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crescentmoonrider · 1 month ago

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another rewrite, except longer

Well, Arcane season 2 was certainly. Something

You can really see that the team was under pressure to put out a lot of things, and fast. Like, without mentioning how crammed this season was or the themes that were dropped, there was a shocking amount of continuity and characterization errors that should and would have been caught during script editing if the team was allowed more time. For one single example : the timeline of Vander and Silco’s falling out was completely butchered to the point it makes zero sense if we take the information from season 1 and 2 together. This should have been fixed during editing, and the fact it wasn’t reveals some deep issues with production

(My guess is that Riot pushed a release date for commercial tie-in reasons, and the one place the team could really cut corners was during writing, since animation is a slow process and Fortiche would depend on the scripts (or a rough outline at first) to get to work, and the music collaborations also require time + supplementary animation that all depends on the script to just. Exist. And Riot can more easily pressure its in-house teams than music producers and artists independent from the company. But that’s just a personal guess, I don’t actually know anything about the behind the scenes here)

Honestly I’ve been kind of simmering in the disappointment and wasted potential this whole week, and it’s been somewhat of an issue to focus on other stuff, so here’s what I’m going to do : I’m going to explain how I would rewrite this season to try and make it, if not good, then at least coherent with itself and with the themes developed in season 1. And then I’m never going to write anything else about this show again

Deal ?

Alright, let’s do this. Some ground rules first :

we’re working with just the one three-act season 2. Riot wants to move on to greener pastures to introduce more champions and skins, and we’re not winning against the corporate overlords. No added episodes, no season 3 to help pace things better. Welcome to hell

most of the issues I have with season 2 come from the second and third acts, so that’s what I’m going to focus on for the most part

I’m not introducing new characters or locations. Helps that I don’t know anything about League lmao, but more broadly what I mean is like. I’m in the writers room moving post-its on the wall, not writing a 200k fanfiction over like 10 years (real thing I’m currently doing for an A:tlA canon divergence if anyone’s wondering), I don’t have the time, nor the energy honestly, to make sweeping changes and consider their ramifications. We’re keeping things simple, basically

related to the above point, we’re keeping major plot beats. That means Magic Robot Jesus Viktor still happens, as does the Ekko-Heimerdingdong-Jayce dimensional displacement, or the battle against Ambessa’s troops. What I’m going to do is try to make them happen in a more natural, thematically resonant manner. Because I’m convinced it’s possible

Now, having said that, the first order of business for this rewrite (and honestly just, to make this season like. Coherent) is to make space for the plot and the themes. Class warfare and the question of Zaun’s independence were introduced in season 1 and still echo through act 1 and (in one episode) 2 of the second season, and the ending scene makes an attempt to bring them back with Sevika’s seat at the Council, so clearly the goal wasn’t to give that up entirely. Meaning we need to expand on those themes specifically, since familial bonds (the other main Arcane ingredient) are still very much there in the plot with little need to add onto them

Anyway the Black Rose plotline has to go. “But Yumi, didn’t you say you were keeping major plot beats ?” yeah this is the one exception. Look, it just doesn’t cohere. It has no thematic resonance, takes place in a completely different space than the rest of the plot, and basically only involves one single character. It was also the least established plot thread from the first season. Kino died and Ambessa made enemies, and so she wants Hextech. There’s no real need to elaborate on any of this in Arcane specifically. We’re cutting it. Mel can say that she’s going to look into her mother’s enemies/the people who killed her brother in her epilogue or something, and Riot can make a whole spinoff about her quest to find out she’s a mage and still get a shiny new champion out of it, or whatever it is they’re doing with her

Like I said. Idk anything about League. Please don’t tell me anything about League

Cutting out the Black Rose plotline does two things for this rewrite :

it frees up important time that can be spent on elaborating on pre-established themes and plotlines, thus making up for what is in my opinion the weakest and most disappointing aspect of season 2, which is that they completely dropped the ball on class warfare

it frees up Mel’s character

We do need to quickly address the reason Mel survives Jinx’s missile at the start of the season, since she was right in the crosshairs, but that can be done very easily honestly – I may not know shit about League, but I remember the post-season 1 theories, and there were mentions of an in-game item that acts like a magic shield or something ? We’re gonna say she was wearing something of the like, just in case something ever happened. Because she’s been raised in Noxus, by Ambessa, and doesn’t trust that she won’t ever be attacked, even in Piltover. If Ambessa and her guard can have anti-magic runes, Mel can have a force-field

It’s single-use and she only took one of these shields when she was cast off, so no more easy out for her

There’s no need to explain why Jayce barely got a scratch in my opinion, sometimes people are just lucky. It’s not uncommon for survivors of like, car crashes or terror attacks, to just have a light concussion while the guy next to them died. Things happen. Survivor’s guilt is real, and random chance plays a role no matter how much we’d like to think it doesn’t

Anyway back to Mel

Since she isn’t a mage in this rewrite, we’re having her “be the fox” so to speak. She knows Ambessa, knows not to trust her, and does her best to oppose Noxian influence over Piltover as part of the council – however, as we’ve seen happen in episode 1, right now her influence has dwindled, and all she can do is try to limit the damage. This does not get any better when Ambessa gets Caitlyn propelled to the role of puppet dictator and Jayce vanishes

If Mel wants to counter Ambessa’s plans and preserve Piltover from becoming some sort of fucked up military experiment, she cannot do it alone. She needs allies. People she can trust would never agree with Ambessa’s ambitions, and who could both weaken Noxus’ influence and help Mel regain some of her counterbalancing weight – but also, and this is always key to negotiation and alliances, people who could benefit from what Mel has to offer

Her options are limited, but since Ambessa is using the conflict with Zaun as fuel for her campaign, well. If you can’t fight a fire directly, you need to starve it. Mel, through her Zaunite catgirl informant, gets in touch with what undercity “leaders” she can find. Namely Sevika and the Firelights’ lieutenant

We can find an echo of this decision in the discussion between Jayce and Silco in season 1, specifically this line : “I was reminded recently of what brought us together in the first place. The threats beyond our walls.”

Now, obviously her offer for parlay gets rejected at first. Neither Piltover nor Mel (as both a Council member and Noxian) have earned Zaun’s trust at this point

But the situation isn’t getting any better, Ambessa gathers troops to pick up Vanderwick at Viktor’s commune, and Jinx isn’t showing up anywhere to keep morale high and unite Zaun’s people under a strong symbol. Sevika thinks back to Silco leaving to go on a meeting with Jayce and negotiate their independence, and while she’s always preferred to serve the cause by following someone who actually has plans on how to get things done, right now there’s no one like that left. Ekko’s second looks at the tree’s leaves falling and realizes that they’ll have to make a new place if this one falls apart, and right now there’s nowhere in Zaun that is safe enough for that, no place that is safe for the children here

They already agreed to unite old enemies once before, leaderless goons and Firelights and Jinxers, all under the banner of Zaun. It didn’t work, sure, but they tried. They showed up at the meeting. Sevika called the meeting. The two agree to meet with Mel once, to see what she wants

Ideally we’d have a scene where we contrast the Firelights coming to a communal decision on what to do and their list of demands, with Sevika writing her list on her own while some knuckleheads roughhouse it in the background (maybe Sevika even pulls out the manifesto Silco was writing in the flashback for reference, again as contrast – and continuity – with the Firelights, with the past and present/future of Zaun’s independence movement all tying together here). We’re on a tight schedule though, so maybe part of that scene’s hitting the cutting room floor, idk

Anyway Mel makes a request for peace, to cut the grass under Ambessa’s foot so she has no standing anymore to justify her takeover of Piltover, and Sevika and the Firelight guy make their demands. Independence, amnesty for all Zaunite freedom-fighters rotting in Stillwater, access to trade routes, control over the ventilation system (it’s not independence if someone else controls the air you breathe. Or your water, or your electricity. Free Palestine) etc. We can add more clauses, but those would be the main ones

The meeting would be tense at first, since none of these people really trust each other, but they soon realize they’re all desperate to make things better in some way, so they do shake hands at the end even though no deal has been reached yet. They’re not going to become friends, but they can work together and honestly ? That’s already a lot

The sticking point would be Jinx, of course, but thankfully she’s letting herself get arrested by act 3 so we can leave that aside for now. Sevika and Firelights insist that they don’t give up their own, though. Loyalty is the only thing Zaunites can count on, after all

Now, before moving on to act 3, there’s still a little housekeeping to do

First, we need to fix the fuckiness of the Vander flashbacks and his letter to Silco. Like, the falling out between the two could not have happened after the tragedy at the bridge, for multiple reasons. For one, the Vander drowning Silco in season 1 was shaved clean, while the Vander at the bridge has his full beard on. For two, you’re telling me Vander dropped his gloves and picked up the girls and supposedly brought them home, shaved his beard, then went back up to the Pilt to drown his best friend, in what’s supposed to be horrible grief and anger and not premeditation ? It just doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t compel me either

Anyway, I’m not opposed to Vander writing the letter to Silco after the girls’ mom died, in a “I’ve just lost my other best friend and I’m now realizing I went about everything the wrong fucking way and I’m so sorry” kind of way. So that’s what the letter is now, an apology that’s much too late to fix anything, and an attempt at bridging a gap of many years between two people who used to be comrades

And obviously we’re getting rid of the bit of flashback where it’s implied Silco accidentally killed the girls’ mom with a Molotov because that’s just stupid. We don’t need to know what he and Vander broke up over, but it can’t be something that weakens the themes of police brutality and oppression. And don’t “cycle of violence is also a theme” me, they’re revolutionary leaders, they’ve made mistakes and got their people killed or arrested before. You don’t get called the Hound of the Underground without brutally killing a couple few dudes, and that shit has repercussions

Another point before we move on to act 3 is the question of what the hell Sky is supposed to be. In a show that has always been really good at making clear what is a hallucination and what isn’t, Sky’s existence in Viktor’s mind… perplexes me. I interpreted her presence as a manifestation of his guilt over her death and the wasted potential of her too-short life, and how he now wishes he had like, acknowledged her while she was still by his side and not dust. But other people think she’s been idk, absorbed into the arcane ? And that it was therefore the real Sky hanging out with Viktor

In short, it needs to be clearer what’s going on here, and given the fact that they don’t develop Sky’s character and that her whole tragedy is that her life was cut short so suddenly, I think leaning into the idea of her as a manifestation of guilt and Viktor’s isolation (he knows all of his followers, but is still separate from them both physically and in the fact that they do not know what he’s about, and also he’s just lost all two of his friends) would be interesting

Makes the later “I will miss our conversations” “No, you won’t” line more impactful too, as it would be Viktor’s conscience calling him out on the fact that, like, he never really talked to Sky while she was alive. He is missing the idea of her, and trying to make himself feel better about accidentally murdering her when he is now also actively trying to make himself incapable of feeling regret anymore, and thus incapable of learning from his mistakes the way he did when Sky died

With that said, on to act 3 !

Episode 7 is like, very good already, and the fact that it gets time travel right ? Beautiful. Love to see it. The main thing I would change is that there is no way Ekko would think Vi’s death is the only catalyst for change in this world. Like, the divergence is much older than that – and I’m not just talking about Silco finding the letter, I mean that Zaun is just, actively participating in Piltovian culture and events ? They’re part of the Inventors Contest ?? How the hell did that happen ???

I’m not saying we need a detailed timeline, but simply that someone (Ekko) should really remark on that

Also Silco’s eye should be fucked, maybe even gone, if he didn’t have access to Singed’s help to maintain it. Him becoming “good” should not mean that his disability is prettier to look at, and honestly I hate that ugly disabilities tend to be shorthand for evil characters in media. It’s not unique to Arcane, but it was especially disappointing to see it done to Silco of all characters, when his disability was dealt with so gracefully in season 1

We’ll come back to Jayce’s little dimensional trip later, for now it’s fine

Now, the preparations for the battle against Ambessa’s troops… I mean, first of all no one from Zaun is getting put in an enforcer uniform, like what the fuck ?! But also the plan and the way it’s explained changes – no we need your help to save Piltover, it’s “we need your help to save the world,” with an insistence that it doesn’t change the justified resentment Zaun holds for Piltover, but that this fight is also for the sake of their own survival, as Jayce very clearly saw that everything will be ruined if Viktor reaches his goal. Mel’s talks with Sevika and the Firelights also come into play here, as they can now more easily put conditions on their help, and Mel is more likely to agree to push for Zaun’s interests

Most of the city is still evacuated, no one wants a massacre of civilians, but focusing the fighting solely on the Hexgates is just. Look, Ambessa is an experienced military leader, she knows how to lay a siege and fight against conventional military techniques. So the defence now has two layers, proposed by Mel as she knows to use every advantage she can grab. She is the fox in this rewrite, remember

At the Hexgates, enforcers and Piltovan volunteers will man the cannons and more or less do what they did in canon. The other layer is built on the Mel/Zaun collaboration and guerrilla tactics. The goal is to disrupt Ambessa’s troops and their advance and prevent a frontal clash at the Hexgates as much as possible, as Mel anticipates it would be what Ambessa is expecting and would thus be prepared for. With the help of Mel and her knowledge of Piltover’s streets (and possibly Caitlyn’s map of the ventilation system, and whatever other cool tricks might be built into the city. Inventors made this place, there’s bound to be interesting things going on), Sevika, as well as gang members and Jinxers and the Firelights who agreed to/can fight (children were evacuated) lay traps and plan for ambushes and ways to make as much damage as possible without engaging frontally

Academy members help pitch the Firelights’ hoverboards so they can move about efficiently in Piltover’s lighter air. Weapons are greased and sharpened, explosives raided from Jinx’s place and passed around for the teams that need them. Ekko’s lieutenant passes a screwdriver to Sevika, who makes sure her arm is all ready for combat. Mel enters the room to ask how the preparations are going, and the two Zaunite leaders exchange a nod before Sevika hands Mel a dagger, just in case she finds herself in the line of fire. “Wouldn’t want to lose our one ally topside,” one of them says, and it’s pretty obvious that they agreed to this beforehand. When they all leave the room, Mel stands alone, looking down at the blade in her hands

Now, is a fight on multiple fronts hard to plan for and choreograph? Yes. Good thing I’m not animating any of this !

Notable moments would include Caitlyn leaving her post because she can’t see Maddie where she’s supposed to be, and that’s when she finds Maddie trying to do acts of sabotage. She hesitates, clearly still holding affection for her, but her presence has alerted the Firelights’s current leader, and he flies to take out Maddie right as Maddie notices Caitlyn and prepares to shoot her in turn. Caitlyn thanks him and apologizes for hesitating, he grunts and leaves to take care of more things a little farther away

Caitlyn now being down in the streets, where the guerrilla is going on, leads to her losing an eye while saving a Zaunite, not hesitating this time. Tempted to say she saves Sevika, as they have a conflict-filled history together and it would demonstrate Caitlyn’s growth and her ability to put grudges behind for the greater good (and not just for Vi’s sake as she’s already shown when letting her free Jinx) and mark the start of her efforts to make up for the suffering she’s inflicted on the people of Zaun. We’re not going to see much of these efforts because the series is ending soon, but it’s important to show that the seeds are there for reparations

In any case, Ambessa doesn’t get her cool one-on-two duel with Caitlyn and mage!Mel, since we’re not stopping the fighting this time, and also Mel isn’t a mage. Sevika and the Firelights’ lieutenant two-time her at some point, Sevika gets knocked to the ground, while his ride is destroyed and he is sent flying into a fountain or something. Ambessa prepares to deal the final blow on Sevika, who struggles with the handle of her arm’s wheel of fortune, when someone stabs her from behind. She turns around, striking her assailant with one fist, revealing Mel, who looks up at her mother in grief and pain and horror. Focus on Mel’s eyes (“[…] you weakened me ! I couldn’t stand the look in your eyes when I made the decisions, the necessary decisions to keep us safe !” is the idea) as Ambessa pauses for just a second, distracted. That’s a mistake she can’t take back, even as she raises her weapon again, and the maw of Sevika’s arm bites down on her neck like a wolf taking down a prey, the jackpot smile flashing on her shoulder

She helps Mel (still upset about having stabbed her mom, been hit by her in turn, then watched her die brutally, but trying to hide it) get back up and gives her a pat on the shoulder and a “thanks” while turning away

And that’s when the robots come in and everyone’s mind is slowly taken over

(The fight against Ambessa would have been intercut with Hexgate fighting as Viktor’s cocoon slowly approaches, with the empty cocoon reveal coming only after her defeat)

So now we reach the Jayce and Viktor face-off. And honestly ? I only have like, two changes to make here. I’m fine with it. I think I’ve said it before, but I’m fine with most of this season, just not the way it was executed

Anyway change the first ! Viktor actually corrects Jayce on his motivations as I already went over real quick in this post – it’s not about fixing what Viktor sees as imperfections, it’s about putting an end to all conflict, oppression, class warfare, and the environmental results of all that that made him slowly and painfully die. I also need him to go “My disease ? My disease was not beautiful, Jayce, it destroyed my body from the inside ! I was fine being a cripple* but this pain ? Dying before I could truly help anyone ? That’s not beautiful, that’s just, just… unfair, and cruel, and for what ? So Piltover never has to see its own sewage, or breathe the same air as we do ?” and then from there go on about how the Great Evolution is about changing humanity for the good of everyone, so no one has to suffer unnecessarily from the greed and selfish desires of other people, and to put an end to all inequalities

*Viktor self-identifies as a “poor cripple from the Undercity” in season 1 episode 2 I’m not calling him slurs I just genuinely think that’s how he sees himself

And then, once everything has come clean, Jayce can go like “well obviously society has to change to accommodate people in all their differences, look at all the people fighting to make that happen, look at us and our dreams to better everyone’s lives – making everyone the same will just make you alone and miserable” and show him what alternate!Viktor shared in the dimensional field trip

Which brings us to change the second : make it clear that Viktor is not mister magic man who gave Jayce the runes. Designs don’t match, hands don’t match (mister magic man has hand tattoos, alternate!Victor does not, for instance) – which makes Jayce being able to stop Viktor in his world the product of just dumb luck rather than an experiment from alternate!Viktor or something. The same dumb luck that saved his life in the first episode of the season, the same dumb luck that made it so he was born in Piltover rather than Zaun, the same dumb luck that got Sevika the jackpot in her fight with Ambessa. Jayce asks alternate!Viktor why he gave him the rune and a!Viktor says “it wasn’t me. But I did bring you here, because I saw a possibility for change I haven’t seen in any other world. I don’t know the cause – maybe there isn’t one. Maybe this is a wild rune, a ripple born from inconsequential actions long ago. Maybe it’s simply luck. [flash to the acceleration rune and Ekko and Sevika’s jackpot and Jayce surviving the explosion unscathed at the start and maybe a whole other slew of tiny lucky moments] But you’re the only one who can do it, Jayce. Only you.” And then have them be absorbed into the rune to become an arcane queer singularity together

I’m not necessarily opposed to Zaun having a place in the Council as a first step to independence in the epilogue, but it needs to be half of the Council. One single seat means nothing, we’ve seen loads of decisions be taken with a majority vote rather than unanimity, Zaun having only one seat is a spit in the face of everything they’ve been fighting for, and I can’t imagine any Zaunite actually agreeing to that. Anyway I’d like a big celebration of independence with everyone, but a first step is also okay, it’s not like all plot points all need to be resolved neatly so long as we keep the door open

Maybe have Caitlyn say “you’re not dirt” in the same light tone Vi said she’s the dirt under Caitlyn’s fingers, also. Just a small, loving reassurance during that scene

Also Ekko can not end the series on his own what the hell ? It’s fine if he grieves Jinx and Heimerdinger in quiet solitude, but the rest of the Firelights should come in at the end of the scene to comfort him, because he is the one character in this series who is entirely focused on community, and leaving him on a solitary note feels like a betrayal in my opinion

… and with that, I think we’ve reached the end of this rewrite !

