#anything can serve as a writing device if you so wish to use it as one

[robert-and-dave]

there is poetry for EVERYONE.

there’s pretty flowery prose, there’s slam, there’s spoken-word, there’s structured and short form and loose prose and sonnets and haikus and simple language and abstract and hell even lyrics

if you don’t like reading that’s ok, but please consider trying out something else to do with written content, because words are so, so powerful.

[obae-me]

Don’t mind me it’s really late at night and I’m in a bit of a yearning mood… This ended up being more angsty then I intended that’s my bad-

Do you think Lucifer dreams of loving MC? That nearly every night he dreams of holding them in his arms to unwind after a harsh day of work, of soft kisses by candlelight, of inviting them to the music room so they can listen to one of his beloved records and dance together, of sharing hushed moments of a type of vulnerability he can’t remember the last time he felt?

Do you think he wakes up from his dreams too soon to a cold half empty bed and remembers that he’s here all on his own with the human he loves far away and blissfully unaware of his predicament? He gets a harsh reality check when he remembers that despite all his dreams and fantasies he’s still alone simply because he’s too scared to say his true feelings? How ironic, the embodiment of confidence and pride, scared to talk about insignificant emotions. Are they even insignificant though? They certainly don’t feel like it to Lucifer, how trivial…

I want my men YEARNING and CONFLICTED-

(Sorry I answered this late, life has been super hectic and I've been taking a social media break but I'm semi back now! We're battling that burnout!) I LOVE yearning! SO MUCH! Especially when it involves Lucifer because it feels so much more complex and impactful (but I'm probably just biased). So, I hope you don't mind me using this ask as an excuse to do a writing warmup since I haven't done anything creative for a while.

Warning for angst and some hurt/no comfort (I'm sorry!)

A tiny seed, thriving and new, ready to be cultivated. Its creation a mystery. Filled with life, hope, and the promise of a forbidden fruit. And what did he do? Crushed it. Destroyed it as soon as the hint of it reared its ugly head.

At first, he wasn't quite sure what it was. So, foolishly, he allowed it to stay, to plant itself in the recesses of his chest where it could rest safe for a while. Just until he figured out what this anomaly meant. Where did it come from? Why? What was it that kept him up at night and stole his focus from his work?

It wasn't till he and the human had found themselves in a quiet moment alone. All he had done was head to their room to inform them of... He can't even remember the details. Can't even recall if there had been an original purpose in the first place. Lucifer had caught them getting ready for the night, sitting in their bed with a pillow held against their chest as they slouched forward, scrolling through their D.D.D.. Immediately, he found himself giving them a mini-lecture on how being glued to a device right before bed would keep them from sleeping properly. It was their duty to-- the usual gist. In the midst of the lecture, his words caught in his own throat as he noticed them hugging the pillow sleepily- albeit a little annoyed with him- staring at his face with their head tilted off to the side.

The seedling was beginning to sprout.

All the pieces clicked into place, a deafening rattle in his head. The lecture ended unfinished, the details he had wished to share with them ignored. He simply bid them a good night before leaving their room. When he returned to his own space, he examined the sprout that had grown. Gentle, just a weak little thing. Plucked. Ripped from the roots, he pressed the heel of his boot against it and wasn't satisfied till it turned to dust.

Feelings? Affection? And for a human? Unacceptable. It had been a mistake to keep it so close to his heart when he had been unaware of its origins.

And he went about his days like normal, feeling colder than he had in weeks.

It was a sigh of relief really. Keeping a plant like that around would only serve him trouble. It required care and attention he did not have the time to give. It was best for everyone involved to nip it in the bud before it had the chance to bloom. After a few days of settling back into normalcy, he found the courage to approach the human again without the pesky irrationalities attached.

A pain. Stabbing. A random tug in his chest and a grip on his throat. The very sight of them now caused him this new affliction. The plant had propagated, wormed an offshoot in the shadows of his marrow and spread throughout his body like a vile invasive weed. It was choking him. It felt like it was killing him.

He tore. He razed. He dug at it with his very fingertips as the thorns his scorn and bitterness had cultured shredded the skin of his hands.

It would not go away so easily.

Madness began to plague his mind. The more he desperately tried to free himself, the deeper the thing embedded. He couldn't stand at the human's side without imagining the warmth of their hand against his. Couldn't walk past the kitchen without checking if they were in their bedroom. Couldn't listen to his favorite records without imagining slowly rocking back and forth with them, their heads resting against each other. Several nights now, he'd awoken from a dream about them. Typically starting out as nightmares, either swamped with work, inprisioned in isolation, or burnt by betrayal. But before his mind could spiral into darkness in those drowsy tragedies, they would come. Lucifer would always hold them in their arms, his face buried in their hair or their clothes, kissing their cheeks, their hands, their shoulders. It was peace. Bliss.

Until he would wake up.

The loneliness was more torturous than he ever imagined it would be. If this was love, he didn't want it. But he did. Sins alive, he did. He wanted to scream till his lungs burst. He wanted the demon in him to run rampant and rebuild everything in his own perfect image. He begged this plant to sprout the poisoned apple so he could bring it to his lips and drown in its tempting flavor.

And the thought of that terrified him.

But what was he to do? Tell them? No...surely not. He'd already seen some of the ways they looked at him. This plant was already vindictive, tangling around his raw vulnerabilities. If he were to be rejected...he doubted it would die. More than likely, it would fester, ruining him completely.

Lucifer, Pride, the Morningstar, see what he'd been reduced to now. Fearful over telling a human his own thoughts. Losing control over something as simple as a basic juvenile feeling.

Ignoring it was hurting him. Feeding it was anguishing him. No matter what he did, it all resulted in the same endless suffering.

And every day he would wake up, nod curtly towards them at breakfast, and go through the same personal hell all over again.

[corpse-water]

okay so i’ve had some time to discuss jade shadows with buddies and digest the full story.

tw for talks about misogyny and pregnancy

okay so this update was bad. i’m not gonna really like. sugarcoat this at all. it was bad. it’s bad from a writing perspective, it’s bad for future story elements in the game, it makes the stalker look like a stupid asshole. for an update that was selling itself as a lore-heavy piece, it kind of told us a lot of nothing and then just said a lot of other shit.

jade shadows is not an issue because of its themes of motherhood. it’s not an issue because there is a pregnant woman there. it’s not an issue because stalker is a dad. it’s not an issue because it’s a straight love story. and i’m saying all these things upfront because i feel like people are misinterpreting the issues that others have with this specific quest. it isn’t because of any of that. people aren’t butt hurt because this wasn’t a toxic yaoi update or because stalker wasn’t transed. that isn’t the point.

warframe has shown us interesting stories from/about woman before. from exploitation by the orokin and others down to lotus’ struggles with motherhood. these stories have been present since the game’s conception and they’re been important in the plot before. so they’re capable of writing a story about women that doesn’t reduce them to baby makers or weak or helpless in the face of struggle and suffering.

i think having a story in the game about a pregnant warframe isn’t even bad. i don’t care. i think it would squick people out but, it very genuinely could be another story about the orokin attempting to take autonomy away from people. motherhood is important for some people and it could have been an interesting story about that! about taking back autonomy from an empire that sought to completely remove that from its lower caste of people. that is to say if jade had been given… any? autonomy? at all? we’re never even shown what she does in order to protect stalker? we don’t get speaking lines from her? she just lays there and is pregnant. she literally serves the narrative device of being a pretty incubator. when did they meet? has she just been pregnant the whole time? for a thousand years? what is happening? hello? it’s so dark in here. (i have a lot of issues with the pregnancy from a narrative and story writing perspective.)

you can also have a story about fatherhood. again, it could have been a story about two people fighting against a system that sought to exploit them. to strip away the autonomy of choosing to be a parent, of choosing to be a father, of choosing to be present for the child. there is a lot to say about how the orokin hurt and exploited people and having a story from the perspective of would-be parents having their humanity stripped from them would have been a good story. it would have been really interesting to see! and DE is completely capable of writing that story.

i think this confuses the stalker’s motivations, too. why would he hate the tenno if the orokin had done this to his pregnant gf? what do the tenno have to do with literally anything here? is it because of the power vacuum left behind after the orokin were killed off? (in before people are like “we’re not getting the full story on purpose” or “we don’t have enough information yet”: then it shouldn’t have been told to us that it was going to be a lore-centric quest. because it wasn’t. so i get to complain about getting no information in the quest that was supposed to have at least some information.)

once again, and i cannot get over this at all, jade has no speaking role. she has not capacity to express her wishes or autonomy at all. she doesn’t move. she gives birth and then she dies. we hear from literally everyone else that “this is what she would have wanted” and “we have to honor her memory” but any opportunity at all for the character herself to express literally anything is… not there! she’s given no substance, no action, no voice. and the narrative bends over backwards to portray that this is what she wants. this is what is right. and you hear it from almost everyone else other than… the person whose body is at stake. you hear it from ordis who had never met jade or even knew her or could know what she wanted. you hear it from hunhow who… why would he know? he also didn’t talk to jade?

all in all, it was a messy, rushed, and narratively confusing and frustrating quest. it gave us pretty much nothing, confused people’s motivations, gave us a pregframe (as an aside: isn’t it kind of fucked up that you’re building the frame to be pregnant. again. isn’t that fucked up? you’re puppetting around a dead pregnant woman? anyone else?) and… a warframe baby? i guess?

“it’s about fatherhood and the sanctity of life”. it’s barely about fatherhood at all, actually. i would argue that narratively fatherhood is barely present in the game. you hold baby. you go to the moon. that’s what fatherhood is, i guess! like sure… whatever…. corpus lady steps aside for a warframe baby. guys what’s happening here. what’s going on.

0/10. DE you can save this by letting me bullet jump as the baby. you made infant prime a reality. now take it back.

[chaifootsteps]

I get mad thinking about Vivziepop’s questionable writing or dialogue choices sometimes—and then I just feel sad after because I really wish I could see her shows as something naunced and worthy of thoughtful discussion. I wish I could love these shows wholeheartedly like I use to, and its only the attachment I still hold for her works that keep me sticking around, but man, I feel so disheartened sometimes that I wish I could just let it go and move on already, but its hard.

I don’t see either of her shows being things that are going to be remembered as super amazing or have a fandom passionate about the work like 10 years down the line. I can’t look at her characters and think about their possible motivations or analyze them deeply based on interaction, or just general presence in the story, because there is no depth greater than a pond. With her antagonists she writes them in such a particular way that they serve less as actual characters and more as glorified plot devices and nothing more, and with her protagonists she leaves them as overdeveloped or underdeveloped at the same time.

What am I suppose to take when watching her shows? With Helluva Boss, I can’t tell what I’m suppose to gleam from it. Is the story about relationships and focuses on character interaction and characters more than the plot itself? Its not doing that great of a job at that. Theres no changes in character dynamics, characters dont really interact with one another meaningfully most of the time, and relationships arent explored enough outside of already established ones. Is it about fighting against a system that is rigged against you and standing up against the ones in power? No, it isn’t, because the opression our main characters face isnt relevant enough in the story outside of the ocassional reminder that, yes, Imps are the lowest in the system, yes, imps can be quite literally sold as property and serve as servants and the working force to the ones in power, and, yes, imps face discrimination. (Can you tell the supremacist line pissed me off yet.)

I.M.P—who are all apart of marginalized species in hell—do not talk about these issues they face. Crimson is literally a mafia boss in Greed and he doesn’t seem to have any problems being a imp in power despite the demons working under him being higher in status than he himself is. (Minus the money problems because it doesnt seem actually relevant to anything and isnt brought up afterwards) Why have our main characters be apart of the lower class at all if it isnt actually important to the show. By the end of this show, the hierachy isnt going to change because status quo is god, and the worst case scenario possible is that Blitz gets with Stolas and becomes a prince and lives a life where the same species he’s apart of literally serves under him.

And speaking of status quo, what on earth is season 2 of Hazbin going to even be about if season 1 ends in a literal war between Heaven and Hell? You don’t just change the status quo that drasitically in one season—unless if Hell and Heaven were at war since the start? But it doesnt seem that way. Would Season 2 focus on redemption—but if that’s the case, why make season 1 the war between hell and heaven when season 2 would be more fitted for it instead?

I never thought these shows would be on ‘Breaking Bad’ tier levels of writing, but I thought they were going to at least be something I could walk away from with a clear understanding of what message it wants to tell and how I can interpret it as part of an auidence, but maybe I was wrong to think the stories Medrano writes have something wonderfully insightful to give, and it really hurts to think about.

