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lavenderhateswritting · 3 months ago

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I’ve always like the idea of Batdad working at the Asylum when he and Bruce get a divorce but then one day on patrol Batman gets hit by a fear toxin and Robin is not around so the Asylum picks him up and Batdad helps him

The days drag on in Arkham Asylum. It is a monument to the grim state of Americas mental health institutions. Everyone thinks that Arkham Asylum is filled with the worst of the worst and sure the Joker and his ilk have graced the halls more times that can be counted, but there are people here real people who needed real help. Nobody wants to give them that help though to scared of the possibility of murderous psycho clowns and not worried nearly enough about those who have no one else who can help them.

You weren't a fighter, but in these halls you could find some way to help even if it was just a little. Helping people through their wost moments and helping them get their lives back was the ultimate goal and you worked at it everyday of your life.

Of course the main trouble makers could never give you a break. Scarecrow had decided that he wanted to break out and gassed the entire asylum as a parting gift. Great just fucking great. Now you're stuck in your office with a gas mask on trying to wait for the air filters to kick in and finally filter out the fear gass that had been released.

You needed a plan for tomorrow. So many mentally fragile people who were exposed to fear gas made to relive some of their worst traumas once again. You reached to pinch the bridge of your nose before you realised that the gas mask was still on your face. You needed to start thinking about what you would have to do to help your patients through these next few days of recovery.

A pounding sound at the door of your office forced you out of your thoughts. That wasn't right. The all clear signal hadn't been gven over the speaker which meant that Batman, Robin, and Nightwing hadn't contained Scarecrow and it wasn't safe to come out of your office yet. No one was supposed to be able to get this far into the building during a lockdown. You were trapped in your office with no way of getting out.

The pounding at the door continued louder and louder almost frantic at this point like whoever was on the other side was desperate to get in. God what if one of your patients had been left trapped in the chaos of a breakout. High on fear gas with no idea what was going on or where to go. Then again it could also be one of Scarecrow's goons trying to rip you a part and display your head on the gates outside.

You were going to have to make a decision though because whoever was out there was going to break the door down and then you'd have no way of keeping yourself safe during this breakout.

"Y/N!" Was yelled from the other side of the door followed by more crazed pounding. "Y/N! Please" You froze. It was Bruce and he sounded scared, desperate even. This could still be some kind of trick, but the situation was beginning to become more and more clear.

You inched your way towards the door just as you heard what sounded like something or someone being throw at it at full force over and over and over again. Bruce was throwing his body against the reinforced door. Bruce who was trying to stop Scarecrow with Damian and Dick. Bruce whose voice wasn't muffled through a respirator or gas mask. Bruce who was probably high on fear gas right now. Bruce who you haven't seen or spoken to in nearly 5 months.

"Batman is that you. You need to stop." You finally said while you stood around 6 feet from the door.

"Y/N! Y/N I'm here I've got you, I'm going to save you this time I promise." His voice was shaking like he was crying and couldn't hold his calculated facade any longer.

"Batman I'm fine, but you need to stop tryin to break down the door okay I-I'll open it and let you in okay, but you need to calm down." Your hand is hovering over the locking mechanism for the door not bad considering it's been able to hold off a berserking Batman.

"I'll save you, I'll protect you I promise." He sounds like he's having a breakdown on the other side of the door, but at least he's stopped trying to break the door.

You unlocked the door and then finally turned the knob. The door almost immediately collapsed inward because of Bruce's weight leaning against it you were never a weak man, but he was 6'3 and 200 lbs. When he finally realized that he was standing in front of you Bruce tackles you to the ground almost immediately.

You yelp as you're forced underneath the sheer mass and size of him. He's looking down at you now his cowl was still on, but his mouth was completly visible so you were right then no respirator or gas mask.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I couldn't protect you I'm sorry." He's crying and tears are starting to flow down past the cowl and he's trembling on top of you.

"Batman I'm right here see I'm okay." You try to reassure him, but it's nearly impossible.

"No, no I couldn't save you, I couldn't protect you, all I've ever been good at is hurting you. You were right." He's dropped his head onto your shoulder and now his entire body is covering you completly.

"Bru-Batman you're just not well right now do you have an antidote for the fear gas." You've started to drop your hand down to his utility belt trying your hardest to reach towards the areas where you remember him keeping his antidotes only to find them completly empty.

"No, I'm a failure of a man I couldn't even keep you safe." Okay then Bruce isn't going to be of any help then what else could you do.

"Batman do you have your comm still on." You ask him if you're lucky his comms still on and you can let whoever is on the line know that he's in your office and needs an antidote. Bruce, however, has gone nearly completly nonverbal and is simply shaking and whimpering on top of you.

Okay one last thing you can do then. You reach your hand slowly along the edges of the utility belt until you finally found what you were looking for. An emergency beacon. You click it and then allow yourself to relax where you were. There was nothing you could do, but wait here for help to come. You reached up and began to rub slow circles into Bruce's back as you waited for help to come. You don't even think he could feel it mostly it just made you feel like you were actually being useful in some way.

Finally after what felt like hours you felt the presence of two people in the doorway to your office that you hadn't been able to close when Bruce came in.

"Welp, I guess that does make sense." You heard Dick say from the door way. "Sorry about this Y/N we lost track of him and couldn't get in contact." He's walking closer and until he's finally bending down in front of you in the Nightwng costume with a respirator over his face.

"Its no problem Nightwing just please give him the antidote and get him off of me. I've lost feeling in my legs." You can see the smile begin to spread across Dick's face when he looks at you two together God this was all so much easier when you didn't have to interact with Bruce.

"Come on lovebird time for your medicine." Dick said as he pulled a syringe out and pulled down Bruce's cowl. He injected the antidote into Bruce's neck and then turned to call toward the other presence in the doorway. "Robin come help me get him back to the batmobile okay."

So that's who you felt in the doorway the new Robin pads over towards you and Bruce.

"Tcht. Father this is unbecoming of a man of your standard." You can see him out the corner of your eye the grumpy little face he has on reminds you so much of Bruce it nearly makes you want to vomit.

"Don't judge him to hard Robin fear gas makes you do crazy things." Dick says. He's pulled the cowl over Bruce's face and has begun the process of pulling him off of you.

"Come on Bruce up we go now." Dick has had to physically seperate Bruce's arms from around your waist and is now trying to keep him from wrapping back around you. When they're finally up they slowly start to shamble out of your office together as you begin to pull yourself off the floor.

"I am to understand that you and my father have seperated because of me." You nealry jump out of your skin. You really weren't expecting Robin to still be standing next to you. Dick nearly drops Bruce on the floor out of shock. "Robin that was out of line."

"Its fine Dick really." You look Damian in the eyes. "Is that what he told you?" You can't see the his eyes under the domino mask, but you're almost certain he's rolling them.

"No, but I'm not a fool I know that you were there before my arrival and then you filled for divorcr after I had begun to live in the manor." He talks like a little gentleman it makes you smile a little.

"I didn't leave because of you Robin. I left because of him no one else was at fault and you are a child you had no say in any of this."

"I am no child do not treat me as such I understand more than you likely do. If you do not wish to admit the truth then fine." He turns then and stomps past Bruce and Dick.

"I'm sorry about that. We're still trying to teach him how to be a lot gentler with his approaches." Dick says.

"Its nothing Dick he's a child I understand." You turn your head out the window and can finally see the beginnings of the sun coming up over the Gotham skyline. "It was good to see you Y/N call me sometime you were like a father to me to you know."

"I will Dick I'm sorry"

#dc x male reader #male reader #batman x male reader #batman x reader #batman imagine #batman #bruce wayne x male reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne

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loveinhawkins · 1 year ago

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a cherished headcanon I keep coming back to is that Eddie is very much invested in the school basketball team right up until the graduating class of ‘85 leaves. By an incredible series of mental gymnastics, he tries to convince himself that this has nothing to do with Steve Harrington’s presence on the team.

(And maybe Eddie avoiding the championship game of ‘86 in the near future will have more to do with Jason Carver being on the team, but that’s a sadder story for another time.)

The thing Eddie can easily admit he loves about the bigger games is the fleeting anonymity: while he’s got notoriety in Hawkins High, as soon as there’s a rival school involved he can blend into the crowd for a couple hours, lost in the roar of support.

It’s nearing the end of just such a tournament game when the ball accidentally goes flying into the crowd. Eddie’s reflexes kick in and he manages to catch it before it can take out the back row of the marching band.

The clock’s been stopped for a timeout—a kid on the rival team is injured—so more eyes are drawn to Eddie than normal as they find where the ball ended up. He feels acutely like a spotlight’s on him—holds the ball to his chest almost like he’s a part of the game himself.

A whistle cuts across the court. Steve Harrington.

He’s looking right at Eddie, raising his hands for the ball.

He has more than enough time to say something, some jeer that would well and truly break the spell of anonymity. But Eddie knows underneath the knee jerk worry that it’s not Steve’s style; it’s more the kind of thing Billy Hargrove and his ilk would do, and he’d thankfully been benched at halftime.

Eddie inhales then throws the ball, praying that he doesn’t end up smacking Steve in the face.

He doesn’t, thank God; Steve catches the ball smoothly, manages a thumbs up in thanks before the spotlight shifts back onto the game.

Eddie quietly sighs in relief, loses himself in cheering again.

They don’t win, but it’s still a good game. It’s like Eddie’s reasoning for campaigns: not everything needs to be an all-out victory for it to be entertaining.

The parking lot is a nightmare so he contents himself with waiting it out by his van while the worst of the crowds clear. It’s only when he hears a car door opening and closing nearby that he realises Steve is parked right next to him. Of course, of course he—

“Good catch back there, Munson,” Steve says, tossing his gym bag into his car. He notices something on one of the seats—Eddie can’t tell what it is, but he hears Steve mutter under his breath in benign exasperation, something about, “Dickheads, I keep telling them not to…”

“Yeah, thanks. All my years of training finally paid off.”

Steve makes a face at the build up of cars, chatting parents leaning out of their windows. “You could’ve been on the sub-team.”

“Kinda resent that you don’t think I’m star player material, Harrington.”

There’s the beginnings of a grin on Steve’s face. He has no right looking that smug for someone who’s just lost a game, Eddie thinks.

“Dude, I can hear you. You’re loud.”

Eddie wills his face not to flush. “You’ve got no proof.”

“Nah, just firsthand experience.”

“What, do you have ears like a bat?”

“Nope. Don’t need that to pick you out.” Steve chuckles to himself as he gets in the car, sits side-on to face Eddie as he speaks. “You’re worse than Tammy Thompson’s singing.”

“Uncalled for,” Eddie says, firmly locking away the part of his brain that’s screaming in embarrassment, because if he’s unable to fire off a comeback, he’ll actually never recover; he might as well go and tell Higgins that next year is already a wash, because he has to go and live in the woods—

“Hey, c’mon Munson, I didn’t say it was bad.”

“You implied it,” Eddie says, totally overselling the entire thing, like he’s been greviously wounded.

It works; Steve laughs, shakes his head.

“I didn’t,” he insists as he reverses out of his space. “I just meant it’s… distinctive.”

“Wow. Thank you.”

“That’s your whole shtick, man, don’t act like that wasn’t a compliment.”

“Sure. Eddie ‘Distinctive’ Munson, that’s me.”

And post-game sentiment must be in the air, because as Steve leaves the parking lot, he calls out the car window, bright and teasing, “Hey, maybe I’ll miss the cheering!”

But Eddie can’t be sure. Unlike Steve, he might be mishearing things.

#what if we noticed each other in high school but pretended not to and nothing mattered but also everything kinda did ❤️#pre steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

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jjklvr9 · 1 year ago

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𝐇𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

-> 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 ��𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

18+ minors dni !!

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

genre: smut, oneshot

warnings: dom jungkook, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, cursing, unprotected sex, do let me know if i missed anything!

wc: 2.2k

a/n: this is a one-shot i wrote a like yearssss ago lmao, its been up on AFF but i wanted to post it here too! it's a little bit rushed but i hope you still enjoy <3

“What are you staring at? Come on, dance with us!” a high-pitched female voice broke you apart from your long thoughts. It was a Friday night- meaning everybody would be heading over to the club, going wild and getting themselves wasted. Your two best friends along with their boyfriends forcefully made you, the only one left single pringle and too-awkward-to-mingle- to tag along with them to the club tonight. Not that you had any other plans that night but being your boring awkward self, you didn’t really like to go out to these sorts of things. It was rather too loud and crowded for your liking, making you feel all breathless and weak.

