#but their dynamic is it’s own thing that I’m still fine tuning in my brain

[painted-fanbird]

Agit got me thinking about, of all things, a Halfa!Jazz AU and I am having a BLAST with it in my brain <3

Jazz doesn’t have a lot of canon content, so there’s plenty of blanks for me to fill in. This Jazz is a curious thing, she hungers for knowledge and she loves learning. She’s very studious, and has been since she was young, so she ultimately doesn’t really have any friends because Amity Park is a small town and her reputation has been firmly established as a responsible, mature, know-it-all and teacher’s pet Jazz. Good for tutoring, not good for inviting to parties. Not that she’d go anyway, she always says no.

It ends up being that insatiable curiosity that sends her into her parents lab after their latest project doesn’t work. That has her stepping into this very strange machine, wondering why exactly it didn’t turn on. Is something missing? Was it not plugged in? It wouldn’t be unlike her parents to forget to plug it in, they can get ahead of themselves in their excitement sometimes.

She accidentally leans on the button.

You know what they say; curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

[jinko-hellhound]

a pinch — bungou stray dogs — atsushi & dazai (platonic!)

atsushi is having an awful night, and his mentor comes to bother him. a short, definitely non-comprehensive exploration of atsushi and dazai’s dynamic, platonic touch, and emotional vulnerability. originally written for @dazaibirthdayweek2024 (and being archived here on my new fic blog)!

words: 2,170

first published: 6/16/24

relationships: dazai osamu & nakajima atsushi

tags: fluff and angst, platonic relationships, implied/referenced child abuse, dazai osamu is a mess, nakajima atsushi needs a hug, post-traumatic stress disorder, childhood trauma, no romance, beast beneath the moonlight, no longer human

crossposted on ao3

The Agency dorm’s walls are paper-thin, so when Dazai comes lumbering up the steps, Atsushi hears it. Hears Yosano, too, yelling out her window for Dazai to Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to sleep!, and Dazai’s cheerfully slurring response. Somewhere further down, Kunikida’s door slams open. Dazai’s voice erupts into pure glee.

Atsushi groans into his couch cushion. This is not the night for this. It’s — not been a good day. Nothing bad happened. It’s just that he woke up wrong. He woke up scared, with the Headmaster’s breath chilling the back of his neck. He was… off, at work. No cases today, but there was always busywork to slog through, piles of it. And even on a good day paperwork was awful, but today he’d felt there was an irremovable film over his eyes, hazing his vision. It took him far too long to process anything said to him, enough that Kunikida had started speaking slowly and carefully in a way that made Atsushi want to crawl into a hole.

And then Atsushi had trudged home. Kyouka went off to spend the night with Naomi, which was — nice. Good. Atsushi wanted Kyouka to make more friends, to hang out like a normal teenage girl… but now Atsushi was alone in this cold dorm. The dorm was always quiet, but never this silent, absent of the soft patter of Kyouka’s feet, or the way she hums just to make her presence known and avoid scaring Atsushi out of his skin. And any other day, that would have been fine. Atsushi is eighteen. He can spend a night in his own home alone. But tonight… Tonight, he curls around a throw pillow on his couch, face shoved into the cushion, and shakes.

Why is he crying? He isn’t sure. It could be any number of things. It could be phantom static electricity ghosting up his spine; it could that awkward spot on his foot, which he always avoids as though it still has a nail hammered through it; it could be the phantom pains of his own limbs that had been lost-regrown-lost-regrown again in the last year; or maybe any number of deaths, be they cold corpses he’d stumbled across or bullets he’d watched land. And those last two are the worst, maybe, because those things are his job. And if he couldn’t even handle doing his own job—

Dazai’s giggling floats towards his door. Atsushi tenses. Not tonight, please God. He can’t deal with the drunken antics tonight.

The giggling floats on past and Atsushi relaxes. But he should have known better. It’s only a few seconds before Dazai backtracks — so quick, it sounds like, that he trips and catches Atsushi’s doorknob to stay up.

Rattling the doorknob, Dazai calls, “Atsushiiii!”

“I’m asleep!” Atsushi calls back, not even bothering to pretend. Chances were Dazai had done something insane, like perfectly memorizing Atsushi’s sleep habits or catching how one particular particle of light fell under the door, and figured out that Atsushi was wide awake. “Go away, Dazai!”

“Noooooo,” Dazai whines. There is the distinctive clicking sound of a lock being picked. Dazai doesn’t even need to pick it — he’s the only other member of the Agency who has his own key to Atsushi’s dorm. Dazai hums a jaunty tune while he works. Atsushi considers hiding, but Dazai is quick, and by the time Atsushi’s foggy brain thinks of a hiding spot, the door is already creaking open. Atsushi decides to just keep his red, snotty face firm in the cushions and ignore Dazai until he gets bored.

“Hellooooooo,” Dazai croons, flicking Atsushi’s lights on. Without looking at him, Atsushi can imagine the way he twirls around the dorm, all those dramatic movements he likes to distract with. Dazai must be stumbling, though. There’s a thud somewhere near the kitchen counter, and a pained grunt. “Why’re you sleeping on the couch?”

“It’s my couch.” The sharp clinking of glass, something pouring. Atsushi groans again. “I can sleep on my couch.”

Dazai’s footsteps, clumsy in a way Atsushi can’t place (is it an act? accidental? something Dazai simply isn’t trying to hide?), round the couch. He taps at Atsushi’s leg and Atsushi, begrudging and reluctant as he is, has a child in his soul. So he pulls his legs up, knees nearing his chest. The couch protests the way Dazai falls into it. “Don’t break my couch,” Atsushi grumbles, with no heat. Dazai hums.

Even with his knees drawn up, Atsushi’s feet push against Dazai’s thigh, and suddenly Atsushi feels too big. Like he’s become twice as heavy as he is. The couch creaks underneath him, the floor creaks under the couch. He imagines his body expanding, ripping through his clothes. He imagines his veins bulging, his arms taking on that awful, sinuous look they always do in between human and not, a phase which is usually too short for anyone to see but him. But instead of transforming into Byakko, his imaginary limbs stay stuck there in that in-between – unnatural, painful. Awkward and lumbering.

This, of course, doesn’t happen. He is 5’7, 59 kilograms. His knees are knobbly and his wrist bones pop out too much, although he’s gotten a bit stockier than he used to be. He’s not abnormally heavy, hardly monstrous. And he’s firmly Atsushi, now. (Firmly Atsushi, except for that bit of Byakko that’s always in the back of his head, her worries and wants. Right now, she’s thinking: Dazai. She’s never very specific with her thoughts – it could be a cheer. It could be a warning.) And anyway, Byakko couldn’t come out, because Dazai’s cold hand is resting on Atsushi’s ankle.

…Dazai’s cold hand is resting on Atsushi’s ankle, Atsushi processes belatedly. Which is – fine. Dazai is touchy. Maybe not so much with Atsushi, because – well. Atsushi doesn’t always like it. Sometimes it scares him. But Atsushi is used to Dazai ruffling his hair, throwing an arm around his shoulder, knocking his knuckles against his forehead. Fleeting touches, that is. Contact that leaves as soon as it arrives. And Atsushi is fine with it. He doesn’t feel any particular sort of way about it.

(Liar. Cut back to the very first month Atsushi knew Dazai. The way Dazai, at some point a couple weeks in, jokingly reached over to ruffle Atsushi’s hair, coo-ed about him like he was a child. Atsushi, much more nervous back then, had blustered and stammered and flushed and – critically – pushed his head up into Dazai’s hand like the idiot he was. Dazai, for once sparing Atsushi’s feelings, said nothing aloud. But the repeats of that particular gesture came often. And Atsushi found himself, stupidly, awaiting them. Craving them.)

The point is that this is uncommon. Dazai’s touch never lasts, not unless he’s joking with someone – draping himself over Kunikida to annoy him, pushing into Ranpo’s space to banter. This isn’t a joke. This is Dazai, sat quietly on Atsushi’s couch, listening to nothing but breathing, his hand settled on Atsushi’s ankle.

They are silent for so long that Atsushi almost thinks he is hallucinating again. What other reason would there be for Dazai to be here, sitting in gentle silence? It’s unusual for him not to talk. Babbling or nagging or deadly serious, but always something. Dazai talked so much, so incessantly, that he’d practically become Atsushi’s inner monologue. Yes, Dazai was acting so out of character now that Atsushi really did, for a moment, think he was hallucinating. It would be a nice change of pace, for his imagination to give him something like this.

But his hallucinations would never be so kind as to linger. To comfort so softly. To let him sit here with that calming touch and peaceful silence and nothing else. This is real. And it’s this understanding that has Atsushi lulling into – not sleep. Some kind of reverie. The sobbing-induced migraine fades from behind his eyes and nose, ever so slightly. He drifts, between Byakko’s corner of his mind (Dazai, she is rumbling, echoing about his brain) and that ice-cold touch on his ankle. Back and forth, temple to ankle, like a hammock on a warm day. Dazai’s touch always grounds Atsushi. It doesn’t make Byakko go away – no, that would be terrifying, even more terrifying than losing control of her, running a rampage. But Dazai…quiets her, in a way. Soothes her.

Dazai’s glass clinking against the table snaps Atsushi back into reality. He suddenly becomes aware again of the slightly dusty smell of the cushion he’s crammed his face against, and the way his arms are shoved awkwardly up, half-underneath himself.

“Atsushi,” Dazai says in a sharp, breathy way. His freezing fingers pinch at Atsushi’s ankle, pulling the skin in a way that makes Atsushi yelp, his foot jackrabbiting into Dazai’s thigh. “Why so sad, Atsushi?” He pinches again, but this time Atsushi is expecting it and does nothing.

“I’m just trying to sleep, Dazai.” Atsushi says it as blandly as possible. “What do you want?”

Dazai’s knuckles rap against Atsushi’s ankle, but not with any force. “So mean to your mentor.” Atsushi can imagine the pout. He rolls his eyes. Then he stays quiet, and lets the question sit, because if he says anything else Dazai will just find a rabbit hole to take them down so Atsushi forgets he ever asked anything.

“I got you a drink, too,” Dazai says. “It’s up here.”

Atsushi shakes his head into the couch cushion. Absolutely not. His face is probably all red and puffy and tear-streaked, snot running from his nose, and he doesn’t need Dazai to see that lest he wither up in shame.

Dazai humphs. “Well,” he says, like he’s going to say more. Atsushi’s (Byakko’s) ears perk. Then he says nothing for a long while. In the renewed silence, Atsushi can imagine his face, the face he makes when he’s thinking hard about something, or trying to figure out how to hide something — blank, a little slack-jawed, glassy eyes trained on the wall, or a cobweb, or the sky. Then: “Well, maybe I just wanted to say goodnight. Is that so bad, Atsushi?”

It should be a teasing question. From Dazai, it should be completely rhetorical, accompanied with a lilting tone and a silly, sly smile. Instead, he says it softly, genuinely. As genuine as Dazai can be anyway. His hand is still on Atsushi’s ankle. It should be warm, by now, with this prolonged contact. Inexplicably, it’s still an ice cube against skin.

Atsushi wants to say: No, and please will you stay here? No, and thank you for this home and this company and for not putting a nail through my foot. No, and I know my standards are horrifically low, but you’re really the best guidance I’ve ever had. No, and please can we just stay right here on this couch forever? It’s okay if it’s only my ankle that ever gets physical touch again — just never let go, please?

Instead, he says: “Dazai, you’re drunk.”

“Hmph,” Dazai says, and then it’s like a static shock, the way the serenity of the night seems to blink out of the air. A startled laugh chokes out of Atsushi as Dazai ragdolls down, dropping his whole upper weight onto Atsushi’s, the top of his head knocking into Atsushi’s jaw. “Such a mean student!” Dazai reiterates, the hand that was on Atsushi’s ankle poking into Atsushi’s side repeatedly. The weight of him has Atsushi working a little harder to pull in breaths, but he finds he doesn’t mind.

Dazai is too heavy for Atsushi to get his arm out from under both of them and swat him away, but Atsushi certainly tries. “Stop it!” Atsushi shouts, but there’s still laughter bubbling up his throat. Byakko is as quiet as she can be, with Dazai so in contact, but he gets the sense she is not on board with Atsushi saying: “Get off me!” Rather, Byakko urges Atsushi to turn and tuck his head into Dazai’s shoulder. This would be mortifying, so Atsushi absolutely does not do that.

“Fine,” Dazai sighs overdramatically, then rolls, ragdolling once more onto the floor. Despite being unable to see him, Atsushi imagines the way he instantly pops back up and brushes off the front of his vest. “Well, Atsushi, I guess I’ll leave you to it! I’m taking my drink, though.”

Dazai hums as he gathers up his glass, a bottle, his shoes. Atsushi blinks into the couch cushion, considers the pleasant flush of joy that’s already receding, the coldness that’s spreading up from his ankles, down from his temples. Byakko is loud again.

“Good night,” Atsushi says. The door clicks. Sudden entrance, sudden exit. Typical Dazai, he grumbles internally.

The dorm is quiet again, except for Dazai’s voice back outside, slurring once more (part act, then). He’s singing a lullaby, loud and offkey. And then there’s Kunikida and Yosano, yelling. Very slowly, Atsushi peels himself off the couch, and goes to brush his teeth.

[ikingsley]

Ina x MC: Another Woman

Ina x MC: Another Woman

Summary: Ina has a secret admirer.

Warnings: Fluff!

Tag: @samanthadalton @domakir @kulaykape @hellyeah90sbaby @dopeyouth @kwaj05 @thedaft1​ @swimmingshoebakerydreamer​

Author’s Notes: A little fic for Valentine’s Day! Thank you to my friend @kwaj05, the “Prompt-Giver” and my personal editor LOL.

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Belvoire’s campus buzzed with anticipation. It was only a few days before Valentine’s Day, but students already made plans to woo their classmates or planned grand gestures for the people they were with. Even the quietest of students absorbed the campus’s lively energy, acting more extroverted than ever. Maybe it was just being overtly friendly or being flirtatious, but everyone felt the effects of the holiday spirit.

Luna was no exception. As an intelligent, witty, attractive young woman, she was often hit on by both male and female classmates. But the stunner only had eyes on one particular woman, a certain stuffy professor. So when people flirted with her, she often nodded politely, or smiled and turned away. The lack of interest she expressed was received by her admirers, who disappointedly backed off.

~

It was the day before Valentine’s Day, and students piled into Professor Kingsley’s ample classroom. They came in pairs, chatting lively with their lovers. 

The class started quite uneventfully. Ina watched as Luna took her seat, flashing a knowing smile as Luna nodded back at her. Then Ina began her lecture, which very suitably was about the power dynamics between couples. Ina knew that some of her students had tuned her out, but every time she looked on at Luna, she was met with a piercing pair of eyes. And this was satisfactory enough to her. Each time, she would smile to herself, motivated to continue lecturing. 

And right before she was going to let the class work on their own, a soft knock at the door was heard.

“Professor Kingsley? I have a package for you,” a voice rang out.

“Hmm,” Ina hummed. She hadn’t been expecting a delivery. Maybe it was a romantic gesture from Luna.

Ina got up and opened the door. Nosey students stretched their necks out to see what was the mysterious package, Luna included. Luna had absolutely no idea what Ina could have gotten. She was more lowkey, a person who wanted to keep her private life, private. She’d celebrate with Ina on their own terms, and found no need to plan huge public gestures.

It was much to Luna’s surprise when the delivery man presented her with a teddy bear, chocolates and a bouquet of red roses. The gift was left anonymous and Ina thought she knew who had given it to her.

What... Luna thought. Red roses? That was her and Ina’s flower to each other. It carried a heavy weight, especially after the sabbatical ordeal.

Luna was uncharacteristically not having it. But a wolf-whistle from several of the frat boys in her class brought her out of her stupor. Is this was jealousy feels like? she thought. But I’m not a jealous person!

“Damn Prof! I see you,” Ford commented.

Luna did a quick glance around the room. Everyone around her was smiling, and to not look like an outlier, Luna put on her best fake smile. Meanwhile, Ina smiled sheepishly at the boys’ wolf-whistle and Ford’s comment. She gave Luna a quick glance, one that lasted merely a quarter of a second. Had she really given Luna a good look, she would have been able to tell something was wrong. But Ina’s quick glimpse at Luna’s faux demeanor made her assume that the sender was in fact her girlfriend. 

Ina smiled to herself and subsequently wrapped up class. Today she was teaching back-to-back classes, and Ina made sure that Luna was well-aware she wouldn’t be able to lag behind to avoid them being caught. Quickly, Ina was left with an empty classroom. Everyone had places to go and people to see. Though she found it odd that Luna hadn’t even acknowledged her on her way out, Ina didn’t think much of it.

~

“Baby, I’m home!” Ina called out.

Night had fallen quickly. Ina had a faculty meeting that seemed to last hours. Dean Steinhelm had droned on again, and many of the professors fought to stay awake. Despite a relatively boring meeting, Ina had noticed that Professor Alvarez was looking at her every so often. As the newest addition to the sociology department, Professor Alvarez had worked closely with Ina. Ina once was the new teacher in Belvoire’s human science school, and she knew how isolating the experience could be. Ina took Alvarez under her wing, like a sort of mentor, despite their age difference of only a few years.

Ina walked into the office, and put down her work bags. She then strolled into the bedroom, where she found Luna sprawled on the bed doing homework. Ina stood leaning in the doorway, drinking Luna up. 

“Are you gonna greet me or just stand in the doorway like a brooding loner?” Luna said, without looking up from her laptop.

“I do not brood,” Ina said, finally shuffling towards the bed.

“You so do,” Luna replied coldly.

Brr! Ina thought. Luna’s tone was slightly reprimanding, leaving Ina concerned. She seemed fine during class...“Lu, are you okay?”

“Hmm. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just tired,” Luna sighed. 

The hours that passed between the class and now had calmed Luna down. Sometimes it would cross her mind and she’d feel a sense of jealousy wash over her. Luna hadn’t considered herself a jealous person, but with Ina it was different. There was just something about her. But then Luna realized that she was being unreasonably jealous. Ina was by far the most popular professor, and one of those stupid frat boys probably sent her that gift. And then she’d laugh because she knew the frat boys would never have a chance with Ina. This vigorous cycle repeated itself, but eventually she’d felt relieved. Ina was hers.

Ina crawled into bed, wrapping Luna in her arms. “Hey, thanks for the gift today in class,” Ina whispered into Luna’s ear.

And again, Luna felt jealousy course through her, “Ina, that wasn’t-”

“The mysterious aspect of it was quite hot. But it was also swee-” Ina said letting out a hot breath. 

“Ina! That wasn’t me!” Luna exclaimed.

“Oh. So...who was that then?” Ina asked quizzically. 

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“Does my secret admirer bother you?”

“Not really. I know you’re mine and I’m yours.” Luna’s jealousy fluctuated often, but she didn’t want Ina to feel bad about the present. Ina had no control over who found her attractive. I mean, come on. Ina was just drop dead gorgeous.

“I’m glad. A couple of my relationships...have deteriorated because of jealousy. I don’t need that extra drama in my life,” Ina said. 

Now Luna really didn’t want to bring up her varying jealousy. She turned away from Ina, and Ina fell asleep holding Luna.

~

Hours passed by. It was almost four in the morning, and Luna was still wide-awake. She tried so hard to not feel jealous - that was so unlike her - but something wasn’t sitting right with this whole secret admirer thing. Ina shifted in her sleep, pulling away from Luna. 

“Ina?” Luna asked.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Ina turned to Luna.

“No, I’ve been up.”

“Why?” Ina shifted to check the time “Jesus Lu, it’s almost four!”

“I...” Luna began.

“What is it?”

“I know you didn’t want me to be jealous and normally I’m not but I don’t know, something feels off. I know it’s not your fault, but the red roses are our thing and I-”

Luna’s rambling was cut off by a forehead kiss. 

“It’s okay. I know I’d feel jealous,” Ina admitted. “It’s cute that you’re a little jealous. But I’m yours. And yours only.”

Luna sighed in relief. 

“Is this why you’ve been acting weird?” Ina asked.

“I guess. Sometimes I feel jealous, but other times I know that it’s always been us. Not anyone else. My feelings have changed every couple moments.”

Ina gave her another forehead kiss. 

“It’s only you,” Ina smiled while Luna leaned in for a kiss. The jealousy she felt dissipated. Their relationship had only been strengthened by the secret admirer. The two broke out into raucous laughter. It was a weird situation, but they had gotten through another hurdle together.

“Who do you think sent it? ‘Cause I think we need to have a little chat,” Luna said, cracking her knuckles in a fake overprotective nature.

Ina laughed, but racked her brain.

“Do you think it was a frat boy?” Luna hummed.

Ina shook her head. “Gifts from those students tend to be more...flamboyant and never anonymous.” Ina recalled getting serenaded by the football team on various occasions.

Finally, Ina gasped. “Oh my god...it’s Professor Alvarez!”

“The new professor of sociology?!” Luna laughed.

“Yes! Just because I was being nice to her doesn’t mean I was hitting on her!” Ina followed. “Wait...she’s married...to a man. Hold on! She mentioned she was going to send me a gift for helping her adjust to Belvoire. That’s why she was looking at me in the faculty meeting. She wanted to see if I figured out it was her! The cheap ass! I guess that’s what was on sale because of Valentine’s Day.”

“What’s your definition of nice to her? Because being nice to a friend is different than being nice to your girlfriend.” Luna whispered in Ina’s ear, her hot breath hitching Ina’s own breath. 

“Come here so I can show you what nice is,” Ina said, straddling Luna’s hips.

~

Luna woke up to the smell of something pleasant. That can’t be Ina, she thought. She threw on a satin robe and walked to the kitchen. Her jaw dropped.

“Ina! You didn’t burn your apartment down?” Luna snickered.

Ina rolled her eyes, but didn’t turn around. “I have to focus!” she said, pointing at the iPad next to her. It was playing a very detailed video about cooking eggs and bacon. “Go back to bed.”

“Aww, breakfast in bed?” Luna smiled.

“Mhm,” Ina hummed back. “Now go before I actually burn my place down.”

“Simp,” Luna said under her breath, turning to return to the bedroom.

“I heard that!” Ina laughed.

Ina came with two plates of bacon and eggs in her hands. 

“I know you felt off after yesterday, but Happy Valentine’s Day, my love,” Ina said. “I’m yours, and yours only. Also, I didn’t want to buy anything because Valentine’s Day is the epitome of a capitalism-”

She was cut off by Luna reaching up and kissing her forehead.

“Babe, I’ve heard this rant before. You’re such a nerd, but I love you,” she said pointing at her lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Ina put the plates down, kissing Luna with everything in her. 

[laal-ishq-diaries]

black and white || satoru gojo

january 1, 2021

synopsis: in which strange feelings arise as the man you despise brings a date to your hangout spot and you do the very mature thing: serenade him. 1.5k words.

writer’s note: i've only watched like 6 episodes of jjk so i don't even know if my characterization of anyone is on point but i'm obsessed with this idea. the song that inspired this fic was “black and white” by nasty c and ari lennox (which i do not own). enjoy and pls leave some feedback. btw happy new year!!

warnings: allusions to sex. nothing strong but proceed with caution. swearing. alcohol usage. pettiness. 

you fucking hate him. you hate his stupid face and his stupid arrogance. who the fuck does satoru gojo think he is? people think your hatred of him is misplaced because he’s apparently “nice” and “civil” to you but it’s all for show! he is so rude and patronizing and petty. like tonight. when he brought a date to unofficial weekly drinks with colleagues. 

“well, why are you so mad he brought a date?” muses shoko, tapping her fingers on your shared wooden table.

“i’m not mad he brought a date, i’m mad that he’s flaunting her around,” you clarify, arms flailing and gesticulating wildly.

“flaunting? god, he hasn’t even introduced her to us.” “yet,” you seeth.

“well are you going to say anything to him?”

you shoot her an affronted look. “no. why would i?” shoko rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh. “you’re clueless,” she mutters. “excuse m—” “oh look, they're coming.” fuck.

through the dim, yet warm, lights of the bar, you see gojo walking over, arm in arm, with a relatively pretty woman clad in a short black dress. sandy brown hair, tucked behind her ears, cascade down her back and black heels accentuate her long legs. however, your eyes were drinking in the shaman dressed in a tucked in button-up (with the first few buttons unbuttoned, of course), casual black pants, and tan moccasins. his hair was let down from it’s usual gravity-defying updo and dark, round sunglasses replaced the blindfold.

“hey guys, this is sana,” gojo introduces. the aforementioned woman waves and smiles. you could feel shoko’s eyes on you, screaming be nice so you mutter out a greeting and introduction before she, begrudgingly, takes over socializing. 

you silently nurse your drink as your glare resumes. gojo, noting your expression, raises an eyebrow and questions, “what’s that look for?” 

taking a sip of your drink, you shoot back a fake smile and a “nothing. just wondering how your atrocious personality ensnared her.”

he lightly laughs and responds, “you know, lots of women find me attractive.” 

you lean in and whisper into his ear, “physical attractiveness doesn’t cancel out skyscraper levels of entitlement.”

“no, it just gets me a hot date. you wouldn’t be jealous, would you [nickname]?” gojo asks in mock concern. his index finger traverses your cheek before you knock his hand away and sneer, “go fuck yourself.” he exclaims, “don’t need to!” and then grabs sana’s hand and bids farewell to shoko.

“now that,” you point to their retreating bodies, “was flaunting.”  

“you’re paranoid,” she drawls.

“no, i’m fucking not,” you shoot back. “and frankly, i am offended you would think that!” 

“you’re always offended, [name]. especially when it comes to satoru.” you open your mouth to defend yourself but she raises an index finger to your lips and continues, “we’re here to relax. get another drink and watch the performance in peace.” shoko gestures to the stage where the same (surprisingly talented) guy has been singing for the past fifteen minutes, courtesy of the bar’s “Karaoke Night” every Friday. caught up with your inner thoughts, you failed to notice that she was still scolding you.