I know how you feel, Anon. A shame we can't all have just one day to look into the good timeline where Viv's the writer and person we hoped she would be, and these shows are everything we were looking forward to.

[dreamweaversfavsandthoughs]

Rick and Morty S7 Ep. 5: Unmortricken

(Revenge is a dish best served a la mode—or something like that)

Here there be spoilers…

My Favs

The Rick Prime saga has been resolved.

I am overall happy that Harmon and Co. decided to resolve this story now rather than have it milked for another season or two. On top of that, the story was given a somewhat satisfying conclusion or as satisfying a conclusion as a revenge story possibly can be.

Evil Morty

Evil Morty being pulled in as a reluctant ally was not on my season 7 bingo card nor was a glimpse of his origin story but here we are. It was great seeing Morty on the same level intellectually as a Rick and our Rick treats him as an equal. I don’t think we’ll see the last of him since Rick owes him for saving his life and Evil Morty has the schematics to the Omega Device.

Uncle Slo Mobius

I cracked up at both Rick and Rick Prime getting very emotional at the wiping out of Slo Mobius over infinite dimensions. RIP Slo Mobius, gone in all realities but lives on in our hearts.

“You suck at eating pussy!”

And Rick totally owns it, but to be fair, he was young. Satisfying your partner is something you have to learn, even if you’re the smartest man in the universe.

Rick beat down of Rick Prime

When I say this is one of my favorite parts of the episode I mean that I appreciate that I found it gut-churning and difficult to watch. It’s brutal and the animation of Rick Prime’s face as it becomes less and less recognizable as human coupled with a blood-soaked Rick coming out of the room with the light completely gone from his eyes. It’s effective visual storytelling. This was the only possible outcome to Rick’s lifelong quest for vengeance. It did not end triumphantly with a hero’s welcome but, instead, a whimper.

My Not Favs

The Rick Prime saga has been resolved.

So I put this down as a not favorite because there is a part of me that wishes we had the cat-and-mouse game go on a little while longer. Ultimately, the show isn’t really about him or the revenge quest but I wish we had some more time with the character. I say this knowing the season is not over yet and anything could happen but, also, there seems to be a sort of finality to the whole thing that makes me suspect that we are done with him.

My Thoughts

The end of an era.

I had read on an animation news blog that this episode marks the midpoint of the 70 episode order that was created back in 2018 and that, if all goes according to plan, the contract will be completed in three years. I don’t know if it was intentional to have this episode air in the order that it did but I can’t help but notice that it feels like the story is transitioning into a new era. There is a feel that they are starting to wind down and get ready for a potential end to the series ( I know Dan Harmon has expressed continuing to create new seasons indefinitely, but nothing has been confirmed and they are getting close to finishing the writing portion of the order so…).

It makes sense that Rick Prime would be solved as soon as it did and, honestly, I kinda expected them to resolve that thread this season or next. The reason being is that the story of Rick and Morty is not about villains and revenge quests, but about a man who is too smart and too worldly and so ground down by life, trying to find family and connections even when he claims it’s meaningless and that he’s above it all. Rick has sort of been released from this burden and now can forge a new purpose and a new pathway with the rest of his family by his side even if, mentally and emotionally, he is not ready to do that just yet. Also, this episode has opened the door to some new lore that could carry us to the series finale ( if it does end in season 10). I’m specifically thinking about the Omega Device.

Evil Morty has the schematics that he plans on keeping on hand to buy himself some much needed peace and Rick owes him for resurrecting him and neutralizing Rick Prime for the final beat down. Also, if a device could be created to wipe out someone in every timeline then maybe it could be used to create an anti-Omega Device that could bring back those who have been wiped out. Which means we are clearly going to resurrect Uncle Slo Mobius so the two of them can go get some of that elusive McDonald’s Szechuan Sauce!

Or Rick might try to resurrect Diane as an attempt to “complete” his family. Obviously, this is just speculation, but at the same time, with the information we have this feels like a natural next step in Rick’s very slow progression to finally healing from the past and accepting the family that is with him in the present. Healing is rarely linear and I could see Rick falling into another self-destructive hole that he has fooled himself into thinking we solve all his woes. Past family and present family together. Having his cake and eating it too! What could go wrong?

[saintsenara]

What do you think about time travel concept in HP fanfics? And also what do you think about how they are explored in Tomarry? Is there something that you wish that authors could explore when exploring? Is there any common tropes that come with it that you don't agree with. E.g. X character time travels to the past and in their first year of Hogwarts don't understand how they don't lose their mind- I wish people explored the horror element of re-experience childhood with the knowledge butnopower

thank you for the ask, @sarafina-sincerity!

i do like time travel - indeed, i'm currently writing some time-travel smut [and the time-travel dimension is really the only element of plot in it...] - because, like any good tomarry fan, i recognise that it carries us when it comes to not having to think too hard about whether harry's happy to bang a man fifty-four years his senior with no nose [my view? he is].

and, mostly, this is the purpose time-travel serves in this fandom - a way to make two characters kiss when their canon ages would preclude them from doing so. and i love this for us - and some of the best rare-pair writing i've ever seen has been enabled by the magic of time-travel - but i think it's fair to say that time-travel is usually, therefore, a shipping device rather than anything else.

and so do i think the concept is usually written in a particularly complex or interesting way? not really.

as you say, there's nowhere near enough exploration of the horrors of time-travel [the people who have gone backwards or forwards in time are usually remarkably relaxed about that fact] - and, above all, what i'd like to see more of are time-travel stories which neither fix things nor make things worse, but which find the course of history so fixed that nothing can change it.

i mean, imagine sirius going back to his sixteen-year-old self, determined to save james and eradicate peter and rescue his brother and so on, and yet unable to, because voldemort is an unstoppable force.

delicious.

[m1d-45]

hello!! i’ve been lingering on your blog for a while, but i’ve been too scared to request/reach out until now jfnfksk. before i do, i wanted to say that you’re one of my favorite writing blogs. all of the works i’ve read from you are beautiful and profound and, in my opinion, you have a great way of words and storytelling. your blog was one of my introductions to sagau in general, so thank you for that, too.

i’ve been having a lot of thoughts about sagau and fontaine recently, particularly revolving around the 4.1 archon quest. lyney and freminet are both amongst some of my favorite characters, and i have pulled for/have them both, and i use them both often. i personally disagreed with many of the traveler’s (which i’m assuming was the creator’s main vessel during it all?) actions, how we dealt with lyney and wriothesley and how we seemed to be neutral with both of them after. i definitely did not, and do not, like wriothesley after everything that happened, and i wished we were a bit more hostile/cold towards him at least. he put lyney and freminet especially in states of extreme distress and had no qualms about it, even if he never intended to hurt them physically.

how the traveler went about it all just felt very wrong to me. i would not have been so docile and friendly towards wriothesley afterwards, and quite frankly, i would’ve been way more worried about lyney and freminet than we were. i, personally, am on lyney’s side 100%, and i wish we weren’t forced to be in a weird state of limbo between our “loyalties.” i have none to wriothesley, and i wish i could’ve made that known.

in the event that we’re going with the creator being more omnipotent and a third party (such as in your piece “wandering”) rather than isekai’d, do you think that the characters would be able to feel/tell/hear the creator’s frustrations? considering that the creator’s vessels are supposed to be controlled by them, how do you think that would work — the creator mostly disagreeing with the actions their vessel have chosen, but basically being helpless against them? would that align/be possible with how you view sagau and its dynamics?

this could be viewed as a more formal request or just a rambling ask, depending on if you find it interesting/agree with it/wish to write for it or not; i don’t mind! my apologies as well — this got a bit longer than i intended. (also, could i be added to the taglist if that’s not too much trouble?)

oooh this is an interesting point!

now, from a gameplay standpoint, while it makes sense to have two kinds of dialogue when interacting with npcs—sort of like a nice and rude option to give players some room—a canonical single storyline for the traveller is much simpler and far easier in the long run, especially for the kind of story mhy wants to tell. this being said, i do agree we should have more flexibility in dialogue.

i do believe that even if you don’t verbally say something, they can still feel your emotions, such as frustration. the extent changes—i think too much about this game good lord—but the point is that they could tell that you’re dissatisfied with the actions you’re taking. the end conclusion could be anything from “the device they use to connect with this world isn’t perfect. they must not have regained enough power to fully control it.” to “still being kind even through their anger…. our lord truly is gracious” depending on the situation, character, etc. that being said if you out loud disagreed with something you’re doing, it would be pretty universally accepted that the limits of your influence are a Bad Thing. this serves as motivation to find a way to restore your full power; whether that means “we gotta motivate them from afar! how far can we push these boundaries?” or “ok. we have to bring them here.” depends on your flavor of sagau.

that should cover everything i wanted to say. thank you for the compliments, and i’m glad that you liked my writing. feel free to send another ask if you want to clarify or add on, and have a good day!

[fruityyamenrunner]

I think the wheelchair thing basically boils down to the idea of self-inserts. people don't play RPGs so they can write literature - maybe the GM does, but no one else is under that illusion. the player character is and essentially always has been an avatar for the player themself, if not literally then at least emotionally, morally, or as a means of wish-fulfillment. even when a player does not identify strongly with the character based on their traits, the character is usually still a means to the player's ends - it serves the purpose of being a vehicle for entertainment, group socialization, etc.

occasionally, of course, you will see a character written by players with more "literary" aspirations, generally involving a complex and tragic backstory, but unless they're the GM, they are not actually writing "literature", they are not writing a story - they are still only writing one single character, whose context within a broader arc is not under their complete control, and then submitting it to ulterior storytelling. the character still serves as their primary locus of autonomy for controlling any narrative they hope to write, and thus their identification with it as a proxy for themselves and their intentions is effectively inevitable (although they will generally tolerate harm coming to their character with far fewer objections than the pure escapist player, because they know they can simply write another one to achieve similar ends).

it should be self-evident with this context why players may want a character whose visual identity as a disabled person matches theirs beyond mere "fetishism" - or at least, if you call that fetishism, you must indict the entire hobby with the same brush. identity with the characters involves not just physical and aesthetic similarity but also a parallel mode of operating within the world, including on the physical level of mobility. this brings up the key point that disability is contextual within a society. "wheelchair user" is not a category of physical conditions, it is a descriptor of engagement with the physical environment. yet, due to the systemic nature in which ableism operates, "wheelchair user" is a category of people who are disabled in the same way, even if their bodies are not physically similar - it has created an identity group. identification with the wheelchair-using elf is not just merely physical, it is operational and identitarian in a way that is not separable from the chair.

it is no less fetishist for me to want to play a gangly and bookish wizard with poor athletic abilities - because I am gangly and bookish with poor athletic abilities myself - than it is for a wheelchair user to want to play a character that also uses a chair, i.e. whose perception and operation within the world is wheelchair-centered, mirroring the way contemporary society for people with mobility issues is made wheelchair-centered by their ubiquity as a solution for mobility issues.

perhaps a truly good worldbuilder could come up with such a ubiquitous solution that does not resemble contemporary chairs - maybe the breed of miniature horse that is used in your setting as a mobility aid has become so specialized that they are scarcely used for anything else, maybe there are special guilds who craft magic carpets just for disabled people, maybe this is a socially and politically rooted device in your setting as well. but I think you need some pretty strong worldbuilding to supplant what already exists in terms of complex sociocultural associations to wheelchairs. I also think you need to come up with a reason why "put him in a cart with wheels on it" is harder to achieve for your society than magic for that worldbuilding to be sound, or why "drawing without a reference is hard" is an insufficient reason to willingly suspend disbelief when confronted with anachronistic artwork.

