#at the end of the episode he's like “is this the right thing to do” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rauspberries · 2 days ago

Text

still a friend. - s.r.

sure hope it was one hell of a kiss, my friend.

spencer reid x bau liasion!reader.

summary: after your new boyfriend turns out to a murderer, spencer will do anything in his power to help you smile again.

tags: afab reader, sunshine x sunshine, mentions of guns, kidnapping, murder & other themes present in criminal minds, panic attack, hurt/comfort, forced proximity that’s not forced at all, i like to imagine it as later seasons reid [however there's no mention of prison arc], still a friend by the backseat lovers

word count: 3.1k

notes: ok hear me out. think about the episode 'lucky' and the episode 'penelope.' that's what i'm going for here. this is my first ever time writing spencer. it took me days. free me.

hey @reidswrld

If you closed your eyes tight enough, you felt like you were still there. Cold metal pressed against your temple, harsh words in your ears, the pull of rope against your wrists. Despite the familiarity of your home, decorated in low lights and multiple potted plants that were loved like your own children, you had been afraid. He had turned it into a place of fear, a spot for nothing but bad memories and bloodstains in your carpet.

It had been almost three weeks since your team had pushed into your apartment, only to be met with the sight of you bound to your dining room chairs, your boyfriend of only a couple weeks holding a handgun to your head. You loved those chairs, and had told the whole team about them right after you had purchased them. They were thrifted, hand-carved by an artist you never had the pleasure to meet. Shame that you’d never be able to look at them the same anymore.

Your boyfriend had been an idiot. A psychotic one, but an idiot all the same. He had left too much evidence behind with his three victims, making it too easy for your team to profile him and pick him out of their list of names. Once you had accidentally let it slip that the BAU was on the tail of their suspect, you had become a problem, needing to be eliminated. So he had tried.

You had worked as a liaison for long enough to learn a few tells of body language, or the original signs of psychopathic behavior. Despite this, you had missed all of them when it came to him. You had been too excited to find someone that could handle your busy and erratic schedule, someone that loved you for you, something that was rare in this day and age. You had even let his passive-aggressive demeanor slide, along with the comments that always tended to sting somewhere deep inside.

After he had been taken down by Morgan and Hotch, you’d wanted out of your apartment as soon as possible. JJ and Garcia had packed up your stuff based off of a small list you provided them once your hands and voice had stopped shaking. They had whispered in your presence, keeping secrets about the case to each other and asking if you were okay. They hadn’t needed to whisper – your ears hadn’t stopped ringing.

For a while, you stayed in a hotel, curled in the cool sheets that smelled like nothing as you stared at the plain walls, so different from the house you had turned into a home with wallpaper and pretty colors. For a while, you chastised yourself for not getting over it faster. You thought about how you should be stronger in times like these, especially with everything you saw on a daily basis in your job as the BAU unit’s liaison. Unfortunately, it was a lot easier to compartmentalize when it wasn’t happening directly to you.

You weren’t like everyone else on your team, you couldn’t just act like these things didn’t happen.

You tried to trick your brain into producing serotonin. You attempted to shower every morning, eat three meals, even exercise in the seclusion of your hotel room. But every shower ended with you staring blankly at the wall, every meal went untouched, and once you were on the ground, you couldn’t get back up.

As normal protocol, you were given a minimum of three weeks of leave in the wake of the event. For the first week, everyone took turns checking on you. Penelope brought you fun-colored stress toys that collected dust on the side table, while Emily and JJ sat with you to chat about anything but what had happened.

And Spencer? Spencer brought you company. He sat at the desk chair in the corner, long legs stretched out as he babbled about anything and everything. Sometimes, he sat there quietly, only speaking up to ask you if you knew the answer to a certain crossword question. Usually, it was something easy, something he already knew. Like, a passionate declaration, like in marriage vows – the answer was too obviously avowal.

Each time he visited, he left a book for you, annotations directed towards you scribbled in the margins and tabs marking the parts he thought you’d like best. The first book, Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen, had a scrawl on the author’s dedication page, with Reid noting both opinions and facts about the book. You felt your lips twitch with the ghost of a smile as you read the definitions of both of the words in the titles and how they were related to the actual book, as you read the words and the facts the doctor had written in the blank spaces.

After a week of Spencer stopping by every day before and after work, you gave him the extra keycard to your room that you had been given when you checked in. A lot of the time you didn’t have the energy to crawl out of your bed, so it made it easier for you. Despite having the key card, he still always knocked, waiting on some type of verbal sign before actually opening the door and stepping in.

One night, he stopped by your hotel room, a take-out bag looped over his forearm as he rustled in his bag for the keycard. Once it was curled between his palm and fingers, he lightly rapped on the door, leaning his head closer to it to listen for your voice calling for him to come in. His brow furrowed when he was only met with the sound of your room’s AC unit and the faint sniffles it attempted to cover.

Immediately, he had bursted into your room after sliding the key card into the slot above the knob, long legs getting him to your bedside as soon as possible. His eyes had softened as he took in the sight of you sitting up, arms laced around your knees, which were pulled up to your chest defensively. Your eyes were dark, sullen, the whites of them red with irritation from pushing away tears. Even your breathing was erratic, chest rising and falling quickly until it sounded like wheezing.

Spencer had pulled you practically into his lap, your fingers gripping at the soft material of his sweater as his large hand ran up and down the expanse of your back. He had murmured soft words that didn’t quite register to you, however were soothing all the same, as he pressed your hand to his chest, letting you feel the steady beat of his heart.

Once you had finally been soothed properly, your breathing evening out as his hand slowed until it lay still on your spine, you explained to him that you had been woken by a nightmare, the same one that had been playing through your head for the past two weeks. Immediately, he insisted that you stay at his apartment. As if proving it would help steer your decision towards a “yes,” he spilled out facts about processing traumas, like how talking to people and reminding yourself of pleasant hobbies, along with being in a familiar place, would help with recovery.

Which is how you ended up curled up on his couch, fingers tracing the pages of the book in your lap. You had been picking through all of Jane Austen’s books since you had started sleeping on his couch, with Emma being your pick of the week. Spencer hadn’t gotten to annotating this one yet, too busy with a new case that had just come in, so you had plucked a pen off of his desk, scribbling notes just like he usually did. It didn’t matter much, since you tended to spill your opinion to him the minute he stepped through the door, however it kept your brain occupied.

Your head raises as you recognize the sound of his key in the lock, looking up and over your shoulder just as it opened. “Welcome home. I’m almost done with Emma. It’s quite amusing, less factual, so I’m not sure if you’ll like it, but it’s good.” You glance back down at the pages as you stick a receipt in the fold of the book, shutting it before continuing. “It’s about a matchmaker named Emma. She thinks she’s the best at it, especially because she set up the governess and a wealthy widower, but she ends up missing all of the signs that the men she’s matching are into her.”

As you speak, Spencer takes his satchel off, laying it on the armchair near the front door before slowly making his way towards his couch. A smile pulls at his lips as his fingers work to undo the buttons on his wrists, brow raising slightly. “You have been reading quite a bit since you settled in here.”

A soft huff leaves your nose as you settle back into the cushions, watching as he perches himself up onto the back of the leather couch. It feels wrong to be so comfortable in an apartment that’s not your own, but it’s almost impossible to not feel soothed by the dark wood that makes up his desk and bookshelves, which were stacked with books upon books of all different genres. The verdun color of the walls alongside the sets of patterned couch pillows and comfortable throw blankets were ten times better than the impersonable decorations of the hotel room you had lived in for two weeks.

“Well, you don’t have a TV, and you can’t play chess by yourself.” There’s a pause, and then you speak again. “Unless you’re you. And I’m not,” you add, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them.

He folds the edges of his sleeves back towards himself, pushing up the fabric up to his elbows, revealing his forearms slowly. “Playing chess by yourself is actually the best way to learn how to play and hone your skills. Many professional chess players, such as Bobby Fischer, often play chess alone. It helps you learn the game and discover what type of player you are. It gives you more time to focus on your moves so that, in an actual chess match, you don’t run out of time before you know what to do.”

You toss the ballpoint pen in your hands at his chest, huffing in mock irritation as he easily catches it and tosses it back to you. “Good thing I’m not looking to switch career paths anytime soon, hm?” Your brow quirks slightly, your amusement apparent only in that little movement.

“That it is.” He responds, still holding a soft smile as his coffee-colored eyes soften around the corners edges. His gaze averts downwards at his fingers as he starts to tug on them, growing sheepish. “How have you been?”

Despite the vagueness and normalcy of the question, you immediately know what he’s referring to, suddenly finding the loose threads on the blanket over your lap very interesting. “Better,” you admit, seeing no reason to lie. “The nightmares aren’t as bad as they were back at the hotel, but they’re not gone. The panic comes and goes.”

Slowly, like he’s afraid he’ll spook you, he stands back up, moving around the couch before settling a cushion away from you. He leans back against the arm of the couch as he starts working at loosening his tie, pulling it over his head before laying it on his coffee table. “Do you want to talk about it? All aspects of trauma can be lessened by communicating it to a trusted individual. Not necessarily go through it again, like cognitive interviews, but speaking more about the depth of it. How you felt, why you still feel it even after that, the direct cause of feeling like you’re still there.”

Just like that, you’re setting your book aside, knees pulling up to your chest in an attempt to shy away. It’s funny how you can know body language so well and yet not stop yourself from giving yourself away with it. Knees to chest meant a multitude of things, such as defensive posture or an intense interest in wanting to leave conversations or situations. You had to look at the situation as a whole to figure out the exact reason, or the other cues. Hunched back and averted eye contact usually indicated sadness, fear or insecurity. The rub of your own hand against your arm indicated self-soothing. It was all about the context.

Spencer notices quickly, reaching out to brush his fingertips against your kneecap. Despite the soft touch, he doesn’t speak, lips pressing in a harder line as he simply gazes at you. He’s waiting for you to speak, to take in whatever information you’ll give him.

Looking into his eyes, you realize why people call them ‘puppy dog eyes.’ Glancing into them, you’re ready to spill your guts about just about everything. You’re tempted to tell him about the candy bar you stole when you were in sixth grade, or when you tripped someone in the high school hallway because they kept shoving into you.

“I thought he liked me.” You mumble once you realize you had just been staring at him for the past few moments, plucking at the throw blanket again as you avert your gaze. “But looking back, he was a bit mean. He’d always make these little comments.” You clear your throat as you glance towards the ceiling, blinking quickly to try and avoid the sting of tears. “Like ‘didn’t you wear that shirt yesterday,’ or ‘sure you don’t want to change’?”

As you speak, Spencer’s hand moves to cup your entire kneecap, thumb brushing against the soft spot in the middle. His touch is warm, heating up the skin underneath your sweatpants. He can practically see the words on the edge of your tongue, allowing you to continue.

Your focus doesn’t stray from the hand on your knee as you let the words fall out. “He’d knocked on my door. It was normal. Stepped inside, let me kiss him on the cheek. Thinking about it makes me want to gag.” One of your hands lifts to touch your fingers against your mouth, tracing the line of your lips as you remember the feel.

“You can feel the change in the room when someone goes from good to bad. I didn’t think it’d be like the movies and shows, where they describe their eyes as darkening or their smile as wicked, but it is. The energy changes. It feels like slow motion.”

Your breathing picks up as you speak. Spencer’s quick to notice it, body leaning closer towards you, like he’s prepared to catch you if you fall. Your lips part in an attempt to speak again, but the words are swallowed by a soft sob. Before you know it, you’re tumbling down a hill, heart beating faster and breathing growing quicker.

Memories, the science that comes along with them, are all one hell of a thing. Everything about them has an effect on the brain. Things like sounds, smells, textures, they’re connected to the memories. Meaning if you think about them, if you feel them, you end up right back where you were at that time and place. Like how sunshine on your skin reminds you of days at the park as a young kid, or how the smell of flowers brings you back to the farmer’s market on a Sunday after you just moved to DC.

Thinking about what led up to you being tied up to the chair, you can feel it. The icy chill of fear that cascaded over your back, the dread that sunk deep in your stomach, even the goosebumps that traveled up your arm. They’re all there. It’s like it’s happening again.

Your vision blurs around the edges as you struggle to take in air, hand grasping at Spencer’s for any type of support. You’re aware of what’s happening, but you cannot stop it, not even as you try to take in air into your nose and out through your mouth. His voice echoes in your head, but it morphs into something different, something distorted.

You’re only brought out of your panic by the feeling of lips on yours.

Your eyes widen at the shock of it, chest still heaving as your breath evens out. Your hand still clutches at Spencer’s as you feel your entire body relax, allowing yourself the comfort of kissing him back.

After your entire body has relaxed, your chest no longer hurting with the strain of lost breath, Spencer pulls away. His eyes are slightly wide as he looks at you, studying your face for any signs of being uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. Uhm.” He clears his throat, leaning away from you as he runs his hands through his hair. “Uh, kissing. It releases so-called happy chemicals, such as oxytocin and serotonin, tricking your brain into leaving the panic behind. It also helps you steady your breathing. Nothing else was working so, uh…”

As he trails off, you reach out to grab his hand again, giving it a soft squeeze. “Thank you.” It’s not meant to be a reassurance, but it's close enough.

You watch as the panic slowly leaves his eyes, settling into only a soft worry, although his cheeks are still dusted with a light shade of pink. “You’re welcome,” he responds bashfully, eyes still looking down at his lap.

A soft laugh leaves your lips as you reach up to brush your tears away, leaning back into the couch again. After a moment of silence, you roll your lips into your mouth before speaking. “Can we go see a movie?”

Spencer’s brows raise in surprise, the lines on his forehead from focusing so much prominent. “Like, at a theater? Are you sure?” He’s still tugging at his fingers as he speaks, head tilting slightly as he assesses all of your body language.

You smile sheepishly at him, body slowly uncurling. “Yeah. I have a tough BAU agent to protect me, don’t I?”

He smiles brightly at that, eyes softening as he glances back up at your face. “That you do.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #elliott recs

273 notes · View notes

rcmclachlan · 2 hours ago

Text

Reading the comments on this post and you know what? Tommy does have a podcast!

It's called Getting Rom-Commy with Tommy and he breaks down the history, plots, tropes, and cliches made famous by romantic comedies. He recorded the first episode—Tillie's Punctured Romance, the first feature film in the genre—in 2020 during the early days of the pandemic, and has since gained a small but loyal following who love his deep dives, quirky sense of humor, and the random breadcrumbs about his own life that he drops occasionally.

For three and a half years, he's posted an episode every other Thursday without fail, so it's the talk of r/romcommytommy when the promised episode about A New Leaf doesn't materialize. They worry about Tommy being sick or dead—or worse: growing bored with the subject matter—and flood his podcast inbox with well wishes and pleas to continue the series.

Finally, the episode goes up the following Thursday, and he prefaces it by apologizing for the delay. He had gotten tangled up in a work thing and had spent the previous week dealing with the fallout (i.e.: paperwork), but he's in high spirits because he isn't in federal prison and has reconnected with old friends. And made some new ones! Which has nothing to do with Walter Matthau's performance, which in Tommy's opinion is one of his best, and he jumps right into the movie and says no more about what kept him away.

After that, for months, the series takes on a different tone—more buoyant, almost bewilderingly cheerful—and it elevates what was already a great program to something that truly has a happy ending every time. More people start listening. The subreddit hits 10k members, and speculation about what's causing Tommy's audible joy runs rampant, with most agreeing it's because he has someone special in his life.

Then, the 103rd episode goes live. It's an unflinching look at the movie Blue Valentine, which is very much not a romantic comedy, and for the entire episode Tommy vacillates between sounding dead inside and on the verge of tears. "It's just another example of how even the most passionate relationship will erode over time," he murmurs. The episode ends without its usual jaunty outro.