“Hey, come on!” one of your beloved best friends called out to you again, her body still grinding ever so roughly onto her boyfriend’s. Your lips curved into a slight smile and you shook your head, indicating that you were just alright sitting there all by yourself and watching them have their fun. Empty glasses and drinks were scattered all over the table yet of course- your glass was left untouched. No, you were certainly not planning on getting home wasted and getting a hangover the next morning. It was too much to bear with and you had no time to deal with those ilks of things. You leaned your back onto the sofa, your eyes observing the much-crowded place when suddenly- a lonesome-looking guy sitting on the sofa next to your group caught your attention. He was like me too, you thought as the young man was just sitting there, his back resting onto the sofa as well.

Without any hesitance, you decided to head your heels over to his side and probably make a new friend by the end of the night. As you got yourself closer to him, you finally saw his facial features clearly and holy shit- he was one fine young man. “Uhm, hey.” You slowly greeted him, only to be responded with a confused look written on his face. “Do I know you?” His voice. It was husky as you thought it would be and damn, you found that to be hella attractive. “No.. but I want to know you..?” With that he lets out a soft chuckle past his lips, none of it with any sarcasm. The male pats the space beside him, scooting away slightly to let you sit down. “Thanks.” You murmured, placing your hands on your bare thighs. Now that you were sitting down beside a guy you never met- you felt like your dress was too short and was getting shorter by the second you were breathing. It was showing off your thighs and it barely covered your upper thigh. A single misstep could lay everything bare.

“So, alone?” he asks with a smile, breaking the chain of thoughts in your head. “Uhm- no, my friends and their boyfriends are on the dance floor.” Again, he chuckles. “Same goes for me. Want a drink?” “Uh-no! it’s okay. I’ve had too many.” You lied; not wanting to sound like you were still sober and fresh in a fucking club. That would be really lame and quite embarrassing. “Well, what’s your name?” he asks, his dark orbs meeting yours making you look away and blush. If looks could kill- you’d be dead.

“Y/N”

“Jungkook.” he replies, a smile curving up the corner of his lips.

“Well then Jungkook.”

Before you could proceed with your words, you were interrupted by a group of inebriated individuals stumbling around, likely to be Jungkook's friends. You felt like you shouldn’t be intruding them as you were nothing but a mere stranger, not even waiting for Jungkook to say anything and scurried back to sit on your sofa alone.

Well- it wasn’t entirely your best friend’s fault that you were left all alone. They did invite you up to the dance floor but you were just too lazy. You were not in the mood for random sweaty strangers having their bodies pressed against yours while they utter nonsense to your ears. As time passed, you stole quick glances at the adjacent sofa, hoping to find the young man, but to your disappointment, he was no longer there. You found yourself trying to look for him everywhere when a hand suddenly grabbed your wrist lightly.

“I’m here. Sorry about just now.” It was Jungkook- unexpectedly just standing there right in front of you. “Follow me?” without any hesitation, you obediently followed him out of the noisy club and into his car down the street. You didn’t know exactly what you had just brought yourself into as he drove off from the club. This young man could be a murderer or a rapist-and hell knows what kind of crazy thing he would do to you. “Where are we going?” “My place.” He answers with ease, finally pulling over in front of a tall building. Evidently, his apartment exuded luxury, suggesting that he was likely quite affluent. Jungkook parks his car quickly and brings you up to the elevator and finally to his apartment. Everything was happening so fast, all that you could feel at the moment was confusion. The man unlocks the door, pulling you in along with him but not with much force.

“Welcome.”

His place was rather impressive, adorned in various shades of grey as the main theme, featuring a large window and a snug kitchen. There was also a huge sliding door with translucent paper covering it- probably the entrance to his bedroom. You awkwardly stood beside his couch not wanting to take a seat without his consent and waited for him to at least explain what the hell was going on. Jungkook walks over and plops down onto the couch, his face looking up at you in confusion. “Why aren’t you sitting down?” “I have to go- my friends are going to kill me if they found out I just ditched them like that.” Before you could walk away to the door, Jungkook quickly grabbed your arm-not too tightly to hurt you but enough that made you sit on his lap. The heat on your cheeks was starting to go out of hand- I probably look like a dumb tomato, you thought.

“Stay.” You turn your head slightly to get a better look at Jungkook’s face when he suddenly leans in and captures your lips with his. It took a brief moment before you actually returned the kiss. It was full of passion and lust, something both of you were craving for out of each other. Your hands were now wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you to get more out of his lips. Jungkook licks your wet cavern with his tongue before tangling both of your tongues together, sucking on them roughly. Somehow, your hands had unwrapped themselves and made their way down to his chest; caressing it up and down. Standing up, Jungkook carries you up with your legs wrapped around his waist- your lips still latched together. The young man walks towards his bedroom and gently places you down on his bed, his body hovering on top of yours. He slowly pressed himself onto you, grinding his clothed hardness onto your clothed clit. “Mmhh.” A muffled moan escapes your lips, making Jungkook pull away from the intense kiss, only to leave hard kisses on your neck and even biting it to leave a few marks.

Being all impatient, you brought your hands up to his collar and began unbuttoning his shirt, throwing it away across the room. Your itchy hands then continued to go further down, fiddling with the belt of his pants and finally being able to get that out of the way too. You softly nudged his growing clothed erection with your knee before you unzipped his pants and pushed it off his legs completely, leaving him in nothing but his red-coloured boxers. Having both of your lips still hardly pressed onto each other, Jungkook unzips your dress and pulls it off of you easily- as if it was such a common thing for him to do but you didn’t put much thought about it at that moment. Without wasting any time, his quick hands unclasped your black lacey bra and he too, threw it across the room and God knows where it was now. Jungkook’s eyes adverted from your own down to your exposed breasts, his tongue slipping out of his lips to lick them dry. “Fuck.” He cursed under his breath yet you could still hear them very clearly.

Instead of getting it on to the whole point- you decided you’d play a little game even though you knew you were going to get fucked real hard after. Literally. You held your palms on his chest and pushed him off you, making him roll to the other side only to have you hovering on top of him now. A smirk played on your lips as Jungkook looked at you in genuine confusion with a little hint of excitement. With the smirk still on your lips, you slowly made your way down till you reached eye-level with his growing crotch. “You’re so fucking hard.” You teased, biting onto the hem of his boxers and pulling it down slowly, your eyes locked with his. Jungkook bit his lips as he watched you pull his boxers off completely, letting his erect cock free itself from the heated cloth. “So hard-for me.” You let out a soft yet teasing moan, offering a smooth lick to his hardness. “Fuck-don’t tease me.” He breathed out when you gave another four or five licks. You ignored his words and continued to take his tip into your mouth, giving it a light bite before engulfing him whole; making you gag a little bit. The male’s head was now pulled back with his eyes shut tightly, his teeth biting onto his lips to suppress any sound from exiting. Jungkook didn’t want to sound weak, you see. Failing to keep his posture up together, he finally let out a groan when you started sucking onto him harshly. The pleasured male wasn’t giving much reaction to your doings, making you feel a little pissed off and you decided to leave it at that and pulled away completely when you know he was reaching his peak. “What the fuck!” he yelled, eyes widened in bewilderedness. Both of you were now in a heating tension; one who was pissed off and one who was just literally in heat.

Feeling himself getting hotter and frustrated by the second, Jungkook clutched his hands onto your arms tightly, carrying you away from being on top of him and pushed you down onto the bed. This time, it had a harder impact. You were starting to feel eager to know what he was planning to do with you yet you were also feeling a little scared of what might come out of him. The awaited male shot you a glare before he roughly tore your black underwear and pushed three of his fingers together into you. That sudden action of his made you jolt in pain, obviously not ready for his invasion. His fingers were not like those slim and longed ones, no. They were- not to say huge but slightly plump but fit. You can imagine them by yourselves on this one.

He started pulling his fingers in and out of your wet clit, every push becoming even harder than before. “So wet-for me.” Jungkook mocked you, hearing you moaning out loud when it’s barely him inside of you. Feeling your stomach clenching, you were waiting for him to finger you even quicker but instead, INSTEAD- he pulled them out completely. Before you could yell at him for being a total jerk, he pushed his erect cock up in you with a loud blow; not even wasting time to adjust and went straight into thrusting. Your eyes started to water, your back was arching to its maximum point and you were screaming his name at the top of your lungs at every hard thrust he blew into you.

“Oh fuck me- faster please..!” you squirmed in painful ecstasy, Jungkook not even having to listen to your demands as he paced up even faster than before. “You’re so fucking hot babe..” he breathes out in between his humps, hoping you would be able to hear them even though you were busy getting pleasured. “Fuck’s sake- faster! Mmhm..” this time, you moan even louder, signalling that you were reaching your climax very very very soon. “I-I’m going to cum.” Jungkook hitches, thrusting in you hard a few more times before he pulls out and lets the warm liquid flow out and stain the bed sheet.

The room was filled with nothing but the rushed breathings of your lungs and his. After some time passed by, Jungkook finally turned to your side and pulled up the blanket to cover both of your naked bodies. “Hey.” He says, making you turn your head to face his smiling face. “Hey.” Now, both of you were simply smiling, your eyes locked, each attempting to decipher the thoughts lingering in the other's mind. "Let’s have a dinner date tomorrow. I want to get to know you better.”

#bts #jungkook #jeon jungkook #smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #fanfic #bts x reader

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shanastoryteller · 1 year ago

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Happy love day Shana! I would *love* some more of the WWX and Jiang Yanli runaway story! I love it so much!!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Jiang Cheng would very much like to throw all the Lan and Jin disciples out from Lotus Pier because they’re all irritating as hell and even worse when they’re together, but there’s the issue of keeping them from spreading rumors and that Lan Wangji and Jin Zixuan are going to refuse to leave.

Jin Zixuan is fair enough. That’s his wife and child. But Jiang Cheng give anything to be able to kick Lan Wangji into the nearest lotus pond rather than put a roof over his head.

He wants to lie down and not think for a little bit and he wants to hide his face in his older sister’s skirts like when he was a child and he wants to hold onto Wei Wuxian so he can’t leave him again but none of that is reasonable or justifiable or fair.

So instead he watches as they discuss what to do next, how to handle this without kicking off another war.

It’s good to be concerned, and careful, but he doesn’t think there’ll be another war from this, even if they just them back into society with minimal explanation. At least, there won’t be as long as they don’t start killing sect leaders.

Things are different now than they were thirteen years ago.

He has a much firmer grip on his clan and the place of the Jiang in cultivation society isn’t desecrated and limping along. The same can be said of Lan Xichen and the Lan.

Nie Mingjue was an ass last time, somewhat understandably, but both Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen are better equipped to talk him down and pacify him this time. Besides, Jiang Cheng is a lot more willing and able to kick his ass about it if he has to.

While he would very much like to avoid doing anything with Lan Wangji, he knows he would help, that now that Wei Wuxian is back it’s going to be hell getting that asshole out of their hair. They might as well put him to work.

He real problem, the thing that just shoehorning them back in place stupid rather than inadvisable, is the Jin and the minor clans that have clustered around them.

Jin Zixuan and his ilk aren’t a problem, of course. But Jin Guangshan and the older members of their clan that are still loyal to him, which is a rather large amount, don’t like anything that upsets the balance of power away from them and they do their best to crush it. And often succeed.

He wishes he’d known, he wishes the letter A-jie and Wei Wuxian insist they’ve sent had gotten to him and that he hadn’t spent the past thirteen years drowning and curdling in his grief, he wishes they hadn’t had to survive on their own, hiding and lying and running, and that he could have helped them.

But despite all that, he understands why A-jie felt the need to take her son and run from Koi Tower.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #flamingwell #untamed

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ecoterrorist-katara · 6 months ago

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you act like your fandom isn't responsible for shitty racist behavior towards irls liiiike dont be a hypocrite pointing fingers at everyone except your own ilk lmfao

I was initially going to write a snarky response, but upon reflection you sound pretty young and I don't want to get into a pissing contest with someone who is likely a minor. Instead, I'm going to share my philosophy on how I engage with fandom and explain why it doesn't make sense for you to come to my ask box and demand that I answer for people who I don't even know.

My approach to fandom is entirely hedonistic. 1) Fandom is not, and never will be, my personal milieu for activism, and 2) I'm not responsible for the behaviour of people who happen to share my preference in a ship; I can only control what I do.

On 1), I come to fandom for escapism and indulgence, and these two qualities of fandom are completely incompatible with my approach to activism. Activism must be rooted in the real world and often demands doing things you don't want to do. That's like...the polar opposite of what I want to do on Tumblr.com.

Sometimes I incorporate analysis of oppression and justice in my fandom discussions because I find them interesting, but that's still about me and my enjoyment, not about oppression and injustice in general. A lot of my life has been dedicated to structural injustices, whether as topics of study or as systemic forces to organize against (more accurately, I spent most of my adult years striving to combine the academic and the practical facets), so obviously they crop up in my discussions, but my engagement in fandom has never been about activism and I've been quite clear about that. For example, I may talk about decolonization in the context of ATLA, but I harbour no delusions that my salty complaints about Bryke are, in any way, relevant to furthering the decolonial project.