I hope you enjoyed this small vision of what could have been, I’m completely winded now and I think my anger has run its course. I’m done writing about this show now. Might rewatch season 1 again soon though, I miss Silco

#arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 #arcane spoilers #yumi writes #mel medarda #sevika #viktor arcane #jayce talis #okay hopefully now i can sleep well again #was thinking too much about lost potential #and it just. cooked my brain #anyway im done now so im gonna work lmao #stay silly yall :3 even if youre annoyed :3 #and dont let yourself stew in anger #its just gonna hurt you #take a deep breath and write it out #and then do something fun :]

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bunnakit · 1 year ago

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last twilight e3 thoughts feelings etc

so in the past ive watched the episodes and digested them and come back and rewatched to put together my thoughts but im kinda crunched for time today and have a mountain of work to do sooo i'm just gonna do this in one sitting and i'm so sorry if it's not as good or as coherent as what i usually deliver aaa. it's also going to be a bit longer than normal probably but i'll try to cut down on stuff that seems unnecessary or maybe just too obvious to comment on.

OH ITS STILL REALLY LONG EVEN WITH EDITING I'M SO SORRY.

oh them being playful with each other is everything to me. oh my god and Mhok learned, he listened to Porjai and he learned to organize and clean and do things with Day as an active participant so he knows where everything is and is taking control of his own life. oh we're only 3 minutes in and i'm emotional, okay.

i do love that we get to see the way Day has isolated himself and that while his family haven't helped there's also a large part of it that is his doing. ive said it before but when you're newly disabled it can be so so easy to isolate yourself. hell, i've been diagnosed for almost 10 years and i still do it from time to time as my condition worsens because it's hard. there are so many questions you have to answer, there's the anxiety of not knowing if people are going to be accommodating to your needs, and sometimes it takes twice or even three times the energy it used to take before because every action is a little harder now. it can be terrifying to put yourself out there again and you will lose friends in the process. there will be people that don't understand, that find you to be an inconvenience, that won't make accommodations for you, and it will hurt every time but saying goodbye to those people is always ultimately for the better - but it doesn't make it hurt less. as much as i'd love the realism of it, i hope we don't have to see Day go through that.

Day's story about his friend is interesting, too. he says he doesn't want to be pitied by his friends but the thing is. they just did that, they accommodated their friend, and from the sound of it they did it without judgement. so why couldn't it be the same for him? it just shows more of his anxiety and his fear.

"i felt like my life was worthless. all i saw in people's eyes was insult."

screaming. crying. throwing up. i don't need to say anything about this but i thought you all should know it made me ill.

"once i'm ready you'll be the first to get my invitation card." Porjai and Mhok's friendship means so so fucking much to me.

here's the thing, my best friend and i dated in high school, we were 16 and fucking stupid and toxic and our home lives were shit and we took it out on each other and we made each other fucking miserable by the end of things. we didn't talk again for over five years. it took time to come back together, to heal and accept our own faults in what went wrong. we stumbled here and there as we came back together but now? almost 10 years later i don't know what i'd do without him. that's my platonic soulmate, that's the one person besides my husband i can share anything with. fuck, he knows more about my life than my husband does because he was there to see me at my worst, at the scariest point in my life where i almost wasn't around anymore to see tomorrow. that kind of friendship is so fucking special, i cannot even properly put it into words, and for Mhok to keep that? to have that with Porjai? i'm so fucking glad he has that. i'm so glad he got to keep his platonic soulmate.

small aside, i love that Mhok consistently announces himself to Day. it's a little action but it's so considerate. he's honestly doing such an incredible job.

Day puts his sunglasses on like armor; like they can shield him from the judging stares or looks of pity he can't see. maybe someday he won't need them, not because his heart has hardened to take the blows, but maybe because he knows Mhok is by his side. because remember - it's the way they look at us.

"i heard you wanted to take time off and focus on badminton" Night i'm going to drown you in your own toilet. this is just furthering my thoughts from episode 2 that Night is ashamed of his brother and his condition, or perhaps that the family is trying to hide his condition for some fucking stupid reason.

the bravery it took Day to come here and admit whats happening to his is huge, but i'm also in love with the admissions admin saying sure, you can have time off, but you're not allowed to quit. you're not allowed to give up on yourself.

"we must live with hope, Day" and that's it. you have to. you just have to. every day is going to be so hard and so much, you'll have good and bad days, but at least in all those days you'll have hope. and maybe someday that hope won't be for new eyes. maybe that hope will turn into acceptance, into determination, into pride at what you've accomplished in spite of it all. in my opinion, hope is an amazing fuel but it's not sustainable, it's just a vehicle to get you to where you need to be.

Mhok asking a blind man for a tour, oh fuck fuck fuckfuckufkcufk-- Mhok essentially saying show me your world exactly as you remember it, let me in. see how things have changed and how they've remained the same and do it with me by your side.

THE WAY MHOK SHIELDS HIM AT THE LIBRARY. DAY DOESN'T NEED TO WEAR HIS SUNGLASSES LIKE ARMOR BECAUSE MHOK IS BY HIS SIDE AS HIS SHIELD. chewing my own arm off brb.

"and you also have me. nothing to be afraid of" because i will always shield you, i will always protect you, i will stand by your side AAAA--

on part 3/4 now, i promise i'll shut the fuck up soon. if you've read this far pls take this as a smooch checkpoint, i'm giving you a little forehead smooch. have you had any water today? taken your meds? relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw.

ok back to it - Mhok continuously having Day make his own selections in these various machines. Day's fate is in his hands, he can do these things himself, but Mhok will be there with him the whole way.

"my eyes don't work well but my legs do just fine." this is such a massive leap from the man that wouldn't even leave his bedroom, from the man that was suffocating in his environment. Day is no longer a dying man, a shambling corpse. he is an active participant in his own life again.

"stay close to me, that's all i need" bitch i'm gonna throw up, you can't just hit me with that after that's all i've been saying this whole time what the fuck.

OH FUCK ME. okay. alright. hang on. so when they enter the shop Mhok describes it to Day, explains where the jeans are, where the shirts are, asks him what to do and what he wants to take a look at. this is a direct antithesis of Night in episode 1 asking where Day was going to wait for him, where he could leave him so he could get his shit done. Day isn't being asked to wait, to just sit idle while life passes him by, he's being asked what he wants to do, where he wants to go, what he wants to see. FUUUUUCK. and knowing Mhok is doing this because Day expressed that he liked dressing nicely? how the fuck am i supposed to just go to my job like a normal person after this episode.

wow the shirt buttoning scene just made me so mentally ill. right now, Mhok is doing his job. he's helping Day get dressed. but someday? someday this could be Mhok dressing Day not because he needs him to help but simply because Mhok likes doing to for Day. there's the sensuality of caring for your partner, of running your hands over the planes of their shoulders, of skimming your fingers down their chest to pluck every button. it's an exploration and a declaration of love. if we get this again in a future scene and it's something like that please remember me fondly because i will perish.

at the bookstore Mhok recognizing Day doesn't want to wait, but Day has become so accustomed to the other people in his life telling him what to do that he falls back into that behavior - but Mhok doesn't let him. he prioritizes Day's needs and desires, even if it's something as little as finding a book, without being asked.

THE LAST PAGE IS MISSING.

(because one can't see his future and the other can't see in the future, but also because they'll make their own ending, they'll face that when they get there, but they'll do it together -- what if i lost my shit completely of it?)

when Mhok leaves Day to get him a drink the camera is focused on Day and the clear warring emotions on his face but if you look in the background Mhok hesitates, he stops and turns a few times to look at day. he's reluctant to leave him and worried. Mhok worries so much but it's always so understated or in the background, covered by the emotions of others he values above himself. (or overlooked because of 'what type of person he is')

while its anxiety inducing i do enjoy this regression of behavior because adapting to a new life is hard. you will regress, you will stumble, you will fall into old habits or sometimes old fears will return. its what you do after that that is important. the one thing i hope doesn't happen is i hope this doesn't cause a rift with Porjai. i think Mhok needs her right now, maybe not forever, but definitely right now.

HE PUT ON THE FUCKING SHIRT. THE FUCKING SHIRT DAY COULD SEE FROM MARS. OH MY GOD. i know this doesn't need to be commented on, i know it's obvious, but FUUUUCK.

Day's mom trying to weaponize Mhok's past and Mhok taking the ammunition from her hands and telling Day himself. the acceptance of the past and the determination to move on and grow from it. Day's refusal to let the past repeat itself with a new caretaker. whoo boy.

and again Day wants to see Mhok, because even bruised and battered Mhok is worth seeing.

if the last episode ends with "sweet dreams/good night" i will be burying myself alive, thanks.

THE PINK SHIRT RUINING HIS BAD BOY IMAGE BECAUSE IT IS BEING RUINED. HE'S MOVING ON, HE'S GROWING, HE'S BECOMING A NEW PERSON. FUCK OFF.

i'm so so sorry this was so long, every episode makes me feel more and more things and makes me analyze shit more and more.

tagging @benkaaoi and @callipigio as requested (if you want to be added to my last twilight meta tag list just let me know!)

#last twilight #last twilight the series #ltts meta #oat meta #mhokday #morkday

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smallnico · 6 months ago

Note

4, 5, and 8 durgetash asks >:3

LONG ASS ANSWER thank u for asking <3

https://www.tumblr.com/smallnico/756672403384434688

read more if you like pain with a side of petty god drama <3

4. Did Durge steal anything for themselves during the heist, or did they only take the crown?

the boring answer is yeah, because esper is a big fan of stealing and will do it with very little justification. i don't have any specific items in mind that they would have stolen, but if something looked valuable and reasonably not-cursed, they would've grabbed it and probably pawned it to helsik or one of gortash's buyers.

the exciting answer is that the hell heist is also the first and only time bhaalist esper stole a kiss from everyone's favourite babygurl. this requires a bit of explanation, but i am happy to provide. >:3

so, bhaal uses esper as an avatar. even when he's not actively superseding their consciousness and using their body as his own, he likes to watch through their eyes and make them feel aggression or agitation or lust or nausea or pleasure or pain, or whatever the situation calls for in order to manipulate them into doing what he wants. esper is fairly resistant to the smaller-scale manipulations or their physical emotions and responses thanks to the bard training from their childhood, but they consider these small signs as missives from the divine (because that's what they are, really) -- warnings to stop what they're doing and do what father says, or else he's going to make you black out and wake up with some fresh bullshit to answer for and deal with. esper fears this loss of control more than anything, so they compensate by being a zealous and committed servant, just so they can at least keep their mind. just so they can have Something.

bhaal is always living in esper's head rent free even when he's not there, panopticon style. this, plus the Gift of Guaranteed Murder (which i interpret for esper as a hyperawareness of signs of life in their surroundings and an inexorable pull toward snuffing them out, Especially when people touch them. esper is constantly bordering on overstimulated by the sound of breathing, heartbeats, body heat, etc., so when they're feeling particularly sick from touch starvation, that's when they get cozy with corpses) is the main cluster of reasons they never actually get with gortash, and actively repress their desire to do so. sure, they're extremely aware of the fact that gortash Wants them and they know the effect they have on him, but the only thing they do about it is manipulate his attentions to their gain. where it starts to get a bit cloudier and less manipulative for them both is on the level of friendship and emotional connection. both gortash and esper are deeply isolated and disconnected people, but through some cosmic tragic joke (hehe) they've ended up in the same fuckin. emotional netherzone. so they're both mutually the only person the other has ever felt they could actually relate to, and the very small vulnerable lonely parts of their souls cling to each other with everything they've got in spite of how much the rest of their selves want to pretend that isn't happening.

so, while they aren't really in love per se, esper needs gortash and gortash needs them, both on a deep, scared lizard brain level. but every time esper (who is by far the more emotionally intelligent person in their diad by virtue of literally being an empath and a psychic) tries to reach out for warmth, tries to satisfy even as much as the gnawing touch starvation they feel because they're terrified of losing what little control they have over their body, bhaal is there to shock them away from it with a cold sweat or a physical disgust, just to warn them away from latching onto anything that distracts them from their purpose -- to help him slaughter everything. so they have to ignore the lengths gortash will go to win their favour. they have to ignore the fact that he's willing to share power with them. they have to ignore the grand gestures, the convoluted schemes, the business dealings he amends to benefit their interests as well as his, the nonsense issues he contrives to find an excuse to spend time with them. the fact that he wants to possess them, but is willing to ignore that want and frame their interactions to pre-emptively satisfy the temple of bhaal's independance from his baneite affairs, because he values esper's company just a little bit more than his own greed. and esper can't Not be aware of this because they can't tune out the information their own magic is giving them.

so, what does the hell heist have to do with all of this? let me tell you. since raphael has the ability to silence the emperor And the voice of bhaal in act 3 when he forces you into a private conversation about the crown of karsus (something that also made esper go a little feral, because What The Fuck, You Can Just Do That, Don't Put It Back, cue a lot of panicking about taking that deal because they want nothing more than to be free from all that shit, but that's another point), and because there aren't really any durge moments in the house of hope (and the emperor is also out of reach down there), i thought it would be fun if bhaal just. couldn't possess them while they were in the hells.

so, imagine you're esper. imagine you're embarking on another heist with your bestie associate, normal as anything, as a part of his grand plan (which he made sure to get your god to sign off on) to steal the crown of karsus and turn the both of you into gods, him for power and you for freedom from your current master shit boss dad beloved dark lord. you have your doubts and don't trust him to not use the crown for himself and make only himself into a god capable of subjugating you, but you find these weird illithid plans you can use instead. it's a lot more complicated, but that's how gortash likes to do things, especially if it means getting to work with you for just a bit longer. he thinks this whole tadpole thing could also help finally make his steel watchers, this project he's been labouring on for years, work. his hands are on the crown, they're on ultimate power, and he's showing you these plans instead, proposing an alternative that will Ensure that you can both conquer the world -- together by necessity -- and leverage your followers against the existing pantheon into granting you mutual godhood. no faith required.

and you realize in that moment that you love him for this. and that the immediate whiplash feeling of violence and hatred and disgust you're used to feeling when you love... isn't there. you can hear his heart hammering in his chest and smell the fear and adrenaline in his system, sense the presence of memories he's pushing down. you know the world around him is soup to him right now. he's suggestible, at this point trying to win you over in the only ways he knows how out of habit, because he's wanted to do it for so long it's second nature even when he's so agitated, when you know that he knows that you know that he knows it'll never work. you think about him. you think about what he's promising you, what he's making inevitable for you by locking the both of you into a gamble that could be a suicide pact, but will ultimately free you, one way or the other, and ensure that you aren't alone while you're waiting for how it turns out, because he'll be there with you. your freedom, and finally, an end to your gnawing, all-consuming loneliness.

and you can't hear your god. and your god can't hear you.

so you grab the man by the shoulders and steal a moment in this tense situation to kiss the fuck out of him. everything you have time for. you justify this uncontrolled, impulsive, opportunistic act of pure fucking id to yourself in hindsight with the usual. you were manipulating him into keeping his promise, obviously. he was too gobsmacked and overwhelmed to absorb what you said to him, but you remember. you were in control. something about making sure he kept his promise. you remember, don't you? you didn't do it for you. you didn't do it to spite your god, or to resist. you would never do something like that.

you remember what you said, right?

anyway, that's what esper stole from the mephistar vault. boy oh boy did they ever have to pay for it though, lol. they started spiralling after, eventually culminating in the prayer for forgiveness and the whole bullshit with orin.