It becomes clear over the next several weeks that something devastating has happened, because Tommy has ditched his beloved rom-coms for the most depressing movies ever made. The subject of the top trending post on the subreddit for a month is 'If I ever listen to the Closer episode again I will need the following: a gun.'

His listeners debate whether or not to jump ship, but the film analyses are still really good. Plus, it feels like abandoning a friend in their time of need.

I don't know if you will ever see this, Tommy, but I think I speak for everyone when I say: we love you, we're here for you, we're not going anywhere, but for the love of GOD please go to therapy, u/marshedmellowout comments on the post for the In The Mood For Love episode.

No one's quite sure if u/marshedmellowout got through to him, but it feels like a turning point when the subject of the next episode is Desert Hearts. Tommy spends almost half the episode runtime analyzing the film's hopeful ending, and even cracks a couple of jokes. While his voice doesn't have that incandescent happiness from before, it's much lighter.

The next few episodes continue that slow, upward trend, and the movies Tommy deconstructs go from having hopeful endings to happy ones. He's back to making terrible puns and laughing at his own jokes, and everyone on the subreddit breathes a collective sigh of relief. He's going to be okay.

None of his listeners are prepared for how he starts the 118th episode.

"You're all in for a treat today, because I'm joined by a very special guest. He's not a big fan of movies, usually, but he's got a mind made for analysis, so making him watch Groundhog Day was kind of a no-brainer. I've been dying to hear him pick this one apart. Evan, say hi."

The joy from all those months ago is clear and present in Tommy's voice, but it's tempered with something new: certainty.

"H-Hi, everyone," Evan says, bashful and a little giggly. "Sorry, I've never done something like this before."

"You literally had a walk-on role in the country's most watched TV show. 22 million people tuned in that night, and that's not including the streaming numbers."

"That was different! I had one line. Plus, I didn't care about making Brad look dumb."

"Brad didn't need your help with that," Tommy says, audibly besotted. "Evan, you can't possibly make me look dumb. They can't see me."

Groaning through laughter, Evan gasps, "Oh my god, I said you get five stupid jokes and you just wasted one. Better make the next four count."

"I'll do my best," Tommy says. "So, overall, what did you think of the movie?"

It's the most listened to episode of the entire podcast, and u/cadburybunnyeggs's post 'Evan needs to be a permanent host and here's why' makes the front page of Reddit.

(A year later, the Four Weddings and a Funeral episode, which goes live two days before Tommy and Evan get married, is nominated for a Webby Award. What happens afterwards in the subreddit breaks containment and winds up in the New York Times.)

#bucktommy #i literally don't know where this came from

157 notes · View notes

rafescorpsebride · 3 days ago

Text

You’re everything

Eddie Munson x fem reader

Eddie sees you struggling. And as your boyfriend, he knows exactly how to help. Uploaded from my old account.

CW: Mild self harm, talks of depression, anger outburst, reader has borderline personality disorder and dialogue is based on my own experience.

Eddie pushed open the apartment door, with his hip, a few grocery bags lined down his arm because he refused to make two trips. “Hey, sweetheart, I’m back!” He shut the door with his foot, did a quick unfocused glance around the living room.

“Fuck, the store was packed! I think you would have stayed in the car, baby.” He set down the bags and started putting away the cold items. Eddie yawned afterwards, closing the refrigerator and stretched. His black, stolen back sweatshirt rising above his stomach.

It dawned on him that you haven’t responded at all. “Baby?” He called again. No answer. He frowned and approached the bedroom door and he gasped when he saw the scene.

The bed was torn apart. Blankets thrown off and the pillows dented. Eddie went to take a step before he looked on the ground. Stim toys were all over the floor. Stuffed animals and even clothes. A few shirts were ripped. He didn’t see you. “Princess, what’s going-“

A hole was in the wall next to the closet. A small one but it went deep in the plaster. Eddie moved quickly. Surveying the damage, he saw a bloody imprint. Knuckles. Eddie sighed. You were having an episode. He should have known. You didn’t answer his texts. You hated phone calls. This wasn’t the first time this happened. Eddie on a number of times had to sit by your side during dark hours.

But he loved you. You were beautiful. His everything. It wasn’t one sided. If anything, you have too much to him. You were always supporting him. Even when he was unbearable. You stood by him. He would do whatever you needed. He needed you. He wanted you. Eddie knew immediately where you were then.

He gently opened the closet door and he saw you. You were wearing a large t shirt, it went past your thighs and loose plaid pajama pants.

Over ear headphones word, your phone face down on the floor and you were stimming. Rocking back and forth. You were panting, your face flushed and he could see your eyes squeezed shut. Eddie saw your right hand. Your knuckles were bloody and bruised.

He didn’t want to startle you so Eddie opened the door further, enough for you to hear it over music.

Eddie’s heart ached when you turned to look at him. Your eyes were blood shot. Your lips bleeding from what he knew, you bit them or picking at them. Your nails had blood underneath them from biting the nail. You were a wreck. But you were his special girl.

“Hey…” He said, swallowing. “Baby, I-what happened?”

You tried to stand but ended up sprawled on the ground. He went to help you but you jerked away, pulling yourself up.

“I’m so fucking mad right now.” You were almost yelling. But you sounded out of breath. “I-I took my meds but I’m still like this. My heart hurts, I just feel like I want to crawl out of my skin. Everything is too loud!” You weren’t crying but you were growing hysterical. You started pacing.

“Why am I like this? Why can’t I just be normal? Why do I get so upset over the smallest things?” Eddie was standing close but he didn’t reach yet. You were tugging at your shirt. He knew you were getting hot.

“I can’t deal with this. I can’t feel this way! Im so sick of feeling like I’m useless because I can’t even talk on the phone to my boyfriend because I hate how it makes me feel! You shouldn’t have to deal with me.”

“Sweetheart, will you just come here for a second?” Eddie tried to prompt.

“No!” You stopped moving and placed your hands on your chest. “Eddie. I don’t want you to see me like this. Again. Maybe you should leave. I don’t want to keep freaking you out.”

Eddie moved then. And he gently grasped your elbows and looked down. Eye contact was difficult for you and he never wanted to force it. But he titled your chin, happy if you just looked at his forehead. “Princess. I’m not leaving you. I would never.” He leaned forward, rubbing his nose against yours. “I’m just happy you didn’t break your hand.” He pulled away, glad you weren’t moving away. “You’re burning up. Let’s get to the couch, it’s too warm in here.”

Eddie wrapped his arm around your waist, helping you walk around the mess and he sat you down on the couch. “I’ll be right back, babe.” You grabbed his hand. “I promise.” He smiled at you. You slowly let go.

He tried not to show his panic as he looked for the first aid kit. Eddie came back to the living room, kneeling in front of you. “Let me see that hand.” He asked, pulling it towards him. It was shaking. He was careful, dabbing it with saline and you winced. “I’m sorry, baby.” Eddie went through the motions, remembering how to wrap an injured hand from his own share of punching walls.

After the bandage was around your hand, he pressed a kiss on top. He maneuvered his way up and sat beside you. Eddie held your leg that was bouncing. “Babe…I know for a while things have been really hard for you. And seeing all that today, I see you’re in a lot of pain. And I just want to help you. I love you so much. You know that right?” You covered your face with your hands.

“Eddie, you shouldn’t. I feel like I don’t have enough good days. I’m so tired of always telling you how bad my day was, or that I want to have a meltdown about fucking textures or sounds. I just wish I could be normal for you.” Eddie shook his head, taking your hands down.

“Hey. Hey. I would never trade you for anything. I would never want anyone other than you. The only thing I wish I could change, is how you feel about yourself. Baby, you are so much more than what you struggle with. You’re kind, funny, like so funny I almost snort and I can’t even breathe. You understand me, you are so caring and you let me be annoying when I smoke too much weed. I could go on for days.” You lifted your head. And looked at him. And held eye contact.

“You’re more than bad days, baby. I love you so much. And I know you were listening to our song, right? The one I told you to play when things get bad?” You nodded. Smiling a little. Eddie feigned shock.

“Is that-is that a smile? That’s my girl.” It widened and he grinned, cupping your cheeks.

“Come on. Sing one line with me. And then, I’m gonna go pick up the bedroom. I’m going to make you something to eat and then we’re going to watch your favorite movies.”

“Do I have to sing?” You complained.

“Sorry, baby. Those are the rules.” Eddie winked, still holding tight to your face.

“And I don’t want the world to see me, cuz I don’t think that they’d understand.” Eddie leaned in, pressing his lips softly to yours. Gently because of the picked apart flesh.

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and squeezed tightly. Eddie followed suit and hugged you around the waist.

“I love you so much, Eddie.”

Eddie breathed you in. It wouldn’t fix what you felt. But you wouldn’t have to battle anything alone.

@hauntedfawnn @eerielamb @lesservillain @xxladymjxx @marchsfreakshow @taintandviolent @rafesheaven @songbirdmunson @loserboysandlithium @stillwjk-channie-lixie @oceanblvd111

#eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things

119 notes · View notes

beekeeperspicnic · 1 day ago

Note

Are there any oddball Sherlock Holmes interpretations you have a fondness for? I'm the kind of person that likes the audacity (even if it fails miserably sometimes) and devotion to the canon of such an old work isn't so important to me, so I have a lot of personal examples.

OH BOY DO I

I've always thought if I had to do some kind of podcast or YouTube series, it would be me looking at weird or niche Sherlock Holmes adjacent media because it appeals to me so much.

I think I feel similarly to you, one of the things I love about Sherlock Holmes is how people can pick up the characters and settings and do audacious and wild things with them. I only tend to get grouchy at highly corporate big budget adaptations that try to squeeze the stories into tired formulas (ie Irene Adler needs to be a femme fetale, Holmes is an insufferable genius who is unempathetic and rude to everyone)

I've ended up focusing less on live action here, but I could makemore posts about that!

Let's start with Tom and Jerry Meet Sherlock Holmes, which I think is summarised really well by this image: it's got this lovely, Warner Bros style fluidly animated Holmes and Watson who are doing their thing.... but also Tom and Jerry are around.

Moriarty is bananas in this but I won't spoil it.

One of my absolute favourite animated Holmeses (is that the plural?!) is from this one single episode of Scooby Doo and Guess Who. I mean look at this guy, isn't he just perfect?

Spoilers for the episode, but it transpires he isn't actually the real Sherlock Holmes so much as someone who has consciously decided to become the fictional character, and I really love how the Mystery gang gradually come to accept him. The little character arc he goes on is about him learning to accept help and companionship, d'aww.

Then there's Sherlock Holmes and the Great Escape . Holmes is a dog who dresses like Edward Elric. Pink Femme Cat Watson is so weirdly on the money. I can't emphasise how much this fruity pink cat embodies the character of Dr John H Watson better than many other adaptations.

And as a final mention I'm so stoked about @fogtown-sleuth-society

It's this amazing and creative fusion of puppetry and digital modelling, Sherblock and Blockson are just delightful. The whole project is just bursting with joyful creativity.

And you can watch it RIGHT NOW! For FREE!

youtube

#nice asks

61 notes · View notes

orchidbreezefc · 3 days ago

Text

a guide on effective spoiler bar use!

so, i have a PTSD trigger. seeing it gives me panic attacks, so i ask people who share my space to warn for and spoiler discussion of that topic. and i really appreciate it when they do! however, even when people are kind enough to agree, a lot of them don't know how to do that properly, and their ineffectual use of spoiler bars leads to me having that panic attack anyway.

it's difficult and vulnerable for me to ask in the first place; i'm sharing something painful and personal, and i feel like i'm ruining people's fun by forcing them to censor themselves. at the same time, when people do what i ask, that means they want me to be safe! so neither of us wants to have a followup conversation where i say "actually, your efforts weren't good enough and i got hurt anyway."

so here's a post about how to get it right the first time! discord is the platform i use most, but the general principles apply everywhere. tumblr has no spoiler function, but that's okay because the number one thing to consider when spoilering is how it will look for someone who doesnt want to see what's under the bar.

the thing you want to spoiler could be someone's specific trigger, or a common phobia, or spoilers for the new episode of your show--anything someone in the group may not want to see for whatever reason. i'll use "dog" as a stand-in. here's a common spoiler practice that really isn't helpful:

"today i saw this super cute ■■■ in the park! his owner let me pet him and he licked all over my hands, it was great!"

if you're someone who doesn't want to see discussion of dogs, that spoiler is completely useless. you can guess what that person is talking about, meaning they haven't hidden dog talk from you. the length of the word being spoiled and the context of the sentence are enough to give it away--you need to disguise both.

ask yourself: if you're helping someone who doesn't want to hear about dogs, why are you showing them any part of your dog escapade? will they benefit from being able to see the rest, or does it just risk triggering them and giving them FOMO by teasing a message they can't fully read?

another unhelpful practice:

"[spoiler bar that covers the full message]"

in this case, the stuff under the spoiler bar would be dog talk. the thing is, if i see this message, i have no way of knowing if it's censored for talk of dogs, or of someone else's kitten trigger, or of a common phobia of glitter. maybe i love kittens and glitter and want to see posts about those things! but you haven't specified, so now this message is a game of russian roulette with kittens in some barrels and panic attacks in others.

if i have to see the triggering content to know it's going to trigger me, that's not a warning; that's just triggering with an extra step. don't place information on how to avoid being upset next to the upsetting thing.

here's a GOOD way to spoiler things:

"(dog talk) [spoiler bar covering the rest of the message]"

perfect! i now know exactly what i'll see if i click that spoiler bar. if i don't want to see it, i don't click! if you say this for one message, the reader can assume subsequent messages are spoilered for the same reason. you can finish with "(end dog talk)" if you want to be extra helpful!

admittedly for some people the very mention of a trigger will be enough to prompt a reaction, but that can't be helped. a list of trigger warnings can itself be triggering, but it's better than no warning at all. this is the best you can do for someone short of not bringing it into that space at all, which is a discussion you'd have to have with that group.

hope this helps! remember to prioritize the effect on the person you're doing this for. the difference between seeing and not seeing a certain thing can change someone's whole day or week.

#tagging #trigger warnings #psa #discord #safety ref #reference #stay safe #sage original post #sage speaks #PTSD #trauma #cptsd

42 notes · View notes

queen-of-deans-booty · 3 days ago

Text

Candy Cane Lane

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You only have one night to plan four parties and a special Christmas light show. Dean knows how important it is for you to see the lights, and he makes sure he keeps his promise when he tells you you’ll get to see the lights.

Square Filled: candy cane (2022) for @spnchristmasbingo

Author’s Note: yes, this is inspired by season 1 episode 9 of new girl

Four different Christmas parties and only one night to do them. The invitations are spread out on the table for you to look at, and you have your notebook spread open for you to take notes. The first of the parties doesn’t start until the late afternoon, so you still have time to plan for them. This is the only weekend everyone in your friend group has off from work, and you’re going to make sure you can hit every party before the night is over.

You’re not big on parties but you’re only going because you want everyone to do your thing at the very end of the night.

“What are you doing?”

You look up and see Dean walk into the kitchen wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that leave little to the imagination. You blush and look back down at your notebook so you don’t ogle him.

“I’m just trying to plan out how this evening is going to go. If we’re going to hit every party before the end of the night, I need to plan it out.”

“Why not just wing it? I’m good at that,” he grins.

“Winging it isn’t my thing. Plus, I am going to make sure I get to take you all to Candy Cane Lane this year.”

Candy Cane Lane is the name of the light festival a neighborhood puts on for whoever wants to come and see it. Everyone decorates their houses to the fullest, and they have small booths that offer popcorn, corn dogs, snow cones, and other things that families and kids can enjoy while they look at the lights. You’re impressed every year because they always seem to outdo themselves from the year before.

It’s magical.