“… and i’d probably respect you more if you actually did something to prove your point rather than dish out petty insults.” silence dawns upon you two as shoko challenges you. that is, until widespread applause interrupts your interaction and reveals that the karaoke guy (named aki, apparently) finished performing another song. a surge of courage overcomes you, and you abruptly stand up and slam your hands onto the wooden table. “fine, you want me to do something?” shoko makes a noise of confirmation. “watch.”

you lose the leather jacket to reveal a sleeveless, flowy burgundy top and lace up your combat boots before marching towards the stage. truth be told, you didn’t know why you wanted to do this. and you didn’t know what you had to prove. but the whiskey in your blood and the uneasy feeling bubbling in your stomach whenever you saw gojo with his arms around his date pushes you onto the stage.

from across the bar, gojo sees you whisper something into aki’s ear before he announces, “alright, [name] will be joining me for the next song, which is”—he pauses as you whisper something else into his ear—“a surprise!” the applause and cheers drown out sana’s inquiries towards gojo of whether you were a good singer. not that he’d be able to respond, anyways, considering that his brain was swarmed with thoughts of why you were singing in the first place and how fucking hot you look.

up on the stage, aki asks, “is this your first time singing here.” “yeah,” you breathe out. “are you nervous?” one glance back to gojo, and then to shoko who gave whatever she could muster into an encouraging smile, you mutter “i need a drink after this.”

the music starts and your partner sings:

“… let me in your temple

show me what you into

it could be so simple

black and white, yeah …”

your right foot taps in tune with the beat against the floor in front of the microphone as you patiently awaited the female part. you mentally prep for both singing in front of everyone while being half-drunk and how ruined everything would be if this made things awkward with gojo. while the two of you may be at each other’s throats, at least it was smooth dynamic. if he found this uncomfortable, there goes your personal and professional life.

before you can contemplate running out of the bar, ari lennox’s part begins and you sing the chorus, along with aki. you mentally thank the bar patrons who lightly cheered, as if they could sense your apprehension. your solo verse soon begins and you look to aki for a boost of confidence before belting out:

“so call me, baby

'cause you be putting it down on me”

the adrenaline pumping through your veins emboldens you to make direct eye contact with gojo and run your left hand through your hair seductively while continuing with:

“in my bed, on your stairs

when we loving you know we don't care”

across the room, gojo’s eyebrows shoot up; he wasn’t expecting your lyrics to be directed to him. for all the resentment you throw in his direction, he assumed you despised him. a small part of him gathered that you possibly might have feelings for him but he thought they were repressed, at best. seeing you up on stage declaring that, at the very least, you lust for him makes gojo want to take you, right then and there.

on your side, there’s an inkling of doubt that you went too far, until you see him lick his lips and smirk. your expression mirrors his for a moment until you increase the seduction.

“all mine, like wine

say ain't no bitch that got your heart pumpin' like i

fall in love deeply when i look in your eye

fantasy the way you carry me, mariah …”

whistles and cheers from the audience nearly drown out the last line. confidence oozes out of your stage presence and want for gojo oozes out of your every pore, a want that is reciprocal. you see sana go red in the face (most likely because her own date is eye-fucking you). a small part of you feels awful for her but an even larger part feels victorious because, fuck, despite never getting along with him, the two of you have an unbreakable connection. the thought of another woman getting the time and attention he devotes to this connection, to you, drives you insane. god, it makes you want to rip that button-up off and stake your claim all over him.    

the rest of your performance continues with relative ease. once finished, you and aki say your goodbyes and compliments to each other (with him insisting that you have to sing with him again and you responding with a “some other time”) as you depart back to your table. locking eyes with shoko, you receive a look of approval and a nod towards the direction of a certain jujutsu sorcerer approaching you.

“nice singing,” gojo calls out.  

taking a moment to recover from your adrenaline rush, you exhale a simple “thanks.”

“although,” he drawls, “you didn’t need to get up on stage and sing it. you could've just told me that you wanted me.”

“i don't know what you’re talking about,” you say, feigning ignorance.

“oh really?” his fingers gently take hold of your chin and, in spite of his sunglasses, you know that his eyes are staring at your lips. “because i could make it worth your time”

“where’s your date?”

“she left. something about other women who are in love with me being ‘rude’ and ‘offensive.’”

“good,” you whisper, standing on your toes, “because you’re all mine.”

“am i?”—he leans down so your lips now hover over each other’s.

“want me to prove it?”

“let’s get out of here.”

[sparklingpax]

Sweet Bother, That’s What You Are

A.N: 

(starring my two TFP OCs, Paxie and Sharpflint, who will be getting sketch posts um.........eventually o///o’’)

-HIIIIII So. Potentially the first of many drabbles with these two <3 There’s no official story story, really....just whatever comes to mind if I feel like writing it! ^w^

-I actually managed to find the first time I did a drabble for them, idk, kinda dumb, but thought I’d link in case you were interested ^^’’ 

-This one’s kinda dumb too I apologize but I wanted to write it so

-Sorry for grammar, punctuation, word usage, spelling, etc mistakes......it’s late and I’m falling asleep and my brain is on Full Sunshine Happy Things mode so I’m just trying to dump all that into this story >:3 

-What planet are they on that has metallic trees and rocks?? uM?? uh--ok well,,,,,,same planet as the last one sorry I’m not very creative idk why I need so many trees for my writing anyway lmfao akjdjsd

-So when is this set then?? Ok so. After the war; in this universe here, which is not an au btw (or is it?? idk?? the events are assumed to be exactly the same as prime and other aligned continuity stuff just with these two inserted in the background if that makes any sense at all,,,,) Paxie was from one of the first generations after the war; Sharpflint fought in the war as an Autobot so,,,theres that. 

-May I just note for the record so no one asks or makes assumptions, their relationship is fully inteded to be really good friendship & it’s Not romantic. Sorry if I made it confusing in the writing sdjsdj basically I love writing romantic stuff but for once I want to write a Good Friends dynamic ^w^ hope thats okie!

-Also no Sharpflint is not actually old, he’d be more like a 35-year old and Paxie’s might be 25-ish. If you wanted to visualize it in human years I guess because we’re all........human..? She’s just fooling around 😹✨

-SHOUTOUT TO Y’ALL WHO ENCOURAGED ME TO START POSTING MY DRABBLE IDEAS!! I hope I do not disappoint too much ^^’’ 

-hhhhh & it be Short™ o///o but I hope you like it!!! thanks for reading!!! :)

///

Paxie kicked a stray rock back into its place on the side of the road and pouted. Arms folded behind her back, she did her best to tune out whatever Sharpflint was on about. Why?

“—and Primus fragging heck, Paxie, you know that as your friend—no, respected elder and mentor—I do not want to find your corpse on the side of the highway because you refuse to learn that—”

Yes. That. Because he was lecturing her about how strongly he disagreed with her personal stance in the Natural Form movement. However, she was not truly annoyed at all. It was a peaceful afternoon and she’d managed to convince Sharpflint to ditch patrol to walk with her. 

I’m going to have some fun here--after all, I’m giving up my free day, the one day I don’t have classes!!

Suddenly, one of his words registered in her mind and she got an idea. 

Paxie tapped his arm. He came to a halt alongside her, breaking off abruptly to give her a scathing ‘WHAT.’ However he swallowed that, too when he saw her face.

“You got one thing right, salty engines,” Paxie started, feigning frustration.

Sharpflint narrowed his yellow optics—he absolutely detested that ridiculous nickname.

“Oh?” He muttered back, half annoyed. “Enlighten me.”

Paxie shook her head, heaving a dramatic sigh. “Well, you’re old. But you’re not my mentor—you’re too old to be my mentor. I’d need a spry, young, whippersnapper like myself! In fact—wait—”

She did a shushing motion and looked around. Sharpflint moaned quietly, rolling his eyes hard. He waited for her to continue roasting him.

“Yes…yes, I can hear it!”

He decided to play along, folding his arms as he towered over her. “Hear what, Paxie?”

“Listen!! I can hear the high concentration of salt in your attitude rusting your rotor blades!!”

Frag me, Primus why.

“I can hear it from a mile—”

Sharpflint picked her up, smirking as her words melted into surprised yelping. He hoisted her over his shoulder, gripping her legs as the rest of her body hung over his back, and eyed the tree a small ways ahead of them. His grin grew wider.

“Old, huh?”

“Yes!!” Paxie was laughing now, gasping for air.

“Well, then, I’ll just show you how us elderly were taught to run!”

“FLINT!!!”

He swung her in a circle before racing ahead to the tree, prompting more giggled cries. His eyes glinted while his shorter friend shouted, playfully indignant, and demanded to be put down.

“I’ll snap you in two, you robot stick!!”

“Try it, tiny!! You’d barely leave a scratch!”

“OH—” Paxie narrowed her optics and whacked his green plating, still laughing. “SO SAYS ‘MR. INSULTS ARE RUDE’!! WOW!!”

Sharpflint let out a laugh himself, reaching the tree. Sure I said that, but I never said I couldn’t joke around…

“Hey, what are y—WAHHAHHHHHNOONONO—”

The two mechs had made it to the tree, so Sharpflint naturally tossed Paxie just high enough for her to land in one of the branches. As he’d hoped, she latched on and balled up against the metallic surface, optics wide with shock.

Take that, you adorable little scrap. Sharpflint nodded to himself, placing his hands on his hips and tilting his head back to take in the view. Paxie started giggling again, wailing down at him to help her off the branch .

“I’m only as old as the middle of the Great War!”

“You’re a salty, rusty sack of bolts!!”

Sharpflint sighed, turning away. “You and Mr. Tree can keep each other company until I come back here for patrol….” He pretended to think deeply, then calmly finished, “Four days from now.”

“Fine! You’re only as old as the youngest old bot from the war!!”

“Three days.”

“You’re a not-so-old dork!”

“Hmmm….” Sharpflint let the silence sink in, as if he were actually deeply considering her words. Paxie sighed audibly.

“You’re my favorite old dork--the best friend I could ask for!”

At this, Sharpflint turned and regarded her, beaming down at him. He unfolded his arms, chuckling lightly.

“I was going to let you down anyway, you know..” he said a little more quietly, feeling a little warm after her previous comment. The purple-white mech grinned back down at him.

“I know! I just wanted to say!”

Paxie was his closest friend, even if she was young, and didn’t know how bleak life could be—which was half the reason they ever got into fights in the first place anyway. Sometimes it’s hard to see eye-to-eye with someone who’s led a completely different life than your own. Both Sharpflint and Paxie were aware of that.

All that same, she was sunshine and openness.

Paxie was…simply put, a great friend.

Sharpflint cracked a small smile—not a smirk, but a real smile.

“You want to meet again at Silicon’s tonight?”

“Only if you’re paying!”

Sharpflint heaved another sigh, slumping over. Well, what else was to be expected? After all, the helicopter mech had thrown his friend into a tree. He couldn’t say no.

Well, no, he could, really should...but it would be rude—

“Oh, dear Primus,” he murmured under his breath, continuing to gaze up at Paxie, still hugging the tree branch for her dear life.

“Yay!! Silicon’s!!” Paxie cheered like a young sparkling, then cut herself off as her celebratory motions caused the branch to sway a bit too much. 

“Thank goodness for frequent paychecks…”

But above all, thank goodness for friends. Especially the ones that drive a bot nuts. Paxie, I’d give my life for you. 

[mypoisonedvine]

Double-Edged Sword: Capt. Syverson x Reader (Chapter 2)

(read the first chapter here)

Word Count: 5.5k (oh lordt I need to be stopped)

Taglist: @fantasygirlsuniverse @agniavateira @fcgrizi @stillreadingfantasy @itsjusttaralove @radaofrivia @p3nny4urth0ught5 @mary-ann84 @snatchedbylele @cheyentjj @maan24 @littlefreya

(emetophobia tw for this chapter)

You had no idea how you were going to survive meeting with him alone after this.  Of course, you realized now that this was one of many reasons why what had happened was against the rules, but the realization came just a bit too late.

“Good morning, Captain,” you nodded.

“Call me Sy,” he requested.

“I’d rather not.”

“Alright, well, just know that every time you call me ‘Captain,’ it reminds me of the way you said it when you were bent over that desk,” he explained simply.

“Right,” you nodded. “So, Sy, tell me what you want to do with this mission.”

“You know what I want to do,” he shrugged, and for some reason your mind interpreted that very differently than he meant it. “Divide and conquer.”

“Of course,” you agreed. “I suppose that works.”

“I thought you hated that idea,” he recalled.

“But I really hate having to argue with you about it.  Normally I’d fight harder for what I think is the best way.  But I’m losing that motivation, suddenly.”

He gave you an over-dramatic pouty look, as if he was mocking you, and you frowned in return.  “Aw, you don’t want to argue with me?  Is the magic really gone so soon?”

You rolled your eyes.  “The idea of any romantic sentiment between us is so outrageously implausible that it doesn’t even work in a sarcastic context.”

“Do you always talk like you’re readin’ an essay?” he frowned.

“You’re making fun of the way I talk?” you responded with an incredulous laugh. “You can’t see it, because it’s clear, but you’re currently sitting in a glass house.  I would recommend against throwing stones.”

He laughed, and it sounded halfway between genuine amusement and mockery.  “Were you up all night studying your vocab words, so you could better insult me?”

You know what I was doing last night, you instantly thought.

“Insulting you is so painfully easy.  I don’t lose sleep over it, in fact, I bet I could do it in my sleep,” you said instead.

“I’m not sure you should be so proud of that.  It’s like you go out of your way to make my life miserable,” he groaned.

You sighed, rubbing your temples in frustration.  How had it only taken thirty seconds for the conversation to turn into mud-slinging once again?  It seemed like no matter how hard you tried, you fell into this dynamic with him.  Considering how it went last time, you wanted very much to end it here.

“I apologize.  That’s not my intention,” you clarified.  He seemed taken aback by that, clearly having prepared for another witty comeback (or at least, an attempt at one).

“Well,” he began, but then trailed off.

“Well?”

“Well, alright,” he finished.

“Well, alright, what?”

“Let’s discuss the mission,” he further explained, saying it as if it were obvious what he meant.  You ignored the condescending tone and sat across from him at the table.

“Sit closer,” he offered.

“Not necessary,” you rebuffed.

He unrolled a map of the area for review, and it was incredibly small, so small that you couldn’t see it at all from your seat.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna come closer?” 

You got up and moved, closer but still a seat apart from him.  Suddenly you felt very aware of his presence-- not to say you somehow weren’t before, just that it was overpowering, that you felt like you could feel heat radiating off of him even though he wasn’t actually that close to you.  You were also very aware of how large this room was, and how empty.  It was just the two of you and a table, one clearly intended for larger conferences.

You had a somewhat civil discussion of the mission, but you were struggling to focus more than you possibly ever had before.

“You listenin’?” he prompted, and you jumped out of a daydream.  The content of the daydream was irrelevant, of course, but it was thoroughly distracting.

“What?  Um, yeah, sorry,” you mumbled.

“I’ve never been lost in thought about a mission before,” he chuckled.

“Well, it’s a complex issue…” you trailed off.

“What’s a complex issue?” he pressed.

“From which side to enter the compound,” you remembered. 

“Almost had ya,” he frowned.

“I was paying attention,” you defended weakly.

His hand suddenly brushed against your waist and you jumped.  You turned and realized he had leaned towards you, though you had no idea why.

“Don’t-” you began, and instantly he moved away.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and you were a little surprised at the complete lack of sarcasm, and the apparent presence of guilt rather than guilt-tripping.

“It’s alright,” you soothed.

“Is it?” he asked with a slightly confused expression.

“It is.  It shouldn’t be,” you smirked, “but it is.”

“That describes a lot of things these days.”

You decided not to investigate that topic.  

“Anyways, the method of entry…” you redirected the conversation, and even that triggered some gutter-brained aspect of your psyche.

“Right, of course,” he nodded, turning back to the map.

~

The open-air “gym” (more like a bunch of random benches and assorted free weights, not much of a gym by your standards) was usually housed by only a few soldiers at a time, but as you walked by that afternoon, it was pretty busy.  Getting closer you observed that nearly everyone was watching two guys- one Marine, one Army- do push-ups.  Each group was cheering on their own, and you realized it was a competition of sorts.  And nothing got you excited quite like a competition.

“I can’t, I’m out,” Private Jones, one of yours, weakly announced as he fell to the ground.  The Marines booed and groaned but the Army soldiers cheered.

“How many was he at?” you asked one of the Marines.

“Just over a hundred,” he told you.  You nodded in approval, even if he’d lost.

“Looks like Army takes the lead, again,” one of the soldiers announced to the crowd.  “Next up, sit-ups.”

“There’s so few of us compared to them,” the Marine told you, “we are going to have to start sending in people who already competed.”

“I’m too tired, I don’t think I can go again,” Private Cooper sighed in exhaustion.

“There’s no way I can beat them at sit-ups, that was my weakest category at boot camp,” Private Jones added to the discussion.

“I can compete,” you offered.  Everyone, including the Army guys, turned to you.  “Are officers allowed in?”

The soldier you were supposed to go up against-- Private Hess, you were pretty sure was his name-- seemed incredulous.

“Fine by me,” he encouraged, clearly seeing it as a perfect opportunity since he was confident he would beat you.

“I need someone to hold my feet down,” you requested.

“I’ll do it,” you heard a Southern-twanged voice behind you, and lo and behold, there he was.

“I’m shocked you’re willing to help me,” you admitted.

“You’re going to get your ass handed to you,” Captain Syverson grinned, “and I want to see that up close.”

You and Hess laid on the ground a few feet apart, and the Captain took his spot in front of your legs, a hand on each boot.  You hoped they were extra dirty just to spite him, but then again, he didn’t seem to mind getting dirty very much.

“Sy, you mind counting hers?” the apparent referee asked.

“Sure,” he grunted.

You saw Hess start so you did too, and the Captain counted them for you.  You tried not to worry that he would miscount to try to set you back- you liked to think a guy like that believed in the sacred nature of exercise, even if he was a bastard.

It was weird to feel his touch on you, even through boots.  It was much, much weirder that each time you sat up, your face was so close to his.  Perhaps weirdest was how it made you feel to lay on your back and look up at him basically between your legs. 

It was about 50 that you really started to feel it.  At 100, the jeers of the crowd fell to silence as they watched closely for any signs of faltering.  You heard Hess beside you, and he seemed to be staying pretty consistent, not even breathing that hard.  Meanwhile, you were starting to remember why the requirements for men and women were different in this category.  

150 was a turning point.  You had a pretty good poker face, so everyone else seemed sure that the two of you were still neck-in-neck, but you knew Sy could see the cracks.

It must have been 200 that you heard yourself start to whimper and groan, while Hess was only just beginning to breathe heavily.  You didn’t want to make noises of stress but at a certain point you had no choice.

You fell back to the ground at 237 and even though you were barely there a second, somehow the Captain figured out you were considering quitting.

“Keep going,” he whispered to you.  You wanted to ask him why he was encouraging you but you didn’t want to give him away, since you could tell he hadn’t wanted anyone else to hear.  You fought harder to keep pushing, though each time you came up was a little shakier, and accompanied with a louder noise of pain.

“Come on man, she’s about to quit,” you heard someone say to Hess.

“I don’t know, I’m starting to cramp up,” Hess told them in reply, and you almost laughed because you had been cramping up since 145.

You pushed through the pain and you were afraid your body would fail before your mind did, that you would reach the point of being physically unable to lift yourself.  Your core muscles were so tired that pain began to radiate to your thighs and back, and you forced your eyes shut so you wouldn’t have to see your vision go spotty.

You tuned out all the noise except his voice counting.  263, 264, 265…

“I can’t,” you heard Hess groan.

“Come on, she’ll give out any minute!”

“Dude, it hurts!” he complained.

“You can take him,” Sy whispered to you.

“I know,” you whispered back.

It was 300 that he finally gave up.

“What the hell?!  You were so close!” the Army boys protested.

“Fuck off,” he groaned as he stood up and pushed them away.  

The Marines clapped and you smiled, falling back onto the ground and letting your arms rest.

Sy stood up, extending a hand to help you get up as well.  You made a point of standing up without his assistance, even though your entire midsection was literally shaking.  Thankfully it didn’t show through the loose-fitting fatigues.  He looked like he had something to say, but apparently he didn’t, as you two just stood there in silence for a second.

“That was amazing, Major!” one of your Marines said, and you turned to him.

“Oh what?  That was nothing,” you pshawed, even though you were beginning to feel dizzy and a bit nauseous.

In fact, you were suddenly feeling a lot nauseous.  You made an excuse to get out of the conversation and slipped out of sight, finding a nearby building to duck behind.  Instantly you fell on your knees and retched: you’d heard of this happening to poor enlisted at boot camp, where the constant movement of the abdominal muscles disturbed the stomach to the point of vomiting.  Thankfully it wasn’t that severe, though you were very much looking forward to drinking some water and not moving for an hour or two.

Just as you wiped your mouth and stood up, there was Sy-- of course.

“Are you following me or something?” you asked him.

“I just came by to tell you you did a good job,” he explained, “but seems like it took a toll.”

“Sorry I’m not as strong as you expected,” you sighed.

“If you kept going long enough to lose your lunch on the ground… then you’re actually a lot stronger than I expected,” he disagreed.

You paused, not sure how to respond.  

“What you think of me isn’t something I prioritize.”

“I know,” he replied. “I didn’t say that it was.”

“And yet, I’d guess that your caveman brain can’t comprehend that what I do has nothing to do with you,” you frowned.

He laughed and you fucking hated that.  He never seemed to take you seriously, and he must have been able to tell how angry that made you.

“If you think that what you do has nothing to do with me,” he countered, “then you are much, much dumber than I expected.”

“You are so self-obsessed,” you groaned as you rolled your eyes.

“Maybe, but it doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” he shrugged, and walked away.

~

As you grabbed your tray of dinner and turned to face the mess hall, you suffered the same dilemma that you’d had basically every day since high school: is there anywhere I can sit?

You were never the sort of person who had a welcome seat at a table.

You saw room next to some of the women in your unit and figured it was the best you could do.

“Hey, I heard you out-crunched Hess today,” Private Feng greeted you, “congrats!”

“It was sit-ups, and he’s a pussy, but thanks,” you smirked.  She smiled back.

The two Marines across from you were whispering to each other and giggling.  “What are you two talking about?” you asked them as you sat down.

“Oh, nothing,” Private Gonzalez answered, but she couldn’t even keep a straight face and started blushing.

“The hell is this, summer camp?” you groaned.  “Seriously, you two are Marines, not Girl Scouts.”

“Fine, fine,” the other-- Private Matthews-- relented, “we were talking about the hottest guys on base.”

“Maybe you actually are Girl Scouts,” you scowled.

“Stop being a Major and just be a woman for five seconds,” Gonzalez requested.  Feng and Matthews seemed to react strongly to that, like they were afraid to get in trouble for speaking freely.  You sighed, and motioned for them to continue the conversation.

“What do you think of Captain Syverson?” Matthews asked Gonzalez, but somehow you found yourself butting in.

“Syverson?!”

“Yeah, he’s totally sexy, right?” Matthews prompted.

“He’s totally an asshole,” you frowned, putting on a slightly-condescending impression of Matthews’ voice.

“Okay, yeah,” Gonzalez admitted, “but aside from that.  I mean, look at him.”

“Aside from that?  I’m supposed to just ignore his personality?”

“Honestly,” Matthews began, looking over to where Sy was sitting and looking at him with eyes that were hungry for a lot more than what was on her plate, “with a body like that, he doesn’t need a personality at all, let alone a good one.”

The other girls giggled but you felt an unfamiliar sensation burn under your skin.  Jealousy?  No, never.

“Don’t you agree?” she prompted you, and the girls looked to you for a response as if it were something deeply important.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” you whispered, leaning in so as not to be heard by others, “but I’m pretty sure he’s gay.”

The girls all sighed and slumped down, going back to their food with a lot less joy than they’d had before.  You, meanwhile, enjoyed your food in silence.

~

Normally you were the sort of person who worked late into the night, but after such an exhausting day, you wanted to get back to your quarters and slip into bed as soon as humanly possible.  

The one thing you probably hated most about deployment was the showers.  Normally a hot shower sounds great, but when you keep in mind that the water for the showers was heated simply by the outside temperature, you realize that it’s not refreshing at all.  Very rarely did you feel truly clean out here.

Your strategy was to let yourself air dry, something that only worked when you had a private bedroom which, thank the heavens, you did at this base.  

Of course it’s when you’re naked and dripping all over the floor that there’s a loud knock at your door.

“Gimme a sec!” you shouted out, dashing to grab the nearest clothes-- a tank top and athletic shorts, more revealing than you would normally go for but significantly less revealing than nudity-- and throw them on.

You opened the door the second you were decent, and at this rate you weren’t even surprised to see him.

“Just can’t seem to shake you, can I?” you groaned. He looked at you with wide eyes.

“You look so different in civilian clothes,” he observed.

“It can’t be that different.” “I’m more flustered by this than seeing you naked,” he admitted.

“Is that an insult?” you asked.

“No,” he said quickly, and you nodded. “Can I come in?”

You honestly thought about saying no.  He still hadn’t said why he was here.  But the way he looked at you had apparently corroded your judgment.  You stepped aside and he entered; you let the door shut behind him.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he observed.

“Yeah, well, neither are you.  And your tits are bigger than mine,” you smiled.

“Touche,” he chuckled.

“Can I… help you?” you prompted.

“You did a good job, earlier today,” he congratulated.

“You already mentioned that,” you pointed out.

“I shouldn’t have volunteered to hold your feet down,” he admitted. “The sounds you made were… distracting.”

“Shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise to you,” you smirked, “you’d already heard me sound like that.  Could’ve just searched your memory for it.” “Well, the memory is pretty distracting, too,” he smiled.

“Your poor attention span is not my problem, Capt- uh, Sy,” you mumbled nervously.

He stepped closer to you and you stepped back.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked.

“No,” you answered.

“Then why’re you runnin’ away?” he pressed.  You wondered if he was being literal or metaphorical.

“I’m not running away,” you explained, “I just don’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

“I’m not so convinced it was a mistake,” he explained. 

“You can’t- ugh, you are so…”  You started over.  “You can’t just keep being a shit to me 23 hours a day, and then suddenly decide you have some love-hate crush on me and expect me to spread my legs.”

He stepped forward again and you were forced to press against the wall.  He leaned into you until you were pressed into the corner; It must have been a minute that you two just stood there in silence, his eyes scanning you with fierce intensity, and you looking back with what you hoped wasn’t the deer-in-the-headlights expression that you almost certainly had.  His body against yours was such a strange and addictive feeling, and the short sleeves of his t-shirt made it hard to ignore the enormous arms that blocked you into the cramped space.

“You want me,” he said, and you couldn’t tell if it was a statement or just a deadpan question.

“Yes,” you agreed with a raspy voice, squirming against the wall.

“You need me to fuck you, right now,” he continued.  You nodded.  “Say it,” he demanded.

“Please fuck me,” you begged, swallowing nervously.

He weaved a hand into your hair, his thumb rubbing over your cheek.  He leaned down to kiss you and you closed your eyes, but just a second later you felt him step back and his hand pull away.

You opened your eyes in confusion to find him grinning at you with crossed arms.

“Looks like I can,” he announced.  Realization dawned, and quickly turned to fury.  As always, it was all a part of some fucking game for him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“So, so much,” he smiled. 

“You get off on humiliating women, is that it?”

“Not women,” he corrected, “just you.”

“Well, congrats,” you frowned, “because you won!  Nothing could be more humiliating than being attracted to you.”