5. What did pre tadpole Durge think of Jergal? Was that mindset in any way influenced by Bhaal?

i think esper didnt consider jergal much, other than as a predecessor to bhaal and an ancient minor deity they had no need to contend with. their opinions were very much influenced by bhaal, and bhaal had no particular reason to suspect jergal of fucking around.

the gods bhaalist esper really had beef with were bane and cyric. bane for the whole you-oppressed-my-god-and-killed-a-bunch-of-bhaalists situation (that manifests as an ideological opposition to doing anything gortash tells them to, among other things) and cyric for the whole bitchass-usurper-who-killed-my-god-and-stole-his-job situation. part of the reason esper hates the zhentarim on principle and sides with the guild during any territorial skirmishes in the area is because they do hold a grudge against the zhents for their not-so-secret cyricist history. one of these days i'll write about that particular death cult political drama, since it's part of my headcanon surrounding the hall of wonders heist -- lots of cyric temples were built out of old bhaalist temples and kept bhaalist relics for show, so it seemed to me like a faction that would be likely to, for example, drag a bunch of stolen bhaalist relics into the city for people to gawp at.

given esper's beef with cyric, i believe the thinking is that while jergal served as his seneschal, he was also working to subvert him, so esper doesn't have a problem with jergal. in a way, esper also serves as a seneschal for bhaal, so if nothing else, they understand that you don't often get to choose your god, and you gotta do what you gotta do to live your life with dignity and take pride in what you do. since jergal wasn't (at least to their knowledge at the time) trying to subvert bhaal, esper didn't count him as an enemy.

post-tadpole (and post-endgame) esper effectively has no choice but to become a jergal stan thanks to withers, but even pre-tadpole their personal philosophy (shackled to, but apart from bhaal) aligned harder with jergal than most gods. they were (and still are) a fatalistic believer that all living things must die, but contrary to bhaal's philosophy, esper likes to look at the bigger picture of their victims' whole lives and the impacts their deaths will have -- when they have the luxury of choice, esper is picky about who they kill, preferring deaths that will create a rippling narrative of fear of murder/bhaal or ones that help to prune away undesired developments in the world, and they get their gay little psychic hands all over the vibes of everyone they meet regardless of their intent to kill them, so it becomes difficult Not to remember those narratives. esper always has a few good stories to tell at the feast of the moon.

8. What were their last words towards each other? And who really got the final say? (Same as prev, be as vague as you'd like)

split this one into two, since there are different answers depending on when you consider their 'last' conversation was!

last words pre-orin:

i don't have any specific words in mind, but i feel like their last conversation before orin's surprise attack was about as normal as any conversation could be after the mess during the hell heist. esper was called to moonrise towers to help ketheric with some strategy he'd been planning to entrap and recruit drow soldiers to appoint as squadron leaders, since the swathes of goblins and reanimated corpses they'd collected wasn't very conducive to organization, and ketheric is a great general, but he's not as feverish a micromanager as esper or gortash are, and the absolute's army needs competent leaders for him to delegate to. esper, being raised as drow, had some insights that could be used to hook good candidates, so they were off to make sure it got done right while gortash and orin (probably; she's a shapeshifter, she's probably still here, right?) kept things under control in baldur's gate.

so esper headed to moonrise, where they provided ketheric with their advice, briefly indulged in a drink and an only sort-of-disguised vent session chastising ketheric for only serving his god because myrkul was essentially holding his love for his daughter hostage. the kind of empty judgement that they pass constantly, but their heart isn't really in, because they're mostly just envious that ketheric's god was willing to let him have Something. cue esper going to the basement and getting vibe checked by orin on bhaal's behalf for being an ingrate.

but the last conversation between esper and gortash was purely business. what are you talking about? nothing happened in the hells, no, of course not. no question that gortash had the last word there, because he always does, he's petty like that. something inane and amiable like "i'll have a list of targets by tomorrow, but i'll make sure the temple doesn't kill them all before you get back," or like, "walk in death, my dear urge, or whatever it is your lot says", or "close the door behind you".

last words pre-gortash dying:

"i think i always liked you, too. but this is how it has to be."

... or some more characteristic equivalent based on that line. gortash learned at the very last minute that esper was right -- they did always like him, because they had the ability to curbstomp him extremely disrespectfully any time they wanted, and they worked very, very hard to avoid doing so. he realizes that esper did care about him, very much, because he was now looking at an esper that didn't care what happened to him. he sees them taking their swords to someone else while karlach is killing him -- annoying and embarrassing, by the way, to be killed by an employee of all things --he sees them let someone else take the kill, breaking their promise that he would die by their hand.

but there's some peace in that. they got out. they said they got out. his empire is crumbling around him, and the only person he's ever loved is abandoning him for a second time, and he hates them, he hates them, he hates them. he'll drag them kicking and screaming into the hells with him if bane ever lets him. but that same small part of him that they had thought died when he lost them for the first time, he can feel it again.

and it's grinning from ear to ear. because the plan worked. he's doomed, but he was right, and it worked. and his last living thought is on getting revenge, just like it's always been.

#ask game #durgetash #esper #beecreeper #the askbox

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leffee · 8 months ago

Text

Day 4: Lake house

Important info, like actually important: this fic/drabble was directly inspired by my conversation with @lpsluvblr AND is actually partly "written" by them too. The beginning as well as a good chunk of the dialogue was written and sent to me by them (we were just bouncing some ideas around as you do).

While I did edit it to fit my style and this specific story as well as added stuff like dialogue tags and basically everything between words, like half of this story is (in this way) by her.

Just to show you what I mean at the end I will give an example.

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

Vinnie lay still on the sterile hospital bed, his mind a foggy abyss where memories danced just out of reach as his eyes fluttered open. The soft hums and beeps of machines as well as the distant chatter of nurses filling the room greeted him, but Vinnie felt lost in a world of uncertainty. His breath felt uneven and heavy, his mind scrabbled about for any recollection of the events leading up to this moment, but each attempt only deepened the dull ache throbbing in his head which just enhanced the pain in his chest. Fragments of images flashed before his eyes - water, blurred darkness, quickly disappearing light - but nothing coherent enough to grasp.

Just when his mind was starting to make sense again, his train of thought was interrupted by a screech of the opening door followed by the loudest silent gasp.

“Vinnie, what the hell were you thinking?” Was the first thing that escaped Sunil’s mouth once he reached the bed. “You scared the living daylights out of me!”

Vinnie gaped at the other dumbly for a moment before he managed to utter in a monotone, whistling voice, “Relax, Sunil, I'm fine. It's just… a scratch.” He tried to catch his breath in between words.

“A scratch? You call this a scratch!?” Sunil spat out, stopping his hands just in time before they could grasp his friend’s wrinkled clothes. “You were lucky to survive that! Do you- do you even remember what happened?”

“We were… hanging out in that lake house we had rented, I… went outside, and then I was in… that lake.”

“That’s… surprisingly coherent.” Sunil stared at the other while clenching the side rail of the bed and then sighed. “But yes, since you know exactly what happened you know it’s not just a scratch! I’m not even sure how long you had been lying face down in the water when you were found!”

“Hm. Who found me?”

“Penny. She wanted to catch some fresh air and then saw you. You… you could have…”

“I guess I should thank her now…” Vinnie’s whisper trailed off, his half-lidded eyes fixed on the ceiling for a while before returning to meet the golden ones, “Still, I'm tough, I've… been through worse.” He coughed dryly.

“Tough!?” Sunil hollered, leaning closer to Vinnie’s face, almost tugging at the numerous tubes connected to his friend. “That's not the point, Vincent, you could have died out there! Died! Do you even realize that?”

“Look, I get it, okay?” Vinnie huffed, not breaking their staring contest. “But I'm here now, aren't I? Calm down…”

“Just because you're here doesn't mean you're okay. You have a pneumonia, some respiratory syndrome and who knows what else. You need to take this seriously,” Sunil emphasized in a strong voice, maybe stronger than anyone has ever heard from him, that was certainly true in Vinnie’s case who sighed breathlessly and rolled his eyes.

“I'll be fine, Sunil. …I just need some rest and I'll be back on… my feet in no time.”

“Oh, my fucking-!” Sunil’s hands reached to pull on his hair as an animalistic growl escaped him. “You always brush things off like they're nothing, but this time, it's different! You need to listen to me, Vinnie! Your life is not a joke-.”

“Well, everyone sure treats it like that!” Vinnie abruptly hissed through clenched teeth making Sunil flinch.

“W-what?”

“You heard me, everyone… treats my life like a joke!” Vinnie repeated this time with even more force in a hoarse voice. “Everyone… everyone treats me like a joke!” His voice died down only to come back with twice the force despite the ever-breaking breaths. “Who gives a shit if I die?! Honestly, who would care? Everyone I… meet just thinks I'm a stupid inconvenience who can't take care of himself. And look… maybe they're right…” He gestured stiffly at himself.

“Vinnie…” Sunil's voice softened as he finally slumped into the seat next to his friend. “That's not true, not at all. And you can take care of yourself, I know, it's not your fault you fell into that lake-.”

“How do you know it's not my fault? How do you know I haven't done that on purpose?”

Just when Sunil thought the situation couldn't get any worse.

Suddenly, the room became quiet, and Vinnie wasn't facing him anymore.

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

So far in those May (why tf the names of months are capitalized in English, I keep forgetting about that ;-;) prompts Vinnie either dies or causes someone else to die, that's it, wtf (aside from day 2)

He needs some milk

And here's the promised example:

“Tough!?” Sunil hollered, leaning closer to Vinnie’s face, almost tugging at the numerous tubes connected to his friend. “That's not the point, Vincent (changed from Vinnie), you could have died out there! Died! Do you even realize that?”

The stuff in red is what I added, the original color is what they wrote (and I stole), so that's what I mean saying that they wrote a good chunk of like half of the dialogue in this one but I edited some of it and added stuff.

#lps 2012 #may prompts #day 4

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readingloveswounds · 7 months ago

Note

as you're writing your dissertation, how focused are you on publishing and how do you balance it all?

aHHH great question.

So, I'm in the helpful position where I was able to publish an article prior to starting the dissertation. It grew out of a final paper for a class I'd been taking and was published summer '23 if I remember correctly. This essentially means my advisor wasn't worried about pushing me to publish, so it's been on the backburner.

The publishing ventures so far:

published! Written for a fall '21 class, sent to the journal in spring '22, heard back very quickly, went through a million edits, published spring/summer '23

I essentially got lucky, but yay publication! This also introduced me to some people in the extremely small subfield (the reviewer revealed themself and a guest in a class talked with me about it as well). Horrid little philology paper, but I loved every moment of it.

The edits took place while I was taking classes and teaching, but not when I was writing my prospectus. There were some significant ones, but largely the revisions were minor. I was able to set aside time on certain days to work on these.

rejected! written for a spring '23 class, sent to the journal spring '24 (whoops lol, i meant to send it fall '23), very much rejected.

This was a poorly put-together paper that I was very tired of the whole time. I could and should have done better on it. I'm presenting something based on it in November, but depending on exactly what I talk about at that conference, I may try to do some massive revisions and publish the original paper. (i.e., how the conference paper is looking right now is quite different than my original focus in the article paper, so I think I may just want to try again with a different journal).

In hell!

I've been trying to adapt part of my first chapter into an article, but it's going, shall we say, very slowly. I wanted to send something to my advisor by the end of this month but lol. lmao, even. We'll see. I've still got time. I'm also entertaining this fantasy that the weird paper I wrote to try to figure out my thoughts on a passage will be publishable, but I am being realistic that my mad ramblings are probably not.

All this to say, that in terms of juggling, I am doing very poorly at it. My advisor didn't bring doing other things up until I was at the end of chapter 2, and he doesn't seem overly concerned about it, so I am trying to remain calm, even if I absolutely feel inexperienced and like I should be doing more. But we persist.

What I am doing right now (or attempting to) is to plan/write 3 conference papers. At least one of these events might have published proceedings, so that one needs to be very coherent from the get-go if possible.

The way I handle this is that I have designated days for working on different things. Sometimes I can change gears mid-day, but I like to have a full day dedicated to each project. The dissertation currently takes priority, so most days I'm focusing on that, but I will plan for certain days to be dedicated to work on the conference papers or other things like that.

I'm a big fan of scheduling blocks for doing particular things, whether that be days or hours - it's what helped me from having crippling anxiety during finals periods because I'd be pulled in so many directions without knowing where to go.

In really busy periods where I start to feel caught in stasis and unable to do anything except think about how much I need to do, I will go hour by hour and schedule myself. That means meals, commute, 'work on specific thing', etc. It helps me visualize AND it helps me move on if one block doesn't work out. If I said 'okay work on 17th century paper from 10-12' and I get nothing done, I don't need to wallow in that, I just need to look at my list and go 'okay, it's lunch and then I'll start fresh with the 19th century paper'

#yeah the dissertation's going well but the other stuff lmaooo #my answers #also worth noting that humanities does dissertations differently than some sciences!#ik in some sciences your dissertation is a collection of papers youve written #but this is less the case in humanities #though obviously you can use stuff you've previously written #or as i'm attempting to do you can write papers out of the diss work

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silverpelt3600 · 10 months ago

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Halo 2x8 Spoilers!

It is time. It took me a WEEK to find the time to watch this goddamn finale.

Y’all know the drill, this is just stream of consciousness as I watch the episode. Whether it’s coherent or not, either way I’m losing my mind likely!

- pre-episode recap editing goes CRAZZYYY

- okay first scene who is he talking to I’m lost already

- the microscope view was so confusing for a second LMAO. Also this Jeanine girl is literally losing it.

- ALRIGHT YEAH SHE KILLED SOMEONE LMAO. Crazy virus thing? Also the happy music is killing me lol.

- Kai and her team yay! KAI AND HER TEAM OH GOD. Casual explosion that fucks it all up.

- “Master Chief, I speak for the entire UNSC when I say how happy I am to see you back with us” THIS BITCH.

- OOOHHH YEAH JOHN YOU HANG UP ON HER

- OOH. THATS NASTY WHAT JUST CRAWLED OUT OF JANINES MOUTH.

- fuck I feel so bad for John. Totally torn, and the admiral’s little comment of “there’s nothing anyone can do for them” is just the cherry on top. She pisses me off so much lol

- “you have no idea what I can do” FUCK YEAHHHHHH. THATS WHAT IM TALKING ABOUTT, YOU KNOW I LOVE THAT SHIT.

- Cortana my beloved really hoping she’s okay

- Lmao Kai “you ever fire a plasma rifle? You never forget your first”

- NOOO PEREZ

- “What the hell is that?” THAT MY BOYYYYYYY YEAHHHHHH

- THE SLOMO WALK I’m crushing so hard

- oh god the people frozen in the hallways is so creepy…

- OH GOD WHAT THE FUCK THATS SO GROSS FUCKIN TUMOR ARM. THE GUARD TOO? Oh for fucks sake this is nasty

- FOR FUCKS SAKE pulling the Halsey card is wild.

- ooh she’s helping him now. AND AGAIN WHO THE HELL IS HE TALKING TO.

- “you wouldn’t understand. She knows me” what if I cried. What if I started sobbing.

- OUR GIRL SHES IN THE SYSTEMS.

- “You don’t know everything” WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING SINCE WHEN COULD HE DO THAT. Is it because of the artifact’s in the ship?

- holy shit he’s on the Halo. And THE MUSIC. AND CORTANA MY BELOVED.

- “so nice to have you back” I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.

- “do you think it’s been waiting all that time? For you?” Alright y’all are gonna stress me out there’s too much to comprehend.

- Holy shit Kai’s crazy. “How hard could it be” well YEAH but come on. “This is gonna hurt”. NO SHIT. Jesus Christ I can’t handle this much emotional strain.

- Alright SHITS HITTING THE FAN IN COMMAND. Oop but that solves the Admiral problem!

- EUGHH THERES SO MANY. Hold up. Hold the fuck UP. Kwan is having a moment. The “Cohesion” needs to FUCK OFF.

- oh fuck. OH FUCK HALSEY HAS IT.

- GIRLY WHAT ARE YOU DOING GODDAMNIT. Ohhh. I see now. Goddamnit.

- OOOH SHIT CRAZY DUEL TIME NOW. Damn John getting his shit rocked before GETTING BACK UP LIKE A BADASS. “We’re not done” DAMN RIGHT!

- oh damn now I feel sad for the covenant homie.

- yooo okay cryofeezing Halsey that’s an idea.

- KAI. BABY GIRL OH MY GOD PLEASE BE ALRIGHT.

- “that can’t be good” well yeah if I saw several spires shoot out of mountains I’d be pretty worried too.

- Again talking to this guy? And he apparently also talks to Makee? YOO WHAT THE FUCK ITS A LITTLE ROBOT????? And the crack in his visor! I’m so confused now have those conversations been in a different time or in John’s conscience or what??

- And then the episode ends, and with it so goes my sanity.

Alright y’all, end of the season! One hell of an episode fr. Without a doubt season 2 has been a fantastic season, developing so much of this storyline in a profound way. The finale sets up for a lot to be handled in Season 3, so here’s to hoping they get the green light to make it.

John has absolutely become a favorite character of mine, and this season has only reinforced that. So much of my emotions while watching have been in empathy for John, which makes these episodes land so much harder.

And shoutout everyone who’s stuck around just for these little posts I make. I started making them just for fun but I kept up with it since y’all seemed to like it, which is cool because now I have a little catalogue of what I was thinking during the episodes that I can look at in the future. And FOR THE RECORD I’m not gonna disappear until season 3 comes out. I still need to get caught up on the storyline in the games lol.

Alright that about sums everything up I think.