On 2), notice that in my response to your last ask, I never claimed the entire Zutara fandom only consists of people who never did anything wrong. I only claimed that I, personally, strive to behave like a reasonably decent person in my fandom interactions. Fandoms consist of literally thousands of people, if not tens of thousands, so of course people in my (and yours, and everyone's) fandom are capable of shitty behaviour -- but like I said before, I'm not the fandom police. It's not a role I'm interested in taking on, nor one I'm arrogant enough to think I should. I don't try to be a role model at the club or at the grocery store; in a similar vein, I'm not facilitating or curating or shepherding the Zutara fandom. I just hang out here, same as everyone else, and I'm not going to insult my followers & my peers' intelligence by saying "PSA: did you know it's not okay to say shitty and racist things to people?"

My responsibilities in fandom extend to following basic fandom etiquette and interacting with posts and people that don't contradict my values. I sometimes repost salty things about specific ships, or occasionally I'll interact with Zutara antis who come to me, because salt can be fun in moderate doses plus I have post-COVID POTS so I need a lot of salt anyway. Every time I have interacted with a hostile Ka/taang shipper, it has been because they came to my post, my blog, or my tags to stir up shit. Even so, I'd never go to a Ka/taang blogger and expect them to do something. I have, btw, received messages asking me to highlight/expose certain Ka/taang shippers for their politics or things they've said, and I don't publish those either, so there's not a whole lot of fingerpointing going on here in general.

I'm going to stop responding to your asks, but I hope you can reflect on what exactly you are trying to get out of fandom, and what kind of behaviour you think is productive and generative for you. I'm not saying everyone should follow my personal fandom engagement philosophy, but I am saying you can't impose your philosophy onto me.

#can i ask you a question?#anti kataang #anti kataang shippers #anti anti zutara #zutara

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gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan · 17 days ago

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Whirlpool

Author's note: I'm going to be trying to do Mermay 2025.

Summary: Tae makes a splash onto the scene

Warnings: None. LMK if I need to add something

tagged: @sleepyfan-blog @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @i-am-a-dragon34 @ms--lobotomy @jaghatai-khock

tagged: @kit-williams @aprofessionaln00b @bleedingichorhearts @thevoidscreams @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @felinisnoctis @bispecsual, @egrets-not-regrets @finchly-tintinnabulation @nereidof40k

Tae has often wondered what was wrong with himself. He's had certain... desires. Urges- to hunt, and stalk, and kill. In ways that most of his fellow brothers have not. Of course- he's made sure to restrain those desires to something more suitable. He's seen what happens to those who are too hungry for the hunt.

The Martians have them disappear and the Astartes on the medical tracts get new organs and dead bodies to play and tinker around with- that look an awful lot like those missing people. Tae often feels pity for the poor bastards chosen to be Apothecary by Lord Cawl and his ilk.

Often times they have to do some of the cruelest things, when their greatest of desires to help- to heal- to protect and defend. Such is the lot in life for an Apothecary- their training often involves harming more than helping. Fucking ironic that.

He had noticed his claws are sharper- his teeth more jagged. He makes sure to check the fragment of a mirror that one of his brothers found as he shifts his form to look softer- more like the Raven Guard he supposedly is.

This strange shape shifting ability- with the teal and tentacles that him and his batch have... Anong the navy and grey-black show a different story. One that none dare speak of- and if they, do not survive to whisper the words.

Still the shape shifting and sharper teeth and claws help when in battle and needing to rend and bite- to kill and to hunt. To stalk and ensure prey is gone- and dead. The taste of blood sings a symphony of terror and triumph.

'I am alive and you are dead. I survived our dance of death.' He thinks to himself with a pleased smirk.

He makes sure to clean up and sink back into the shadows to stalk and hunt and pounce. Following the orders of the uppity and aloof first born brothers. Who are a crap shoot of accepting and suspicious. Kind and cruel. And often rather aloof and aflutter and stare their high-handed noses down at them.

Uppity fuckers. Despite the fact that they are the same. Well. The primaris are better. Stronger, faster, stronger, bigger. He's seen the jealous-fearful looks. He flexes his hands and claws shaking his head a little.

Some of his brothers are so fussy- and concerned about acceptance and others caring for them. Fearful of appearances and keeping the same. And well. Well. They do have a point. They need to he licks his lips, survival is needed as he swims silently after one of the older brothers- its not funny, and rather insulting, they treat the chicks of the first-born designation with a fondness that the Primaris don't get.

Then again they know the Scouts-chicks- what-the fuck- ever more. And familiarity can breed affection. But the fuckers should be grateful that Lord Primarch and Regent Guilliman gave them reinforcements and not just a little- but for some chapters double their current strength.

Feh. So fearful of the change of culture or what not. "So fucking teach us your culture and history then!" Tae snapped out, "how can we be like you if you refuse to teach us."

"Tae-" One of his brothers hisses and drags him back.

"Sorry sir- he is a little ... temperamental at times." A second brother apologizes.

Tae kept his face from souring, but the look his gives his brothers lets them know that he doesn't like how they are making it seem as if he's the problem, when it's the damned older brothers who only do the barest minimum to teach them then sneer and sigh that they are Too much. While turning around and teaching their First-Born Scouts a lot more. Fuckers.

He wakes up and doesn't recognize the stars of the planet he's on. "Fucking great." Tae swears as he rubs his face and shakes head and he activates his swimming through air as he tries to figure out where he is, what planet he's on. He tries to send out vox messages to his brothers but receives feedback and static.

Tae groans and rubs his face a bit as he notices the color of the ocean- and sees how the seas churn with a wrath he feels. A whirlpool forming nearby. Wisely he keeps away from it and continues to move on.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer #adeptus astartes #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #mermay #mermay 2025 #oc: Tae

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jon-snows-man-bun · 4 months ago

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By Turns

Chapter Fifteen

The closer Eris gets to his goals the harder he has to work to keep all plates spinning. Tensions simmer underneath his new alliances, pulling him into the Hewn City where the impact of Rhysand’s rule shapes the future.

Masterlist

Find this fic on AO3

A/N: Much misogynistic language. Mentions of religious trauma, off-screen violence, off-screen sexual assault, off-screen drug use, off-screen cannibalism. Heavy-handed symbolism. Aisling has a small racism flare up.

Moodboard by amazing beautiful spectacular @olenvasynyt, the light of my dashboard

As I’ve learned how to write these chapters have tripled in length. 2.5k words and calling it good? Who was I, one year ago??

Eris started awake, so certain that the slap Aisling delivered to him had been real that he felt his jaw for tenderness.

The skin was unbroken – of course, it had been only a dream – but… It had obviously been her dream. In his dreams, she lay underneath him dark eyed and desperate, whispering filthy things into his ear. She didn’t slap and claw and cry, or ride his cock so ferociously that – yes, he’d cum in his sleep like he was a lovestruck teen with his first crush.

The fire in the hearth was so hot it was almost blue. Eris groaned, letting the linen bedding fall back, running one hand down his face. He stared up at the green drapes over the four-postered bed and contemplated just how pathetic that was.

In the Court of Nightmares, Aisling had been clever and flirtatious but very self-contained. Whatever Rhysand and his ilk were doing to her, wherever they had her, it was turning her wild and angry.

And vicious. Eris touched his chest where she had clawed him, heart still racing beneath. His cock was still achingly hard – he’d never let a female fuck him like that, but that slap… her blue eyes had been burning with the force of it and she’d been hot and raw with the feeling in his arms. He wished she’d done that when they quarrelled in the Hewn City, rather than slipping straight through his hands.

He huffed out a laugh. He’d been worried about them breaking her.

Eris rolled over, and was met with the solemn eyes of Ticru, the grey hound drooling quietly onto the other pillow.

“You are not allowed to be on the bed,” Eris informed him, which the hound damn well knew. Ticru only sneezed in his face, then grunted and shuffled until Eris relented and scratched his ear the way he liked.

“What will you do when Aisling is here? That’s to be her space. You’ll be ousted to the floor,” Eris mused, as Ticru’s eyes closed in delight. No, the hound’s expression seemed to say, you will be ousted to the floor.

He’d scheduled his entire day for the most unpleasant of the problems that plagued him, thinking to consolidate the suffering to get it over with: meeting with a few of the estate owners in the morning, his brother in the afternoon – a special kind of headache.

Damien had been in the Forest House more of late, rather than governing his own territory on the border with Winter. Eris used the term ‘governing’ rather loosely, given that Damien was often bored by it and absconded whenever possible. After putting him off for a few weeks Eris could do so no longer, finally agreeing to hunt with him as a cover for a delicate conversation. Damien never had anything good to say during these meetings – it was always, always something Eris didn’t want to deal with. He’d been that way ever since he was a youngling, running to Eris for help with every problem, so certain his eldest brother would fix it.

Eris was still mulling on how to manage all the moving pieces while whipping in all the loyalties he needed when he stepped out of the door that lead to the stable yard. The empty stone courtyard greeted him, oddly deserted for the time of day; no horses were tied up on the metal rings mounted to the walls, no grooms or hunt servants on exercise, no hounds baying from the nearby kennels. The only sound was an irate, unhappy horse kicking its stable door rhythmically, somewhere in the stone stables.

Stepping into the mouth of the stable proper, the breezeway with its rows of wooden boxes stretched out before him. No horses hanging their heads over their doors – only his own grey, Bayard, and Damien’s mount already tacked and tied, waiting.

Bayard, who didn’t like to be stood in tack, eyed him impatiently and looked like he was deciding just the angle he was planning on tossing Eris. Neither were kicking, and still the clanging -

“Damien.”

The kicking stopped, and he heard the scuffle of boots on straw.

“Yes,” came his brother’s drawl, a bit muffled. Eris crouched for a moment, glancing down between the row of partitions, and – there, two pairs of boots in one of the stables. Eris hissed through his teeth.

“Are we hunting today or not? You called me here, brother.” Eris threw enough heat on the last word to scald. He could faintly hear some whispering.

“Five minutes,” Damien called, and it took a great deal of maturity for Eris not to set the straw aflame as he untied Bayard.

It was fifteen minutes by Eris’ count by the time Damien cantered up to him on his bay mare, pushing his brown hair off his face carelessly, jacket missing, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He didn’t apologise or excuse himself, merely shrugging as if to say What could I do? Damien breezed past him through the gates, stinking of sex, and Eris followed.

The forest stretched out before him, and as always, Eris felt some tightness leave his chest. The Forest House was oppressive and unrelenting, but the forest itself was the only place he felt himself anymore. The trees bowed and sighed and bent themselves towards him, already whispering, already soft with dappled sunlight.

His forest. His trees. His land. By blood, law, and magic.

“Telling Mother I had a consort was foul play,” Eris said, loosing a deep breath as they rode beyond the wards. Bayard danced underneath him, snatching at the bit.

“And yet you admitted to it so readily,” Damien’s teeth flashed, and his tone was flippant. “You should have come up with a lie of your own, then, instead of using mine. How is the darling boy?”

His name for Lucien, heaped mockingly on Lucien’s head after their mother kept calling him that well into puberty.

“How should I know?” Eris didn’t want any of his brothers knowing Lucien’s business – or that Eris had been in semi-regular contact with him. His brothers were sly, though, and cut from the same cloth he was; Damien was particularly good at knowing what he shouldn’t.

Eris hadn’t seen Lucien since that night in the human lands a few weeks ago. He’d let Lucien and Jurian dig for more details about Aisling and all that transpired, giving a choice few. Mostly to rub Lucien’s nose in the fact that he had a mate whom he had fucked, while Lucien’s ignored his existence and preferred to dig for worms in the mud.

Lucien had agreed to see what he could when he went to Velaris, because Lucien was largely a better male than the six other Vanserras combined. In exchange, Eris would continue to rebuff Rhysand from Spring. It was an easy agreement to make; he was invested in Spring’s stability regardless. The largest landowners that were his staunchest supporters in Autumn were largely all along the southern border with Spring, and had been his allies until Tamlin’s latest failure. They wavered now, their wealth and power hinged on the soil fertility and the potent, latent magic that suffused the seasonal courts. Tamlin’s performance supplied a great deal of that magic, and without it, the magic of the land would begin to falter. He had perhaps a year before the bad harvests well and truly bit them, and his allies would leave him to support Beron who still wanted to expand into Spring.

Eris had wanted to create a proper alliance between the seasonal courts for a while, even before Amarantha; he knew it was a necessary step to balance the dominance the solar courts enjoyed. Damien knew this very well, though; and he knew how much Beron and his circle of ancient, traditionalist advisors opposed it, believing in the old ways of isolation and no inter-court alliances.

“Has he kissed and made up with the beast? Someone needs to put him on a leash. The southern lot are growing frantic.”

“Been in Spring, have you?”

“You know me,” Damien shrugged insolently. “I get around. So does the gossip. I hear an awful lot about you, brother.”

