does not have to reevaluate what he really wants or needs.

In order to do this, he has to present his plan to his housemaster for approval. This requires him to tell Mr. Seymour the whole story, including the shameful incident. Mr. Seymour, despite being Sheen’s housemaster and seeing him every day and being generally responsible for him, has no clue whatsoever that the entire school has been shunning him. This obliviousness to what is going on among the students socially is presented as a matter of course, as if it would be abnormal for masters to be involved in their lives of their students. To a large extent, these boys seem to run things unsupervised—and we can see how well that’s working out. Anyway, when Sheen tells him that everyone “cut” him and he “had rather a rotten time,” Mr. Seymour’s only comment is “Well?” (in the sense of “And then what?”). So Sheen adds that he “was a bit sick” (i.e. upset) and took up boxing, and again the reply is “Well?” Mr. Seymour’s concern here is not that his student was being socially bullied to the point of feeling like he needed to redeem himself, but to find out how this boy came to learn to box, a skill which can be an advantage to the school. Apparently “cutting” someone for alleged cowardice is a normal, reasonable thing, not worth raising any questions. Although he is concerned that Sheen might not be as gifted a boxer as he thinks he is and has reservations about letting him go to Aldershot, these are easily dismissed. He wants Wrykyn representation at this competition very badly, and he sympathizes with Sheen’s desire to restore his honor.

So, if you were thinking, “Why doesn’t Sheen report anything to a teacher?”–this is why not. No one at Wrykyn is supposed to have any feelings. If people are being jerks to you, tough. It’s probably your fault. You are only of interest based on how well you perform to make the school look good.

Sheen goes to Aldershot. He wins. His final opponent is a boy of ambiguous mixed race, who is described and referred to in rather offensive terms, including by Sheen himself—the boy who was once worried about giving offense has now “progressed” into someone who privately psychs himself up for a fight by thinking slurs about his opponent. The win is an unsurprising climax—the standard sort of thing for this story. It’s “the greatest moment of his life.” But the narrative is just as interested in the aftermath of the victory, because its whole point was always for the sake of what others will think.

There’s a detailed account of how one of the boys reads the sports papers before the others, finds out about Sheen’s victory, hides the paper for maximum dramatic impact whenever he chooses to deliver the news, but finally convinces Sheen himself to reveal the news at the court-martial that’s now taking place for him. Without him.

It's a humorous and satisfying scene that earns Sheen the chance to receive his former detractors’ sudden admiration and the chance to “score off” Stanning, who has been the one running the rumor mill. But interestingly, Sheen does not take the opportunity to call anyone out on the cruelty of “cutting” him, or the general unjustness of this system. His only addressed concern is why the senior day-room of Seymour’s “can’t manage things of this sort by yourselves, without dragging in men from other houses [i.e. Stanning].” The system is unquestioned; the only problem is a house’s not being insular enough—or perhaps, more to the point, accepting information against someone from a potentially malicious source without verifying it. Sheen is able to dismiss Stanning without violence—but with the fear of violence behind it now that he has a name for himself as the victor of his class at Aldershot.

The final chapter deals with the headmaster addressing a problem which has long gone unchecked. Rampant bullying? No, that’s no big deal. The serious offense here is Sheen going out of bounds to attend boxing lessons. But Bruce puts in a good word for him, and everything is fine. The last we see of Sheen, he is off to have tea with Drummond, who suddenly wants to be friends again now that Sheen has done the socially acceptable thing, but the book ends with him in conversation with Bruce, who wants to know all about Aldershot and how Sheen is feeling after it. Although the so-called friendship with Drummond has been rekindled, there’s significance in the concluding focus on connecting with Bruce, who has consistently been a good friend, even when Sheen had nothing to offer socially. Even with the admiration of the whole school now, the one that Sheen prioritizes is someone who values him for himself.