“You know, I really only just wanted to take you down a peg because Marines always act so high n’ mighty,” he explained, finally looking a little frustrated which was comforting for your own anger. “I wasn’t planning on taking it this far.  But it’s just too fun.”

You scoffed, but decided his backstory just didn’t add up.

“Hmm, I don’t think that’s it,” you announced, and he quirked an eyebrow in anticipation.  “I think you have some horrible achy feelings, and you’re just trying to prove I need you as bad as you need me.”

He didn’t say anything, but his jaw clenched.  You smiled.

“Well, newsflash, I don’t.  You’re just some underclassman to me, a very out-of-character blip in my sexual history.”

He started to speak but you spoke over him.

“I mean, good for you!  You get to say you lived the fantasy, fucked a higher-ranking officer, had some wild desert sex.  And me?  Well,” you grinned, “I won’t say anything.  Because you are just… humiliating.”

You saw the anger in his eyes and had to fight back the desire to laugh.  The upper-hand was always shifting between you two, and even if you knew it was temporary, it felt really good to have it back.

He stormed up to you and grabbed you by the neckline of your top, pulling you into an intense, aggressive kiss.  Your hands instantly flew to his hips as you pulled him closer by his belt.

Goodbye, upper-hand, you thought to yourself, it was fun while it lasted.

His hands roamed your body as if he’d been waiting a thousand years to touch you again even when it had only been less than a day.  The two of you stumbled back until you sat on your bed, but he stayed standing and towered over you, having to bend down to keep from breaking the kiss.  

One hand slipped down between your legs and even though it stayed outside your shorts, he still managed to find your clit instantly and press his fingers against it.  You whimpered, the sound lost into the kiss, and the fingers just had to push the fabric of your shorts to slide over your clit.  You were embarrassed at how wet you were, but somehow the embarrassment just made you feel even more aroused so it was a vicious cycle.

He pressed two fingers into you and you moaned, breaking the kiss.

“Humiliating?” he remembered. “You wish it was someone else doin’ this to you?” 

“Not someone else,” you corrected, “anyone else.”

He growled and pressed his fingers deeper into you until you whimpered.  His touch was rough but not painful, aggressive but not forceful, and it made you feel something you’d never felt before (or if you had, you’d forgotten).  

“Get on your knees,” you commanded him.  He raised an eyebrow but didn’t move. “Did I stutter?”

“Or what?” he asked.

“Get on your knees, or leave.”

He dropped instantly, kneeling on the floor in front of you.  You sat back as he grabbed the waistband of your shorts and pulled them off.  You spread your legs and he instantly dove into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, your head falling back.  His tongue explored you and his hands gripped at your thighs to pull you closer.  He moaned and grunted against your skin and the vibrations shot straight through you.

Your hand grabbed his head just as your hips bucked against his face, pushing his tongue deeper inside you.  

“Yes,” you gasped.  You felt him smile against you and his teeth grazed your clit sending jolts and shivers up your spine.  “Oh, god, fuck,” you groaned.

A few guys had done this to you before, but none of them had done it with this much enthusiasm, certainly.  He looked like he was having the time of his life down there-- he looked back up at you and your eyes met, and you wondered if you looked like you were having the time of your life, because you were.

His mouth worked you with such precision, taking you apart piece by piece with mastery and expertise, to the point that you couldn’t believe how well he knew your body already.  

“I-I’m close,” you whimpered.

He glared at you as if to say ‘I know.’

You felt your legs start to shake but his hands gripped them to keep them still.  Every sensation became so intense, too intense in the best possible way, and Sy showed no sign of stopping.

You weren’t sure if you came more than once, or if you just came for a really, really long time. What you were sure of, sadly was that this was going to make staying away from him so much harder.

His lips moved away from your clit and kissed the inside of your thighs.  It was a disappointment and a relief simultaneously, somehow.

He slapped your leg suddenly-- not very hard, but hard enough that you yelped in surprise.  He came up from kneeling and started to work on his belt.  You just watched him as you tried to catch your breath, and involuntarily bit your lip as he freed his cock from his jeans.

“Want me to fuck you?” he asked in a low growl.

“Last time you asked that, it was a trick question,” you remembered, “so I’m a little hesitant to answer.”

“Alright,” he whispered as he leaned close, his breath warm against your ear, “I’m going to fuck you, Major.  Would you like that?”

“Take your shirt off,” you demanded suddenly.  He growled, leaning back and quickly pulling it over his head.  You smiled.  

“Are you done bossin’ me around?” he asked with a frown.

“Just fuck me,” you begged.

“Well, I can’t say no to that,” he grinned, roughly pulling your hips forward and kneeling on the bed between your legs.  He used one hand to hold your face up, forcing you to look at him, as the other slid his cock into your folds.  He pressed into you slowly, excruciatingly slowly, in fact, and you felt very self-conscious as he watched your face closely.  

Even as you tried to suppress your reaction, you were sure you could feel every detail of him as he entered you and the effort was futile.

“You look beautiful like this,” he murmured, and you felt yourself blush.

“Like what?” you managed to ask through heavy breaths.

“Desperate.”

When he was fully inside you, you were confident there was none of you left to take, literally and metaphorically.  The way your body accepted him with just enough ease that there was no pain, and yet he pushed you to your limits until your head began to spin… it felt like you were made for each other.

“Yeah,” he agreed, and you hadn’t realized you had said the last part aloud.

As he moved inside you, you started to process that it was all a little too slow, a little too… sensual for your tastes.  Not to say you didn’t love it, because you did-- it was that you loved it too much, it made your heart ache in a way you preferred not to deal with at the moment.

“Faster, please,” you whimpered.

“No,” he sternly replied.

“Please,” you begged again.  You tried to give him your best doe eyes and pouty lip, a face nobody could say no to.

“Say my name,” he demanded in reply.

You still had some shred of defiance left, apparently, because you were trying to make this less personal and here he was turning it into something it wasn’t.

“Make me,” you whispered.

His hand wrapped around your neck and you uselessly gasped for air, already feeling your face tingle from the lack of blood flow.  He didn’t stay long though, pushing you back onto the bed and, finally, fucking you hard.

“Yes!” you yelped.

“Say my name,” he demanded again, grabbing your hips.

“Fuck you,” you growled.  He probably realized that he was giving you what you wanted by punishing you for that, but he didn’t seem to mind, roughly rubbing his thumb against your clit.

“Oh god,” you groaned, arching your back.

"So fuckin' good," he groaned.

You felt your orgasm coming on way too quickly, even when you’d already gotten off when he ate you out.

“Say my name,” he asked one last time,

“Sy,” you moaned, “Sy, baby, don’t stop.”

You started to lean your head back but he grabbed your face and forced you to meet his gaze.

“You’d better look at me when I make you come,” he instructed.

You obeyed but it made it so much harder to keep from screaming which was rather inconvenient with enlisted sleeping not too far away.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute,” he announced, and the severity of his tone was mismatched with the sensitivity of his words, “and all mine.”

Your gut twisted in the most delicious way.  “Yours,” you agreed fervently, “I’m yours, Sy.”

He smiled as if he was actually surprised, when you thought it had been pretty obvious.

"Sy, I- I'm gonna-" you stuttered.

"Come for me," he said darkly and you weren't sure if it was a command or if he was just finishing your sentence.  Regardless, it was very effective. 

You unintentionally held your breath and your orgasm hit you so hard that you feared you would pass out or something.  Instead your entire body quivered and jerked and you made a noise you were confident that you had never made before in your whole life.  He fucked into you as hard as ever, but leaned down, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close.  Your nails dug into his shoulders but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Inside me,” you managed to beg through the haze of pleasure, “please come inside me.”

He growled and held you so tight that you couldn’t breathe very well but it was worth it as you felt him flex inside you and heard him moan-- not a grunt, not a sigh, but a true, proper moan, and it was the best thing you’d ever heard.

His movements slowed to a stop and you just listened to the sound of his breathing.  He rolled off of you after a moment and you laid side by side, staring at the ceiling.

“Is this the part where you kick me out?” he asked quietly after a moment.

“I mean, it’s not like you can stay,” you replied.  He sighed and sat up on the bed, and if you didn’t know better you’d say he looked dejected-- heartbroken, even.  “But, you don’t have to leave right now,” you offered.

“That’s my reward?  I don’t have to leave thirty seconds after we fuck?”

You swallowed.  “I… I didn’t realize you wanted to stay.”

“I can take a hint, Major,” he frowned, looking back at you. “I’ll go.”

“No, Sy-” you began, and he relaxed a bit.  “I just meant that you couldn’t stay the night.  It’s just too risky, you know, we could get caught-”

“Right,” he nodded.

“But I don’t want you to leave,” you admitted.

He smiled and leaned down over you, brushing a hand through your hair.

“Do you want me to stay?” he pressed.

“Just for a while, we can just… talk,” you shrugged.

“Then say it,” he requested.

It wasn’t until that moment that you finally understood why he was always asking you to say that you wanted him aloud.  You had just assumed it was a dominance thing, one more tool in his “ways to piss her off and make her feel like an idiot” kit.  But you saw now that he was insecure, that he wouldn’t believe you wanted him unless you made it abundantly clear.  Now, what would make a guy like him insecure, that was a mystery for another day. 

“I want you to stay, Sy,” you said firmly.  He kissed you, and it was oddly sweet, sort of domestic even.  You had to force yourself not to tense up when you processed that this was a boyfriend/girlfriend sort of kiss, rather than a fuck-buddy kiss or an enemies-with-benefits kiss.  You let your hand reach up and wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him in even more.  Of course, that was the exact moment he decided to pull back.

“Don’t get greedy,” he scolded with a grin.

“Don’t get snarky,” you returned.

And when he kissed you again you felt that part of your brain screaming at you.  This is a terrible idea, you can’t come back from this, all your relationships get fucked up.

But there was another part of you, perhaps your heart, that responded, at least this one can’t get fucked up, because it started fucked up.

[limerental]

geraskier fic recs

aka everything i remembered to bookmark on ao3 just vomited into a tumblr post because i want to yell about them (and there are more than this that I enjoyed dearly i am just very silly and forget to save them)

under a cut to spare your dashboard

b-sides and rarities by fathomfive, 6.4k

note: i am weak for pining, long meandering but inevitable feeling journeys toward one another, deeply felt landscape description and melancholy ballads and this fic is all of those

excerpt:

He plays a few idle notes, and then slides smoothly into a tune that’s at once familiar and new. It’s a walking song, a good steady-paced melody without flourishes. He plucks a note, holds it in his throat and hums, and sings. Morning came over the mountains, there I was, there we were.

Noon burned above the broken path, you left but I return.

A season’s span to where I find you, call and I return.

O the light fades in the valley, I’ll return, return.

here, where the world is quiet by @drawlight, 5.4k, explicit

note: the jaskier pov in this is very, very lovely and it was hard to pick an excerpt because all the prose is lovely and jaskier’s descriptions of geralt are particularly lovely

excerpt:

“But if you ever wanted,” Jaskier spreads his hands, his long fingers, spreading out the wrinkles of the bedsheets. The weight of Geralt next to him is constant. A promise. They constantly circle, dance to unsung songs. Geralt never dances, except here, around Jaskier. (You can run so far away, Witcher, but space is not that forgiving. There is so much nothingness, nothing to block, nothing to get in the way. On a good night, from a clear plain with little light pollution, one can see twenty-quadrillion miles into the sky. Jaskier thinks this number sounds absurd but he trusts the arithmancers and knows in his heart, in his blood, his bones that it is the truth. Jaskier knows there is nowhere to hide; he has tried.)

The Ballad of Pots and Pans by 6th_magnitude, 8.1k

note: this one’s got oblivious geralt realizing all of jaskier’s songs, even the less obvious ones, are actually about him and excellent banter and some poignant and painful bits about jaskier’s mortality and also just a bunch of really great ballads.

excerpt:

Jaskier startles, and looks at Geralt a little dazedly. “Nothing. It’s – oh, I just wanted to write something good and true to capture everything I feel in this moment, and I cannot for the life of me write it at all! What good is being a poet if you cannot translate the most important feelings of your life to pen and paper? What good is it if I cannot write you a song, so that one day you might remember this morning?”

“I’ll remember it,” Geralt replies quietly. “I don’t need a song to remember it.”

Jaskier smiles at him, his eyes shining a little with unshed tears of frustration. “Even so, I would like to memorialise this feeling, record every detail, so I might recall it later. The human memory is so fallible, you know. It’s why we make songs and stories – to remember feelings, even when facts have faded from all memory.”

“I’ll remember it,” Geralt says again, sleepily. “I’ll remember this feeling. No matter what.”

swallow my breath and take what is mine by @anacaoris, 6.5k, explicit

note: this has got jaskier giving all sorts of nice things to geralt that he doesn’t feel he deserves and misunderstandings and geralt not knowing how to use his words or brain cell and oh also there’s smut

excerpt: 

Fingers flex in his hair, running a shudder down his spine at the spark of it. Part of him wishes he knew better what to say, that this could be simpler. That he was born with the same poetry spilling from him enough to say all that he tucks in his lungs but he’s not, he’s better with action, better with showing just what he needs to mean so Geralt brings a hand up, curls it around Jaskier’s and keeps it in messy locks, still damp from the bath as he sinks to his knees.  “Sweet merciful blessings, I will, ah, I’ll take this as a ye-ehs.” 

Companionship by ArliaDevi, 4.1k

note: really fun take on their relationship in ciri pov and i love found family domesticity so much and geralt teaching ciri things and glimpses of tender moments

excerpt:

When Geralt gets back, covered in what Ciri is quite sure is intestines, they eat quietly in the corner of the inn. Jaskier plays his music, his hat out for coins. He sings well, Ciri has to admit, and there’s an entrancing quality about the way he performs, luring all eyes to him. Even Geralt’s eyes seem to wander back to Jaskier, lingering on him just long enough that Ciri manages to steal a few mouthfuls of ale.

‘Don’t think I didn’t notice that,’ Geralt mutters as Ciri slides the large stein back in place.

‘Girls in Cintra drink at ten,’ Ciri replies matter-of-factly.

‘No, they don’t.’ Geralt takes another mouthful of ale before sliding it towards Ciri. ‘Don’t let Jaskier see.’

‘Stealth training?’

Geralt rolls his eyes. ‘Sure.’

look what you made me do by @cicaklah, 6.5k, explicit

note: is just another in the “jaskier’s songs are all about geralt and geralt is a dumbass” genre and also there’s deeply immersive scenery details and also also there’s a truly filthy sequel that is not on this list only because i still have some level of shame but it’s here in spirit

excerpt(s):

They ride half a day, Geralt chatting to Roach about all the injustices in the world, most of which are food related, with Roach hrumphing every now and then in response. Around them the fallow fields are untouched, resembling plush, perfect eiderdowns, with gnarled trees like the posts of a fine bed, fit for a giant. The sky is clear after the storm, bluer than at the height of summer and vast, their clouds stolen for the ground.

and

Geralt understands how long sex can last, always feels sorry and guilty for the women he beds who don’t understand that stamina was one of the most successful mutations he gained. He hates how easy it is to push that little bit too far into pain unless he’s careful (and he’s always careful, he loves women, loves their pleasure, never lets himself get carried away) but now there’s a man behind him and he realises that he can take it, that they made him perfectly for this by accident, so he can take all that male stamina and strength into himself and enjoy it like a glutton, enjoy it in the way he only has been able to a handful of times in his life, match every stroke with his own power.

Dawn by Sylvalum, 3.5k

note: this one is a bit different to the others on this list but it’s got delightful yen & jaskier developing friendship and a touch o the ole melancholy that i so very much crave

excerpt:

Yennefer doesn’t say anything, so eventually Jasker turns back to the grave and lowers the body, then starts to shovel the earth back in, rich soil and sandy dirt and tufts of dead grass. He tries to cover the dead sorceress carefully, to send her off into the eternal night gently, but he fumbles too much and works too fast. Impatience and fear have burnt away his flesh so now there’s only nerve endings left to hide his ragged bones. It’s… it’s been a long day. He’s been digging for most of it.

Yennefer simply watches, standing behind Jaskier like a disapproving mother. Until suddenly she says in an oddly quiet voice,   “Her name was Sabrina.”

And Jaskier stills. Haltingly, Yennefer steps forward to stand and look at the grave for a moment.

And after that, she starts to help Jaskier dig the graves.

To Sleep Perchance To by sospes, 16.9k, canon-typical violence & gore

note: it isn’t a fic rec list by me unless it’s got angst on the list so warning for torture and unreliable reality and general gnarly descriptions of violence and psychological damage. this broke my heart a wee bit and it may just break yours.

excerpt:

In those quiet, maybe-false moments, Jaskier knows that if this goes on much longer, he’s going to lose his mind. It’s not a panicked thought, not a terrified thought, it’s a cool, calm, logical realisation that he doesn’t think he can get away from. He’s losing the ability to know what’s real and what isn’t. He’s spending every waking second in a nightmare of blood and betrayal. And there’s nothing he can do to escape.

Geralt comes and presses him up against the cold stone wall of the cold stone cell, pinning his wrists above his head with one impossibly strong hand. He kisses him, slow and languid, and then he sucks a bruise into the side of his neck, using too much teeth and too much tongue. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs into Jaskier’s throat, and Jaskier takes the opportunity to knee him in the balls.

let us shake the abacus by @et-in-arkadia, 3k, explicit

note: this is simple, shameless smut and i am only allowing myself to slap it at the bottom of this list because i’m fond of the author’s work in general and also the dynamic, man, this dynamic is what it’s all about

Resigned to his poor decision-making for the evening, Geralt breaks away from where he's sucked a bruise into the soft skin of Jaskier's neck. Jaskier is moving against him like a ship on an unruly sea, increasingly impatient and unmoored.

"Tell me," Jaskier insists. He scratches lines down Geralt's back, then grabs Geralt's ass to haul him closer. "Geralt. Tell me."

This is also different: Jaskier likes to hear him talk, prefers to hear, above all else, Geralt's intent. Jaskier's need for words is limitless, unquenchable—Geralt has made him come all but untouched by whispering into Jaskier's ear the things that he'd do, given the time. It's really quite extraordinary. Which is perhaps why Geralt entertains the request, despite not being exactly given over to loquaciousness himself.

[whatapunk]

Endings: Chapter 4

I’m sure everyone has forgotten about this by now but... I finally finished the fourth chapter I’ve been working on for over a month. I think I stressed over this chapter because I brought in some old Legends canon and that just made me overthink all. the. things. Anywho, maybe someone out there will enjoy it because even though I may take forever to update I’m really enjoying writing it! Especially now that I’ve started to explain my OC and get all the things in my head down on paper... 

Title: Endings

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Relationship: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla; Kanan Jarrus/female OC

Rating: m for the profanity, possibly for non-explicit intimacy later

Word Count: 3410

Previous Chapters: Ch. 1 / Ch. 2/ Ch. 3

16 years prior

Aboard CT-900 freighter, Exuberance

Kanan Jarrus hadn’t felt this way since he was on Kaller. He’d been chased by his old clone squadron for years since Order 66, but he’d never been discovered by an outsider before. Now, as he stood in the hallway of a ship in the middle of hyperspace, he pressed his forehead to the cold metal wall beside him. Sweat prickled on his neck and his head felt a little light. Knowing someone else knew he was a jedi hadn’t just scared him- it terrified him. 

Kanan took a deep breath and calmed himself, calling upon his meditation experience from when he was a jedi, funnily enough. He breathed again.

“Alright, lad?” a voice startled him out of his trance. 

Kanan straightened himself and tried hard to pretend he hadn’t just been leaning on the wall. The pilot, Mack, eyed him quizzically. 

“Kid?” 

At that, Kanan frowned, though he could feel his mind drained of all fight at the moment.

“Don’t call me that,” he said quietly and walked past the ship pilot and into the galley. 

Mack, who had better things to do than talk to one of his non-crew passengers (let alone a teenage one), pulled greasy work gloves from his hands and yelled down a shaft in the floor that led to the cargo bay. 

“Hey Rhia, don’t take too long moving those stacks- we’re starving up here!” Mack was smiling and laughing at his own joke, though Kanan could tell by the tone that Mack generally being obnoxious was his idea of joking. Kanan saw a skinny metal tool of some kind hurl itself up out of the hole in the floor, narrowly missing Mack’s face as he bent over the opening. Kanan smirked.

Mack strolled off down to his quarters and left Kanan alone in the galley. A few seconds later, Kanan heard a very loud crash in the cargo bay below, followed by a woman swearing even louder.

“Dank farrik!” Rhia yelled, exasperated. 

Kanan really wasn’t in the mood to be helpful, especially not toward Rhia. She’d been perfectly nice the entire time Kanan had been aboard Exuberance, but now she knew him. He replayed his last conversation, moments ago, with her over in his mind and felt ice in his gut. No, she’d manage on her own down there. 

Just as Kanan stood up to go to his own quarters, a couple more smaller crashes happened below. He rolled his eyes at himself, knowing he was a sucker for lending a quick hand, even if it was someone he’d hoped to never speak to again. 

Determined (disdainfully) to lend a hand, Kanan climbed down the ladder to the bay. Turning to face the expected mess, he was all but dumbstruck at what he didn’t expect to see. Rhia, nearly turned completely away from Kanan, was in the middle of tying her hair more securely back in place. Kanan was mesmerized. 

He’d noticed Rhia had vibrant, deep red hair the moment he’d seen her- anyone would. But she kept it up, tightly wound in a way that had hidden just how long it was. Not only that, but it didn’t look so, well, alien as it did all hanging loosely, catching the lights. It was long, hiding her entire back, and wavy, especially near the ends. Kanan’s mouth hung open and he couldn’t decide if he was seeing it sparkle or not. He’d been assuming she was just a fellow human, but looking at her now, he wasn’t so sure. She finished wrapping it up and caught a glimpse of him in the corner of her eye. She clearly thought about speaking but then hesitated, wondering how long he’d been standing there.

“Wow,” Kanan heard himself, unfortunately, utter. Rhia rolled her eyes, but revealed a small smile.

“That’s charming,” she said wryly. 

“Your hair, I’ve- I’ve neve seen anything like it,” he said, finally able to string some words together. Rhia’s smile faltered.

“Yeah, it’s genetic,” was all she offered before she went back to organizing the mess around her. When Kanan didn’t move, she started to get a little irritated. 

“What do you want, Kanan?” she asked, a little nastier than she meant to be. It seemed to bring him back to reality.

“I was just uh… I heard the crashes and thought you might need help,” he said feebly. Rhia softened at this. She also noted he refused to meet her eyes, a difference, she noted, that was new. New for the new dynamic that now surrounded and suffocated both of them: Kanan, a jedi outcast, and Rhia, the woman who’d found him out. 

“Oh,” she started, “well then thank you. Can you pick up the stacks over there while I get these?” she pointed and Kanan nodded, turning away silently, and began picking up the scattered cargo. 

Rhia went back to her own mess, but paused to watch him. He’d come all the way down here to help, but clearly not because of her. They’d been getting along so well it was hard for Rhia to remember that she had found him absolutely intolerable when she’d first met him. She’d only outed him for the good of her crew and to make sure that his identity didn’t bring them all down. She had absolutely no intentions of revealing the jedi to anyone and had promised that she would make up something else to tell the crew once they dropped them off at a far more remote location than Kanan and Janus had originally paid them for. But still, here it was, a chasm between the two of them, only instead of them both being on either side, Rhia stood at the top holding a rope from which Kanan dangled in the abyss below. Or at least that’s how it felt to him.

She knew what she had to do, the only thing that would ease the boy’s mind. 

“I’m a Morellian,” she said simply, eyes on her work. Kanan stopped and looked at her.

“What?”

“My species. We all have the hair.” 

Kanan’s brain finally caught up to what she was saying. Before seeing her hair, he’d never questioned her species and had been assuming, wrongly, that she was a human. Every other facet of her appearance led him to believe she was human, though now as his eyes were drawn again to her hair, he realized it made sense why he’d never encountered such a thing before. 

“Morellian? I’ve... never heard of them.”

“Well, they’re mostly a legend now, not something most people even hear about. I’ve not seen another like me since I was young,” she said, a more solemn edge to her tone. 

“Where are you from?” Kanan asked, interested in both the subject and changing it slightly.

“Morellia,” she started, letting out a little laugh at what sounded so obvious. “It’s a small planet out beyond the outer rim,” she explained. “I haven’t been there since I was young either.” 

“What happened to them?” Kanan asked before he had really thought about it.

“The last full clan of them was killed about 70 years ago,” she said, not looking at him. “There haven’t been Morellians on Morellia since.”

Kanan dropped the subject he now felt bad for asking about. He’d planned not to say another word and just finish helping her in silence when suddenly a thought occurred to him.

“Wait,” he began, “you said you’d been there- that you’d seen other Morellians when you were young. But that’d make you…” he trailed off, realizing the math and scrutinizing her carefully. She smirked. 

“We also live for a long time,” she explained. 

“So when you told me earlier that you were too old for me…” he said, questioning. 

“I’m 136.”

“Oh,” Kanan was suddenly lost for words. She certainly did look older than him, but not that old. He said the only thing he could think of. “Well, you look great.” 

Rhia laughed, genuinely. She was still very unsure of this kid, especially given his past, but he had a natural charm that she could tell he was in the midst of fine tuning. She was a person who generally liked the quiet and she liked being quiet; naturally, she also liked quiet people, or, even better- few to no people. But she already seemed to like being around this kid, even if she hadn’t at first. It was why she had started this conversation in the first place.

“Even before my species became so rare, we were sort of hunted," she began, a little out of nowhere. "I mean, in the right market, to the right buyer, especially now, a Morellian slave, or even just enough of our hair, could set up a person with wealth for life,” she said as casually as if she was telling him what was for dinner. She slid a hoverpad under a stack of crates and activated it, pushing it neatly into a corner. 

Kanan had stopped working and stared at her, brow furrowed and mouth slightly open. He was just about to ask her why she was telling him this when she continued.

“Maybe even more than something as rare as a jedi.”

Kanan felt his shoulders relax, having been more tensed up than he’d even realized. For the first time since Rhia had told him she knew of his identity, his mind stopped racing and he stepped out of fight-or-flight mode. She still didn’t look back at him, and no more words were said while they cleaned up the rest of the crates in the bay. The silence wasn’t awkward or tense though, and Kanan enjoyed it and felt real gratitude, a feeling that was few and far between for him these days. She’d put him back on the same level as herself, or really, put herself on his level. She didn’t have to at all, but she’d given up what he figured was probably her biggest secret to him; she reset the dynamic between them, just to put him at ease. Upon this realization, Kanan felt something else that had eluded him greatly in the last few years: trust.

***

Present Day

Kanan guided the twi’lek down the hall, battling to keep himself in a straight line so that he could guide her to do the same. Hera was all giggles.

“Kanan, I like her,” she said for the third time since they’d left Rhia in the galley. Kanan chuckled.