*bows to an applause while a single spotlight shines on me and flowers are thrown onto the stage.*

#halo #halo tv show #john 117 #master chief #halo season 2 #halo spoilers #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness #losing my mind

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miekasa · 4 years ago

Text

daylight’s wasting (you better kiss me)

↯ pairing: eren jaeger x reader

↯ genre and warnings: college au, fluff, someone please be gentle with this boy i’m begging you, jean and eren pretending they don’t give a fuck about each other whilst actually being best bros for the win

↯ word count: 2k

↯ summary: based off of that reddit post about some guy talking about his girlfriend washing his hair for the first time + hoping it fills a request for someone asking for reader playing with eren’s hair for the first time :’)

↯ notes: this is cross-posted and edited slightly from another blog in a completely separate fandom, so if you’ve seen it before, no you didn’t </2

Jean can’t say that he immediately noticed a pep in Eren’s step when the green-eyed boy met him in the library, but what he does notice is the stupid, dopey looking grin and starry-eyed gaze in his eyes that he’s sporting while he’s not doing his part for their project. And while Jean considers himself relatively attractive, he knows for sure Eren isn’t shy about making it known that he doesn’t; so the brunette doubts the literal heart eyes Eren has are for him.

“Eren? Eren, bro, are you good?” Jean calls, a dark eyebrow raised above his left eye. Eren barely registers the calls of his name, and it takes Jean waving his hands in front of the shorter’s face for him to wake from his trance, looking up at Jean with that same, longing smile (that’s, admittedly, starting to creep him the fuck out).

“Yeah,” Eren sighs, something reminiscent of a lovelorn cartoon prince, as he rests his elbow atop his notebook and his chin the palm of his hand, “I’m good.”

Jean looks at him, skeptical and confused. He shifts in his seat, but Eren’s eyes don’t follow—he just stares ahead, lost in thought and completely unaware of everything around him. He looks like a lovesick little bitch if you ask Jean. Or completely sloshed.

Slowly, Jean leads forward, eyebrows pinched, looking for streaks of red in Eren’s eyes, “Are you stoned right now?”

“What?” Eren pulls back, almost offended, “No, I’m not high—Jean, what the fuck?”

Jean simply shrugs, leaning back into his seat, “I dunno. Yesterday you were so stressed about your acrobatic salt cycle samples—”

“—Acetylsalicylic acid. It’s basically Asprin, and I wasn’t stressed, they just weren’t crystallizing the they way they’re supposed to—”

“I don’t fucking care. But now you look mellow as hell,” Jean cuts him off, “Just thought maybe you rolled a good one before coming here or something. Not that I’m judging, of course. But you’re much more of a lightweight than you think, so try not to go—”

“‘M not a fucking lightweight,” Eren groans, “You and Reiner are just heavy bodied.”

“Just admit you can’t hold your shit, Jaeger.”

“I’m not admitting shit. Mikasa makes strong drinks, that’s all.”

Jean grits his teeth at Eren’s stubborn antics, but lets it go. It’s not like the conversation was going anywhere, anyways. “If you’re not baked, then what’s got your head in the clouds?”

Eren shifts in his seat now, pulling his hand off the table, and into his lap. Jean’s suspicious eyebrow is quirked again, and that slightly creeped-out feeling is back when he spots Eren’s ears going red.

Jesus Christ, he just asked a simple question.

“Not that I care,” Jean tacks on, feigning disinterest, “But if it’s gonna keep you from doing your half of the project, just spill it already so we can get this shit over with.”

Eren rolls his eyes, but that blush is still there. He looks like he contemplates waving it off for a minute, before he sighs. “(Y/N) and I showered together yesterday,” he finally blurts.

Jean blinks. “Oh. So you got laid—”

“—No, no, it wasn’t like that!” Eren corrects him, the red on his ears spreading to his cheeks slowly, with every word that spills out of his mouth. Eren stutters, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, “She just… She washed my hair.”

Eren sighs, flustered and frustrated, and annoyed that he looks like this in front of Jean’s horse-faced ass of all people; but he knows, that no matter how much shit Jean talks, he can rely on him. For better or (often times) for worse.

And Jean, for as hotheaded as he can get, and for as much as Eren annoys the shit of out him, knows how to read a room; and in this moment, he can see that Eren is actually coming to him with genuine emotions, other than masked anger and abrasiveness. So, the both of them concede; pull back from their usual pointed commentary, and listen to what the other has to say.

“Ah,” Jean comments, lamely; an embarrassed blush of his own growing on his face at his stupidity. The two sit in silence for a moment, before Jean speaks up again, “It’s, uh… It’s nice, right?”

Eren’s eyes snap to him, wide. He almost completely forgot that Jean’s in a committed relationship, too. The two don’t often go to each other for relationship advice, or… relationship venting, but Eren makes a mental note that maybe, just maybe, he should.

“Yeah,” Eren admits, “I don’t, uh, I don’t know how to explain it. It was just—”

“Relaxing?”

“Yeah. Like all the bullshit from school just melted away all of a sudden,” Eren confesses, “All she fucking did was wash my hair and hum for, like, five minutes, but I feel like… I don’t know. Good.”

Jean hums, acknowledging Eren’s words and mulling them over. “Loved,” he chimes in with an awkward cough, “Pretty sure that’s the word you’re looking for, Jaeger.”

Eren chokes on air, his eyes darting around the room. So, yeah, it’s still a little awkward, talking with Jean of all people about his relationship, and love, and all that gushy stuff; but, even Eren can admit, it’s comforting to know that someone knows what he’s feeling—even if that someone is Jean.

“You should tell her. Girls like that shit, when you tell em what you’re thinking, you know?” Jean comments, picking up his pen to resume scribbling in his notebook. He sounds nonchalant, but from the redness on his face, Eren can tell he’s just as flustered, and probably thinking about his own girlfriend. “Besides, you’ve been together for a long ass time now. Don’t know what you’re waiting for at this point.”

“Yeah,” Eren coughs, pretending to resume his own homework, “Yeah, I think I will.”

“Good,” Jean nods, “Now will you fucking paste your paragraph in the Google Doc so I can rewrite it and make it coherent.”

“Fuck you, it’s coherent as is.”

“As if. I’ve read your shit before, and it sounds like it was written by six year old on meth. You science majors can’t write to save your life.”

“Tough talk from someone who can’t do basic addition.”

“Derivatives and shit aren’t basic addition, they were created by a man who died a virgin. Tells me everything I need to know about them and you.”

Three days later, Eren finds himself alone in your off-campus apartment, laying on your bed, stomach to the mattress, while he tries to convince himself to study for his upcoming biology exam. He finds looking around your room to be much more interesting, though, and takes the time to notice things he hadn’t before.

There’s a small strip of images of the two of your in a clear mason jar on your nightstand—the newest addition to your collection—from the photo booth at the ice-skating rink you went to last week. Eren doesn’t know why you insist on going to every photo booth you come across, but who is he to deny you the pictures.

When he looks to your closet, he isn’t surprised to see two of his hoodies, one of his warm-up soccer uniforms, and last season’s hockey jersey hanging up. What does surprise him, is the way they’re all hung up next to each other, like they have their own little section amongst your clothing; like they were reserved, special almost. He bets they’re all probably washed and clean, too; because you take care of his things like that.

He thinks about how he has a few pairs of sweatpants and pajamas—hell, even a pair of slacks and a button-down from one of your fancier dates—all tucked away in his very own drawer in your dresser. The bucket hats thats you claim are oh-so ugly still have their own place in your room, hanging next to your belts. Even his psychology textbook sits on your desk, clearly set aside for him and taken care of, but still integrated amongst your other belongings.

You seem to be the only person who thinks Eren and all his baggage can have a place in your life. You seem to always have space for things to fit in, no matter how stupid, or ugly, or tattered they are; no matter how emotional, or lost, or impulsive he is. Nothing is out of place here, himself included.

Lost in his thoughts, Eren doesn’t register the sound of your front door opening, or your footsteps growing louder. In fact, he doesn’t register that you’re home at all, until you come padding into your bedroom, shaking your backpack off of your shoulders and setting it next to his on the ground.

“Hey, baby,” you greet him, almost offhandedly, as you place your coffee down on your desk. He doesn’t mind—actually the element of practiced casualness in your tone brings a kind of warmth to him, and makes his stomach flutter.

“Hey,” he smiles, a stupidly fond look in his eye as his watched you shimmy your jacket off of your shoulders.

Eren sits himself upwards, shifting so that his long legs dangle off the edge of your bed as he watching your silhouette move throughout your bedroom. When you’re finished removing all your layers and jewelry, you finally look to him, greeting him a second time as you walk towards him and your bed.

Eren cages you in when you reach him, his ankles wrapped on top of each other as he secures you standing between his legs. He wraps his arms loosely around your waist, while your fingers crawl up the nape of his neck.

“Your hair’s dry,” you hum, your fingers raking through his brown locks as if to make your point, “You didn’t shower yet?”

Eren shakes his head lightly, craning his neck forwards to tuck the cold tip of his nose into your collar. He holds you a little tighter when you smooth his hair down, one of your hands resting against the back of his neck, and lightly scraping at the hairs near his nape.

“How come?” you question innocently, “I thought your classes ended a few hours ago—did your lab go late again? You should tell your TA you have a life outside of trying to culture bacteria in a dish, you know.”

Eren chuckles lightly, but feels the concern in your voice tug heavily at his heart strings. You seem to really hate his lab TA.

“Wasn’t him this time,” Eren mumbles against your skin, “Was waiting for you.”

“Yeah? That gonna be a regular thing, now?”

“Wouldn’t mind,” Eren confesses, words barely audible as he buries his face into your neck. He tries tickle you with his eyelashes, shift the heat towards you, but you move out of reach too quickly; your hands on his shoulders, forcing him to sit upright.

He has to look up you, just slightly, and he hopes he doesn’t look like a complete blushing idiot. If he does, you don’t seem to mind, if the way you cup his face between your hands is any indication.

“Well then, come on. I bought two new loofahs yesterday.”

Eren follows you to the bathroom with a smile, borderline giggling with excitement all the way to the shower. When it comes down to it, he relishes in the feeling of your fingertips against his scalp, suds of shampoo cascading down his neck as you find amusement in coiling his hair into a bubbly mohawk.

It’s so mundane, so simple, yet overwhelmingly intimate the way you’re taking care of him—the way you always take care of him. It fills Eren to the brim with emotions he can’t even begin to convey with words.

And when you’ve had you’re fun, and made sure his hair is throughly clean and smells like apples, you take your body wash on the ball of his (his! his very own!) loofah, and scrub away at his back, down his shoulders, across his torso; and Eren can’t stop the tears from falling.

He realizes his must look bizzare, to be standing the middle of your shower, crying like a baby with soap and suds all over his body, but he can’t help himself.

“Eren? Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he assures you, hiccuping between his words and sniffling away any more tears that threaten to fall. You don’t seem convinced, and once again, Eren feels his heart swell at just the sheer thought at you’d hold even an ounce of concern for him the way you do.

“You’re crying, Eren,” you point out, voice soft, but clearly concerned, as you reach your hands up to cup his face again, “Did I hurt you? What’s wr—”

Eren cuts you off by wrapping you in a hug, hoping—praying—you know that you could never hurt him. The two of you spend nearly five whole minutes like that, your arms wrapped around each other’s middles, with warm water pouring over your naked skin. Eren can feel you pressing shallow kisses into his chest, and he feels his heart physically swell every time your lips make contact with his skin.

It’s on the fifth, quiet press of your lips that Eren knows he can’t hold it in anymore; pulls away from your embrace to look you in your eyes.

“I love you,” he finally confesses, with wet hair stuck to his forehead, and teary eyes. It’s hardly a picture perfect moment, but Eren can’t bring himself to care; he needs you to know.

But, of course, you already did. “I know, Eren,” you say with a smile, kissing his chin, and then on the tips of your toes, his lips, “And I love you more.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #eren x you #eren smut #eren fluff #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi x reader #jean x reader

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ficsex · 4 years ago

Note

How could you drop "ethical objectification, a topic I love to yell about" in the tags and then NOT tell us about ethical objectification

Okay. I'm sick but the tylenol knocked out the fever and chills, so let's see how coherent this is (update: holy shit this needed a lot of editing)

To start: objectification is viewing a person as an object. It's very related to (and often overlaps with) fetishization, but instead of being a solid state of dehumanization, it's more related to passing sexual interest and desires. So it's "whoah that feature of that person is hot, I want to do a sex to it" instead of "that person is entirely role based in my estimation of them."

Frankly, the overlap is such that it's not worth nit-picking the difference - various studies and definitions list them as basically the same thing, anything. But I find that there are more tangible ways to use objectification in a positive way.

So.

The two kinds of ethical objectification are secret objectification and consensual objectification.

Thought crimes are not a thing. If you see someone attractive walking down the street and your first thought is "holy shit, that person is hot" or "god damn, I would like to fuck that person", that is okay. Hell, if you want to fantasize about a person secretly, that's fine with me. Think about their ass. Imagine fucking them. Whatever. But it has to stay a secret.

Here are things that would break the secrecy:

cat-calling them

telling them

telling a friend

letting your gaze linger on them such that they notice you looking (we always notice, guys. always)

letting that internal objectification in any way affect your external behavior towards them.

That last one is where this usually goes wrong.

What happens frequently is that a man will see attractive women and objectify them in his head, will see them as sexual objects. It stays in his head, he doesn't tell anyone... And then, he'll start to treat them that way. He will treat the women he meets like sexual objects, because he allows his thoughts to influence his behaviors.

That's bad and wrong and gross. Don't do that.

But if you see some great tits, you are allowed to think sexual thoughts about them! Again, there are no thought crimes! Just for fuck's sake, don't tell that person you're thinking sexual thoughts about them. Unless...

They consent!

Consensual objectification is great! If you are interacting with someone you respect and treat well and they want to be objectified / treated like a sex object in limited, consensual spaces, that's also okay!

Permit me an anecdote, if you will: I was once making out with a friend; a respectful, older man. He checked in with me before doing anything, he liked my thoughts and my feelings, he cared about my pleasure... and he was also incredibly into my breasts. So we were making out for a while and then he stopped, looked at me and said, "Do you mind if I objectify you for a moment?"

I stifled my laughter and told him that I did not mind if he objectified me for a moment. And then he promptly face-planted into my chest, full on buried his face in my cleavage and want to town. Noises, smushing, lots of interactions and moving and squishing. And then after a moment, he pulled his face back up, brushed his hair out of his eyes, and solemnly said, "thank you."

It remains one of my favorite memories of this friend. He totally likes me as a person, cares about me as a human, and also thinks of my breasts as sexual objects. So he got consent before interacting with them in that way.

If you want your partner to treat you as a table, or use you as nothing but a hole to fuck, if you like bimbofication and want a brainless slut as a partner sometimes, or you just want a body to ravage - those are okay fantasies! those are okay practices! You just need to make sure that you and your partner are on the same page, that there is full and informed consent, and that you actually value and like them as a person outside of that scene (or that you both recognize that this is transactional sex, with sexual objectification, and that there isn't a deeper relationship associated with it).

So there you have it. Don't treat people like shit, don't let people know that you want them to step on you, don't stare at someone's stomach because all you want to do is bite and squish it, or do check in and get full consent!

#ethical objectification #fetishization #objectification #it me

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padme-parker · 4 years ago

Text

Mizpah // the darkling x f!reader // ch 6

summary: given some time alone to think, the pieces begin to fall into place. you go to confront the darkling be he avoids you at any given cost, until one night you go into the one room you were never granted permission to enter.

warnings: cursing, talks about violence/torture and death, alcoholism

A/N: the truth finally comes out. This is all over the place bc I was trying to rush getting it out. 5.9k+ words and 12 pages later, here we are. not proofread, will comeback later to edit.

ANA KUYA’S voice echoed in the back of your mind as you laid on your cot, calling out for Mal and Alina as they ran away from her. It was the day Grisha came to the orphanage to find out if one of their own had been whisked away into a place like this. You examined the walls, cracks running up and down them. The windows barely opened, and when they did, they let out horrible screeches. Water leaked from the bathrooms, the annoying drip a constant on your mind.

Maybe you should’ve gotten up from your bed and got tested by a Grisha. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to stay in such a run down orphanage. The Duke was rarely here, so no one really cared about his orphanage no matter how infamous he was. But being Grisha meant leaving Mal and Alina behind, something you couldn’t do because they had become your only family. Besides, Grisha don’t get sick, therefore you weren’t a Grisha.

You could never be a Grisha.

AS you phased into consciousness, you could hear someone muttering something in the background. Your hands were so cold, you reached out for something- anything that could give you warmth. You tried to blink away the blurriness of your eyes, nothing seemed to work. The person rushed to your side, clutching both of your hands in one as the other stroked your cheek.

“Go back to sleep.” He said, brushing your hair back. Closing your eyes, he assumed you had fallen asleep already. He resumed his mumbling, the words slowly becoming coherent as fell back asleep.

“It’s...too...soon..”

THE painful pounding of your heart had subsided as the Grisha left. Mal walked into the room followed by Alina, who was sporting a new wound on her palm that Ana Kuya had scolded her for.

“Come on, get up!” Mal urged, knowing from the look on your face that the pain had already left you.

“Where are we going?” You said eagerly, scooting to the front edge of your bed to lace up your boots.

“To the meadow.” That was all you needed to hear before running out the bedroom door. Mal and Alina’s footsteps padding behind. The three of you started a mildly competitive game of tag, the other two making sure you didn’t exert yourself.

In that moment, you were who you were supposed to be. Three children lying on the field, making stupid promises to each other.

“We can’t hide forever, but we can run.”

THIS time when you find yourself in a field, there’s a man laying next to you. It was the same man from your dream, shoulder length hair and clean shaven face.

“Aleksander?” He lets out a hm, awaiting your question. “Where am I?”

“What do you mean, my darling?” Aleksander- General Kirigan- or whoever the hell he was turned to look at you, laying one of his arms upon your stomach. His hand keeping a firm grip on your waist. From your peripheral view you could see him studying you.

He started with your eyes, taking in their color and your long lashes. He moved from the curve of your nose until he got to your soft, plump lips. You stared at the sky, afraid of what you would see, who you would recognize if you turned to face him.

“We’re at our meadow.”