And quite frankly, I wish the narrative did too. Sheen’s development has been striking and in certain areas has done him a lot of good, in terms of skill and self-confidence. But it has done nothing to give him a sense of self-worth that is based in anything besides how he performs—and conforms. His quest to change is rooted in a desire to measure up to others’ standards, he needs to publicly exhibit how much he has changed in order to feel worthy, and he must achieve success in a way that adheres to what is valued by his peer group in order to be accepted by them. No one at Wrykyn is forced to reevaluate how cruel their treatment of Sheen was or how skewed their priorities are. He instead has to better conform himself to their ideal. He has to downplay his studiousness—but still somehow win the scholarship. He has to develop a more hardened mentality toward others, more willing to resort to violence and harshness. He doesn’t entirely lose his reserved manner, but he does become more cutting in his politeness. He has to be less concerned about what others will think of him because it’s either them or him—but yet he has to be concerned enough about what others will think in a way that ensures that he toes the line of what the senior day-room crowd approves of. In the end, is Sheen really the improved version of himself or just a shrewder player of the game that was schoolboy culture?

For someone of Wodehouse’s background, that was how you survived. Someone like Sheen in that time and place would have no other choice but conform without question. And that’s rather tragic.

But there’s a bit of evidence of Wodehouse’s developing more nuance around this with later books. By the time of Mike and Psmith, the protagonists refuse to conform at their detested new school but in the end choose to participate in school cricket anyway—not out of peer pressure, or for the honor of the house or school or whatever, but in order to help out a friend, for whom the gesture means a lot. Doing the right thing by other people is more of a concern in that narrative. Sheen would probably have thrived more at a school like Sedleigh, the setting of M&P—it’s a pity he didn’t get transferred there.

Sheen at the beginning of his story is a lot like how I was at that age. Now that I’m older and in the middle of my own arc—I mostly just want to rescue him from that awful environment. He deserves better.

#The White Feather #yes I am using the phrase 'restore his honor' in profusion #and if that makes you think of another character then that's exactly what it should be doing

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femininomen0n · 3 months

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i feel like perhaps shondaland is setting up for theloise. even if theo wasn’t in this season… traces of him were still around? they made subtle references. the book in the drawer. things eloise said that mirror her conversations with theo. how broken she looked when colin said she’d never been in love. the reference to emma (idk if you’re familiar with the story but emma and harriet literally have a fight bc emma ruins harriet’s relationship with a farmer of lower class).

he wasn’t there but in essence, eloise’s story was still deeply tied with his.

it feels like they’re testing the waters and taking time to write out her story. or they’re teasing bc they know it’ll increase the hype. maybe i’m being optimistic but i do feel like there’s still a chance? besides. calam lynch has such “period drama male lead” potential :’)

idk it just seems to make sense. theo and eloise just click. also, the amount of times eloise has said she wants to leave society… it’d make sense for her to marry a rebel and become an outspoken political woman outside the ton.

i don’t think bringing theo in as some long lost heir to a lord would do their story service. it HAS to be eloise breaking out of the society mould and joining likeminded people in a pursuit to revolutionise society and rights for women and the marginalised. their last conversation was theo accusing her of only “dipping her toes in his waters” and not fully committing to the “radicalism” she claims to enjoy. so her story moving forward has to be her committing to her beliefs and actually fighting for something bigger than the superficial and discriminatory ton. she needs to embrace her rebellion in its entirety and make her society understand and embrace it too.

anon, i wish i had your optimism! at this point i’ve resolved to accept this show for what it is. if theo shows up again, wonderful! if not- well, i wasn’t expecting anything anyway.

on the hints: there was this brilliant analysis of emma as it relates to bridgerton posted in the jane austen subreddit. to be honest, after theo’s absence in s3 i don’t think it has any deeper meaning, but the analysis itself was a great read. ditto with the books and the “uncommonly lucky” moment- they may not mean anything, but i like thinking they do :)

yes, yes, yes to your final paragraph as well. as much as i love the idea of a persuasionesque story for theo and eloise, i think it’s better left in the realm of the fanfic i’ll talk about but never get around to actually writing. i want eloise to be brave, to be bold, to grab life and not let go- and part of that is forging her own path away from the ton. with eloise returning to her old (ie political) self in s4, we could see her back at assemblies in bloomsbury or out searching for subversive reading materials. either one would be the perfect setting for another encounter with theo… but like i said, i’m keeping my expectations low!

