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tbaluver · 2 months ago

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When They're The MC Pt.2- The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings in order: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, sylus x reader, caleb x reader summary: when you're the love interest and he's the mc genre/tags: fluff fluff + silly + slightly suggestive a/n: hihi lovelies ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i planned on making a part 2 for this a while bc a lot of new content happened last time i made the first one! this time caleb is in this one! the first one will be linked down below if you didn't get a chance to read it hehe ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ ) enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Xavier is actually the lightest spender out of any of them. He occasionally spends a couple money on the Aurum Pass and sometimes buys the Promise whenever your cards are on there. He’ll buy a few packs here and there if he’s close to hitting pity

He would be curled up in his bed, clutching his plushie, pretending it’s you as he finishes the last chapter of your myth. He wishes the plushie he was holding was you, hoping in some way to comfort you in his head and him. He would find your story to be so beautifully written yet SO devastating. Xavier might not sleep for a couple hours after reading your lore, he’ll end up staring at his ceiling as he thinks about it again and again

Knows all about Stellactrum and how to build your character. He would know what stats your protocores need and is almost finished with you DeepSpace Trials

Wishes there was a sleeping quality time feature with you. He’s the type to tuck in his phone as your character and him go to sleep together

Places all your characters plushies on the shelf and the ones that you earned from the claw machine for your desk

The type to not wake you up whenever you’re asleep on the cafe couch. He would only talk to you when you’re up because he thinks you need your rest

Zayne:

He has a good amount of diamonds but is not afraid to splurge for you and your outfits

Lets you wear whatever outfit you want and lightly chuckles when you pull the most silliest combo ever. Sometimes when he’s playing at night he’ll change your outfit to pajamas. He’ll even take the accessories off so your character doesn’t get uncomfortable sleeping on the couch

Lore expert. Knows every single detail of your lore. He knows so much that he would notice the smallest detail in your clothing in your myth and how it connects to the story. He would love the details they put in your character

He didn’t think he could ever desire a character more deeply than he did after reading and watching your myths. You can’t tell from his face, well maybe from the way his brows furrowed and the slight frown on his lips after finishing it all, that he was going through it internally. His character and yours were doomed in each timeline and yet they both try again and again. Every detail of your story captivates him but after all that he needs to take a step away from the game and go for a walk.

He would have an organized desk with most of your things for your character rather than for his own indulgence. Places things on your desk that you might need like a tablet, or a computer, mug, a mirror, a lamp, etc, as if you were going to use the desk in game

Has literally no one to talk to about this game or your lore so he just simply likes and repost/ reblogs to posts he simply agrees on

Rafayel:

Flabbergasted. He joined this game for LOVE not DEPRESSION. Why is his mc killing you on the most important day ever? He’s literally talking to himself and swearing how he would NEVER do that to your character. He would stay in the bathtub curled up in a ball as he pouts for hours because of how sad he got from your lore. He'll let you play just a few rounds on the claw machine after reading your story.

He's wasting no time and he's poking and waking you up the moment he logs in the game

I’m sorry but he’s not letting you pick any outfits by yourself anymore after you chose the worst combo ever. He’ll give you another chance only for you to do it AGAIN. Therefore you lost all your chances to pick anything for yourself again

He would go all out on designing your desk. It would take him ages to decide where to place certain things but he wants to make sure it looked aesthetically pleasing for you

The type to glitch the poses of you and him together whether they were cute or very lewd. He knows how to work the lighting and the perfect angles for you and his character, making him have the most aesthetically pleasing photos out of anyone in the game

He doesn’t like how there’s 5 characters on the banners now and it’s not because he hates the other love interests but because it feels like the more characters there are, the more he’s losing his chances on bringing you home on a 50/50

Will scold you in the cafe when you don’t come home early or at all

Has the Aurum pass and the Heartfelt Vow Promise, only if the base for his title looks pretty. Also would just have a pretty profile in general

Y/N defender for life. People often misunderstand your character SO much from the main storyline saying how you abandoned him and you’re a meanie for selling him out. He’s not afraid to correct people and give them the right information.

Sylus:

Most definitely got your myth pair to R3 for the outfits because you looked absolutely badass in your ripped clothing. He does not need to worry about any upcoming banners from how much he already spent in this game. It doesn't even hurt his bank account

Never in his life did he think he would find such a character or your story to be so captivating and beautifully written, leaving him to feel so empty when he reached the end of your myth. However he did scoff when he saw the kiss scene in your myth fade out. As the myth reached its conclusion, he let out a deep sigh, staring at the screen until his reflection appeared on his phone, reflecting everything that just happened.

The type to immediately switch his nickname once he heard there was finally an update. He wanted to hear what you sounded like calling him sweetie, honey, baby, etc. It was just simply adorable that he caught himself smiling at his screen

He would get bored of the game so fast when he finishes the daily activities and finishes playing kitty cards and claw machines with you. He thinks there’s not much to do other than events and he already finished all your content and grinded whatever material he needs for you so there was nothing else to do.

Sometimes he’ll come back just to poke you and hear your voice and sometimes he’ll mess around in the glint photobooth to imagine more things with you.

Has a LOT of pictures of you and him together. Spends a lot of time in the glint photo booth especially after they updated it with new poses and the gazes. A couple photos found in his gallery are his characters in between your legs on the cafe couch

Takes a while decorating your office and hangs up his favorite pictures of you and him all over the hangs or the walls.

Would flex his R3 five star memories of you on his profile. They would all be maxed out

The type to actually use the mic feature whenever the game lets him use it to sing happy birthday or any other song depending on the event or any other card

Caleb:

Caleb had the game in the beginning to try it out and loved your character in the beginning only for them to yk...BOOM

But your character looked suspiciously a little too good for them to be an ‘npc’ so he was one of the strongest soldiers out there that waited weeks and months for you to be a confirmed love interest. He literally fought for his life in this fandom and he won at the end when you finally got released

Finally he has more content of you than just those four scenes

Day 1 Y/N Wanter and now Day 1 Y/N Haver

Was so into you being protective and possessive over him in the storyline. He could feel his cock twitch in his pants after you said that. He folded when you wanted to keep him there where you only wanted him for yourself. If only there was an ending for that option.

Anyways, reading more into your lore and myths, he continued to feel bad for you. The way you had to go through so many things made his heart ache for you, if only your character could see the puppy eyes he had the entire time. One of the things he loved about his relationship with his mc’s relationship with yours was how they felt like a perfect match. He adored the storyline and how it conveyed and captured the nature of their bond, their love, the fear, and everything else. It only made him yearn for your character more.

It was already the first day of your release and he already almost has all your outfits. He didn't really spend money on this game before until you released. He just didn’t have enough chocolates to get the rest of them

He loves the 4 star cards with his mc and you but he gets jealous whenever he sees them together. Yes that is the mc but that’s not him. He wishes it was him instead

Most definitely jerks off to you working out and strokes to the smallest sounds you make. That small little gasp and whimper you make when he teases you in the cafe? Or just ANY sounds you make in general? Oh his cock is twitching in his pants. Sometimes he’d just cream his pants immediately

He'd actually take your suggestions and actually go out and try what you suggest to eat. Sometimes he'll just even cook it himself

He'd also use the workout feature to actually work out so he'd already have your workout outfit once 30 days passed

The type to get shy and flustered whenever he looks up and catches you making eye contact with him whenever he uses the work/ study feature

Bonus (ALL ): They all HATE the Wanderers that LOCK their health during a battle and the ones that do an animation before you can attack them.