Eris felt his face harden when Damien leaned over and grabbed his wrist, winnowing them – horses and all – to a small glade, bordered with bone-bright birch trees. Eris felt the pressure of strong wards, and then the truth of the glade was revealed to him.

A small wooden hunting cottage, nestled between the birch trees and complete with a small well outside and a lazy curlicue of smoke from the chimney. It was a lesser fae’s cottage, built to a slightly smaller scale than would be comfortable for a High Fae; it was pokey and quaint. Somewhere up north, nearer Damien’s estates, judging by the sudden cut of mountains against the horizon.

Eris had spent more than a few nights hiding in variations of these cottages, left abandoned when the brownies and korrigans that occupied them fled Beron and Amarantha. They made good refuges, particularly for High Fae younglings that didn’t want to be found by furious fathers.

“I need to show you something,” Damien muttered, hopping lightly off his horse. “I don’t….”

His jaw firmed as he decided against whatever he was about to say, then abruptly turned on his heel for the cottage.

Eris studied it critically as he waited, Damien stooping to get through the front door. These cottages and shacks had a natural sort of protection, some of the lesser fae’s distinct magic, which Damien had enhanced and built on. For a long moment, the only sound was the wind sighing around the tree trunks and Bayard chewing his bit quietly.

Abruptly, the wooden door shot back open. And of all the things he expected Damien to emerge from the cottage with, a baby wasn’t one of them.

“You cannot be fucking serious,” Eris barked.

“Don’t swear in front of my daughter,” Damien admonished, but he couldn’t quite smother the frightened look in his eye. Eris was suddenly reminded of the way he’d run to Eris when he was little, a broken vase or torn tunic in his hands. Eris, fix it, please, he’d beg, brown eyes making the same pathetic little expression they were right now.

Damien shifted the baby nervously. Not a baby, Eris realised now as he swung off Bayard, a little older than that. A female. All auburn curls and pale little fat limbs. Damien thrust her at him nervously, shifting from foot to foot.

“How did this happen?” Eris demanded as Damien all but threw her into his arms. The toddler blinked her eyes open muzzily, and Mother help him, her eyes were the exact shade of Beron’s brown. She yawned, then nestled her head back against Eris’ chest, rubbing her face against the green wool.

“Well, I don’t know which hole you like to stick it in–“ Damien hissed as his shirt sleeve caught fire, flicking it out quickly.

Eris waited him out, still staring at the toddler, wishing he could clatter Damien across the face if it wouldn’t rouse her. She carried so much of Beron in her features that it was actually a little frightening – had Beron ever truly been a child like this, or had he sprung out fully formed and already vicious? It was unpleasant to think on.

“Her mother is of Winter,” Damien supplied, inspecting the charred hem of his shirt with a frown. “Despite her looks.”

Eris saw the problem at once – this was an Autumn child, through and through – but still asked, “She couldn’t keep her?”

Damien hemmed and hawed for a moment, drawing closer to stare at the toddler as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

“Well,” he finally said. “She’s already married. So that was a bit of an obstacle, really.”

Eris did punch him then, one quick closed fist to his left eye.

“It is so like you to fuck up my politics for the sake of some cunt,” he seethed, as Damien reared back with a welt over his cheek, teeth bared. “Fuck’s sake, Damien, Winter? Kallias is already tricky enough since Beron –” was a massive prick to everyone and everything and currently engaged in a minor trade war over the price of timber, not that he could voice that aloud anywhere in Prythian – “insulted Viviane, now you’re getting bastards on his nobles too?”

“It’s not my fault,” Damien groused, the toddler starting to kick her legs and squall at the raised voices. “When she told me she was pregnant, she said she was still fucking her husband so we both sort of just hoped –“

“What a brilliant strategy, you absolute prat.”

“- that the youngling would be the father’s, but…” Damien gestured lamely at her, her face starting to scrunch up, sensitive to the anger of the males around her. “And then her husband nearly threw her out. But he agreed to stay married so long as the child wasn’t in his household, so I put her here with Brunna.” Brunna, his brownie servant, who’d looked after Damien since he could crawl – and now, apparently, Damien’s ill-advised by blows. It was as if Damien had forgotten all about the fact that he’d helped hold Lucien down while Lyam tortured his lover. If there had been a bastard baby involved as well…. Eris shuddered.

“Why can’t she remain here? In secrecy?” Why tell me and drag me into this mess at all? Eris nearly shouted, and it was then that the toddler let loose her first wail and the dead leaves beneath his feet caught fire in a little burst of sparks.

“Because of that,” Damien said brightly, looking pleased at the display of magic.

Eris’ body remembered what to do with a child, the same he’d done with each of his brothers. He fell into the slight rocking and patting that soothed them, stroking her hair as she snuffled, deciding whether he’d like to strangle his brother with his bare hands or run him through with a sword.

To father a child while Beron still lived was an act of carelessness so monumental it bordered on criminal. To have no contingency plans was even more criminal, and very unlike his brother; Damien had obviously panicked, if the way he kept studying the youngling like he could turn her icy blonde and blue-eyed was any indication.

“Her mother called her Niniane.”

Brunna wouldn’t be able to look after her safely if she was already summoning fire. That was Vanserra magic and needed to be trained by those who shared the same. She looked up at him, Beron’s brown eyes wide and trusting despite the lingering tears and miserable sniffles. She stared, and very carefully reached out to touch his face – a child who’d never known not to touch the males around her, who trusted whoever held her to comfort her.

Damn him, they were all so fucking stupid. Every one of his idiot brothers, and him too.

“Not anymore,” Eris decided, as her pudgy little hand touched his cheek. “She can’t have a Winter Court name. Call her something else.”

Damien’s face grew less taut at this. “Nynyve?”

The Autumn Court variation. Eris considered it then nodded shortly, making Damien’s shoulders drop slightly. She touched Eris’ face, then her eyes and hands wandered to his earrings.

“He needs to die,” Damien said, still staring at his daughter. “Whatever you need. I’m behind you. Whatever I….”

He trailed off, and such was the grip that Beron held on them that they still couldn’t give voice to it. But Eris understood. He nodded once more, watching as Nynyve grabbed a handful of his hair – a close match to her own, more crimson than her auburn but still undeniable – and shoved it into her mouth.

He’d forgotten this propensity to gum everything. He winced, Damien chuckling as he carefully extracted the soggy lock. She was a year, if he had to guess. No words yet but she was big and curious, nearly ready to walk. Fire at a year old was precocious; her mother must have been a strong magic wielder.

“Your magic came in early, too,” Eris mused, thrusting his niece into his bewildered brother’s arms. Damien took her willingly, letting her grab on to the gold chain around his neck.

“I’ve always been exceptionally talented.”

Eris ignored that. “Before she’s two,” he said lowly, unwilling to part with too much. Damien had exposed himself to Eris, and still, he couldn’t bring himself to fully trust his own brother with the plan he was shaping. It was quick – almost too quick, he doubted it would be enough time to foster more support from the loyalists and the isolationists, but he had his own vulnerabilities to protect. Aisling couldn’t cope much longer, and his nerves were stretched to a wire tautness from every pressure heaped upon him. “Brunna will need to cope until then.”

The hour had come upon her to go to Velaris. Azriel had insisted on waiting until nightfall, despite the politest request she could muster, so Aisling had huffed around the moonstone palace for hours after the High Lord left, only growing more nervous.

She didn’t have a suitable cloak, really – it was one constant temperature in the City, so clothes were more for decoration than functionality. Nuala had tried to press one of Azriel’s on her and Aisling launched it through the window, refusing to wear Illyrian clothing on principle.

Nuala eyed her cropped, gauzy shirt and skirt with clear criticism in her eyes, skimming over her bared waist.

“As you wish, lady,” she finally said, grey arms crossed over her chest in clear opposition. “If you wish to freeze, it’s your choice.”

Azriel looked like he’d like to be anywhere put participating in that conversation, staring resolutely out the window until Nuala huffed and sighed. Finally, he cautiously extended a hand to Aisling as if she’d bite it off, such were her nerves.

Aisling didn’t hesitate to take it.

They stepped through the shadows together, and Aisling could feel more distance than she ever thought possible slip by. It was frightening, especially now that she was aware of what was happening – she could feel the pull of shadows elsewhere, wanting to spit them out, like running down a corridor with many doors. The shadows were all connected in one great web, pulsing and alive and very unhappy that she was caught in it.

She gasped for breath when they emerged, releasing her white-knuckle grip on Azriel’s arm. It took her a moment to gather her bearings. The first thing she noticed was that Nuala had been right, annoyingly, she was freezing cold.

The second thing she noticed was the rain. It was a fine, gentle mist; she could faintly see it falling but she felt it landing, settling in her hair, on her bare skin. Aisling shivered in exquisite pleasure, feeling like a raw nerve. The drops clung to her eyelashes and she was delighted, having to wipe them again and again – her hair was wet, her clothes were wet, what a gorgeous feeling –

Azriel was watching her with what she thought was amusement, or maybe derision. Aisling glanced up at him, and then beyond –

They were on a hill, and there were trees (trees!) behind them that she was desperate to touch but ahead of them, visible behind the Illyrian, was a city. Her city climbed up, all spires and towers with bridges that arched between them, but this city spread out over its foothills (hills!) like a rumpled blanket. A river (not as impressive, they had one of those in the City) wound through it, a lazy dark strand of yarn, curving a meandering path through little stone streets. Mountains (smaller than hers, Aisling estimated) ringed the opposite side, a protective shield, clustering the little city against…

The sea. Aisling gaped, delighted all over again, and she must have made a noise because Azriel shook his head. Well, fuck Azriel; she wanted to look at the sea and be happy. He got to look at it every day. He could be jaded if he wanted to, but he couldn’t tarnish the amazement she felt. It was astounding, stretching out to the horizon, further than she could see in every direction. So much water! And the smell of it all was rich and fresh and new. Aisling wanted to swallow it whole so she could keep it with her forever and always.

Two cities. A precious, delightful thing to have seen. She committed the scene to memory, so she could show Niamh in her dreams.

“Are you ready?” Azriel asked, his cold, smooth voice betraying no impatience. “I’ll fly you to the library where you’ll be staying, if you’re amenable. So you might see.”

That pacified her. Aisling nodded, though she wasn’t keen to go indoors again for as long as she lived. She delicately held Azriel’s shoulders as he lifted her. It felt a bit like she was betraying Eris, to be held by another male, but then again – Eris was over 500 years old and had probably had a long line of females in his arms before her.

The train of thought fell away as Azriel took flight. Aisling swallowed a scream as they left the ground, feeling the muscles in his shoulders flex as the wings clapped like a drum and they were off. It was dizzying, and she made a strangled noise as he banked and the world tilted sideways.

“You don’t need to dig your nails into my neck quite so hard.”

Aisling didn’t believe that for a second, and gouged harder as the world tilted sideways the other way, but the city unfolded before them like a painting she could touch and she forgot to be frightened. The houses were pale stone, not grey like her city but white and sandstone, all marching up and down their hills. She could see different fae as Azriel flew, and see the smoke the spiralled from chimneys, and see all the lights that spilled out over the streets like buttery puddles, and that there were cafes and bridges that cut across the river. Her head swivelled like a top, trying to see it all at once, somehow.

It was pretty.

Azriel angled for the steep hill that edged its way into the city, some building crawling up its side and perching on its peak like a sandstone hat. As they came closer Aisling saw the great marble doors cut into the side of it.

Of course. Underneath another mountain. She gouged her nails in once more for good measure as they landed – how did he not break his ankles? The ground approached very quickly – and he discretely held her arm as she caught her balance, somehow out of breath even though she was carried the whole way. The massive doors, at least trice her height, cracked open as they approached.

“This is the library,” Azriel explained lowly, as they came into a cavernous space. Open, tiered balconies crawled all along the side, layers of an enormous carved cake; shelves of books disappeared up and down. He said the word ‘library’ like it was something holy, when the only thing that separated it from the library in the Hewn City seemed to be its size. He let her look, twisting her head around to take it all in.

A great pit beneath, a carved stone ceiling up above; it was not so different from the City.

“Rhys established it for priestesses to come and learn, but it’s also a sanctuary. Any female who has suffered is allowed to come here, to recover, to heal in safety. You’ll stay here as well.”

He said this with more reverence, and that was when Aisling noticed the blue-clad priestesses flittering like moths, trailing between the shelves and on their way to somewhere. Probably to dinner or to an evening service, it was getting late. A few glanced at them, their faces concealed beneath their blue hoods.

“They’re allowed to read?” Aisling asked, and Azriel looked at her sideways.

“Of course,” he said, voice cold. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because they’re female,” Aisling said. It was rather astounding to her – females weren’t really allowed in the library in the City. They could go if they were escorted by males, but all the males Aisling knew extorted her for the privilege. She didn’t mind paying bribes, but the favours she had to perform were far more costly.