#thank you for the ask!!#i love love love talking about them and this godforsaken show <3 #anon #inbox #eloise bridgerton #theo sharpe #theloise #theo x eloise #eloise x theo #bridgerton #bridgerton s3 #talia speaks #**

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arthurtaylorlester · 11 months

Text

RETURN OF THE KING: MALEVOLENT LIVEBLOG EPISODE 37 THE FARM

spoilers (you already know)

back at it with some humming!

JOHN MY BELOVED !!!! youre so bitchy i love him

HES SO PETTY HELP

harpers hill mention omg (harpers hill hijinks coming soon)

“MY BOOK HMPH 😤” girl 😭😭

“i didnt realise” yes because you cant see and john is like really really dumb

it kills me that john is bitching about oscar not finding anything but like what information have you contributed in the last 3 episodes

ive missed bullying john

malevolent is a comedy and i will stand by that

mmm rain sounds

HYPNOS GREEK GOD MENTION ‼️

“can you imagine hahah” yes i can it was the best arc of the show send tweet

well you havent seen his face

whys john being so quiet all of a sudden?

OH WHAT THEFUCK I SAW RHIS COMING

“i suppose ill just watch again” SOMEONE IS A JEALOUS GIRL

arthur ignoring john….. the girls are going to DIVORCE

“not you sorry ^_^” and then he goes back to ignoring john?? girl

oh wait that was very sweet

WHAT THE FUCK I JUST TOOK ABDHDNFN

sorry arthur speaking to john like that just destroyed me

I TRUST YOU AND YOUR MY FRIEND??? IM NOT TRYING TO IGNORE YOU?? THEYRE COMMUNICATING A

“its not because i dont care 💛” “…yes?” oscar this isnt about you

poor guy though he must be so confused

arthurs tone changes so much when he speaks to john

someone get john a pair of glasses either that or he was too busy daydreaming to see the turnoff

oh of course john would want to split off because he hasnt ever seen a horror movie arthur if you die then it’s your fault for not showing him the movie 🙄

“we might have to sleep in the car” okayyyy

oh so now john wants to give him info because he deserves to know

aaaand now he doesnt want to tell him. we love a hypocritical king !!!

return of the canadian sourry

you dont need to sound so smug that he looks hurt john 😭😭

okay oscar love the existential crisis while reading very relatable

is he gonna say arthur is his purpose

oh for fucks sake

NOT THE SOFT “oscar”

ok oscar is def into arthur and arthur saying “i don’t believe in god” is like rejection. this is how unrequited blindfaith can still win.

also god believes in you? well john and kayne sure seem to believe in him for what its worth

oscar nooo dont devote yourself to arthur that never ends well

john i dont care about oscar either but you have got to stop laying it on so think jfc

john the undefeated more like john the opportunist

“woAH” same john same

oooh so john can see auras now basically?

what monster are we gonna find in the barn ��

oh that sounds fun actually though /j

AWW I KNEW HE WAS GONNA ASK IF HE WAS OK

ok i love how prominent the dreamlands are this episode i was just thinking about how good it was

john just wants his alone time with arthur because he cant answer his questions

“i need another set of eyes” thats like the one thing john can do it must be kinda sad to like, not be able to fully do the one thing you used to be great at

“ *gasp* a forgotten one :0” john dont act like you know what that means

hey is john a forgotten one then. is he. is he though.

can everyone except arthur feel the weirdness of places

NOT THE MUSIC BOX MUSIC IN THE BACKGROUND HARLAN WHEN ARE YOU GIVING US AN OST PLEASE IM BEGGIN YOU

ITS MIDNIGHT DONT GO IN THE FUCKING BASEMENT ITS RAINING YOURE BEING CHASED BY AN EDLRITCH THING

john its ok if you didnt see it you dont need to justify yourself ❤️‍🩹

john sounds almost scared to go in the basement lol

the stairs are gonna give out at a later date im calling it

what could possibly happen in the last 15 minutes

a door ajar omg is that a wtnv reference

did arthur almost die by getting crushed by a bunch of furniture

oh a barricade i know what this is about

oh happy halloween btw guys

OSCAR JUMPSCARE

my honest reaction too john

what… what did you just sink into….