I absolutely am using "fetishism" with a big, broad, Victorian brush and trying to retvrn to a pre-Freudian sensibility as part of my project of seeing SF as a contemporary religious movement (and a bad one, or certainly much worse than i think is generally admitted). I am very glad to agree with you that SF, especially the kind of magickally-operative self-insert kind of SF, is a very fetishistic movement. The essential quality of the player character, as you describe it, is a fetish -- a feitiço, feito, smoothed out to hide handmarks and with supernatural powers ascribed to it.

so i am sympathetic to wheelchairs being included in this fetishism, because people get attached to personal effects. even without getting into the social context of disability and ableism you describe, people with wheelchairs get funny about you touching them, get to know the tricks and gimmicks of the mechanism, like any other device someone depends on. this is a fact, and i am sympathetic to it, within the context of a discourse (SF) that I view with great suspicion. i have also found that disabled people who do write about SF come to it with a good amount of insight, better than fandom in general perhaps, although maybe I have only seen the good stuff (and not all of it is nothing-about-us-without-us compliant)

what i am incredibly suspicious of are the people who have a broad "SF" sensibility that strongly reacts against the big titty wheelchair elf wizard, but who cannot account for themselves. this is, of course, the same suspicion the original meme is about -- an incredulity towards people who "can 'believe' (write an essay justifying, according to a perverse but familiar ludo-narrative logic) in 'magic' (i.e. their own fetishism about... whatever -- skinny guy being an 80s bodybuilder or, classically for Pratchett "where does the shit go?" as being Crucial Questions Worth Spending Cycles On) but who can't 'believe' in the kind of fetishism involving a wheelchair". It really does look very much like people not wanting to play with the wheelchair kid!

[beetled-juice]

Do you have any sfw fluff hc's for MusicalJuice? Maybe even light nsfw like kissing, making out, Beej being pretty handy with reader, etc?

I love your writing so much, I wish I was able to write and share my writing like you and others in this fandom!

Hello! I really appreciate that you like my writing, thank you so much! I've honestly never been one to really create and share content outside of little circles of friends, but this fandom has just been so incredible and full of so many amazing people that inspire me every day!

I've always believed that any writing is better than no writing, especially when it comes to fandom. Not all of us have the skill or capacity to be full-fledged fic writers, but that doesn't mean we can't share our little bullet lists and notes app drabbles! You and everyone else can absolutely share anything, and I guarantee that myself and many others will love it.

Now, onto the hc's! I'm gonna throw it under the cut since it's a longer read, and as always I'm using a gender neutral reader ♡

Fluff HC's For Musicaljuice:

Right off the bat, it needs to be said that this guy loves whenever you treat him like a living person. Whether this means serving him his own plate at dinner or offering him a blanket during movie night, he absolutely adores it. At first he thought it was just you forgetting that he wasn't actually alive, but after a while he realized it was just how you showed people you cared about them!

He refuses to admit it, but it took him a ridiculously long time to figure out why every meal or drink you made for him was so much better than anything he or anyone else made. You'd patiently walked him through the steps of making tea just the way he liked it multiple times, but no matter what he did it just didn't taste the same. He'd complained about it to you, and without hesitating you'd offered to always make it for him. That was the moment he realized he was in love with you.

Unfortunately for your kitchen, this revelation was immediately followed up with him making several attempts to return the favor by cooking for you. Attempt is the key word, because nothing he made was edible, he somehow caught your electric kettle on fire, and mysteriously all of your dishcloths have vanished into the ether. The final straw was him putting a metal bowl into your (now deceased) microwave, and electrocuting himself when he reached into the still-powered device to pull the bowl out through the closed door. Once he'd stopped throwing sparks, you'd carefully pulled him into a standing position while informing him that he was forever banned from using your kitchen ever again. Before he could get too upset, however, you'd placed a kiss on his scruffy cheek and thanked him for the effort. His hair didn't lose its pink hue for the rest of the evening.

SPEAKING OF PINK - this guy will start having pink pop up in his hair at the most seemingly random times, and this ratchets up to a 10 once y'all start dating. A simple touch or smile has pink settling into his patches of moss. A kiss or hug sends it up through his beard and into the roots of his hair. The most surefire way to get him to turn completely pink, though, is to use his name - you're the only person he lets call him Lawrence, and it gets an instant reaction every time you do. For so long he'd hated the way his name sounded in the mouths of others, mostly because the only person who ever used it was his mother. But when you say it, it's gentle, warming, like coming home. You don't say it often, preferring to use it only when the moment is right, but when you do it'll result in an immediate hug (and probably more).

Now his hugs? Simply the best. You could be having the shittiest day possible and one long hug from him makes it all better. He loves getting to hug you, no matter the circumstances, and if he can get away with it then he'll be hugging you whenever possible. He also has several preferred hugging methods, that way he can adapt to any situation. He loves to hug you from behind while you're cooking or working on the computer, especially if he can wrap his arms around your waist and bury his face against your neck. Bear hugs where his large frame seems to envelope you completely? He does them daily (oftentimes more than once). Side hugs where he pulls you close and wraps an arm around you are always fair game, especially if you're around others or just chilling on the couch. He loves having you close by and tucked against him, no matter what's going on - any excuse to pull you in for a hug, he'll take it.

Hopefully you don't mind sharing a bed with an octopus, because he'll do his best impression of one every. damn. night. Good luck getting up to use the bathroom at 3am, because this guy isn't gonna let you go easily. Sometimes a kiss to wake him up is enough, but other times you have to elbow him in the ribs or kick him in the shins to finally be released from his grip.

And oh man you better invest in some ear plugs - this guy snores like a freight train, only this freight train has a penchant for settling in right against your damn ear. When he first started sharing a bed with you (long before you guys were dating, completely uninvited) he was silent, hardly daring to breathe lest you decide to kick him out. Eventually, after you'd agreed to let him stay, he started actually sleeping at night. He doesn't really need to, and you suspect he does it because it feels more human, but he insists he gets the "best" dreams about you when he sleeps pressed up against you. You interpret this as sex dreams, especially since he would waggle his eyebrows and make honking noises when he said it, but what he actually had were more like daydreams about being with you and his family for the rest of time. Okay, and also sex dreams. He's a highly sexual being after all, and he does love an orgy.

Once you'd agreed to (read: "given up fighting him on") his sharing your bed, hands would absolutely wander if given half a chance. Whether this is an arm slung a little low around your waist or a leg sticking between your own just a little too much, he'll take what he can get. If you established a hard boundary, however, he was pretty good about not pushing it. As soon as you guys started seeing each other, however, all bets were off - any chance he got, he'd have a hand up your shirt or in between your thighs. He wasn't necessarily trying to start something every time, he just genuinely enjoyed being able to touch you in such an intimate way. It's also not his fault that breathers are warmest at their cores - if your crotch wasn't so damn toasty he wouldn't be putting his hands there! (<- he's lying, that's a lie, he totally would be)

Finally, the thing he's least likely to admit to is that he loves when you're holding him. He loves laying with his head on your lap, or with his back pressed to your front and your arms wrapped securely around his middle. He also loves when you hug him close and let him press his face into your throat - yes he usually has to contort himself to do it, but it feels so nice to simply be held and listen to your heartbeat while ignoring the rest of the world. On his worst days he can always go to you for comfort, and even if he won't necessarily ask you for it directly, it's the one thing he craves most.

[sangopearls]

— them with an introverted s/o

CW: NONE APPLICABLE.

welcome back to rose being selfish and writing stuff that caters to her personality

this kinda flips between modern au and canon au???????????? i hope that’s not a problem

characters featured: thoma, kaeya, xiao

thoma ✧˖*࿐

thoma is very upbeat but can def be down to chill rather than go out! he loves doing cute lil domestic things with you on your date nights in. i’m thinking of the line “[you] moved the furniture so we could dance, baby, like we stood a chance” from taylor swift’s out of the woods.

thoma pls marry me i wanna do dumb lil fluffy domestic things like this w u :((((

“a record player?” thoma asks, fiddling with the needle of the device, “i’ve always kinda wanted one, as redundant as it is.”

“hm? yeah, i’ve had it for some time,” you explain, “why, you want me to put on something?”

“no, no, i’ll do the choosing,” he chuckles, leafing through your collection of vinyls, “ooh, hey jude, classic.”

“it’s cliche, i know, i know,” you roll your eyes, “it was a good thrift find, though. go ahead, call me some dime-a-dozen manic pixie dream girl.”

“so hard on yourself, [Y/N],” he laughs, placing the vinyl on the device and starting it up. the record player whirs to life. he listens to it with a fond smile for a moment before his eyes light up.

“[Y/N], give me a hand in moving the coffee table,” he says, walking over to the table and placing his hands on either side.

“okay, but why the impromptu redecoration?” you ask, placing your hands on the table as well to assist him. with a grunt, you both push the table towards the wall to create open space in the living room.

thoma straightens his back and extends his hand to you. “[Y/N], may i have this dance?”

kaeya ✧˖*࿐

he doesn’t really enjoy going out aside from his trips to the bar but he DEFINITELY enjoys teasing you about your introverted habits

“[Y/N], i think i might swing by angel’s share for a drink,” kaeya says, shrugging on a coat, “i need a break from all that paperwork, not to mention making sure that damn bard hasn’t blacked out and left my brother to cover the tab. you’re invited, if you’d like. my treat, angel.”

“i’m a bit too tired for all of that, kaeya,” you sigh, “i think i’ll pass so that i can catch up on some sleep.”

“as you wish,” kaeya says, kissing your forehead, “though, if you’d like me to stay and keep you company, i’d be more than happy to oblige. you’re a better type of break than anything they could serve at the tavern.”

“mm… hopefully a glass of wine will ease that corniness out of you, kaeya,” you laugh, rolling your eyes and pecking a kiss to his lips, “have fun, and tell the usual suspects i say hi.”

xiao ✧˖*࿐

xiao isn’t too keen on going out either. in a modern au, he would love to curl up and play video games with you! i feel like he’s so used to playing online fighting games that innocent cheery games kinda mind boggle him. with that said you force him to play animal crossing with you >:)c

(i have actually played 290+ hours of animal crossing but it’s worth it bc i have a five star island and all my favorite villagers thanks to turnip hustling hehehehehhe)

“okay, and if you equip your fishing rod, you can catch whatever that fin belongs to,” you explain to xiao, who is holding your nintendo switch and is visibly confused by the game on the screen.

“why?” he asks, furrowing his brows and fiddling with the keys to find the fishing rod.

“i haven’t caught a whale shark yet,” you explain, “i need one for blathers.”

“why would i give my catch to… ah… bothers? blubbers?”

“for his museum, xiao,” you say, “and it’s blathers.”

xiao notices a bright pink squirrel walk past your avatar.

“what the hell is that?” he asks.

“oh, that’s peanut,” you reply, “she lives on my island.”

“why is there a pink squirrel?” he grumbles, still trying to figure out how to equip the fishing rod.

you sigh and grab the switch from him.

[riddlecrux]

Light seen through the windows: an analysis of windows as a literary tool in Elriel relationship

I would love to preface this meta with my favorite disclaimer that everything that I will be discussing is based on what I have gathered from SJM writing. The quotes used in this post will serve as a starting point for further analysis. Additionally, I will be using things such as symbolism, metaphors, and literary device methods to build up my reasoning and beliefs. On another note, this, as usual, is strictly pro-Elriel meta. If they are not your cup of tea and you wish to comment, please be civil and bring arguments supported by the text.

So many of us like to gaze and stare through the windows daily. Looking at the world behind the glass often is considered a form of tranquility that we feel. Windows are essentially doors that lead us to whatever lies behind them - the last border between being in one place and then in another. It isn't then surprising that windows serve as symbols and metaphors in literature. From the start, whenever I read a passage about windows in ACOWAR I was reminded of Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. You may ask why?

Emily Bronte used windows as symbolism in her work. They are very important for her characters and their personal arcs. They are symbols of barriers, misfortunes that characters face. Windows there are metaphors of various obstacles estranging Bronte's characters from achieving their hopes - realizing that the dreams they had will be not fulfilled. As I don't want to get spoilery with Wuthering Heights, I'm going to draw conclusions in a very neat manner. Bronte used windows as a connection to nightmares that one of the main characters was suffering from - it ties to the fact that in his nightmares he sees the person he had loved, haunting him. Because of the relationship with a said woman, the imagery of windows in this particular scene symbolizes death, an obstacle that stands between both of them. Throughout the book, we also get glimpses of how windows might be used as a metaphor for social classes and the contrast between them, and how Heathcliff and Catherine have to go about it. Along with the windows, doors are also used as a symbol of trapping someone in one place, obstructing them from achieving their dream or preventing them from reaching out to their loved one. Not to mention that during a very particular scene with Catherine, she wants the windows open - a symbolism of her wanting to feel free, to connect with something she knows, she longs for. This leads to the conclusion that windows in Bronte's novel are symbols of life and death, they are the in-between - a symbolic barrier.