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ first part if you havent read it! it's only all four of them tho bc caleb wasn't out yet! ( xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus ) When They're The Mc

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! Love And DeepSpace Masterlist Pg. 2

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mariasont · 13 days ago

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ALLERGIES AND OTHER LIES - A.H

trying to downplay your illness at work becomes increasingly complicated, thanks to morgan's teasing and hotch's concern.

pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warnings: illness (mild cold symptoms), implied age gap dynamics, dbf!hotch, chronic people pleasing, mentions of parental disapproval, overworking, power imbalance (mild, but like... still), caretaking, mentions of anxiety/imposter syndrome wc: 1.8k request: here!

In your household, illness had been less about care and more about damage control, specifically, making sure your father never noticed the slightest sniffle or shiver.

Showing weakness of any kind had been about as welcome as bringing home a bad grade (below A) or an unsuitable boyfriend (anyone whose parents weren’t well known in your parents’ circle of friends).

Your mother had a mantra of chin up, honey. So, in turn, you spent most of your childhood mastering silent coughs and hiding tissues like contraband. You become an expert, too, in using makeup as camouflage, plastering concealer beneath tired eyes and an irritated nose.

These were the skills you employed again today, transforming your reflection to something more presentable.

Or at least, you hoped.

One might reasonably expect your workplace, filled with empathetic experts who practically radiate concern and affection for you, to be the ideal environment to relax those defenses. Clearly, reason is not a reliable source.

Old habits die hard, or something like that.

You clear your throat again, trying to make it quieter this time as if to be a peace offering for your body, hoping it might abandon its melodrama and remember that once upon a blue moon, you had shared priorities.

Shared priorities like appearing professional, impressing Hotch, not dying of embarrassment in the middle of the office. At least, ideally not before Hotch realizes he’s secretly in love with you, but beggars can’t be choosers.

And to your credit, you know you’re perfectly functional. You're completely capable of performing basic duties. It's only a paperwork day, and all you need to accomplish is sitting upright for the next six hours without collapsing.

Piece of cake, really.

This holds true despite your head's best efforts to contract this narrative, floating dizzily atop your shoulders like an overinflated balloon, packed with cottony static.

It’s as if someone (you suspect Satan himself at this point, no lesser evil would be quite so cruel) is intent on squeezing, testing just how much strain your overstretched rubber can endure before ultimately popping.

But to deem this a real illness would be the sort of overstatement that would’ve set your mother’s lips into a tight, disapproving line.

No, this is just the polite-stranger-on-the-street level of cold, the type you acknowledge with that polite, no-teeth, slightly awkward smile (the one dads exchange at hardware stores), giving it just enough recognition so it doesn’t engage you further.

Though, this strategy of pointedly ignoring your symptoms seems to be failing, if your rapidly dwindling tissue supply is any indication. Most people would say it is. Spencer, for instance. Rossi. Emily. JJ. Morgan.

Especially Morgan.

You wonder whether anyone would care, or even notice, if you slipped out to restock. It’s tempting to steal someone else’s box outright. Desperate times, desperate measures, etc.

Your hand rises to settle against your cheek, fingers pressing and reshaping fever-warmed skin in a hopeful bid to pacify the throbbing discomfort that has nestled firmly behind your eyes.

“You doing okay over there?” JJ asks, fingers flying over her tablet screen without sparing you more than half a distracted glance. “Sounds like you’re fighting a losing battle over there.”

You force out a laugh, but it comes out strangled, undermining your performance before it even has a chance to succeed. Pathetic.

“Allergies,” you insist weakly.

This finally earns her full attention and a look she probably usually reserves for Henry and Michael.

“If you say so.”

You're still mentally fumbling for a better excuse when Hotch steps through the entrance of the bullpen.

Immediately, your spine goes rigid, snapping into proper alignment designed to fool him into believing you're the very picture of health. It's a level of optimistic delusion typically reserved for thinking you'll actually wake up early to run. Or for ill-advised crushes. (Not that the latter has any relevance to you whatsoever, of course.)

Feigning disinterest, you slide the sad, flattened tissue box toward the outermost corner of your desk, secretly hoping it might vanish into some blind spot and escape his notoriously observant gaze.

Unfortunately, Morgan doesn’t have blind spots. You can feel his curiosity practically burning through you without needing visual confirmation.

And when you finally cave and glance over, sure enough, he’s exactly as you feared — reclining with that self-assured smirk of this.

You shoot back an imploring, wordless appeal you hope is conveyed properly in the desperate look on your face — Derek if you have any compassion left in your soul, don’t embarrass me in full view of the human epitome of perfection who, by some cosmic injustice, also happens to sign my paychecks.

“Hey, Hotch, you might want to keep a safe distance. Somebody over here sounds ready to keel over.”

You stiffen in an instant, a flush saturating your skin in a wave of flaring skin. So, it's decided then, Morgan is either immune to the nuances of telepathy or human decency. Maybe both.

His comment lands with brutal accuracy to its intended target, Hotch's all-seeing attention, exactly where they're guaranteed to do the most harm.

Against all better judgment, you look toward your boss.

His expression is reliably neutral — an impenetrable facade he’s perfected over countless interrogations and internal crises. But you, in your infinite and perhaps slightly unhealthy fascination, have long since memorized the subtle dialects of his face. The language spoken by small lines that now deepening along his forehead.

Those shadowed creases betray worry, mild irritation, or an even more troubling amalgamation of both.

You shoot Morgan a pointed glare, but the strength of your conviction fizzles out fast, morphing unwillingly into something you’re sure resembles a wounded pout.

Predictably, his grin expands, and before you can conjure a sufficiently damning curse to smite him into oblivion, Hotch materializes beside your work space.

His eyes skim over your desk — the messy heap of tissues, the scattered remnants of cough drop wrappers, and the cluster of half empty tea cups.

“Something wrong?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” Hotch clarifies patiently. More than you deserve.

“Oh, right — no, I’m completely fine,” you babble quickly, fingers scrambling in vain to conceal the damning evidence. “I’m — this is nothing, really.”

His eyes narrow.

“How about you tell me the truth this time?”

“Seriously. I feel totally —” Your defense promptly collapses as you pivot hastily, barely managing to muffle a sneeze into the crook of your elbow. You sniffle sheepishly, eyes watering, and turn back to him. “— great,” you croak. “Fantastic, even.”

He offers his handkerchief without comment, and you accept it, fingertips hovering just shy of his, keeping distance the way you’d steer clear of a freshly painted wall (tempting, but dangerous). Because, frankly, you don’t trust your fever-addled nerves to cope gracefully with even a microscopic brush of his skin.

You look down at the cloth, starched and clean, just another perfect aspect of him. One more checkmark on an ever-expanding list.