oh hole in roof, cool

arthur pay attention oscar hes gonna set hjmself on fire on accident

the jarthur was too busy analysing the painting to pay attention to oscar

OH GODDAMIT ARTHRJ WHAT THE FUCK JOHN WHAT THE DAGGER? THE ONE HE SLIT HIS THROAT WITH

oh he wants to cut it off ok

jfc 7 minutes oh no

I CALLED THE STAIRS CAVING IN

GUYS HE WAS READING THE BOOK OFC HE KNOWS

question: how strong is arthur physically

“A TOWEL!” “A TOWEL?” as i said a comedy

WE GOT A “WELL DONE ORTHUR” LETS GO

you know its weird that i can handle this fine but couldnt deal with the michael torture in the woe.begone finale

NO ARTHUR ITS NOT OK

HES ISNT GOING TO MAKE IT

oh ok hes fine sort of ok

the music goes so hard again

that arthur was so scared

ok the arms alive run

or get john to arm wrestle it idk

“what thE fUCK WHAT THE FUCK” my daily vocabulary

and oscar was right :)

RUN YOU IDIOTS

arthur you could at least carry him instead of dragging him that poor poor man

i find it amusing that this mostly happened because of jarthur studying a painting and ignoring the man currently in possession of their braincells

indeed what do we do now

and thats a wrap! oh boy what an episode i have THOUGTHTS (oscar is not surviving this)

i know like maybe 2 people read this type of posts but i enjoy making and reading them back. so if youd like me to keep going with these i will :)

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #unhinged aromantics #arthur lester #john doe #john malevolent #arthur malevolent #malevolent john #malevolent arthur #oscar malevolent #malevolent oscar #malevolent spoilers #mr scratch #malevolent part 37

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safflowerseason · 4 months

Text

old dan x amy fanfiction

I'm trying to flex my rusty fanfiction writing muscles, and going through old files I found this old Dan x Amy story that I never finished. It was a fill-in-the-gaps fic set between S2 and S3 and the tentative summary was : "The two months between seasons two and three, or, the story of how Amy and Dan went to Mike’s wedding together." I always thought this was a kind of interesting period in the relationship...by the end of S2 Dan and Amy have clearly settled into their banter-y "work spouses" relationship and they start S3 literally attending a wedding together. But at the same time, they are also in open competition for the role of campaign manager...I was always intrigued by in the dynamics of that transition. Anyway, I never finished it--it got very long and unwieldy, surprise surprise--but if there are any old Dan/Amy fic readers still out there I thought I'd post the first few pages here. There's quite a bit of general ensemble banter as well, related to Mike's wedding. Enjoy!

The morning after they learn that POTUS (officially, cross his precious heart, no turning back now) will not be running for a second term, Dan comes into the office with a giant stack of paper and starts piling it ostentatiously all around his desk.

“What is this? Some sort of political mating ritual? Are you building a nest egg?”

“Well now you wouldn’t know enough to say, would you, Amy?”

Unfortunately, Amy doesn’t have a good response immediately—she was up until 2am brainstorming campaign strategies, and she knows Dan was up until at least 1:45 because they were texting ideas back and forth until then—so she just returns to her coffee and Post headlines and ignores him while he bustles around trying to make as much noise as possible.

Selina comes in late, trilling with brittle laughter and smiling manically—Gary trails her, looking mildly repulsed and mutters “Andrew” in Amy and Dan’s general direction. Amy grimaces and adds “figure out a way to get rid of Andrew permanently” to her list of things to do before the campaign starts. She wonders if it would be considered a misuse of government forces to have Special Ops just take him out.

Andrew notwithstanding, the mood in the office is better than it has been all year. Mike whistles when he gets back from the press gaggle and Dan doesn’t immediately tell him to shut up. People actually use the world “please.” Amy’s fully cognizant something is going to blow it all up soon, but for now, she’ll let them enjoy the first morning in a long time where they don’t have to feel bad about the trajectory of their careers.

At the morning strategy meeting, they talk about the best way to move forward until POTUS announces he won’t be running, discuss events to add to or remove from the public schedule in light of the upcoming campaign, and at the end of the meeting Dan brandishes his giant stack of paper and announces: “Ma’am, it’s time for you to publish your book.”

“Oooh!” Gary exclaims. “A book! Can I be in it?”