On the other hand, windows in literature signalize something called "art of watching", and usually it is connected to a female protagonist that observes life, events through the window. Not to mention, the most famous association to windows such as "windows to the soul" - which, of course, is more metaphorical. It allows us, the audience, to connect with the character's inner feelings, struggles, as we are presented with the emotional aspect of said person. They are the bridge between the inside and outside. Windows are also a source of light, which we humans crave. Looking through the window one can absorb the light, which can resonate as a symbol of growth and change. Metaphorically we see the light from the window when we feel a need to light up the darkness inside us. They expose us, our inner feelings, and struggles.

When I read ACOWAR I have noticed that SJM decided to use windows, quite clearly, in the indication of two particular characters. Azriel and Elain. For the first time, when we met Elain again in the third book the window is a big issue.

"The suite was filled with sunlight. Every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible."

We have a clear description of the sunlit room, curtains shoved to further underline the need for light.

"And seated in a small chair before the sunniest of the windows, her back to us, was Elain."

In the brightest place in the room sits Elain, in front of the window. She is exposed to the sun, to sunlight and is absorbing that light - which is highlighted during this scene (which makes it important to note).

"Her skin was so pale it looked like fresh snow in the harsh light. I realized then that the color of death, of sorrow, was white."

The sunlight exposes Elain, its harsh light makes her pale, almost translucent. Even Feyre realizes the graveness of this picture comparing this white hue to death. As you can see the chain of events in this scene played like that: sunlit room -> curtain swept away -> Elain sitting in front of the window -> sudden comparison to death.

"She had been always so full of light. Perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. To fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. And now nothing remained."

Feyre deducts that the need for light on Elain's part is a desperate call to brighten the darkness inside her - which perfectly aligns with the metaphorical usage of windows. Elain basks in light in a helpless cry for help. The very dark void that appeared within her after being Made eats her away. It sucks her immortal life away - the one which she yet didn't get used to. On the other hand, we as readers are presented with the fact that Elain is trapped. In this Fae life, in this room, in this situation in which she grieves for her past and many what-ifs.

Nothing. Not even a flicker of emotion. “Everyone keeps saying that.” Her thumb brushed the ring on her finger. “But it doesn’t fix anything, does it?”

Sitting in front of the window - a sunny one to be precise, which symbolizes life, growth, and change, Elain is presented in a contrast to her surroundings. To show that visible barrier that her person has to overcome. She realizes that her dreams are meant to be unfulfilled, that they are unreachable.

"My stiff, limping steps, at least, had eased into a smoother gait by the time I found Elain in the family library. Still staring at the window, but she was out of her room."

The next time we see Elain she is out of her room - her "cage", but even though she left the boundaries of her entrapment she still chooses to linger around the windows. As Feyre notices, Elain gazes through the window - we are obstructed from Elain's POV and it's hard to imagine what she could be thinking about. Yet the symbolic manner of using the window as some sort of mirror, a passage that happens throughout the series, allows me to think that the metaphorical usage of windows, in this case, isn't a far-fetched idea.

"Elain didn’t turn. She was wearing a pale pink gown that did little to complement her sallow skin, her brown-gold hair hanging in loose, heavy ringlets down her thin back."

SJM uses this sentence to highlight that it isn't just a quick glance out of the window - in fact, it is constant staring through it. It is important for us as readers to note that this thing, window gazing, is an occupation that lasts for long periods of time. It isn't something trivial, it is something that showcases the importance of said windows in Elain's journey.

“What are you looking at?” I asked Elain, keeping my voice soft. Casual. Her face was wan, her lips bloodless. But they moved—barely—as she said, “I can see so very far now. All the way to the sea.”

Feyre decides to ask Elain who is still gazing through the window. Her answer is very ominous and holds a great deal of importance, but also underlines the fact that she is drawn to the window. Not to mention that what she is seeing is the sea - another vastly discussed symbol. In this situation, I believe that the interpretation can lay in a more psychological aspect of the matter rather than a literary one. In the works of very well-known psychiatrist Carl Jung the sea "symbolizes the personal and the collective unconscious in dream interpretation". So from his notes there comes this annotation that caught my attention, "The sea is a favourite place for the birth of visions."

Elain is a seer who constantly gazes through a window which symbolizes the in-between, life and death. These two are connected to one another and SJM used many things to further develop Elain's character as a powerful figure.

"Elain only turned toward the sunny windows again, the light dancing in her hair."

After the whole conversation Elain doesn't move from her spot, quite the contrary she returns to her previous activity. Gazing through the window. Once again we are reminded about the sun and light - which signalizes that Elain tries to undergo through the process of rebirth, but also tries to break free from the unhappiness that came with lost dreams.

"Something in my chest cracked as Nesta’s eyes also went to the windows before Elain. To check, as I did, for whether they could be easily opened."

Here we have an instance of both sisters realizing that Elain spending so much time in front of windows can be dangerous, as in her attempting to jump from them. Once again, the symbolism of death.

"More steps—no doubt closer to where Elain stood at the window."

Elain is still beside the window when Lucien tries to talk to her. Even alone she seeks the place next to the window to stare.

"But sunlight on gold caught his eye—and Elain slowly turned from her vigil at the window."

Elain is still by the window, for the whole scene she is there not moving an inch from it. Furthermore, the word "vigil" is also an interesting choice. There are different meanings of it, but I find these ones very telling and suitable for this instance: a period of sleeplessness; insomnia, a watch kept, or the period of this and a devotional watching, or keeping awake, during the customary hours of sleep. We can speculate about what happened to Elain while she was in the Cauldron, what made her so withdrawn from life and so desperate for the light. I want to believe that we as readers will get our answers in the next book since Elain being a seer with unknown powers makes her a perfect target for Koschei with which she has already had connections.

She looked away—toward the windows. “I can hear your heart,” she said quietly.

Again, during the whole conversation, she doesn't move away from her spot next to the window. Windows for her, start to become a symbolism of change and rebirth - the things she probably wished while being confined to her room.

Elain only stared out the window, unaware—or uncaring.

We have another mention about staring - which further highlights how important windows are as a literary tool for Elain's character. She seeks light, she wants to overcome this barrier that was thrown at her the moment she was Made. She, perhaps, watched through the window to observe the life which was stripped away from her and turned her into this immortal being. Or, maybe she just desperately wanted to brighten up the darkness that gathered inside her because of that whole situation. Another important thing to note is that this scene is a first moment alone with Lucien - her mate, which should have been very painful for her. The conversation also held a lot of weight, yet she valiantly stood by the window as if somewhere behind it she could find an answer.

“So it can’t be a perfect system of matching. What if”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden —“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?”

Here we have an instance of "art of watching" in which Feyre observes Azriel and Elain through the window. By watching them she comes to the conclusion that both of them are better suited and actually can comfort each other in comfortable silence. The window here is used as a barrier to showcase parallels of two couples: happily mated Feysand and unhappily in love with other people Elriel.

"But I looked to Azriel, currently leaning against the wall beside the floor-to-ceiling window, shadows fluttering around him."

And here we are start with Azriel and windows (also in ACOWAR). He is another character that has an extraordinary connection to windows. He is often mentioned next to them and somehow parallels Elain's behavior - staring through windows, being near them.

"I blinked, realizing I’d been lost in the bond, but found Azriel still by the window, (...)."

As we can see Azriel lingers next to the window without moving away from it - as the scene progresses we know that the conversation lasts a good ounce of time, yet Azriel stands in his place by the window.

"Azriel didn’t so much as turn from his vigil at the window, though I could have sworn his wings tucked in a bit tighter."

The same wording, the same imagery. Both used for Elain and Azriel. Both of them keeping vigils at the windows, staring through them as if they could find an answer through them.

"The main room of the guardhouse was stuffy and cramped, more so with all of us in there, and though I offered Elain a seat by the sealed window, she remained standing—at the front of our company. Staring at the shut iron door."

This scene is when Elain is about to confront her lover - Greysen. It is underlined that she rejected her usual spot, which is by the window, and preferred to face the door. She was trapped, she knew that a very important discussion will take a place here. She chose to look at the door rather than at the window, which in this matter could symbolize hope for a change - she stared at the door which metaphorically means transition or imprisonment.

"(...) close to Elain’s side as she and my sister silently kept against the wall by the intact bay of windows."

Another instance of Elain and her being content with being next to the windows.

"I’d seen Elain staring out the window earlier—watching Graysen leave with his men without so much as a look back at her."

"Art of Watching", but also the window's symbolism of dreams that were unfulfilled. At that moment, we can assume, that Elain realized that her dreams concerning human life and her future with Greysen would only be unattainable dreams/hopes.

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.

At the end of ACOWAR, we have this powerful moment, in which Elain gazing out of the window sees sunny streets = life. A chance of rebirth, which also beautifully overlaps with the fact that she proposed building a garden! The in-between that she balanced on while gazing through the window for so many times turned from death and misfortunes into life and hopes of the future.

ACOFAS

"Elain politely refused, taking up a spot in one of the wooden chairs set in the bay of windows. Also typical."

From Rhysand's point of view, we can deduct that even they are aware of the fact that Elain and windows are something notable. It is a place where she feels comfortable and probably spends a lot of time.

"Beyond the windows, darkness had indeed fallen. The longest night of the year. I found Elain studying it, beautiful in her amethyst-colored gown. I made to move toward her, but someone beat me to it."

In previous quotes, we could gather information about how Elain craved the light and how desperate she was to lighten up her person. Here, we can see that she also started to embrace the darkness. She is again by the window, observing the darkness as if no one else was around her. And of course, the one person who goes towards her at that moment is Azriel, a personification of darkness in the books.

Azriel strode to the lone window at the end of the room and peered into the garden below. “I’ve never stayed in this room.” His midnight voice filled the space.

Azriel went straight to the window. And not an ordinary one, but the one through which you can see the garden. Life and light. I know many were theorizing if what kept Azriel so occupied by the window was Elain, but I would love to put some of my thoughts in this discourse. Yes, I do think that what caught his attention, or who caught his attention was Elain. However, Elain at that moment represents life and light - the things that are associated with windows. And if you spin it around you have Azriel=darkness, death staring at Elain=light, life. The in-between, the very initial symbolism of window in literature. Not to mention that in this scene we have Azriel watching the light and next we have Elain observing darkness.

“No,” Azriel said, not turning from the window.

Azriel remained at the window. “Will Nesta stay here if she comes?

“I’d still be surprised if they remember once the storm clears,” Azriel said, turning from the garden window at last.

We have a whole scene in which it is so heavily implied that Azriel was constantly staring through the window, not even bothering to move away from it. We also have another highlighted thing which is the fact that it was a garden window.

There was a tiny box left on the table by the window—a box that Mor lifted, squinted at the name tag, and said, “Az, this one’s for you.”

A small thing, yet a very sweet one. The fact that even his present was placed close to the window, which starts to become an Elriel thing.

ACOSF

"She’d barely slept for fear of Elain walking off this veranda, or leaning too far out of one of the countless windows, or simply throwing herself down those ten thousand stairs."

We have a reminder that during her stay at House of Wind, Elain was a symbol of death. She carried it on her while being associated with windows that were used as a source of light that helped her heal.

"Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown whose close-fitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court."

Even when she visits Nesta, she takes the place by the windows. It is something that is strictly connected to her. As if the windows were part of her now.

Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. “I thought I’d drop by to see how you were doing.”

Light, sun, life = Elain.

“You’ve got good coloring, I mean,” Elain clarified, striding from the windows to cross the room. She stopped a few feet away. As if holding herself back from the embrace she might have given.

SJM still used the passages to underline the passage of time that Elain spent standing next to the window. It is a place in which she feels good and perhaps safe.

"They’d sat in them, before this fire, so many times that it was an unspoken rule that Azriel’s was the one on the left, closer to the window, and Cassian’s the one to the right, closer to the door."

We also get the information that Azriel always was the closest to the window - which is an odd thing to add without a deeper meaning. As if to further build up that connection between him and Elain - that both of them are aware of the fact that they are also the symbolism of the allegory of windows. I believe that SJM really researched that light and darkness trope, with which she built and she is still building up Elriel. The windows are just another tiny nugget that further envelopes both of them as one. Because while Elain transformed from death to life, she still welcomed darkness and embraced it - and Azriel opened to the life and light, seeking it. As I said, windows are a literary tool, which perhaps wasn't the main idea in the SJM text, but the amount of parallels between both of them and even the same wording applied to different scenes tells me that it's yet another connection between them.