“Yes, she’s a very nice person,” he replied again, reaching a hand out to steady himself against the wall as Hera’s balance faltered. 

“I can definitely see why you guys dated,” she said, her voice slightly too loud.

“We didn’t exactly date,” Kanan interjected. He worried he came off as too defensive.

“Sorry,” Hera started, rolling her eyes playfully. “I can tell why you guys slept together frequently,” she said casually. Kanan chuckled but felt himself blush ever so slightly. 

Hera had never met a girl from Kanan’s past before, mostly because none of them lasted long enough for him to really even remember properly. He’d had a steady string of nothing steady for a long time in his late teens and early twenties, and Hera knew that much. She didn’t care, and Kanan could tell she meant that. So now, it felt weird to him for her to know not only who Rhia was, but to actually meet her as well. Kanan had never mentioned her to Hera. 

“And her hair is so red!” Hera announced, shaking Kanan out of his thoughts. “I’ve never seen hair like that, have you?”

“I’ve not-”

“I mean she’s gorgeous anyway,” Hera cut him off, “but she has such a striking… head!” Kanan laughed and Hera frowned at him.

“Don’t you laugh at me, Kanan Jarrus. You know I don’t drink much,” she said, putting a finger in his face. He pulled it gently down and held her hand. 

“I know, I haven’t had this much to drink in years I think.”

“You don’t sound drunk,” she said. They walked through their hangar doors and the Ghost appeared, parked before them. “How do I sound so much drunker than you? I didn’t even drink that much!” Hera’s volume increased again and Kanan softly shushed her, laughing. 

“I don’t know, but I promise you I’m only holding it together to impress you,” Kanan said, only half joking. He did seem to be slightly more sober than Hera, but truthfully he couldn’t feel his face. 

Kanan led Hera up Ghost’s ramp, both of them trying to keep their giggles as quiet as they could, for fear of bothering Zeb, Sabine, or Ezra. Finally, they made it to Hera’s quarters and he guided her to her bunk, laying her down and pulling off her boots. By the time he was finished, Hera’s eyes were drooping so low that for a moment he couldn’t tell if she was still awake. She smiled and curled her legs up closer to her chest, rolling to her side. 

“Kanan… I like her,” she said again, a whisper that faded into the final sigh she released before sleep took hold. Kanan smiled and kissed her forehead before he left, as silently as his stumbling could be. 

For a moment he’d considered going to his own quarters and letting the drunken fog behind his eyes lull him to sleep. But something else pressed on his mind, willing itself and his feet forward. He felt both an intense longing and a swollen mass of guilt inside his chest. The longing brought him back into the bay, back down the hallway, and back to a galley that still had a light on. The guilt had begun wrapping tendrils around his heart, his lungs- whatever was pounding in his chest. But the pounding slowed those tendrils down, shook some of them off, and Kanan’s foggy mind was in no position to follow anything except straight, concentrated feeling.

Nearly running into him, Rhia gasped at Kanan’s sudden appearance in the doorway. 

“Fuck, Kanan, you know it’s late and quiet and no one’s around, right?” Rhia asked, catching her breath. Kanan laughed at her, more than he usually would have. Rhia laughed it off, but readjusted her grip on the shoulder strap of her bag and flipped the light off, clear signs that she was on her way out. 

“I needed to use your fresher,” Kanan said, making an obvious effort to enunciate over his slurs. Rhia raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t have a fresher on your ship?” she asked, skeptical. 

“Zeb’s… showering,” he said, not so smoothly. “You know… fur,” he added, as if it was clarifying. Rhia nodded, but slowly. 

“Ah, well, sure. I’m down here,” she said, pointing and exiting the galley to her right. Her pulse, which had been so pleasantly dropped for the evening, suddenly quickened, and that plus the alcohol started to make her queasy. She walked quickly so it would feel like there was a breeze. Even so, it was a short walk before they’d arrived. 

Rhia punched in her code and the door slid past them almost silently. Inside, there was a dull wall light that glowed a sunset-colored orange that bathed things in just the right amount of light to see where everything was. To save energy and to encourage regular sleeping patterns, the light remained this color until 0500, when it would begin to brighten to a bold white. This was the first time Rhia found herself wishing she could override such things.

Rhia knew why he’d asked to come in. Even if he really did have to use the fresher, the point was still just to be inside, away from anything and anyone. She could now feel her heart rate increasing more every second it seemed, and all it did was make her angry with herself, which made it worse. 

“It’s there,” she said softly and pointed to the door on the left, the other one being a small closet. 

Once he’d closed the door behind him Rhia felt her shoulders fall as she breathed out loudly, unaware that she’d been holding back. She sat down on her bed to untie her boots, thinking desperately about what she was going to say- what she was going to have to say. When she heard the flush she stood up quickly, worried about how it would look to him if he came out and she was sitting on the bed. She turned to her dresser, where she began rifling through her sock drawer when Kanan came out of the fresher. She took a quiet but deep breath.

“I know why you’re here, Kanan,” she said evenly.

“Why I am here- like on this ship? Or like here, here?” he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice. He was at the part of the night where everything that comes out of his mouth is somehow a joke. Every statement had a natural lift in tone at the end, as if it were a punchline. She wanted to roll her eyes because it both drove her insane and, for some reason, greatly affected the strength of her knees. She had to stay serious though; she did not want to be that kind of person. 

“Kanan,” and she turned to face him. “I know why you’re here. I shouldn’t- we shouldn’t have had so much to drink. I know why you wanted to come in here, but I just can’t,” she said, the last words coming out with more exasperation than she’d meant to show. He was barely listening.

“You don’t know why I’m here, Rhia,” he said calmly, that tranquil smile glued to his face.

“Kanan I know what you want- it just-”

“You really don’t.” “Kanan-” she started, her voice beginning to raise. His voice, unchanging this whole time, cut her off.

“Can I see your hair?” he asked, the drunkenness of the words and the way he said them enveloping her in something that felt so wholesome. Her hands, which she’d begun to raise in an exhausted gesture, fell to her sides, her arms suddenly feeling so heavy.

Kanan looked at her and even in the fogginess of his inebriated brain he knew he’d remember what she looked like when everything about her suddenly softened. Rhia paused. Her mouth fell open just slightly, but instead of speaking she simply offered him a shaky but honest head nod. She gave him the smallest smile before she turned back around to face her dresser and her hands went up into the knot of hair she kept piled on top of her head. 

Kanan watched her remove a few pins first, silently placing them on top of her dresser, and slowly strands and chunks of hair began to fall away. Once she was done with those, she worked her fingers beneath the bun, finding the ends of her hair and unwinding what seemed to be an endless ponytail. This wasn’t the first time Kanan had watched her do this, and it was every bit as mesmerizing as he remembered. Even in the dull orange light, it glimmered, reminding him of the way a grassy hill seems to shimmer in the wind.

Rhia undid the final tie and it all came cascading down her shoulders, throwing a fiery halo around her in every direction as she turned back around to face him. She ran her fingers through it a bit, feeling the relief of the tension off of her scalp. 

Kanan watched as the sunset-colored ceiling lamp made her shine like something that had been detonated. The slightest motion of her head threw ripples of metallic colors from root to tip, and Kanan tried to look at every inch of it at once, not wanting to miss such an amazing opportunity. Rhia was pleasantly attractive to most people and would be with or without hair. But with this hair, long and untamed as it was now, even in this artificial light, she looked positively divine. If she’d claimed now, in this moment, that she was some mythical goddess, there wasn’t a soul in the galaxy who wouldn’t believe her, let alone Kanan. He knew she wasn’t though, and that knowledge just made him like her more. She was just Rhia- beautiful Rhia. 

She met his eyes as they took a break from roaming around her head. He swallowed. 

“Oh, kriff.”

[r0h1rr1m]

rambly inception thoughts p.2

this has been kicked off, specifically, by disliking that i failed to include yusuf in this post but there’s already so much going on there re: exact limits/mechanics of imagination in dreams, how to call down projections, moral relativism, crack chara psych, and speculating on the future of ari’s career--and i explained most of it poorly anyway so it’s probably for the best!

to start with, i’ve always imagined that there’s a huge variety in the caliber/class of chemist u can hire in dreamshare. the title probably applies even to people whose capability starts and stops at sourcing base product for somnacin and/or the finished drug. the next level up can maybe mix up different kinds to standard specifications. idk how much education/training u’d need to be able to do this, bc i v much do not chemistry, but i’d bet there’s a lot of variety in ppl’s qualifications in this category, too. a standard formula might affect different ppl slightly differently, like any psychotropic drug (is that even the most sensible analogy to real-world science? idk and i don’t want to risk hours of ultimately fruitless wikipedia spiralling), but in the same vein, the variances will all probably fall within a reasonable range of the same functionality. without, like, some sort of neuro degree, probably, the most fine-tuning a chemist could do is optimize doses/known variants of the drug through trial and error in preparation for a job.

our man yusuf definitely has a high-level neuro degree

so, just like the rest of the team, yusuf is obviously a total powerhouse in his field. like i said, it must take sophisticated knowledge of brain chemistry in order to do what he did on the fischer job, as well as the same mad genius as the rest of them. (as an aside, can i just say how utterly delightful a team dynamic is “group of geniuses who surround themselves with enough people who are the same kind of batshit to normalize it”? i’m weak) and idk how someone gets famous in like neurochem but yusuf is so brilliant he was probably p well known. js imagine the comedic potential of whatever rising-star chemist meeting yusuf and js going dr. ____?! who published those completely revolutionary but completely balls-to-the-wall studies on x and then after throwing the discipline into an uproar either a) dropped off the face of the earth and is now known as smth of an urban legend/cryptid in the community or b) still corresponds w experts in the field but now about the wildest shit and ppl kind of have to mythologize/not think too hard abt the dude who walks in ppl’s heads in order not to risk js breaking everything

so yusuf knows his shit and his initial assertion that 3 levels is impossible can be trusted to carry a lot of weight. which means the fact that he proceeded to do it more than secures his place in the cast of demonstrable prodigies

now, bc this is ostensibly a continuation of a post that’s loosely focused on charas’ moralities, let’s look at the 2 parts of the movie where we most directly confront yusuf’s: his dream den and hiding the sedation from the team. i’m going with the assumption that any legitimate/legal research and application of dreamshare has been discontinued.

come yell at me for over oversimplifying, but that makes the question of the dream den seem p straight-forward. yusuf faced giving up dreamshare research (or came onto the scene after it was already illegal, which could make for some rly interesting stories abt how he would’ve found out abt it) and couldn’t, so he had to find a way to continue on his own. and since it would be in rly bad faith to assume he doesn’t have the full consent of all his test subjects, that’s js that. (i’m not going to argue abt the difference b/w ethics and morals, and i’m laughably unqualified to discuss the ethics of human experimentation anyway so moving on)

hiding the fact that the team was sedated was a major plot point and is discussed w according frequency, so i’m sure most ppl have their own opinions abt what this says abt the parties involved. i’ll readily admit that my view is heavily colored by the fact that i js plain like yusuf. he’s a likeable guy. (i’ll try not to go off on a tangent, but i know that my reasons for disliking cobb are a little unfair; it’s more about narrative structure than any of his personal failings. the fact is i have a weakness for hypercompetence, and cobb is presented as someone who used to be the best, but is no longer reliable. he shows flashes of his old brilliance running the mr. charles gambit successfully and improvising capitalizing on the appearance of fisher’s browning projection on l2, but he’s desperate enough to be untrustworthy and further, he’s untrustworthy in a way that is eminently predictable by the audience. we know from the get-go that his shade is gonna sabotage something, and it’s hard not to blame him for that. we also know from the get-go that he’s desperate enough to drag other ppl into a fool’s mission, and that he’s hiding something dangerous from arthur, who by all appearances should be the person cobb can trust, and the person to whom it’s most important to know that kind of shit. i’m not gonna pretend i anticipated that big twist in the parking garage on l1, but it makes a ton of sense in retrospect and all this makes it easy to see why cobb is so widely mistrusted/disliked by the fandom. and i went off on a tangent, whoops.)

so picking back up at yusuf is a likeable guy--he seems p friendly and easy-going and i thoroughly enjoyed every scene of him on l1. i’m gonna say a lot of his moral considerations come in the form of deciding what is or isn’t his responsibility. mbe he avoided or suitably resolved the thorny ethical question of human experimentation in the same way i kind of did: by saying that the participants agreed to it on their own and leaving it there. this kind of reasoning is how he would’ve let cobb take responsibility for sedating and then informing the team. it’s also probably how he decided to cue the kick early on l1 and make it everyone else’s problem. which i do think was the right decision! it would be absurd to suggest that this highly intelligent man’s patterns of reasoning are always questionable. but i do see a pattern.

as for the advice he’d give ari, i think a lot of this relates back to my mention in the earlier post of whether or not she could let an institution/legislation dictate her ethics to her. i’ve since decided that it’s simpler to assume the institutions are all outside the law, though, so i’m not going to think abt that anymore unless directly prompted. one thing we do know abt ari, though, in contrast to my suppositions abt yusuf, is that she has a v strong sense of responsibility. she took it upon herself to manage cobb, and she took it upon herself to save the job, fisher, saito, and cobb when it looked like everything had been ruined. thinking abt it now, this makes for further interesting contrast w arthur, whose sense of responsibility seems to revolve around personal loyalty, eames, whose sense of responsibility is acutely pragmatic, and saito, whose sense of responsibility is on the grand scale of stopping a monopoly (suitably ironic).

again, idk if i’ve rly made any kind of point, and now i want to go back and build elaborate hierarchies of skill in each job description (architect, extractor, etc) like i kind of did for chemists but, well. if u made it this far bless u, i hope u have a wonderful day. vote

[homespork-review]

HOMESPORK ACT 5 ACT 1: Mobius Double Plusungood, Part 3

TW: """funny""" sexual and physical assault of a child by another child, extreme bullying, extreme ableism, a very brief discussion of shipping characters outside their canon sexuality.

CHEL: We get some implications of the part of troll culture we ended on last time when a slightly baffled-looking Nepeta, watching through the viewport, updates her SHIPPING WALL. Instead of hearts, some of the hypothetical pairings she’s painted are marked with diamonds. What this means will be explained shortly.

I can’t help but feel it’s slightly creepy to hypothetically matchmake your own friends, but I’m pretty sure the other trolls know at least that the shipping wall exists if not exactly which ships they’re in, and they do live in a society in which it’s stated later that mating is mandatory, so it would indeed be helpful to have at least emergency-doable matchmaking done well in advance and they might appreciate the help.

I’d like to take a moment to note a ship at the bottom row, left of centre; GA/Tavros. Hussie, on his Formspring, later said that GA was “obviously” a lesbian, or anyway was only interested in women, which doesn’t have a specific term for it in troll culture. It’s actually hard to tell going by what’s shown in canon, because she only displays specific interest in girls except for in a complicated case we’ll discuss later, but trolls are supposed to be bi-normative, plus it’s not like the male selection here is particularly inspiring, so, yeah, the evidence we actually see isn't conclusively "obvious". The fandom, knowing this, systematically harass anyone who even muses vaguely about the possibility of shipping her with a boy, even if they don't know about that Word of God. This is why I’m wondering whether the trolls knew about the shipping wall, because if they did, we can presume GA didn’t care. For the record, I’m sex-repulsed ace and have in fact written about.my own imaginary persona fucking (admittedly fucking an opposite sex clone of herself, it was a complicated injoke) and my reaction to someone else writing it would depend on context and reason, so I can imagine her reacting similarly, but not everyone would. A similar thing with a canonically gay male character explicitly on-screen not caring about hypothetical shipping of himself with girls comes up much later; he’s not a troll, but his upbringing was troll-influenced (long story).

BRIGHT: Harassing people over the ships they make content for always baffles me. It’s not like fanart/fanfic for a ship which contradicts canon has any effect on the canon, and playing around with character dynamics (often in a pornographic manner) is a major part of fanfic.

CHEL: On top of all this, gender and sexuality are really shaky concepts to even try to apply to a species which reproduces hermaphroditically. On this side of the fourth wall it’s obviously because Hussie is a not-very-reflective cisgender heterosexual man, and didn’t think about it any further than “girls wear skirts, right?” Plenty of people fanwank up possibilities for how it could happen on the other side. I think we may have to make a “What The Fuck Is Alternian Biology And Sociology” post or two separate from the sporking at the very end.

Discourse discussion over! Next page, we see some of the relevant terminology used in troll culture, though we still don’t get any explanation of what any of the words actually mean, which is a tad annoying for new readers. The context is a discussion between Karkat and Vriska about getting her into the game.

BRIGHT: Specifically, Karkat wants Vriska to get Tavros into the game, leading to this exchange…

CG: WHY DO YOU EVEN HATE HIM, IT'S FUCKING RIDICULOUS. CG: IF ANYTHING YOU SHOULD PITY HIM. CG: ESPECIALLY SINCE YOU WERE THE ONE WHO PARALYZED HIM. AG: I know. I don't really understand it. AG: It's just a really special kind of h8! It never goes away and it doesn't make a lot of sense. CG: THIS IS KIND OF A WEIRD TIME TO BE CONFIDING IN ME ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS OF BLACK ROMANCE BUT OK. AG: Oh god, what? CG: I MEAN IF YOU'RE REALLY IMPLYING TAVROS IS YOUR KISMESIS I THINK YOU'RE BRAYING UP THE WRONG FROND NUB. CG: BOTH PARTIES HAVE TO HATE EACH OTHER EQUALLY, I MEAN LIKE TRUE HATE. CG: MAYBE YOUR FEELINGS COME SOMEWHAT CLOSE TO FITTING THE BILL BUT I DON'T THINK HE CAN HATE ANYONE, IT'S WEIRD, HE'S KIND OF BROKEN IN THE HEAD.

Finally, our long-awaited introduction to troll romance!

And the introduction is an effective one. We now know that there’s something called ‘black romance’, that it concerns hate, and that one’s black-romantic partner is a ‘kismesis’. The conversation also flows naturally and fits the characters having it, rather than being an awkward as-you-know infodump, although brace yourselves, there’s one of those coming up. Thirteen is about right for kids starting to have romantic feelings and being confused about it, not wanting to talk about it is pretty normal, and Karkat lecturing people at a good opportunity is absolutely in character.

Karkat goes on to lecture Vriska about the emotions involved in different sorts of romantic relationships, and wow, it really says a lot about troll culture…

CG: OK, MOST PEOPLE WHO HAVEN'T HAD THEIR LOBE STEM CAUTERIZED ARE CAPABLE OF FEELING THE TWO PRIMARY EMOTIONS, HATE AND PITY. CG: PITY IS OF COURSE JUST THE TONED DOWN VERSION OF THE CENTRAL EMOTION, HATE. CG: AND ALL THE NUANCES OF PITY MANIFEST AS VARIOUS OTHER KINDS OF FEELINGS LIKE WHATEVER CHEMICAL REACTIONS TRIGGER MATING FONDNESS OR THE MYSTERIOUS FORCES THAT ARE BEHIND MOIRALLEGIANCE.

CHEL: It’s never really clear if this is just Karkat’s idea of it or if this is how trolls actually work biologically. Trolls do use the word “love” later on, so I always interpreted it as “pity” being a euphemistic term because “love” in such a warlike and oppressive culture could be exploited as a weakness. Fandom has played it with their love actually being based on a weird form of sympathy/seeing the other as needing protection, which is also plausible.

FAILURE ARTIST: I have played with the pity thing before but in retrospect Karkat is the only one who seems to see it that way. Maybe this is all his fake deep teenager view of romance.

BRIGHT: Vriska makes a performance of how bored she is, but Karkat’s on a roll.

CG: A WELL BALANCED PERSON IS IS GOING TO HAVE A GOOD DISTRIBUTION BETWEEN HATE AND THE VARIOUS PITY HUMORS. CG: HAVING A GOOD BALANCE KEEPS ALL THE EMOTIONS SHARPER, SEE I THINK THAT'S YOUR PROBLEM. AG: Oh???????? AG: I hope you know I already wore out some good note-taking pens today. All the pens. AG: All of them. CG: SEE, MY HATE IS LIKE A FINELY TUNED INSTRUMENT BECAUSE I'M AWARE OF THESE PRINCIPLES. CG: I COULD HATE A HOLE IN PARADOX SPACE ITSELF, STRAIGHT THROUGH TO A NEW REALITY FRESH FOR THE HATING. AG: Hahahahahahahaha, you don't even know how much I'm laughing at this. CG: BUT SEE, YOU'RE TOO HEAVY ON THE HATE SIDE, OR AT LEAST YOU PRETEND TO BE WHICH IS MAYBE WORSE. AG: You aren't reading anything I say are you? You just want to talk and talk and talk. CG: AND YOU THINK YOU'RE HATING UP EVERYONE HARD WHEN YOU'RE REALLY JUST BURNING OUT THAT ENTIRE EMOTIONAL HEMISPHERE. CG: IT'S LIKE LUKEWARM HATE. PRETENDER'S HATE, WITH NO COUNTERPOINT AT ALL. CG: AS SUCH THERE'S NO REAL SUBSTANCE TO YOUR HATE, IT'S LIKE A CARDBOARD MOVIE PROP. CG: WHICH IS WHY YOUR BRAIN IS BROKEN, KIND OF LIKE TAVROS'S BUT ON THE OPPOSITE HEMISPHERE I GUESS. CG: OR MAYBE YOUR BROKEN BRAIN LED TO THE IMBALANCE IN THE FIRST PLACE, I DON'T KNOW. CG: WHATEVER THE CASE IS, YOU'RE KIND OF EMOTIONALLY SCREWED, SORRY TO SAY. CG: YOUR HATE'S TOO DULL FOR A PROPER KISMESIS, IN MY OPINION. CG: AND I DON'T SEE ANYONE CHOMPING AT THE BIT TO BE YOUR MOIRAIL HONESTLY, UNLESS THERE'S SOMEONE OUT THERE WHO WOULD ACTUALLY BOTHER PITYING YOU. CG: AND LANDING A MATESPRIT? HAHAHAHA! CG: SERIOUSLY, LIKE THAT WOULD EVEN INTEREST YOU. CG: BASICALLY ANY FEATURE OF YOUR EMOTIONAL PROFILE THAT USUALLY MAKES SOMEONE VIABLE IN THE REDROM DEPARTMENT MUST BE TOTALLY FRIED. CG: YOUR BLACKROM POTENTIAL'S PROBABLY TOAST TOO.

Whew.

So now we have ‘kismesis’, ‘moirail’, and ‘matesprit’ as terms for romantic partners, as well as the concepts of black romance, red romance, and ‘moirallegiance’ as the relationship one has with a moirail. Troll romance is not going to get any less confusing for a while.

If Karkat’s grasp of psychology strikes you as amateurish, there’s a reason for that: He gets all his knowledge from romance movies.

AG: Hey asshole, stop watching movies for girls.

I think that’s another strike against the ‘girls are the dangerous ones on Alternia’ argument. Romance movies, per this exchange, are both female-coded and seen as inferior -- Karkat defends his viewing choices by saying they’re INTRIGUING SOCIOLOGICALLY, but Vriska isn’t buying it.

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 42 WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 33

CHEL: I’m not sure an interest in the workings of romance should be a socially gendered thing in a society where, as it turns out, you have to have an acceptable romantic partner by a certain time or die. You’d think most kids would be trying as hard as they could to learn and put into practice everything they could about it, and you’d also think there’d be better information for them than romcoms.

BRIGHT: Has the mate-or-die part come up yet? I’m not sure when Hussie thought of it.

CHEL: I don’t know if he’d thought of it yet, but it does come up very soon.

BRIGHT: Karkat then moves on to the original reason he contacted Vriska -- he needs her and her mind powers in the game, because he’s just run into a double agent called Jack.

Over on the next panel, Karkat is still talking to Vriska, but he’s glancing back over his shoulder at Jack Noir. His hand is covered in blood, which keeps cycling through a range of colours. The blood, it transpires, is because Jack stabbed him. Karkat is amazingly calm about this.

CG: HE'S COOL, IT'S FINE I DON'T REALLY MIND THE STABBING, IT WAS ALL A MISUNDERSTANDING. CG: WELL OK I'M PRETTY SURE HE MEANT TO STAB ME. CG: BUT I KIND OF THINK THAT'S LIKE CG: THE WAY HE GREETS PEOPLE? AG: This game is so stupid. CG: IN ANY CASE I THINK HE'S PROBABLY ALL STABBED OUT.

This would be ridiculously chill even from someone who isn’t extremely cagey about his blood colour -- and it’s not that Karkat suddenly doesn’t care any more, because as soon as Vriska says she’ll ask Terezi or Jack what colour he’s bleeding, he tells her that he’s out of Terezi’s range, Jack is sworn to secrecy, and Sollux (who’s incommunicado) is the only one who knows how to make Trollian’s viewport feature work. (Given we saw how easy it is to use earlier, I’m surprised Vriska doesn’t try to figure it out herself.)

Over on the next panel, the viewer is now Jack, a few minutes prior to this conversation. Contrary to Karkat’s protestations, Jack stabs him because He's got a pretty sharp tongue and can't seem to keep it sheathed. He is curious when Karkat cares less about the wound and more about Jack seeing his blood colour, which is apparently some freakish mutation. Jack looks at his knife…

CHEL: While it’s not a realistic depiction of the colour, recall that this is the shade of red used in-comic to depict human blood. This reveal probably isn’t a surprise to anyone by now, if you’ve encountered fanart, and honestly it wasn’t a huge mindblowing revelation on my first read before I knew, but I do think it’s a clever little “aha, THAT’S why!” moment. Skilfully done.

It seems he's the only one of his kind with this mutant candy-red blood. An outcast. He thinks he was put on this planet covered in an ocean of his own blood to be taunted. Punished for something. Saddest story you ever heard. Got to do something to shut him up.

BRIGHT: Awww. That’s kind of sweet.

This little interchange gave rise to the ‘Stabdads’ fandom phenomenon, where Spades Slick is envisaged as Karkat’s father-figure. In Homestuck canon, it’s dubious how much affection Slick has for Karkat. He seems more irritated by him than anything else, but that’s about on par for how he treats the rest of the Midnight Crew. On the other hand, it clearly makes a massive impact on Karkat. We’ve seen how important blood colour is on Alternia and how insecure he is about his own; his sudden rush of fellow-feeling towards Jack is understandable, even if it does make him way too forgiving about having been stabbed.

CHEL: Karkat and Jack shake hands, and proceed to be in cahoots. Cahoooooooots. Doodling on the defaced parking ticket from earlier, they draft OPERATION REGISURP.

Your whole team executes the plan along the course of its journey, employing espionage, mind control tactics, political sabotage, vicious interrogations and cold blooded assassinations. Everyone does their part and you begin to learn the true meaning of teamwork, as well as this troll disease called friendship.