“You’re definitely not in it, Gary.”

“Yeah, Gary, what would you be doing in my book?” Selina demands, and Gary slinks back into the corner. “Dan, is it really the right time for this kind of political kabuki?”

“We need to lay the foundation for your presidential run in a non-threatening manner by reintroducing you to the public in a way that subtly separates you from POTUS. A book tour is the best way to do that, and unfortunately, ma’am, we need a book for a book tour.”

Amy regards him suspiciously: he’s doing that thing where he appears to sincerely care about his job. This is always cause for deep concern.

“Ma’am, do I have to write a whole book now?” Mike asks, looking forlorn. Dan glares and unceremoniously dumps the stack of paper in his lap. Mike grunts. “What the fuck do you think this is, Mike? Your obituary?”

“Wait, you’ve already written it?” Amy exclaims, completely non-plussed. “Since yesterday?”

“Please Amy.” says Dan, looking superior.

“Well Dan, I’ve got to hand it to you…it looks like I won’t have to write a single word myself, which is, obviously, the ideal.” Selina’s already flipping through the chapters, looking interested in spite of herself (then again, it is a book about her).

“It’s basically written, ma’am, we’ll just need to do a few informational sessions about your political career and personal life, to add in some expository information.”

“That sounds excruciating.” Selina sighs. “But if you think it’s absolutely necessary…”

“I promise you that I will make the experience as pleasant as possible.” Dan smiles the smile he gives rich political widows and young women with babies. Amy gets a very bad feeling in her stomach.

“This is a trap but I can’t figure out how.” she mutters to Mike, and he just nods bleakly.

~*~

Everyone’s about to disperse when Mike calls out casually “Oh yeah, if everyone could finalize their RSVPs to the wedding by Tuesday, that’d be great.”

The silence he is met with is deafening.

“…what wedding?” Amy finally ventures.

Mike looks at her. “My wedding.”

“To who?”

“Whom.” Gary corrects, and then flinches as Dan glares at him.

“My fiancée.” When they all look blank, Mike says, in a more annoyed tone of voice “You guys, we got engaged three months ago! We sent the invitations right after!”

“Mike, I have matters of global significance to attend to that are infinitely more important than your personal life. Infinitely more important.”

“And who checks their mailbox in the twenty first century?” Dan muses.

“Hey, I do!” Gary pipes up. “I knew you were getting married, Mike.”

“Sue!” Amy yells out. “When’s Mike’s wedding?”

“June 17th.” Sue reports promptly from her desk. “It’s tentatively on the veep’s schedule.”

“Jesus Christ,” exclaims Selina. “You scheduled your dumbass wedding right as prep for the primaries take off. Really, Mike?”

“Yeah, Mike.” Dan echoes sycophantically.

“It’s not like we knew you were going to run, ma’am.”

“Okay.” Amy clears her throat. Everyone falls silent. “Congratulations. Who is the…who is the woman?”

“Wendy Collins. She’s a fashion reporter for the Post.”

“A journalist?!” Selina explodes. The morning goes downhill from there.

~*~

Amy sends an intern home to sort through three months of unopened mail and retrieve Mike’s wedding invitation. The intern comes back with a lavender invitation printed with navy sail boats.

“I can’t tell if you’re having a boy or getting married.” Dan snarks.

“Oh my god, Mike, don’t you fucking dare have a kid.” God, a kid, can you fucking imagine, Amy would sooner slit her wrists. “I’m not getting stuck with just Dan on the campaign trail, he was the worst press secretary since whoever’s job it was to manage Hoover’s image.” Dan gives her the finger behind Selina’s back.

“I suppose it wouldn’t play well with the public if I didn’t attend my own press secretary’s wedding.” Selina sounds like she would rather do literally anything else.

“Cheer up, ma’am. It’s entirely possible there could be a nuclear stand-off or a global health crisis that will require your attention.” Sue replies stoically.

“God, here’s hoping.” Selina stalks back into her office.

“I don’t know why you’re all so cranky, I love weddings. Sue, put it in big, bold letters so we make sure to schedule around the day.”

“I think I can do my job without your input, Gary. ”

“Gary!” Selina shouts from her desk. “I need some caffeine before my meeting with the Speaker, and if I could get it, you know, before I die…”

“Coming, ma’am.”