[queen-scribbles]

Minefield

Mid-game, early-ish relationship Evony/Bao Dur fic bc I was hit by a dialogue snippet that I couldn’t shake and had to write 2300 words to go around it. xD

---

Evony didn’t remember much about Dxun--whether because so much had happened during the Mandalorian Wars it all blurred together or because she’d repressed it--but she was surprised she’d forgotten the insects. Mostly small, nearly constant, and annoying. The reprieve offered by the blown-open Mandalorian cache was welcome beyond words. And she could feel the matching waves of relief from Mira and Bao Dur as well. She wondered briefly how much of a mental--or vocal--storm Atton was cursing up having to work on the exterior of the Hawk.

“I vote we take our time searching this place,” Mira said, likely only half-joking.

“Seconded,” Evony laughed, smacking the side of her neck to deal with the lone buzzing peril that had followed her in.

Bao Dur caught her arm when she started to follow Mira down the short entrance hall. “A wise decision for more reasons that one,” he said, nodding at the floor.

Upon closer inspection, the way in was littered with mines

Evony wrinkled her nose and laughed sheepishly. “I keep forgetting that signal dampener of hers.... Nice catch.”

He tipped his head in a combination of silent gratitude and ‘of course’, then knelt to examine the nearest device. “It appears the Mandalorians were paranoid about someone raiding their weapons caches.”

“I mean... are we not doing that?” she pointed out, crouching next to him and cocking her head. She was hardly the demolitions expert he was, but even to her... “That does look... more complex.”

“Larger yield explosive, more delicate trigger mechanism. Good eye,” Bao Dur said, approval flickering in his eyes. “And I feel we’re well enough outfitted from our... journeys so far without adding Mandalorian weapons to the stockpile.” He set to work dismantling the mine. “But if you and Mira want to go digging for any surprises, I won’t stop you.”

The mines might, Evony thought dryly as she watched him work. “I think I’d rather learn how to do that first” --she nodded toward the half-apart mine-- “seems more valuable than anything I could find in here. And currently I only know enough to deal with minor explosives.”

He finished with the current one and carefully stored it for later use(which made her arch a brow). “I can show you, if you really wish to learn, General.”

Evony nodded. “I should. In case there’s ever a point I need to do so and don’t have you around to help.” Not that she could fathom a scenario without him at her side now that she had him back. Or wanted to.  She lightly shoulder-checked him, now that he wasn’t working on something that could kill them both in a blink. “And I told you; I’m not a general anymore, you can use my name.”

Bao Dur hummed a small, apologetic laugh. “You did. Old habits and all, but I’ll work on it.”

“So long as you’re trying, I’ll forgive you,” she teased as they shifted to the next mine.

“We should start with disabling, it’s less complicated, and move on to recovering them once you have the hang of that.”

“I appreciate the confidence I’ll get the hang of it,” Evony said. She positioned herself where she could see but wouldn’t be in his way.

“Of course you will, it’s similar to tinkering and repair work and you are a very quick study if memory serves,” Bao Dur replied. “I’ve no doubt that will hold true for this as well.”

She smiled at his confidence and made sure to pay close attention so she could justify it.

---

By the time they finished unmining the hallway and main entry space to the cache, Mira had already made half a circuit of the space.

“Someone’s eager,” Evony murmured with a quiet laugh as she stood, instinctively bracing herself against Bao Dur’s shoulder when her leg cramped and made her wobble.

“Or just enjoying the break from swarming insects,” he said dryly. He waited to be sure she had her balance before standing as well. He ran a look over the floor of the cache and shook his head. “How many mines did they need?”

Evony frowned as she followed his gaze and caught the generous scattering of explosives around the small space. “I’ll let you handle this minefield without having to instruct me,” she said glibly, patting his shoulder. “I feel like it’ll go faster that way.”

He gave a short, mirthless chuckle. “Still going to take a while if we need to do the whole thing.” A small smile in her direction. “And you are, as expected, a fast learner, G- Evony.”

She smiled in return. “Thank you. I have a good teacher. That helps.”

“Hey, Jedi, come look at this,” Mira called from halfway across the room, digging through a storage locker.

Evony paused a moment to confirm there was a clear path to join her, then gave Bao Dur’s arm a gentle squeeze as she stepped away. Her lips were still pulled in a slight smile from his praise when she reached Mira. “What did you find?”

“Here.” Mira turned from the locker and held out a double-blade lightsaber hilt.  “Kind of a surprise to find in a Mandalorian cache, but maybe somebody kept it as a trophy, you know?”

“Mm-hm.” Evony bit her lip in thought as she took the hilt. Double-bladed wasn’t her preference, but Visas still needed a replacement for hers, or parts to repair it, so this would come in handy. She briefly ignited it and the blue blades hummed to life. After a quick test of the balance, she deactivated it and clipped it to her belt by one of her own ‘sabers. “Good find.”

“Thanks.”

When she looked up, Mira was glancing between her and Bao Dur with a slowly growing smirk. “What?”

“Just piecing together that I was wrong,” Mira said, the storage locker forgotten as she studied Evony.

“About...?” Evony prompted cautiously. Despite the brevity of their acquaintance, it wasn’t hard to figure out that Mira smirking was dangerous.

“When I thought you and Atton, y’know, hooked up a power coupling.” She settled her weight in one leg and sent a significant look across the cache.  “Shoulda pegged you as someone to go more for the quiet type.”

“We haven’t either!” Evony protested, face going hot. She darted her own glance at Bao Dur to check if he’d noticed the outburst. Looked like no. “Any glow or contentment you think you see is completely and only from reestablishing my connection to the Force, not... hooking up a power coupling with anyone.”

“Maybe so,” Mira said, tone far too casual, before turning a sharp, victorious smile her way. “But that was an awful vehement denial this time. “

And Evony felt herself cartwheel headfirst into the very trap she’d been trying to avoid, a trap she should have seen coming. “Stars forbid I get flustered at the assumptions I’m sleeping with my friends,” she said tartly, wishing she still held the lightsaber hilt so she had something else to focus on than Mira’s triumphant smirk as she she tried to salvage some of her dignity.

“Friends?” Mira parroted with a skeptically arched brow. “Okay, I’ll buy that for Atton; he doesn’t strike me as your type. But, Evony. I don’t need to be a Jedi to see how cozy you and Bao Dur looked during your... minefield decommissioning back there.” She nodded toward the entrance. “Or how often--and long--you talk to him on the ship. Or that you always want him to come along--and he doesn’t exactly protest.”

“It’s not- I-” Evony sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. This conversation was proving as much of a minefield as the cache entrance. “We’re... old friends, Mira. I trust him more than anyone. We went through a lot together during the Mandalorian Wars, hard things, the sort that forge bonds. He served under me at Malachor, and that memory alone is a wound it’s hard to talk about with anyone who wasn’t there.”

“I get that, believe me.” Mira leaned back in to continue searching the locker.  “But are you really saying there’s no attraction there?”

Evony wrinkled her nose, hesitated long enough to be an answer on its own, then muttered, “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

Mira pulled back out of the locker so fast she almost banged her head on the edge. “Wait, what?!”

Evony arched a brow at her. “After all that prodding and hinting are you really surprised you’re right?”

“No, I’m surprised you’re admitting to it,” Mira corrected. “What with your vehement denial a minute ago and all.”

“Acknowledging attraction and... shifting a friendship romantic is a little more delicate than just ‘hooking up a power coupling’, more like...”

“Navigating a minefield?” Mira supplied wryly, shooting a look at where Bao Dur was still working to disarm the explosives littering the cache. “You picked the right partner for that.”

Evony huffed a quiet laugh. “I tend to agree. We’re just... moving slowly. Being careful. Making sure what we feel is truly attraction and not just... latching on to an old friend with shared pain and misjudging what it means. We both value our friendship too much to watch it go up in flames because we jumped the gun.”

“Still, with... everything going on, you might wanna be careful how slow you take it, you know?” Mira said, cracking open another locker to search.

“I’ve thought about that, believe me. And so has he.” Evony leaned back against the wall. Her security bypassing skills were only marginally better than her demolitions skills, so it was best if she just let Mira work. Even if it would bring teasing about Jedi weaknesses. “We don’t want to let caution become cowardice any more than we want to rush things. It’s a hard balance, especially given we’re both cautious by nature.” More than worth it, in her opinion, she thought with a smile.

“Mm.” Mira rummaged through the locker but was empty handed when she shut the door. “Good luck figuring that out. Afraid my usual advice about men doesn’t apply.”

“Thanks all the same,” Evony said with a smile.

Mira nodded. “Not that you need any advice,” she said drolly, finagling open a crate. “You have good tastes.”

“Again, thanks.” Evony leaned in to examine the crate’s contents. Medpacs and shields, which they already had in abundance. She didn’t bother pointing out her past as a Jedi was hardly fraught with romantic experience and any advice was still welcome. Depending on the source. “Think it’s worth taking any of this stuff?”

“Medpacs are always worth having, but I think we’re fine on shields,” Mira replied, already piling the medpacs on the floor. She smirked a little. “And if we run out, your boyfriend can practically make them in his sleep.”

“That’s not-” Evony sighed, face warming again. She really needed to figure out when Mira was baiting and stop falling for it.

“Terminology another of those minefields?” Mira asked with amusement dancing in her eyes.

Evony wrinkled her nose, “Something like that. We care about each other a lot, there’s definitely a... bond there, different and tighter than any other I’ve formed, but even if I had to label it, I don’t think that’s the word I would pick.” It didn’t feel like enough to convey the true depth of their connection.

“Find anything good?”

She flinched, hard, at the sudden nearness of Bao Dur’s presence, than flashed him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, lost in thought. Didn’t notice you were done.”

“I could tell.” There was a quiet, gentle note of teasing in his voice as he stood close enough their arms almost brushed.

Evony bit her lip and lightly bumped his shoulder. “To answer your question, Mira found a lightsaber--I was thinking Visas could use it--and a whole slew of medpacs. I’ve mostly just been here for conversation and moral support.”

“Both of which were appreciated,” Mira chipped in, tucking the medpacs in various belt pouches. “Fascinating conversation about minefields literal and metaphorical. Shame you missed it.”

Evony shot her a brief warning look--which Mira ignored--before glancing back across the cache as she addressed Bao Dur. “All finished?”

“Much as I can,” he confirmed with a nod. “There are a few near the entrance that have begun succumbing to jungle atmosphere. They would likely detonate with any attempt to disarm them. If you wish to search that corner, Mira should handle it.”

“I feel so special,” Mira said glibly, and headed for the indicated corner.

Evony watched her go, slipping through the sensor range of the mines with ease to rifle the crates they protected. Wish I could navigate minefields so easily...

“What would you call it?” Bao Dur asked, his voice quieter even than usual. “I overheard a bit,” he explained when she shot him a questioning look. “If you had to label... what we have, what would you say?”

“My anchor,” she said without hesitation, then mulled over further elaboration because that still felt inadequate and she knew he wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important to him. “My... the eye of the storm. Calm and safe while chaos swirls around us. A chance to catch my breath and my balance, with no expectation to be anything other than myself.” She shifted her weight to lean in just enough their arms brushed as she confessed, softly, “Something I value more than a Jedi rightly should, I reckon.”

One side of his mouth pulled up, his fingers arching back to briefly link with hers, and he commented dryly, “Then I suppose it’s a good thing people keep insisting you’re no longer a Jedi.”

Evony snorted a laugh and leaned more firmly against his side. “Very true.”

Mira turned from the crates then, brandishing another double-hilt lightsaber and handful of grenades and computer spikes, and grinned at how close the two of them were standing. “Alright,” she said as she rejoined them, “I think we’ve gotten everything we can out of this place, so much as I hate to say it, you know what that means.”

Evony sighed. “Back out to the bugs.”

“Yep.” Mira smiled grimly. “After you.”

Evony turned toward the door, briefly smiled when Bao Dur Pressed his shoulder to hers in silent support, and led the way back out into the jungle.

[ohworm-writes]

#01 - Tape One | series masterlist

⮞ Beta Reader - @jschllatt​ ! thank you so much for proofreading this for me !

⮞ Pairing - Monster!Technoblade x Monster-Hunter!Reader ⮞ Summary - A sleepless night and a hazy mind aren’t the smartest thing to bring along on a solo mission that could end in your demise, but what’s the worst that could happen? ⮞ Rating - Mature (SFW) ⮞ Warnings - cursing , weapons ( hatchet, crossbow, gun ) , slight anxiety ⮞ Word Count - 2.8k ⮞ Taglist - Open! Send an Ask or DM to be added

@ohworm-writes​​​ copyright 2021 | do not repost

Time is a finicky thing. It's a social construct created by humans as a desperate grasp at something they can control. Of course, they can't control the sun or the stars. That would be insane, would it not? Humans were the people who gave time meaning. If not for them, we would only see it as darkness and light, not the hours we've put between them. How was it they made up such an important idea, something key to their everyday lives, that only they as a race use? Humans are the only ones who use time, their actions simply affect everything else. 