She didn’t really like remembering the things she had had to do, anyways. She could only go forward.

They approached a desk that sat facing the entrance door, the obvious guardian of the library behind it: a female, her face veiled in pale robes, her hands smashed in all directions like crushed bugs.

Not an average priestess, a High Priestess – the blue stones that crowned her hood and marked her as such caught in the golden lights. Aisling curtseyed on instinct. She remembered her own lessons at the hands of the High Priestess in the City temple well enough, even after more than forty years. She averted her eyes to the floor, away from the Priestess’ face, away from her hands, away from Azriel. Was everyone in this place so damaged?

“This is Clotho, who oversees the library,” Azriel was introducing them. “Clotho, this is Aisling, whom Rhys spoke with you about. Aisling, I leave you with her. We’ll speak more tomorrow.”

And with that he was gone, leaving her alone in the hollow mountain where they kept all their broken females. Aisling waited for the priestess to say something, staring resolutely down. The hushed quiet was broken by scratching, making Aisling glance up quickly.

A quill scratched its way quickly along a piece of parchment, which then floated to her – sent by the priestess’ magic.

Aisling took it warily. Do you wish to rest? was all that was written on it.

She toyed with the end of a damp lock of hair anxiously, twirling it around her finger in lieu of a ring. What was the right answer? She felt suddenly overwhelmed, chest tightening and breath shallowing. She was a prisoner here, her situation had not changed. Perhaps they only wished to bind her closer in, until they extorted Eris sufficiently. They could not kill her without starting a war, or at least repercussions. Even if Eris were unable to act, the High Lord of Autumn was prickly and would never allow the profane insult to pass –

Aisling was broken from her spiralling thoughts by another piece of paper.

We do not perform the same rites here as our sisters in the Hewn City. You will be safe here. The lights will guide you to your room, if you take the passage behind me.

The dismissal was abrupt, but she’d rather that than have the priestess look too long at her. Aisling was unsettled by her presence; not by her crippled hands, but by the fact that priestesses pierced the veil between this world and the Mother and that was something to be feared. Few enough mothers were kind or held love for their children, and the City priestesses rarely let you forget it.

Surely enough, the golden faelights lit warm stone passages to indicate for her where to go. She felt as if she were a ghost once more, being led up and around this new mountain, trailing forgotten down an empty hallway. These hallways lacked the ornate, gilded carvings that decorated near every surface of the City; Aisling found it almost austere. A door opened, and she stepped into a room that was all but a prison cell.

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. It was so small – this was surely an insult to her. Did they all live like this? She could walk across the room in four strides one way and three the other. A chest of drawers on one wall next to a door, a single bed pushed against the wall opposite, and a curtain drawn over a window beside it. No rug, no art; this was a room meant for a servant of the Mother and the High Lord.

Aisling crossed the room and flung open the curtain furiously, only to see Velaris clinging to the hillsides below her. Warm, well-lit buildings and cosy streets hugged the hills, criss-crossing back and forth across them, a crowded city square at the bottom. She could see the edge of the river as it wound its way through the city, and she could smell the distant sea, strong even despite the sounds and scents of the city below her.

To buy a window with a view like this in the City – even if it were possible to cut their way through their mountain’s strong magic – would have cost her most of her wealth. The elite of the City would have killed for it, and perhaps only the ten foremost of the forty most noble families would have been able to afford it.

And they were just given one, in these shitty little rooms. At no cost or charge, just to create a safe haven for them. This was a place of refuge for females, Azriel had said; obviously females that had experienced great violence, judging by the High Priestess’ hands and muteness.

Aisling had seen beheadings. She’d seen limbs cut off and tongues cut out before. She’d seen eyes removed with hot tongs, she’d seen males disembowelled in duels, she’d seen a banshee hung by her ankles over the throne room to see how long until she died (six weeks, but the last week the banshee had stopped screaming, so some insisted it had only been five). She’d seen goblins and trolls fight to the death for the amusement of the gentry. She’d seen someone been made to eat a plate of ground glass. She’d seen females be forcibly bedded, heard the jokes about the blood that came from between their legs. She’d seen lesser fae split open and their organs eaten so their magic might be absorbed. She’d been fed and smoked and drank every sort of drug, sometimes by force and sometimes so she forgot the things she did. She’d had a cock jammed so far down her throat she coughed up blood. She’d seen Azriel’s shadows swallow someone whole. She’d been sold like a piece of furniture to Eris. All that, and Aisling had never even heard of this library.

What had these females experienced that was worse? Or was it that the suffering endured by females in the City weighed only half that of those born outside? Aisling knew the answer already, could see it in the High Lord’s eyes when he had come to ask for the Darkbringers in the last war against the King of Hybern. If all the females of the City fled to this sanctuary, then who would breed the army the High Lord needed?

He didn’t want them tainting his city, besides. He and the High Lady sat on their thrones and sneered down at them, made all the gentry watch while they growled and petted at each other. The High Lord looked as if he wanted to grind them all beneath his heel every moment he forced them to endure his presence.

Aisling felt a terrible cold sort of clarity, crisp as broken glass; she knew she could safely wager the entirety of her estate that there would not be one single Illyrian female in this sanctuary either. Azriel had said that – he said they clipped their females so they couldn’t leave their mountains, so they had no choice but to submit to the males around them and breed more little warriors.

Aisling felt dizzy. She pressed her forehead into the stone windowsill, so like her own home and yet a different lifetime away, and closed her eyes until she could breathe once more. Her blood was sour, roaring in her ears until all else was black.

She felt it then. A little tug on her ribs – not her ribs, a tug on the magic, a quick burn like a candle lit up in her heart. Eris, somewhere out there; perhaps looking at the same moon and wondering why she was so angry that she went lightheaded.

Aisling cried then, until she fell into the black pit of a dreamless sleep.

Her first day in the library passed in something of a daze. She had been roused by the chiming of a great bell, and numbly followed the blue-hooded priestesses to a dining hall. She was given a wide berth, marked as much apart by her clothing and bared head as by the way they all kept glancing at her – well, she assumed they were glancing at her. She couldn’t see their faces, but she’d been watched all her life and knew when she was a spectacle.

She attended a service because that seemed to be what everyone did, sitting in the pretty temple-cave at the back. It was all very lovely and charming with its smooth red stone walls, the songs about the goodness of the Mother and the light of the world. A priestess spoke at length about the Cauldron, and how beauty and love and forgiveness were Her gifts and should be treasured in their hearts. It was a far cry from the priestesses in the City, who preached obedience and submission and the divine fulfilment of creation.

Aisling’s eyes prickled with heat despite herself, and she blinked quickly until the feeling passed. She had nothing in common with any of these females, she reminded herself as they all bowed their heads. She couldn’t bring herself to pray for love and forgiveness – she didn’t need either of those, for herself nor to give others – but she did pray for trust and patience. Allow me to survive this, she prayed. You gave me this bond. I trust it is the right path.

A priestess caught her elbow as the service ended, beckoning her to follow by saying, “Clotho would like to see you.”

The high priestess wasn’t behind her desk this time, rather in a cosy office stacked with books and scrolls. Piled high, on every available surface; the stone shelves carved into the walls were all but groaning under the weight. Aisling wanted badly to peruse but fixed her gaze respectfully on the surface of her wooden desk instead. As before, she didn’t reveal her face; instead, the enchanted quill wrote a note instead.

I trust the accommodation was acceptable.

“Of course, High Priestess,” Aisling lied, not mentioning that she cried herself to sleep like a child and suspected the stone floor would be more comfortable than that horrendous mattress. “I like the window very much. You’re very lucky to have such a view. My friends will be sick with envy when I tell them.”

The priestess faced her for a long moment, her face obscured. Aisling shifted under the scrutiny, twisting her signet ring around her little finger; she felt suddenly nervous that the priestess was a daemati herself and was poring through her thoughts.

You may call me Clotho. Aisling would rather cut out her own tongue, actually. The priestess must have seen it in her face, because the quill started moving once more.

We are welcoming here, and do not enforce rank. Some may be curious and friendly to you as we do not often receive new faces. Others have had poor encounters with the Darkbringers and may not be so open.

Fuck’s sake. Had she been summoned here for this, to be dressed down for the behaviour of the legion? The clue was in the name – they brought darkness where they went, as they tended to do; it was the High Lord who had requested they fight. Aisling supposed it wouldn’t be enough that they’d bled for this city; now their sins – and she could guess what they were – were being assigned to her as well. The anger that hadn’t really left her simmered up, hot as Eris’ fire.

“You can tell them I’m being suitably punished for the crimes of soldiers,” Aisling said, ripping the note neatly in half. “I’m sure they’ll be much heartened to hear that.” And she hoped all their windows were shuttered, regardless of whatever they’d endured.

You misunderstand me. I ask that you give them the benefit of the doubt, not to chastise you for things you had no part in. The High Lord told me of your circumstances. I wish for you to feel comfortable and safe here.

Aisling read that note twice, careful to keep her face blank, mindful of the priestess watching her. This was a lie that she didn’t believe for a moment. She crumpled it in her hand.

“May I read the books?”

Of course. You may read whatever you like. I only ask that you do not remove them from the library.

“Remove? As in, outside?”

Yes.

“I may go outside?”

The priestess tapped the word with one swollen knuckle. That was an exhilarating thought, and Aisling was sorely tempted. But first –

She smiled in her best simper, looking up from under her lashes. “Do you keep records of this city here?”

Elain dreamed…. Elain dreamed…. Elain dreamed of a mountain (again, the same? A different one?) that split in two with a mighty crack. Then the mountain was in her hands, and she was trying to fit it together but it wouldn’t mend - the sharp edges grated and splintered and refused to fit, shattering into fragments and shards - then the pieces were of a glass mirror and her hands were bleeding from the sharp edges and she could see her own face fractured into a dozen tiny pieces impossible to put back together. Her hands were slick and clumsy with blood and she couldn’t hold all the pieces, they were getting numb and thick and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do, and it was getting so dark -

She woke with a start, Mor’s hand lightly on her shoulder.

Elain opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was, “Neither see nor feel nor know.”

Mor blinked, her brow furrowing. Her blonde hair was tossing in the wind, silvery-gold against the clouded sky.

“I thought to wake you, the sun is going in,” Mor said slowly. “It will be cold soon.”

Yes. That’s right. She was in the garden, and seemed to have fallen asleep on the bench. Elain sat up quickly and smiled carefully, coming back to her own body now: the sun was going in, grey clouds scudding across the sky in great folds. The trees were budding and the early spring flowers had come up; she’d planted this little bench with that exact intention, nestled amongst tulips and daffodils.

There was a chill, actually. She shivered, suddenly registering how the cold wood of the bench seeped through her dress.

“Thank you, Mor,” she chirped, cringing internally. “The sun was so lovely while it lasted. I’m so pleased spring is on the way.”

Mor was still looking askance at her but seemed much reassured by this.

“Of course,” she smiled. “It will rain later tonight, though. Will that be good for your garden?”

They babbled inanely back and forth for a moment longer like two stupid songbirds, Elain crossing her fingers the whole time that Mor wrote off her momentary madness as just being startled awake.

Elain followed her in through the back door - the one that led into the private family lounge - and stopped shortly, nearly walking into Mor’s back. The blue rug and pale wood floor were covered in glass shards, all sparkling in the daylight;

She was holding the pieces of a broken mirror in her hands Elain forced the vision crowding at the edge of her mind away, smiling so widely her face felt numb. This was just simple, no magic involved - the great silvered mirror that hung opposite the door had fallen off the wall and shattered. That was all. Her magic didn’t need to press in quite so close or insist with such a loud voice.

Rhys was gathering the shards with some magic, sweeping them all into a pile, as Feyre carefully restrained a gleeful Nyx from trying to grab one of the shimmering pieces. Mor picked her way over them, light-footed as a doe, and was gone down the hall with a wave.

Elain, trying to hide the way her vision kept going spotty, crouched down to distract Nyx who squealed loudly in her face at all the excitement.

“Hello, Nyxie,” she said as he stamped his feet. “Did that give you a fright?”

“We didn’t even hear it,” her sister said with a frown as Nyx twisted away from her and flung himself at Elain. “We just came in from the office and it had shattered.”

“I never liked that mirror anyways,” Rhys said, kissing Feyre’s temple fondly. “It was only a priceless antique. We don’t have a painting of just the three of us yet, darling. What do you think? Far better in my view.”

Elain wanted to gag at the thought of yet another painting – was one in every room of the house not enough? - but focused very intently on the view of the garden out the back door to keep that thought from getting fully formed and floating to the top of her mind. Rhys hadn’t noticed, too busy giving Feyre a rather enthusiastic kiss, so Elain quickly scooped up Nyx and stepped out of the room.

Still trying hard not to think of her vision, she narrated to Nyx as she bounced him along in a little gallop, focusing on the words lest either of them eavesdrop on her mind.