He must have routines for everything — shirts arranged by hue and texture, socks rolled into disciplined bundles. In your mind's eye, you also see a perfectly aligned row of identical handkerchiefs stacked neatly in the top drawer.

You doubt he ever lets himself sprawl out on the sofa with takeout containers littered across the coffee table.

But then again, it’s equally hard to picture him performing mundane domestic things like folding fitted sheets. Maybe he hires someone specifically for that.

Maybe (and here your heart skips a beat), just maybe he could be persuaded to leave those sheets rumpled occasionally.

Possibly even by someone as hopeless as yourself.

You squeeze your eyes shut, but it’s too late. The images are planted firmly, sending out stubborn roots to your already overstimulated imagination.

“I’ll wash it,” you mumble hastily, realizing you've been staring wordlessly at him for an inappropriate amount of time. “Sorry. I mean, thank you. And I’ll wash it.”

“I’ve got more.” He watches you for another second. “Do you need to go home?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m good. Really.”

You’re not exactly sure why the words come out so defensive, like admitting you actually might need rest would irrevocably confirm some inadequacy you’ve tried to conceal.

Realistically, you understand he’s simply offering grace, giving you an escape hatch if your pride allows you to take it. You know that. Emotionally, however, your heart has a habit of misinterpreting tenderness, of hearing concern and translating it into criticism.

“I was afraid you’d say that.” He turns, steps back just enough to gesture with a tilt of his head. “Come with me.”

You blink slowly, mind briefly stalling in a fog of congestion and confusion, unsure of what exactly you're agreeing to.

But then you're following him. No questions asked. No explanation needed, destination a secondary detail at best, because you're familiar with the fact that your behavior, apparently, tends to regress to that of a loyal golden retriever when he's around (which doesn't paint you in a particularly flattering light).

He walks. You heel. Once again, pathetic.

It’s only when his hand touches the doorknob to his office, that realization crystallizes into a cold dread.

This, then, is a conversation. And not the easy, casual kind either. It’s one of those conversations, the sort he delivers in velvet tones that mask disappointment beneath layers of practiced compassion. Objectively ten times worse than yelling.

Not that you've personally ever been subjected to Hotch's raised voice. You've watched it happen sparingly, set aside for suspects — and to the one unfortunate officer whose conversational style with you could charitably be called outdated.

For a reckless second, you find yourself imagining what it might feel like to bear the brunt of such restrained anger. Your thighs clench involuntarily.

You make a vow to steer clear of that mental avenue from now on.

“I know I probably seem irresponsible,” you rush out, even as he pushes the door open. “I wasn’t trying to be. It’s just been a long week, and I didn’t think — well, I thought, but clearly not enough, and I wasn’t trying to hide anything —”

You freeze, words hanging unfinished in the air, eyes fixed as he lowers himself to one knee and opens a cabinet. He pulls out a tightly folded blanket accompanied by a pillow still wrapped in crinkling plastic.

“If you’re not going home,” he says, not unkind, just definitive, “then you’re going to sleep.”

“But I —”

“Morgan will cover your responsibilities.”

“That’s not —”

“— fair to him?” he finishes your exact thought, his back already turned as he adjusts the blinds, shutting out distractions along with daylight. “Maybe not. But he’ll be fine. I’m not convinced you will.”

You draw in a breath, ready to say something (though what exactly you're not sure) to prove you’re not completely powerless here, but his eyes cut past you to the couch. And that’s it. The conversation ends before it begins.

You drop to the cushions, limbs too tired to pretend at defiance, and he, unbothered, resumes gathering his files and paperwork.

“I’ll be in the conference room,” he says. “You’re staying here and resting. Two hours minimum. If I see you at your desk before then, I’ll walk you out myself.”

“Yes, sir.” The sarcasm’s there, but it limps, undersold by a renewed stabbing at your temple.

He’s almost through the door before he hesitates, looking back. “Come get me if you need anything.”

It’s softer than the rest. You tuck that away carefully, right alongside the headache.

You made it precisely an hour and forty-seven minutes. You rounded up. You told yourself it was close enough to two to count. You did the math. He undoubtedly would too.

So later, passing Hotch in the hallway, you braced yourself, but he said nothing. Just offered another one of those indecipherable looks that could equally be subtle approval, polite disappointment, or simply proof he had a running tally in his head confirming you cracked right on schedule.

You assume it’s that last one.

When you get back to your desk, there’s a bright yellow sticky note patiently waiting for you.

Hotch didn’t sign it, but he didn’t have to. The handwriting is barely legible, a clear indicator. Doctors everywhere would be proud.

You’ve learned to decode his scrawl purely out of survival, especially when it comes to finding your name hidden somewhere in the mess he leaves on paperwork. It usually takes two tries, a careful squint, and occasionally rotating the page at odd angles before you can definitely confirm that yes, that enigmatic scribble is indeed meant to be you.

You smile to yourself, slipping the words into your drawer, stashing it away like a lucky charm or a secret love letter, safely hidden from prying eyes.

There’s something comforting in the thought that maybe, if you follow Hotch’s instructions well enough, he’ll write another one. Lucky you.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanded! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

#🌺 maria writes #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner #hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner hurt/comfort #aaron hotchner flangst #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader #aaron hotchner x sweetheart reader #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x you

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sunsburns · 2 months ago

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honestly i feel like joaquin gives best friends to lovers vibes. and the moment you realize he likes you (meanwhile you've liked him for years) is gonna be in the middle of one of those heated arguments you have with each other bc he's jealous of the new guy you're seeing but one of you is stubborn and doesn't wanna admit it. idk if this counts as a request but if you like the idea i'd love to see you write something abt it!!

yes yes! i feel like it would be even better if the two of you had been working together for soo long too. like you’re in the middle of a stakeout or a mission and he’s suddenly bringing it up for the first time, trying to be all suave and subtle and you’re like ????

the stakeout had been dragging for hours.

the two of you were stationed in an unmarked van on a dimly lit street, watching the back entrance of an old warehouse where your target was supposed to show. you and joaquín torres had done plenty of missions like this before—long hours, bad takeout, and enough banter to keep you both from losing it.

except this time, he wasn’t talking.

not really, anyway. he was pretending to be busy, fiddling with the comms setup even if it had already been working fine since the start of the op.

the van was cramped, parked just far enough from the target building to stay out of sight. the only light inside comes from the dim glow of yours tablet and the occasional flicker of streetlights through the tinted windows.

and then, out of nowhere—

“you never did tell me how your date went last week.”

you barely heard him over the quiet hum of the surveillance feed. your attention is fixed on the warehouse across the street, waiting for movement, but his words pull you out of it.

you glance over, catching him looking away the second you do. subtlety had never been his strong suit.

“i didn’t think you’d want to know,” you said, testing the waters.

“of course i do.”

something in his voice made you pause. it wasn’t the usual teasing or lighthearted prodding—it was earnest. which was odd, considering the first time you brought it up there had been no jokes and joaquín had not been this curious. if anything, he’d gone uncharacteristically quiet, then changed the subject entirely.

but you’d brushed it off at the time.

still, you decide to humour him. “it went well.”

silence. then the soft creak of leather as he shifts in his seat.