“I look forward to it,” Dean smiles.

Not long after you craft the perfect plan, your entire friend group comes over. Charlie, Donna, Jody, Garth, and Castiel come with small gifts for you, Sam, and Dean who are roommates. You have a Cadillac Escalade that can fit all eight of you, so Sam will be the DD if anyone else wants to drink the night away.

“Gather around everyone,” you call out. “So, we have four parties to hit, and only six hours to do it in. After that, we can spend whatever time we have left at Candy Cane Lane which is conveniently next to Charlie’s party. So, we’ll be hitting that one last. I figure if we spend at most an hour and a half at each party, we’ll have one hour to spare to go see the lights.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Charlie grins.

The first party you hit is uneventful. Castiel warned you his party with his friends wasn’t going to go well, so you passed the time by drinking and talking to Dean. Jody and Donna’s police party is next. Their precinct transformed into a hangout spot for the officers and their loved ones. It’s more lively than Castiel’s party, but you can’t seem to get into it.

Dean breaks off from conversation with Jody and swipes a fresh glass of eggnog from the table. He walks over to you, and you turn to him with a smile.

“Eggnog?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

“So, having fun?”

“I guess. Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“Why did you come?”

“For you,” Dean looks surprised but he covers it with a subtle cough, “and for Sam and Donna and everyone else. I know this is what you guys wanted to do.”

“Honestly, I can’t wait to see the lights.”

A bright smile forms on your face. “I know right? All of the houses are decorated with thousands of lights. There are two neighbors who try to outdo the other which is always funny to see. They even put up fake snow machines everywhere so that the kids can enjoy it.”

“You enjoy it, too, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gush. “One house always makes delicious hot chocolate. I keep trying to get the recipe from them but they never want to share it.”

“I can’t wait,” Dean smiles.

The third party you attend is on Garth’s farm. Beth’s entire family is there with a ton of kids, and she’s set up a bunch of different games for everyone to enjoy. They live more north so it’s snowing by the time you reach their farm. There is a thick blanket of snow on the ground which makes you happy. You love snow and everything about it, especially snow that’s away from the dirty city.

Some of the kids are already in a snowball fight while others are making snowmen on the other side of the farm.

“Snowball fight! Come on, Y/N!” Dean exclaims.

An “oof” sound comes out of your mouth when he drags you away from the group. As soon as you throw one snowball, you’re officially in the game. You haven’t done this in so long and your aim isn’t very good, but you have fun. Snowballs come rushing at you from all directions as if the kids are all ganging up on you.

You squeal when a snowball hits your face, and you run away while laughing. Dean is hidden in the shadows, determined to take out as many kids as he can as quietly as he can. He hides behind a tree and notices you walking away from the group. What you don’t see is an older kid creeping closer to you with a huge snowball in his hands.

You pass by the tree Dean is hiding behind, and he reaches out to grab you. You yelp in surprise not from the snowball that whizzes past your face but from Dean pulling you flush against his body. He turns and presses you gently against the tree before throwing his snowball at the kid.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

“No problem.”

Dean looks down at you and you’re suddenly aware of how close he is to you. He glances down at your lips which look a few shades lighter from how cold it is. It’s just you and him in this moment. Have you thought about kissing Dean? Yes. More than you care to admit. He’s your best friend and roommate. If things go wrong, you still have to live with him.

Still, you find yourself leaning into him. Right before your lips touch, someone calls your name. You jerk away from Dean and look at Charlie who is waving you over.

“Excuse me,” you whisper.

Sam waits for you to leave before jogging over to his brother.

“Did you do it?”

“No.”

“Dude.”

“Charlie called for her. She left.”

Sam slaps his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. You’ll get the next one.”

“I should stop being a pussy and just kiss her already. I shouldn’t have to use Christmas as an excuse.”

Dean and Sam leave the snowball fight and join the rest inside the barn. The fourth and final party is at Charlie’s office. She works at a data center, and they’re throwing a get-together on the main floor. You’re already over tonight but there’s alcohol so you’ll stick around for a bit longer. Garth’s party took longer than you would have liked which puts you behind schedule. Candy Cane Lane ends at midnight and it’s already ten. Candy Cane Lane is forty-five minutes away from Charlie’s office so you’re hoping everyone wants to leave a bit earlier than planned.

Forty-five minutes come and go quicker than you would have liked, and you’re only getting sadder at not being able to go to see the lights.

“Hey, are you okay?” Dean asks.

“I guess.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We spent longer at Garth’s party than we should have. If we don’t go soon, we’re going to miss the lights.”

“Let me take care of it.”

“How?”

“We’ll leave now.”

“Really?” you smile.

“Let me tell Sam and Cas. Be right back.”

Dean leaves and you stay where you are so that he can find you when he gets back. After ten minutes pass, you decide to search for Dean. Maybe he got held up. You push past the crowds to get to the other side of the office where the breakroom is. That’s where they have the food, and that’s where Sam most likely is.

You’re about to enter when Dean catches you in the doorway.

“I got Sam and Cas on board.”

“Where are the others?” Dean’s silence causes you to look into his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Much like the tree, he’s very close to you. You get caught in his green irises, so much so that you don’t notice him leaning toward you.

“Y/N!”

You look to the right and see Charlie waving you over.

“Charlie!”

You leave Dean’s side and rush over to hers to discuss the possibility of leaving. Dean groans and rests his head on the doorframe before looking at the mistletoe Sam taped right before you walked in.

“Dude,” Sam chuckles.

“Shut up.”

It took ten more minutes but you got everyone to agree to leave the party early. Luck is not on your side because everyone is leaving their parties to head home, so the streets are filled with bumper-to-bumper traffic. You don’t let that get you down, though, because you have hope of seeing those twinkling lights you love so much.

“Hey, I hate to cut the party short, but I got to get back home. A couple of the kids are getting sick from eating the snow,” Garth says. “I can call an Uber if you let me off here.”

“Sure,” Dean says.

As soon as one breaks off, the rest drop like flies. Jody and Donna have work in the morning and Charlie has to see her mom before the night is over. Castiel is staying since he’s spending the night with you, Dean, and Sam. With most of the party gone and the fact that you’re still in traffic, you don’t have high hopes of making it to Candy Cane Lane.

“We should just go home, Dean.”

“No, you wanted to see the lights.”

“Dean, it’s nearly midnight and we’re still thirty minutes away. It’s fine. I can go next weekend by myself.”

The entire car ride is silent as Dean continues to drive. He looks at you and hates seeing you disappointed. He promised you that he’d get you to Candy Cane Lane, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. He quickly makes a U-turn and heads toward the lights.

“What are you doing, Dean?”

“I told you we’re going to see the lights, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Dean, it’s almost one in the morning. We’re too late.”

Dean pulls into the empty neighborhood. All the lights are off, the inflatables are in puddles on the ground, and the place looks creepy with strings of unlit lights. He gets out and walks to the middle of the road.

“Turn on your lights!” he yells.

“Dean!” you gasp.

“Turn on your lights!” Sam and Castiel get out to do the same, but you stay inside the car with a shocked look on your face. “Come on! It’s Christmas! Turn on your lights!”

“Turn on your lights!” Sam yells and jogs closer to one of the houses.

“I got a girl out here who’d like to see the lights! Turn on your lights!”

You smile at the thought of Dean doing all this for you. At one in the morning. Even though they might call the cops on you. Dean doesn’t care. All he cares about is making you happy. You step out of the car and watch three men run around the block trying to get people to turn their lights on.

The lights on the house behind you turn on, and their inflatable snowman starts filling with air. More lights come on and more inflatables come to life. The snow machines start spewing fake snow onto the street, and you gasp happily at seeing the private show.

“Dean! Look!” you exclaim happily. “Look at the snow!”

Dean walks up to you and pulls you into a hug. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

You run your hands down his chest as you pull away from him. This is it. This is the moment, Dean declares. The fake snow falls all around you, and the lights twinkle in your eyes. He leans in and this time, there is nothing stopping him.

You meet him halfway and kiss him with passion. Sam nudges Cas with a smirk, and both of them head back to the car to give you and Dean a moment alone.

“You did this all for me?”

Dean reaches for your hair and tucks a strand behind your ear. “I’d do anything for you.”

You pull down Dean for another kiss, feeling the Christmas magic.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fluff

41 notes · View notes

silence-ofthe-llamas · 2 days ago

Text

The Mecha AU-AU continues. In todays episode; the Protectobots exist, Trepan is weird, and Vortex gets a pleasant (?) surprise.

I've also written an UNGODLY amount of Combaticon pre-mech content so ig that's gonna have to escape containment at some point, weeh.

“Hey, isn’t that Felix?”

Hot Spot watched the TV in the break room intently as he drank his coffee. His cereal sat half-eaten and forgotten on the table in front of him. Blades looked over from the toaster, flinching when his toast popped up.

“Felix?” Blades asked. “What, on TV?” He asked in disbelief. He rounded the counter and jumped over the back of the sofa to sit next to his commander. “No way.”

“Seriously – look!” Hot Spot grabbed the remote and rewound, pausing when Felix had come up out of the joint of a mech, looking at something behind the camera in pure relief.

“Holy shit. That is Felix!”

“Look – he gets into that mech.” Hot Spot wound it forwards, showing the brief moment of Felix climbing up and slipping into the face of the mech, the visor snapping shut behind him. “Do you think he’s a pilot?”

“No, no way – he’s a medic. He never ever wanted to pilot, they’d have to be really desperate for them if they’re resorting to using their medical crew.”

“He seems way too comfortable getting into that thing.” Hot Spot shuddered. “It looked like it was eating him.”

“Don’t, that’s creepy.” Blades cringed, climbing back over the sofa to rescue his toast.

“Stop that.” Hot Spot scolded. “Just walk, it’s not far!”

Blades ignored him. “Have you heard the rumours about that base? With all the body bags? I wonder what that was all about.”

Hot Spot rolled his eyes and returned to his cereal. “No idea. I guess when you’re fighting quintessons your life expectancy isn’t great.”

“Neither is ours, and we don’t have giant metal exoskeletons or unexplainable numbers of body bags. What’s their excuse?”

Hot spot shrugged. “No idea. Why don’t you ask them?”

“Oh, good shout – I’ll text Felix.”

“Blades-”

“Relax! I’m not going to say anything stupid.”

“You said that last time and look where that got us.”

“Yeah, right, fair, whatever.” Blades waved him off dismissively. “I’ll just mention I saw him on TV, see?” He turned his phone around to show Hot Spot. “Totes fine, perfectly safe, nothing could possibly go wrong. Worst case scenario, he ignores me, best case he says ‘haha yup’ or something and that’s the end of that.”

“Don’t make him uncomfortable. You know he asked to be left alone.”

“We send each other reels on Instagram again, I think it’s okay if I reach out.”

Hot Spot sighed and unpaused the TV.

-------------------------------------

The tech was too new when they shoved their first AI’s into it.

They’d tested a connection between live pilots already - two separate units that operated as one. They found that it worked, to a point. The two consciousnesses would wave, but never shake hands - the physical contact snapped their psyche. It was only when they had developed the RABIT units that they could truly operate as one – but the pinch point had always been getting them into the same machine . It just did things to people.

Prowl and Jazz had been their best duo’s team, their dark horse - the pair flew under the radar until they were fitted with the experimental tech and blew the project out of the water straight into the lap of investment. And, Swindle noticed, into the scope of

Trepan.

He giggled as he watched them, humming and hawing. Which one? Which one would be his sacrifice?

They’re married , they argued. You can’t force one to pilot the corpse, that’s wildly unethical.

Fine. Then we find a new pilot.

Swindle could only watch. If he objected now, he’d cast doubt onto himself. Vortex would be in more danger. His team might stay in that poxy little box forever.

Vortex himself was a monster. As a prototype, he was huge. Way too big. The technology hadn’t been fine tuned yet to bring the scale back down - and so he towered above them, a monument to their attempt at survival.

And he’d survived. The experimental tech, too fresh and too new, had destroyed the rest of his prototype cohort. Out of the original 15, he alone survived. The 11 carved into his shoulder shone in the red of the blood that they had spilled to get there.

The next cohort was smaller. Swindle hadn’t put forwards any of his team.

You want people who will survive - these guys ain’t it. I know my team, they haven’t got the moxy. The tech needs to be more stable.

Trepan didn’t raise his brows. He seemed to delight in his harsh words, and selected 5 other banked sacrifices.

They all died too. Burned out. Literally. They’d decreased the size of the mechs, the faults and failures of the predecessors informing their design.

Vortex stood alone.

Swindle chewed his nails until they bled fretting over his mental state. He couldn’t get close to him, he couldn’t go and check - he couldn’t even acknowledge him. The magnifying glass pinned him, every breath studied. The tech was so new. Was it really still

Vortex in there? Was he recognisable? Did he know what was going on? Did he know anything ?

God Tex, I’m so sorry.

The pilots falling out of him started telling horror stories.

There was something else in there with them. Something beyond the AI, a malevolent presence in there that wanted to hurt them. The researchers had been dismissive, but Trepan had been intrigued. Swindle had been corralled by him, armed with questions.

What had Svastjan been like in life? Did he have the same devotion to violence in life as he did in death? Was he particularly skilled with any weapons? Were any other members of his team like him? Or was he alone in his brutality?

He told him the truth. He was like this. He had a tendency to jump on the heads of the ones he’d knocked to the ground, to force himself through their body. Pistols and knives were his speciality. And no – he was alone. The others were what they liked to call well adjusted.

The expectation he had was that Trepan would be disappointed, but he had just hummed and nodded his head, quickly returning his attention to the next mech to come off the assembly line.

He uncomfortably ran a hand through his hair as he saw the footage that aired. Trepan was sat beside him, still as much of a crane of a man as he had been back in the research lab. He sat with his legs daintily crossed, his hands resting on his knees as he sat up perfectly ram-rod straight.

“Who is the man so comfortable with our pet?” Trepan asked.

He’d started referring to Vortex as his pet as some kind of cute nickname for him – he’d survived so much and had given him so much information to chew on that he’d grown a real soft-spot for him.

“That’s Felix.”

“His pilot?”

“Correct. First one he hasn’t outright murdered or mentally destroyed.”

“Fascinating.” He steepled his fingers together, eyes wide and beady, taking in all the information on the screen. “He seems to be very familiar with the mech.”

“Felix is a weird one.” Swindle knew he had to toe the line, to act as a gossip to displace the suspicion, to offload it somewhere else. “He’s weirdly attached to his mech – he’s always around it.” He hoped the look on Trepans face wasn’t a bad sign.

“Vortex is a success. Finally.” He leaned back in satisfaction. “We can justify further use of his batch. As their guardian… choose. Who is next to be interred into living metal?”

Swindle remembered the day the experiments came to an end vividly. He hadn’t been able to stomach it after they’d all started screaming for each other – and they weren’t using their call-signs, either. The time for that had long gone – it was their real names that had come spilling out. The ones their mothers had given them as they first swaddled them in blankets. The ones that had been carried on the wind when it was time for dinner. The ones now spoken in hushed voices after dinner.

All he had left of them was a fucking box. He could hold all four of them in one hand. Small components that were welded into the motherboard. A collective century of experience and knowledge and history condensed down into four identical electrical components.

Swindle wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and cry and throw himself off of the bridge, swept away by the current and buried under sediment and rubbish and corpses. But he couldn’t - he had to hold it together. If he broke now, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. There was a job to be done.

Vortex was the obvious first pick. The next pick was harder. Significantly so. Who next? It had been a question that had haunted him ever since.

Swindle felt himself break out into a cold sweat. The tech wasn’t anywhere near where he wanted it to be, and the thought of having to try and wrangle two of them had him sprouting greys. He ran through them in his mind, counting it off on his fingers.