“While your Mama and Papa clean that up, we’re going to go make some tea because I’m rather chilly. I think I’m going to have chamomile and honey, perhaps with a slice of lemon-”

“And she’s going to pour Auntie Mor a cup,” Mor chimed in as Elain rounded the corner into the kitchen, laughing at her blush. “I’ll entertain the little bat if you make the tea?”

Elain, still a bit embarrassed, nodded and handed Nyx over.

“I’m back off to Vallahan in a little while,” Mor said, bouncing Nyx as he chattered to them in babytalk. “I can’t stand to be here while we host our delightful guest.” Her sarcasm was so heavy the word practically fell on the floor.

Elain made her best sympathetic face. “Is she so bad?”

“She will be,” Mor said darkly. “I don’t trust them. They’re so….” She trailed off with an angry sigh, brown eyes gone dim and distant. “Well, it’s a new moon at least, so she won’t be showing her face tonight before I leave.”

At Elain’s puzzled look, Mor laughed.

“They do things according to the phases of the moon,” Mor waved her hand dismissively as she drank from her tea. “They’re so backwards. They believe certain phases of the moon are more auspicious for certain things. Weddings always under a full moon, betrayals under a waxing crescent moon. That sort of thing.”

“A first quarter moon always means more murders,” Rhys commented as he swept in, hair mussed. He gave Mor a shit-eating grin as she playfully rolled her eyes at him. Elain’s smile grew taut at the thought.

Mor noted her reaction. “I’m telling you, they’re evil there. And even worse, they’re creative about it. Where your imagination for torment ends, theirs is only just getting started.”

“It will be a shame to lose her line, though,” Rhys mused, more to Mor now. His eyes grew dark as he thought about it, accepting the cup of tea Elain poured him with a nod.

“I don’t even want to talk about it,” Mor said coldly, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “She should stay in that mountain. This is going to go badly for us unless we do something.”

“Her line?” Elain asked pointedly, realising they were already forgetting she was in the room.

Mor blinked, brought out of wherever she had gone. “It’s a big deal for marriages to cross between courts. High Lords are very protective of the magic of their courts and don’t like to let it leave, usually. That’s why we were all so worried about the others finding out about Feyre. This female doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. So once she leaves, all of her magic – just like that, it’s lost to us and now in Eris’ pocket.”

Elain hadn’t heard any of this before. She was starting to realise just how little she knew, and how much she’d blinkered herself by never even daring to ask questions, assuming everyone would just ignore her anyways. Her palms got hot and itchy around her teacup, which she sipped carefully, considering what Mor had said. Rhys hefted Nyx with a groan, sauntering out of the kitchen again, giving Mor a casual goodbye. Elain had to ask now if she wanted to know, before the conversation turned and she lost the moment and looked suspicious if she raised it again.

“What does she do that’s so special?” Elain made pains to ask it as breezily as she could, soaking up what little scraps of knowledge they were casually tossing out as if they didn’t matter - as if she wasn’t hanging on every word.

“Oh, she can put people in an enchanted sleep,” Mor said, inspecting her manicure. “She creates dreams, too.”

Every single hair on Elain’s body suddenly stood on end, and she was careful to slowly, casually, gently put her teacup in the sink and wash it out. Like she would any other day, she washed her hands, dried them thoroughly, checked her nails.

“I, uhm…. I need to go shopping at the markets today. Rather urgently.”

A/N: Nynyve is a variation of the name Viviane, both of which are names for the Lady of the Lake. Bayard is a mythical French horse, who could carry multiple brothers at once. I wanted to give Aisling a bit of a different relationship with religion than we've seen. All three Archeron sisters aren't believers, and none of the POV characters really mention it - but it plays a role in the books, so I wanted to experiment with a character who really DID believe. Like most patriarchal societies, though, I think the Hewn City would use religion as a way to oppress women rather than uplift them like we see in ACOSF. I'm experimenting with how I write Elain's visions, since I'm not really happy with them. She quotes "England in 1819" by Percy Shelley (I think some fourth wall breaking use of poetry is fun, since the visions are meant to be very meta).

#by turns #my writing #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x oc #not my finest work this chapter but at a certain point you stop having fun with it you know

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straycalamities · 8 months ago

Note

Hello, how are you

Why do you Like Entre and Swag?

i’ve been sick almost the entire past week but i think im getting better

do you mean as a relationship? ho boy. well, first of all, seeing as a lot of ships ive gotten into after it end up sharing a lot of similarities, i think its safe to say it became one of my favorite ship dynamics period

this got long fast

enemies/rivals-to-lovers isn’t anything new for me seeing as i dedicated, on-and-off, 8+ years to naruto and sasuke as one of my first hardcore ships that i still enjoy

and in general i just really like ships between characters who bicker and banter a lot (vash and wolfwood from trigun being a perfect example of this) but still being something more significant to each other than either of them truly realize until it sinks in either slowly or forcefully

and especially as i’ve grown older, i’ve gotten more and more and more interested in the intricacies and complications of having two very…hmmm damaged? i guess? personalities trying to find something that works because they need it to

which the other two ships have as well, but in a more “toxic yaoi” way, ya feel? LMAO like! hannibal and will graham from the hit show :) which that came after swagtre but it still stands as it got me to appreciate that aspect of their relationship even more than i did

swagtre is in no way synonymous to hannigram. hannigram is on a different level of delicious toxic yaoi, BUT it goes to show what ive opened up my ship palate to voraciously

even so, that’s moreso the early stage of their relationship, which is fun! but also not the whole story

i guess the main thing that initially drew me in was that i’ve always had a weakness for characters like swag. he’s so full of bravado, performative self-interest, defusing every little thing with a joke, and all the while coming off as a destructive idiotic selfish little brat. meanwhile the truth that resides is much deeper than that. that he does care, he just doesn’t know how, so he does his best which…is easily overlooked because he’s uncomfortable with being seen for being genuine in any way because it makes him feel vulnerable and blah blah this ain’t a swag study

but anyways truffula flu made me like him a normal amount! :)

then there’s entre who wears his heart on his sleeve moreso. he’s always been more honestly reactive, that’s why his mainverse it’s so fun to pick on him, and it didn’t get numbed by the apocalypse all that much. entres also a guy who takes things for face value at first. then there’s also the fact he used to have such a hero/senpai-crush on swag before the whole thing even happened and they’d even became pretty friendly acquaintances

and now he’s having to wrestle with the fact everyone who used to like him, hates him, except dave and bitter. and anyone else that might? probably dead. and of course! why wouldn’t they? his big mistake that cost the world

and swag is the loudest reminder of them all. forcibly inching and digging and clawing his way into entres psyche and mind until he finds himself using all of swags same words at himself during moments of self-hatred. self-hatred that’s been there all his life but now it has a burning world to reference. and swags voice mingling with his mother’s.

and entre may get defensive and bite back and try to turn things around on swag, but he can never truly say swags wrong. because he’s not! entre fucked up everyone else’s lives over a deeply selfish and shallowly thought-through decision. and even if swag is also a capitalist self-serving asshole, well he only destroyed his own environment, he didn’t end civilization as they know it

and that just makes it worse than the preachy “hippie” types that used to nag at him before. someone who’s in his same ilk is now berating him

and while entres never Not risen to rage-bait. he absolutely never took the phrase “don’t feed the trolls” to heart, he also has deeper reasons why with swag he always throws himself at the opportunity to try and defend or twist things, because it’s hitting him so much harder than everyone else (besides 72)

so yes, when swag keeps saying entres obsessed with him, he’s actually right! entre IS and has been since swag forced the jester hat on him and paraded him around camp as a spectacle. one that he can never truly deny that he deserves

i also think we should go back to entres pre-apocalypse feelings about swag because it’s important to note that entre wanted to Be swag. he looked at swag and saw the man he wanted to grow into. maybe less childish and gross, but the charisma behind it all, the way that even despite that, he had so many wrapped around his finger and every word

and the thing with early entre, is he always directly compared himself with other oncelers. sizing himself up against them and like…really it just makes sense right? to him, they were all iterations of himself, achieving and accomplishing or even failing different things. and even if at first the multiverse unnerved him, he started to use it to his advantage. i mean he got 72 to mentor him, he was lifting tips n tricks off others like swag, and he was directly taking notes on how Not to be off others (One, Bitter, Strangecase, Stone (sorry man ilu) and more bc this list is longer than the idol list LMAO)

so thats just more to really hammer in how intrinsic to entres identity swag became and it became more palpable in the worst way in truffula flu

this is all as an aside to the crushing guilt of his giant mistake itself but we all know how he feels abt that

and for swag, i mean don’t take my word here as word of god because i don’t THINK my theory here is confirmed to be canon, but im pretty sure he saw himself in entre as well. like it went both ways. and swag felt fear AND i guess relief? if that makes sense that it was entre instead of him. like this guy is very much Like him and any of them coulda done this, but it was entre, not swag. and that’s why swag is very insistent on not letting entre forget it, because deep down he’s terrified that it could’ve been him if entre hadn’t done it first

and so he looks down on him and beats him even further down as a way to kinda uhhh make himself feel better? except it doesnt. it never makes him feel better but it DOES make him feel not as worse as he could, or thinks he could if he just let the guy go after daring to make such a fool of himself in front of everyone

i think, as much as entre sees himself and how he wants himself to be in swag, swag sees himself in entre and what he doesn't want to be. and entre changes it to him seeing all the stuff he doesn't like about swag, the pieces of him he doesn't want to mimic because he refuses to continue to admit to himself that he still envies and looks up to the man swag is, because even at the end of the world, he's one of the few who seems to have something figured out that works for him. he actually seems to enjoy himself in this hell. he seems to feel free to find happiness and entre couldnt be more envious of that

but then as more and more people crowd into their camp, and they get to a baseline and learn the uhhh capabilities of their survival companions, they also learn to realize that they operate on the same wavelength the most even if neither of them admit it. obviously everyone wants out of this hell, but i dont think any of them tenaciously chase after that ambition as much as swag and entre do, for their own reasons

most of the rest of the camp has taken a sort of acceptance to the situation either in a pragmatic or pessimistic way. and of course nobody wants this to stay the way it is, but they don't have that sort of...all-encompassing fire to find a way to reverse their situations as much as swag and entre. i mean we did have bitter's optimism for a bit there, but he was doomed so like...what other option did he have other than believing in entre, but it was absolutely rooted in nothing. even entre knew that.entre especially knew that. bitter was deteriorating the fastest he'd ever seen it and if he hadn't been able to find a way to slow it down in the other ppl who took weeks to turn, then what was he going to do for the guy taking days?

so all bitter's optimism did was make entre feel sicker with guilt for everything and completely drove the little grip he had on hope into the ground. especially by making him take his first un-turned life. especially because, i think we have to address this here to fully understand why entre goes the way he does afterwards: bitter was never truly bitter to entre. bitter was himself. bitter was the likely future entre saw himself walking towards. out of every other onceler further ahead along from him, successful or aftermath or otherwise, bitter felt the most real for him

bitter was always his own failure even before it happened literally and live right before his eyes. that's always what he meant to entre even in mainverse/pre-truffula flu. that's why he made such a dedication to trying to butt his way into bitter's life. that's why he spoiled him and wormed his way into his heart, because he was trying to put that energy out there that one day, if this were to become literally his fate, someone would do this for him as well. or maybe he'd put enough good karma out there with doing this for bitter, that this wouldn't even become him at all!

that is exactly why entre was so stricken after his death. that's why it hurt and broke him so hard. he didn't know bitter long enough for his cries of "he's my best friend!" to fully be true. if anyone was entre's best friend at the time, it was 72, or dave, or his own mother. it was not bitter, bitter was his pet project. bitter was the poisoned dart that seared in striking him, and slowly ate at him after he was gone. bitter was him fully being unable to run from the consequences and culpability of his own actions. because now this was something that was clearly, unignorably, happening right in front of his eyes and now the blood was directly on his hands

bitter was his future self and his sealed demise that came with it. bitter was his destroyed future. bitter was his own mortality.

entre does come to realize something akin to this later on, but i guess i didn't make it understandable enough because i think a lot of people missed that this was the true narrative going on underneath the surface. which is my bad and on me, i could've done a better job, but ya. this was always my intention and it's a very key part in understanding why entre is the way he becomes and does what he does afterwards

which, back to swag, is his doing to entre. because swag does strong-arm him into and making him believe there was no alternative to entre killing bitter who swag DID, as anyone else did at the time, believe entre's statement that entre saw him as his best friend, but that also meant that was even more entre's problem to solve to him. and it's something entre finds hard to forgive swag for for a while after, even as his own guilt berates him for his own involvement in creating this fate for bitter, there's always that part of him that blames swag for forcing him to actually face the consequences of his actions. because, as most oncelers, entre doesnt like that very much LMAO

and yet despite it all, it still, in its own twisted way, makes him feel the most seen by swag. if that makes sense?? especially as 72 made it abundantly clear he was disappointed in him and didn't even seem to know who entre really was anymore. the survival needs and guilt had warped entre towards a vitriolic survivalist away from that bright eyed young man that he had taken in.