“so, is there a second date coming?”

the casual tone didn’t fool you.

you smiled, mostly to yourself. “maybe.”

you expect some kind of quip, a halfhearted joke to brush it off. but you didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened, how his fingers flexed against his knee.

for someone who was an expert at recon, joaquín was terrible at hiding his tells. always had been. every thought he had crossed his face before he could stop it, which is why you’ve never had to second-guess him.

but that? that was weird.

“why? do you care?” you ask, turning slightly toward him.

“i don’t,” he said too quickly. “just wondering if i gotta learn this guy’s name or not.”

your smile grew wider. “oh? so you do care.”

he finally looked at you, “that’s not what i—“ he exhaled sharply. “forget it.”

you couldn’t.

you studied him for a moment, the furrow in his brow, the slight clench of his jaw. this was the longest conversation you’ve had outside of mission chatter in a week. and now he suddenly wanted to know about your love life?

“joaquín,” you started, voice slower now. “if there’s something you wanna say—“

“i only care when it affects our work.”

that made you bristle. “oh. am i too distracted for you?”

“that’s not what i said.”

“it’s exactly what you said.” you turned toward him fully now, forgetting about the stakeout for a second. “you didn’t have a problem last week when i was watching your six, but suddenly i go on a date and now i’m not focused enough for you?”

“that’s not—“ he stopped himself, dragging a hand down his face. “tu—you’re impossible.”

“like you’re any better,” you fired back. “you’ve been acting weird ever since i mentioned this guy, and now you’re bringing it up in the middle of a mission like it’s relevant intel? what’s your deal, torres? what’s going on? what are you trying to say?”

he pressed his lips together, clearly debating something. you knew him well enough to see the war happening behind his eyes, the push and pull of something he'd been trying to keep locked down.

“i’m not—i’m not trying to say anything,” he muttered.

your eyes narrowed. “bullshit.”

his lips curled into something sour, “i don’t get you sometimes.” his voice was lower now, “you’ll pick up on the smallest details in the field, but when it comes to this?” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, frustrated, “it’s like you’re choosing not to see it.”

that stopped you cold.

because for a second—for one stupid, fleeting second—you let yourself think about it. really think about it.

like the way joaquín always made sure you had the last protein bar on long missions, even if it meant going without. or the way he always covered your blind spots in a fight, positioning himself between you and danger without hesitation. the way his voice changed when he spoke to you, softening in a way it never did for anyone else.

the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

god.

your stomach twisted. you had spent so long convincing yourself that none of it meant anything. that it was just who he was—loyal, protective, a damn good partner. that was the only way you had managed to push your feelings down, to keep yourself from ruining what you had with him.

because the truth?

you had been in love with joaquín torres for years.

and it had been eating you alive.

the only reason you had gone out with someone else at all was because you had needed to move on. you couldn’t keep wanting something that wasn’t yours. couldn’t keep looking at him like he hung the damn moon when he was always just out of reach.

but now—now—he was looking at you like he was waiting for you to say something. like he wanted you to see it.

like maybe you hadn’t been crazy all along.

“joaquín.”

he just shook his head, frowning like he was mad at himself for even saying anything. “doesn’t matter.” the frustration drained from his voice, leaving behind something hollow. “forget i said anything.”

then he turned away like the conversation was over.

but it wasn’t.

because now, there was no taking it back.

and you weren’t sure if you even wanted to.

before you could respond, sam’s voice crackled over the comms.

“guys," he said, slow and unimpressed. “you do realize your mic is on, right?”

heat flooded your face.

joaquín scrambled to reach for the radio, red in the face. “sorry. must’ve turned it on by accident.”

“glad we’re getting some entertainment while we wait, sam continued, and you could almost see that grin on his face. “but unless you two wanna keep broadcasting your love confession to the team, maybe save it for after the mission?”

#i couldn't not add sam into this #had too much fun writing this oops #now i need to come up with a tag for joaquín #any ideas?#faye’s writing ⭑.ᐟ #joaquín torres #joaquín torres x reader #joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres fic #joaquin torres fanfiction #the falcon #the falcon x reader #faye’s 14 love letters event ᢉ𐭩 #joaquín’s wings

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roach-works · 2 months ago

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Why did wheat become a widespread staple crop given that it's difficult to harvest/transport/etc? This is not meant to be snarky or combative in any way, it's a genuine question. Are there any books you'd recommend for learning more about this kind of economic and technological history? Thanks.

sorry, i've long since forgotten all the actual books i've read about it, but i will always recommend This Guy:

also as very much a non-expert, my semi-informed opinion on Wheat is that growing complicated and difficult compared to going to the grocery store, and doesn't stack up very well to living in a food forest like north and south americans managed, either.

however, wheat is a grass, and grass grows in a lot of places that people also like to live in, and so wheat farming isn't as crazy a venture as it might otherwise seem.

in a lot of climates, it's possible to plant the grass, harvest the grass seeds, and store the seeds long enough to get you through the part of the year where there's nothing much to eat. if you manage your social and material technology right, you can store a lot of the seeds, and you can even transport them around before they rot, meaning you can now export the seeds from places where grass grows into places where it doesn't. the stalks of the grass that you can't eat provides food for the animals you need to help you grow the grass. and transport the seeds, too.

the social structure required to grow wheat in bulk (a steep and violent hierarchy) does three things: feeds everyone in it with enough extra that the guys on the bottom of the organization can survive to grow more wheat next year, and allows the guys on the top can sequester the rest as profit, consolidating their power. the third thing is that as land is converted to wheat fields, it stops yielding any other food but wheat, which locks people into the system for good. once a people depend on a staple cereal grain for their main source of calories, there isn't an easy way back: forests are chewed away for more wheat fields and those woodlands that remain are shifted towards hardwoods for agricultural tools, rather than food forests with fruit/nuts/shrubs, and even those maintained as game preserves still can't support the needs of entire villages.

in arid and semi-arid conditions, it's even harder to step away from dependence on grain farming because there the agricultural development is along rivers where the land can be irrigated, and the population of people supported by grain production is extremely concentrated into those small areas rather than spread across the entire biome.

in the northern parts of eurasia where grain couldn't be produced at scale because it was too rocky and too cold, people mostly went fishing, and when they grew stuff it was hardy root crops like beets and turnips.

DISCLAIMER: this is all very approximate. but now you know as much as i know.

P.S actually here's the last thing about wheat: it probably all started as a way to reliably source and produce beer, which was invented a long time before bread. bread was invented from wheat when the guys who were producing the beer seeds wanted to start exporting beer seeds to people who wanted beer far away, so they baked the seeds into tablets you could easily transport and then ferment with water once you got to your destination. eventually the traders who were transporting the beer kits started eating them, too, and crackers as a snack food really took off. look up the wikipedia article on beer if you don't believe me.

#wheat #agriculture #you want kings? that's how you get kings #you start out just wanting to source some beer reliably #then you fucking get kings #what a racket

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meanbossart · 4 months ago

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Any tips for new or returning artists?