~*~

“So when did you actually write this?” Amy asks Dan, later that afternoon. He’s commandeered the white board and is writing words like inspiration and reflection all over it in big letters. “Seriously. Even you cannot bullshit this fast.”

“Oh, Amy.” Dan smirks. “Sweet, innocent Amy. You think this book is original? I’ve got ten different versions of it. You just change the background information depending on the politician, and boom—instant book.”

“So you’re just mindlessly reproducing soft bullshit narratives that appeal to the lowest common denominator of the American electorate.”

“Yep.” replies Dan, gleefully. “And it’s going to get her elected.”

~*~

A week after they learn about Mike’s wedding, Gary mopes into the office looking like a drowned possum. Selina’s in an endless meeting with the HUD secretary, and he spends the entire morning sighing dramatically over his desk until Sue finally snaps and asks him what’s wrong.

“Dana and I had another fight….” he lowers his voice, “…about Selina.”

“Dana who?” asks Dan.

“I really feel like we all need to get better at remembering information about each other’s personal lives.” Mike complains.

“We absolutely do not.” Amy contradicts.

“It’s all right for you, everyone knows you’re dating Ed because he already works for Selina.”

“Yes, and I really regret that fact.” Also she’s not entirely sure they’re still dating, but she’s sure as hell not going to mention that in front of Dan.

(It has become a-moment-to-which-they-do-not-ever-refer, when Dan had asked her to “grab a bite” after Catherine’s party, whatever that had meant and she couldn’t, because she had a date with Ed, and then Dan got inexplicably wasted with Jonah at Catherine’s make-up birthday dinner and they bonded over acting like jealous Neanderthals. But then the next day Dan called Jonah a malformed super-alien who emerged from leftover godzilla jizz, didn’t mention Ed, and everything went back to normal.)

“So what happened with you and Dan?” Ed asked, the next time they went out. “Did you, like, break his heart or something?”

“He…really hates Boston.” Amy mumbled into her whiskey, and then wondered what the fuck she was doing making excuses for Dan Egan.

So anyway, they don’t talk about it.)

“Can we focus on me, please?” Gary’s demanding loudly. “Dana’s so mad that I’m still working here. She won’t even let me touch the cheese anymore.”

“So quit.” Dan suggests, sweetly.

“Dan,” Amy says warningly. Selina would have a fucking meltdown.

“Nice try, Dan.” Gary spits. “Selina already told me I can’t.”

“So break up with Dana. She stole Selina’s lipstick and leaked your precious code to the press. She’s obviously trying to destroy your career.”

“You have to be a man about it, Gary.” Sue tells him. “I know it’s an unfamiliar concept.”

Gary agonizes all day. Mike ends up taking him out for a drink after Selina’s left for the evening. They come up back absolutely shit-faced around nine in the evening with the news that Gary is now officially Mike’s unofficial wedding planner.

“How much did you have to drink?” Amy asks, disgusted.

“Two margaritas.” Gary giggles. “And we decided on yellow as an accent color for the wedding.”

“Wow.” says Dan. “I didn’t even know it was possible for you to be even less than a man than I thought.”

“Dan, how is Gary’s bag any different than what you carry around?” Mike slurs.

“Uh, mine isn’t filled with lipstick and tampons, for starters, Mike.”

“No, just hair gel and skincare products.” Amy deadpans, and is rewarded when Dan gives her a dirty look over Gary’s head.

“You guys, this is extremely unprofessional behavior.” Jonah announces sanctimoniously, from where he’s lurking in the corner. “POTUS would not be pleased if he knew this is how the veep manages her office.”

“Jonah, you literally announce it when a female press aide gives you her business card to give to Kent.”

“They give me more than their business cards and you know it, Dan.”

In the end she and Dan have to put Gary to bed on the couch and pour Mike into a cab, and it doesn’t even make the top thirty list of humiliating things Amy’s done in the course of her tenure as VP chief of staff.

“Why do I feel like Selina’s entire campaign is going to be us babysitting these idiots?” Dan mutters as they watch the cab disappear into traffic.

“Feel free to jump ship at any time, I won’t stop you.”