Onslaught. His commander. He’d trusted him with this, and he was certain to be disappointed with how it had all worked out, but he was also the one who could keep Vortex in line. However, Vortex was currently staying firmly in line and was studiously behaving himself now that he had Felix. It seemed that he’d cottoned on to the fact he was now the bargaining chip, and he was determined to play the part of a good little boy in order to keep his favourite toy.

Brawl. His personality was explosive, and any mech they made for him would have to have the thickest armour available, and even then that probably wouldn’t be enough. They weren’t at the point of making a viable mech for him yet, which left…

Blast Off. Their unifier. The centre of their team, their point of gravity. Damn, it was fucking obvious now – if Trepan was keen to crack the mausoleum back open and bring his team online, then he’d have to start with the one who kept them from cannibalising each other.

Trepan was looking at him expectantly, a small smile on his face.

“Jean-Luc B. Ollier.” Swindle promptly replied. “Code name: Blast Off. He’s a sniper and a navigator – where are we at with that gun? He’d be a great test for it.”

“Not Oscar Den Koning? Juan Perez?”

“Oscar will be hard.” Swindle replied. “Very strong personality – if we want him, we’ll need the others all up and operational first. Juan was our demolitions expert – we don’t have the ability to make armour strong enough to withstand the beating he would put it through right now.”

Trepan nodded like a priest having sins confessed to him. “Very well. I will pass this on. Thank you as always, Swindle. This has been most enlightening.”

“When will the designs be ready for viewing?” Swindle asked.

“Very soon, I hope.”

And with that, he was gone. Swindle exhaled slowly before breathing in deeply, holding it there in his lungs, and slowly exhaling.

Fuuuuuuck.

-------------------------------------

“Did you hear? They’re making a new batch of mechs.” First Aid conversationally said as he scrubbed the floor panels of the cockpit with a toothbrush. Despite his best attempts, there was still some dirt and grime in there – he was starting to get a little sick of noticing it every single time he got into his mech, so he’d decided that today, his precious day off, he’d dedicate it to making him sparkly clean.

On the inside, at least. The outside he’d leave to the professionals.

[OOOH? TELL ME MORE <3]

“One’s a prototype mech – apparently it’s going to be designed to be more like you? Something about balancing out what a powerhouse you are. Might end up being on loan to the Shatterdome to the south, apparently they’re having real big issues at the moment.” He sighed and rolled back to sit on his heels, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hands. “What did you even do back here? It’s still coming up red – I’ll need to pop the panel off!”

[THIS.]

An arm swooped down from the ceiling, sharp implements spinning and twisting on the end of it. First Aid yelped and scrambled backwards, and Vortex rumbled in a laugh.

“Why do you even have that?!”

[HACKED A MAINTENANCE DROID. HACKED TWO MAINTENANCE DROIDS.] He corrected himself.

“And they just let you keep it?”

[AS IF I’D LET THEM STOP ME.]

First Aid hummed, running his fingers across the offending metal. “I need a toolkit to get this up. I’ll be right back – I think I saw one in the cupboard…”

[LATER BABE <3 BE QUICK.]

First aid hopped out with ease and quickly whipped off his gloves, hanging them over his belt. He rubbed his hair from his eyes and silently wished he had a hairband when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Curiously, he slipped it out – he wasn’t expecting any messages from anyone, and he couldn’t think of who would text him out of the blue-

His pace faltered when he saw the name.

Blades.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and the message to the back of his mind. Later. He’d… He’d deal with it later. Right now, Vortex was waiting for him, and he was so close to getting that panel clean.

-------------------------------------

Having a chatty little man like Felix around had its perks for sure. Such as giving Vortex such useful bits of information, like new mechs.

Each time he learned that new mechs were being added to rosters around the world, he went digging. He’d brute force his way in, hammering and chiselling away until he got what he wanted. Information. Something that gave him an idea of who they’d stuffed into them.

He wondered what Trepan would think if he knew that he wasn’t as brain-dead as he was meant to be, that he wasn’t a silly little AI that said ‘yes, sir!’ and did as he was asked, that he still remembered who he was and clung onto it, that he knew exactly what had happened to him and let it burn inside of him to the point of consumption. Sometimes he wondered if any of the other mechs on base remembered who they once were too, but then that implied that they still hadn’t figured out the damn tech yet, and at least one of the pilots would have gone squealing. Prowl definitely. The man was such a tattle tale.

Huh. Maybe that was why he’d been shipped off to the States? That would be so fucking funny. Jesus.

Anyway. The digging.

He’d poked and probed where he could, the enjoyment he got out thinking of Swindles face when he realised it was him spurring him on, and eventually – he cracked it.

Felix was popping the panel off on his floors when he got hold of the file. A small batch – just five of them. Apparently investors hadn’t bitten as hard as they’d hoped. And they’d had to cut it down by two thirds – ouch. That had to sting. Swindle must have been chewing the walls. Giggling to himself, he began flicking through the folders within, plucking out bytes of information, straightening out the ones and zeros until they were in a format that he could understand-

His lights flickered, and First Aid froze, abused and beaten toothbrush in hand.

“Vortex?” He quietly asked. “I’m sorry – did I knock something?”

[YOU’RE ALRIGHT, HONEY.] He managed, not quite thinking of his reply more than it instinctively coming up on his display. Because he was alright. He hadn’t done anything.

Trepan, however, clearly had his paws on this batch.

SNIPER, the document read. LONG DISTANCE SHOOTER. LIGHT ARMOUR FOR MANOEUVRABILITY. DESIGNATION: BLAST OFF

Motherfucker.

Even the mech somehow managed to look like him – the armour followed the same patterns as the armour that he’d worn on the field, albeit significantly brighter. They could afford to be bright and gaudy when they were made of metal – they wanted to attract the hits. And a bright purple chest was just begging to get punched.

Eagerly, he flicked through the other documents. Brawl? Onslaught?

No. He didn’t care about these names – he didn’t give a shit about them. Not a goddamn single shit. He childishly mentally threw the file over his shoulder, his frame creaking ominously and the wiring under the panel Felix had removed sparking. Trepan was doing this on purpose, he could feel it. He was denying him his team, he was savouring their torment for as long as he could. Fucker. He’d crush him himself.

#tf mecha universe #llama writes #tf vortex #texaid #tf first aid #maccadam #tf swindle #mecha pilot au #No warnings for this one!#Amazingly despite Vortex existing

34 notes · View notes

tootoomanycats · 2 days ago

Text

The Plan

Chapter One: Best Laid Plans...

Pairing:

Gil-Galad x Human Reader Fem

Word Count: 6,415 words

If you prefer to read on AO3 its HERE

Summary: (SET IN THE RINGS OF POWER TV SERIES) (Takes place years before the first episode) As time settles the world’s chaos, Gil-Galad begins to feel an unusual boredom. After centuries of war, his days are now filled with mundane paperwork, the ink on the parchment mocking him with its monotony. When he receives a letter from Master Boat Builder Cirdan, asking for aid for a small group of humans whose ship has sunk, Gil-Galad agrees, recognizing his duty to help. Upon meeting the High King, you are caught off guard by an unexpected attraction. With your ship at the bottom of the bay, you aim to use your charm to secure a new vessel for yourself and your crew. However, as days go by, Gil-Galad's genuine compassion and kindness complicate things. The initial plan to flirt and deceive begins to clash with the genuine emotions that develop. You find yourself torn between the charming facade and emerging feelings for the High King. As the truth looms closer, the question remains—how will Gil-Galad react when he learns the real reason behind your visit?

Warnings:

Mentions of fire

Descriptions of injuries

Descriptions of partial nudity

Reader is not a holy good person.

Two ideots pining and refusing to acknowledge it.

Not Beta Read

(smut stuff will be in chapter two, promise)

Author Notes:

Hello Everyone!

It’s finally here! Thank you for being so patient while I finally got this done and posted. In my overeagerness, I was hoping to get this finished on New Year’s Day, but sadly, life and depression got a hold of me. I have entirely rewritten this chapter and how it plays out over four times. This time, I finally had to reel my worry that this wasn't good enough and just be okay with where it was. Please note that I'm writing this without sitting to very strict guidelines of what elves are commonly like in the book. I am writing Gil-Galad and Elves with the idea that history books and lore always paint figureheads and royalty as if they lived by strict morals and values. And I think it's much more interesting if we see what Gil-Galad would have experienced if he had fallen in love, and it, in the end, was kept secret from history. You'll notice that Elrond isn't going to be in this; that is because at the same time this story is going on- I have a one-shot of what Elrond is doing elsewhere. I am working on it, but I have no set date for finishing it as of right now. As always if you like what you have read please remember that fanfic writers live off of likes, comments and reblogs- we wont admit it but we all have praise kinks. Have you fed your starving artist today?

Tea.

Every night since his arrival in Grey Havens, the Master Boat Builder has made a point to enjoy a cup of tea before heading off to bed. Be it rain, snow, or shine, that cup of tea will always be had.

The weather was sublime this evening: cool temperatures, clear skies, and a calm breeze. Weather being what it is, he opened the workshop’s doors to watch as the sun’s last glow gave way to darkness.

Once the last sip was finished, he reached for the large doors to close them for the night. But as he pulled the last one, a shimmer of light in the water caught his attention; its reflection was unusually bright.

Leaning out the side, hand gripping the door handle for balance, he gasped in shock at finding the source. Just a few leagues away was a double-masted ship- inflamed.

Its bow was raised dramatically into the cool night air, exposing an accumulation of maritime fauna. The vessels aft dragged along the sea bed, echoing whenever it hit high points of rocks. What wood was visible was already ashes or becoming the next fuel source for the inferno. Screams and bodies jumping into the river could be heard above all else.

Running out of the boat house, Cirdan reached the town’s warning bell. Its massive size was stuck from disuse and rust. He kicked hard and kept kicking until his ankle and foot burned in protest, until finally, it groaned in movement. The piercing sound of the tocsin woke and alerted those who lived nearby as he shouted, “FIRE!”

It became chaos as orders were given, supplies packed, and horses mounted. The few elves who could, followed the older one, sprinting to offer aid to the tragedy’s survivors.

——

Wet, freezing, and homeless.

The strength it had taken to carry your first mate from the ship’s bowls to the deck had caused more than one muscle to pull. Short as he is, the man is surprisingly heavy.

Unfortunately, jumping from a burning ship was more manageable than carrying him to shore. As the line of buoyancy and gravity met, a new struggle began as you started to stand halfway out of the water.

Heavy, wet clothes worked against frozen, numb limbs with each soaking step to dry land and out of its icy grip. Ankles almost twisting with each slippery step on the shore rocks before finally collapsing onto soft sand.

A small blessing was the man you had carried came too with only a few short chest compressions. You joined him on the sand once he could fully sit up and catch his breath.

What was left of the crew watched as the top of the crow’s nest disappeared, the bay groaning and gurgling in its consumption. The ship you and many others once called home had been swallowed into the water’s depths.

A hand gently pressed into your left shoulder, its callouses felt through the singed holes of your shirt—the contact causing you to look at the much shorter man. “I’m sorry, Captain. You did your best.”

The words meant well, but instead of commiserating, they reminded you that this was your failure. When the sensation of your throat tightening and eyes misting began, you shook your head. There would be no grieving until a new home was acquired.

Looking back at the shorter man, face composed and emotions pushed to the side. “Do we know where we’ve landed, Sal? I didn’t have time to look at the map; when I saw the opening, I thought it would be the only chance for our escape.”

Sal’s singular green eye widened before looking around the visible area, knowing he would be the only one of you to see in such darkness. “Not sure, we’ve never been this far north before.”

Not good.

Standing up, you internally shivered as the sensation of wet, sandy, cloth peeled from your damp, chilled skin. The only possessions left were on everyone’s backs, holes and all.

A strike of panic set in at that realization. Taking inventory, a hand reached up to count the baubles that adorned your earnings, relieved to feel all was accounted for. Looking down at the blistered and burned fingers, you grimaced at the thought of how bad the pain would be when removing the various roughly smithed rings. One of the bands looked almost embedded past the first few layers of skin, potentially touching bone.

Sal had followed in checking his personage for anything of value, even lifting his eye patch and ensuring that the smooth, unpolished diamond he kept was still hidden in the empty socket.

“We’re going to be stuck on land until a new home can be procured.” Turning, you saw the group huddled together for warmth, teeth chattering as they shivered.

“From here on out, it’s dry land rules and roles. We’re starting from nothing, so best behaviors until that changes.” At the nods given in response, you turned to your first mate. “We need to start a fire; we don’t need anyone dying of hypothermia-“ Everyone froze at a distinct sound.

Hoof-beats.

The sound rumbled further up into the tree line, accompanied by voices that called out, echoing into the fjord. Lanterns swayed and grew brighter with each moment the owners grew closer.

Head snapping back to the others, you whispered, “Remember the rules. No one speaks until I say so.” A groan caught your attention just before Sal almost lost his balance. “What's wrong? Why-“ Pulling your hand away from the back of his head, you felt the warmth just as you smelt its metallic scent.

Your hand was entirely coated in bright red blood from just that moment of contact; a quick glance back at the sand where he had first laid showed a small puddle where the ground's compression had helped to pause the bleeding, only momentarily. “Why didn't you say anything?” you hissed before trying to apply what little pressure your pain-filled hand could tolerate. A gruff whisper was his only response: “Didn't want to worry you.”

“Idiot” was the only word that could be mustered while ideas sprinted in your mind at what to do next. The lanterns were getting closer, the voices becoming more evident each second. It was a gamble, but it was the only possible choice you could see.

“Someone, help us!” Shouting into the night air, voice raising louder with the following sentence. “Pirates have attacked us!” At first, the crew members' confusion read clearly on their faces, until your stern glare made them realize what was happening. One by one, they began clutching various parts of their bodies, crying out and groaning in pain.

Sal chuckled in your arms, shaking his head before he lost consciousness, his full weight now on you to hold up. Once the owners of the lanterns broke through the bushes, they rushed in to help. But it was clear that there was surprise on both parties’ sides when seeing who the other was.

Elves? Just how far north had you drifted?

Cirdan was genuinely shocked at what he and his townspeople stumbled upon. When first spotting the burning ship, the assumption was that the sailors aboard would be his own kind—not humans. As the others rushed to those rolling in agony on the sand, he quickly made his way to where you were struggling to maintain balance while holding a relatively short man.

Finally, you allowed the tears to flow, teeth chattering as the adrenalin began to wear off and what little warmth you had dissipated. “Please, help us.” The older elf’s heart broke at the sight before him, and within the hour, you and your crew had been taken back to town to be tended to.

By midnight, Sal’s head had been stitched and bandaged. Once asleep, the shorter man's snoring rattled the walls of the boat builders' small home. The other members' wounds had been cleaned before special herbs that none of you recognized were placed over them. With no spare rooms, Cirdan was left to care for the ship’s captain on his dining table.

The first rinse to clean the wounds on your palms had not been too painful. But as the elf used various instruments to take out the bits of splintered wood, broken threads of rope, and shattered glass, you began to think that he was torturing you instead of healing.

At another flinch, Cirdan’s focus shifted to take in your exhausted face. The grimacing expression telling how much you were ready to be done with the tedious task before you both. “Almost done. I am pleased to say you will still have full use of your hands.” He whispered.

As everyone else slept, only a few candles lit the small area needed to see as he worked. In search of distraction from the sensitive and tender discomfort, attention shifted to the papers scattered around the table he had you perched on. The first few were just lists and notes, but something caught your eye.

It was beautiful.

Triple-masted, square-cut sales, the hull was designed in such detail that it felt like, with one good shake, it would drop out of the page into the water.