I’m hoping to discover my own art style this year (from scratch, no references) by just throwing myself into learning anatomy, drawing random characters, and praying I can figure out how to add depth to pieces.

I have very minimal artistic experience and my work has improved significantly from where I started years ago, but not even close to where I’m hoping to be.

I can freehand faces and tweak the anatomy accordingly but I feel limited. Maybe it’s (in part) because I’m using an iPad, apple pen and Procreate? I recently added the paper-feel screen cover and that’s helped significantly with control.

Do you draw on paper to help your muscle memory? Honestly, ANYTHING helps. I watch videos on anatomy and art all of the time — I just don’t know if my brain is absorbing it correctly 😭

Hello! I don't know if I can say anything in particular to the returning aspect of your situation since I've drawn pretty consistently all of my life, but if someone else has had that experience of picking the skill back up after a long break, feel free to share your thoughts in the replies!

I'm not fully sure what you mean by "hoping to discover my own art (...) from scratch, no references", but if it means trying to whip up a style from thin-air and blocking out all outside influence or take any inspiration from existing art that you like... Uh... Don't do that! I don't see the benefit. All art is a derivation of a derivation, I can assure you that by compiling a folder or collage of your favorite works, borrowing and reworking aspects that you like, you WILL land on an original style and have learned so much more about it in the process than if you hadn't done that at all.

Also I can assure you that drawing on procreate/ipad is not a hindrance whatsoever, plenty of professional artists prefer it over display tablets. @wolfskulljack-art comes to mind as someone who has created several incredible tour posters for Metallica, all in her ipad.

I must have drawn on paper a total of 10 times in the last 5 years, I have no idea if that's bad or not... It Probably is, but I'm at peace with it, LOL. Generally when it comes to improving ( and I know that this is a frustrating answer) the secret is to just draw a lot. There is no class that is going to take you from amateur to Caravaggio, it takes time and takes making "bad" art. A lot of bad art. When it comes to learning anatomy, I think the best thing you can do is draw a lot of real-life human bodies from reference while consulting an anatomical diagram or model of some kind. Otherwise you will just making a bunch of lines without ever understanding their purpose.

I don't think you need to be an expert at the human body AT ALL before jumping into stylization and making confident, art, but if you do something like this whenever you draw I think you will end up learning a whole lot. Muscle memory (no pun intended) will come to you naturally!

I also have a lot more tips in my #tutorial and #advice tags that you can look through if you want to, otherwise, I would tell you to just do more drawing and less looking for the perfect tutorial or golden advice. A lot of artists get very boggled down in learning in the most correct and effective way, and while there are pointers that can be given, they tend to be very straightforward🤷 and the rest falls on you to follow through with!

#ask #advice

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everlastingdream · 8 months ago

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The first time it happened, all agents took their weapons out the moment Lena entered the building like she owns it.

Alex considered firing everyone who let her past the guard post and then shoot her. In the leg. Maybe.

"Take it", Lena threw something at Brainy, who somehow was completely calm. It relaxed Alex too, since Brainy was an expert on calculating danger level of everyone.

And then Lena just turned around and exited the DEO, like she was dropping of their lunch or something. And she was still fighting with Kara!

"What the hell, Luthor!?" Alex shouted to her back, only to recieve resolute "Shut up!" in return.

Alex sputtered, because: excuse me, but you came to the secret underground goverment facility like to your own office! Brainy muttered something, tinkering with the thing Lena brought.

"It's anti-kriptonite suit", he said in wonder, already running some simulations on his tablet. "She shouldn't has figured this out for ahother five years".

"Brainy, test this thing in every way you can, and if it's safe, take it to Kara immediately", Alex grumbled, but her sister's safety was more important than Luthor's strange wims.

/ / / / / / / / / /

Next time everyone still grabbed their weapons, but wasn't ready to shoot just yet, as Lena angrily stormed into the building. Perhaps it was because despite her stare she complied with every security measure guards asked of her.

Which didn't stop her from slamming thick file into Alex's chest.

"What the hell, Luthor!?" Alex saw how Brainy grabbed Nia's hand to stop her from standing up.

"Shut up", Lena returned, as she went back without any explanation.

Alex was left with papers and strange sense of deja-vu.

Looking through evidence on their resent villain and drafts of some devices to counter his powers, Alex thought about how Lena always choose time when Kara was absent from the building.

/ / / / / / / / / /

When they reached fifth visit like that no one was surprised anymore. Because everytime they would be stuck, Lena will miraculously appear with what they need. But she still stubbornly refused to talk with anyone besides Brainy and only about science behind her inventions.

This time she confidentely walked into the building, but Brainy instantly stood up. Everyone around them tensed, powers and guns ready. Lena opened her mouth to protest but he forced her to sit under bewildered eyes of everyone in the room.

"She's injured", was the only thing Brainy said, as he pried another helpful thing from Lena's hands.

"Am not", Lena replied, and Alex noticed how she slurred her words a little. "Take this shit and let me go".

Nia was already out of the room, fetching medical supplies, when Alex moved Brainy to the side to check on her.

"Left side, one inch lower than her ribs", he told Alex. Nia, who put Alex's medical bag down, gently rubbed his back, even if it was almost invisible that he was worried.

Alex pressed her hand under Lena's jacket where he instructed, and her fingers returned covered in blood.

Lena was still swearing, when Alex cleared her wound - bullet hole - and dressed it.

"You need medical attention, Luthor", Alex said quietly. After everything she was still angry at the other woman but it didn't mean she wanted her dead.

"If I show it to someone, I'm as good as dead", Lena chuckled, cleary half-delirious from pain and pain-killers. How she managed to get there on the sole willpower was beyond understanding. "Even if you want it, I would like to live a little longer".

Alex didn't answer. Couldn't. Even if she knew it wasn't true, some part of her wanted Lena to believe it. To suffer.

It was a shameful, selfish thought.

/ / / / / / / / / /

"Lena?" Kara's weak voice sounded incredibly loud in the quiet of their usual exchange.

Lena stiffened and promtly turned to flee in the middle of her conversation with Brainy.

"Lena!" Kara could catch up to her in the blink of an eye, but somehow near Lena she always forgot she has powers.

Lena spent too much time talking over some sort of mathematical models and Kara wrapped up her mission early.

"Please, wait!"

"Leave me alone", Lena gritted through her teeth, but even Alex saw tears in her eyes, as she sped up.

"She's hurting", Brainy supplied from Alex's side, as they both watched this strange chase.

"She's injured again?" Alex asked with small pang of guilt.

"No, she's hurting emotionally. More than she shows."

He didn't add anything else. They watched door slamming into Kara's pitiful face.

/ / / / / / / / / /

"Why are you helping us?" Alex asked her about a month after Lena and Kara's dramatic meeting.

"Shut up", Lena answered, tired as hell after three all-nighters they pulled to rescue Kara from another dimension.

"It's getting old, Luthor. Spill the beans".

Perhaps it's exhaustion, perhaps it is somehow sisterly look in Alex's eyes, but Lena is silent suddenly, before almost pushing words out.

"You said you will turn over the world for your sister, didn't you? I had someone like that once. My big brother, who would be the only one to treat me like a person in the place that was supposed to be my home. Who protected me from everything he could. And whom I admired so much I wanted to be just like him".