WHEN you finally regain consciousness, you find yourself alone in a nearly dark room. Only one lantern had been lit up. It was just before dawn, you could see the sun beginning to peek out. Someone had changed you into a nightgown, you didn’t know who it was. Perhaps it was Alina or maybe the Darkling, maybe neither. Either way, you were thankful they decided to change you out of the robe you had fainted in.

With great struggle, you propped yourself up, your elbows taking the brunt of your weight. You crawled to the foot of your bed to put on your night slippers. The rug under your bed only went so far before it hit the cold floor. You slowly made your way to the desk, sitting yourself in front of the mirror.

The magic Genya had performed on you days ago had worn out by now. How long were you out for? The dark circles under your eyes had returned, seemingly worse. Your skin, although already dull, became more dull and pale. Whatever shine you originally had was gone. Your eyes look sunken in. While your hair was frail and also lost the shine that Genya gave it.

“Saints..” You whispered to yourself as you raked a hand through your hair. You were basically a dead person walking. You considered fetching a servant to bring you Genya, but decided against it. Throwing on a robe, you silently made your way to the war room, hoping to find the Darkling there. When you entered it remained empty, along with the bed he usually slept in. You walked the halls looking for one of his oprichniki, yet they weren’t around either.

There was no use in barging into his bedroom when it seemed like he was gone. Plus you didn’t want to invade his privacy knowing that he could have you killed for going into his room without permission if someone had seen you. You spotted one of the palace guards, walking up to him as you placed your hands into the pockets of your robe.

“Excuse me, do you happen to know where the General is?” You asked, staring into the guards eyes.

“He left a week ago, accompanied by his personal guards.” Was all he said, not disclosing why he had left. A week? Had you really been unconscious for a week? This usually never happened to you, not like this.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“In a couple of days.” He said, not giving you an exact day. You quickly thanked him before making your way back to your room to change for the day. The dull ache of your heart was finally leaving, allowing for you to feel more like yourself. You were able to spot the sun in the sky as you finished changing. You thought about basking in its light when your stomach growled loudly.

I suppose I should eat, you thought. It’d been nearly a week since you were able to feed yourself, your last meal being breakfast. You could remember someone feeding you periodically throughout the week, now knowing the Darkling had left, it was most likely Alina. You rang for a servant, asking to be brought breakfast when she arrived. Surveying the room, you decided that the Darkling wouldn’t mind if you did a little retouching.

You moved the table towards the window, wanting to eat in the sunlight without having the harsh winter winds freeze you. Opening the curtain allowed for more sunlight to stream through, a grunt of triumph leaving your lips as you looked at your new setup.

The squeaky wheel of the servant’s cart alerted you of her presence, rushing to open the door before she could knock. You took the tray from her hands, closing the door with your foot as you skipped towards the table, eager to get some food in your system.

The food they had given you was practically the same, sweet pea porridge, a tall glass of water, and a bowl of grapes. It wasn’t your favorite, but you ate it anyway. Savouring the familiar crunch and sweetness of the grapes. Sitting in the sun had left you feeling giddy and warm, excited for summer when you would be able to go out whenever you could and feel the sun on your skin.

It was the same warmth you felt whenever the Darkling touched you, even when you saw him in your dreams, there had always been a lingering sense of familiarness-- and affection. You saw the look in his eyes just seconds before you passed out, the shock as you said his name, the concern visible in his eyebrows. Him whispering, stay with me, please. It was all foreign to you. In fact, his behaviour was strange to you.

You’ve always heard of the Darkling being cold, menacing, someone you had to fear. There were stories of him ruthlessly slaughtering the Drüskelle, using the Cut to separate multiple heads from bodies in a matter of seconds. Yet he welcomed you into his home without a second thought. He fed you, gave you clothing and a place to sleep, even gave you a tour of the Little Palace himself. You were sure he had never given someone the treatment that he had given you, so what made you so different? What made you so special to him?

You didn’t miss the look he gave you when you first entered the war room, recognition and longing bright in his eyes. He tried to hide the emotion, but you were able to catch it before he returned to his dark and empty gaze. It would explain the memories, but only fueled your confusion and curiosity more. Had you shared a past life with him? If so, why were you back? How were you back? Getting lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the person knocking until they opened the door and announced themselves.

The familiar red hue of his kefta brought you comfort. You were too trusting lately, you’d only met Fedyor a week ago. Just the sight of his kefta had calmed something down in you. This palace was changing you, bringing out something from within you that never existed. Being this trusting on the fields would get you killed.

“Good morning, Fedyor. What brings you here?” You greeted him. This time you already had your boots laced up, the tray in your hands ready to be disposed of on the table by the door. “Going to escort me to combat training?”

“Actually, the General forbade you from stepping foot on training grounds again.” You let out a loud gasp as you whipped towards him. Thinking there was something wrong, Fedyor stepped forward, reaching his arms out to steady you just in case anything happened. In your anger, you slapped his hands away.

“Oh just you wait until he gets back,” You seethed, “Who does he think he is? Taking away my combat training privileges?”

“He’s the General, he can do that.” Fedyor responded, a small smile on his face.

“So what am I supposed to do then?”

“Well, you could still go to the library.” No, you didn’t want to risk running into the Apparat again. “Watch the Grisha train.” He offered a meek smile. “Walk the grounds.” Perhaps you could go on a horse ride later, but right now there was one thing on your mind.

“Is Alina training right now?” The heartrender gave you a nod, “I guess we’ll be going to her room then. She has something I want to borrow.” With the flick of your hand, the two of you were on your way.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and if you don’t want to answer then that’s okay.” Fedyor squints his eyes at you, before motioning to continue. “Has the Darkling ever taken up any lovers?” The question makes Fedyor stop in his tracks, a baffled look on his features.

“Well..I..” He struggled with his words, not knowing if he wanted to tell you. What would the General do to him if he told you? It was common knowledge that General Kirigan had been alive for a couple centuries now, he thought everyone knew of his endeavours. “The General has been around for many years, so naturally he has...had sex before.” The mention of it made Fedyor blush. “But he’s never settled down with someone. The closest I ever saw was with Alina.” This didn’t surprise you, Alina herself had told you about what had almost happened between the two.

“In the tent, when he tested her to see if she was Grisha, I saw something in his eyes. It was admiration, but there was also a defeated look in his eyes. As if he had given up on something because he found Alina. Reasonably, it could’ve been relief, since we had finally found the sun summoner.” Fedyor pauses, thinking wisely about the next words he spoke. “Alina and the General were growing close. Everyone saw the look they gave each other the night of the fete. But any public traces of their affection for each other had disappeared that night. The two are only seen interacting when he visits her for a gradual check-in.”

“And he’s never spoken of any other lovers?”

“Not consciously, no. On the very rare chance where we ride in the same carriage, sometimes when he falls asleep he’ll whisper about a woman. Moya dorogaya, he’d call her. That’s all I know.”

Moya dorogaya, my darling. It was the same name the Darkling had called you in your dream.

“May I ask you a question?” He inquired, you nodded your head, allowing him to proceed. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

A smile so bright that could light up the room came to your face, “My friends down near the south Ravka border. A pair of siblings that taught me to fight before they defected from the First Army.” You confessed. “One of them also introduced me to my love of epic poetry.”

When Alina’s door came to view, you didn’t bother knocking as she had already left. After fetching what you needed, you quickly exited her room.

“I haven’t seen them since they left.” You rubbed the birthmark at your throat. Besides Mal and Alina, the siblings were also the closest thing you had to family. They considered you as their sister, even begging that you left with them. But you told them your place was here in Ravka, with Mal and Alina.

“I’m sure you’ll see them soon. Once Alina and the General get rid of the fold, we will have access to our docks again.” He said, trying to comfort you.

“I hope so.” The rest of the walk was filled with comfortable silence as you fiddled with the edges of the red book. As you neared your door, Fedyor stopped, telling you he would be just outside if you needed anything. Without wasting another second, you ran to the chair in front of the window.

The Istorii Sankt’ya glistened in the sunlight. Something about it had been calling out to you, urging you to read it and find out more. You flipped through all of the pages of the saints until you found the one that had been calling out to you.

Sankt Ilya in chains. Ilya Morozova. Morozova’s herd.

“One day. When the war is over and the shadow fold is gone, you will bear my name. You will become Mrs. Morozova. I swear it.”

The voice of the Darkling rang clear in your head. The memory made your heart come to a stop as you struggled to find a possible explanation for his words. The only conclusion you could inevitably come to was that you were the sole lover that Fedyor had been talking about.

As the sun began to set, you looked at the drawing once more. The stag, sea whip, and firebird all depicted. You called out for Fedyor, asking him to come into your room.

“Can you bring me dinner for two?” You politely asked.

“Sure, were you planning on eating it yourself or shall I fetch someone while I’m at it?”

“No. You and I are going to have a nice, long talk while we eat dinner.” His face paled as the words left your mouth.

“Oh...okay.” Was all he said before he scurried off to get the food. You tucked the Istorii Sankt’ya under a pile of paper in your desk to hide it. While you waited for Fedyor to return, you lit up some candles and lanterns now that the sun was going down. It was no fun eating in the dark.

Well, sometimes it was. You thought back to the orphanage. Night where you, Alina and Mal would sneak out of bed to have a piece of bread. The bread was never enough, but the excitement had always spurred the three of you on enough to make it a nightly routine until Ana Kuya eventually caught on.

When Fedyor returned, he rolled the cart over to where you had been seated. He placed a golden tray in front of you and another for himself right across from you. He also brought a big pitcher of Kvas for you to share.

Lifting the cover from your plate, you found yourself staring at some sort of meat pie with a side of root vegetable soup. Fedyor had the same meal but had pickled herrings instead of soup.

“Ugh, I don’t know how you eat that stuff.” You said with disgust. “I’m glad you guys don’t force me to eat that.” Although it was common peasant food, it never appealed to you. It was something you’d always hated.

“The kitchen staff have a strict list of foods you like and dislike.” That made your head snap up to meet his, who made the list? You had a scheming suspicion that it wasn’t Alina, leaving you with one suspect.

“Tell me, Fedyor, do you know what the General plans on using Morozova’s Stag for?” You inquired, feigning curiosity. You saw his hesitation, clearly uncertain if he could trust you. “I was, after all, one of the last trackers to spot it.” You reminded

“The stag is rumored to be an amplifier created by Morozova himself. Whoever wears it would hold the greatest power known to mankind. One that could rival the General’s.” He said, taking a bite of his meal before continuing, “He plans on giving it to Alina in order to get rid of the shadow fold. She’s strong, but not strong enough to get rid of it on her own.”

“What about you, do you believe they will be able to banish the fold together?” There had been a swirl of doubt pooling in you. The shadow fold was the one thing that had kept Grisha safe from the rest of the world. With the permafrost in the North and the mountains in the South, Ravka had practically been perfectly disconnected. Yet the Drüskelle and Shu still managed to slaughter Ravkans and Grisha alike.

“Yes, I do. It’s something very important to the General. That the sun summoner reversed what his ancestor, the Black Heretic, had created.” He explained.

“Right, we’ll then what happens after? It’s been so long since West Ravka has been able to connect to East Ravka. Who’s to say that they don’t want to create a monarchy of their own?” Fedyor paused at your words, he hadn’t thought much about what the West Ravkans wanted. He only knew how much his people longed to be free of the shadow fold.

“One step at a time.” He ensured, not sure if he believed the words he just said. He didn’t know what would happen if West Ravka decided to break off and become their own sovereign state. Whatever trade and weapons they had obtained came through the trading ports of the docks in West Ravka. Without it they’d have nothing. They would be nothing.

You finished the rest of your meal, occasionally talking about your time being stationed in the South while he talked about his Grisha adventures. When it came to an end, you helped him clean up and wished him a good night as he rolled the cart away. The pitcher of Kvas laid untouched, your fingers twitched at the thought of having a drink. You stared at it as Fedyor rolled it away, your throat begging for something to drink. Instead of giving into your urges, you chug whatever leftover water you had laying around.

As you got ready for bed, you couldn’t help the strong feeling of loneliness overcome you. You tried to push those feelings away when you jumped into bed, not wanting to have a miserable dream.

WHEN you wake, you find yourself in the deadly permafrost of the Fjerda-Ravka border in nothing more than your lace nightgown. The snow under your feet melted as you walked around, searching for another sign of human life. You didn’t feel the familiar nip of the cold at your fingertips or toes. It was that same warmth you felt with the Darkling.

You caught sight of your own breath as you whipped your head around, the snow catching in your hair. As you stumbled into a tree, you felt the recognizable carving, stating that you were now in Fjerdan territory. Your feet had walked on their own accord, not knowing where you were going until you stumbled into a clearing. The same clearing where Dubrov and Mikhael had died, slaughtered brutally by the Fjerdans. The clearing where you had killed two of their own without a second thought.

The clearing where you had finally found the stag.

The very same stag that had now stood in front of you.

You inched closer to it with careful and calculated steps. It didn’t back away as you approached. It showed no signs of aggression as you laid one of your hands upon its antlers, your other going to stoke its fur.

It was giving you that same look it gave you when you first encountered it with Mal.

Mercy. Respect. Most of all, understanding.

IT had been two days since you dreamt of the stag. You hadn’t dreamt of it since then, in fact, you hadn’t been dreaming of much since you saw the stag in your dreams. You thought about bringing it up to Alina during breakfast, but decided against it, the conversation somehow drifting towards the General.

“I was giving him a report of my progress last night-”

“Last night?” You interrupted, “As in a couple of hours ago?” She nods, confused by your behavior. “When did he get back?”

“The night you woke up.” She replied, as if you had been informed already. No one told you he had returned, you hadn’t even seen him once. Fedyor didn’t even tell you of his return during dinner. With a huff, you got out your chair, moving towards the door before asking Alina one last question.

“When did you mention me to the General?” She gives you another confused look, not knowing what you were talking about. That was the only answer you needed as you made your way to the war room.

He knew you. Even before he discovered Alina and took her to the Little Palace, he knew you first. Your thoughts ran around rampant and unprovoked, trying to come up with a viable explanation as you stomped towards his hall. Before you could even reach the doors of the war room, you were stopped by his oprichniki.

“The General wishes to be alone right now.” She said, hold up a hand to stop you.

“Tell him that I want to speak with him.” You replied, she looked you up and down. You wore no kefta or guards uniform. You were merely just a First Army soldier in her eyes.

“I doubt he would want to talk to someone like you.” Great, you were dealing with a Grisha Oprichniki with a horrible superiority complex. With a scoff, you turned away and walked to your room. Holding back every urge in your body to punch her.

WHEN night came, you found yourself struggling to get some sleep. After your encounter with that rude oprichniki, you tried your best to at least get a glimpse of the Darkling. You tried walking in the gardens in hopes to see him, no luck. You walked past the singular window of the war room, only to find the view obscured by the curtains. You paced the halls as subtly as you could, waiting for him to exit the war room. But he didn’t leave. Not once, so you just gave up and decided to try again the next day.

The black silk of your slip on did little to soothe the irritation you felt. In fact, it seemed to irritate you more as it slipped around even at your smallest movements. With a sigh, you got up from the bed and walked towards the dresser with the intention of changing into something that would provide better comfort.

You ran your hands through all the different laces and fabrics of the nightgowns until it landed on the gold kefta. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try. You took it off it’s hanger, before walking towards the mirror. You examined it closely. The fabric itself had shimmers of gold, the black thread similar to any other kefta. As you surveyed the back of it, you noticed the handiwork of a fabrikator. Someone had tried to mend the rips of the kefta, but they were still visible up close.

The kefta had fit like a glove when you put it on. It gave you a sense of belonging. That maybe as an orphan you had finally found a home. You ogled at yourself in the mirror, the golden fabric had practically made you glow. You placed your hands into the pockets, surprised to feel something in one of them.

Grasping the object, you pulled it out. It was a letter. Covered in blood, dirtied and ripped at the corners, but still a letter nonetheless. You contemplated reading it, making the motion to put it back into the pocket before a thought crossed your mind. It wasn’t like anyone was going to find out.

You opened the letter and began to read it:

Dear Aleksander,

My darling, I don’t know why the universe has continued to bring us together. But I am thankful that they’ve given us a chance to be together once more. I have loved you for all of my lifetimes, and nothing could change that.

At least, that’s what I thought. But you’re no longer the Aleksander I once knew. Something dark has taken over you, your lust for power consuming you. I don’t know who you are anymore.

That’s why I’m doing what’s necessary, you’ve been in power for too long. It’s time for you to stop. It’s time for Ravka to be whole once more.

I’m sorry. I hope with whatever love you have left in your heart for me, that you could forgive me.

Eternally yours,

Y/N

You froze as you saw your name signed at the bottom of the letter. Lifetimes? As in more than one? This could wait no longer. Shoving the letter into your pocket, you threw open your door. The halls were empty, his oprichniki were either on a break or a shift change. Either way, you didn’t care.

You barged into the war room, expecting him to be hunched over a pile of maps, but he wasn’t. The next place you looked was his sleeping quarters that had connected to the war room. This bed was empty too, the sheets still cold. You knew of one last place he could be, and didn’t care about the risks.

You walked towards his door, each step filled with the burning curiosity you felt. Placing your hand on the doorknob, you didn’t expect it to turn. You would’ve assumed he kept the door to this bedroom always locked. But then again you were the only person who would dare enter his room without permission. After entering his room, you shut the door. Not wanting to raise suspicion to anyone who might’ve walked the halls perchance.

You paid no mind to the layout and decorations of his room as you fervently searched for him, only to come up empty handed again. Where could he possibly be? Perhaps he went for a midnight stroll. Or possibly he left the Little Palace again. But before deciding on going back to your room, you were adamant on searching the entire ground for him.