and then of course, nobody else really seemed to want to push a deeper connection with him at the time for this or that reason. so he had dave, who he personally saw as still just an employee so of course dave was with him and on his side, he had that employee loyalty. dave became his right hand, but that also meant that entre felt that he couldnt confide as much in dave because it's hard to explain but it's like...since dave was working FOR him, he didn't want to muddle it up with personal feelings to keep dave sharp. that's what entre thought at the time anyways

and so, for better or worse (mainly worse) who stuck around and kept nosing endlessly into entre's business and his life and burying himself in his side like a thorn he couldnt remove and absolutely couldnt forget. well that was swag.

in this sort of fucked up whirlwind...swag became the most emotionally significant person in entre's life. especially as swag started to show that he DID gave at least half a shit. and after their shouting matches that got swag to admit this little tip of the iceberg or that. entre did get to wondering what else there was going on underneath that. it became something he wanted to dig at to find out.

despite how they bickered and butted heads, entre always felt more comfy telling swag things he wouldnt or would no longer tell anyone else. swag's little bits of sympathy or lightheartedness became little crumbs of something that entre subsisted off of to keep going, because, despite everything, he still looked up to him. he still admired him and what he was capable of and what he could do. and how he didnt seem to let anything that was going on bring him down. he kept his shine.

and for swag (again not word of god here) i think he liked that entre DID butt against him. obviously he had fun with rocky and one. but (and this IS word of god/confirmed canon) they weren't as much his friends as he touted they were. swag struggles creating (and especially maintaining) close relationships. they make him vulnerable and they come with stakes and things to lose. so swag always kept his relationships fair-weathered and shallow. (aside from just not knowing how to be genuinely real and vulnerable with people in a way that COULD cultivate a close relationship) he sure did say and shallowly BELIEVED they were deeper than what they were, but deep down...he had an idea that were push come to shove...he wouldnt mourn anyone as much as your normal guy would mourn his true friends and he felt that it was mutual.

so as much as he ran away from it, swag felt very alone. swag always has issues with loneliness and that's why he throws himself from person to person and has to be the loudest and brightest and funniest in the room. and hey even if you hate what youre hearing and seeing, he's still got your attention. and that can be good enough when it comes down to it. (end of word of god/confirmed canon swag stuff)

but yeah i think that...not that rocky or one were yes-men or anything, but i mean they kinda just worked with his antics and like okay yeah here we go, swag stuff again yay(or nay) but entre always was fighting it. he didnt just accept swag entirely for this way or that, he was always critiquing, always challenging, always prodding back as strongly as swag prodded him. and i think that change of pace is what kept swag coming back over and over beyond the other stuff i said earlier

and like...as the guy at the center of it all, i think even swag said it himself at some point, if anyone knew how to get them back out of this mess it was him. and as swag said: he saw entre as a way better leader than him. even if it personally irked and annoyed him, himself when it happened to him. entre clearly had figured out his stuff and what he'd say had merit (just not with swag who always knew better for himself)

so if entre saw swag as the better leader for his charisma and weird optimism, then swag saw entre as the better one for his pragmatism and his knack for staying rational most of the time. i think that's also why entre's slip in lucidity bothered swag a whole lot because...if entre couldn't be the rational one, they were screwed. he'd gotten used to entre being a kinda...logical pillar to bounce off of, so if he was losing his touch with reality, that was going to doom the lot of them (even him). it's also with (word of god) swag's deep deep fear of abandonment so...if entre abandons his own senses, he's abandoning Swag and that Cannot Happen

this is a whole lot but its really hard for me to explain the why FULLY without dragging out all the nuances and complexities to their relationship because THAT'S WHY!!! it's SOOO complex and there's so many layers and nuances to everything that had to keep working in a certain way to go in a positive direction or else it all fell apart, as we saw, over and over

they both have so many issues that hold them back in ways and then theyre both so damn stubborn that it ended up making them even getting along as FRIENDS a damn slow-burn (and i am, always, a sucker for a slow-burn. one of my main weaknesses in a ship)

you can see they both end up wanting that, even if neither of them would admit it. but they both, as businessmen, saw their cooperation as fruitful for the success of themselves and the camp. it was just all this other baggage going on making it hard

so then we get the hospital. where rocky gets his harsh taste of the reality of their situation and he gets HIS humble pie of his own mortality, pushing him away from swag who remains reckless. and then entre, feeling ostracized from literally everyone and even having a hard conversation with 72 in the elevator, when it all comes down to it, and they seem doomed. he lets himself be weak and falls a bit into swag. and this is where it changes a lot of things for entre. this moment of weakness he was pushed into by fearing it was this or never.

because obviously they get saved and then it's swag losing his foot or getting left behind for zombie-chow and OBVIOUSLY the latter isnt an option so...entre makes that call and then cant go through with it because swag's fear is shaking him to his core in a way he never thought would happen. like he let himself get weak and it's immediately striking him in a soft spot that changes him for the rest of the story

i think it's here where he gets that kinda "oh..." deep deep down. that wow. yeah. swag is much more significant to him than previously believed. that leads into the hardware store where slowly and surely, swag becomes his precious possession. swag's the only one that believes in him. swag's the only one that understands him. swag's the only one he wants to be around. nobody can touch or harm swag but him. swag is his responsibility. swag is his, his, his.

and this is very very poisoned by entre's deteriorating state of mind and emotional health. the man is a long-coming disaster finally starting to collapse on himself. and the centerpin of it all is keeping swag safe and to himself because swag's the only good he sees right now in this hell of a world. swag's words become law in his mind. if swag says he has to be more of a leader, more assertive, he'll take that and run marathons with it. anything to make swag proud of him

because that's another thing is entre has just...always chased someone being proud of him or happy with him. or that he was doing good or whatever. a common onceler problem with the way that Once-ler Mama just Is but yes...it's always been a big deal for entre. he's terrified of failure. and he's terrified of disappointing people who mean something to him. so he'll do whatever it takes to make swag proud and it's not like the rest of thee camp know better than Him what's the Greater Good for them, of course. he's the leader. he's the one who created all this. this is his world and he knows everything about it better than anyone.

meanwhile swag's too fucked up on having his wings finally clipped after leaving off the high of true and total freedom for so long. that he has to stew with no escapism and let the reality of his life as it is now sink in. old ghosts start to catch up to him and new horrors start to sink in. that and the pain meds of course, but through it all, he's still operating on that trust he's placed in entre. entre's a weirdo, but he always takes care of him and spoils him as much as he can. and it makes swag not wanna question, not that he has a leg to stand on (ha) currently anyways when it comes to that. he doesnt know anything going on outside his door. and to be honest, i think that's the part of this shitty situation that he likes. he's clearly tired and been tired of feeling responsible for other people, but he also cant help himself because of his deep need to try and keep as many people in his life as possible because that means the ones that leave have a lot more replacements

but yeah obviously when he gets out and suddenly everyone is his responsibility again and it's up to him to be the hero (in his perspective) he puts entre in his place in the only way he knows how, but at this point...he's reached an understanding of entre and entre HAS become more significant to him than just a business partner. and he's starting to act on the parts of entre he can see in himself and so despite entre fucking up (yet again) he sees it as entre just trying to do what he was guided to in the best way he could manage and swag has little issue just being like ok you fucked up but who cares about that anymore

he has a better understanding on how entre thinks and what he wants (not a great one but a better one) and i think he knows that to endlessly punish entre and leave him alone would just make him way worse and so he decides to stick with him himself (i also think this is also swag's abandonment issues)

i don't think has very recognizable romantic feelings for entre at this point, but entre very much does for swag. so this keeps entre on his feet as much as it can despite the whole spectacle of it being something that'd drive him, any other time, to a long walk off a short pier. but it had to be a spectacle for swag because he had to show to everyone that hey hes here and hes the one fixing things! youre welcome!

but it's still a harrowing experience that strip entre down to the bone and he might be at his lowest he's been since bitter. maybe even lower, but then the prisma event happens and, if entre's event stripped entre to the bone, swag's stripped swag to the marrow

and if there's one thing about entre, it's fixing problems that aren't his own is one of the best ways to keep him moving. even if to anyone else, what swag's been doing this entire time for entre is the Absolute Bare Minimum, in entre's persective, with what he knows and observes from swag, it's worlds and worlds. so when the tables turn, entre feels like it's his turn to give back. and maybe the tables didnt entirely turn on their own, but entre pushed them to. he spun it.

swag was already knocked down a peg by losing his foot, but losing his emotional stability, his comfort, his optimism in this hopeless world. being abandoned by someone that was more dear to him than the others. that slammed him rockbottom. he stopped caring about if people liked him or not because why bother? they're all going to die or leave anyways. i think he knew sooner than we think that rocky was infected, and one was always him being purposefully obtuse. he knew what his fate was. everyone was going to leave him now. and he refused to care about it anymore

shoving everyone away and hermitting in himself. the same careful practices he berated and mocked entre for are things he'd come up with on his own. he was there to be useful now in a direct way. with practical ideas, survivalism, and physical labor. if there was no more joy or optimism, whatever. they were alive. and his joy didn't get to smile anymore so no one deserved to

i think it was the one-two combo of prisma and rocky that really did swag in because, even if i said he doesnt get Actually close to people, he still considered them his. like those are his people and he's going to lose them all. they're all going to leave him behind on this earth that he's been knew for a while fucking sucked shit, but as long as he got to have fun it hadn't mattered, but now he can't

and entre kinda...accidentally did the best thing he could've for swag at this time. he also felt alone, discarded, from the queen piece on the board to a pawn. and so he clung to the only thing he'd found reliability in over and over for better or worse: swag

in general, in this arc, i was working on him taking this giant blow to his ego as a humbling moment to have him kinda try to make amends and create meaningful relationships (or repair the existing ones) with the others in the camp, but being that he thought none of them wanted anything to do with him, his main focus was always swag. swag was the only one besides dave that he thought without a doubt, wanted him around in some capacity beyond being useful

and it's not that entre is a stranger to only being seen for his usefulness, so he bared down into that otherwise, but having tasted the high life...that's why he stuck to swag. he was back to eating those crumbs like addictive delicacies and they tasted even sweeter this time. they end up becoming very, very codependent on each other. they were before a bit too but here, especially so,

but with entre's tanked self-esteem (and it was already pretty bad before) and his sense of duty and taking responsibility, he takes to his role like a duck to water. but it's kinda...funny bc they both become both roles in a codependent relationship??? so it's like...codependency in its most truest realized form lmao

it's starts especially one way but then entre gets sick and it flips the other way, but entre's still trying to maintain the original set-up. this is also where their relationship becomes physical. from affections kept away from others' eyes, to deeper kinds of intimacy. i think with all that they've lost and are doomed to lose, they find their old coping mechanisms (which were never healthy or actually worked either tbqh lmao) just weren't cutting it anymore so then they turned to other things

with like...needing a more direct and physical and raw way to show each other they're still alive, still here, still significant to each other. swag initiates it more, i think, because while they're both on the asexual spectrum. swag's is demi. so this goes to show just how emotionally important entre's become to him, but also i think it's because of yknow...how he was raised. and for him it's more comfortable to do bedroom stuff with entre than kiss him or rub his shoulders. that stuff's "for girls" (too emotionally vulnerable)

and swag starts to show his care as more of...like a direct invasive thing. where he's not going to let entre abandon him too. he's going to somehow make him better and keep him here as long as he can. and entre's taken to rolling over for nearly everyone because he doesnt feel like he's allowed to stand up for himself and this includes swag because it's clear he's doing it because he cares so it's fine right?

and that's kinda where everyone's idea of them leaves off because we never got to go past that. so i get where people, especially those who aren't a fan of toxicity in their ships, would be confused why people like swagtre so much and even for me, as much as i love a good conflict in my ships, i think if this is all it was, i wouldn't be quite as obsessed as i am. because i'll be honest!! it made me sad quite a lot LMAO but i always did it for the bit (story) above all else. because while i wanted entre to say the magic words or do the magic thing or have the magic realization that would fix it all, that's not a good story

but it really is for the later story that i've gotten so caught up. even before we confirmed the Continued story i was always caught up and daydreaming of where this could go

and i just really really love the growth they've had with each other and how many like...jumps in their characters and stuff they've made with and because of each other. entre would not be who he is today in any iteration without some of the realizations i've made through swagtre and same with swag i know with good authority

and it's just like...it takes so long to get even where we ended it. and they have all these weird labyrinthine bullshit things to work through and against and with to get anywhere. and it goes back and forth. forward and two steps backwards so much. but it's just very interesting to study and even reread or reminisce on. and even think about ways it coulda gone differently idk...i just like ships that give me multiple multiple things to chew on and think about. i like to have a full course meal. no shade to people who like other stuff but yea..that's what i personally enjoy. the more complicated, the more difficulty and personal baggage and issues they have to work through to make it work, the better

and i can't say too much on where it's confirmed to go, because that's yet to be seen (smile emoji) but yes...it gets better and idfk i just eat up to people becoming super significant to each other in an apocalypse especially if they started off hating each other?? damn

and it's addictive seeing swag start to come more and more out of his shell. i say his moments of being genuine, vulnerable, real, and raw and caring were addictive crumbs for entre BUT BITCH ME TOO TF!!!