Alex tensed, as always when talking about Lex. But Lena's voice was quiet, and her face already wet from tears she seemed to hold for so long, and Alex shut her mouth this time.

"When he did all that he did, I was disappointed. But I still loved my big brother. But when he first tried to kill me? I was heartbroken. The person who withstood father's beatings in my place tried to kill me", Lena chuckled through her sobs.

Alex never allowed herself to think about Lex past his atrocites. She couldn't afford any pity for the person who tormented her sister and her family. But right now there was another little girl beside her who lost her only family.

"You said you will turn over the world for your sister, didn't you?", Lena turned to her. "I killed my brother for her".

She didn't said anything after that. Just cried herself to sleep. And Alex was just sitting there, left alone with shocking news and even more shocking realizations. Lex was dead. Lena was the one who killed him. He told her Kara was Supergirl and she still killed him.

/ / / / / / / / / /

"Don't pity me, it makes my skin crawl", Lena said the next day, when she was given her own pass to the DEO. She threw it on the table right in front of Alex, and agent considered asking 'what the hell, Luthor' just for the fun.

"I'm not. But after what you did for my sister and what you continue to do, the least I can do is to give you free entrance".

Lena sat beside her, tired and feverish from overwork.

"Don't care about me either".

"When will you talk to Kara?" Lena scowled when Alex ignored her, but still took the pass.

"Never, perhaps. I look at her and see the dead body of my brother. It's not something a little talk can fix. And she will blame herself, burdening me with another endless boundle of her apologies".

"She will learn of his death eventually, and then she'll found out how he died. It will happen anyway. And yes, of course, nothing will be fixed just because you too will talk. But maybe you can relieve some of your burden, and maybe several small talks will help you both".

Lena didn't lift her head from the shiny surface of the table. But she nodded tiniest bit.

/ / / / / / / / / /

Lena kept coming to help. Kara kept trying to talk to her.

One day Lena conceded, and then she screamed at Kara for an hour in the empty conference room and stormed out.

They had reverse situation later, when Lena came injured once again. Kara screamed about her being reckless, and they eventually reached her past sorrows.

They screamed, then talked, then whispered. And slowly started to smile again. Later came tentative touches, lunches and game nights.

So when almost two years later Alex found them in the kitchen doing something she would prefer to erase from her mind, everything finally became as it should.

#supergirl #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #alex danvers #brainy #brainy × lena brotp is my everything #alex finally looking past kara to lena's suffering #lena's trauma after killing lex should be adressed more #it started from funny though where angry lena will angrily help to save kara and the world #to show everyone that she's angry obvs

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artifacts-and-arthropods · 17 days ago

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The Petelia Tablet from Ancient Greece, c.300-150 BCE: this "passport for the dead" provides instructions on where to go and what to say after crossing into the Greek Underworld

This little tablet was crafted from a sheet of gold foil, and it measures just 4.5cm long. It was found in a small pendant case in Petelia, Italy; the tablet itself dates back to about 300-150 BCE, but the pendant case and chain were likely made about 400 years later, during the Roman era.

Above: the Petelia tablet and the capsule-like pendant case in which it was discovered

Experts believe that the tablet was originally buried with a human body, and that an unknown individual later removed it from the burial site and stuffed it into the pendant case. Unfortunately, they simply rolled it up and snipped off the tip of the tablet in order to make it fit, and the final lines of the inscription were destroyed in the process.

This type of textual amulet is often described as a totenpass or "passport for the dead." Totenpässe were supposed to be used as roadmaps to help guide the spirits of the dead as they journeyed through the Underworld, and they were also meant to serve as indicators of the elite or even "divine" status of certain individuals, providing special privileges and allowing them to obtain an elevated position in the afterlife.

This particular totenpass is incised with a Greek inscription that reads:

You will find a spring on your left in Hades’ halls, and by it the cypress with its luminous sheen.

Do not go near this spring or drink its water. You will find another, cold water flowing from Memory’s lake; its guardians stand before it.

Say: "I am a child of Earth and starry Heaven, but descended from Heaven; you yourselves know this. I am parched with thirst and dying: quickly, give me the cool water flowing from Memory’s lake."

And they will give you water from the sacred spring, and then you will join the heroes at their rites.

This is [the ... of memory]: [on the point of death] ... write this ... the darkness folding [you] within it.

The final section was damaged when the tablet was shoved into the pendant case; sadly, that part of the inscription does not appear on any of the other tablets that are known to exist, so the meaning of those lines remains a mystery (no pun intended).

Tablets with this motif are also known as "Orphic lamellae" or simply "Orphic tablets," because they were traditionally attributed to an Orphic-Bacchic mystery cult.

Above: orphic tablet from the Necropolis of Thurii, in modern-day Italy, c.400-300 BCE

Only about 40 orphic tablets are known to exist, and they are all made from sheets of gold. The inscriptions vary, but they generally include references to a cypress tree, a spring that must be avoided, another spring known as the "Lake of Memory," the sensation of thirst, and a conversation with a guardian (or another entity that is associated with the Underworld, like the goddess Persephone) in which the dead must present themselves as initiates or divine individuals before they are permitted to drink from the Lake of Memory, which would allow them to obtain privileges reserved only for the elite.

Above: orphic tablet from Tassaglia, Italy, c.350 BCE

The details of that reward are unclear; orphic tablets may have been viewed as a way to gain access to the Elysian Fields, to participate in certain sacred rites, or to break free from the eternal cycle of reincarnation. Regardless of the specific details, the overall objective was likely the same: to obtain a special status and acquire privileges that were inaccessible to most of the souls in the Underworld.

Note: I've been trying to go back and edit/fix the original "Petelia Tablet" post that I published on this blog about 2 years ago, but none of my edits are going through for that post, so I'm just submitting this as an updated and much more concise version

Sources & More Info:

The British Museum: Tablet and Pendant Case

Atlas Obscura: The Ancient Greeks Created Golden Passports to Paradise

Getty Museum: Golden Tickets to the Underworld

Getty Museum: Underworld: Imagining the Afterlife

Bryn Mawr College: Festivals in the Afterlife: a New Reading of the Petelia Tablet

#archaeology #artifacts #petelia tablet #history #anthropology #ancient greece #totenpass #orphic tablet #religion #greek mythology #afterlife #greek underworld #literal ticket to paradise

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perfinn · 7 months ago

Text

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

aegon ii targaryen x reader - part ii

wc: 4.6k

summary: you search for answers on why aegon is here, and find you rather enjoy his company

cw: f!reader, aegon the cringefail king, kinda just a lot of hanging out, a little make out session, aegon almost pushes toward dubcon advances but he's quickly stopped

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

You hardly sleep a wink that first night with Aegon in your flat. You’re too worried about him, and the carpet in the living room. You’re still not an expert on history, but you’re quite sure that vodka hadn’t been invented yet when Aegon was supposed to be alive. If it had, Westeros hadn’t yet set up any trade routes beyond the Bone Mountains. You still remember your first vodka hangover, even if you don’t quite remember the night that preceded it, and it was not a good time. Aegon is in for something of a shock if he hasn’t drowned in his own vomit– cheap as your vodka is, it’s a lot stronger than that piss water from the Arbour the historians all say he drank.