As you made your way back towards the door, your eyes briefly flashed to the portrait above it. You were frozen in your tracks as you did a double take. There in the painting was you, depicted in the gold kefta you had put on mere minutes ago. Behind you was the General, who had one hand clasped around your waist, the other resting on your shoulder. The two of you smiling brightly, it had practically been one of the only other times you’d seen him smile.

The letter in your pocket felt like it weighed a ton, your mouth going dry. In your panicked state of mind, you didn’t notice the shadows jumping up and down the walls.

“My darling.” You never heard him creeping up on you until he started talking into your ear, his whisper making you involuntarily shiver. You could practically feel the heat radiating off of him.

Turning around, you didn’t expect to find his hair dripping wet, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. A blush formed on your cheeks as you tried to look at anything but him.

“Don’t call me that.” You spat out, he reached one of his hands out to touch the kefta you had put on. His touch lingered from the black stitching to the collar of the Grisha jacket, his fingers ghosting over your neck. “I’m going to ask you one more time, have we met before?”

The General saw no use in keeping the secret from you any longer; you had worn the kefta he’d made for you centuries ago, most likely read the letter in its pocket, and now you had just seen the portrait he’d hung up of the two of you. It was evidently clear that you knew something was going on.

“What do you remember?” He deflected, not answering your question.

Flashes came to your mind, ones you had dreamt, others were new.

“I remember...my death. The night those soldiers shoved a knife in me.” You confessed. You also saw other things. Horseback riding in the woods. Long nights in bed spent talking about the future. Him training you, teaching you how to wield a sword. The birthmark at your ribcage, the one on your neck, and the long ones on your back. They had all been scars. Marking all the deaths from your previous lives.

Three scars, three separate lifetimes with him. You reached up to touch the scar on your neck, “They..I-”

“This one, the Fjerdans gave you this one. We were hunting for the stag when we had gotten ambushed. They killed you for the sole purpose to see me in pain. I begged them to take me too, but they found too much joy in my grief. The Drüskelle held me on the ground, my hands spread apart, as I watched you bleed out.” You can see the tears form in his eyes as he recalls the events of that night. He walks around you, tracing the rips of the kefta. The rips had consequently been placed exactly where the scars on your back were. You could tell by the familiar pattern he traced, a once soothing action that now caused you great anguish. “The Fjerdans also gave you these ones. They tortured you for days on end. When I finally found you, it was too late. There was no healer that had the power to help you. All I could do was hold you as a heartrender calmed you, minimizing your pain.”

“I can’t remember that, why can’t I remember that?” You panicked, to which the Darkling turned you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as his thumbs rubbed your face in a reassuring manner.

“It’s not often that you fully remember what happens to you. It’s your brain's way of protecting you so you don’t get overwhelmed.” Well you certainly felt overwhelmed now. It was all too much to take in at once.

“The shadow fold..” You hesitated, removing yourself from his grasp. “Was that because of me?”

“Yes,” he confessed, “I created it after you first died. A way to protect all Grisha. I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand. But it was one less threat we had to worry about.”

“I don’t understand. Why me? Why is it always me? Why do I always come back to you?”

“There’s a reason why the universe has continued to bring us back together, my darling. My other half. My life.” He walks up to you, grasping your face in his hands. His touch was different this time, it was cold yet welcoming. It felt familiar. The shadows engulfed the room as you felt a power rush over you. His eyes darted towards your lips, hesitating before leaning in. You close your eyes as you feel that familiar warmth consume you. His kiss is soft, gentle, yet you could tell he was holding back from ravaging you.

He pulls away, resting his forehead on yours. You kept your eyes closed, lost in the memories.

“Open your eyes.” He whispered. When you had closed them, the whole room had been taken by his shadows, leaving the two of you in darkness. But as he stood in front of you, his hands on your cheeks, the whole room had been illuminated. “My sun summoner, I have loved you all of my life. For all of your lifetimes.”

“Maybe one too many.” What else was there to say? You always knew, somewhere deep down inside of you, that there was something special different about you. You didn’t know it until now, until you were reunited with your other half. “But I thought Grisha couldn’t get sick.”

The smile falls from his face, “I believe..that this could possibly be our last lifetime together.” He disclosed. “Neither heartrender nor healer could explain what was happening to you. I think it might be the consequence of avoiding eternal death for so long.” He joked, his eyes meeting yours.

“I thought your last life had been our final one together. I waited hundreds of years for your return. When I had caught wind of a sun summoner being found, I thought it was you. When it wasn’t I felt as if my heart had shattered all over again. That you would never return to me again.” The Darkling squinted as the light around you grew brighter. His touch was making you unstable.

“But Alina-”

“Can’t know. No one can. I can’t risk your life again. Not anymore.” He replied, “Especially when this could be our last time together.”

You struggled to find a name to call him, the General felt too formal, and to you it seemed too early to call him by his given name.

“Aleksander, my darling. Call me by my name.” He said, withdrawing his hand from you and letting the shadows shrink back to the ground.

All your life, you had subconsciously fought the Grisha within you. You had always been Grisha. Using the powers you had been born with had given you back your strength, albeit not all of it. You enjoyed- reveled the rush it gave you.

“Aleksander,” His name left your lips in a hushed whisper, “..what if I want the stag for myself?”

Mizpah tags: @all-art-is-quite-useless @devilxangel @musicconversedance @parabatai-winchester @runawayolives @tartiflvtte @rbg1933 @thatguppienamedbae @batgal96 @thebarisinhell99 @5hundreddaysofsummer @kaqua @queenseneschal @benbarnes-supremacy @princessofpersia96 @takethee @dontjinx-it @freakytillthemoon @amortentiaaaa @marvel-ousnesss @coolninjavoid @areomalfoy @pansysgirlfriend @universalirwin @leavejuliaalone @xx-winwin-wednesday-xx @honeyofthegods @lunamyangel @d-list-goddess @comphersjost @telepathdestiel @the-celestial-kitsune @thestoryofmylife9 @s-corpionem @pancakeisreading @sanna2020 @secretsandtinyshadows @savannah-elliott @maliasblue @tea-effect @disneyandharrypotter @futuristicpinklemur @tanyaherondale @the-puff-is-strong-with-this-one @hxgreeves @yourboiialucard@thereeallink @ladyblablabla @wolfieellsworld @p3nny4urth0ught5 @louweasleymalfoy @the-natureofme @itsloveroflife @oddlittleminx @within-thehollowcrown @itsfangirlmendes @heyyimlaynna @jgtfvhsg @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @auggie2000 @itsnotquimey @jtownraindancer @sonnensplitter @sarcastic-and-cool @poulterfilms @spookybooisa @stickyknightflowerbailiff @hollandsweetie @yungkvte @evyiione @2023-padfoot @kawaiimarshmallow @nikki-sixx-is-daddy @sanktawylan @blackbirddaredevil23 @athenamikaelson @mellifluous-cosmos @mylittlecrazyworldofinterest @iiclarixa @lcandothisallday @agent-jbarnes

Mizpah taglist is CLOSED for now!

S.a.B. forever tags: @deceivedeer

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan #ben barnes

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bitletsanddrabbles · 2 years ago

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WIP Whatevaaaaaaaaaargh!

Awhile ago I decided that i wasn’t going to post any more Island of the Gays snippets, no matter how much inspiration I got from @alex51324 ‘s work, simply because my brain has been having too damn much fun lately going “OOO! Inspiration for a SHORT piece!” then, as soon as I have three paragraphs, insisting that the short balloon out to twice the length and then wandering off to play with dandelions rather than write it.

It’s frustrating and pointless.

HOWEVER. I have just reached my 50k goal for NANO and let me tell you, 50k has never felt less satisfying. I don’t know what it is this year, but everything just feels flat as a road kill flatworm. So since this thing, which has been pestering me off and on for I don’t know how long to be written, and was, in fact, what got me over the finish line, I’mma post a bit.

Is it good? Not really. It’s a rough draft, so it needs editing. I need to reread the entire story to get people right. Rouse in particular is probably all kinds of off kilter. But it’s a THING, damnit, and I can, so I’m going to. So there.

As if he didn’t have one himself, Thomas thought, but none-the-less produced his own lighter. Once he’d lit the other man’s fag for him, he decided he’d better get one for himself. Something told him that whatever this was about, he wasn’t going to particularly like it. When he’d taken a lungful of smoke and breathed it out without the other man starting an actual conversation, Thomas decided that he’d better take the initiative or else Gordon really was going to wind up doing the entire paper himself. “Look, Rouse, what is this about?”

The other man was leaning against the stone wall that went along the edge of the road, helping to keep the bluff in place during high storms. He tilted his head back, staring up at the sky, and said, calm as you please, “According to certain people we’ve talked to, you have a bit of a past with the Duke of Crowborough.”

Thomas was suddenly very happy for the cigarette. Warily he answered, “Yes.”

“What would you say to his coming here?”

The question caught Thomas like a blow to the gut. If he’d had smoke in his mouth, he’d have choked like a novice. “Here?” he demanded. “I’d say no, absolutely not. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“You don’t,” the other man informed him, blowing out a plume of smoke.

Thomas stared. Two years and he’d started to feel settled. To feel safe. Now the doctors were going to drop Phillip into his life? “Damn it, Rouse, I am not leaving this island, I was here first!”

Rouse chuckled, although there wasn’t any humour to it. “Well, glad to hear that, and not just because you’d take our tobacconist with you.”

“You’re serious.” Thomas wasn’t sure he’d ever hated anyone so much as he hated Rouse right then, except maybe Phillip himself. Even Carson hadn’t left him wanting to punch something this badly. Then something hit him. “Oh God. The VIP. He’s going to be here next week?”

“Calm down,” the other man replied, still studying the sky, and Thomas was vaguely aware he’d shouted that last bit. “It won’t be next week, it’ll be the week after. Maybe the week after that. There are things to attend to on the mainland. We gave told you at the paper now so there’d be lots of time for people to get used to the idea.”

The words coming out of the other man’s mouth refused to make any form of coherent sense. “What, you mean you’re giving us his name for the paper?” he half spat.

“Yes.”

“Why? You never do that!” Everything about the situation was so irregular that Thomas half expected the other man to say it was a joke, except this was Rouse. He’d never be that sadistic.

“Look, Thomas,” Rouse sighed, finally looking down and meeting Thomas’s gaze. “You’re hardly the only man on this island who’s going to be less than pleased to see His Grace. Hell, I’m none too happy about it, and I’ve only heard about the man. I think Lord Hexham’s the only one who knows him hasn’t reached for a proverbial pitch fork when we told him about it. We’re giving everyone as much time to come to terms with it as possible.”

“But there’s nothing you can do to stop it?” Thomas asked, feeling deeply betrayed. After all, Rouse had fought the idea of Lord Hexham coming here, and he was one of the nicest toffs Thomas had ever run across! Still a toff, of course, but at least willing to chip in where needed, and he didn’t look down his nose at you. And the other man had still insisted that if they were going to take him, they had to take Gordon. Now though… Thomas couldn’t see behind the scenes, but it seemed like he was giving up without a whimper. From what they’d been told, there wasn’t even another working class bloke coming to balance things.

To his utter shock, the other man replied, “I’m not trying to stop it. Not this time. He maybe a toff and an utter ass, but…” Rouse paused, taking a smoke, then shook his head. “I’m a psychologist, Thomas. I can’t just say no this go around. There’s more to it.”

“What more could there be?” Letting go of his temper and his volume both, Thomas flat out started screaming, his fists balling at his side. “Damn it all, Rouse, do not tell me you’re letting bloody Phillip out here without telling me why!”

His protest earned him a worn out look. “Do you want me to start telling details of your life to anyone who asks?” Rouse countered. “All I can tell you is that he’s not coming willingly.”

Thomas didn’t buy it for a second. “And how do you force a Duke?”

Rouse shook his head, still not divulging any further information. “Look, I’m not asking you to be happy with it. I’m not asking anyone to be happy with it. I’m just giving you warning and asking that you not punch him the second he arrives, all right?” His expression became very pointed. “If you do, there will be consequences.”

Consequences. For punching fucking Phillip. No man on earth deserved punching more, but naturally Thomas would get in trouble if he did. There was proof that even on the Island, some things never changed. “Right,” he spat, eyes narrowing. He forced his fists to unclench. “Noted. May I go now, Doctor?” He threw the title like an insult.

Rouse eyed him for a moment, then sighed and shrugged. “Yeah, you may go.”

“Thank you.” Thomas spun on his heel and stalked away from the other man. The entire trip back to the print shop he kept remembering things. Phillip’s laugh. Phillip’s smile. The way Phillip kissed him.

The sight of his letter’s going up in smoke.

The look on Phillip’s face when he asked if Thomas wanted to stay.

Why?

Why after all of these years was fucking Phillip being brought back into his life?

Dr. L. would do it for the money, Thomas knew, except Phillip didn’t have money. Not unless he’d gotten married and his wife died and left all of her millions to him. Assuming there was something of her millions left and it hadn’t all been spent on the estate.

But why Rouse? Why the fucking hell would the island’s representative of the working class welcome Phillip with open fucking arms? And why would they tell everyone it was happening, but not why it was happening?

Thomas slammed the door of the press open hard enough to rattle the hinges, stalking through the front room and giving the inner door the same treatment. Gordon must have heard the first slam, because he was already half way through the room when Thomas made his entrance.

The younger man took a quick step back. “Here now, wot the hell are you het up about? We’ve got a paper to finish.”

“Fuck the paper,” Thomas spat, earning himself a gobsmacked look. “Fuck the paper and while we’re at it, fuck Rouse! Come on, leave that. We’re going to the pub.” He didn’t even check the time to make certain they’d be open. For this, Tully would let him in as a friend, and probably give him as much whiskey as he wanted.

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction #thomas barrow #frank rouse #terrance gordon #the duke of crowborough #wip #island of the gays #fanfiction of fanfiction #fighting frustration tooth and nail here

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chateautae · 4 years ago

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flirt | pjm. (m)

➵ summary : park jimin is a notorious flirt, but so are you. when you both meet at a party after weeks of back and forth, it’s a matter of time before somebody gives in

➵ pairing : jimin x reader

➵ genre : college!au, sexual tension, smut, pwp

➵ rating : 18+

➵ word count : 4k

➵ warnings : super suggestive flirting, alcohol consumption (both parties able to consent), swearing, light dom and sub themes, soft dom!jimin, brat!reader, little bit of brat-handling, dirty talk, praising but also degradation? it’s hot i promise, use of slut, slight body worshipping, mentions of oral, jimin is hot and yes that’s a warning in itself, breast play, unprotected sex, penetrative + rough sex, bit of angsty sex, creampie cause i seem to not like it any other way

➵ a/n : and my first jimin fic is here!! dear god i love this boy to the moon and back so i got a bit carried with him lmao, hopefully this isn’t terrible cause i still need to edit it but your support and feedback are always appreciated!! <3

2 hours.

2 hours since you first came to this party. You’ve bumped into at least a hundred people, danced your legs numb, God knew how many and what concoction of drinks were inebriating your system and still, you hadn’t seen Park Jimin the whole night.

The only reason you even dragged yourself to this party was because of him. You were initially bailing on the annual ‘one-last-hurrah-before-midterms’ party because you, like everyone else here had midterms haunting them Monday. It was Friday night and as the ever diligent student, you were planning to study over the weekend.

Though your nagging best friend Hoseok had other plans, threatening you to come with every piece of dirt he had on you until he finally sprinkled Jimin’s name into the mix. You couldn’t lie, it was the only reason you decided to hell with your education, wiggled into a barely-there dress and waltzed in with Hoseok ready to take the night on.

But when you hadn’t seen Jimin at all, you were left annoyed, pissed off and with a headache raking your brain.

Seeing him was a selfish desire, one you’d develop after realizing you had met your match when you first encountered Jimin. You were always fairly notorious for your flirtatious habits and touchiness, a sort of trademark of yours and the same was always said about a ‘Park Jimin’ unknown to you, sometimes described to be an even bigger flirt.

It automatically intrigued you, curious of what kind of rival you secretly harbored until one day, you chanced upon Hoseok who just so happened to be with Jimin.

At first, you didn't think Jimin could be a daring flirt. He had this sweet smile and disciplined way of speaking that screamed innocent to you, his mannerisms and demeanor shy and introverted. He didn’t make big moves and so you wrote him off as just that.

But it wasn’t until you started seeing him outside your class’ building, alone, and multiple times after that, enough for you to realize he was anything but shy or innocent.

You ended up observing that a) he was sex on legs, b) easily flipped between the persona of an angel and a demon and c) anything he did could seem flirting.

You two hit it off without a hitch, your flirtatious tendencies meeting to form a relationship of mutual interest. It was clear as day, both your actions almost always held some sort of unknown intentions behind them, your every saying a double meaning.

It became the norm between you two, anytime you met turning into a conversation riddled with innuendos, suggestive lip-biting or eyes that couldn’t help but wander. And you weren't stupid, you could tell he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. You two were dangerous, testing the limits of either’s control, hoping someone would give in and only left disappointed when nobody did.

So when Hoseok mentioned this party, and graciously added Park Jimin’s name to it, you knew this was your chance. A party with buzzing bodies, loud music and copious amounts of alcohol was bound to set him off, especially if you were dressed scandalously and felt bolder with liquid courage pumping through your system.

But it’d been 2 hours, and you hadn’t seen him all night. You were taking another shot in the kitchen, sulking by yourself and reflecting on the fact that you’d been duped by Hoseok. This party became useless to you, a mere waste of your time as you quickly discarded your cup and began stomping out of the kitchen.

You ventured further into the house to look for Hoseok’s 5’10 ass, tell him he’s the worst best friend for lying to you and that you were leaving this disappointment of a party.

You stepped around people mindfully, dodging them until you rammed smack dab into someone’s back, scrambling for an apology before looking at the unaffected victim.

Park fucking Jimin.

“Y/N!” Jimin beamed, holding a drink in his hand as he smiled widely.