Dan bares his teeth at her, that fake-innocent smile that’s definitely going to land him in prison one day. “Sorry, Ames, you’re not going to the moon without me.”

“Pity that.”

~*~

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Dan is an obnoxious dickhead about Selina’s book.

Due to the need to get the manuscript to print as quickly as possible, he demands an hour of one-on-one time with Selina every morning so he can mine anecdotes about her personal life and political career. Selina overrules both Amy and Sue and actually gives it to him. Something about how Andrew thinks the book is a good idea too. Fucking Andrew.

Well, that’s perfectly fine. Amy has plenty to do to prepare for the upcoming campaign, and it’s all much more important than Selina’s book. It absolutely does not matter that Dan always emerges from these private sessions looking even more smug than he usually does (if such a thing were possible). As though he knows all kinds of new secrets about Selina. Which he doesn’t. Amy already knows everything that needs to be known, and Gary knows what nobody needs to know.

Mike’s too preoccupied with his upcoming wedding to really make a pretense of caring about the book—or about work in general, so Dan’s writing and handling more of Mike’s duties (whatever they are, if he’s ever handled them, which is debatable). Theoretically, as chief of staff Amy should step in and make some noise about equitable handling of the VP’s communication strategy blah blah blah. But she figures Mike’s in love and Dan, as much as it pains her to admit it, has never shied away from more work.

Summer sets in over D.C., and the days get long and humid. The interns dig out the floor fans from storage, and Gary starts keeping scented silk handkerchiefs for Selina to dab on her neck and forehead whenever they have to cross the street. Dan bans Mike from coming anywhere his desk or personal items—“in case you contaminate anything with your flop sweat”—and Amy starts getting multiple invitations for Brookheimer summer family reunions that she, mercifully, has no time to attend.

The House dithers over a pharmaceutical bill that’s dead on arrival in the Senate. Ben and Kent pop in from time to time with presidential updates. POTUS is reportedly planning a bunch of foreign policy spectacles in order to show off how relevant he is: state dinners, a tour of some East African refugee camps, a summit with Japan and South Korea…

“That’s just fine.” Selina tells Ben, her eyes glinting opportunistically. “Tell him he can spend the entire summer on his impotency tour. I’ve got everything under control here, in the actual United States of America.”

“Yeah yeah yeah.” Ben replies, his mouth twisting into a smirk in spite of himself. “Try and contain your glee, ma’am.”

They go to Baltimore to talk about violence in schools, then to Pennsylvania to talk to some steel workers. On the way back, Gary makes Mike a pros and cons chart about different kinds of wedding cake.

Andrew lurks, popping up occasionally to take Selina to dinner or try and convince Sue to put some sketchy fundraiser on the schedule. She, Dan, and Sue develop a strategy to get him out of the office. Whenever he lingers, Amy gets a convenient call from the director of the Office of Investigations over at Treasury, and Andrew disappears within three seconds flat. It’s remarkably effective.

In between his information sessions with Selina, downplaying the inevitability of Selina’s campaign to the press, meetings with Amy on the Hill to try and derail a trade war with Mexico, and thinking of even more creative nicknames for Jonah, Dan writes the book.

~*~

It is, as Amy suspected, saccharine garbage.

“Dan, you know this…this is fucking terrible, right?”

She’s perched on the arm of the loveseat; Dan’s sprawled over it, taking up a truly excessive amount of space with his long legs and arms. There are balls of paper scattered all around. Writing, based on the way Dan goes about it, looks a lot like dramatically crumpling up pieces of paper and lounging around on various pieces of furniture like he’s Jack fucking Kerouac.

“I mean, thank God you’ve already negotiated the publishing deal, because this is some serious—“

Dan throws a ball of paper at her. “You want your own book, get in line, Brookheimer.”

“Written by you? Pass.”

“Someone had to write it, Amy.”

“Like there aren’t fifty ghostwriters in this town more qualified than you.”

“I dare you to find even one.”

“Guys,” Sue intervenes, without even looking up from her computer. “Take it outside, please.”

#veep fic #veep #veep season two #veep season three #dan egan #amy brookheimer #dan x amy #selina meyer #mike mclintock #gary walsh #sue wilson

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