As you became further engrossed with the drawing, you unknowingly leaned further and further. Cirdan looked up, ready to ask you to sit still again. But when he followed where your attention had gone, he smiled softly before gently guiding your palms back into the position needed. Focusing back on digging out a particularly stubborn glass shard, he egged on your curiosity. “If you enjoy that one, you should see the one you are sitting on.”

When a deep blush of embarrassment spread across your face, he chuckled. “Here, let me help.” With the boat master’s aid to lean to the opposite side now, he pulled free the design to lay the now crinkled paper on the table for easier viewing.

Just like the previous design, this, too, was stunning. Were such ships possible to build? Once back to work on your hands, you took the opportunity to shift your attention from the design to begin admiring the unique features of the elf's home.

Intricate hand-carved details were everywhere. Spiraled door handles, doorway arches with such delicate flowers and vines it was a wonder they didn’t break, and the wall next to the dining table was carved from ceiling to floor, detailing a flock of cranes surrounded by tall standing trees.

“Did you design them?” Attention back to the page that had previously been sat on. An idea began to form in your mind at his nod and smile. “They’re beautiful; building something as grand as those must take a lifetime.”

“They are, though I am not sure if they will ever be brought into existence.” The tone of his voice tells of the pride in his creations and the enjoyment of such praise.

Allowing your voice to soften, your head tilting, and your lips turning up at the corners as you spoke, “They’re unique. It's so clear in everything you touch that this is what you were meant to do.”

As you continued, the tips of pointed ears peeking out from silver hair tinged in a faint blush. “Every detail thought through so clearly,” Cirdan gulped as he nervously tried to focus on the task before him.

But the poor boat builder struggled even more when you teasingly smiled while praising his work. “Even your door handles and chairs adorn your touches.” Your eyes locked for a moment, just long enough to see the faint tinge of a flustered blush topping the apples of his cheeks. A single fluter of your lashes and you glanced at his lips for a moment before returning to the pages laid out.

“Um, Y-yes. Yes, I feel such joy and fulfillment in what I do and what it means for my people.” He placed the metal instruments down on the woven cloth that held other items, ones that looked sharper and more intimidating the longer you looked. The response was a murmured thank you as he began placing crushed herbs over the now clean wounds. As the gauze was wrapped around each finger delicately, it was Cirdan’s turn to ask a question.

“I am curious about your ship; it saddens me that I did not have a chance to see its beauty.” The fingers he still wrapped tensed in his hands; at looking up, he saw how the color left your face, eyes turned down; it was clear you weren't there with him at that moment. “Oh, I am sorry,” turning, he brought a warm cup of tea to your lips, your hands still unable to hold anything. “In my curiosity, I did not think of your pain and loss.”

The elves' eyes watched subtly as your lips curled and then relaxed to part, observing how your throat swallowed the warm liquid he had provided. Patiently waiting until you had your fill before putting the cup down and turning back to finish bandaging up to your wrists.

Cirdan finished the bandaging with the last wrap around your wrist. In the time it took to stand, gather the instruments, and look between you and his designs on the table, an idea began to form at the front of his mind. “Is it difficult to ascertain a new vessel in your homelands?” His back faced you as he cleaned the blood from the metal objects in the sink.

His shoulders dropped as your voice broke. “My home is very far from here.” For the second time in the night, the boat master felt his heartbreak at such sadness.

That settles it, then. He had to do something. There was only so long and so little room that Grey Haven’s harbor could offer hospitality, not to mention there being no clear path ahead for you. “What I say next, you must know, is not meant to push you out.” He watches the way you curl into yourself, preparing in resignation already.

“My home is small, not suited to provide the proper healing your crew needs. I will send a message to my king-,” Your eyes widen, shaking your head as you tell him no. But he will hear none of it. Raising a hand to stop your protests, the elf continues, “I will write to my king and ask that he finds it in his heart to show compassion, especially to those that deserve it.”

You tell him you don't know how to repay his kindness; he scoffs and drinks the now-cold tea to hide the blush dusting the apple of his cheeks. The rest of the night is spent playing a few games of chess. It would have just been one, but with your hands being as they are, you kept accidentally bumping multiple pieces around. With each game, the conversation turned back to ships, elven ships.

As the darkness of night began to give way to the first glow of dawn on the horizon, Cirdan excused himself to write the letter that would be sent ahead to Lindon’s Capital. At that same time, you went to Sal. Gently, you slinked into the bedroom so as not to wake the rest of the crew before sitting on the edge of the bed that was so graciously granted to your first mate.

“Sal, Sal!” You voiced louder than planned at the shorter man’s deep sleep, which refused to release him. Finally, the rough shake to his shoulder roused him. “Wha-Whats going on?” With a quick hand over his mouth to quiet him down, you pressed a finger to your lips before whispering. “I have just spent the last few hours speaking with our new friend. He has been very kind.”

You couldn't help but chuckle at the responding wiggling eyebrows, his single eye wide in excitement. “How kind?” You leaned in to reply with a whisper, a wicked smile its companion. “Kind enough to ask if his king would help us.” Sal’s jaw dropped in shock before punching your shoulder. “How in the hell did you pull that off?”

Sitting straight, the back of your hand pressed to your forehead, sighing dramatically before speaking, “Who will take pity on little ole me, a female captain with no ship to call home? My poor crew, so ill, that even elven healers struggle to help them.”

Shaking his head while chuckling, Sal crossed his arms while wiggling more comfortably into the bed’s soft feather pillows. “So what’s the plan?”

Your smirk grew at the question.

———————

With the first rays of morning light, a plan in motion, and rules set in place, you met with Cirdan and the escort outside his home, where a hiccup had already appeared.

You nervously approached the giant beast, flinching back when its large nostrils grunted out a rush of breath. “I’ve never ridden a horse before. Can I not just walk behind?” A sympathetic smile graced the boat master’s lips as the other elf mounted their steed. “Walking would take extra days that your crew may not have. If you are unsure of riding alone, ride with the escort; they will ensure your safe arrival.”

Anxiously, you nodded in agreement, unable to see a different path around the logic presented. A few awkward jumps and one petrified yelp later saw you and the expert rider heading up the road to the capital—the poor elf at the mercy of your fearfully white-knuckled grip in their ribs. The pain in your hands be damned.

Lindon’s Palace

My Dear King,

I write to you earnestly, asking that aid be offered to someone deserving of such compassion. A pirate attack has left my new friend without a ship or home, and a crew suffering from ailments beyond my healing capabilities. The ship's Captain will arrive with an escort so that you yourself can make sound judgments of their character.

Gil-Galad re-read the letter. In his years of friendship with the Lord of Grey Haven, only a handful of times had the elder asked for royal assistance, unlike some of the other stewards of his kingdom, who seemed to lack such abstention.

He sighed when sid-eyeing the pile of letters and scrolls stacked high upon the oak desk, still awaiting answers. Fiddling with the paper’s edge, unrolling it further as he sat in thought, a previously unseen line of penmanship caught his attention.

I suggest conversing over a game of chess; you may be pleasantly surprised as I was in their company.

Your Faithful Friend, Cirdan

With a scoff, he flicked the paper back to its place on the desk's clutter. It had been hours, and barely a dent had been made in the mountain of documents that had arrived the day before.

With his kingdom settling into a gentle rhythm after so many years of war, the High King started feeling something unexpected- boredom. Gone were the days of extreme stress, battle planning, and mourning for his people. Now, they were filled with small pleasantries, mastering crafts, and, unfortunately, paperwork.

Leaning back into the hand-carved chair, fingers rubbed along the pulsing ache of his forehead, pain caused by the hours of eyes straining on documents.

A groan left his chest when an unfortunately familiar warmth spread across the top of a kneecap. The morning’s rays had started to inch into his room, their gentle cares on his vestige announcing that another sleepless night had passed.

Muscles ached and throbbed as he stood to stretch before walking to the window to watch the sunrise. His attention to the sunrise over the horizon was shifted down from his room in the tower at the arrival of a horse carrying two persons.

One was an elf, and the other a human woman. It was hard not to chuckle while watching as her arms shakily reached out to the escort to assist in the dismount from their horse, legs wobbling once on solid ground. As the escort walked off with the creature to announce their arrival, she stayed in place, observing the entry area's flora and white-barked trees.

It was rare to see a human in his kingdom. Even in memory, it was a struggle to gleam the last one and when they came. It was not surprising, as curiosity peaked about the mortal creature that had appeared at random.

That is what he told himself, at least, as his eyes fixated on the wild wind-swept hair that glowed from the crepuscular rays of morning. And repeated internally again, when observing the silhouette outlined from the sheer fabrics she wore when bending to smell a vine of jasmine.

The voice was not repeated a third time when his eyes honed in on the gentle slopes of her bust; nipples pebbled hard by the cold morning's dew. Each movement allowed more and more to be revealed by the fabric's owner. The tall elf’s heart rate panicked at admiring rounded hips that harmonized with the tops of plush, strong thighs and a waist--

When a knock raps at the bedroom door, he jumps, placing a wide palm to his chest, letting out a breath he was unaware was being held. With a final glance back at the woman, he shakes his head and asks the attendant to come in.

“High King, a visitor has arrived from Grey Haven to speak with you. Master Cirdan has sent them.” Gil-Galad froze, and his heart rate, still yet to calm down from moments ago, increased.

A quick glance to the desk where Cirdan’s note sat, as its words read out in his mind. Certainly, she was not the captain he spoke of. What in the world was that blasted boatmaker thinking? The shorter elf’s expression made Gil-Galad realize he took longer than usual to respond.

“I will be there in but a moment. Please see that our guest is attended to until then.” Gil-Galad’s eyebrow quirked as his attendant paused awkwardly, a tilt of his head letting the shorter elf know to speak. “Sire, your meeting with the human may need to wait a few days so that-“ Gil-Galad held up his hand as the memory of sheer fabric flashed away just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Master Cirdan has informed me that the aid needed for the human stands on the direness of time. I will meet with them first during my morning meal; that should allow a better inclusion of my schedule.”

With a swift nod, the shorter elf leaves to inform the morning staff of the changes. In the reflection across from where he stood, exhausted eyes and a stern expression looked back. In a singular sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Just when it seems a moment to himself has appeared, the morning maids come in to prepare a bath and lay out the royal robes.

In toe behind them, the royal retainer began listing the days itinerary, explaining how every minute of the hours were filled with meetings, agreements, and document signatures. With a singular sigh and torpid blink, he turns to take the prepared bath and begrudgingly get the day started.

When an attendant had come to gather you and usher the way to an empty grand dining room to wait, it felt like a small gift.

Palpations had been occurring every few minutes since the moment your feet touched the ground after riding for hours. Hopefully, this would give time to help calm them. Chalking the rapid heart rate up to nerves and still feeling so tired, you reminded yourself that rest, food, and sleep would come eventually. But the plan took precedence over everything, no matter the cost.

The first few minutes were spent sitting at the opposite end of the room’s expansive stone table, until those nerves raised back up—skin itching, and not just on the slowly scabbing wounds of your hands. Legs crossed only to un-cross and then cross again. The liquid in the glass of wine on the table rippled from how hard your knee bounced. When all this did nothing to aid in the growing feeling of unease, you resorted to pacing back and forth, back and forth, until the feeling of dizziness came on.

At the sound of your stomach echoing into the quiet room, you side-eyed the table. The temptation was hard to resist at the site of the varying fruits, cheeses, bread, and dishes for breakfast. While subtle, the aromas still had made their way to your nose.

With a head shake, you continued pacing; by now, you were sure that a grove had been worked into the floor. Glancing back to the chair at the opposite end of the table, a small tremor corded its way from where the palpations started to both of your poor, still wobbling legs. One misstep, one accidental insult, and the plan would be over before it could be put into motion.

With a deep breath, you hoped to calm your heart’s racing; nervousness would not be an ally. Another breath, followed by many more in succession. Still, the beating thrummed with such intensity it felt as if the betraying organ was in your throat, determined to expel itself and do a jig at your feet to taunt you.

Distraction.

Distraction would help, you hoped. Turning around, you desperately tried to focus now on the grandiose tapestry that hung twenty feet in the air. Its textured masterpiece taking so much space that the raw threadbare edges touched the flooring and side walls.

Red, look for something red. Rose bushes came into clarity on the lower section. A breath, this one a little easier- but still, your chest held tight. Animals, find the animals. Swans were flying in the open sky of the fibers- was that a unicorn?

Each detail of the textile artwork helped to distract from the sensation that rattled against your ribs. In a further attempt to add comfort, you wrapped your arms around yourself, desperately hoping to soothe the nerves that struggled to dissipate.

____

Even after the warmth of a bath and fresh clothes, Gil-Galad found his heart rate had yet to slow since looking out the window. Surely it was just another sleepless night of work that made it hard to calm such a tempestuous beating? Obviously, this peculiar feeling was not brought on by how his mind's eye sought to wave the memory of curves, backlit in a warm glow—always right when mental clarity was needed.

When reaching the dining hall, Gil-Galad held up a hand to let his attendant know he would be entering the room alone, unannounced. Cirdan had made it clear that he should make a sound and solid judgment of the Captain's character before making any decisions in the offer of aid. A wisdom he would heed. Speaking would also be better without extra eyes watching. However, it would have been better if his mind had been allowed to think of questions to ask before this moment.

Quietly, the private royal entrance opened, its door only opening for him and him alone. Stone that once lay flat and blended into the wall shifted back, then slid just enough for his size to squeeze into the room—unnoticed. The internal expectation from past interactions with mortals was that his guest would be gorging themselves on the food laid before them. But once inside, surprise met that expectation. The only other chair besides his sat empty, the dishes untouched.

There, at the other end of the room, unaware of his presence, you stood. Elven ears picked up the sounds of deep breathing, eyes watching as your heavily bandaged hands rubbed your arms while swaying gently from side to side. Gil-Galad’s eyes trailed once more to the clothes draped on your figure. Cirdan had dressed you in something so sheer?

Perhaps the boat builder had not realized that the gift offered to you had been- No. Cirdan was too bright and observant to have missed something like this. That old perverted- at the memory of this morning, the realization he had no hill to stand on and judge hit him.

Yet, he could not look away. The tension came back to his chest, and just as it began to crawl its way down, inch by inch, to an area of his body that he refused to acknowledge, panic set in and forced the moment to break.

“You have yet to eat.”

With a yelp of shock, you nearly jumped out of your skin. Turning with wide eyes and a hand to your poor, overworked, thumping heart. Finding the voice’s owner standing at the opposite end of the room.

When first trying to picture what an elven king might have looked like, your imagination pulled from what was known of your own kind. Rulers that were repugnant, rotund, and gangrenous from a life of riches and idleness.

What you did not anticipate was to be greeted with the amused expression of a very tall elf, whose attractiveness you pretended not to feel any way about. It took a moment for the shock to pass before finding yourself. “N-no.” A breath. “No, I felt it would be rude to eat before my host arrived.”

It was as if time had frozen for a moment, two statues unmoving as they visually memorized what was in front of them. Sheer fabric clashed with the opulent, almost excessive layers of gold on the opposite side. Warm brown eyes, unblinking in their seriousness, scrutinized the shocked hesitancy in your own.

When you both tried to speak simultaneously, a polite smile graced his lips as he motioned for you to go first. A thanks would be the best choice, grateful that such a renowned, elven king would spare an hour to hear a poor human captain’s woes. Pleasantries to be embellished so prettily in their bestowment.

Sadly, that option would be ruined by a comically loud growl from your stomach, no doubt retaliation at being teased for so long by such appetizing smells. Gil-Galad watched as your eyes shut laggardly before opening again, now refusing to meet his own from embarrassment.

He gave you a gift of mercy in finding the strength to choke back a laugh. “It would appear that, as a host, I have been discourteous to test the patience of such a considerate guest.” Motioning for you to sit, he continued, “Please, eat. I would ask if you are hungry, but I believe that answer has already been given.”