Yeah, it actually happening is skipped over with one paragraph, but that’s probably a good thing with all the complexity already going on, and we do hear more details about it. First, we’re reminded of the existence and functions of the Queens’ Rings, the magic rings the queens of Derse and Prospit have which give them traits and powers from whatever the players put in their sprites. The trolls have put their lusii in their sprites, except for Aradia, whose lusus died long ago, so she got in the sprite herself. The Queen could put up with getting bits and pieces from eleven hideous monsters (well, ten hideous monsters and one adowable little fairybull thing oh my gosh it’s cuuuute) tacked onto her, but what she absolutely won’t stand for is the other thing Aradia put in her sprite…

She could not stand bearing the visage of the most loathsome creature known to existence. So vile is its appearance, so contemptible its purpose, all depictions of the creature let alone members of its population are permanently banned from any jurisdiction in the reach of her agents. Those of its kind go by many names, and so does the reviled patron god they herald - THE GREAT DETESTATION, KING PONDSQUATTER, SPEAKER OF THE VAST JOKE, or most commonly, BILIOUS SLICK.

Recall that AR thought of the hieroglyphs in the Frog Temple as “illegal pictography”. We’ll find out later why the Black Queen has such a revulsion for frogs, it’s important. But the important part right now is that she took the ring off. At the time of planning it’s in the ROYAL VAULT.

We briefly see a moment in the future of the Black Queen wrapped in rags, just like the human sessions’ White Queen, wandering the desert as the BANISHED QUASIROYAL, and the caption notes the plan was a success.

However, Doc Scratch appears in the desert in front of her, and it’s noted she was given a new purpose. This, it seems, is the origin of Snowman.

FAILURE ARTIST: I would like if there was some canon Homestuck material expanding on this REGISURP plot.

BRIGHT: Same! It sounds really interesting. One example of Homestuck’s idiosyncratic pacing, I suppose -- we spend pages and pages on trivial alchimeter nonsense, but skip over something more meaty.

CHEL: The Red Team work on that, while the Blue Team battle their own session… or so they think. Yeah, I’m sure you’ve all already figured it out, but the trolls hadn’t just yet. They note that their prototypes are affecting the opposite team’s underlings, and the readers are shown Alternia��s two Frog Temples, one near Aradia’s home and the other near Kanaya’s, each with six pillars outside (one seems to have five, but the sixth is hidden behind the building). Superimposed on each other, the pillars make a full ring of twelve.

The truth was it had always been the same session all along. That your teams were not competing, but cooperating toward a common goal. In the more drawn out form of this adventure's narrative, figuring this out would have been a huge deal. We would have been completely blown away by this stunning revelation. Wow. Same session all along. Really? Huh.

This is what Aradia’s been so mysterious about. She knew. We’re provided with a handy diagram, in case we haven’t been able to keep up.

After watching the phrases MOBIUS DOUBLE and REACH AROUND toggle for a few minutes while in a sort of stupor, you finally snap out of it.

(I just noticed, the Blue Team are the Derse dreamers and the Red Team are the Prospit dreamers. Neat!)

The reader’s attention is drawn instead to the Aquarius and Pisces symbols in the top left, belonging to characters we haven’t met yet, and the narration promises we’ll learn about them soon. Drawing attention again to GA’s Virgo symbol, the narration muses about her.

It will probably be quite some time before you get to be her. It could very well be pages and pages and pages.

Naturally, we jump right back to her.

GA’s intro is long, so we’ll take it piece by piece.

Your name is KANAYA MARYAM.

The Sanskrit name for Virgo is “Kanya”, and it’s also the name of a town in Japan. “Maryam” is the Arabic version of “Mary”, as in Jesus’ mother. It may also be a reference to Marya Zaleska, the title character of the movie “Dracula’s Daughter”.

You are one of the few of your kind who can withstand the BLISTERING ALTERNIAN SUN, and perhaps the only who enjoys the feel of its rays. As such, you are one of the few of your kind who has taken a shining to LANDSCAPING. You have cultivated a lush oasis around your hive, and in particular, you have honed your craft through the art of TOPIARY, sculpting your trees to match the PUFFY ORACLES from your dreams. You have embraced the tool of this trade, which conveniently is the weapon of choice for those who would hunt the HEINOUS BROODS OF THE UNDEAD which crawl from the sand at sunrise to feast on the light and the living.

Couple things established here; trolls are not only nocturnal but actively harmed by their planet’s sun, and undead beings other than ghosts exist. Said traditional weapon for hunting them is a chainsaw, which we can see lying against her bookshelf, a reference to the Evil Dead movies.

It would be convenient if you actually hunted them, but it is of course far too dangerous, every bit as suicidal as attempting to poach the terrible MUSCLEBEASTS who roam at night. So you indulge in your bright fascination with the grim through literature. Just before the sun goes down and you join your flora in rest, you immerse yourself in tales of RAINBOW DRINKERS and SHADOW DROPPERS and FORBIDDEN PASSION.

Rainbow drinkers are, as discussed later on, troll vampires. I don’t think shadow droppers are ever expanded on, but they might be zombies or werebeasts. Troll goths, apparently, are the reverse of human goths, dressing in bright colours and staying up in the daytime, which makes sense for a species who can only safely go out at night.

You are one of the few of your kind with JADE GREEN BLOOD. As such you are one of the few who could be selected and raised by a VIRGIN MOTHER GRUB, an event so rare as to elude documented precedent. She would defend you from desert threats, and though her life would be short, in time you would assure her of progeny.

Recall that the Mother Grub is required for troll reproduction.

You are a SEAMSTRESS or a RAGRIPPER or a TREETRIMMER or a LUMBERJACK, whichever you care to be, and your unique hive is equipped with a great supply of advanced technology to accommodate your interests. The technology and indeed the hive itself were all recovered from the ruins nearby when you were very young. The seed of your hive was deployed on the volcanic rocks beneath the sand with the assistance of your lusus and her remarkable burrowing skills, and you have lived there happily together since. You know the ruins and the hive and everything here that is not sand and rock originated from the world of your dreams. You also know that one day you will visit this world while you are awake. That day is today.

Like Jade, Kanaya has been awake on Prospit for years, and the technology in question is Skaian in origin, so that’s how she knows what’s going on with the game.

Kanaya is prompted to equip her chainsaw, which promptly turns into a lipstick in a Problem Sleuth reference. Like Jade, she has a Wardrobifier, set to randomise, which suddenly turns her black shirt and red skirt into a red leaf-print dress. She takes out the lipstick.

You can choose between your trademark jade or black. Even though a troll's lips are naturally black. But they can always be blacker, and a lady with a true sense of style knows this.

She goes with green, her dress turns into a blue kimono, and she’s messaged by someone with a fuschia Pisces symbol. This person, named cuttlefishCuller, turns out to be rather excitable, greeting her in all caps and following it up with Glub glub glub glub glub!

BRIGHT: This conversation is pretty sweet, with some friendly joking about CC’s quirk (they stick hyphens in front of their capital Es) and mention of their Collapsing And Expanding Bladder Based Aquatic Vascular System. There’s another mention of moirails, with CC saying they’ll have to join the game late to keep an eye on theirs.

It also turns out both CC and Kanaya are having some premonitions of what’s to come! Kanaya is seeing visions in the clouds of Skaia, the same way Jade does, but CC hears whispers from a mysterious ‘she’ who needs her voice keeping down. It’s implied to be CC’s lusus, as both Kanaya and CC are aware their lusii are going to die soon.

Kanaya hopes to be with her lusus as she dies, but looks out of the window to find the Virgin Mother Grub has already passed away, apparently of natural causes.

CHEL: The Mother Grub was seen briefly before; it’s a moth-like creature with a huge fat body the size of a bus, with wings too small to ever lift it, horns the same shape as Kanaya’s, and a skull-like head with big lips. The skull on Terezi’s Doomsday Scale was, we can tell now, a Mother Grub, except quite a lot bigger - presumably a breeding Grub.

BRIGHT: Kanaya changes back into her original outfit, and goes down to live up to her end of the bargain… which entails slicing a hole in her lusus with her chainsaw and pulling out a round object covered in spikes the colour of trolls’ horns, called a Matriorb. Kanaya stores it in her sylladex; she’s using a CHASTITY MODUS, which locks each card away, and the key will serendipitously be discovered when it’s time for the card to be unlocked. These modii are getting more and more esoteric.

Kanaya proceeds to have a conversation with her own moirail, Vriska, which we already read earlier.

You then proceed to have the rest of this conversation we already read, bugging and fussing and meddling through the special and magical union one can only describe as being in moirallegiance with another. At least, you guess that's how you would describe it. Maybe. Troll romance sure is confusing!

Yes, yes it is. (Spoiler: It’s not that confusing once it’s explained.)

Kanaya doesn’t have long to dwell on the conversation, as she’s contacted by caligulasAquarium, someone with a violet Aquarius symbol who she doesn’t seem to think highly of. It rapidly becomes apparent why.

CA: kan make her talk to me do somethin GA: Who CA: your no good connivvin fuckin backstabbin girl crush thats wwho

CHEL: Trolls are supposed to come bi/pan as standard, so why does he need to specify “girl crush”? I wonder if Hussie hadn’t decided that yet when he wrote this part, but I’m not sure.

WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 34

CA’s gender hasn’t been revealed, but let’s not kid ourselves, we know from how he’s talking that he’s a dude. Nice Girls certainly exist but they don’t tend to get portrayed as so whiny in fiction, plus CC comes off as very girly, and that leaves us with six boy and six girl trolls. Balance and opposites and counterparts are a running theme throughout Homestuck. Not that there can’t be nonbinary characters, as some show up in Hiveswap; just that there would most likely have to be an even number of them, split evenly between the groups of players. Fine by me as a nonbinary person with a thing for balance and even numbers of my own.

Also, note that we’ve seen this guy, or at least his hand and foot, before. This is the litter-hater in the bowling shoes.

GA: Overstating Our Relationship Wont Make Me Feel Very Cooperative GA: Its Paler Red Than That Ok CA: pshhhhhh that is a fuckin laugh and you knoww it evveryone does CA: so help me out tell her to talk to me i think she blocked me you got to GA: Why Do I Got To GA: I Dont Got To And Every Time You Take My Help For Granted I Feel Like I Got To A Little Less CA: wwhatEVVER you are so the vvillage twwo wwheel devvice wwhen it comes to auspisticing CA: you cant let a grudge go by you wwont stick your busy stem betwwixt so get wwith the program fussyfangs

BRIGHT: Oh hey, another troll romance term! ‘Auspisticing’ is the last of the lot, don’t worry.

CA: wwho givves a shit wwhy she blocked me or about my fuckin manners come on youvve got a wway wwith her CA: i figure if youre going to auspisticize any twwo brinesuckers wwho sneer at each other a funny wway you might as wwell make it official and be ours right GA: Your Black Solicitation Just Seems Really Indecent

Funny words aside, Hussie does a good job at laying down context for what auspisticism is here; we now know that it involves mediating between two parties who dislike each other and that it’s a form of black romance. Meshing worldbuilding naturally into the dialogue is something Homestuck does really well at times.

Anyway, CA is trying to get in contact with Vriska because he asked her to make something for him and now she’s blowing him off.

GA: What Is It CA: kan stupid wwhat do you think its a fuckin gizmo to bloww up the wworld or somethin CA: ok wwell not that obvviously CA: but somethin thatll kill all land dwwellers wwhat else wwould i be after GA: Can You Just For A Moment Entertain The Thoughts Of One Untouched By Megalomaniacal Derangement And Tell Me Why Id Want To Assist You With That CA: wwell CA: im not goin to vvery wwell kill you am i that wwould be fuckin unconscionable CA: wwhat kind of friend wwould i be

While CA is obviously a douche, there’s something funny about how over-the-top he is about it and how utterly oblivious he is to the idea that Kanaya might have a problem with a device that would kill all landdwellers, although the humour is inversely proportionate to how likely he is to pull it off.

CHEL: Maybe I’m strange, but I think he’s adorable. I get the impression of a small kid trying to puff himself up to adult size.

BRIGHT: There’s also more romance talk, and this next bit is one I find interesting:

CA: you could either play along as our auspistice and do a little mediating like you wwere fuckin hatched to CA: or wwatch she and me devvolvve into fuckin full fledged kismesisses the kind like you dont get once in ten thousand swweeps CA: you knoww thats wwhat it wwould be there wwould be rainboww rivvers runnin through star systems and all nebulizin like liquid firewworks CA: it wwill be beautiful and heartbreaking all at once CA: you should read up on your history instead of poring through that godawwfull sunny rubbish

I’m going to take a step back from Homestuck itself for a moment and talk about kismessitude as it’s portrayed in fandom. People tend to envision it in a variety of ways -- some see it as a BDSM relationship, some as a way of pushing a rival to be better, some as just straight-up hate-sex -- but most depictions show it as something that only affects the two people involved.

Here, though? CA’s talking about kismessitude as something that’s potentially really damn dangerous, to other people besides those involved, and cites history as a backup -- implying it can really be that dangerous, and it’s not just a teenager’s flight of fancy. (Although, that said, CA is clearly using this to try and get Kanaya in a relationship with him, so how sincere he is is questionable.)

CHEL: Later on we do see a little bit of one of the historical cases he might have been citing. We’ll discuss it more then. Also, I do like him saying “sunny” instead of “gloomy”. Makes sense!

Kanaya tells CA none of this matters, and he sneers about the “purity of the bloodline”. That’s an… uncomfortable turn of phrase, especially since he’s speaking to someone not covered by the “purity” standard, but since it applies to aliens and it’s in a society where that’s hammered into its inhabitants it’s not a Problematykks issue. Kanaya tells him it still won’t matter because their race will be wiped out entirely, and his reaction is remarkably understated:

CA: huh CA: wwell ok HURRY UP AND DO NOTHING: 11

CA says he knows Kanaya doesn’t lie except to herself, surprisingly perceptive for one so puffed-up otherwise. CA might be smarter than he’s letting on? He asks if her clouds told her that; that was the reader’s assumption too, but she says no, she has a different source. Uh-oh. We know what the last source of information was, and it cost Vriska an arm and an eye-sevenfold. CA’s own clouds “hide nothin but misfortune and monstrosities”, so we can guess she’s Prospit and he’s Derse. He goes back to nagging her to tell Vriska to talk to him, and when she continues to refuse he poutily steps off.

CA: you dont wwant to be our auspistice cause you dont wwant to get locked into that sort of relation wwith her i can respect that

Kanaya denies this, and CA says everyone knows, including Karkat.

GA: Its Unbelievable GA: Her Patience CA: wwhat CA: wwhoa wwait wwho GA: Never Mind CA: ok wwait did she talk to you today CA: wwhat did she say CA: or glub or wwhatevver

They’re talking about CC, if it wasn’t clear. Kanaya, in a callback to John’s comment to Terezi, facetiously tells him that she talked about Longing To Touch You Indiscretely and That Shes Basically In The Scarlet Throes For You. CA, flustered, picks up that she’s teasing him, and she tells him the truth, that CC’s just concerned as a moirail.

CA: if youre not savvvvy about howw you define yourself to people CA: you can just splash into the moirail zone before you knoww wwhich wways upwward

I’m going to comment on this attitude in a bit more detail when we get a clearer explanation of what moirallegiance actually is. CA leaves her with some arc words.

CA: being a kid and growwing up CA: its hard and nobody understands

Kanaya heads back to her room, planning to emphatically not meddle but help her friends, and consults her source; it’s fortunately not a Doc Scratch-related one at all. It is, in fact, Rose’s long-forgotten GameFAQ, saved on a server floating in the Furthest Ring, to which Prospit’s clouds directed her. I have to show you the panel for a moment though…

I’m sure there was a way we could see the screen without having it facing away from Kanaya who’s supposed to be reading it.

You can only assume this took place a long time ago. This race is likely ancient, preceding yours by millions of sweeps. Maybe billions! You like to try to imagine the adventures of these players. Were they successful in repopulating their race? Did they manage to protect their matriorb and hatch a new mother grub? Could they hold it together, or were they torn apart by the complex social dynamics, the matespritships and moirallegiences and auspisticisms and kismesissitudes that will surely plague your group along the way? You have little doubt they succeeded with flying colors.

Oh dear, dramatic irony. Kanaya fantasises about a troll version of Rose, thinking she must have been the leader of this supposedly long-ago group.

And yet they appear to have been the only of their kind to have risen to the challenge in a session stacked heavily against them.

Huh. So is this just because Kanaya can’t find more information, or are the four kids in fact the only humans who successfully got into the game? Picking four specifically white-coded kids to be the last of the human race due to supposedly their own competence is… not a good choice. And why the hell couldn’t other people succeed? This strikes me as more of the whole theme of “nobody matters except the people we’re focusing on”. A good lampshading of video game tropes, but in a literary story, that’s the opposite message to everything I’ve ever read, and it’s a creepy one.

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 43 HURRY UP AND DO NOTHING: 12 WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 35

BRIGHT: I thiiiiiiiink it’s at least implied later on that there are other sessions going, it’s just that each session is a closed loop of players so we don’t see the others...although if that’s the case, does that mean Earth’s getting hit with meteors from multiple Skaias?

CHEL: That over with for the moment, we cut to Tavros’ house as you take your place as the PAGE OF BREATH in the LAND OF SAND AND ZEPHYR. Vriska, his server player, gets down to the business of building up his house towards the Gate…

… entirely out of staircases.

AT: i THINK THIS, iS, AT: pROBABLY MEANT TO ANTAGONIZE ME,

Okay, this probably makes me a bad person, but I’m crying with laughter at his expression and that line.

It’s more disability slapstick, but here the point of the joke comes off as being more that Vriska is a jerk and Tavros’ reaction is really understated than any reasonable person being supposed to assume Tavros is wrong for not being able to climb stairs. Emphasis on “comes off as”, unfortunately. I’m still gonna give a Problematykks point, and further experience with Hussie’s attitude to disability has soured the joke somewhat, even in just the next couple of pages.

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 44

BRIGHT: Vriska tries to get Tavros to crawl up the stairs, first by telling him that he promised not to be boring anymore and then by saying that she’s trying to help him get stronger. She caps off the rant by demanding that he apologise.

AT: oKAY, AT: tHANKS, i GUESS, AT: bUT, AT: sORRY FOR WHAT, AG: For 8eing crippled, you ass! AT: yOU WANT ME TO APOLOGIZE, AT: fOR BEING PARALYZED, AG: Yes. AG: Say you're sorry. AT: i DON'T MEAN TO BE RUDE, oR bORING, AT: bUT THAT'S RIDICULOUS, gIVEN, AT: uH, tHE CIRCUMSTANCES, AG: 8ullshit! AG: It's something called 8asic decency and civility you fudge8looded 8oor. AG: Now get down on your useless wo88ly knees and apologize. AT: nO, i DON'T WANT TO, AG: >::::O

Vriska, what the fuck.

Tavros is really great here. He’s obviously not comfortable fighting with Vriska, and repeatedly tries to redirect her into building him ramps instead of engaging. But, at the same time, he holds his ground and doesn’t let her push him around, and won’t let go of solid hard reality in the face of Vriska trying to emotionally manipulate him.

FAILURE ARTIST: And yet people still call him a wimp.

BRIGHT: Vriska retaliates, because of course she does, by grabbing his wheelchair with her cursor and shaking it about. If Hussie left it at that, everything would be unobjectionable, at least in terms of narrative voice. Instead, well…

Now she's done it. She has awoken the mighty inner fury that is... RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUFIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

CHEL: It just occurred to me to mention that the name Rufio comes from a character in the movie Hook, the leader of the Lost Boys after Peter Pan left, played by Dante Basco. Tavros’ mental image of him is a reference to that character.

FAILURE ARTIST: Dante Basco did read Homestuck, with hilarious results as we will see.

But unfortunately, Rufio is not real. He's imaginary. A fake. Like a made up friend, the way fairies are. You continue to be sad and alone.

BRIGHT: Eurgh.

Let me be clear: Tavros having no further recourse to deal with Vriska’s abuse beyond his visualised self-esteem is a problem for the character, but it’s not necessarily a narrative problem per se. Escapism is a thing. You could get a decent character arc out of Tavros learning better ways to deal with harassment he can’t escape. It is a narrative problem when the narrator mocks it and makes him out to be pathetic for even trying it.

CHEL: I’d consider this to be just Tavros’ own thought process, but, sadly, this kind of narrative sneering at him carries on throughout Tavros’ presence in the comic and the fandom seems to buy into it. Tavros gets a lot of hate for reasons which mostly boil down to him being a male abuse victim; there’s a feeling that he should “try harder” to fight back, despite him being physically disabled and a member of a caste out of sight beneath her on the social ladder and legally permitted to be killed by her on a whim. Might that count as a point for WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM, for Huss and the fandom not taking the social dynamics into account for why Tavros can’t defend himself?

BRIGHT: I don’t know if it’s fair to count against the fandom when we’re reviewing Homestuck proper, but we can definitely count against Hussie!

WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 36

CHEL: It’s also notable that the common fandom interpretation of Tavros is as Hispanic-coded, at least partly due to his Spanish username, and of Vriska as white-coded. That’s probably not helping.

Since Hussie appears to expect us to agree with Vriska that this is funny, I’m adding another to these as well.

ALL THE LUCK: 2 CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 45 IN HATE WITH MY CREATION: 3

BRIGHT: What’s weird about this whole mess is that Hussie doesn’t — yet — try to say that Tavros should be trying to get stronger; his disability is fully acknowledged. I feel like this kind of mockery is usually accompanied by the attitude that disabled people should just get over their disability, but Hussie’s clear that Tavros can’t. Which means he should do...what, exactly?

CHEL: Not have let Vriska disable him in the first place, presumably. Never mind that, you know, she has mind control powers so he didn’t really have a choice in that either. That is, however, an argument Vriska fans actually make. Apparently some of them actually blame him for not flying when she threw him off the cliff, which… well, unpowered flight is a thing that can happen in the comic but he certainly couldn’t do it then.

BRIGHT: ...Apparently I retain the capacity for surprise at how awful people can be. The fuck?

Back in the comic, Tavros fortunately does have one other means of recourse. Back in her hive, Vriska is suddenly prodded in the back with a flying toilet, courtesy of Kanaya.

GA: Just Presenting A Floating Reminder That Tavros Will Need Plenty Of Inclined Surfaces For His Ascent AG: That's silly. I made so many ramps, you wouldn't even 8elieve it. AG: I specifically decided I wanted to 8uild something ugly and 8oring. It is now the land of ramps and yawns. GA: Hes Reported Otherwise AG: That lousy snitch! May8e I should take his computer away so he can't go crying to fussyfangs anymore. GA: Maybe I Should Upend This Load Gaper Over Your Head AG: No, don't! GA: Im Still Learning The Interface GA: It Could Happen Accidentally At Any Moment AG: I'm only trying to help him. ::::( GA: Think Of Another Way To Help

CHEL: Did I mention Kanaya is my zodiac troll? I can only long to reach her heights of awesome. Of course the ability to levitate toilets would kinda help.

BRIGHT: Vriska heads down to her treasure vault and retrieves a pair of ROCKET SHOES. The captchalogue code for these is ‘PSHOOOES’, which amuses me greatly. Vriska sends the code to Tavros, who combines it with the code for his wheelchair to create a flying wheelchair. Now that is a good use of alchemising!

CHEL: Awww!

Tavros flies up to the Gate, and we cut back to him later on, leading an entourage of communed-with imps and ogres to move obstacles and help him solve puzzles. Using his skills well, I see! In another set of ruins the imps load jigsaw pieces of rock into a frog-shaped alcove,

Things, however, don’t continue to go so well, because Hussie hates this poor kid. I do not mean that facetiously. Statements he’s made elsewhere imply he has a hell of a lot of contempt for several of the characters he created, which I don’t understand at all. We’ll go into this after Act 7, but I get the sensation that the characters are merely tools to show off the complexity and meta references, which are the parts he really cares about.

BRIGHT: It’s not unknown for authors to dislike characters they wrote; the great Terry Pratchett reputedly hated his character Rincewind. The key difference is that in Pratchett’s case, the audience couldn’t tell. Hussie, on the other hand, tends to make his disdain pretty obvious, to the detriment of the story.

CHEL: That’s a point. Conan Doyle grew to hate Sherlock Holmes, too. He didn’t, however, set up situations solely to shit on Holmes in his books.

BRIGHT: I think that’s the key. I’ll forgive a multitude of failings as long as the author seems to be treating the characters fairly. That doesn’t mean that good things have to happen to them — plenty of bad things can happen and I’ll enjoy it — it just means that the author has to...respect how the character feels and would behave, I guess.

Of course, respect is Hussie’s antithesis, so.

Also, nothing so far has shown Vriska to be anything other than a (granted, entertaining) bully. I wasn’t around while Homestuck was updating, so I’m not sure when her fandom took off, but it has to be later than this, surely?

CHEL: I don’t know. I wasn’t around till about mid-Act 6.

What was I on about? Oh yes. Tavros is interrupted by Vriska again, who bitches him out for doing things the boring way and seeking the boring lore.

AG: The minds of your consorts are very soft and impressiona8le. AG: As easily manipul8ed as all those imps you've 8een 8ossing around. AG: I have picked apart their tiny little lizard 8rains and seen through all the smoke and mirrors of their riddles. AG: I have gotten to the truth they are guarding. The great 8ig mystery 8ehind this planet. And you know what it is, Tavros? AT: nO, AG: It's 8ullshit! AG: Meaningless, 8oring, fanciful 8ullshit wrapped in flowery poems to keep you guessing. AG: It all leads to one thing anyway, and that's what we should put our attention on. AG: Real gamers cut to the chase. They power through all the nonsense and go for the gold. AG: They cheat, Tavros. AG: It is time you learned to start cheating.

Interesting theory. Tavros thinks befriending his monsters instead of killing them is cheating, and Vriska grudgingly agrees but is annoyed he isn’t killing anything. She claims to have designed a better and more challenging quest for him; he asks after her own quest, and she says she has time because Kanaya’s busy.

AG: Which is just as well 8ecause I was starting to get nannied HARD. WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 37

Strange word choice for a species raised by animals, but okay. Vriska sends Tavros a map to the next Gate, and he sets off in his little rocket chair. Little does he know.

You proceed through what seems to be your second gate, into the LAND OF MAPS AND TREASURE. The THIEF OF LIGHT lies in wait.

In a callback to our last meeting of Breath and Light players, Tavros crashes through Vriska’s wall and is left hanging upside-down in the rocket chair from the large cobwebs across the room, while Vriska sleeps on a pile of broken eight-balls. Doesn’t look comfortable, but trolls rest in worse places later. Vriska wakes, and Tavros falls head-first onto the floor.