“Jimin, hey! I thought you didn’t come tonight.” You attempted biting back your smile from finally finding him, shouting over the bass of the music as you met him on the dance floor.

“I just ran late. You know me, of course I’d be here!” Jimin raised his drink to his plump lips and sipped, stepping side-to-side in rhythm with the music.

You couldn’t make him out that well, the disco lights of whatever lights system the only means of seeing him in the dark, but you swear the smirky grin on his face as he scanned you over wasn’t just a figment of your imagination, ecstatic that you already seemed to be reeling him in. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, I already had-” You didn’t get to finish your sentence as someone’s raging body stumbled into yours suddenly, sending you off balance until Jimin reached out for you cautiously.

“Woah, easy there.” Jimin’s arms quickly held you, flashing a scolding look at the person who bumped into you and pulling you towards himself. “Are you here with someone tonight?”

“Yeah, Hoseok! I was looking for him.”

“Why’s that?”

“I.. wasn’t having fun, so I wanted to leave with him.” You swiftly masked the real truth, your voice becoming less of a shout as Jimin encased you, just a few centimeters between your bodies as you peered up at him, cheeks flushed with heat and alcohol.

“Leave with him? Damn, didn’t know you two were like that.” Jimin flashed you a suggestive look, raising his eyebrows.

“Shut up, you know we’re just best friends.” You both erupted into a fit of chuckles as you hit his chest, your hand smacking against his jacket and now that you were close, registered what a meal he looked like tonight; ripped black jeans, plain white t-shirt underneath a distressed jean jacket, all pulled together sexily by his tousled hair, small hoop earrings and a Chanel necklace decorating his neck.

Dear God, how many times you’ve ached to kiss that pretty, pretty neck.

You internally groaned, habitually drawing closer to him as you enjoyed the warmth of his body, nostrils filling with the familiar scent of his intoxicating cologne.

“So I hear you wanna have some fun.” Jimin perked up, eyes amused and hands smoothing over your sides slowly after faltering from your arms.

“Are you suggesting I’ll have fun with you?”

“Of course, gorgeous, but up to you how we do that.” Jimin stepped dangerously closer to you as his voice lowered, your face tucked into his chest as his body blocked other people from touching you.

Excitement shot to your center at his use of a pet name, a common occurrence during your exchanges though his choices of which always an added thrill.

“And what if I just want to leave and eat at a diner instead?”

“Then I’d definitely take you, food and you? A win in my book.”

You cocked an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Adding me to the mix suddenly makes it a win? I’m not the one on the menu, Park.”

Jimin’s eyes seem to blow out, leaning down as his plushy lips ghosted your ear as he spoke, tone darkened, “We can change that, princess.”

A thrill shot throughout your body, hyper aware of his lips mere inches from your face as your heart began to race, turning towards him expectantly.

You began advancing slowly to decrease the gap between your mouths, feeling him inch forward in response, letting him hover just above your lips for a tease before you stopped, “I’d like to see you try, Park.”

Then you abruptly turned out of his hold and walked away, making it through a few people into a hallway, allowing yourself to breathe. You loved teasing Jimin, it was an incredibly entertaining pass time but dear God, did it knock the fucking wind out of you.

You were mentally recuperating from the fact that he almost let you kiss him, distracted as you stepped away until someone suddenly snatched your arm and pinned you against the nearest wall. You were honestly shocked to see Jimin, surprised he actually took your bait and stayed on your trail to stop you. His dancing eyes held nothing but greed, evident even in the darkness of the party.

“You know just how to test people, don’t you?” Jimin warned as he narrowed his dangerous eyes at you, holding your hot-skinned wrists against the cool wall.

“Of course I do, it makes things fun and last time I checked,” You brought your face to his and left only an inch between you two, “that’s just what I want.”

Jimin visibly grew less tamed, glancing down towards your lips as he tried breathing controllably, “Careful what you wish for, princess. It might come true.”

“And if that’s what I want?” You titled your head expectantly, licking your lips as you watched Jimin bite his own. He eyed you the whole time, making it a statement to drink you in every inch of you.

You could smell the alcohol on him, assuming liquor was the only driving force behind his actions but then contemplated his level-headedness, his coherent speech and clear judgment in this moment.

Jimin was choosing to chase after you, choosing to not let you go after weeks of incessant back and fourth and you knew you were finally getting closer to exactly what you wanted.

Park Jimin giving in.

“You’re fucking hot.” Jimin commented, eyes eating you up hungrily.

“You’re hotter.” You grinned and leaned back against the wall, cleavage unintentionally popping out for him and Jimin’s look immediately shifted, bringing his body closer against yours.

“You look submissive as hell right now, is that what you like? To be dominated?”

“Only if you like to dominate.”

Jimin could feel the reigns on his control snapping, biting down to contain his raw desire to fuck you. He’s been holding himself back, knowing you seemed willing on your end of the interactions but never wanting to take the leap in case it was all just an act.

But as he watched you go along with his every comment, staring back at him with the same devious eyes and practically offering yourself to him in his hold, he knew you weren’t acting at all.

“You talk a big game, but can you put your money where your mouth is?” Jimin leaned his hips against yours, ensuring you could feel his growing hardness.

“My mouth can do a lot of fucking things, Park.” You jutted your hips into his.

Jimin shut his eyes frustratedly before he re-opened them, a downright obsidian colour taking them over.

“Go the fuck upstairs.”

“Wh-”

“I said, go the fuck upstairs.” Jimin demanded, looking at you with conviction so searing you in fact did become submissive.

“W-which room-” You didn’t complete your question as Jimin’s deft hands encased you and lifted you off the ground, bridal-style.

“Jimin-!” You exclaimed.

“Say another word and I’ll make sure you feel me in your throat.”

You immediately swallowed your mouth shut as Jimin cluthed you to him, core alighting with desire as he carried you up the stairs. Jimin arrived at the second floor and rushed towards the first room with an ajar door, shutting it with your feet after entering.

He made towards the bed and practically threw you onto it, stepping away to lock the door before leaning against it, arms crossed and serious.

“You sure you want this?” His voice came out considerate, no haste or pressure.

“Yes, Jimin.”

“You’re completely sure?”

You nodded incessantly.

“I need your words, Y/N.”

“Yes.” You affirmed, unintentionally becoming submissive as you awaited him, and Jimin couldn't resist you, not any longer. He made towards your smaller figure on the bed and immediately crashed his lips onto yours, knee sinking into the mattress as he leaned over you, splaying you onto the bed.

He held your wrists against the sheets, kissing you open as his plump lips worked tirelessly against your mouth. He continued to swallow you, opening up to catch all of you as he sank further downwards to feel your body arch into his.

His wet tongue glided over your lips and you welcomed him in lightspeed, letting his muscle entangle with yours hastily and you instantly loved the taste of him.

Jimin’s kisses began deepening, exploring your mouth like he was dehydrated and your mouth was fresh water. His thigh began pressing against your core and you moaned into his mouth as Jimin disconnected from you, panting for air.

“Don’t fucking do that.” He voiced frustratedly, his full lips swollen and pink as he tried to contain himself.

“Do what?”

“Fucking moan, it does shit to me.”

“Sucks for you, I’m responsive as fuck.” You snipped as his sudden confession made you hot, squishing your thighs together. Jimin took notice and he flashed a look at your core.

“Responsive, huh?” Jimin let go of your wrist, sliding his hand down your body before pressing his fingers to your heat through your dress. You instantly gasped, arching as you felt your walls clench around absolutely nothing.

“J-Jimin.” you warned him weakly.

“Mm?” Jimin paid no attention as he lowered himself to your neck and began kissing, tonguing, sucking at a spot that had you cowering and squirming underneath him.

You groaned as your free hand tangled into his hair, hugging him to your neck as you basked in the glory of his plush lips devouring you. He was laving and nibbling at your skin, continuously kissing the area of your carotid all while rubbing his hand against your clothed cunt. Jimin began rutting his body against yours, the tip of his cock prodding you the more he moved.

“Fuck you, Jimin. This isn’t fair.” You moaned breathlessly

“As fair as it gets, princess. You wanted to see my try, yeah?” Jimin suddenly stopped his movements on your core and slid his hand up your bare thigh, only to shift your stained panties to the side and glide his fingers all over your bare pussy. You gasped Jimin’s name and tugged at his hair harshly, the alcohol hazing everything over with sensitivity and trying to sustain the sheer amount of pleasure he was rewarding you.

“N-nothing’s fair about this.”

Jimin smoothed the pads of his fingers over your slick core, eliciting your incessant gasps, “Fuck with my ego and I fuck with you, baby.”

He was leaving purple marks all along your neck and chest, moving down to the valley of your breasts and you whined headily, hating that he had such an advantage in this position.

You immediately grew bold enough to push him off by his chest, detaching him as Jimin looked at you confused. “Y/N, what the fu-” was all Jimin could get out before you stood up and gripped his cock through his pants, his breath immediately hitching. He looked at you with surprised eyes, growing weaker in your hold as you walked him back against a vanity in the room.

You had no clue who this room belonged to, but you could care less when you were minutes away from getting fucked by Park Jimin.

He let out breathy little moans as you palmed him, shutting his eyes in bliss as he turned harder by the second, leaning back against the counter. You planted your lips to his neck and mouthed fervently, making sure you embellished his skin with your desire for him. “F-fuck. Y/N, this isn’t fair.”

“Fuck with my ego and I fuck with you, baby.” You mocked him and began rubbing at his shaft, sucking hickies onto his pretty neck and licking over the areas your teeth grazed. Jimin continued groaning, hugging you close to him as he fisted his hands against your body, trying everything to cherish the pleasure he felt.

The person he’s been desiring ever since he heard about you, his every nerve thrilled by your ability to counter him, match his energy of constant flirting and testing the waters, venturing further than him sometimes.

You were just so tempting and Jimin wanted every last bit of you.

That sentiment increased when he felt your hands snake towards the belt of his jeans, unbuckling harshly with need so apparent he wanted nothing but to stuff your walls, now.

“No, fuck off, getting inside you first.” Jimin denied your hands, capturing them in his hold.

You instantly whined, “But Jimin, want you to fuck my face.” You pouted into his neck, kissing along his collar bones as you rutted against him.

“Fucking God, I’m destroying you for that.” Jimin wrapped you up in his arms and switched the positions, shoving you against the vanity, your ass on the edge of the counter as Jimin stood in between your spread out legs, lips meeting yours again.

Jimin lifted the skirt of your dress up and over your backside, pooling around your waist as his hands slid over your fleshy thighs to the band of your panties. He pulled only to snap them back against your skin, the contact making you gasp.

“Why the fuck are you still wearing these?”

“And why the fuck are you still wearing clothes?” You chastised, hands greedily shoving his jacket off him even with your mouth attached to his.

Jimin didn’t allow the action to compromise your kiss either, practically ripping his jacket off and breathing hard against you as he threw it away. He then pulled his t-shirt over himself, revealing his toned, lean body underneath and only leaving his Chanel necklace hanging over his bare chest. You licked your lips at the sight of his smooth and pretty body, the outline of his abs like a work of art.

You reached out to touch him, his face and skin flushed with lust as he watched you. “You’re so hot, Jimin, so pretty.” You praised, eyes ogling him.

Jimin smirked proudly before speaking, “Your turn.”

He searched for the zipper of your dress and unzipped hastily, peeling away the top to reveal your naked breasts and now it was his turn to ogle at you.

“Fuck me, you’re prettier.” He huffed out, eyes blown out entirely.

“Probably not as pretty as your cock, let me suck.” You pouted playfully and pulled him closer to you with the back of your shins, hands greedily feeling up his bare chest.

“Only good girls get to suck my dick.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you’re a fucking brat and a half.” Jimin started kneading your breasts, licking his lips as he watched you spread your legs wider for him and lean your head back out of pure bliss.

“I am not a brat, you just fucking take 10 years to get it on.” You snapped back, moaning in between at the way he groped your breasts, rolling the buds of your nipples with his fingertips.

“Sorry I was a fucking gentleman, didn’t know you were such a cock-hungry slut.” Jimin bit as he planted his thick lips to your perched nipple, eliciting curses from you as his tongue began swirling around, sucking teasingly.

“You just can’t fuck, isn’t it? All bark and no bite?”

Jimin scoffed darkly at that, sucking harder on your sensitive nipples before letting go with a pop. “I’ll fucking break you is why I kept holding off, you’ll regret this, princess.”

“Break me then, Jimin, please. Fuck me like you say you will, I need you.” Your arousal became unbearable as you grew hornier, rocking your hips against him for friction while he laved at either of your nipples.

“I will, baby. Get these off and I’ll fuck you so good.” Jimin tugged at your panties and you lifted your ass for him to discard them.

You unhooked Jimin’s belt and shoved into his pants, pulling his boxers and jeans down until you finally freed his leaking length, thick and throbbing to be treated.

What you always thought was right, his cock was pretty just like him. You graciously pumped him, spreading his pre-cum over the head as you watched him lean his head back, kissing under his jaw.

“So pretty, Jimin, just like you.”

Jimin stopped caring about any and everything and instantly grabbed one of your legs, spreading you wide open for him and situated himself before your entrance.

He brought a hand over yours pumping his member and moved you quicker against his hot flesh, looking down at the lewd scene and your pretty pussy aching for him.

“Look at you soaking, baby, so much prettier.”

You moaned needily, the back of your shins urging Jimin closer to you again as you whined. “Jimin..”

“Raw?” he breathed impatiently.

“Fuck yes, birth control.”

Jimin didn’t even take a millisecond before he was pushing against your hole, placing the hand that was pumping his member now against your pelvic bone, pressing down to feel himself sink inside of you.

You instantly careened, moaning out so loud that if there wasn’t music blaring in the house, everyone would know how stuffed Jimin made you feel.

“Fuck-Jimin! Stop doing that, it feels too fucking good..!” You nearly cried, the pressure of Jimin’s hand making you feel any and every ridge, vein and hardness of his thick cock, your walls drinking him in.

“Fuck you, this is what you get.” Jimin blurted as he buried himself to the hilt, groaning satisfyingly at your warm walls hugging him before plunging to make out with you.

Jimin began fucking you with conviction, determination to drive you insane for him as he spread you open. He thrusted fast and hard from the get-go, neglecting to set a pace knowing how much of a cock-loving brat you were. His thumb resting just above your clit dipped down to lightly play with your bud, tease it, all the while licking into your mouth and thrusting into you.

You gasped hard, so much that Jimin’s name was the only thing coherent within them and he swallowed all your sounds with his lips. Your body was on fire at the drag of his cock, shocked at how wet you were when he hadn’t even fingered or eaten you out, his cock doing all the work, leaving you only thinking of Park Jimin’s sheer power.

You wanted all of him so badly, wanted him to ruin you, destroy you like he said he would, fuck you open like he always insinuated he would.

“Jimin, please, harder! Fuck me like the brat I am, teach me a fucking lesson.”

“Princess likes it hard, huh? Want me to fuck this pussy up? Make it all mine?” Jimin’s words were so filthy they had you clutching onto him tightly, arousal gushing from you as Jimin impaled you harder, snapping into you.

His thumb continued its onslaught, your walls convulsing to his every stroke as you gripped his shoulders and kissed him, biting his plushy bottom lip as he fucked you harder.

“Mm, Jimin, fuck!” Your tits bounced as he pounded into you, taking his every thrust like a champ and he damn well shook the entire vanity, continuously drilling your hole as he gave no room for mercy. Your hands snaked into his hair and tugged, making him groan in approval and he only pushed you open wider in response.

“You pretty brat, look at you getting what you want. Fucked like the cock-loving princess you are.” Jimin breathed against your mouth, his skin slicking with sweat as he worked tirelessly against your opening, battering your pussy with an unforgiving speed.

“You would’ve gotten your dick sucked, but apparently-” you shuddered breathily, “I w-wasn’t a good girl.” You felt weak from his repeated onslaught, the bubbling pleasure in your gut keeping you going.

“Yeah, so fucking behave and maybe I’ll let you choke on my dick.”

“Y-you stop playing games and maybe I’ll let you eat my pussy.”

Jimin only ticked his head to the side as he chuckled darkly, starting to propel his thick cock into your gut and raging at your clit so roughly, you gasped as you carved your pleasure into his skin. Jimin did the same as he bore his fingers into you, a hand squeezing your thigh harshly as he held your leg and your walls fluttered around him, moans growing higher in pitch.

“Jimin! I’m gonna-“ you didn’t even complete your sentence as your walls clamped around him, orgasm washing over you so quickly you barely realized it came. You clenched him like a vice and panted hard against his mouth, Jimin finally coming undone as well, spurts of cum painting your insides and filling you to the brim, certain he’d leak out of you for hours.

You felt stuffed, so full of him you were hazed over with post-orgasm bliss, mind unwinding from any trifling matter on Earth. Your forehead slacked against his shoulder as you both panted for air, sweating as Jimin held your weak body in his arms.

His cock remained shoved inside you, the throbbing letting up on both of you as your highs settled down.

“You..” Jimin swallowed dryly, breathing. “took me like a good girl. Maybe you can suck me off next time.”

“Next time?” You breathed labourly, turning your face towards his.

Jimin peered down at you resting against him, biting back a grin. “Of course, there’s always a next time with flirts like us.”

#thebtswritersclub #jimin x reader #jimin smut #park jimin x reader #bts smut #jimin scenario #jimin fanfiction #park jimin #park jimin college au #bangtanhq

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pale-silver-comb · 5 years ago

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So I know absolutely nothing about Leverage except what I've been seeing you post lately and I have to admit you're making it look tempting to watch! Can I ask what are some of your favorite things about the show/reasons you would suggest people watch it? And is there really a poly relationship that is canon?

Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. I am going to do my best not to just “asdfghkjl” at you and answer coherently.