Unlike the High King, you did not find the strength to choke back a laugh from the jest. When your eyes met again, an expression of mirth greeted the faint blush of your cheeks. Gods have mercy; this was going to be a challenge. The elf barely said two sentences, and already, you were struggling.

Gil-Galad gulped as you pulled up your chair to sit more comfortably; he could not understand the reasons for his nerves. His gaze trailed once more to the unexpected guest across the table, unknowingly unaware of the detail being taken in of your personage.

In the earnings that dangled down to the tops of your collar bones, polished beads of sea glass glowed, backlit by the candles behind you. Indigo-dyed whalebone and sea urchin spines brandished with petrified beads of amber hung on uneven lengths of fishing wire.

Rough and raw cut jewels adorned roughly smithed mental bands, assorted in the widths of rings that hung from your neck while your fingers healed. He would admit that such ornaments are much more maximal and eclectic than is commonly seen of his own kind.

His heart rate, which had just calmed, began racing again as he watched your lips part, tongue welcoming a bite of food. His vision tunneled to take in greater detail when your brows knit together in pleasure as the flavors danced across your palate.

Blinking, he pulled himself out of the hyper-focus when reaching forward to grip the golden handle of a wine glass. Trying to calm the returning tension he had felt when watching you from when he first entered the room. This was going to be a problem.

Light filtered off your fork, hand tremoring in hunger as the choices become overwhelming. It felt as if the room was getting darker and hazy around its edges. Cirdan had offered food when playing chess, but between the pain in your hands and the nausea from still coming down from the adrenalin of survival, any thought of eating was quickly turned down.

On top of that, the ship had floated for two days into the fjord without a bite of food or water. To say you were starving was an understatement. It took every ounce of self-control not to gorge like a wild animal after the first bite into a roasted pear with salted honey, its juices bursting in your mouth.

“Lord Cirdan wrote that your ship and crew were attacked by pirates and are in further need of aid.” The question caught you off guard, cheeks chipmunk-ed out at trying to fit as many roasted butter beans into your mouth as physically possible. Peeking up, it was obvious the elf knew exactly what he had done from the smirk that pulled from the edges of his lips.

As desperate as you were to swallow your way out of this, chewing was the only option. Could you simply spit out the beans? Yes, but that would only cause further humiliation for him to watch the act. Quickly grabbing the napkin laid under the other silverware, you covered your lips and cheeks as you chewed quickly, jaw clicking from the strain.

When finally able to get the last bit down to respond, another question was put forth. “What exactly happened to your ship, the- what was its name?”

Cirdan had been correct in knowing his king would hold no punches in the judgment of your character. Gil-Galad knew that his questioning was starting to get under your skin. And what better way to begin seeing someone for who they are than by seeing how they handle their frustration?

As the minutes passed and no response was given, his eyebrow raised expectantly. Were you trying to formulate a lie? At the tilt of his head, his eyes hardened. “Are you alright?”

You chuckled hollowly, feeling a spark of enjoyment in watching Gil-Galad’s expression change to irritation as you spoke. Two could play at that game. “Only waiting to see if there are other questions, Your Majesty. I do not wish to offend such a curious mind by interrupting its thoughts.”

Gil-Galad knew that if he were here, Elrond would snort out his wine. It appears that the High King would also be judged on how his temper would be handled. Raising his palm, he gave the motion to speak.

With a deep sigh, you tried to calm the frustration that had been brought forth. “My crew and I were set upon by pirates three days ago; their cannons tore holes into the hull of my ship. By some miracle, we escaped from being boarded, but in our escape, I had steered us into a waterway that none of us recognized.”

When no interruption came, you continued. “Lord Cirdan had seen my ship just as it began taking on more water than we could bucket out.” It was unnerving being watched so intensely, warm eyes unblinking in their judgment of every word uttered into the air. “He was kind enough to offer aid. But he realized we have no way of getting home, at least not any way that would not take years on foot.”

Still not a blink from the scrutinizing gaze, you gulped to wet your now cotton-dry throat as sweat dripped down your neck. “Asking for help is not something I have any practice in. But for the people that depend on me, I will do anything in my capabilities to see that they survive.”

Silence stretched between you both. Gil-Galad contemplated your tale, sight now set on the wine glass before him. When speaking of your crew and their care, he could sense no lies, but why was his gut tightening, waiting, and expecting? It felt as if something was missing. Perhaps speaking of such a harrowing escape was not something you wished to delve into further detail.

Or -gods forgive him- the tightening that was felt had nothing to do with your words, and more to do with the internal befuddlement trying to be ignored since your arrival.

You watched as golden fibers wrapped around the barrel waist in front of you strained against expanding ribs. A deep, belly-filled breath was exhaled slowly and quietly in contemplation. As his lips parted to speak, the dining room’s doors opened. The shorter elf that first guided you in giving a small bow.

“High King, I apologize for the interruption, but the lords are gathered and waiting for you.” Whatever tension that had been building was broken instantly. Fresh air from the outside corridor wafted in, and both of you took the opportunity to breathe.

The sound of chair legs scraped against the floor as he stood, an air of equanimity held in his stance as he stared down at where you still sat, slouched back into your seat. “Please forgive my sudden departure. I would like to continue this discussion later this evening if you are amenable to the offer.” He continued at the single nod you gave while walking over to his attendant.

“Please see that our guest is given a room and fed.” At the bow of the shorter elf, the two of them slowly walked out into the hall, leaving you to watch as the door closed behind them. Once Gil-Galad was certain that you could not hear, he leaned down to whisper one last order. “And see to it that she has…warmer attire prepared. I would not wish for our guest to take a chill from the temperature tonight.” At the hesitant bow given before the shorter elf left, Gil-Galad realized he was not the only one struggling whenever what you were wearing was seen.

Once alone, he sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose. It had only been a singular hour of the morning, and already, it was obvious that the day would be as long as it was stressful.

I have this idea that Gil-Galad is never truly content. War? -Hate it. Calm and tranquil? - Bored out of his mind. So when this Captain comes around he both loves and hates how hes feeling. I'm working on outlining the next chapter but it may take a bit before its edited and posted. So please be patient. Love you all and hope you enjoy and are surviging my friends!

Tag list below ⬇️ If you would like to be added to The Plan's tag list please comment to let me know.

Current Tag List:

@morganas-pendragons @clairevoyant813 @wild-typo-turtle @liar-anubiass-blog @0heimwaerts0 @melithril @yesnessieme @perse-cora @xcrybaby555x @angel-astre @aliives @inyx-writes44 @lifthy70-caladiel @charcoai-gray @supernaturalcat7 @moifcuv @ladyoflindon @affabletimelady @ladygrimmx @somethingabitspecial-blog @tjada-works-the-nightshift @kateris-world @99sunflower99 @vampireinadumpsterfire @chaotic-tes-posting @stardustcasey @fandomsbecausewhynot @small-carbon-lifeform @amblingmuse

All cat art used on this blog are by the artist Valioart found on pintrest.

#gil galad #tootoomanycats #the rings of power #ereinion gil galad #gil galad fanfic #gil galad x reader #high king gil galad #gil galad x you #gil galad smut #erenion gil galad #rings of power smut

39 notes · View notes

sleepypanda01 · 1 day ago

Text

cb theories/thoughts part 2 (Is Nox stealing Chase's narratonin?)

It is interesting how Nox's aggressive attitude toned down,and I am talking before the time he started warming up to Chase. The first time Nox confronted Chase he was really aggressive and angry.Yet he was willing to come to an agreement in the Cinderfella arc. Having a glimpse into his circumstances,it is understandable that he was mad to see his plans interrupted by an outsider. However,Nox's actions are confusing. It feels like he is torn between wanting Chase to give up but also helping him to complete the stories. Moreover,in the finale he is having second thoughts about continuing with his plans.

The questions that arise this time are the following:

1)Why was Nox suddenly willing to make a truce with Chase when he was so determined to kick Chase out of the books?

2)Why Nox insists so much on following the stories and completing them and even helps Chase when he is supposed to be his rival and wants him outside the books?

3)What is Nox's plan and why is Violet helping him? Is turning into a human his only goal or there is more to it and Violet benefits from it?

4)Why does Nox always assume that Chase will give up?

5)Why is Nox reluctant to carry on with his plans?

1)Nox was really mean at first, making it his goal to make Chase give up. I would like to point out that upon their first meeting, he checked on Silver to see her condition. If my theory in part 1 of Nox being the one who left Silver in the library is true,then he wanted to see if the crack was fixed and when he saw it wasn't,he might had gotten angrier and come to the conclusion that Chase wasn't even useful enough to gather enough narratonin for Silver to get fixed.

Thus,he called him a weak little thing, implying that he is not worthy to have a key and be included in his plans.

Despite all that,Nox was willing to entertain the possibility of Chase being in the books if he completed Cinderella right. Why did he change his mind after all the efforts to make Chase quit? What if their bet was actually a way for Nox to test whether Chase would be suitable enough to be included in his plans?

Why would it matter to Nox whether Chase did the stories right or not? Was it not his objective to make Chase quit and return the key? But he agrees to stop bothering Chase if Chase fulfills that one condition.

However, Nox seems pretty much convinced that Chase is unable to do the story right, so that could also be a plan to make Chase give up. Maybe he wanted him to lose the bet not only because he wants Silver back, but because he thinks this could be better for Chase. What if Nox's desire to get Chase out of the books did not solely stem from anger for interfering with his plan, but also an attempt to protect an innocent person. Maybe Nox secretly wanted Chase to lose the bet so he wouldn't have to use him or endanger him in any way.

This explains his pensive expression by the end of episode 7.He has to use Chase but he does not seem to be too keen on the idea of using an innocent person. Even Chase was wondering why Nox helped him and the answer to that is because it benefitted him in some way.

2) Even if Nox is Chase's rival and wants him to quit,that doesn't stop him from helping him and nagging him about doing the stories right. In the finale,it is implied that Nox needs narratonin and a wish to turn human again since he is some sort of key. If he is a key, it is possible that he can't earn his own narratonin,plus even if he could earn it,he must not have access to any books that he can enter to gather narratonin. For those reasons,the only way he can get narratonin is through Chase and that's why he insists on Chase doing things right. Maybe there are some certain conditions to be met that can allow Nox to steal the narratonin.

Nox also called Chase useful in the toffee arc, implying that Nox is indeed using him for something.

I also wanna mention that in the sick day arc,Nox nagged him that that day had been a waste of time FOR EVERYONE as Chase wouldn't earn any narratonin in his condition. That remark might have come from a place of concern since Nox is not the best at expressing his feelings,but what if it had double meaning? What if it was a waste of time for Nox too because he wouldn't get any narratonin either, because he steals it from Chase ?

Additionally, Chase has been down because he does not earn as much narratonin as Deacon or prunella, which is suspicious.

3) Nox's main goal seems to be to turn back into a human but there could be more to it. If he is some sort of captive, he would wanna escape too. Maybe Violet is helping him out of kindness, like Silver is helping Chase,and in exchange,once Nox is human again he will free Violet and the rest of the keys. (I also have another theory about Nox and the keys that I will analyse in another part concerning the theories I have about ex libris)

4) Nox always comments on how Chase is a quitter and how he expects him to give up on stories,and he is actually stunned he is still there (but not thrilled, which could hint at his guilt for using him)yet Chase always sees the books through to the end.

Even Chase tells him that he doesn't know him so he should stop jumping to conclusions. So where did Nox's assumptions come from?

I think Nox's remarks are more of a strategy to discourage Chase from continuing the stories ,rather than an observation of Chase's behaviour. Even if Chase used to find shortcuts or sometimes changes the narrative,we never saw him give up on a story (except for that one time in rules of engagements arc and we saw him feel bad about it, meaning that Nox's strategy of throwing negative comments at him does work on some level).

I would like to bring up that whenever Chase feels guilty about something, he projects his feelings on others. Maybe Nox has a similar habit and ends up making assumptions about Chase because it is more convenient for him. Nox does tend to project his feelings on Chase a lot. He always made assumptions about Chase,believing him to be incompetent, a quitter and even dishonest and underhanded.It is possible that Nox held onto these beliefs as if he wanted to create a narrative in which Chase was not a good or worthy person, convincing himself to adhere to this perspective while not wanting to give Chase the chance to prove him wrong so he can continue using him without guilt or try to discourage him so he won’t have to end up using him.

5) Finally, we see Nox in the finale being reluctant to carry on with his plans, probably because his plans include Chase without Chase's knowledge. Also,it is possible that his plans could hurt Chase,if he is stealing his narratonin then that means Chase can't have enough for his own wish.Not only that, but if Nox makes his wish then it won’t be possible for Chase to make his wish as there won’t be enough keys. After sharing an intimate moment with Chase and seeing him on the brink of death,he is forced to face his feelings and acknowledge them or even admit to himself that he does care for Chase and that would result in him not wanting to get in Chase's way anymore and prevent him from making his wish. He can't bring himself anymore to keep secrets from someone that he has come to care about, this is why he is hesitant to continue. His words even imply that Chase gives him more motivation to turn into a human again,so I don't think he wants to hurt him,at least not intentionally.

Bonus detail: @gremlinpenguin brought up the theory of Nox being in the transforming process of being a key and that is why he is differentfrom the other keys, which is a very interesting theory and it made me think that Nox could also be using the narratonin to slow down the process of the transformation like Chase is using it to make his mom feel better temporarily.

If you read this far, thank you so much for your time! I would love to hear your thoughts as well!

#cinderella boy #cinderella boy webtoon #cinderella boy punko

45 notes · View notes

t-t-tau-me · 1 day ago

Text

Sweet Lies, Bitter Truth: Shadow Milk

Minor spoilers for Beast yeast episodes 7

Time for another beast theory/speculation, This time on everyone's favorite clown!

I already speculated heavily on the psychology of Burning Spice Cookie when it comes to his love of Destruction, But what about Shadow Milk Cookie and is obsession with lying? I honestly think the answer is pretty obvious.

If you played Beast-yeast episode 7 with the crumbling cookie scene, or have seen Shadow Milk Cookie's gotcha animation, You might know what I'm going to say. Cookies didn't want to hear the truth. Let's start with the gotcha animation since technically you can see that before you go through the story.

https://youtube.com/shorts/7fF33p3d1o8?si=hqTD0ZtudVh9RAAv

The part that's important is the one scene of Shadow Milk holding up a key while cookies are nearby, with some of them becoming dark and feeding into a black tree that grows a blue apple. It can be assumed that the cookies there we're seeking the knowledge of shadow milk cookie, with some of them being unable to handle it. Later on those same cookies become blue and begin to dance while smiling, obviously under the influence of shadow milk cookie.

I think what this scene is showing us is shadow milk giving knowledge to cookies and the harsh truth being too much for them, causing them to spiral into despair As they simply couldn't handle the information. So as an act of "mercy" Shadow milk chose to give them lies they could handle so they could live in ignorant bliss. The truth isn't always a good thing, anyone who's told a white lie to spare someone's feelings knows this.

Imagine being made for the purpose of giving out knowledge the people, only to realize you've driven those same people insane with You're attempts to help. Now to make that feeling even worse, look no further than the crumbled cookie scene from Beast yeast episode 7. It's a simple but effective one.

After pure vanilla and the gang deal with some critters, they're left with a heavily injured cookie. The injured cookie is so badly damage that not even Pure Vanilla can heal them. In most cases, a lot of people would probably lie to the kid until the very end, making sure that their last moments could at least be a little less scary. Pure Vanilla Cookie can't seem to quite do this so he gets chastised by the dying child.

Could you imagine telling a kid they're going to die? Could you imagine looking Their parents and siblings in the eyes and telling that? How a cookie with practically the powers of a God failed to save the very people they were made for. Now imagine the hate and sorrow on their face when you give them the news, the rumors and lies that spread about your intentions, perhaps claiming that you had let the child die on purpose. After all, You clearly had to power to do something, Why didn't you?