Here is where it gets incredibly uncomfortable, and we have to show it in detail to assign points properly and so that there’s no ambiguity about what’s happening, so if you have any sexual assault, ableism, underage, mind control, or victim-blaming triggers you may want to skip this part. No clothing is removed but it’s very unpleasant to read and the attitude toward it is worse. Seriously, this is Taklamakan Zoo levels of bad.

(This heading below’s not part of the comic, I just put it there so you can skip. The sequence ends with the piece of fanart of Kanaya looking at the sideways screen.)

~*THE ASSAULT STARTS HERE*~

Vriska sits up. She’s wearing a very short strappy white Tinkerbell dress with her sign on it, and what look like over-the-knee socks, a commonly fetishised style of clothing. I remind you these characters are supposed to be thirteen years old. The dress is also the same as the one worn by the fairy in the artwork on Tavros’ desktop background. I don’t know if Vriska had seen that or not.

FAILURE ARTIST:

To be fair she’s just in an actually-more-modest version of what Peter Pan’s sidekick/love interest wears and the socks come off as more dorky than sexy.

Oh my! It appears Pupa Pan himself has flown through your window while you were asleep. How exciting! Surely he is here to take you away on the adventure of a lifetime. He is more dreamy and heroic than you ever imagined. But what's this?? It seems the legendary Boy-Skylark has misplaced his shadow. He is looking EVERYWHERE for it, to no avail. He is having a devil of a time, what with being paralyzed from the waist down and all. He clearly needs your help.

CHEL: Vriska is prompted to Help Pupa find shadow, and approaches Tavros with a nasty-looking grin on her face, while he lies on the floor, gritting his teeth in noticeable pain.

Pupa! You truly are a silly goose. Your shadow has been trapped underneath your useless torso the whole time! Honestly, where else would it be you stupid sack of shit?

Charming. Vriska proceeds to kick him in the head, or at least nudge him with her foot, while he lies unresponsive.

Of course, the secret to reuniting with your shadow is to get up and walk around. And play and dance and frolic! Your shadow will surely join in your gaiety. But it appears Pupa has lost the use of his legs. There will be no frolicking in this young man's future. ::::( Unless...

Everyone knows that just a pinch of SPECIAL STARDUST along with a happy thought will allow any boy to get up and walk again. Everyone knows this because it is in the classic tale, PUPA PAN. Young Pupa flies through the window of a fairy girl's respiteblock, falls on the floor, and has trouble getting up like an enormous pansy. The fairy girl then helps him walk again, and in return, he teaches her to fly, even though she probably already knows how to fly. Because she's a fairy. They fly out of her window together, and have magical adventures for many sweeps thereafter. To be honest, you hardly know a damn thing about Pupa Pan. But you do not care.

Pupa remains as pathetic and useless as ever.

FAILURE ARTIST: The story just keeps mocking Tavros for being disabled.

CHEL: Not to mention for being interested in fairies. Because how dare a boy have a gender-nonstandard interest, or a young teenager enjoy whimsical escapism from an increasingly horrible and guaranteed-to-be-short life.

WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 39

I might be projecting because the fandom has made me loathe her, but it honestly comes off like Vriska dressed up like this in the first place less to seduce Tavros and more to make sure she thoroughly ruined his favourite thing to hurt him further, especially if the narration is supposed to be things she’s actually saying to him.

The stardust did nothing! Probably because it is just glittery powder with no magical properties whatsoever and is basically bullshit. Because in case it wasn't clear, magic isn't real, and neither are miracles. OR It could just be that Pupa has failed to have a happy thought! Your duty is clear. You will have to MAKE him have happy thoughts. Vriska: Make Pupa have happy thoughts.

He certainly doesn’t seem to be having happy thoughts now. Notice his expression, what we can see of it, looks terrified, he’s trembling, and let’s recall that he’s paralysed from the waist down. Even if he wasn’t, she’s of a far, far higher caste than him, legally permitted to do whatever she wants to him, including killing him if he tries to resist. It’s kind of gone back and forth on, but higher bloods are a few times stated to be a lot stronger than lower bloods, and if they work like humans, they’re in puberty right now, a time at which human girls tend to get taller and stronger sooner than boys. Again, it’s gone back and forth on, but a common interpretation is that female trolls are stronger than male trolls in general and/or have the social power advantage. Let’s also remember that, even if none of those factors apply, Vriska has mind control powers. There is no point here at which Tavros has the advantage, nothing he can use as leverage on her. She can do whatever the hell she wants, and she does.

BRIGHT: We’ve also been explicitly shown that Vriska has little to no respect for anyone else’s autonomy if she finds it inconvenient, and that Tavros is her favourite punching bag, and that his ability to stand up for himself when she gets going is extremely limited.

CHEL: Despite the odds stacked against him, Tavros struggles against the kiss forced on him, and when Vriska pushes him back, doesn’t respond with anything but a look of horror, though she appears to expect him to, as a flickering heart-spade with a question mark over it appears between them. I’m not sure whether that’s supposed to be the thought process of him or her or both.

Vriska hurls him onto the floor with some force...

… and activates her mind control, causing little hearts to light up in Tavros’ eyes.

BRIGHT: Vriska has used her mind-control powers on Tavros before, and when it happened she walked him off a cliff. There is basically no way that her doing it again isn’t going to be a traumatic experience for him, above and beyond the inherent horror of losing control over one’s body.

I’m inclined to think that forcibly altering his emotions is worse, though. Being paralysed was bad enough, but Tavros knows what happened and he knows how he feels about it. Making him fall in love with her is just…on one level, it’s a horrible assault on his autonomy as a person, and on another level, it’s tailor-made to make him doubt himself and believe the encounter was something he wanted.

FAILURE ARTIST: I hadn’t thought that he might now consider the encounter as consensual, which would explain his later reaction.

CHEL: Tavros paws at her legs, making kissy faces, and she looks vaguely concerned. Note the background still depicts wavy blue rays coming off her, showing her power is still active.

Looking defeated, she drops the control and dumps him on the floor again.

I’m not sure what she’s supposed to be thinking in this last panel. Is she feeling guilty? Is she disappointed that he didn’t like her under his own power? Has she just decided he’s too useless to be worth the effort? Any could be true.

BRIGHT: I read that as disappointment that even when he ‘liked’ her, he didn’t act the way she wanted. (And the way Tavros acted is kind of disturbing. ‘Mindlessly pawing at someone’ is not what I’d expect from him if he was legitimately attracted to someone.)

FAILURE ARTIST: The common interpretation these days was she was realizing she wasn’t into boys which okay that’s good for her but she should feel more bad about molesting him.

CHEL: That also makes no sense, because she shows interest in multiple boys later.

I’m also not entirely sure if Vriska had the intention of actually raping Tavros here (in the standard way, I mean, as one could argue that mind control is a form of rape), or just making out with him. The fact that she dressed up in vaguely fetishy clothing isn’t making it look good, though. Yes, she’s very young, but traumatised kids in particular have been known to lash out sexually like that. It’s a way of reasserting personal power, and I imagine it would be more prevalent in a society with no sapient adult supervision. While there are mitigating circumstances involved in their social situation and Vriska not really having ever had a chance to learn better, that doesn’t make this not a horrible thing to do, or not traumatising for Tavros.

BRIGHT: The clothing could potentially be down to Vriska wanting to look ‘adult’ without fully understanding why it looks adult. That does come up sometimes with teens — they want to experiment with clothing because that’s how adults dress, not because they want to look sexy, or they might dress a certain way for dates because that’s the social model they have for How Dates Work.

And if I read it like that, this basically looks like Vriska having the date equivalent of a dolls’ tea party. Which says volumes about how she views Tavros’s autonomy.

CHEL: Good point. Though honestly it would say volumes about same either way!

BRIGHT: I said earlier that Vriska is better than Equius at recognising when other people’s desires conflict with hers, and she is, but that doesn’t mean she respects those differences. She just recognises that they’re there, and overrides them. This is a prime example of Vriska viewing Tavros as something between a chew-toy and a prop. First she kicks him around and terrifies him, then she expects him to be able to get over those emotions at the drop of a hat and respond to her advances — and, moreover, she wants him to respond in a certain way, which Tavros has zero way of knowing. This is the first time she’s shown that sort of interest in him, unless her earlier behaviour was the Alternian equivalent of pigtail-pulling.

...I think maybe that was in fact Alternian pigtail-pulling. Or at least Vriska’s version of pigtail-pulling.

CHEL: That’ll actually make more sense, once we explain what the spade symbol means.

Okay, how many counts does this cover?

ALL THE LUCK: 12 ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 31 CALL CPA PLEASE: 26 CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 55 IN HATE WITH MY CREATION: 13

It also occurred to me during this sequence to think again about how Karkat contemptuously swears at and hangs up the phone on the injured Tavros. This, at first glance, seems to be very much at odds with the “cranky but caring” impression we’re supposed to have of Karkat… but it fits precisely with Hussie’s opinion of Tavros and how pathetic he is for allowing a much more powerful person to permanently disable him. I know at the moment it looks like I’m not separating the character from the author, but it’ll become clear as we go that that is what he thinks.

IN HATE WITH MY CREATION: 14

Why didn’t we start a FUCK YOU, HUSSIE count?

BRIGHT: It would have ended up longer than all the other counts combined.

CHEL: The actual assault is over now, but there’s one more picture of it. The ramifications must continue to be discussed, so tread cautiously. The actual act is over now, though.

Said ramifications come pretty quickly. Kanaya, having dealt with getting herself into the game and prototyped her own lususprite, decides to check on Vriska.

Ideally she has not gotten herself into too much trouble. And ideally the dramatic irony has not gotten so thick you could draw a dotted line on it with a tube of lipstick and cut it in half with a chainsaw.

Of course, she sees the exact moment Vriska kisses Tavros.

(Fanart source has now been deleted, sadly.)

~*THE ASSAULT ENDS HERE*~

Humorous art aside over, let’s watch Kanaya’s reaction in more detail. She angrily looks at a copy of the Tinkerbell dress, which she presumably sent the alchemiter code for rather than the actual item to Vriska, hence why she still has it.

So THAT'S why she had you make this dress for her??? And you just went along with it like a sucker. Argh, you are such an IDIOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Like Karkat, Kanaya is presented as the caring one, the protective one. The “mom friend” of the group. And yet, she looks at this, in which Tavros is clearly frightened and struggling, and her reaction is to be mad that Vriska didn’t want to wear the dress for a date with her. I’m not sure whether this says more about Hussie’s opinion of Tavros or the social system of Alternia or both, but it certainly says a lot.

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 56 HURRY UP AND DO NOTHING: 13 IN HATE WITH MY CREATION: 15

BRIGHT: Kanaya has had to corral Vriska on Tavros’s behalf already! Possibly more than once! She has all the information to realise that this is abusive, even leaving aside Tavros’s reaction! Sure, teens can be self-centred, but even so this is egregious.

CHEL: Kanaya’s Grubsprite comforts her and she throws the dress out the window.

Being a kid and growing up. It's hard and nobody understands.

Yes, I’m sure Tavros thinks so too.

Charles: "I know Sir can be prickly, but you have to understand he had a very terrible childhood."

Klaus: "I understand. I'm having a very terrible childhood right now."

-A Series of Unfortunate Events

[what-a-messsss]

1x10 rewatch

Ok, let’s get back to Walt Longmire: Disaster Boi of S1 and finish this season off with a...something.  Pleading look to the heavens, maybe?  

How do I keep forgetting that Lizzie is a thing, even after our decision to find her some nice Smitten Cowboy to be with?  Holy hell, but why are you still keeping your dead wife’s ashes in the kitchen?  At least you kept Lucian in your fucking truck.  In a coffee can.  What is with you and breakfast beverages??  We all know you need lots of therapy, but this seems like a kind of niche issue.

“Trust me, you don’t, uh, you don’t want that tea.”  Buddy.  

Poor Lizzie.  She really is so nice.  And he’s such a fucking disaster.  “You seem weird,” she says, in reaction to him going bug eyed from having to convince her not to drink his dead wife without her realizing that’s what he was doing.  Sweetie, you have no idea.  And she really does like him.  

This is.  So.  Gloriously awkward.  And Lizzie’s there in her bare feet.  And all we need is for Branch to show up and we’ll have a full house, and aaaaahahaha, Walt is so trying to freeze time with the power of his brain.  Staring off into the Not Here place with his mouth pressed just so...  Awwwww, suffer.

I had forgotten that Ferg was the one who actually did the body work on the Bronco!  Even did the paint work, because that old truck has never looked so good.  I know Omar loaned Walt his truck while the Bronco was “in the shop,” but I like that the writers gave Ferg the skills to do that.

“If anybody... has something they want to say, I suggest you think twice about it.”  We don’t need to say anything; we’re too busy laughing at you.

Oof, and then Lizzie hearing Martha’s voice still on the message greeting.  She’s really quite a good actress.  Lizzie isn’t a terribly subtle character generally, but she gives her these really fine microexpressions that give you occasional glimpses that there is more going on under the surface, and she’s not just an open book.  : (  Making me actually like her and feel bad, not just cringe when she comes on.  Dang iiiiiiiit.

Ok, that does NOT look like Sharpie.  I’m sorry, but that looks like a paint pen or lipstick more than it looks like a Shapie on the dead kid’s forehead.  Even if it were one of the jumbo Sharpies, they don’t write like that, they aren’t that colour on skin, and the thickness of the lines are all off.  Which is not really relevant, but it buuuuugs meeeee.  Pedantic little shit that I am.

Ope, Branch is basically past the angst about Walt not liking him and straight into just giving him nothing but attitude.  Which, while I can hardly blame anyone for giving Walt shit, does get old pretty fast.

Walt, you are So Bad at talking to people, even when it’s for the damn job!  Yeah, it’s fine to have Ferg fill Vic in, but at least acknowledge that she’s there, damn.  Honestly it would have been good for both Vic and Ferg for Walt to tell her to follow Ferg’s lead on this one.  He knows the case, the local history, the players, the situation, and probably more about archery than her, and she could stand to take the reminder that working 5 years in big city homicide still doesn’t make her the senior deputy and that she needs to be ok learning from even Ferg.  Shit, I keep finding more and more reasons to be annoyed at Walt.  Is he even really that good of a sheriff?  I’m shaking the ol’ Magic 8 Ball here, and signs point to frickin’ NO.  Ugh.

Five HUNDRED dollars says that he didn’t check with Mathias before going on the Rez for official police business again.  Jackass.

Can’t really blame Viho for being super bitter.  And Ayasha is so sweet.  This whole family dynamic is so well done.

Aw, Ferg is so excited about the gum wrapper.  “Still minty!”  How are you such a sparklebunny?  Bless.

Detective Falessssss.  His opening line is so great, but uuuuuuuhg, he’s as bad as Walt with his singlemindedness about the case.  

“Talk to Ruby.  She runs my life.”  She runs the department, bucko, and you’d be lost without her!  Lost, I say!  But you treat her like your personal social secretary, and that’s crap.

In Fales’ dubious defense, you were just super weird about that whole encounter.  

Omar!  You creepy little lecherous jackass.  Why am I still fond of you?  It’s really rather galling that I enjoy your character at all, but I doooo.  Thank gods he has the beard now; cleanshaven was just wigging me out.  “Vickie’s never shot before--”  “That is the second-to-last time you will ever call me that.”  And I chortle myself to distraction to the point that I have to rewind to catch the lines that I missed.  With her horrible plans when she gets drunk (I’m still cringing at that flashback of her with Travis) and her obvious thing for older men, I’m honestly kind of surprised she didn’t end up having a deeply regretted something with Omar at some point.  They do have good chemistry in an antagonistic way.  And he does so enjoy tugging her pigtails.  ...ew.  Why is my brain like this?  

“A little bit of practice, even a girl can make that shot.”  Aaaaaaand we’re back to kick him in the nuts.  Not that we ever really left there.  Such a butthead.

Boy oh boy, it sure is great the tone that all these shitty rich white people take saying “Indian.”

“That is what a normal person would do in your situation.”  Henryyyyyy, I love you so much.  Why can’t we spend more time with him in the early seasons?  Why are you drinking a Rainier?  Nooooo, please have better taste in beer than your boyfriend!  You have expensive tastes in bourbon, why can’t you have decent taste in beeeer?

Walt, what is the point of practicing darts when you are FIVE FEET from the board?  Seriously, you’re supposed to be like...  (a google later)  7 feet 9.25 inches away!  That’s...  That’s an oddly specific measurement.  Wtf.  No quickly apparent reason for that specific measure.  Resisting the pull of this particular rabbit hole to continue the ep.  

Aaaah, that’s right, this is still when Walt thinks that Henry may have killed the guy for him.  And BestDad Henry talked to Cady after the blow up about Branch, and he is a wonderful human being.  “It’s really none of your concern.”  Hoooooow dare you.  It is clearly a function of being bffs with that butthead that Henry just smiles (somewhat bitterly) at this instead of tripping him into the bar or shoving his head into the cigarette machine.  (Is that a cigarette machine?  Wtf is that thing with the yellow lit up portion towards the top? [14:05])  

“What a rich inner life you must lead.  From time to time, you should consider sharing some of it with the rest of us.”  The sass!  Swoon.  Henry.  Marry me.  

“I’ve got other problems.”  Buddy, you are other problems.

I wonder how many people/places Ruby just has on speed dial so that she can zoom through her list of “Where the hell is Walt now” to get in touch with him.

Aaaaand we’re back to Branch getting a bit big for his britches.  Whee.  Better fight about it like Big Boys.  Ffs.  “Go ahead.  Give me your best shot.”  ::Pat Benatar starts playing in the background::  Oh holy shit, I wish so damn much that I had any know-how about making vids.  I would be beyond amused by a spoofy hate vid of Walt and Branch being assholes to “Hit Me With Your Best Shot.”  Ooo, oo, or “Hit Me Baby One More Time!”  Aaaahahaha, these fucking losers and their fragile masculinity.  Get rekt.

Children.  Childreeeeen.  Stop it, or you can’t go to Timmy’s birthday party next week.

The irony of Vic being the one who is actually calling them on their shit and getting to do their damn jobs.  Well shit, they actually have a warrant this time.  Will wonders never cease.

Damn, Viho is smart.  Politically savy, pointing out the election coming up.  He’s got the wrong end of the stick this time, but the fact that he’s seen these angles and considered a bunch of things about the consequences already is telling about how smart he is.

Ruby is so pleased to see Henry.  She sounds tired (dealing with Walt and Branch and the sheer volume of bs that is accumulating in that office, no wonder) but still fond.  And the look she gives him.  I love her so much.  She puts up with so much.  And I love Henry continually calling Walt and the department on their shit and just being a dedicated activist for his community.

Fuck right off, Branch.  “Woah.  I know you’re Walt’s friend, Henry, but you don’t have any particular rights here.”  You are sliding into being a full on trashbag of a human being so fast, Brancheroo.  Reminding a young man of his rights and helping him avoid getting railroaded by your biased ass isn’t a bad thing, you rusty wingnut.

Ok, it might not be Glasses!Henry, but cowboy boots!Henry with the glow of righteousness upon him is also quite A Look.

Aaaaahahaha, for once Vic’s unholy yelling saves the day.  Being able to shout over a mass of raucous teens is usually reserved for teachers, camp counselors, and stage managers.  Looool and using detention as the threat.  And then jail.  Heeeh.

This is soooo weeeeeird: I’m starting to genuinely like Lizzie.  She just showed up and I remembered that it’s for dropping off that present, and then Vic is such a butt about it, and this poor lady is just trying to date a guy that she really likes and even gave him about 5 different outs that morning and he pointedly didn’t take any of them and dammit, Lizzie deserves better, too.  Fuck, Walt, you are such a disaster zone.  And Vic is a whole other disaster area that’s looking to, uhhhh, share a border.  Yike.

The present is definitely more Lizzie than it is Walt, with the wrapping and everything, but it’s still a sweet impulse.  AND THEN VIC, who told Walt how many times that he should call her?? gets all up in her business?  Poor Lizzie trying to figure out what the fuck this has to do with Vic or how it is even on the same planet as any of her business.  She does have some issues from her previous marriage, but she owns them.  And her BS meter is actually pretty finely tuned.  Sure picks up on Vic’s awkward boner for Walt in no time flat.  Not that it’s particularly well hidden, damn.

This kid is a rapist and a murderer and The Bad Guy, but at the same time, he is a high school kid, chances are he’s a minor, and Walt is talking to him alone in his office without any parent, much less a lawyer.  What the fuck.  

“Because Ayasha Roundstone told me so,” is a good line, solidly so.  And Walt’s all in The Righteous Hand of Justice mode or whatever, with the gravelly voice and standing over the kid, staring him down.  Effective.  (But where are that kid’s parents?)  Ah, that’s right, his dad is taking a shot at whatshisnoodle to make it look like he’s the killer.

Awww, Cady.  Honey, how long have you been waiting for you FailDad to show up?  Fuck.  Right.  This was how she found out that Martha was murdered.  He lies to her so much.  He manipulates her so much.  He passes all of this off on it being Martha’s wish, but he even acknowledges that Cady had a right to know and he chose not to tell her.  He denies Cady her own agency again and again.  He makes decisions for her without ever giving her a chance to choose for herself, and punishes her when she makes a choice that he doesn’t agree with.

It’s not “protecting” her from the pain.  “Protecting you from the pain,” is not a father’s job; it’s to teach their child how to manage it, help them live through it, and how to grow past it.  You’re damaging her.  Into the suuuuuuun, Walt!  Into the fucking SUN.

But fuuuuuuuuuuuck, her delivery of that same line, “Well, let me relieve you of that burden,” is sooo good.  You done fucked up, buster.  And you just keep fucking up.  I would say in new and exciting ways, but it’s generally in the SAME DAMN WAYS, dammit Walt.

This flashback is really difficult.  

They’re right about that technically being kidnapping, too.  Wyoming  § 6-2-201 specifically includes defining kidnapping as unlawfully confining another person, with the intent to “facilitate the commission of a felony; or Inflict bodily injury on or to terrorize the victim or another,” with unlawful confinement defined as “accomplished (i)  By force, threat or deception; or (ii)  Without the consent of a parent, guardian or other person responsible for the general supervision of an individual who is under the age of fourteen (14) or who is adjudicated incompetent.”  Meaning that not only could Walt charge Jake with the kidnapping of Rich, but also probably of Ayasha, since she was ruled an unreliable witness and would more than likely be legally considered a “mentally incompetent person” according to the states’ legal definitions.  

Not... that I have the Wyoming State Criminal Code downloaded on my computer.  >_> Certainly haven’t skimmed about 80% of it trying to figure out what charges would most make sense to be levied against Jacob at the end so that I don’t have to deal with him going in to a Federal prison on RICO charges.  <_<  Or what Cady probably should have been charged with after that mess with Tate and Catori.  Nnnnnnope.  Sure don’t, didn’t, haven’t. o_o

This is about the only time I can remember there being a legitimate reason for Walt not to have backup.  Since they’re off checking other locations.  Also, damn, that was some classic Old West quickdraw shit, Walt!  Noice!

“Why did you stop me?”  Because you have to testify, you little shit.  HE is not terribly bright.

Ooooooo, somehow I forgot that it was Branch who went to Jacob.  But that makes total sense; I can’t really see Jacob seeking Branch out, but once he walks himself into his office, Jacob will certainly play those new cards for all they’re worth.  Ooooooooo, and the Hotamétaneo’o headdress!  I’d forgotten about Branch seeing it, too!  Nice call back and foreshadowing to finish off S1!

“You will not find a chili cheeseburger of this caliber anywhere in Colorado.”  And now it’s 4:30 in the morning and I want a chili cheeseburger.  Thanks, babe.   Some daaaaaay, I will figure out which is my favourite Henry, but it is not this day, because godsdaaaaamn, the red checked shirt with that vessssst, is *chef kiss* a wonderful thing.   And the director knoooooows it = that pan down Henry’s back as he turns after saying, “I said nothing,” for noooo reason other than to have Henry’s ass on screen.  Seriously.  He says his line, it pans down, we get a primo shot of his jeans, and then it cuts away.  Solely a pan for Henry Butt.  Who directed this, and where do I send the fruit basket?  Dang, it was Nelson McCormick, and this was the only ep of Longmire he directed.  Huh.  In S1, there’s only one repeat director, who did eps 1, 3, and 7.  Interesting.

Focus, kid.  You are less than 3 minutes from the end and you’ve had it paused for over 5 minutes to wander around IMDb.  No wonder it takes you three flipping hours to watch one of these episodes.  What a mess, indeed.

“We all process grief in our own way.”  Buddy.  You have not processed.  You are a human <BUFFERING> screen.  You’re a walking loading symbol.  Walt, he gives you some basic vital statistics on the guy, but...  You haven’t even asked who it was.  Walt, you are so bad at this.  Fffffffff---  And there’s season 1.  lawd.

[calpalirwin]

Thick as Thieves

Summary: Luke and Leia have always been the closest out of the Hemmings siblings. But will they remain thick as thieves when Luke gains more brothers?

A/N: Sort of an anon request in that more brother!luke was written. So here’s a (badly constructed?) plot for that. 

Content: Mostly sibling dynamics with some build up of Ash and Leia dynamics

Word Count: 2.5k

And away, and away we go!

—

Leia’s hand smeared the ink on her paper as the loud guitar chord rang out. She pushed the assignment aside and went stalking down the hallway. She didn’t bother knocking, instead shoving the door open and putting her hands on her hips. “Could ya not?!”

“Could ya knock?!” Luke shot back, quickly getting up and crossing the room to slam the door in her face. 

Leia was quicker, her hand shooting out to brace against the doorframe. “I’m trying to study, dumbass. I know school isn’t important to you anymore, but it still means something to us nobodies.”

“School’s still important to me! I just have to practice!” His irritation faded as the nerves he’d been trying to get rid of set in again. “We have a show tonight,” he confided. 

“Oh, shit, really?” Leia asked, her blue eyes lighting up in excitement. 

“Yeah,” he continued, fiddling with his fingers. “This isn’t just us messing around anymore. This is like a real show. With real people.”

“You don’t even have a drummer though,” she pointed out the flaw in his plan. 

“Yeah, Mike found a guy. Think he said his name was Ashton. I dunno.”

“Oh? Does he know your songs?”

“The ones were gonna do, yeah. Or he said he did anyway. I dunno. I hope so.”

“You’ll do great, Lu-lu,” she told him. He may annoy her to death sometimes, but he was still her twin brother. And they were thick as thieves their whole life together. “Mum driving you?”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing at the time on his phone. “If she ever gets here…” He swore under his breath. 

“Relax, she’ll be home in like five minutes, watch.” Then, “Is that what you’re wearing to your show?”

Luke glanced down at his plain tank too, blue skinny jeans, and Converse. One foot shifted to rest on the other. “What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”

She ruffled his hair playfully. “Nothing. Can I come?”