Take canines, for example. Their genetics tell them when they are to hunt, to mate, to kill. They don't depend on the hours or the days, that itself is a foolish thing to them. Why would they need to know it? They know that once the sun has set; the hunt is on. With humans around, they have disrupted the balance of it. These once feared predators depend on the hand of a human to feast. They depend on an electronic clock to sate their pangs of hunger. 

Looking at it, how would humans be without time? Would the world crumble? Would everything they had once known to be true turn out to simply be a lie? Mayhaps-but that is the beauty of it all. The beauty of chaos, the beauty of the world closing its curtains in the final act. And when the crowd asks for an encore, who would the world be to deny their wishes?

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock-

The tick of the clock snaps you back to reality like whiplash, your previous thoughts fleeting from your mind in an instant. Your eyes are blurry, everything around you set in a foggy haze. Even aside from daydreaming, everything felt fuzzy. The clock didn’t help with it, the constant noise only setting you on edge more than you already were. 

How long had it been? Hours, maybe? A few minutes? You couldn’t tell, and frankly, you couldn’t care either. Letting out a small sigh, you pinch the skin between your brows, slumping over as you try to ground yourself. You open your eyes after a moment, the blurriness from before subsiding for the most part. Now, you found yourself met with the sight of several manila folders and post-it notes scattered across the mattress you found yourself on. 

Ah, yes- so that’s why you had been up at such an ungodly hour. Your mission. The suicide mission they had assigned you to. Good gods above, how long had you been awake for? Taking in the organized chaos that was your bed currently, it made you grimace. How many files did they have on a single monster? Sure, you wanted to be prepared, but this was absurd. 

However, that apparent thought had never crossed your mind in the previous hours, evidence being the bags forming under your eyes and the overall stiffness of your body. Taking the folder that had found itself on your lap, you flipped it open, reading over the open page. 

“Upon a prior expedition, Piglins seem to be tame around those wearing gold items. Whether it be armor or simple jewelry, they seem to be passive towards those wearing the metal. One scout found themselves near the beasts, but said creatures left him alone upon seeing the gold wedding ring around his finger.”

You squint your eyes, trying to make sense of the next sentence. Was that a Y, or a T? Gods above, you were exhausted. Letting the folder drop back onto your lap, you bring your palms up to your eyes, rubbing harshly to keep a hold of your consciousness. You’d be able to look at the files whilst on the road. Sleep was more important right now if you wanted to survive until the next day.

Knowing the casino’s fellow patrons, they’d probably get a kick out of seeing you leave all drowsy and such. Hell, that wouldn’t come close to how entertaining it would be to them if you didn’t return. With a groan and a sigh, you begin gathering all the files. Paper-clipping a few together here, stapling a few there until the process was complete. Looking at the files stacked together, you really were in over your head. The number of files was making your head dizzy, not counting how sleep-deprived you were in the current moment. 

Placing the folders in a neat stack on the floor beside your bed, you finally let your body relax. Your back falls against the mattress, sinking into it almost instantly. It was nowhere near comfortable on a normal day. The mattress was hard, firm, and wildly uncomfortable, but now? You might as well have been sleeping on a cloud. Before your hazy mind could even process it, you were out like a light, left to your own devices in the world of unconsciousness. 

05:30 in the morning. Who in their right mind decides that the crack of dawn is an appropriate time to wake up? Quackity, apparently, because that’s exactly the person who was pounding relentlessly on your door. The loud and sudden noise is enough to make you jolt upright in your bed. Your foggy mind can’t even process what is happening, much less when he speaks.

“It’s 05:30! Get up! You leave in the next hour, c’mon! You’ll be burning daylight before you know it, so get your ass ‘outta bed!” His shrill voice is enough to get you to peek your eyes open, immediately met with the darkness of the room. With the warm sheets you found yourself in, the comforting dimness of the room, you almost fall back asleep then and there. Almost being our keyword here, because you wouldn’t want to make Quackity mad, now would you?

With a groan, you’re able to kick the sheets off of the bed, successfully leaving you out in the open as the cool air of the room sets across your warm body. It sends a shiver running through you, effectively allowing goosebumps to settle across your skin. The feeling is unpleasant, but that’s the point of it. With minimal effort, you sit yourself up in the bed, immediately regretting your actions. 

Your muscles are tight, making every turn and twist of your body painful. A silent scream rips through your throat as you stretch your arms above your head, only to turn into a satisfied groan as your muscles relax. One would have thought that the richest hotel in the city would at least have comfortable beds, but apparently not. No, instead, you were better off sleeping on the carpet, which you could proudly admit was comfier than your own mattress. 

Looking out the small prison-like window your room provided, the sun hadn’t even risen yet. The sky, a blur of dark blues and purples sprinkled with stars, was your only greeting. You could see the lighter hues begin to peek over the horizon from where you sat. A masterpiece from your window, who would have thought?

Aside from the awe-inducing view, you yourself felt far from it. You had a lot to do in the span of an hour. A short time span, but it was feasible. With hurried motions, you’re able to dress in form-fitting attire; something not too tight, but at the same time not too loose. It was important to wear such clothing in these times. Something too tight could leave you breathless, in this case, vulnerable. If it were to be too loose, it could get caught on something or weigh you down. That shouldn’t have to explain why that would be unfortunate. 

Style aside, you now had to tackle the process that was your files. The ones you had obtained were a copy. They’d never give you the original without a backup in store. That would simply be foolish. Instead, you’d been given a clean copy of said files, all neatly tucked into their respective folders. Of course, that neatness had been your doing alone. 

You made quick use of your time, neatly tucking the folders and files alike into your bag. The bag itself was less of a bag and more of a backpack, however, it served both uses. The fabric was weatherproof, as you liked it. It was strong, not even a tear could be seen over it. It had lasted you all your time here so far. Hopefully, it would survive the rest of the way. 

With your bag fully prepared with your files, clothes, and things of the like, you set out for the armory. Swinging open your door rather roughly, you make your way down the halls, turning here and there and speeding down a flight of steps or two. Checking a clock on the wall as you amble down the halls, you see that you have just under 20 minutes before Quackity is on your ass. Perfect.

With a final descent into the basement of the building, you reach the armory. The place itself is impressive, with one wall lined up entirely with weapons. Guns, crossbows, blades; any weapon of destruction that you wanted was here. The rest of the open room stayed reserved for a shooting range. Was it the smartest option that it was indoors? Maybe not, but would you rather be shooting outside where beasts of unknown origins could hear you? Hell no.

The man running the armory shoots you a look as you enter. Some could interpret it as a glare, but to you, it was nothing short of a hopeful wish for your demise. Unfortunate maybe, but you couldn’t be one to judge. Politely, you offer a wave. Nothing flashy or energetic, simply the bare minimum. 

You don’t look to see if he responds in any way, as you probably wouldn’t be met with anything. Instead, you turn your attention to the wall. They really had any weapon you could need here, didn’t they? Every single one was in pristine condition, that you could see at least. 

You would have never touched a weapon in the old world, that you knew as fact. Why would you if you didn’t have a reason to? Why so much as place a finger upon something that could cause harm, when you could put your efforts into something else? Those thoughts, ones that you used to have, have been long forgotten as of now. 

Taking a moment to admire them, you reach for a sleek, black crossbow. Weighing it in your hands, you press the stock against your shoulder and take a step behind you towards the range. It feels nice in your hands, not too heavy nor light. You take one arrow from the attached quiver, loading it with a quick move of your hand. Turning around, you kneel down and peer through the scope at the hay targets 15 yards away from your current position. 

You hover your finger above the trigger, lining up your sights with the yellow center of the target. At that moment, nothing else matters. Not the man behind the counter, giving you shady looks as he watches you with an unimpressed look. Not that mission, the simple task that weighed your life in its hands like a god. Nothing. The only thing that mattered now was you and the target. 

You steady the crossbow, using your other hand to hold it up. If you missed this, how could you survive in the field? Your eyes arrow in on the small, yellow circle in the center of the target. It wouldn’t be too hard to hit it, considering there was no wind nor monsters chasing you at the moment. You wanted to hit the minuscule black dot in the center. 

With a sharp breath in, you fire. The arrow fires, flying through the arrow and straight towards the target. The man behind the counter raises an eyebrow, watching the arrow as it rips into the target. He lets out an annoyed huff, already heading under the counter to get a full quiver for you. Bullseye.

You smile to yourself softly, the good feeling of accomplishment flowing through you. Letting the weapon rest against your side, you turn back to the wall. With your primary weapon figured out, now you needed a melee and possibly a secondary weapon as well. 

You choose something less flashy for your secondary, simple G17. The pistol isn’t your favorite, but it’d be better to have it than nothing. You had one when you first started out, the damn thing jamming too many times for your liking. Granted, you didn’t have sufficient ammo for the gun, but you’d rather it worked in life-threatening situations than not. 

Now all you needed was a melee weapon. Easier said than done, seeing the sheer amount of different options at your disposal. You didn’t need something flashy, nor did you want it. You let out a quiet laugh as you look over some of the more… unusual options. Good gods, as much as you wanted it, you didn’t need a damn sword with you. 

Looking back to the more tactical options, something catches your eye. A steel hatchet, an awfully beautiful one at that. The dark metal shines against the flickering lights of the armory, the edge of the blade reflecting your own features. You grip the handle, prying it off the wall, and hold it tightly. It was a lot lighter than you’d thought, feeling at home as you curled your fingers around it. 

It was on the smaller side, but that only added to it. Gracefully, you toss it from one hand to the other, feeling the difference between the two. You’d wield it in your dominant hand, but it’s worth the effort to try with both. With a nod to yourself, you grab all three weapons and head to the man behind the counter. 

He’s just as unamused as he looked when you first entered, scrunching up his nose as you place the weaponry on the concrete counter, the items clinking together in the process. He ducks under your line of sight, grumbling to himself. Within a few seconds, he pops back up, all the supplies you’d need in his arms. 

A quiver, hatchet cover, ammo; anything you’d need for however long the mission would be. His tone is bored as he asks for payment, sliding your things across the counter with his hand held out. Reaching into one pocket of your bag, you pull out four poker chips, a mocking smile on either red or blue side. 

His eyes widen as you drop them into his palm, staring at them with confusion. His voice almost hints at that of anger as he speaks up, voice gravelly. “I said two, not four. Are you an idiot?” His eyes are dark when they look into your own. You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly, grabbing your things and clipping them to your bag. “Consider it my thanks, Phineas.”

His mouth is agape as you leave, lifting your hand up as a ‘farewell’ while you head out the door. As your footsteps fall heavy against the floor, you contemplate your prior decision. Chips were the casino’s idea of money. You received chips if you did particularly excellent work on something, which was rare for most. Four chips for your safety didn’t seem like too far of a stretch. One would pay the world for their life, would they not?

Your steps echo down the halls as you make your way towards the main door, anxiety bubbling up. Gods, you were going to die on this mission, weren’t you? A solo mission against one of the most powerful beasts you had ever read about? You might as well have been writing your will then and there. The carpet of the lobby muffles your steps, leaving you to listen with no distraction to your racing mind. 

Was this the last time you would step foot in the casino? You squeeze your eyes tightly, stopping in your tracks right in front of the door, letting out a groan. Fuck, you were overthinking this. Even if you didn’t make it to tomorrow, at least you made it this far, right? With a little pep talk to yourself, you push open one of the glass doors and step out into the darkness that lays outside of the casino. 

“Oi.” 

The voice makes you wince involuntarily. Turning to your left, you see the familiar mop of jet black hair leaning up against one of the casino’s walls. Your hands find themselves at your bag’s straps, pulling them tightly against you as you meet his gaze. 

“Quackity.” Your voice comes out small, not something that you liked. His breath comes out in a puff, the cold temperature of the morning making the sight visible. Like a dragon, you think in the back of your mind. The childish thought is tossed aside as he pushes off of the wall, watching as he rubs his hands together and making his way past you. He stops at your side, not looking over at you. No, he just looks ahead as the sun rises behind you. 