it drives me NUTS (SLASH HUGE POSITIVE!!!!) i love being a driving force to get to see aspects of a character we wouldnt see otherwise. knowing i had a hand in swag learning things about himself and revealing things about himself he would never in other situations...yum...that's the good shit

but yes so concludes my novel on why i like swagtre including i guess an impromptu summary of their relationship

if you made it all the way to the end god damn man...love ya

#anonymous #asks #swagtre #this is long as HELL bc i accidentally just kinda summarized the entire plot of their truffula flu relationship #and gave my own tidbits on entres mindset and my theories on swag's #some of them i know for certain #i definitely missed and/or forgot stuff because i wrote this all in 4 hours but yea #moral of the story: swagtre for life

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joannerowling · 5 months ago

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that g*iman article is so vile holy shit. it makes the stink his fanbase has risen after the podcast even more rancid. at this point im confident that people who are wholeheartedly trying to please the gender movement are either spineless coward or predators who are building themselves a loyal support net. bc even now his fandom still have a problem with victims going to a "terf podcast" and treat it on the same level as actual serial sexual violence. like be fucking real for once. and it took them like a month to start actually taking about the basics instead of running a fucking conspiracy about secret trans rights sabotage.

also, ive made a personal observation. this whole incident has turned me away from good omens book and series 100% the minute I've finished listening to the podcast. I haven't gone back ever since and don't feel any significant loss about it what so ever. Analysing this made the constant moaning about ethics of consuming content from La Sorcière TERF maléfique and producing fan works about it pathetic. if they had any consistent principles, like they demand everyone else to have, it wouldn't be such a tragedy in the first place. I can, of course, recognise that HP probably has a much more significant role for these people than anything g*iman ever produced. but the question remains – if she is so harmful and evil, and she harms you personally, why are you still engaging with her universe and characters? I've read a lot of g*iman to be very confident in saying that his books and comics do contain disturbing shit that is unsettling and unpleasant, and that looks and feels like it was a choice to write it that way. i was being turn away from his works simply because the content was uncomfortable and g*iman was starting to look like a hypocrite because of what he said and wrote. good omens was sorta like the last straw, partially become it was co-written by Prattchet (his attitude towards Rowling soured my experience with his lit too, btw. thnx, Joanne, for sparing me lots of time and nerves 🩵), and it's gone now too. so like, if the hp book are crawling with bigotry that makes them feel unsafe and targeted, why even touch them still? read another book, indeed.

Reading the article convinced me to listen to the podcast (now that it's been added to Deezer i can do that in the train, yeah!), and my god, it's absolutely horrific what these women went through.

But re: your second paragraph. Here's the thing, i don't think clues about writers doing horrible shit out of the public eye are to be found in their work (as Gaiman himself apparently put it, writers can lie). It's not his fiction which should have tipped people of, it's his actions.

Middle aged married man with kids, publically hanging on tumblr, a website known for being full of insecure teenage girls and younger women who find refuge in fandom culture. Plenty of famous men would probably do the same if they didn't fear it'd look suspect, but the fact that Gaiman was bold enough to actually do it spoke of someone who had compulsions he couldn't reign in even if it would have been smarter. And those types are usually the ones who act on their impulses.

The fact that he has high charisma in general. Not just with young women but older writers as well, men and women. He's reasonably attractive for a man his age and very eloquent. Never trust a man who can make that sort of impression on people.

The way he used Pratchett's death and their friendship to prop himself up. Well, that one is touchy i guess, they were clearly friends, but i don't know, i always had a bad vibe about this. Adapting Good Omens was fine, but he pushed season 2 with this "Terry would have loved this, it's the sequel we always planned on writing" angle i knew he was a manipulator who would steep low to get what he wanted.

The fact he never directly attacked JKR, unlike other men of his ilk (like RT Davies or GRRM), only once published that ask of that anon on his tumblr who said she'd plagiarised Diana Wynne Jones (which she obviously didn't). Gaiman just answered "we should always read more of Diana Wynne Jones" or something like that. Sly fucker.

#replies #anon #neil gaiman

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greentrickster · 3 days ago

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Continuing the Optimus Hilux Prime AU here because the original thread is Huge

From AO3

a_real_nowhere_man I feel like the fact that Optimus was friends with Megatron way back when really deserves more consideration for this. Because I honestly doubt Megs and any of the other old guard would actually be that surprised by Optimus reverting to Orion Pax behavior models. after all they saw him back when he was like this the first time, it's simply a return to form. I feel like the really fun possibility is if the Decepticons weren't all aware that Orion Pax legendary civil rights leader and Optimus Prime leader of the autobots are actually the same person. because then you can give them an existential crisis as they realize that a guy they deeply respect has been on the other side the whole time.

...the feeling you get when you receive a comment and just know that this is going to take an entire 'chapter's' worth of space to break down.

Okay, so, to start off: Who amongst the old guard actually know Optimus was once Orion? For this AU, I'm going to go with the answer, 'Surprisingly few.' Ratchet, Prowl, Jazz, and of course Megatron, probably Ironhide and maybe a few other Decepticons. However, overall, while Optimus doesn't particularly hide it, I don't think many people overall actually know he used to be Orion. Like, it's common knowledge that he was formerly an archivist, sort of known that he and Megatron have history prior to him becoming a prime, and vaguely known that he used to be a dockworker.

Megatron doesn't talk about this, obviously, because he's absolutely still hung up on the fact that Optimus 'willingly joined the primes,' as he views it, as opposed to the truth. Which, in this setting, is closer to 'got picked by the Matrix, low-key muscled in when the rest of the government couldn't figure out a way to deny him the primacy, and then decided he might as well try to take advantage of the situation and work from the inside while Megatron worked from the outside, so they could catch the functionalists and their ilk in a sort of pincer move. Megatron's a very emotionally-driven bot, however, so he wasn't (and still isn't) able to see the potential advantages of this turn of events, only the betrayal. He still views the whole thing as embarrassing, painful, and even somewhat shameful (due to having placed his trust in the 'wrong' bot). You do not talk about the 'Dockwork-timus Prime' rumour within his hearing if you want to keep functioning. He probably separated 'Optimus' and 'Orion' a bit in his head at some point, and almost definitely spit out something along the lines of, "You're not my friend, Orion off-lined the minute you started processing" line when Optimus tried to reach out early on.

For Optimus, he doesn't talk about it much because the whole experience was extremely weird and also has a lot of pain and regret tangled up in it. He also assigns more than his fair share of the blame to himself for not handling the situation better (he absolutely sees himself as one of the key catalysts and causes for this millennia-long war they're all trapped in).

And the thing that genuinely makes all this that much worse for Megatron is that this isn't Optimus taking on Orion's old mannerisms; yes, he's got some some stuff going on with how he gets around now, and certain survival instincts just dropped in a way Ratchet does not approve of, but what makes this all so disorienting and horrible for Megatron is that this is still very clearly Optimus Prime, even if he's back in Orion's frame. His manner of speaking, his gestures, his framework language... it's pure Optimus. And worse... it's also pure Orion. Because Orion didn't off-line when Optimus on-lined, they're the same bot and always have been. The movements have been refined and altered somewhat over the vorns as situations shifted and Orion settled into being Optimus, but, even as Orion, he still had that calm way of speaking, that uplifting field, those little quirks of movement only others even know you have.

Orion and Optimus are the same person.

And Megatron hates it. Yes, the initial shock of seeing Orion after four thousand years knocks him off his peds for the first week or so after it happens, because, like. Imagine being in your fifties, and then a member of your friend group swags up for a hang-out and they're physically eighteen again. That is going to knock you through a loop for a bit, and that's without the baggage these two have.

After this comes the energon-curdling rage as it finally hits home that Orion and Optimus are truly the same person, meaning Orion betrayed him on purpose, frag this stupid pickup truck to the pitt!!!! That's going to last for awhile, because no wound bleeds like a reopened one that never healed properly in the first place. After that, though? I think he's going to be forced to sit down and really think about things for awhile.

I think that, long term, that forced awareness could be a good thing for everyone. Like how rebreaking a bone absolutely sucks at first, but resetting it properly and allowing it to heal in its proper alignment makes everything much better in the long term.

Meanwhile, the rest of the factions' reactions!

The Autobots have an easier time of it, just because they've got three commanding officers willing to confirm Optimus's story and also the luxury of learning all this via a formal announcement for the most part. There's a certain amount of shock, a couple of "Oh, so that's why Optimus knew that story/fact/tradition!" moments, and a certain amount of panic over the fact that the boss bot is now a minibot, and therefore 90% more puntable, stealable, and potentially breakable (they just found out, they don't know he's actually tougher than ever like this). There proceeds to be an adjustment period - mentally, emotionally, strategically - but weirder scrap has happened since they arrived on this mud ball, so eh. They're Autobots, when they're not rolling out they're rolling with it. An Optimus Prime that got shrunk is the wash is still the guy who's been doing his best to do right by them for since before this war started, so of course they're going to try to do their best by him as well!

It should be noted, Bumblebee also gets to have the Best Day Ever leading Optimus on a tour of all the best minibot shortcuts through and around the Ark.

Now, as for the Decepticons...? Well that's a slightly more complex situation. Firstly, because they get to find out this has happened during a battle that was going to be your average bot-con conflict until a couple of moments ago when Optimus Prime's voice emerged from a minibot (he got Ratchet to help him retune his voice box, because, of all the things that changed, his voice being different was what really threw him personally (he doesn't mind how he looks, but he was noticeably more comfortable once he sounded like himself again (also, Doylist reasoning, big deep Optimus voice coming out of tiny toaster Orion, adorable, yes, do want)).

Secondly, because Lord Megatron just glitched out from this sight, so that means it's something important, this is either the Autobots' best ploy ever or something actually seriously.

Thirdly, for some of them, isn't that- isn't that that guy I used to know? From back on Cybertron? Something Pax? Wtf, I thought he died?

Fourthly, for a very small number of them, the realization that they were not, in fact, dumbafts for placing bets on the Dockwork-timus Prime rumour being true and already plotting how fast they can find Swindle after this battle.

(Fourth-point-two-th-ly, Swindle just got the horrible feeling that he's about to have to cash out a lot of bets, and he's very much hoping he's just feeling extra jumpy from that last deal he made.)

For a moment, all is silence.

Then Starscream decides he hasn't gotten enough screen time yet this episode and the swooping happens.

"That's not going to work," one dazed 'con comments to a colleague, "If that's really Orion Pax, it's not going to work."

"Why d'you say that?"

"Because I used to freight cargo at Pax's dock back before the war, and one time I saw a guy with a wrecking ball alt take a swing at him - like, a real swing, no holds barred! Sent the little guy flying, half of us thought we'd just seen a murder and were tryin' t' figure out good alibises!"

"Yeah?" another 'con turns to glance at them briefly, "So that happened? Aside from him surviving, obviously."

"That's just- nothing! He just came rolling up a little later with covered dust from the wastes, but that was it. Wasn't even late for his shift!"

This is the point where Starscream starts to land due to Optimus's semi-feral dockworker habits coming through, and Thundercracker's forced to grab Skywarp because, "Come on, time to go get our idiot"

Skywarp: I thought I was our idiot?

Thundercracker: Normally, yeah, but today it's Starscream.

Skywarp: (grabbing Thundercracker's shoulder in preparation for warping) Awesome, I love it when Starscream's the team idiot! ^U^ <3

Once the retreat is finally called this battle, the Decepticon gossip mill goes wild, a lot of misinformation is cleared up, a bunch of new information is spread, old rumours confirmed, new rumours born, Swindle suddenly remembers a pressing engagement he has off-planet, and someone finally thinks to ask Soundwave if it's true that Optimus Prime was originally Orion Pax.

Since, you know.

He also knew Orion back in the day.

So, wait, Optimus really is Orion?!?

Soundwave: Affirmative.

How come you never said.

Soundwave: Unnecessary to pursuit of Decepticon cause.

(And also he found the whole situation weird, intriguing, tragic, hilarious, and rather stupid, but that's for him and his cassettes to know and no one else to ever find out!)

#optimus hilux prime au #transformers #maccadam #optimus prime #orion pax #megatron

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