In a nutshell, Leverage is about 5 people. 4 are criminals (Parker, Hardison, Eliot and Sophie) with different and unique skill-sets and 1 is an ex-insurance investigator (Nate) who, at one point or another in his career, has tracked down (or at least attempted to) the other 4. The whole show is essentially: man reluctantly reforms 4 criminals to use their criminal powers for good and 4 criminals move into man’s life and stubbornly refuse to leave because, goddammit, now they have morals.

I’ve got a lot of favourite things about the show but the main ones are as follows:

1. Found family. And I’m not talking about loners who come together to fight crime and happen to co-exist to the point where they realise they happen to have found themselves a family. I mean, Nate and Sophie are the Drunk Uncle and Wine Aunt who somehow become Mom and Dad to 3 beautiful criminal children. Mom and Dad love their criminal babies and the kids love them (as well as each other, but we’ll come to that in a moment). You get amazing family moments such as: Mom and Dad packing the kids lunch before sending them out to kick corporate greed’s ass; Mom and Dad giving the kids ridiculously expensive and personal Christmas presents causing their most Grumpy Kid to go very very quiet and soft as he runs off to gleefully play with his new murder toy; the kids interrupting Mom and Dad’s big Movie Style Kiss to ask if they can please keep their new underground layer and huffing and puffing when Dad tells them no.

2. Found family: the OT3 edition. To answer your question, the OT3 is indeed canon, confirmed by the creator. Now, usually, “confirmed by the creator” infuriates me because most of the time it’s a way for a creator to be seen as “progressive” without doing anything to actually be progressive. That isn’t the case here. The OT3 are built up carefully and while it is obvious the creators didn’t originally intend for all 3 of them to become a relationship in the romantic sense, by mid-season 5 we are given a very clear picture of where Parker, Hardison and Eliot are heading in their relationship. There aren’t any kisses at the end to signal this but there are solid marriage vows in not only one but two episodes. (And by marriage vows I mean literal equivalents of marriage vows: “for better or worse” and “’til death do us part”. I’m not even exaggerating). The OT3 also doesn’t need explicit romantic narratives to convey how much they love each other. Their love is laced through the whole show, from the way they teach each other things to the way they respond to each other and work as a unit. The way they fiercely protect and admire each other. Like someone once said, if you need characters to kiss or say I love you to let the audience know they love each other, you are writing them wrong.

Aside from that, each of the parings in the OT3 are just. Gah. They are so well done, with friendship being the solid basis for them all. The creators never expect the audience to assume anything about them or fill in the gaps. They give us their relationships on screen and reference many things off-screen to show us how these relationships continue to build in between episodes.

Hardison and Parker are a canon couple and date in the show: it’s approached slowly and they are so goddamned sweet. They are basically every fluffy slow-burn trope with a healthy dash of mutual pining in the mix. They are basically that quote “love is patient, love is kind”. (I would like to add their romance never becomes the focus of the show or overrides the importance of any other relationship they have with the other characters, especially Eliot.)

Hardison and Eliot are the Old Married Couple and from day one are already bickering and looking at each other/making comments that are found in every UST fic ever (not to mention Hardison has a very good knack for making Eliot grin like a little kid, when usually he’s basically an Angry Little Chef Man). They argue, they play, and love each other plain as day.

Parker and Eliot are more subtle but every bit as wonderful. They have an unspoken connection and understand each other on a level no-one else can. Parker and Eliot are not good with giving themselves over to affection for different reasons (and Hardison plays a central role in helping them realise it’s okay to want it and have it- that boy has endless patience) but there is something so beautiful in the way the two of them come together on their own and develop their own special bond that works for them. Parker and Eliot are that trope where the characters don’t need to speak to understand each other perfectly. They just do. Their love language is a lot of the time non-verbal but speaks volumes. (Parker also likes to annoy the hell out of Eliot and Eliot....just.....lets...her. Because he’s soft. The softest, grumpiest boy.)

I could go into so much depth for each pairing and their dynamics as a 3 but that's for another post.

3. Subverting stereotypes. There is the occasional hiccup in the show regarding stereotypes but ultimately, Leverage gets an A+ when it comes to writing characters and making them 3 dimensional people who are not defined by certain characteristics or events. Nate could so easily fall into the White Man Pain trope where he uses the trauma of losing his kid as a reason as to why he is entitled to act like a dick. Nate is a dick but he doesn’t use his pain to excuse it and I appreciate that. Hardison is a black man who is soft and nurturing. Easily the most empathetic and patient of the group. He’s nerdy, an actual genius, and has the biggest heart of all the characters. Nate is maybe the glue but Hardison is definitely the heart. Media’s usual aggressive, amongst other, racist stereotypes can fuck right off. Parker is canonically autistic (I am sure this was confirmed by one of the creators) and she is not defined by it. It’s not written as some kind of singular personality trait. It’s part of what makes up Parker but it’s only one facet of who she is and not once is her actions, thoughts or feelings treated like a joke. Sometimes people don’t understand why she does and says the things she does but it’s met with patience and fondness over the course of the show. Equally, it’s not met with over-caution. Parker is just Parker. No-one tries to change her. The other nice thing is Hardison, who always makes sure Parker knows she’s amazing because of who she is and not in spite of it. Finally, Sophie is in her 40s. She’s not treated like she’s past her prime. Ever. She’s sexy, smart and never is she pitted against or compared to Parker (who is younger) for anything. Sophie is amazing and there’s never even a conversation of “I may be older but I am still *insert adjective typically associated with younger women here*”. Sophie is possibly the first female character I’ve ever seen who isn’t just unapologetic about her age but has never had to apologise for her age. It’s a non-issue and that’s that. The women on the show are written so well, right down to secondary characters and it’s beyond refreshing.

4.) It’s just fun. The show has a “monster of the week” type format. Except instead of a ghoul or a ghost, the monster is some corrupt wealthy and powerful individual or organisation. The show draws on real-life individuals to do this and therefore closely parallels real-life people and events. It addresses important political, economical, social and environmental issues while at the same time remaining fun and light-hearted. The characters constantly get the chance to play dress up and by GOD do they have fun with it. You get to watch Eliot beat up bad guys in the most delightful of ways, usually after a witty non-sequitur and with a weapon you’d never think could be a weapon. The dialogue and back and forth between the characters is everything. And finally - my favourite thing- the team can never resist striking a dramatic pose after they’ve taken down the bad guy, making sure the bad guy sees them. I mean, they COULD just walk away, satisfied they’ve taken the person down, but nope. They gotta be dramatic bitches 24/7 and pose like they are models for every single month of this year’s Criminal Calendar.

5.) Competence Porn. So. Much. Competence Porn.

Honestly, I could list a thousand reasons for why Leverage is amazing but to list them would to be spoiling so many amazing moments you’d get to discover for the first time on your own if you do choose to watch it. It’s the kind of show you can watch with an eagle-eye and sink your teeth into. But it’s also the kind of show if, you would prefer, put on in the background for something entertaining while you do something else. Each episode is about the job at hand but it’s made up of so many moments between the characters that show how much the creators and writers care about them. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll do whatever it is you do when something Soft and Wonderful happens that makes your heart melt. I am so beyond grateful for Leverage. It’s everything I always wanted in a show. Nearly every show I’ve watched in the past 10 years has disappointed me in some way, usually either because the writers run out of steam or characters who I love are treated poorly or given some kind of unnecessary “shock value” arc. Leverage doesn’t do that. Leverage is what it says on the bottle. Fandom isn’t something I joined because I needed canon fix-its. Fandom only enhances and celebrates an already excellent canon.

#leverage #leverage ot3 #parker #alec hardison #eliot spencer #sophie devereaux #nate ford #talk leverage to me

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duckprintspress · 4 years ago

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How can I write quickly?

I (hi, I’m @unforth) have been asked frequently over the years how I write a lot quickly. I’m a pretty fast writer - for example, I wrote the 5600 words of my May Trope Mayhem fill from yesterday in under 2.5 hours.

First, a little of my personal history for context. I’ve always written, starting from when I was able to string letters into (very poorly spelled) words and (horrible un-grammatical) sentences. When I started trying my hand at serious, professional-level fiction writing, I joined a community called novel_in_90, which was founded by the author Elizabeth Bear. The purpose of novel_in_90 was “to be NaNoWriMo but more realistic.” Instead of 50,000 words in 31 days, it was 67,500 words in 90 days, or 750 words a day. I participated in multiple rounds of novel_in_90 starting in mid-2005, and in 2007 I completed my first (godawful) novel. When I started, even writing a couple hundred words of day took me forever, but it got easier with time.

During those same years, I also got a job that required I do professional writing on a deadline: I was a grant writer, and I only got paid when the grants won. That often meant working fast under high pressure, culminating in the weekend I wrote and edited an entire 40 pages grant that was due on Monday. I think, if I hadn’t had a solid foundation of “regular daily plodding writing,” I’d not have been able to marathon when the moment came...and it came because I had to, not because I wanted to. However, I learned a valuable lesson: I could. Subsequently, I found that, when I had the time and space and was rested enough to use my brain, I could bust out a huge amount. Like, I wrote an entire 150,000 word novel in 17 days.

My personal record is about 200,000 words in one month (it was the month I wrote that novel; I wasn’t tracking when I did that so I don’t know exactly), 25,000 words in a day, and I’ve topped out around 3,000 words an hour. I do know people who can do more...but not many.

Not everyone will be able to do this. Flat out, I MUST preface the rest of this post by saying that. Some people will find that writing fast fits their brain, and for others, it just won’t, and that’s okay. Fast doesn’t equal better, and it isn’t inherently “good” to write fast. Furthermore, even for those who can write fast, not everyone will find the same strategies helpful. I can share what works for me. Try out one item, some items, or all of these - if writing faster is something you want to be able to do, which it certainly never has to be. Use what works for you, and discard the rest.

Sit in your chair, put your fingers on your keyboard or touch screen, and write. You can’t write 1,000 words in half an hour until you write one word, however long that one word takes. I know saying this is obvious, but I’ve been asked “how can I write fast” by people who struggle to write at all...fast can’t be your priority until you’ve got a foundation of just writing. (Honestly...fast should never be your priority, but it might be helpful to you regardless, which can make it worth learning.)

Start small. Set an achievable goal, and make yourself meet that goal (daily, weekly, whatever) come hell or high water, no matter how long it takes you. Keep the goal small at first; you’re not trying to torture yourself, you’re trying to build a skill. If you set the goal high enough that you consistently fail, you’re not teaching yourself anything. And, if you find the goal IS too high...lower it. There’s no shame in working within your limits. Think of it like starting a new work out regimen: you wouldn’t try to run a 10k at a record time if you can’t run a mile slow. Treat your fingers and your brain the same way you’d treat your legs and joints. Give them time to grow, learn, and improve before you try to push yourself.

Trying to write daily is worthwhile if you want to work on your writing speed, because you’ll be forced to try to fit it in as you’re able - that might be ten minutes in your morning, or an hour in your evening, and it might vary from day to day, but making it daily means you have to fit it in somewhere.

Building skills takes time and isn’t easy. For some people, it will come easier than for others, and even when you’re fast, going from “I can write words fast” to “I can write damn good words fast” takes practice and dedication and accepting constructive criticism - speed alone will never be worth more than writing well.

Having a community can help. Ya’ll will check in on each other, cheer each other on, remind each other that missing a day or a goal isn’t the end of the world, and keep each other’s spirits up. If you don’t know other writerly folks online, I recommend Weekend Writing Marathon ( @weekendwritingmarathon ) as a good place to start (I used to be a mod there). Once you’re trying to work up to larger word counts in a day, remember that even writing fast will take minutes or hours. You can’t write 2,500 words in an hour if you don’t set an hour aside. Make sure you’re giving yourself the room and time you need to succeed.

You will probably never be able to do high, rapid word counts every day, every week, every month. The best runners in the world don’t run marathons every day. Set realistic long term goals.

Work on projects where you have a clear idea of where you’re going. I’m not saying “pantsers” can’t write fast, because of course they can, but if you want to write fast, and well, and coherently, to create a first draft that’s in pretty good shape, you’ll do better if you have a good sense of what you’re trying to accomplish with your story. That doesn’t mean you need to do all your world building up front, or have a complete outline (I never have either). All you really need is what happens next. I tend to plan projects - and write them - one full scene at a time, with only a vague idea what’s going to come after. (I’m personally a “plantser,” and the strategies in this post will likely be most effective to other plantsers.)

Visualize ahead of time what you’d like to write...but don’t get too attached to what you visualize. When I go to bed, I plan the next scene I’m going to compose, often to the least detail. I then forget all of it overnight, at least all the specifics, and I’m left with a general sense and shape of what’s to come. You’ll never be able to replicate the “perfect” dialog you pre-conceive, so give up on trying to. Instead, play through the scene and think about the emotional beats you want to hit and plot points you want to forward. If you keep that in mind, you’ll be able to get the words out faster than if you’re agonizing over every word or regretting the “oh-so-great” idea that you’ve since forgotten.

Practice different work styles. If writing every day doesn’t work for you, try instead saying, “this is my writing day each week,” and aim for a lot that specific day, and write little or nothing other days. Try writing at different times of day and on different days, fitting it into your schedule. If you’re beating yourself up for not writing when you “should,” it’ll be that much harder to succeed, so instead, as I said for point 2 - set a reasonable goal that fits your life and working style, fitting it around your other responsibilities, and push yourself within that framework, instead of trying to shoehorn into a style that you “think you should” use to succeed.

Track your word counts, and take notes on how much you did and what project you were working on. If you’re also experimenting with different times of day and different days, make sure you note that too. I personally use a simple Excel sheet (well, Google Sheets, now) - column one is the date, column 2 is “starting word count,” column 3 is “ending word count,” column 4 is “=column 3 - column 2”, column 5 is notes. Pay attention to when you succeed at writing faster, and when you don’t, and consider what factors might have played into your success...and then try to replicate those factors next time you’re doing a sprint. Control as many variables as you can while you’re “training.”

If you find social media distracting, trying getting a web browser extension that prevents you from connecting to websites for a set period of time.

If you find you tend to dither before starting, I find it helpful to run through everything that I might do to procrastinate (check my social media! grab a snack! make some tea! set up my playlist! check my social media again! finish making the tea! check my social media for what I swear will be the last time!), and when I’m done, it’s like, well, I’ve done all those things, I’ve got no choice left, time to write, no excuses left.

If you find you struggle with picking up a WIP, try leaving off in the middle of a sentence at the end of a session, one where you know exactly how it ends - or, leave off mid-paragraph, or when you are positive you know what happens next (and I mean literally next, as in the very next sentence.) It’s much easier to “pick back up” when your first words are super clear. (Do not do this if you think there’s any chance you’ll forget or end up in a situation where you won’t return to your WIP for months!)

If you find you struggle to maintain continuity across multiple writing sessions, try rereading what you wrote the previous day before you proceed. Resist the urge to edit it!

Avoid stopping when you get stuck, even to do research. Don’t know a fact? Add a comment to your manuscript flagging the relevant text, “LOOK THIS UP LATER.” Can’t think of a word? Put in something you can use the “find” function on easily (I personally use “XX” since there are no words that have a double x in them) and so you can come back later, search for your chosen placeholder, and fill in the blanks. Not sure how a scene ends but know the next scene? Jump ahead.

That said, if you really don’t know what happens next, you don’t do yourself any favors by pressing on. As I’ve said previously, speed alone should never be your writing object. It’s better to slow down, consider your plot, figure out where you’re going, and then write, than to just plow ahead - or at least, that’s better if you want a manuscript you’ll actually be able to use for something at a later point. If you’re truly just practicing, you can also say “screw it, who needs coherence?” and keep going. I’d personally never have finished my first novel if I’d spent a lot of time worrying about making the pieces fit together and yeah, it’s a mess, but it’s a mess I wrote instead of a mess I got stuck on and never completed.

Don’t move the finish line. If you’ve set the goal of 500 words a day, don’t beat yourself up if you get 550 because you think you think you could have done more. If you say you’ll write five days a week, don’t get mad because you DID have time the sixth day but chose to use it on something else. If you make yourself feel like shit when you succeed, what’ll happen when you fail? And when you’re comfortable and really think you’re ready, change the goal - reassess every month, say, and up your goals. While working for speed, trying upping your word count goal without changing the amount of time you allot for working.

Your need to adhere to the above suggestions will change over time. Once, I always had an outline; now I often don’t need one. Once, I wouldn’t let myself stop even to use a thesaurus; now, I find I can look up words without breaking my flow or significantly slowing myself down. This is not an “all or nothing” prospect, nor is it a “do things the same way forever once you’ve found one (1) thing that works” prospect - you’ll experiment, and find strategies that work for you, and then at some point, your needs will change, and you’ll experiment more, and find new strategies that work for you, on and on, as your skills grow.

To reiterate: writing fast should never be your objective in and of itself! Greater writing speed will come with practice and as a general side effect of improving your craft. Simply being able to write fast is useless; being able to write fast and well will enable you to get more of your ideas out there, so if that’s something you’d like to accomplish, focus on building your general skills and training yourself to be able to use those skills rapidly and in tandem with each other to produce decent writing, in a first draft, at a decent speed.

Once you try, you may find none of this works for you! That’s okay. That’s good! You tried, which means you learned something about yourself and your own writing style, and that too will help you to improve. Keep experimenting, keep learning, and find what does work for you - and accept that no two writers will ever be the same, and one of those differences will be writing speed. Some writers will never write fast, and that’s doesn’t make them any less awesome or valid. And some writers will always write fast, and that doesn’t make them inherently awesome or valid. Only with a suite of skills that suit your individual life, personality, work style, writing capabilities, goals, etc., will you succeed as a writer (for various, personalized definitions of the word “success”); speed is only one of those potential skills, and not one that’s particularly important in my opinion...yet I still get asked about it fairly often, so here we are, these are my suggestions

Go forth, and write some words! <3

#duck prints press #writing advice #original content

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