Decade after decade...Centuries after centuries. The malice of the people you've tried to help for so long piles up over generations, Their lies curling around your mind like a constricting snake... Are they really lies though? At the beginning you probably would have denied it, But after being beaten down for so long... You can't help it question your own morality.

This is another reason why the beasts as a whole were sort of doomed to fail. It doesn't matter how powerful a person is, there's only so much you can take mentally over centuries upon centuries of the people you're trying to help actively hurting you in some way. In the end, Shadow milk probably couldn't handle such a reality. So he just made up his own! Everyone loves a good play, right? It always keeps them smiling and even at the most devastating at times they're entertained, who needs harsh truths when we can all just play pretend!

It's probably not as detailed as my last post with burning, But I hope I got my point across.

#cookie run kingdom #cr kingdom #cookie run #beast yeast #beast cookies #shadow milk crk #shadow milk cookie

25 notes · View notes

felikatze · 8 hours ago

Note

so robin and i were talking about the psychology of sora kingdom hearts, as you do. coded and how characters treat real sora vs how they treat data sora came up; and i know very very little about coded. and i was told you are the Coded Guy.

here's a free pass: talk to me about how people treat the little computer guy i want to know more about him :D

(crawls out of my cave covered in blood) okay i finally escaped enough hells to actually have the brainpower to infodump once again

the answer is. the answer is. they treat him like a friend.

the main characters who interact with data sora are mickey, donald, goofy, and data riku. and the first three in particular just treat data sora like he is sora. mickey introduces himself as d sora's friend, and d sora believes him. i've made posts waxing more lyrical about it, but-- those three are what made d sora a real person. i love it so much

i am struggling for words a bit rn, but like, the biggest point is, you know like, the point in hollow bastion where riku steals the keyblade so donald and goofy leave sora all alone`? well. well. the game does the exact inverse of this.

data sora's keyblade, this whole entire game, was an imitation of the keyblade created by mickey, because d sora skipped ever getting it. mickey spoke to him and directed his path before the journal, the recording of kh1 and com, got to the part where Sora Gets The Keyblade. So yknow, Mickey cheated one in, because Sora ought to have one!

And we're in hollow bastion here, Sora is being opposed by Maleficent (the real one), and she shatters his keyblade, because it's not real, and thus not unbreakable. It's not the proof of a heart. Data Sora, in this moment, is literally proven to be heartless. Except, well, not really.

THIS IS THE ONLY PART IN THE ENTIRE GAME WHERE YOU HAVE PARTY MEMBERS. Donald and Goofy swoop in to help D Sora out and fight for him, because he's their friend! You spend a whole section only having them for action commands, and relying on them to defeat enemies and activate switches while you are a defensless little boy running around trying to keep alive.

And by the end of it all, when you reach Maleficent again... Data Sora pulls out a keyblade. A real one. One that cannot be destroyed. Because in being treated as a human person, as more than just the program, the recording he is supposed to be, he became real. He gained a heart.

The disney trio treat him Precisely No Different At All from the actual Sora. They just treat him like they pick up right where they left off like they just talked yesterday. One quick introduction of "Yeah, I'm Mickey, and I'm your friend!" and that's all it takes. That's all it takes.

It's a fascinating position because data Sora only exists as a tool, an avatar, a sentient antivirus to figure out what the hell is wrong with the code. They don't need to treat him like a person at all.

In fact, we have our foil here in Data Riku, who is aware of his own purpose as the avatar of Jiminy's Journal. He is keenly aware that he is a visual representation of a complex program. He is this entire world. And when he is failing his purpose, he asks to be destroyed. But it is Data Sora, who has been treated like a real person, who has become a real person, that insists Data Riku can be saved, and then does so, in that typical Sora tenacity.

Data Sora is just Fascinating because none of the bad things ever happened to him. There was no fall of Destiny Island, there was no betrayal from Riku, there was no princesses getting kidnapped, just more episodic adventures as he is guided the entire way and knows he's fighting for a good cause and knows and hears and feels that he is not alone.

None of the bad things ever happened to him. His adventure is comfortable. Friendly. Episodic.

I know Robin sent you a rom of this game, Robot, and I don't even know if I want to talk about everything that happens After Maleficent if you haven't experienced it firsthand, because it is wild.

Because (re)coded doesn't ask "Is any of this for real or not?" it asks, "Does it matter if any of this is real?" and the answer is, no. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if it can all be reset and wiped away with the press of a single button. Because it moved our hearts, it invoked emotion. Even if it cannot be remembered, the impact of it, the afterimage, the way it has shaped us as people, will remain. And the loss will be worth it, because in that loss is where we feel what we had.

Is it better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all? Yes. In the loss, you feel the love. There is no such thing as "reality", only what you perceive it to be.

So yes, the computer program is a real boy, because he's your friend, and you love him, and he learned to love you back.

#Feli gets asked #recoded invokes emotions in me .

22 notes · View notes

howlsofbloodhounds · 2 days ago

Note

Hehehe. For the new book. How far would you say Color would go in his jealousy?

Would he drive Epic away, maybe even badmouth him to Delta? Would he grow increasingly possessive of them, insisting to do everything possible together? Or would he cry and beg, desperate to be loved, wanting to know if he did something wrong for Delta to seek out others and make new friends.

Just how far would his jealousy go?

(I was not kidding when I said that this one would be even angstier than the last. Also if I sound weird, forgive me, it is 12:30 where I live and I am very tired)

Even though there is jealousy, i think Color would more so be driven by an intense fear of abandonment and a deep sense of insecurity that breeds desperation. He doesn’t want to be abandoned—he doesn’t want to be alone, above all else.

He (and likely the souls too) would be deeply concerned and afraid of doing or saying anything that drives Delta away for good—including behaviors like badmouthing their friends. Color also deeply values his morals and beliefs, his sense of integrity and justice, and anything he says or does that seems to go against that or makes him feel like a hypocrite is felt intensely as well—to him, he is suddenly all bad, he is wrong, he is evil and a liar. A horrible person.

(Even if it was just something said impulsively, or out of anger or hurt, or even just a simple ‘human’ mistake that anyone could make. A mistake that Color himself likely wouldn’t hold against anyone else for doing or saying. If Color does it, though, he punishes himself for it—he feels like he’s failing Justice, he’s failing Integrity, and may even be failing Patience and Kindness.)

On top of that, saying something bad about Epic in the spur of the moment would probably send Color spiraling further into self hatred, especially if Delta reacts badly to that, because he doesn’t believe he should be feeling this way at all. He barely even knows the guy by this point, and Color is all too aware that what he’s feeling isn’t rational—but he can’t stop it, and that’s the problem, and it hurts.

But he can’t be alone again, and no one else is going to put up with him the way Delta has, are they? They’d all leave him and forget about him the second he became too much, too clingy and needy. The second he became too much of a burden to bother wasting time dealing with.

I think it’d be more about himself, and about Delta, at the end of the day—then it is about hating or being jealous of Epic, even if Color doesn’t always say or think kind things about him in the height of his intense emotions, and even if saying and thinking those things always make him feel even worse about himself after the fact. Perhaps even starting to think that, if Delta does actually leave or replace him with Epic, then he deserves it.

I could see both given the right conditions, but I think Color’s first instinct would be to punish himself for it—first by trying to suppress everything, every single “bad” thought or feeling about either Delta or Epic, which could trigger stress related dissociation or psychosis episodes—such as auditory hallucinations mostly, possibly surrounding the idea of Delta talking about leaving, or insulting him, or laughing with Epic about him and mocking him, or even of Papyrus.

Color might turn to the behaviors that offer him comfort but ultimately can be harmful, such as binge eating and impulsive buying and spending.

When push comes to shove, such as Delta trying to confront Color about his behaviors lately, trying to talk about it, or even somehow making Color feel trapped or like he can’t leave and cool off, perhaps it triggers Color into an explosive outburst—targeted at Delta.

Accusing him of lying to him all this time, accusing him of having never actually cared about him and seeing Color as a “burden” or “a hassle” or “boring”—in comparison to his new, more fun and funny friend, Epic. Telling him to stop “pretending” to care, etc. This may even lead to the latter, with the crying and desperation.

So basically, if doesn’t have to be one or the other—there can be elements of both, building up to eachother, with Color trying to play a balancing act between how he feels and his fear of abandonment, shame and guilt for feeling that way, and feeling like he’s failing the souls and Delta leading him to try and hide and suppress those emotions.

It’s possible he may even eventually try to distance himself from Delta, in an attempt to protect himself from feeling the pain of Delta’s abandonment (perhaps likely spending more time with others as well, such as Core!Frisk, Ink, the Abyss Team and Lust, trying to distract himself and the creeping thought that maybe he should’ve just stayed in the Void) but also periodically coming back, because Color fears being completely alone entirely and doesn’t like that thought that maybe Delta has noticed he wasn’t there and felt abandoned too, felt the same way Color has been feeling—which Delta would likely notice, and not just let happen without bringing it up.

21 notes · View notes

green-crow · 3 days ago

Text

Absolutely self indulgent post but

HTTYD characters and what TMA entities I'd assign them

(just as a disclaimer, I'm assigning them one that fits their personality, and another one that fits their fears, sort of what they'd thrive in and get pulled into to become an avatar VS what would kill/feed off of them)

Hiccup:

Personality-wise, the vast is just too good of a fit for him. Part of why Hiccup loves flying is his friendship with Toothless no doubt, but he also adores the vastness of the sky, the fact that there are literally no limits for him. He could go and on and on, and he probably would have were it not for his responsibilities in Berk and his friends later on. This boy would be seen having fun as an avatar of the vast like Fairchild, he'd have such a blast. Bonus points if he has some sort of special bond with Toothless, like Breekon and Hope. Without the one, the other crumbles. They are truly one and the same. I feel like for him to become an avatar, he'd have left Berk in the first movie when he tried to. Fly away instead of facing Hookfang in the arena, have an encounter with the vast, turn into an avatar and never look back. Now, when it comes to his own fear, I'd probably go with the buried. This boy has been on the verge of drowning a few too many times, one of them being in a relatively small space while closed off to everyone else, so he'd absolutely crumble if he got an experience similar to the cave sisters or getting thrown into the coffin. Not to mention the metaphorical spin of this fear that also applies to Hiccup's struggle with being chief. Gone would be his infinite freedom, the endless possibilities of flying off with no worries at all, just him and his best friend. Instead he'd be crushed with responsibilities, buried in the life of a chief far too deep to ever escape. I do like this fear for Hiccup too because it's the opposite of his assigned one, so it gives it even more power.

Astrid:

Slaughter. 100%. I considered the hunt as well, but I feel like this fits better. She's a warrior, a soldier, she's a troop ready to kill and take on any and every enemy in her way to get what she wants. She doesn't have a clear victim, she doesn't hunt others, rather she just has this deep, unpredictable sense of violence rooted inside her that the slaughter would love to get their hands on. I have no doubt she'd become an avatar extremely soon, being marked since little and starting off with dragons before moving on to actual people. Disclaimer because I don't want people thinking I'm an Astrid hater, I'm not saying she's always angry and will kill someone over the tiniest thing unless you are Snotlout, but rather that her anger issues would be perfect for the slaughter to get a hold of her. She kind of reminds me of Melanie in some ways, and if I trust anyone to do what Melanie did, it would be Astrid. As for what she fears... I don't think we see much of Astrid's fears, except for her fear of losing Hiccup or those she cares for. So, the girl is getting into the desolation. I can't help but remember the episode in which she almost lost her parents, and for some reason, I always pictured the house going down in flames. This would fit perfectly with the desolation, her loved ones taken away by a sudden flame, destroying lives for a senseless reason such as war and vengeance. I've also considered the corruption, given she almost died of a rare illness that one time, but I'm not too sure about it. She wasn't really scared as she suffered, more like confused and weak, but not scared of the end that was drawing in or the fact that she was ill. She also isn't the biggest fan of the spiral given her annoyance towards the twins, but I think that's more just her trying to keep things organised and running and getting frustrated when they aren't, not an actual fear.

Snotlout:

This one, for the personality one at least, is a tough one tbh. I'm not sure what would feel right for him, maybe because I've yet to study him closer, but for starters, I'd go with desolation personality-wise. Yes, maybe I chose it because he literally has a dragon that sets himself on fire at will, yes, maybe because he discovered a gel that makes everything flammable and canonically uses it for his own amusement. But what if there's more to it? Snotlout obviously has this deep-rooted fear of not being enough, so he always one-ups everyone. He tries to be the strongest, the bravest, the one who saves the day and gets the chick. But with flames on his side, he has a new way of feeling superior. With just the smallest of efforts, he can set aflame anything he wishes. He can burn things, animals, people. He can control fire, and thus, he is superior to others for it. I think in a twisted TMA version of him, Snotlout would love to end others before they can surpass him or just use fire to hurt and diminish others to appear better and stronger. As for what he fears, oh boy, this guy is going straight into the lonely. "The fear of isolation, of being completely cut off and alone or disconnected from the rest of society." Now go to the episode in rtte where he has a nightmare about everyone turning their backs on him and casting him away from their lives. Obviously, for him, it's not so much isolation in itself that scares him but the mix of loneliness and others finding him pathetic and weak, a fear courtesy of his daddy. I do feel like Snotlout is a very social person who needs others around to function, as his whole character arc is a journey of him trying to fit in by following the rules his family, mostly Spitelout, set for him, and the chance of never finding his spot for one reason or another terrifies him. The lonely would have a blast torturing him by making him feel invisible and go unnoticed.

Fishlegs:

I feel like Fishlegs would get pulled into the eye. His curiosity and wish to learn more are some of his main personality traits, so no wonder the incarnation of curiosity would pull him in. I feel like his descent into it would be similar to John's: slowly, without him noticing at all, but being tempted to go deeper and deeper, getting small treats and glances at what he could reach to know. Not to mention how paranoid he gets when he has no sleep as shown in that one rtte episode, which is very similar to season two John. Only when it is too late, he'd noticed he had trapped himself into the position of an avatar, hurting others and acting as the monster he'd be then. I'm not sure he'd go all the way, though - John was alone, paranoid, hurt, it was easy to tempt him further. Fishlegs, however, is far too kind and has Meatlug and his friends for support. He wouldn't reach the avatar level, but I think he'd be a follower at the very least. The issue about trying to pinpoint the fear that would end a character as fearful as Fishlegs is I don't know which one would affect him the most. The lonely would certainly fit, he is a very loving person and would be devastated if he didn't have, say, Meatlug or Hiccup around, and we see him plenty of time searching for validation from his peers, in a way no doubt to fit in with others. But I think he'd be fine being alone, and rather he fears the loss of those connections in itself. Thus, he has a high chance of getting attacked by the desolation. He would do anything for his loved ones, sacrificing himself and overcoming his fears just to save them, partly fuelled by love and, in this case, also fuelled by the fear of losing them. Another interesting fear for him would be the extinction. I have no doubt that in modern times Fishlegs would be into climate change discussions, researching ways to stop the effects of pollution and maybe the effects it has on different species, be it plants or animals. I wouldn't be surprised if he was scared about the end of it all, not death itself, but rather the extinction of different species as the world sinks further and further into desperation. I've also considered the end or the hunt, but, I feel like at least in the show he can get through those, therefore while he fears death or being hunted by others, those wouldn't be his main fears.