You rise from your bed with your alarm, not snoozing it as you usually do and instead going to go check on Aegon. Thankfully, he’s right where you left him and alive and well, if his open-mouth snoring is any indication. He’s splayed out on your couch, legs falling over the side and bottle of water you’d made up for him spilled on the floor. Hells, at least it’s only water he spilled.

Leaving him to sleep a moment longer, you pad into the kitchen and rummage around for the electrolyte tablets you keep for this exact scenario. Well– maybe not this exactly. Usually it’s reserved for your own hangovers, not for when the time travelling king of Westeros has broken into your drink cabinet and passed out on your couch. But close enough. You make up a drink for him, deciding he can cope with the orange flavour even if he doesn’t like it and come back over, setting the glass loudly down on the coffee table and waking Aegon with a jolt.

He almost falls from the couch, gasping and throwing his hands over his ears. “Get out!” He demands, wincing at the sound of his own voice. “Five more minutes!”

“Not your chambermaid, Aegon,” you say, folding your arms over your chest. “Drink this. And no, yesterday wasn't a fever dream, you’re still in the future.”

Part of you had hoped yesterday's events were a weird dream of your own.

Aegon cracks his eyes open, taking in the sight of you slowly before he groans and presses his fists hard into his eye sockets. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “My head…”

“Yeah,” you say, picking the glass back up and holding it out to him. “Straight vodka will do that to you. Drink.”

He lowers his hands and eyes you suspiciously as he reaches for the glass, sniffing it. You roll your eyes. He’ll drink from a random bottle he finds in your home but not something you’re offering to him?

“It'll make you feel better,” you say. “It's orange flavoured.”

“Well, that makes it alright then,” he grumbles, taking a slow sip and moving to sit upright. “If I’m getting poisoned, at least the poison tastes like oranges.”

You make your way over to the kitchen and fish around your cupboards for instant coffee as Aegon makes a noise of confusion.

“Why is it-” he stops, brows furrowed as he looks for the word. “Bubbles?”

“Oh,” you say, looking back at him while you clutch the Garfield mug you found at the thrift a few months ago. You lean over to put the kettle on, sighing as you realise how much of modern life you’re going to have to explain to Aegon. You wonder how much of it can be avoided, skirted around so you don't have to explain the entire industrial revolution to him. “Yeah, it’s fizzy. It’s not poison, just science.”

Aegon stares at you indignantly. “Are you a witch?”

“Gods, it’s not a magic potion, Aegon. Why can’t you just accept that we’ve made a bit of progress in the last thousand years? Things are different, that doesn’t make it magic. Just drink it, it’ll help you feel better.”

Aegon takes a slow sip, lips turning down as he seems to decide he likes it well enough. You turn your back to him and scoop a spoonful of the coffee into your mug, wondering what you’re going to do with him. You’ll have to call out of work, at least for today. You don’t trust him to be left alone; Gods know where he’ll end up, if he’ll contract some disease his immune system isn’t ready for or get hit by a car as he so nearly did yesterday. You hear him groan softly and turn back to see him leaning back on the sofa and sipping slowly at the drink.

You suppose he probably wants your attention, but you withhold it until you’ve taken the first sip of your coffee. It tastes as shit as you expect instant coffee to taste. Gods, you need to buy a proper coffee machine. You make your way back over to him, sitting down on the other end of the sofa.

“Ready to talk yet?” You ask him.

Aegon grunts, rubbing at his temple. “Quietly,” he mumbles. “I had hoped yesterday might be a dream.”

“Me too,” you say, sipping slowly at your coffee. “I’ll be frank with you, Aegon, I don’t know what to do with you.”

Aegon scoffs, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. You’d tell him to take them down, but it’s not exactly a nice coffee table. You can see him staring at the plastic dragon figure on the TV unit. The bags under his eyes are so heavy. “That often seems to be the case,” he says, leaning forward slowly and picking up the dragon. It’s a small one, red and gold. “I wonder how this feels for Sunfyre…”

“Sunfyre was your dragon, right?” You ask, voice still quiet as he requested.

He nods, frowning as he moves the hard plastic wing of the toy. “He’s a fine beast,” he says. “Should he think me dead?”

“I wouldn't know,” you say. “Aegon, I think we need to get you home.”

Aegon goes quiet, almost as though he knows, somehow, that a grizzly fate awaits him in his own time. But he nods. “Yes,” he agrees. “How?”

“No idea. We’ll need to go to the library.”

He looks over at you, setting the dragon down and raising an eyebrow. “So you really can read?”

“Really really,” you say with a slight smile. “We peasants have been literate for centuries. I’ll make you some breakfast and then we can go.”

Aegon leans back again, watching you with wonder as you go back to the kitchen. “You know, I thought we might teach the smallfolk to read,” he says. “I think after the war I’ll bring it up.”

You glance over at him and smile. “Maybe you will.”

“They like me, I think,” Aegon says. “The smallfolk. Aegon the Magnanimous.”

You raise an eyebrow, pulling down a box of cereal. “Kind of lame.”

Aegon sighs. “Yes. We are working on it.”

Once Aegon has eaten his fill of your off brand cereal (which he decides he hates) you get him up and lead him out of the house. Aegon still seems fascinated with the world outside.

“I suppose it does still look like King’s Landing,” he says, staring up at the buildings around him. He refuses to look at the cars, and you can’t blame him. You can’t imagine they’d be an easy thing to process right off the bat. Still, he’s going to have to deal with it when you get onto the bus.

You stop at the bus stop with him, pulling out your phone to check when it’ll arrive. You can feel Aegon staring at you, you glance up, seeing that confused look on his face. You put the phone away. “Bus’ll be here in five minutes.”

He nods, but doesn’t ask what a bus is. “It is strange,” he says. “It looks so different, but much the same.”

You nod, offering him a small smile. “A lot of it is heritage protected, so it can’t be altered. We’ve expanded a lot, so all the outer city is newer, but this is the centre.”

“This is Flea Bottom, right?”

You smile, laughing a bit. “Yeah, it is. They called it Flea Bottom back then too?”

Aegon nods, sniffing the air. “It doesn’t smell so badly these days, but the buildings are the same.”

“Yeah, well, rent’s cheapest here. There was some government initiative to clean it up. Or gentrify it. The university bought out a bunch of the flats for student accommodation, it was the best I could afford.”

“This… university, it is like the Citadel?”

You nod. “Citadel’s a university too, but yes.”

“No, the Citadel is the Citadel,” he says, scoffing.

“Okay, it’s a university now. Certainly not one I can afford,” you huff, reminded of the rejected scholarship you’d applied for. You suppose it wouldn’t have helped– rent in Oldtown is something else entirely. You crane your neck to spot the bus, seeing it coming close enough to flag it down. Aegon immediately steps behind you, eyeing the huge vehicle warily. You reach back, gently taking his hand and squeezing it without thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “Just trust me and follow me.”