“Come back, won’t you?”

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⮞ Technoblade Route Taglist - @cutiebear45 @kiki-is-the-name @hololizard @sunshinebutnotrainbows @valkyrieidunn @dominickle @err0rnan0 @lacunaanonymoused @ura-writes @jaciahbabes @mega-trash-cringe​ 

⮞ Author’s Note - After long last, another tape! I went through quite the rough patch with this one. It took me a long time to finally find some inspiration, but this is evidence enough that I did somehow. I’m hoping to update next Sunday, possibly earlier, but we’ll have to see what my mind deems fit. 

[notathingjustthere]

Obstinacy

Writer’s note: I posted this last year to start a writing blog but deleted it because of school. It’s summer  and now I wanna try again so here is this angsty bit, until I write something new.

Pairing: Jumin Han / Reader

Word Count: 2523

“You kept my clothes?”

It had been years since you stepped into this house. His house. You’d thought three years was long enough to get over someone, expecting him to have moved on. Hoping his desire for you had tired out after the long empty wait.

Here you sat, in his bathroom, a towel covering you as you inwardly worked toward sobriety. Shared memories with him kept bombarding through, some were of the space you had once called your own.

Jumin was pleased in his own way when your contact had popped up on his screen. For a moment he felt a tinge hopeful before answering on the fourth vibration.

“Hello?”

You were drunk when he arrived and he was disappointed, to say the least. Being so vulnerable in such an establishment did not settle well with him. Of course, you would never indulge in such menacing situations unplanned. You had called him sober, with the intent of being intoxicated upon his arrival.

You were almost at your goal before he walked in, too distracted by your conversation to notice him walking toward you. The bar had been fairly crowded, as he disregarded your “little friend”, as he had referred to it, and gently grabbed your arm. Jumin whispered harshly into your ear after helping you up, then made way to the exit.

You had giggled when he led you out, his face remained stoic as he was clueless about what was so amusing.

“Hi Mr. K-kim” you waved at the familiar awaiting driver who held the door open. He smiled whilst shutting the door, and you fixed yourself comfortably next to Jumin, who still would not budge. The ride back had been silent and short, time had lost you until the door opened again with him ready to help you out.

Now you sat in the same bed you shared years ago, facing him in silence as he stared at you testingly. The loud ticking of the clock served as a nuisance as you still tried to get your thoughts straight. Deciding you had waited long enough you gathered yourself onto the bed, preparing for sleep.

“If you’re not going to say anything then goodnight”

Jumin remained seated with his eyes still directed at you, he watched you throw the sheets over yourself and adjust yourself comfortably. It did not take long to hear your light breathing and occasional soft snores. After minutes passed of stillness, he sighed and made his way towards the bathroom, calling it a night.

He had emailed Jaehee about cancelling his meetings for the day as he would not be available. She would eventually give him a hard time for the short notice and inconvenience but that didn't seem to matter at the moment.

He joined you in bed, laying down behind you, hesitant to touch you as if you were so fragile and would break. Building the confidence, he wrapped an arm around you, fixing himself closer to embrace your scent and welcoming warmth.

Varying thoughts clouded his mind, making it difficult for him to fall asleep. Why had you just now appeared after disappearing all those years? Had you been in the city all this time? Were you still as curious of him as he was of you?

You moved and turned to him unconsciously, your eyes still closed. He smiled when he noticed you getting comfortable in his arms, wanting to be closer. He had missed your restless sleep habits, he had missed you so much and hoped you felt the same. He caved into a cuddle not wanting to let you go again, deciding his thoughts could wait another day. All that mattered at the moment was you in his arms.

***

It was sunny when you woke up to the subtle sweet smell of pancakes, his favourite. Although you preferred waffles to the latter the delicious gesture was always appreciated. You felt the gentle brush of Elizabeth the third, who was laid comfortably on your legs when you attempted to stretch.

Your face turned towards the nightstand instinctively for your phone, an eye roll seemed called for when you noticed it was not there. You had an idea as to where it was so decided to pay it no mind.

The walk to the kitchen was slow as your body kept to its morning sluggish movements. You stood at the door, abstractedly admiring the man of the hour’s take at domesticity. He was so focused on preparations, you thought he didn't hear you come in.

“Good morning love”

You hummed airily in response as you sat at the table. The guilt ate at you, it was selfish to call last night after leaving him for so long. You didn't know if you planned to stay either, but you knew he had decided otherwise.

He was so decisive, always knowing what he wanted. You envied it. The uncertainty endured over the years left you hollow. It didn't help that he was always so ready to love when you couldn't decide if you wanted to love. Maybe it was unfair of you to lead him on, or maybe he had been naive to think of you more than a friend. To fall for you.

You had been happy. No, content. The long-lived friendship had mutually developed into this unspoken intimacy you both allowed to remain unacknowledged. Maybe that's why leaving had been somewhat easy for you.

Your disappearance had been a spontaneous decision, Jumin who never expected it was left underwhelmed. He had also been happy alongside you, content as well. The trust he had built throughout your shared childhood always kept him going, so he had been pained when you just upped and left. He played it cool over the years after your vanishing, forcing a numbness that only you could reveal.

“Here you go” he placed a neatly plated stack in front of you along with the kettle of black tea. He sat across from you with his own scrumptious plate and passed you the milk and maple syrup.

You gave him a cheery grateful smile as you helped yourself to some breakfast. It’d been three years since you last shared a meal with him, the pleasure from the first bite in your mouth was gratifying. The moment was pleasant, but you knew it could only last for so long with the look he gave you.

Attempting to divert from his obvious curiosity, you asked about his father.

“Father is well, and so is yours. We all shared dinner the other night.”

“Mmhh” You nodded as you helped yourself to another bite.

“What, no work today?” You followed up, playing innocent after a few more aimless questions

“I see you are still stubborn” Jumin’s sudden harsh response was of no surprise, but you wished the distraction had lasted a bit longer.

“I can say the same for you” You challenged.

“Why do you insist on escaping this?”

You calmly sighed, taking a sip of your milk tea. “We are too much alike and you know that”

“What's so wrong with that?”

Your sigh was louder this time and you murmured to yourself, regretting not going against the phone call.

“Where did you go? Where have you been?”

“Far”

It was his turn to roll his eyes at your vague response. Jumin’s instant reactions were anticipated and he failed to not disappoint as he bombarded you with questions.

“Why did you come back then?” He chose to conclude with his assault.

“I don't know you tell me.” You knew he could answer most of his questions with a simple scan through your mobile device, which you knew he had already done.

The last time he left you home alone, had been the last time he saw you in three years, as you had made sure to leave no traces for him. You had your own resources but chose against using them as you wished to dissipate from existence.

You were successful, given the new chance to start over somewhere else. You never understood why you felt that way or why you still did, yet somehow you did know?

Jumin placed your phone on the table, sliding it over towards you in return. He had the serious look in his eye that he always wore, his semi-empty plate pushed to the side.

“My first and last question still stands”

You never did like confrontations or anything that you considered to be mentally or emotionally strenuous. Neither did he, yet here he was justly contributing to your headache.

Before any more words were exchanged, or any chance at a proper conversation the elevator dinged and a woman stepped out with one of the guards attempting to hold her back.

The scene before you served as a great diversion, you coyly smiled as your attention went towards the unexpected magenta haired guest.

***

Jumin’s palm took to his forehead, his annoyance evidently loud. The uninvited guest walked in forcefully, greeting the man she seemed so desperate to see.

“It's rude to keep me waiting at the gates, that's no way to treat your fiance.”

Her eagerness faltered when her eyes turned to you, a frown now played on her face.

“And who is this?” She asked, seemingly disgusted by your presence.

“Oh, I’ve heard so much about you! The supposed future Mrs. Han!” You jumped to reply lightheartedly, moving your hand in for a handshake.

Jumin could not decide what exactly he sensed from your act but he knew it was something different. Were you joking? Or were you serious? He could no longer tell, with you.

“I'm sorry sir, she wouldn’t wait at the gate” the nervous yet vexed bodyguard apologised.

Jumin waved him away and turned towards the nuisance that stood in his presence. He had hoped the day together would be progressive as emotional issues were being sorted out, but apparently, life had its own ideas.

“Sarah, was it? Chairman has said so much about you”

“And when exactly did you talk to my father?” Jumin asked you curiously.

Was he not the first person you contacted on your return? He would never admit it but the idea of not being first to hear from you was rather upsetting.

Three nights ago you had arrived home at an ungodly hour, your parents were not aware until that morning when the help had prepared breakfast for three. They had questioned the extra seat until you walked in still in your pajamas. It was an interesting morning nevertheless.

“Oh, may I see the ring? I just want to see if it's as lovely as the one he gave me.” You coyly smiled.

Sarah looked up at you confused, the silence did not help soothe the awkward tension. Jumin did not understand how he missed the ring on your finger, the one he had picked to ask your hand. You had agreed at the time, then disappeared without a trace. Now you stood in front of him playing with the item as though customary.

You always wore the ring so blithely before but had been wary. You were unsure of what to expect with your departure, whether he had been heartbroken or if he would ever move on. Each day you were reminded about the life you could have had with him, a life you may have wanted.

It was not that you were jealous but rather self-assured. Jumin had waited as you selfishly expected, by exploiting his fondness you got something you might have wanted. You never did find whatever it was that you set out to look for, nonetheless here you both stood next to each other.

Jumin’s possessiveness never sat well with you, but slowly you learned that maybe you were just as proprietorial as he was. It was so subtly instilled that you denied it for so long. Reality had come crashing when he asked for your hand in marriage, and even though you expected the gesture you somehow were still unprepared.

The gradual passing comments from either parent had made prospects seemingly clear. Perhaps it was your distaste for the arranged marriage that called for fleeing. Years of grooming and preparations done for the both of you were beneficial towards your legacies. Despite that your planned union was the foundation towards a future empire, you both cared for each other and showed it in your own pernicious ways.

“What is this Jumin? A joke?” Sarah had finally found words to share her annoyance.

Jumin’s eyes were focused on you, his initial indifference had faltered and he was now very amused. Sarah’s fuming had left her face a bit red, neither of them had entertained her remark.

“I had lunch with your father two days ago, he seemed very pleased to see me back”

“So you’re staying then,” Jumin asserted. There was silence at that, you were unsure of a decision and had withheld from giving it any thought.

“You met with my father before contacting me.” He was bitter, and that much was evident in his statement, when you did not respond he turned to his unwanted guest.

“Fortunately, I cannot see you off. I will call for someone to escort you out.”

“You can’t do that to your future wife! It's not right!” she snapped.

You had heard about the alleged engagement when you returned home, your parents inevitably brought it to your attention that morning.

“As you can see I already have a fiance.” Jumin moved towards you and wrapped an arm around you. “It is strange how delusional you are. I don’t even know you”

The elevator dinged again, Sarah screamed obscenities as the guard from before led her out forcefully.

When the doors closed, you let out a breath you unconsciously held in, Jumin tilted his head to look at your face as he hugged you from behind. You embraced the hug, silently battling your overwhelming thoughts. You both did not know what would happen from that second going on but decided to simply revel at the moment.

“You still wear my initials,” You noticed the customised watch you had gifted him at some point in your arguably deploring relationship. He chuckled and rested his chin on your head.

“And you kept the ring”

You released his arms around you and turned to face him, you had dragged out your stubbornness long enough and after the interaction with Sarah, you were exhausted. Meeting his eyes, you rested your arms around his neck and prepared your thoughts to speak, something you had been avoiding for so long.

“Look, you have every right to hate me. I know It was very selfish of me to call you last night, and as much as it was, I just didn't know how to properly address this”

“I know love. V tells me I can be very overwhelming” Jumin attempted to console as he chuckled.

Elizabeth the Third’s purring interrupted the very short-lived moment, however, it relieved the long felt tension. You both had a lot to discuss and figure out, but until then it seemed that things would be okay in your own baffling ways.

Thank you for reading! :)

[melzula]

Obstacles

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

requests: Could you write a Fire Lilies blurb where Zuko struggles with how to approach being around Princess Reader when she avoids him and/or gives him the silent treatment? // Hi- I was wondering if you could write a fire lillies blurb where, when the gaang first starts interacts with zuko, they are more protective of the reader. Simply because they know the history between the two.

a/n: the format of this is a little different than how I normally write but I think it works :)

Though Zuko had finally become a part of Team Avatar, he still found himself to be the odd one out of the group. From Katara’s cold glare to Sokka’s reluctance of being left alone with the prince, Zuko struggled to find his place amongst the group. It was odd and new and strange, but at least it was a start in the right direction, and his first step included mending things with the Princess. He had gotten her to fall in love with him once, so it couldn’t be that hard to do it again, right?