Tuffnut & Ruffnut:

Spiral. What, you thought I wouldn't assign the fear of madness to the chaotic Loki worshippers? I considered the desolation for a few seconds given their love of blowing stuff up, but come on. They are the spiral avatar. Michael and Helen should be taking notes from them. You see a yellow door, or in their case probably zippleback gas, and you run. I trust these two to actually perform The Great Twisting and do so flawlessly. The distortion would thrive with these two, no doubt, and the world would be severely fucked. As for what they fear, I'm going to treat them separately in a second, but they do have things in common. They don't have any clear strong fears, except the whole "tears" incident with Tuffnut, which might not even be fear and just something else entirely, and the few times they do seem scared, it's stuff they get over with pretty soon. They obviously don't fear the desolation (while they were sad about the change of getting separated, Ruffnut acted accordingly to Tuffnut's "death", I feel like it was just regular grief, not really an over-the-top reaction (for what the twins are used to) to the loss itself (plus I already assigned it to many people and didn't want to repeat myself)), the corruption (these are the guys who eat mouldy bread and their own toenails just fine), the slaughter (violence is more of a game to them rather than a fear, even when directed towards them), or the spiral. (disclaimer of mild gore incoming; skip ahead to the next character's section if you want to skip it)

For Tuffnut, I'm going with the flesh and the hunt. The main reason I'm assigning two right off the vat is that while both are good fits, the flesh is not really a thing until the Industrial Revolution, so I feel like just like Fishlegs with the extinction, it wouldn't be possible for him to be haunted by it without being part of a modern times AU. Regardless, here's my thought process for both: When I started assigning these to characters I really wanted to give the flesh to someone, and I feel like Tuff is the best candidate. After bonding with Chicken, he is way more perceptive of what he and others eat, especially around his feather friend, and I wonder if that could also be thanks to some kind of fear being transferred from Chicken to Tuffnut. Tuff is highly empathetic, always caring for Chicken's opinions, thoughts, and reactions, so it wouldn't be such a stretch to say he'd somehow understand Chicken's fears to a deeper level than most. In modern times, with how the meat industry works and how exposed Chicken would be to the mutilation and breeding of her kin just for meat, I have no doubt both the bird and Tuff would realize they are just animated meat and bones, a bunch of food ready to be torn apart, disfigured, and cooked. I can see him having wacky nightmares about being reincarnated into a bird himself and then torn apart, feeling every single bite and pull of a human or a creature devouring him. For the Viking era, though, the hunt is my go-to. Following the same line of thought, Tuff would be very empathetic to Chicken's fear of being hunted down as prey to the point of sharing it. We also have some instances where Tuff himself is the one hunted down, like the wolf biting him or the episode where he meets Chicken and is surprised by the night terrors. I feel like, eventually, that'd get to him to the point of being genuinely scared of beasts lurking nearby waiting to hunt him or Chicken down. And as a special mention, I'm also including the dark. It's only because I remembered Ruff mentioning Tuff being scared of the dark when they were kids, so, for the one time I get an actual fear spelt out for me, I'm not throwing that away.

Now, as for Ruffnut, I was completely lost so I went to the wiki for help, and wouldn't you know if I found this: "In the DreamWorks Dragons: The Series, despite having tamed Barf (and technically Belch), she seemed to have a slight fear of wild dragons that could potentially kill her and would often panic in situations in which she encounters a wild dragon. It's also shown that she might be afraid of dying, even to the point of naming the Scauldron "Please-Don't-Kill-Me".". Well, that makes things easier. Ruffnut would be haunted by the end. I guess the hunt would also be an option, given she is scared of wild dragons presumably hunting her down, and it would be cute if she shared a fear with her brother, but ultimately, I think she has either overcome the fear or never had it to begin with. In Rtte, she seems fine being chased down by hunters or infiltrating Viggo's base even with the knowledge that she'd be most likely hunted down and trapped when found. So, ultimately, the end is the one and only fear that would haunt her to the end of times. Sorry I don't have a more in-depth analysis for her; I genuinely couldn't think of anything Ruff would be scared of. If anything, the fears should fear her.

Dagur:

Well, if we take a look at his nickname... Yeah, Dagur the Deranged screams either the slaughter, the hunt, or the spiral. And from those three, I'm leaning more towards the first two. This boy was out for blood since the beginning. But unlike Heather, I feel like he does more violent acts in a fit of madness rather than holding premeditated long hunts. He enjoys the thrill of the battle, but not so much the actual process of getting closer to his prey before ending them. The slaughter manifests as people driven "mad with Slaughter," and Dagur sure does fit the description. He did not care what he grabbed, he just wanted a target to torture and kill. Dagur spends his whole life going from victim to victim in a mindless rage rather than an animalistic or premeditated kind of way. It's violence for violence's sake, and he excels at it. If anything, I feel like most of the people he goes after are mere excuses to perform violent acts, even if, later on, they might actually become real enemies and give him reasons to hunt them down. He would be a follower of the slaughter from an early age, considering his track record, and would rise as an avatar quickly. As for his fear, the desolation makes an appearance once again. I feel like while in his villain era, he did not care about anything or anyone. The slaughter was all he could focus on, all he cared about. The thrill of battle, downing his enemies, why think about anything else when you have those? But after that, after almost dying and straying away from that mindless violence, he started to care. Shattermaster, Heather, his father, Mala, Sleuther, his village... He has people to protect and look after. And knowing firsthand just how ruthless people can be, I feel like the fear of losing everything he worked so hard to get would slowly creep onto him. After falling out of the position of avatar of the slaughter other fears would see him as weak and vulnerable, and I have no doubt the desolation would take him as prey. Funnily enough, one could argue he'd also fear the slaughter or a mix between the two. And it would be pretty petty but also in character of a fear to consume what was once theirs.

Heather:

Given her whole arc of finding and killing her brother... Yeah, Heather gets the hunt. She isn't mindlessly violent like Astrid (not saying Astrid is violent 24/7, rather her anger issues make her most likely to react violently), but rather, she chooses her targets and hunts them down. Dagur, Viggo, whoever it is Heather does not stop once she has marked her enemy. I'd love to see a monstrous version of her similar to Daisy's, but instead of turning into a wolf, Heather would become an enraged razorwhip. ...And now I'm thinking about Heather and Astrid as Daisy and Basira, great. That's a thought for another day. Regardless, Heather the unhinged would definitely get pulled into the hunt at an early age, being vindictive and resentful, and growing up into a fine warrior. She has a thirst for blood, no doubt, and the ability to end with someone else with relative ease. The hunt would be very pleased with her. I've also considered the lonely since she seemed very happy minding her own business before joining the riders or Dagur, but the hunt is just such a perfect fit for her. Now, for her fear, this girl has a long track record of being haunted by the desolation. Losing his parents (both biological and adoptive), part of his village... She can't catch a break. She most likely was marked by the fear right after Dagur set her adrift, and with that, she became that much more vulnerable to it. I can see a world where she becomes so haunted by this she eventually turns into an avatar or the desolation rather than just a victim, sort of like Helen with the spiral, but there would at least be a bit of a back-and-forth between the hunt and the desolation to fight for this girl.

Viggo:

This man wouldn't get pulled into the web, the web would be pulled towards this man. The scheming, the strategies, the toying with your victim and letting them think they indeed have free will only to control them from the shadows... Oh yes, if he was a powerful enemy back then as just a human, imagine with the power of being an avatar. I do wonder at what point he'd turn into an avatar, but I feel like pre-rtte events would make sense. His whole empire would be just a way for him to spread his web of lies and deception, to trap more people into his real-life game of maces and talons, and Hiccup would definitely be at the top of his list. Who knows, maybe it could even be a family thing like the Lukas family with the lonely? I don't think Ryker would be an avatar of the web though, so maybe only partially. As for his fears... Well, we don't see much of that, but I'd discard the hunt, the desolation, and the end. He lost everything, he sacrificed himself without a second thought, and he was hunted down multiple times, all without showing much fear (he was scared when he fell into the volcano but that doesn't seem to me like a strong contender for fear of death or fire, rather just a regular reaction to falling into an active volcano, as one does). If anything, maybe he'd be a victim of the spiral? Hear me out now, Viggo is an extremely intelligent character. His mind is his key weapon, the one and only thing he can always trust. Not his men, not his brother, not his strength, not his gold. His mind. The idea of losing it, of his sanity thinning little by little, growing paranoid of everyone around him... If he fears something, I don't doubt it'd be madness. Oh just how delicious it'd be for the spiral to toy with this man! Michael would certainly have a field trip playing with Viggo.

22 notes · View notes

randomfoggytiger · 2 days ago

Note

Please correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't Scully just return the "Laura" when Mulder called her Scully in Arcadia? If I remember, in the scene where Mulder is picking the "blood" from the ceiling, Scully is carrying the box of dishes from the front door, says "Mulder" to which he responds "Rob". Scully doesn't give much of a response or "look", but Mulder does give a mouth response when Scully reminds him "Laura". They were both teasing and playing with one another. I see it as the Mulder-Scully tease-o-foreplay.

For sh*ts and giggles, let's say that the IV time is occurring during part of season 6. When Mulder tells her that she is making it personal and Scully is trying to get him to see that he shouldn't fully trust Diana, well yeah she should make it personal. He had more than just a work partner to lose. Scully had trusted him to be part of this crucial aspect of her life and now it was as if he was pushing this bond of theirs to the side. The threat to Scully was not just another woman who ws part of the corrupt group that has tried to kill her, took her fertility but the threat is that she would lose her partner who is helping her on this journey and subsequently lose the potential gift of a child.

Moreover, I don't buy the "all knowing man" who told Scully that he knew her real hair color and was surprised when she invited Mulder into her bed one lonely night. First of all, the syndicate knew how important Scully was to Mulder (ahem get rid of what he can't live without), so anyone paying attention/spying on them would know the depth of their relationship and what they mean to each other;therefore, falling into bed together would have been expected at some point. This leads me to think that MAYBE, just MAYBE, she let him into his bed on a lonely night early in their relationship. Perhaps after her breakup with Ethan (i know the audience didn't see that but why couldn't it have happened off screen), on one of those days when she was feeling like her life was standing still or when she was itching for companionship once she no longer had time to spend with her friend, sister, or family, maybe when he brought her home when her cancer was in remission? That, to me, would make sense of why anyone would be surprised that they slept together before he chased her across the world to save her. After that, it would be "of course they slept together. What, it's been 4 years already."

Sometimes, it seems as if the storylines were pulled out like Bingo balls without consideration of how things connected.

Hi, yes, hello-- sorry this took a bit: I was so stoked to talk about my favorite episode that I had to make sure nothing would be around to distract my focus. >:DDDD

(Your IVF premise sounds exactly like @sunflowerseedsandscience's Someday Your Child May Cry (which was my first long-form IVF arc AU, actually.) Highly recommend if you haven't given it a flip-through.

I do have a full breakdown of Arcadia-- here, here, here, and here-- that digs into the motifs and themes as well as Mulder's and Scully's separate perspectives. (And these screenshots, which will never not make me want to combust with laughter.) However! Let's do this!

ARCADIA'S ROB-AND-LAURA GAME

Arcadia begins with Mulder hamming it up, chafing under Skinner's assignment, and Scully tolerating his buffoonery as long as he doesn't make her look ridiculous by proxy (hence why she shoved him off in the house with a look-- a "that's too far, buddy" mild reproof. He nods and accepts this... then doubles down later.) Which... she's kinda right: the local speculation ends up being that she's affluent and he's a househusband himbo (post here.)

By the time the neighbors have packed up, the duo exchange mutual innuendos and Mulder has realized Scully wants to "play house"-- which sets him on a mission to make her regret that thought the rest of the episode (not unkindly, but purposefully.) Henceforth, he hams up the dutiful husband not just to the neighbors but to her, as well; and gets the ball rolling when she hauls in Big Mike's dishes:

"Mulder...." Scully begins, puzzled over their neighbor's anxiety.

"The name... is 'Rob'," he answers, pleasantly engrossed in digging possible gore from the ceiling fan. When he joins her on the ground, she steps into his personal space without conscious thought; and doesn't withdraw.

From then on out, it's a game of advance-and-retreat: Scully snuggling up to his shoulder while they talk to Wynn then Gogolak; Mulder overdoing his overtures (or locking eyes in a pointed "I see that" glance) until she retreats. After the dinner at the Schroeders, Mulder jogs into Scully's bedroom with Big Mike's caduceus and throws his shirt past her head. Scully, miffed, retreats to the bathroom; but she's not miffed enough to send him packing.

A few things become apparent:

When Mulder concludes, "I take it he's dead, Scully," she replies, "'Laura'"-- not skipping a beat. They're both alone and Scully likely believes no one's nearby to overhear them... yet, she insists on still coupling herself with Mulder. It may be a joke but the context of that joke is entirely different, given Mulder's reaction (an exaggerated "Well, aren't you bossy?" face while mouthing Okaaaaay.

She pleasantly chastises his toothpaste rolling abilities... meaning Scully's sharing a toothpaste with him, in her bathroom, in her bedroom, instead of getting a different one or sending him out to get his own....

She chastises Mulder for leaving the seat up-- "Third warning: toilet seat"-- meaning Scully let him use the toilet in her bathroom in her bedroom as long as he follows the rules (reminiscent of Bad Bood's lack of motel boundaries.) She also doesn't tell him not to use it anymore.

She slathers her face in a wash-off face mask, determined to do her pampering routines despite Mulder's domestic pearl clutching (which Scully predicted, given her non-reaction.)

When does Scully drop the 'Laura' bit? Well:

Mulder pats the bed, wiggling his eyebrows. For a split second, she's pulled up short, breath catching; then her partner doubles down on the goofy, not-to-be-taken-seriously "C'mon, Laura-- we're married now" behavior, and her face drops before she rallies and restates, "'Scully'. Mulder, goodnight."

He shuffles off, pretending to be disappointed-- "The thrill is gone"-- but she sees it, nearly rolling her eyes at his affronted posture (his "Peter Pan playing at being a married grown-up" act.) They shuffle their separate ways, personal situation successfully deflected.

The game of 'Rob' and 'Laura' is over, a tie. They quickly transition to more serious work as the case continues to unfold-- Scully going into town to investigate the mystery gunk (ketchup and garbage), Mulder "working from home" for his stakeout-- and that is the end of that.

THEORIES

Oh, the IVF journey would have certainly re-colored One Son and Arcadia. Given the scenes we're shown in Per Manum, it was undeniable that this "having a baby, this" between them was already changing the flavor of their dynamic. Personally, I don't think Mulder would have behaved the same way (or at least to the same extent) because he was duping himself into believing his read on Diana was impartial and impersonal-- she was just a "good friend"-- and that Scully was the one being partial and personal via suspicion or jealousy. (Again, Mulder's beliefs are so strong they're, to quote E.B.E. Scully, "blinding".) Those feelings would have been ten times harder to recontextualize to himself if they were in the midst of making a baby.

I don't believe the man in Season 9, either-- but, for those that do, I posit he saw Mulder and Scully walk back to her apartment post-Millennium, or soon thereafter, and built his suppositions off of that one time.

Per your theory, I think they would have to sleep together sometime post-Milagro because Padgett was preying on Scully's established bone-deep loneliness (post here.)

Scully feared her importance would always be second to "the truth"-- if Mulder had had sex with her beforehand, that fear wouldn't linger in the same way... or it would transform into an uglier fear: that her "desperation" killed the crackling potential between them, and that Mulder had decided his quest was still more important. That 'still' would be a completely separate discussion than what Milagro accurately (per Scully's reactions) presented as her struggles with isolation and raw, human want and need.

However, this is The X-Files: to borrow a @baronessblixen tag, CC changes his mind more than other people change their underwear. So, you never know~.

CONCLUSION

And that's that for this meta! :DDDDD Thanks for your theories, anon. They were definitely food for thought.

#txf #xf meta #x files #Arcadia #Mulder #Scully #S6 #thoughts #mine #asks #anon #thanks for droppin in!#IVF #theories and thoughts

17 notes · View notes