“No way! I'm about to be a rockstar, Le-le. I can’t have my baby sister and Mum at my show. And stop messing up my hair!”

“All the rockstars have messy hair,” she teased, musing up his hair more with both her hands. 

“No, they don’t! Quit it!”

“Say I can come and I’ll stop,” she taunted.

“Fine! Alright! But you’re sitting in the back and keeping your mouth shut.”

“You got yourself a deal,” she agreed and dropped her hands.

“Yeah, yeah. Now get lost.”

~~~

Luke had wandered off, his face a sickly green, so Leia had taken the initiative to tune his guitar. “He’s lucky to have you,” Mike told her.

“Please,” she scoffed. “He didn’t even want me here. He wants nothing to do with me now that he has you guys.”

“That’s what you think.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! All he does is go on about how smart you are and that you’re the real ticket to him being somebody. Says you got a brain for business. Says we should actually thank you for this,” Mike told her, gesturing around the building. “So, thanks. Although, you coulda waited til we had a drummer.”

Leia blushed. She had secretly emailed the videos of her brother to various music venues. He thought he was YouTube good. She knew he was better. And too shy to take that risk himself. “Well you got one anyway, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, we’ll see how he works out. He’s a little older so I’m not sure how he’s gonna feel about being with us ya know? But he’s good.”

“Is he cute?”

“Not as cute as me.”

Leia laughed. She had always liked Mike. He was wild in a way that was fun rather than dangerous. But she wasn’t attracted to him that way. “I’m not gonna date ya, Mikey.”

“I know. How’s… what’s his name…”

“Oliver?” she offered up the name of the boy she was currently crushing on.

“Yeah, him!”

“He’s whatever,” she shrugged. “I thought he was into me, but then I think Luke said something to him.”

“Well if Luke doesn’t like him then…”

Leia laughed again. “Luke needs to learn when to butt out.”

“Funny,” Mike laughed with her. “He says the same thing about you.”

“Yeah, but you guys need me, let’s face it.”

“True that,” Mike agreed. Then, “Oh, hey! Ash! Ya made it!” Mike called out to a lanky boy with straightened hair, fist clenched uncertainly around a pair of drumsticks.

The teenager’s eyes lit up in realization of a familiar face and he rushed over. “Hey, Mike. So this is the place, huh?” he asked, spinning around in a slow circle.

“Yup, this is it. Need help unloading your drums?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. Hey, I’m Ashton,” the newcomer said, offering his hand to Leia.

“Leia,” she smiled, shaking his hand.

“I thought you said the other guitarist was a guy too,” Ashton questioned Mike as the trio walked out to a minivan.

“He is. This is his little sister,” Mike said, flinging his arm around Leia’s shoulders and grinning.

“Oi! Piss off!” Leia shoved Mike off of her. She hated being introduced that way. “Luke, the other guitarist, is my twin brother. And he’s… somewhere,” she explained to Ashton.

Ashton giggled, a boyish sound that made Leia forget all about Oliver. And when that smile revealed a dimple, she wasn’t sure any of her crushes could compare to what she was feeling now.

~~~

“How’d you even get these mics?” Luke marveled as he checked that the main camera had them all in view.

“I got connections, Lu-lu,” Leia grinned as she played with the settings on the camera in her hands.

Ashton, Calum, and Mike snickered into their hands at the nickname. “Lu-lu!” they sang-teased.

Luke’s cheeks flushed bright red. “You really have to be here?”

Leia rolled her eyes. “This isn’t some cover, Lucas. This is your own material. It needs more than one angle.”

“How much of this did Mum teach you and how much is this you thinking you know what you’re doing? Luke asked, skeptically as he took his spot on the couch next to Calum.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the real answer to,” Leia told him.

Luke groaned in response. “You better know what you’re doing.”

“Stick to singing and playing guitar. Leave the technical side to the experts.”

“You’re not an expert! You’re fifteen!”

“You’re not in a band! You’re fifteen!” she shot back. If he could be in a band he was determined to take as far as he could take it, why couldn’t she be a media expert?

“Luke, didn’t you say she got us that gig a few months back?” Ashton cut in.

“Yeah…”

“Maybe she knows what she’s doing,” he defended, with a soft smile in Leia’s direction.

“At least someone in this band has a brain,” Leia said with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Hey!” Calum and Mike pouted.

“Oh, whatever.” Leia moved over to the camera on the stand. “Ready?” she checked, finger hovering over record.

All four boys let out a collective nervous chuckle before nodding.

Leia hit record on both cameras then nodded silently back, letting them know it was okay to start.

“Hey, I’m Mike,” Mike started.

“I’m Calum.”

“I’m Luke.”

“And I’m Ashton.”

“And we’re 5 Seconds of Summer, and this is our song Gotta Get Out,” Luke continued the small intro, a nervous hand pushing his hair out of his face.

They started playing and Leia moved soundlessly about the room, getting different close up shots from various angles. Ashton heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears every time Leia got closer to him, his grin growing. He liked the way she was comfortable around them. That she didn’t run up to her room to hide when they came over, but rather joined in on the fun. Or in this case, offered her help.

When Ashton undercut Luke’s lyrics with a gently crooned, “Gotta get, gotta get out,” Leia’s head swam as she zoomed in on his soft smile.

~~~

“You’re what?!” Leia screeched, blue eyes flashing dangerously.

“I’m going to London with the band!” Luke repeated, his enthusiasm not faltering.

“And just what are you gonna do in London?!” she demanded.

“Make it big time!” His enthusiasm gave way to hot-headed defense.

“So you’re just gonna leave me here?!”

“You’d ask me to give up my dream? That’s pretty selfish of you, don’t ya think?”

“Selfish?! I’ve bent myself over backwards for you and your stupid band! I’m the one who got you your first gig! I’m the one who edited your videos for you! Me! And now you’re just gonna up and leave?!”

“Then what’d you do it for if you didn’t want me to leave?!”

“Because you’re my brother and I believe in you! I’m always gonna be on your side! I just didn’t think you’d leave like it was nothing! I figured you’d at least act a little sad…” Her voice began to wobble as her vision got blurry. “It’s been me and you since day 1, Lu-lu. And now you’re just gonna be gone?”

“You’re still gonna have Mum and Dad. And Ben and Jack,” he assured her his own fight leaving him at the look of heartbreak etched on her face. “And if you don’t think I’m not gonna miss you like crazy… or that I won’t come home at the drop of a hat if you need me… Le-le, you’re still my sister. No matter what this world throws my way, nothing is going to change that, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

~~~

6 Years Later

“And this is Luke,” Leia smiled, finally introducing her boyfriend to her twin brother.

“Nice to meet ya,” Luke grinned, shaking Wyatt’s hand. “Glad to finally put a face to name.”

“Same,” Wyatt laughed. “You should hear the way she goes on about her brother, the rockstar, out living the dream life in LA.”

Luke’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and he laughed nervously. “You should hear the way she goes about you,” Luke offered up.

It was Leia’s cheeks who turned pink this time. “And, we’re done here,” she said, tugging on Wyatt’s arm.

Both men shared a laugh over her embarrassment. “She’s modest. She calls me the rockstar, but I couldn’t have done any of it without her,” Luke continued to brag.

“Tell me about it,” Wyatt agreed. “Can’t compliment her without-”

“Without her completely shutting it down, I know!” Luke laughed.

“Oh, my God, I hate you both… so fuckin’ much…” Leia groaned into her hands. “I’m gonna go catch up with the guys. You two have fun. And don’t embarrass me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” they both fake promised.

“I mean it,” she warned before walking off.

“Hey, long time no see,” Ashton was the first to greet her, offering her a hug.

“Hey, Ash,” she smiled into the embrace. “How goes it?”

“Same old, same old,” was the generic response. “What ever happened to Oliver?” he asked with a head nod over at Wyatt.

Leia laughed. “We broke up like five years ago, Ash. Where have you been?”

Ashton looked confused for a moment. “Shit… James? No! Charlie?”

“James was three years ago. And Peter was last year.”

“Peter,” Ashton nodded in remembrance. “He was cool.”

“He was alright,” she admitted. It wasn’t that she had been unlucky in love per say. The guys she had relationships with had all been really good guys, and she had enjoyed her time with them. But, right around the time Ashton breezed back home, feelings she had never come to terms with started to flutter within her again. And then every time she looked at him- Oliver, James, Peter- she saw Ashton. And then Ashton would go back to his life in London and then LA, and her relationship would stutter to a halt. And she would cling to it until she couldn’t cling to it anymore. And then she’d take her time, swearing up and down that when she saw Ashton next she would just take her chance. Then Ashton would come home, with a girl on his arms. And Leia would throw herself in the next relationship to drown out the pain.

“So tell me about Wyatt,” Ashton smiled, his own stomach churning. He had been going through a similar cycle. He’d fly home for the holidays, and meet Leia’s newest fling. He’d fly home and throw himself into the bed of models and superstars to dull the ache. He’d fly back and Leia would be crying to Luke over the boy she’d been gushing about the previous year. Ashton would fly back home, break off his own relationships, and allow both him and Leia both time to heal, determined next time he’d make his move.