In truth, it was very hard. Zuko faced many obstacles and many set backs, and it would probably be some time before she even so much as looked at him, let alone forgave him...

~~~

Katara

Zuko watched from afar as the Princess handled her chores for the day, sitting peacefully by the fountain as she washed the clothes. Her movements were delicate but precise, the water flowing smoothly through the dirt and the grime collected on Toph’s green robes, and a faint smile graced her features as she hummed softly through the work. She was at peace and completely relaxed, more relaxed than Zuko had ever seen y/n in years. Even in Ba Sing Se there had always been a nervous edge to her, an edge she did her best to hide from Zuko, and she had almost been completely rid of it until the caves. He cringed at the thought, guilt overcoming him at the fact that she seemed so much better off without him.

“What are you doing?” Katara scowls accusingly, startling the Prince from his silent watch over y/n.

“I-“

“Y/N’s been really happy ever since she left you, and you’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you ruin that for her,” the water bender scolds harshly.

“I just want to apologize to her,” Zuko replies calmly, but Katara isn’t having it.

“A simple apology is never going to fix all the ways you’ve hurt her. Y/n deserves better, and if I ever see you make her upset or uncomfortable I won’t hesitate to step in.”

Zuko says nothing as Katara stalks away, he knows better than to get in her way when she’s angry, and when her retreating form finally disappears he looks back at the fountain.

The clothes have been washed, and the Princess is gone.

~~~

Sokka

The smell of stew was heavenly to Zuko’s rumbling tummy, and he was eager to join everyone by the fireside. Bowls had been served, seats had been chosen, and an empty spot beside the Princess was his for the taking.

“Excuse me, buddy,” Sokka chirps, patting Zuko heartily on the back before quickly sitting himself beside y/n. She smiles softly at the water tribe boy and offers him her leftovers to which he happily accepts.

Zuko deflates, choosing to sit next to Aang and enjoy his stew of failure. This isn’t the first time this has happened, and it probably won’t be the last. He knew Sokka was just protecting her, and he couldn’t be mad at him for that. Sokka had probably done more for y/n in her time with him than Zuko had ever done, who was he to blame his protectiveness?

Y/n offers to take the empty dishes to wash, and as Zuko attempts to follow after her his path is quickly blocked by Sokka.

“Listen, I know you’re trying to make things right, and while I respect that, y/n’s asked me to keep you away from her,” he explains as gently as he can. “It’s nothing personal, but I care about her and I want to make sure she feels comfortable.”

“Oh... I understand,” Zuko utters quietly. “Will you at least tell her that I love her?”

“...I’ll do my best,” Sokka replies solemnly, watching with a pang of guilt as Zuko retreats to his room for the night.

~~~

Aang

“What am I supposed to do?” Zuko groans whilst tugging at his hair.

“You know I’m a firm believer in peace, and I do think that neither of you will be happy until your issues are resolved,” Aang comments wisely. “But I also think you should never force anything. Y/n will come around in her own time when she’s ready.”

“But that could take forever!” He protests. “I’ve already been away from her long enough, and being near her but not being able to speak to her is torture.”

Both boys turn their gazes towards y/n in the distance where she carefully brush Appa’s hair and talk to him about his day. The sight is very Princess like, which is fitting since she is a Princess after all, but the sweetness of it all makes Zuko’s heart ache with longing.

“What you did wasn’t right,” Aang sighs. “And she’s still healing. But, if she truly couldn’t stand you then she wouldn’t have given her blessing to let you stay.”

“She only let me stay so I could train you,” Zuko argues.

“Okay, that’s true. But she also washes your clothes, serves you dinner, and just the other day I saw her mending a hole in your boot. She won’t talk to you, but she does still care.”

“She’s always had such a big heart,” he murmurs dejectedly. “Back when I was still hunting you y/n always went out of her way to take care of me even if I didn’t want it. I was a fool to take her for granted.”

“I really do think you guys will work it out. Just don’t force anything, and you’ll be fine,” Aang comforts, and the two continue to watch the Princess as she tends to Appa.

~~~

Toph

With a bouquet of wild flowers in hand and his hair combed in that same horrid style his Uncle had given him back in Ba Sing Se, Zuko headed to her room in hopes of finally talking to the Princess. He knew how much y/n loved flowers, and he also knew how much she loved that ridiculously dorky hairstyle, so he hoped that the two combined together would at least earn him a smile in return.

But when he arrived to her part of the temple he found that her door was barricaded with a smooth slab of rock, and sitting a few feet away from said rock was Toph. The little girl sat leaning against the wall, legs crossed over each other and hands folded behind her head.

“Sorry, sparky, boss’s orders,” she explains with a small shrug, and Zuko deflates. “Personally I think she just needs to man up and face you, but until then I’ve been put under strict orders not to let you in.”

“She really hates me, doesn’t she?” Zuko sighs, joining Toph against the wall. The flowers in his hand are beginning to droop from the lack of water, much like his demeanor from his lack of y/n.

“No, but she’s very angry,” Toph corrects. “Really sad, too. Sokka’s already been in there three times tonight.”

“Are they...?”

“Together? He wishes,” the girl scoffs. “His heartbeat picks up a beat or two sometimes when he’s with her, but he’d never make a move on her. Not when she’s so upset and he’s the only one she can talk to.”

“Yeah, well maybe they should be together,” Zuko grumbles, the flower stems charring in his hands from the sudden heat that emits from his palms. “They’re both water tribe and he obviously takes care of her better than I ever could.”

“That’s true,” Toph nods much to Zuko’s dismay. “But she doesn’t love Sokka. She loves you.”

“Loved,” Zuko corrects only for Toph to roll her eyes.

“You dunderhead,” she mutters before punching him in the shoulder. “I should just knock your heads together and make you kiss and make up right now.”

“Can you do that?” Zuko asks hopefully only to receive another punch from Toph.

“You sure do have a lot to learn, sparky.”

~~~

The Princess

The morning is quiet and calm as you rise with the sun, heading out to collect the dew on the plants of the temple so that you may use it as water for your group. Other than Momo, who sits comfortably on your shoulders, everyone is asleep, giving you some time to decompress and enjoy the solitude of the rising sun.

“Anything I can help with?”

Or so you thought. Of course Zuko would approach you now when there was no one to keep him away from you. You say nothing in response, refusing to even look at him as you set down your bucket and begin to remove the dew from the leaves.

“Y/n, please talk to me,” he begs. “Let me make it better.”

Zuko is met with silence and an eye roll. Momo chitters curiously at the Princess, receiving a head scratch in return which is more than Zuko can say.

“I never stopped thinking of you,” he says. “And I wish I could take back everything I’ve done to hurt you.”

“I don’t want your apologies,” you utter quietly. “I want you to go away.”

Hearing your voice after being met with silence for so long brings the boy to tears, and with a hesitant demeanor Zuko reaches out for you. However, at the sight of the water glowing your palms the Prince takes a step back. You’re not afraid to turn your bending on him, not anymore, and it isn’t until now that he realizes he really has hurt you, more than he could ever have imagined.

“Y/n...”

“Go. Don’t make me ask again.”

With a defeated sigh Zuko turns away and leaves the Princess to her own devices. She goes back to tending to the dew, and the Prince goes back to his room to wallow in his shame.

Both have tears streaming down their faces.

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[davekat-sucks]

as someone who doesn't like Eridan I am curious as to why he is your favorite character.

Part of it is his design that really stands out from most of the other characters. Eridan is quite more fashionable than Kanaya. He at least show more emphasis on him being the respective violetblood he takes pride in, while also wearing blue, another color that is related to highblood status. As well as blue being part of a violet shade. Though if you try to tell him vviolets are blue, he will damn correct you that vviolets are vviolets. Learn your damn colors! Another is a bit of his personality. He is a douche, a tool. A violetblood who takes advantage of being high privileged and will put others down beneath him, because the hemospectrum says so. He is more racist than Equius. He is the perfect example of what a troll should be and how trolls should act. Too many fantroll OCs go for the more revolutionary against Alternia or being the "nicer" troll. But no one tries to be racist to lowbloods like a rustblood or bronze. No highblood fans themselves with their money or seen to enjoy living a luxurious lifestyle. He is the OG real deal of what it is like if someone is born under Her Imperious Condescesion's ruling. The only thing that he does have a fear that even he cannot escape as a highblood, was the pailing. Basically, he needs to fuck with someone or he dies, because Eridan did not contribute to help repopulate his race. It's already bad enough sea dwellers are rare to come by and his quadrants are empty as hell. Despite being the rich kid, Eridan craves for attention, whether be red romance or black hatred. Any one of those would be able to please him, if it meant it could comfort his ease of loneliness. The way he approaches could be seen as creepy, but at least Eridan is honest about his feelings. He doesn't dance around or lie hard to those close to him. It's that same advice of being direct that he tells to Kanaya, because she will not get Vriska's attention that way. It's also why he can't kill land dwellers. He wants to have good relationships with them. It's that same relationship that shows he his a hypocrite. The dude rants about being a sea dweller and wanting to kill all land dwellers. But he never acts on it. He only commissions people to build doomsday devices, but never makes one himself. Eridan spends most of his time on land than at sea, as Feferi points out. He has an interests in wizards, but doesn't believe in magic. That's a bit of parallel of Rose's interest to write yaoi wizard fics, but she dislikes wizards themselves because of her mother's encouragement of her hobby (though Rose was over analyzing her intentions, she did not realize Mom Lalonde did care about her well being despite Sburb going to happen). The man collects various weapons, but his main strife specibus is his rifle. We don't actually know if he uses the harpoons, spears, or other weapons he has collected in his hive. It could relate to Eridan's interest in military history and wanting to be like said general figures and dictators. But we rarely see him gather some army or actually trying to lead like one. He is all glub and no bite. It's sort of interesting that he is flawed. And of course, we cannot address about his actions in Murderstuck. You can sort of sympathize with him in some way. He lost his moirail, he has no other friends left, his home planet is destroyed, and this big bad Jack Noir is going to kill them. With Alternia gone, anything like hemospectrum or highblood lowblood status, don't mean SHIT if they have to abandon it. That means, Eridan has nothing left on himself. All of this happened as he was still a TEENAGER. The poor fish was feeling hopeless and his actions were caused by his own emotions. It's different from Gamzee, who can be seen controlled by Caliborn/Lord English or was willing to follow to help for his cause. Different from Vriska, as she wants to be seen as the big hero by raising the stakes even higher than before. I sort of wished that he could have faced Gamzee in some way during that x3 showdown combo, since their aspects are complementary towards each other. It would also be

fitting he gets revenge for Dualscar's death, by killing the descendant of the Grand Highblood. He and Vriska could have worked together one last time against the clown. Part of me also jokingly thinks Eridan would try to convince Vriska to take him to Jack in order to serve him. It's sort of a question of how exactly Eridan would get Jack Noir's attention. It is never explained how, even when Feferi and Sollux agreed they have to stop him. Would he fire his wwand to make a signal beam to get Jack to fly over? Would he asks Vriska to deliver himself to the man? No one knows, but either way, his surrender out of fear could be seen as dumb and cowardly. Sucks that he got killed by end of Act 5. But probably for the best he stayed dead, so that his character wasn't ruined from Act 6 to Pesterquest. His character not doing much as a sprite was one of the worst offenses. He really could have helped Jake about his Hope powers, but every dead troll there was shafted aside. At least let FEFPETASPRITE TALK. Don't use her as a joke, just because Hussie doesn't want to do Feferi and Nepeta's quirk in one chatlog! Then there's the half assed "redemption" joke bit from Epilogues and the ridiculous gender arc by retconning Eridan's backstory and forgetting about another character's relation with his lusus. Because WhatPumpkin don't want him to be a racist, rich creep asshole. And yet, it's why I love him. Eridan is one flawed, tragic villain. Maybe I just have a weird interests in douchebags who try so hard to be liked or acknowledged of being superior by putting others down to push their own pride, but with the way that has been set for Eridan, sort of makes sense to me that he would do all these actions. It's fucked up, but I can't blame him for being put in that kind of situation. Being a kid and growing up, it's hard and nobody understands. His life was an Ugly Story.