This time, both Ashton and Leia thought they had finally beat the cycle. Leia had been dating Wyatt for six months. Everything was still fresh and new. And Ashton had been playing a back and forth game of his own with someone else. Which, if their pattern continued to serve them well, meant that both would be healed and single in a year.

~~~

“So, when are you ever gonna move to LA?” Luke asked, throwing a small handful of popcorn into his mouth.

Leia blew out her breath, making her lips fluttered together. “What would I do that for?” She gestured around her apartment. “Where would you stay if I gave all this up?”

“In a hotel because I’m rich and famous,” he grinned.

“And yet, still a total loser,” she teased back, throwing a fistful of popcorn at his face.

“Oi!” he gasped in surprise before upturning the bowl on her head.

“Oi!” she sputtered back. “It’s everywhere now! Thanks, Lucas…”

“You’re welcome,” he chirped, a smirk gracing his lips.

She set the bowl upright on her coffee table and dusted the pieces to the floor, grateful that the snack had been mostly devoured before their small scuffle. “Making my apartment a mess is not gonna get me to move to LA, Lu-lu.”

“Eh, it was worth a shot,” he shrugged.

She laughed, pushing his shoulder. “What would you want me in LA for anyway?”

He shrugged again. “I dunno. I miss you or something. Fuck, I had to live with Ash for the first year we were there because the silence was…”

“Terrifying?” she supplied. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

He scoffed. “At least you can go home. Keep friendships. The sorts.”

“Aw, wittle rockstar crying in his wads of cash?” she teased.

He laughed as he shook his head, “I’m serious. People treat me differently now. Like they’re either starstruck or act like I grew another head.”

“Well… what did you think was going to happen? That you could run off to London, tour the world, move to LA, continue to tour the world, and that things wouldn’t change?”

“We didn’t change, did we?”

“I mean, we grew up…”

“Le-le… you know what I mean.”

“No, Lu-lu,” she told him, and then she was echoing the words he had told her the first time he had left. “You’re still my brother. No matter what this world throws at us, nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

__

Tag List

@goeatsomelife​ @flameraine​ @cashtonasff5sos​ @here-for-the-uproars​ @cxddlyash​ @1-irwin-94​ @baldcalum​ @sparkling-chaos​ @tea4sykes​ @youngblood199456​ @5-seconds-of-obsession​ @gosh-im-short​ @aquarius-hood1996​ @talkfastromance4​

[prettywordsyouleft]

Through His Eyes - Part 13 [Final]

Summary: Losing your sight after your accident was traumatic, and Jaebum’s guilt of knowing it should have been him instead creates an intricate bond between you both, as you overcome adversity and try to find your way in life again.

Genre: angst / romance

Characters: Im Jaebum x female reader

A/N: This story is emotional and raw compared to some of the content on my blog. It is in no way an attempt to glamourise or undervalue the lives of those who suffer from something similar. This story is purely fictional.

Index:  Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Jaebum was unable to relax.

Over the last year of your relationship with him, he believed he had mellowed out considerably. You had found yourself when you were apart and only continued to flourish at his side. If anything, you called the shots more than he did.

Which was rather refreshing.

Sometimes he didn’t agree with some of the choices you made, and since both of you were stubborn, it had led to a lot of arguments. Only to end up back in each other’s arms, apologising, compromising, reconnecting.

Jaebum had been adamant about refuting one thing you wished to do, however.

“Come on, like it’ll happen again,” you whined, and he groaned loudly, reaching down to fill Nora’s food bowl and then turning to the breakfast dishes pointedly.

Your arms slipped around his waist soon after, and he paused in scrubbing the plate, your lips finding his bare skin easily. After a series of kisses that led up to his ear, you sighed into him, Jaebum not needing to turn to see the pout now upon your lips. “Just one time, please?”

“I’m not relenting on this,” he announced and for three months, he had successfully stuck to this vow. He couldn’t fathom having you in the same situation as you had been that day. Even if you both agreed that your accident had to happen for you to be this in love with one another, Jaebum still wanted your eyes to see the world that he did. He knew in some sense, you did. Your artwork had been recognised and now you were being offered the opportunity of holding an exhibition. You spent just as many hours working as he did now, sometimes your schedule was fuller than his was. Your paintings and sculpts littered his apartment as much as your own, taking up as much residence as you did in his home.

Not that he minded, he loved whenever you stayed over with him.

But he had to admit your world had grown considerably larger and you weren’t struggling to keep up with it. And that was one of the reasons why Jaebum had eventually been overruled with his protective stance. There were only so many excuses he could use that you couldn’t refute. With the growth of your business-like mind, your tact and articulation exceeded his, presenting him with even a list of reasons why he shouldn’t hold you back from what you wanted.

With the last line of, ‘if anything were to happen, I know you’d be right there’ as a reminder, he had caved, allowing you this one visit.

Jaebum knew that if this went well, you would request more opportunities and that was what accompanied his nerves as he got his makeup done, the realisation that you were dynamic, able to achieve anything you wanted, regardless of how much he tried to ground you.

Once you had taken flight, there was no stopping you.

“It’s going to be fine,” Jackson assured from the seat beside him and Jaebum half-smiled, still unable to accept those words. He had chanted them since waking up this morning, and still, they held no true belief in his mind. He knew he needed it to be fine, a perfect execution with your safety paramount. Sure, onsite accidents had decreased since new regulations came into place after your loss of sight. His company held stringent checks on all places their artists performed now, and Jaebum had been relieved that the concert hall passed all safety checks the day before.

His nerves didn’t dispel, no matter how many reassuring hugs Mark gave him, or firm squeezes of his shoulder that came from Jinyoung. And when you stepped into the bustling environment with the help of his manager, Jaebum’s movement faltered, his eyes holding onto your approach and checking everything that surrounded you as fast as his brain could process.

Why had he agreed to this?

“Noona!” Yugyeom cried as he leapt off the stage towards you, and you grinned, hugging everyone who came your way before slipping into Jaebum’s arms.

You tensed only for a moment, your head snapping up to his, shooting him a reproachful look. “Are you seriously this worried about me?”

“He’s been driving us insane all morning with how anxious he is,” BamBam announced, and Jaebum glared in his younger friend’s direction.

Youngjae chuckled. “I’m convinced you are the most important person in his world after today.”

“Is that right?” you murmured, unable to hide your elation. Jaebum flushed with colour, which you managed to pick up on, allowing him the chance to bury into you. As everyone else moved off, back to their positions in the rehearsal, you gently rubbed circles on his back, soothing his wired body.

Jaebum was exhausted, and he had not even performed yet.

“Relax for me, hm?”

“Easy for you to say,” he retorted, stepping back just enough to look down at you. Now that you were here, Jaebum was conflicted. He felt your effect relaxing some of his physical reaction but his mind was still concerned for your protection.

“If you’re not relaxed then how can I enjoy your performance? You forget how easily I can hear when you’re out of tune or offbeat now. I’ll only be disappointed in myself if I’m the cause to all your fans having a sub-par performance from you.”

He gaped at you. “Y/N, are you playing the guilt trip on me now?”

“No, of course not,” you responded sweetly, a giggle soon escaping you. You patted his arm and then ushered him off. “I’ll be right here, listening on and expecting a good rehearsal from you.”

With a final grumble and farewell, Jaebum headed back up onto the stage, looking out to where you had taken a seat with some of the other staff. You were already animatedly conversing something with his stylist and Jaebum smiled, it was just like you to find a place in any setting these days.

Rehearsals continued for the majority of the afternoon and by the time the last song ended, Jaebum was in a different element. He was no longer fretting about your appearance on set; instead, it had propelled him to put on a better show. The reactions you gave were genuine. He watched all your emotions that you openly showed for each of their songs, laughing with the playful moments in the segments and then rendered speechless with the powerful way he and the six other members performed. Even if it was a dry rehearsal, you were impressed and Jaebum was feeling accomplished because of it.

He knew that taking you on tour now would be something he would no longer fear. Even if something were to occur, you could both face it together.

It was how you had come thus far as a couple, after all.

He didn’t allow himself to focus too much on you when the show actually began. Sure, he would look towards your seat next to where the members’ family sat now and then, grinning when he noticed how bright you looked and the way you fondly held onto his mother’s hand throughout. Jaebum focused on putting his all into his performances, not just for you, or the fans, but for himself as well.

He hadn’t felt this at home on stage since your accident. It was as if having you present could allow him to finally reach for his passion and share it around the arena all night long.

He had been exhausted earlier in the day, but after stepping off stage, he was full of energy.

It was you who was wiped out from the experience.

“I didn’t expect it to take that much out of me,” you admitted as you departed ways from the small gathering after the concert, leaning into his side as he slipped into the driver’s seat of his car. Jaebum glanced at you, leaning in to kiss your head softly. You sighed, your hand moving over his waist and holding him tightly. “It was a success.”

“You told me not to worry,” he reminded you and you sighed, not lifting your head up to face him.

“I’m glad you stopped and allowed me to in your stead.”

He grinned; he had noticed now and then you would slowly look around during the rehearsal, jumping when someone would start banging on something in the stage setup. It would be just like you to take on the universe and ensure him to leave it all to you. He nudged you lightly, starting up the ignition. “Next time, don’t try to take on so much.”

“I’m exhausted mostly because of how many emotions I faced due to your music, not because of that,” you stated, pulling away from your position against him, avoiding the vibration of his chuckles.

Yet you held his hand all the way to your home.

When the car came to stop in the parking lot, neither of you moved to get out of the car immediately, savouring your time together. Jaebum knew your mother would want to have you home tonight. Her concern over you would not always be at ease, even if you were proving to be a capable young woman despite your life changing almost two years ago. It was a mother’s right to worry for her child and in your case, she always would. Allowing you to come out to the concert had been a big thing for her, especially doing so without chaperoning. It was up to him to deliver you back tonight, safe and sound.

That much he would do.

He just didn’t want to say goodbye just yet.

And neither did you.

“What if I went up there, said hello and then came back?”

Jaebum chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve been with you for most of the day; let your mother have your final hours before bed.”

“If I make an hour, I’m so tired.”

“See, so it’s better you just go home and unwind with her before sleeping. I can come around for breakfast tomorrow,” Jaebum suggested and you let out a small huff of air. He knew that you had conceded, even if you weren’t openly happy about it.

“My bed has space for you,” you attempted and Jaebum leaned over to draw you into his arms, uncaring of the gearbox between you both. “Come stay with me. Mum won’t mind.”

“Not tonight.”

“Why?”

Staring at you, he brushed the hair away from your face tenderly. He couldn’t wait for the time when you would fall asleep and wake up in his arms every day. You stayed over at his whenever he was home, sometimes going an entire week before you trudged back home, albeit with a delighted greeting for your mother when you saw her. You really did love the woman, even if you protested leaving his company every time. It was why he made a point of taking you home even when he didn’t want to let you go.

Jaebum knew your mother had been hinting at putting a ring on your finger lately, her not so subtle answer to allowing him what he craved. Only when you were truly bound to him would she allow you to leave the nest he had first found you within. Back then, your wings were unable to fly to his house, and she had nurtured you more than he could have.

It meant a lot to him that your mother was allowing him the ability to be that strength at your side now.

That’s why he made sure you spent as much time alone with your mother presently. When you moved in with him, he might not be as willing to let you stay away from him.

“You know you have a really bad habit of overthinking and not giving me an answer, Im Jaebum.”

He snapped out of his thoughts with a smile, which you reached out to touch with your thumb. He pursed his lips into you, kissing your hand softly and then undid your seatbelt. “Come on, let me take you home.”

You obliged despite his lack of an answer, swinging your linked arms softly with every step you made together. Soon you were standing outside your apartment and turned to face him, attempting to shoot him a luring smile. He laughed. “I’m not coming in.”

“No? Your loss then,” you tempted and he stepped up to you, hugging you warmly and kissing your forehead. “I’m going to go to bed and dream of someone other than you.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes,” you informed, though you were smiling too much for it to be effective. “Since you don’t want to be at my side tonight, I’ll choose someone else.”

“Suit yourself, Nora will be all too happy to take your spot anyway.”

You huffed again and he laughed. For a moment you were both jovial and then his smile faded, his eyes searching yours.

Even without sight, they were beautiful. The colours, the depth, he had fallen in love with them. In the hallway lighting, he spotted your faint scarring, the lines he had traced upon your face many times over. He had come to love them too.

All of you.

Yet the question remained on the tip of his tongue and he rocked back on his heels, unsure if he should ask it. You placed a hand on his cheek, rubbing it gently. “What is it?”

“Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“Seeing the world,” he admitted, watching as you blinked slowly.

And then you shook your head. “No. I don’t any more.”

“Really? Wouldn’t you love to see what’s around you? View the things you haven’t in so long? What about the people you hold dearly in your life now, do you crave to see them at least once more?” Jaebum wondered, holding you back in his arms again. He was confused; he had thought there would be a small part of you that would long for vision of some sort. Some times, on your better days, you could make out vague shapes for moments at a time. That was the extent of your recovery. The doctors had ruled you wouldn’t perform some sort of miracle and gain your sight back.

Smiling again, your hand still on his face shifted, feeling along the strength of his jaw and up his cheekbone. Your fingers lightly dusted over his eyelids that, with instinct, he shut upon your touch there. When you stopped, he reopened his eyes, gazing at you and anticipating your answer.

“I already see enough of the world through you. Why would I crave anything more?”

Leaning into kiss you, Jaebum allowed the tears to fall from his eyes. He never knew what to expect with you sometimes.

But he would take care of his sight as best as he could.

Since he knew you would look through his eyes forever.

 The End.

_________________

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[anika-ann]

Think Again (When You Stop Freaking Out) - Pt.7

In My Own Skin (final part)

Pairing: None                   Word count: 3179

Warnings: language, attempt at humour, sensory overload... irony and sass? ;)

Summary: Things should get back to normal now... right? Friends will be friends and dynamic duo Nelson-Murdock will always keep its promises.

Story Masterlist

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Steve Rogers’ eyes snapped open, greeted by grey. A grey of the ceiling, softened by warm yellow light of a nearby lamp.

Steve Rogers woke up and he saw.

He blinked several times, his eyelids slightly heavier than usual, probably the effect of the tranquilizers, his lips feeling like made of lead. Yet, they managed to form three words.

“Oh, thank god,” he whispered, running his hand down his face and pushing himself up to a sitting position.

“Nope, just foggy,” a voice on his right informed his swiftly. A horrified inhale followed. “Shit, sorry, knee-jerk reaction.”

Steve quickly looked at the man. He was a bit chubby, beige suit, blond rather long hair, inviting smile. Steve thought he was familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Yeah, things did feel a bit foggy, but that could not have been what the stranger was imply- right. “Right. Foggy… Hi.”

“Am I talking to-“

“Steve,” he assured him, making the lawyer grin victoriously.

“Right. Welcome back, Cap,” Foggy saluted with two fingers, making the soldier smile.

“That’s what the president said,” Tony joined them in the couch area and Steve’s smile widened despite the fact he should probably be annoyed. Who would think that seeing Stark’s face would be an actual pleasure. “At least the Smithsonian claims it. And if you bring up the fact I was there ever again, I’ll deny it. I was only there to draw you a moustache.”

“Hey, Tony.”

“Hey, Cap. How many fingers?” the billionaire asked cheekily, holding three fingers in front of Steve’s face, switching to four just as Steve opened his mouth to humour him. So he closed it again. “What, cat got your tongue? Are you mute this time around?”

Steve sighed and made a disapproving face at Tony, feeling Foggy’s sharp glare even without looking at the lawyer. “Tune it down, Tony. You’re being insensitive.”

Tony raised both of his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry. You know I don’t mean it. My heart’s in the right place.”

“You deal with this all the time?” Foggy asked while Steve just shook his head at Tony, who knocked on the device in his chest gently.

“Yes.”

“Respect, Sir,” Foggy mumbled and returned his gaze to the figure lying on the other couch.

Steve smiled unwittingly at the care Foggy was expressing by guarding his friend and protecting his honour in the process; and from Steve’s experience, also by telling him with no restraint when he was being an idiot when needed. Steve knew that kind of friendships – he had had a friend like that to, always by his side, no matter how much trouble he had got himself into.  

To silence the pang of guilt and longing, he looked back at Tony; despite him being an arrogant human being at times, he was a friend too.

“I’m fine. But since you mentioned it… I can’t believe I’m saying this, but now when I can’t hear your heartbeats, I feel almost deaf.”

“You were able to hear a heartbeat?!” Bruce’s shocked voice sounded from behind him, almost making Steve jump out of his skin, while Tony raised a curious eyebrow, commenting on his own: “You can bond with Barton over that.”

Steve couldn’t help himself; he just rolled his eyes.

“Anyway. How about some calories? You must be-“ the grumble of Steve’s stomach cut Bruce off and  as if on command, one of the specially designed post-mission drinks landed in the table in front of him.

“Thank you, Bruce.”

“One of us has to be a good host.”

“Aaand that’s my cue to leave,” Tony uttered, making a U-turn and disappearing from the room.

“He’s something.”

Steve snorted, relaxing onto the backrest and sipped the green semi-solid drink, grateful he couldn’t taste every ingredient and god knew what, which he would have been able to if still being a resident in Matt’s body.

“He’s a friend… no one is easy to handle. I’m sorry about his manners.”

It was Foggy’s turn to snort in amusement. “Matt would probably encourage him. He makes way too much blind jokes. Dork.”

No one could possibly miss the fond smile Foggy sent Matt’s direction. Steve’s heart ached a little at that, missing his own friend again. This time, he didn’t resist.

“You’re a good friend, Foggy.”

“That’s gonna mean something, coming from Captain America himself,” the lawyer hummed, hiding a hint of red on his ears by letting his hair fall into his face.

“I’m sure he appreciates it. Take it from a guy who needed someone to pull his stupid arse from trouble more times that I can count.”

Foggy looked up shyly, clearly as pleased as uncomfortable. “Well, someone has to.”

“I absolutely agree. Steve, how do you really feel?” Bruce entered the conversation, picking up on Foggy’s uneasiness as well.

“I feel… like me.”  

---

Matt Murdock woke up to a terrible noise of three heartbeats, breaths, low voices and buzzing of the city deep below, smell of something that could not be food and yet he could taste it on his tongue, the scent mixed with a bit of sweat, deodorants and shampoos, leather and coffee. The said leather felt hot under his back, slick and yet harsh against his skin, the cotton shirt and slacks feeling like an assault on his mechanoreceptors.

All those sensations melted together, already helping to build a headache. Lovely.

He didn’t even have to open his eyes to know he was back to his own body. Yet, he commanded the heavy eyelids to check.

Nothing. Darkness. A wildly dancing image that had nothing to do with vision. The world was on fire as it should be.

He could tell the number of people in the room, he could identify one of them as Foggy even, yet, the picture in his head was so messy, scrambled by the fucking pain-meds, that he couldn’t locate his friend. Which was why it startled him so much when he spoke up.

“Hey, buddy. How bad is it?”

Matt winced, probably giving an answer on its own. He couldn’t supress a groan as the world was getting even louder and less bearable with each second he was involuntarily walking towards full consciousness – without being able to control the input.

“That good, huh?”

“Yeah, I’d be better if you knocked me out again,” Matt rasped.

A bottle of water was immediately pressed into his hand in response. He pushed up so he could take a sip. The whole world swam, loud tide waves washing over him, slowly drowning him. Oh jeez. What had he done do to deserve that? He was so gonna punch Stark for the tranquilizers…

He forced himself to open the bottle, trying his best to ignore the plastic he could taste from it. But god, it flooded his taste buds with so many chemicals he could cry – or spit out the water. He didn’t, he was stronger than that.

“Thanks. I’ll be… fine, just… gimme a minute.”

“You want me to stay?” Foggy asked, lowering his voice. The remaining two people walked away, the vibration of the floor rattling Matt’s bones.

He was glad they left, even with the little earthquake it brought on. To be honest, Matt needed Foggy out as well. Focusing on him usually helped, but now, all he needed was as much silence he could get.

“No. Please. I… meditation might help a little.”

If Foggy picked up on the hesitation and shame in Matt’s voice, he didn’t mention it. He reached out to Matt to pat his shoulder, but stopped two inches away; Matt could still feel the heat radiating from his friend’s palm, but was grateful he didn’t go for it. Perhaps he should give Foggy more credit when it came to understanding his senses than he did.

“Sure thing, buddy. I’ll be right-- with the others. Do you want a room for yourself?”

Despite feeling like his head was in a hive, squeezed in a vice and being placed on a ship in the middle of the raging sea, Matt charmed a smile – or he tried to do so. He was whispering, when he spoke.

“That would be really nice.”

“You got it. I’ll be guarding the door with my life,” Foggy promised, the thunder of his heartbeat not faltering. The buzz in Matt’s brain tuned down for a split second, filled with affection instead of the sensory overload.

“Please don’t. They are aliens, supersoldiers and other whatever. Can’t lose you to that squad.”

Matt felt blood rush into his cheeks right after the sentence left his mouth, but he couldn’t find himself to regret it. He was in the whole room at once, his consciousness all over the place, incredibly messy, but one thing was clear as day. He appreciated Foggy’s care. Maybe, he should let him know more often.

---

Steve was biting the inside of his cheek as he watched Foggy’s expression of perfectly faked understanding. Tony had taken him for a tour through the Tower, specifically labs, and then moved onto Avengers’ gear, explaining all the ‘cool stuff’. Judging by Foggy’s excitement, he was fascinated by all the toys, even though he understood even less than Steve; but hell, he was too proud to admit it until the tour ended.

When Friday announced through the speakers that Mr. Murdock requested she informed them he was quite settled and ready to welcome people back in the room, they didn’t hesitate. Foggy was the first to come in, followed by Steve and only then the two geniuses.

They found Matt standing by the couch, turned their direction – just the fact he was standing must have meant a lot if the state he had been in when Steve and Bruce had emerged from the room was anything to go by. This looked like a big improvement – key word: looked.

“Feel better?” Steve asked lowly, examining the blind man, who had somehow managed to find his glasses and slip them on.

“Good enough for not wanting to be knocked out, bad enough for not trying to punch Stark just yet,” Matt said wittily, making exactly three people in the room smirk.

“Should I just leave or— oh wait, this is my building, so if you mind me being here…” Tony hummed, earning a stereo groan from Steve and Bruce.

“Stark, Steve, Doctor Banner… where is Thor then?”

“Oh, Thor flew away. It was supercool. The other part of the artefact appeared – probably when you switched back – and he just took it in this super-secret-government container and… yeah, flew away. Sorry you missed that,” Foggy spilled out in hurry, his enthusiasm not unlike Steve was used to see on children’s faces when meeting him. Matt must have picked up on it, because his smile widened.

“I think I’ll live. I guess you’ll just have to remind me of that often enough.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Bruce noted with a kind smile and handed Matt a cup of the ‘green special’ Steve had received after waking up. “Try this unless it offends your taste too much. High protein, high carb, lots of ions and generally the good stuff. It might even help with burning out the drugs you’ve been dosed with.”

“Hey, we didn’t agree on getting him one. What if he’s feeling good enough to punch me after? Way to be a friend, Bruce!”

Matt scrunched his nose when smelling the drink up-close, but obediently took a sip, accepting the wordless dare. Despite the slightly disgusted face he made, he continued. Steve came to understanding of where he got his street name.

Foggy cleared his throat, looking around. “So… what happens now?”

Steve wavered. Honestly, he had a million questions for Matt – starting with the ones about his senses, which might be more than inappropriate and none of his business, ending with moral ones, which included asking about what had led to his decision to start the part-time job as a vigilante, which belonged to the category of things Matt probably wasn’t up to answering right now.

So Steve said the only thing he could think off. He took a leap of faith, deciding to believe that Matt would stay in touch somehow (read: via them visiting his apartment or office if it came to that) and to let him leave with no feeling of owing anything to them. But there was something he needed to do first.

“I believe someone asked for an autograph…?”

Steve didn’t need to hear heartbeats to know Foggy’s just skipped a beat in joy – his expression spoke volumes, no matter how much he tried to stay contained.

“That would be awesome, Captain.”

It didn’t end with an autograph. They took a photo too. They took one with reluctant Matt as well – the vigilante ruined all Foggy’s fun when he forbade framing it and hanging it in the office.

“But, Matt! Clients!”

“But, Foggy! Too many questions!” Matt mimicked, but had enough decency to look guilty about making his friend’s face fall.

“Alright. But the selfie is my new lockscreen. You can’t take that away!”

Steve wasn’t sure what lockscreen was, only knew it had something to do with phones; he hoped it wasn’t anything that would embarrass him too much. Matt’s lips twitched, which actually worried Steve a little.

“Not sure Marci will like that.”

“She’ll understand,” Foggy muttered and took selfie with Tony as well as with Bruce, who seemed quite uncomfortable, but didn’t have the heart to disappoint the excited lawyer – how typical of him. He excused himself right after.

Foggy and Matt looked genuinely surprised and grateful when Steve announced his intention to let them leave whenever they wanted, no questions asked. Tony, on the other hand, appeared to be ready to punch the supersoldier to his face, but didn’t protest, clearly already planning a surprise visit to the office; Steve immediately felt sorry, especially for Karen.

“We’ll be in touch – I’ll make sure of it,” Foggy assured them, shaking Steve’s hand for probably longer than was socially acceptable. Steve didn’t mind, if only because it irritated Tony. To be fair, he received the same treatment afterwards.

“See you around, Steve. Soon, Mr. Stark,” Matt threw over his shoulder when he was entering the elevator on Foggy’s arm, grinning as the door was closing.

“You’re terrible,” Steve heard Foggy huff and that was the end of it.

Steve felt strange lightness in his soul, blaming the enthusiastic blonde for it. The world needed more people like him. Matt needed him for sure. Despite the warmth, Steve couldn’t help but worry about the vigilante though.

“We should keep an eye on him. I have a feeling he has no self-preservation.”

“Consider it done, Cap. And you know that behaviour sounds familiar, right?”

Steve smiled for himself, ignoring Tony’s nudge. “Well, at least he has good friends to take care of him.”

“Cheesy, Steven,” Tony hummed when he realized the analogy, but Steve had a feeling it pleased him anyway.

He didn’t call him out on it though. After all, some things were better left unsaid; yet, it didn’t mean they weren’t true.

Feeling’s usually mutual. Yeah, Tony. I care about you too.

“Whatever you say, Stark. I’ll be in the gym. I feel like I need to burn some of the tranquilizers you shot me with before…”

“You’re welcome!” Tony shouted after him as Steve just waved at him blindly, making his way to his room to change.

Yeah. I know.

---

Exiting the Tower with relieved sigh, Matt leaned onto Foggy a bit more.

“Thanks for putting up with this,” Matt whispered into the cold of the night and heard Foggy’s heartbeat falter. It made him frown. “Foggy? What’s wrong? I’ll be fine, I mostly already am. We’ll be fine. Hell, Tony Stark even promised to get us better heating to the office. How many people can say that?”

Foggy gulped, his cheeks burning up. Oh god, what?

“You wanna know what’s wrong, Matt?”

“Yes, of course. Talk to me, Fog.”

Foggy took a deep breath, more blood rushing to his cheeks. “Please don’t laugh, but… I really made an idiot of myself.”

“When? You were great the whole time. You were a good friend to me. You apparently even helped me get dressed! Kinda me…” Matt corrected himself, not bothering to clarify, knowing Foggy understood what he meant. But he was only rewarded with silence; he was getting worried, to be honest. “Foggy?”

“Matt… I called Captain America a duffus.”

Matt was silent for a split second and then he burst out laughing, stopping in his tracks in order to throw his head back.

“I asked you not to laugh!” Foggy hissed, squirming in embarrassment and it only made Matt laugh harder. Foggy slapped his arm. “You jerk!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“

“No you’re not…”

“No, I’m not. He didn’t seem to hate you for it. And to be fair, my hand punched his face, so I think that from the two of us…”

That seemed to calm Foggy down and he let Matt take his elbow for guidance again. “Okay. Thanks. I think you actually were worse. We’re menaces, Murdock.”

“Yeah, Fog. We sure are. Earth’s mightiest menances.”

Matt could hear a grin in Foggy’s voice when he spoke again. “Best damn avocados.”

“Best damn avocados-- oh, that reminds me. So, I heard you agreed it was a fruit-“

“Shut up, Murdock…”

“Captain America told me that-“

“Blah, blah, blah-“

“You’re such a child-…”

Their laughter echoed in the streets of Manhattan and despite the insanity of that day… Matt thought that life was good.

---

A week later, Tony Stark received an envelope he would never expect to receive.

It wasn’t particularly unusual for the billionaire to get sued – hell, he often was on the receiving end of everyone’s fury when it came to the damage the Avengers had made (please note, the golden boy Captain America was never blamed, how outraging) -, but being sued for drugging someone wasn’t exactly daily occurrence. Neither was the complaint about the ADA incompliance of the Avengers Tower.

The first set of documents was signed Nelson. Naturally, the latter held the name Murdock, or Tony guessed so, because it was hard to decode the scribbled letters.

He couldn’t believe they had actually done it. He had honestly thought that all of their threats had been only a joke. Clearly, they had been deadly serious.

So if he took off – quite literally – the moment Friday announced that Matt Murdock entered the building, supposedly to have a training session with the American Golden Boy, no one could blame him.

Yet, it didn’t mean Matt didn’t laugh his ass off when the AI informed him of Sir’s departure. It seemed that the genius would have to wait and the only person punched by Matt Murdock’s fist today would be Steve Rogers.

But that was okay. Matt would love to wait for his moment and it would get only sweeter.

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Just FYI, some of you noticed/know EN is not my first language. Matt had a brilliant line to Foggy: “Yeah, I’d be better if you knocked me up again.” I re-read it at least three times before it hit me just how much the course of the entire fic would change if I missed the typo and left it that way.

Aaaanyway, thank you for reading! If you’re interested in more fics, indulge yourself AND me by checking out the masterlists :))

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart​

@igobypoet​

[jamesmarlowe]

『ANTON THIEMKE ❙ CIS-MALE』 ⟿ looks like JAMES MARLOWE is here for HIS SENIOR year as a FINE ARTS student. He is 21 years old & known to be CLEVER, INVENTIVE, UNRELIABLE & EGOTISTICAL. They’re living in NOLAND, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ SLOTH. 25. EST. SHE/HER.

hi hello welcome 2 my twisted mind ☺️ marlowe is a character i’m still fine-tuning bc he’s brand-new, so this is unfortunately.... a bit of a mess.... and mostly made up on the spot.... c’est la vie!!

(a late addition but u can also peep his weheartit collection here 4 some vibes)

his government name is james marlowe but he only goes by marlowe & only introduces himself as marlowe like he’s madonna or sting....  most ppl who know him (apart from like close friends) probably don’t even know what his first name is. maybe he doesn’t have one!

hails from Appalachia, specifically a trailer park in a poor-as-dirt stretch of Virginia where he was born n raised, baby. he’s Appalachian white trash and not afraid to admit it. marlowe’s very casual about his upbringing and his dumpster fire of a family (no less than three relatives are currently incarcerated, one of which is his older brother who’s probably serving a minor sentence for whatever dumb shit Tim Riggins got got for in FNL or like, selling illegal fireworks out of his trunk :/ ). the only thing he’s a little self-conscious about is his twang which he’s mostly suppressed by now, but other than that, he’s got no shame in where he comes from bc lbr no authentic artist ever came from money anyway!

born sandwiched in the middle of five siblings, marlowe’s always been wild and creative and impulsive, a loud-mouthed kid with too much to say for his own good, prone 2 getting in trouble but learning absolutely nothing from it. it was his mission in life to be Different from all the other kids who grew up where he grew up, with the way he talked, dressed, acted, because he knew that he was destined for bigger n better things so it was just a matter of getting other ppl to believe it, & then seeing how far a little talent and a lot of charisma would take him >:)

from age 8 onwards, he told people he was an “artist” and that became his primary identity. when he was 16 he completed an independent sculpture project (called “Skyscraper”) where he constructed a 20-foot tower made out of junk collected from around the trailer park and then glued Barbies n other dolls all clawing over each other to get to the top, smack dab in the middle of Main Street and refused to take it down even when the local fire department showed up 2 threaten him with fines. it did eventually get taken down bc it was ‘structurally unsound’ and someone nearly got concussed by a falling mannequin head, but at least it got some attention from local newspapers and w/ that as the crown jewel in his portfolio, marlowe got into a few different art/liberal arts schools the following year. radcliffe was the only one who offered a partial scholarship and the east coast sounded nice n far from home, so anyways lets go ✈️ college 

FAST FORWARD its senior year babey and marlowe’s been making the most of his time here at radcliffe. he’s a fine arts major but specializes in mixed media sculptures (and probably is really shit at most of his other classes, like art theory where u actually have to read textbooks? still life drawing? boring. yawn. won’t do it.) his entire profile as an artist i’m cribbing from Rachel Harrison bc I saw her exhibition at the whitney a little while ago and her sculptures made me go ?????¿¿¿¿¿ which i think is exactly the kind of bizarre nonsense that marlowe is going for with his “art”. feast your eyes on these masterpieces. the joke of it all is that marlowe is the first to admit that his art isn’t like.... good. but his philosophy is that if people respond to it & praise it like it’s art, then by definition, it’s art. and if it gets him places (like it got him onto Cultured Magazine’s “30 Young Artists To Watch This Decade″ list), then yeehaw!

When he’s not busy creating new monstrosities, marlowe takes one fat nap per day (usually at a time when he has class) and is otherwise a very social creature who needs constant attention. he’s got a lot of friends and is always looking to make more, not in a #fake way but just as a person who genuinely likes being around people. he very quickly gets bored if left on his own, so he’s prone to following people around campus like a stray cat regardless of whether or not they tell him to shoo. he dorms at Noland but is almost always found in other houses, often crashing in other people’s rooms (needs to be close to his friends or He’ll Die), and he definitely frequents parties, bc marlowe never passes up an opportunity to drink other people’s booze and get a lil messy and Chaotic. he’s [jim halpert voice] not a slut, but who knows? he’s kinda a slut! he’s also definitely pulled another stunt similar to Skyscraper by taking over the quad for a guerrilla art installation with his sculptures (and without the school’s permission oops) which may be the basis for some connections if ppl know him from that particular exploit!!

in summary..... marlowe can be a bit up his own ass at times, but being around him is generally a Good Time bc he’s easy-going and friendly and always down for anything, always. litcherally zero impulse control so nothing gets in the way of a dumb idea that might potentially make for a good story. perhaps he’s not the most reliable person, so don’t expect a prompt text back if ur in a life or death situation, and he doesn’t care very much about anything, so ur setting urself up for disappointment if you do expect him to care about something (the fact that he’s never been in a long-term relationship... very telling). all he wants to do is just have! fun all the time! he’s trying to scam his way into the American Dream with his dumb art, so that he can live a good life and maybe get rich and famous and eventually party at Art Basel in Miami with Frank Ocean! is that really so much to ask!

appearance: marlowe’s very vain and a lot of thought goes into his appearance even when (especially when) it doesn’t look like he’s done anything but roll straight out of bed. all of his outfits are as outrageous as his sculptures are ugly. think mismatched prints and loud colors, silk shirts gaping open like he got tired after the first three buttons, a pawn’s shop worth of jewelry, weird dangly earrings w/ feathers or tiny charms, tinted yellow or pink sunglasses, sometimes a bandana around his neck, just for extra flavor. his hair always has to look perfectly tousled; u can catch him checking out his reflection in pretty much every mirrored surface. at least half the surface area of his body is covered in tattoos & he’ll suggest getting more during every drunken night out, which... is why he has so many by now!

connections: to be quite honest its 2 am and i feel all of my higher brain functions shutting down so i’m gonna make these very simple n straightforward, but we can always workshop!!!! pls feel free to message me even if none of these strike ur fancy :0)

peers in the arts - friends, acquaintances, rivals, probably some former group project members holding a grudge....

fellow party animals who don’t mind sharing when marlowe inevitably mooches off their alcohol and drugs :)

unlikely friends!!!!! it’d be fun to have a friendship dynamic with someone who’s very different from him!!

a roommate in Noland... possibly one he’s not on good terms w/... even tho marlowe hardly EVER sleeps in his own dorm room, he uses it as a storage locker for all his “found” art materials. i can imagine that living in that mess would try the limits of anyone’s sanity :)  

enemies - they can hate his whole Genius Artist shtick and they’d be valid :/

fellow insomniacs! marlowe is very much a night owl (regular naps during the day may be 2 blame but oh well) so he needs a fellow nocturnal to hit up the late-night McDonald’s drive thru with him and then lay on the grass lookin at the stars and contemplating life’s great mysteries while eating chicken mcnuggets 

exes - idk if u can even call them tht when his past “relationships” have all had a lifespan of six weeks or less, but hey there’s drama in that too!!

fwb - i don’t think marlowe’s the type 2 be juggling too many fwb/hook-ups at one time simply because That’s A Lot of Work. that being said... he never likes to sleep alone ;) 

[justalittlelitnerd]

Pretty Reckless by L.J. Shen

This book really surprised me not only because of the characters, but the writing itself was truly beautiful. In my own personal experience with romance novels they’re not always the best written and I think that has more to do with the industry and the genre and the lack of support romance novels and their authors get than a lack of talent on the writer’s part. Most romance novels are self-published with whatever resources or connections the author has in terms of editorial work which in the end just means the final result is *typically* (note: not always obviously) a little rougher than say if it went through the traditional publishing process where an agent works with the author for months to fine-tune the story before it goes to an editor who will then work for months to fine-tune the writing and on and on until it’s finally published. 

Sorry that was a long tangent just to say that I’ve gotten into a habit of skimming romance books because I’m in it for the characters and the romance and the HEA more than the writing itself (honestly characters and their relationships are far more important to me than writing), but I found myself taking my time with this book because there were so many beautiful lines that I wanted to savor. 

Basically, Daria Followhill and Penn Scully meet at age 14 when both their lives are falling apart in very different ways. Daria is teeming with the jealousy only a fourteen-year-old girl who feels her mother loves another girl more than her can feel and she finds herself in possession of a letter that would change everything. Penn enters, unaware of the letter’s contents or the effect it will have on his family, and in an attempt to win Daria’s attention he trashes the letter, leaves her with a piece of sea glass, her first kiss, and a promise of more. But the letter contained his sister’s future and when she thinks she didn’t get in she runs away from Penn and their abusive family, never to be seen again. 

Fast forward four years to Penn��s 18th birthday and it’s clear that a lot has changed, but there’s still an undeniable pull between the two. When Penn’s mother dies and his step-father kicks him out, Daria’s mom (who feels residual guilt over his sister’s disappearance) offers him a place to stay and he makes it his mission to make Daria pay for the role she played in what happened. But Daria’s already paid and is still paying. What neither of them expected was love. Or the return of a ghost.

*TRIGGER WARNING* in general there’s quite a bit of violence, mentions of rape/assault, and an abusive relationship between the principal and Daria which started when she was 14. 

All in all if you like classic enemies-to-lovers, fated romance, complicated family dynamics, tough guys with soft hearts, and dark elements with your romance than this book is probably worth a shot.     

Keep reading for the quotes!

Boys can smell heartbreak from across a continent. Even at fourteen. Even in the middle of an innocent summer afternoon. We girls have an invisible string behind our belly button, and only certain guys can tug at it. This boy…he will snap it if I let him.

He studies me with quiet interest as though I’m a painting, not a person. My heart is rioting all over, and the dumbest thought crosses my mind. Ever notice how the heart is literally caged by the ribs? That’s insane. As if our body knows it can break so easily, it needs to be protected.

My voice hardens around the words. Like tin. I’m desperate. I have no lead. I want to rip the world apart to find her, but the world is not mine to destroy. The world just continues turning at the same pace, because kids like Via and me? We disappear all the time, and no one notices.

His scent messes with my head. I want to reach out and caress his face. Kiss his wounds better. Beg for forgiveness. Curse him. Push him away. Cry on his shoulder for what we’ve done. For how it ended. For what we became afterward. Because I’m full of crap, and he is totally empty. We ruined ourselves the day of our first kiss.

She stares at me with the same wild gaze that made me give her the sea glass four years ago. As though I’m the most fascinating creature in the world. I want to pocket that look and save it for the next time the world lets me down. Which should be in the next twenty minutes.

Normally, he’d drag my ass out and give me a piece of his mind. Not today. He and I both know he can’t be that much of a hypocrite. If he saw someone hitting on Luna, he would rip them to shreds and dump whatever’s left of them on the side of the road. I’ve seen him screw people up for less than looking at her. The only problem is, Penn is not my Luna. We don’t have some long, elaborate, angsty childhood friendship that’s dancing on the edge of more.

“And miss out on all this delicious teenage angst?” I murmur, mesmerized by how beautifully she fits under my palm. As though she was born to have my hands on her. “It’s practically Netflix for free.”

“You’re Saturn,” she whispers. “Made of iron-nickel and surrounded by protective rings of ice and rock.” “How do you know that?” I smile, and I know the smile is warm. I know it’s fucking up something in her chest, and even though I shouldn’t, I like it. After all these years, I still want to ruin her. Then put her back together. Then do it again and again and a-fucking-gain.

He stops, cupping my face in his hands. His eyes twinkle, but maybe I see what I want to see. I didn’t mean to save him all my firsts. But it happened, and a part of me is glad that it did. Because he was the first boy to give me a gift. The first boy to kiss me. To want to become my friend not because I was popular, but because I was me. He was the first boy who noticed the injured animal behind the camouflage of hostility and tried to give it water and shelter.

Luckily, I have a lot of experience when it comes to fakeness. My personality is basically one hundred percent recyclable plastic. The only person who can still scrape a bit of authenticity from me is her brother.

The Scullys are too smart to fall for this type of Riverdale nonsense.

She is wrong. I can look at her face all fucking day. I wish it were a legit job so I could make money doing it. I would put in all the extra hours and become a billionaire within a year. (The math doesn’t add up, by the way, so don’t try to do it.)

My world, however, is narrow-pathed and dingy. I don’t believe in fairy tales. I think Shakespeare got it right. When two people try to go against the grain, they get fucked up. End of story.

“It’s not like that,” I say hurriedly. If I have to tell him what’s going on with Prichard, I will. I’m not proud of it, but pride is a very slippery slope where love is involved. Marx. Love. I don’t use the L word lightly. I don’t go around telling people I love pizza or chocolate or Riverdale. I like those things. Love, I save for the important stuff. But I am hopelessly, tragically in love with Penn Scully. That’s why I can’t really hate his sister. Not entirely, anyway. She is an extension of him, and he has my heart.

Love. Four letters can’t cover what I feel for Daria Followhill. They seem too trivial, too small, too overused.

And love IS humbling, I know now because I want to punch myself in the face for being the smug bastard who assumed he’d just walk out of this shit unscathed. The tin man didn’t ask for a heart—but got one anyway. I love you, Daria Followhill, and I think you love me, too. In fact, I think we fell at the same time. You, like rain, in drizzles, over the weeks. Me, like the fucking sky above my head, all at once, crashing without the faintest chance of stopping.

My mouth goes dry, and I shake my head slowly. She takes a step closer and folds my shirt under her palm so that the hole in my chest looks like it’s closing in when, in reality, it opens up like a shark’s jaw. “Everything I touch is tainted, Penn. Everything I want turns to ash. I spent the entire semester trying to be yours, but you’ve never once claimed my heart. I’m sending you to Adriana’s arms, not because I don’t care, but because I do. So much. Maybe too much. Because I screwed up so many relationships, the only way for us to heal is if I take myself out of the equation.” You are the fucking equation, I want to yell in her face. The riddle and the answer and the numbers within it. You’re math. You make sense.

“You were never a drizzle, Penn Scully. When I fell for you, you came beating down, and I felt you everywhere. You were hail.”

“I’ve loved you in secret, and I’ve loved you openly in front of both our worlds, and if you think I’ll stop loving you if you put an ocean between us, you’re dead wrong.”

I want her to tell me that I’m not the only one here feeling like every breath is a fucking nail jammed straight into my lungs. If this is what love feels like, it’s complete bullshit. I want my money back because Shakespeare was right all along. True love truly sucks ass.

I’ll go wherever Daria goes. Even if it’s straight to hell.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. You know that, right?” No, I don’t, and I’m trying to tell myself not to get my hopes up because they are slamming their little fists against the door of my brain’s basement, wanting to gush out.

Last time we spoke to each other, she promised not to leave, but she did. I’m not taking any chances. She might as well file a restraining order because I’m not letting her out of my sight.