You feel Aegon’s breath falter, and somehow you know he’s staring at your hand in his. You gently lead him up the step and ask the bus driver to tap on for two. The busdriver raises an eyebrow at Aegon, but nods and lets you on. You scan your card, leading Aegon up to a seat by the back.

Aegon sits down, frowning at the interior. “This is like a wheelhouse. But with no horse. And uglier.”

“They’re not really made for style,” you tell him.

He nods, looking at you again. He glances down at your hands, still intertwined. When you notice, you begin to pull away with the thought that he doesn’t like it. But Aegon only holds you tighter. You meet his eyes and find something desperate in them, a silent begging for you not to let go. Strange. But you oblige.

“So,” you say softly. “Can you tell me what you last remember?”

Aegon exhales slowly, puffing out his cheeks and glancing between you and the window. He settles on watching the world pass by, no doubt faster than any wheelhouse could carry him. He must decide he trusts you enough.

“It was nothing,” he tells you, leaning his forehead against the window. “I was with my favourites. Drinking, talking. Discussing my sobriquet. Everything after that is nothing. I didn’t even go to sleep. It is as though I blinked, and I was in the street. Then I met you.”

“Well that's…” You purse your lips, leaning back in the bus seat. “Nondescript. You weren't doing anything out of the ordinary? Not fucking with any ancient rocks? Weirwood trees?”

“No,” he says, sliding his gaze toward you. “I was on the throne, in the Keep.”

None of this helps. You scratch at your chin as you try to make sense of any of it. You pull your phone from your pocket, opening the browser and typing in – dreading the targeted ads you’re inadvertently signing yourself up to get – ‘accidental time travel firsthand account.’

Aegon peers over, watching the screen with fascination as you scroll past various untrustworthy conspiracy sites.

“Do you suppose perhaps Rhaenyra paid a witch to curse me?”

“Why would she do that?”

Aegon's lips pull down in a pouty frown. “Well, my brother did kill her son.”

“Yeah, well, that'll do it,” you sigh, closing your phone and leaning back in your seat. You glance out the window, watching the city go by. The people milling about the street go by so quickly you cannot see their faces. However strange a day anyone thinks they may be having, it cannot be more than yours.

“Witches. Woods witches. Weirwood, maybe,” you murmur, tilting your head this way and that. “Even if you weren't directly fucking with any, there's one in the Keep’s godswood. I went on a tour when I first moved here.”

“A tour…?”

“It's as good a place to start as any. Weirwood, woods witches, and rock formations. The library will have plenty on it.”

You get off the bus at the campus library soon after. The university sits upon Visenya’s hill behind the sept, which you’ve never really bothered to enter. It’s a strange thing, living in such a city rather than visiting it. Apart from your dead boring tour of the Red Keep, you've never visited the tourist traps. Growing up in the Riverlands, you never once visited any of the old castles. You always thought you might see more of King’s Landing when you came. Perhaps you would if you could, but you find you rarely have the time between study and work.

As you ascend the steps with Aegon in tow, he stops and turns, gazing across the city. You glance back at him, following his gaze up Aegon’s High Hill, where the Red Keep sits. You stop in your footsteps, coming back down toward him.

“You okay?” You venture.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Just odd, I suppose. It looks the same.”

“Lots of it still does, I guess. The dragonpit is still there too.”

You nod your head to the other end of the city, pointing him to the ruins of the building.

Aegon pales. “It's… what happened to it?”

“Time,” you murmur. In part because it's true, but also because you don't know why it's in ruins. You’ve never been that far up the hill. You’ve never had it in you to wonder.

“I don't believe you.”

You look over at him, and an intense purple gaze meets yours. You scoff. “I think I’m getting used to you not believing me,” you say. “Come on.”

You continue up the stairs and Aegon follows after a moment. “You really won't tell me what happened to the dragonpit?”

“No. Because I don't know. It's been like that for centuries, as far as I’m aware. And even if I did know, I feel like there has to be some sort of rule against it.”

“Against what?”

“Against telling you about the future!”

“What? But I’m already here! If the Gods didn't want me to know about the future I wouldn't be here!”

You purse your lips. He makes a good point, but still. “Well all the movies say it's bad. What if I send you back and you change things, and make it so I cease to exist? And I can’t tell you anyway because I don't know, so don't worry about it.”

“You know, I don't understand half the things you say,” Aegon says as you push the door to the library open, gesturing for him to enter first.

“Likewise.”

Once inside, you make your way up to the librarian’s desk, the older woman immediately perking up with your presence. You smile at her.

“Hi, um, I’m after pretty much anything you have on weirwood trees, woods witches, and, uh, like rock formations–”

“And any scrolls you have on Aegon the Second, thank you.”

“No.”

You look back at Aegon, who pouts at being denied. You imagine he’s not used to that.

“Don't worry yourself with the Aegon stuff,” you say, looking back at the librarian sheepishly. “He's uh… easily distracted.”

The librarian smiles anyway, putting her glasses on the end of her nose and leaning into her computer. “Let me see what I can find you.”

A few minutes later, Aegon and yourself are seated at a secluded table surrounded by soft chairs and lit by dusty sunlight, tucked away between bookshelves only matched in age by Aegon. Old books and new are scattered across the table, and Aegon marvels at the shining pages of a new textbook, thumbing at the photographs of Harrenhal.

“Can I see that one?” You ask, holding your hands out for it. Aegon slides it across. He folds his arms on the table, leaning forward and resting his chin on his arms.

“Do you do this often?” He asks. “Seems dreadfully dull.”

You shake your head. “Not as often as I ought to.”

“I assume this is what my father did all day,” he grumbles, thumbing at the worn cover of a book on the Old Gods. “Before he, you know.”

“Died?”

“No,” he says. “Well, yes. But I think his soul left long before his body gave out.”

You nod, unsure what to say. From what you can gather, Aegon didn't have much of a relationship with his father. You’re not sure if it's wise to pry. You’re not sure what you’d say if you did.

Aegon begins to make a clicking sound with his mouth as you flick through the pages.

“You could help,” you say after a moment.

“You want me to read?” He scoffs. “Your magical little drink didn't work that well. I just wish we had a bard or something.”

“A bard,” you repeat, voice flat. You roll your eyes, fishing into your pocket for your phone. He watches you with curiosity as you set the phone down and begin playing something at low volume. As soon as the song begins, he jolts upright and leans forward. He snatches up the phone, turning it over in his hands, shaking his head in disbelief. It’s some old synth song, something you remember watching your parents dance to when they’d have their friends over on the weekend and drink late into the night.

“Incredible,” Aegon murmurs. “How do you look at dusty books when you have this thing? Bards and scrolls at your fingertips.”

“I’m actually trying to get my screentime down,” you say sheepishly. “It’s uh… it’s pretty rough.”

Aegon gives you a quizzical glance before he’s distracted by your screen lighting up. He seems quite entertained by your lock screen and is silent for a few moments. You turn your gaze back to the books, resting your temple on your fist.

Your phone buzzes after a moment, and you glance at it only momentarily before you school yourself back toward the books. You’ve been trying to stop being so trained by your phone.

“Messages. Jeyne– and there’s a little drawing of what I suppose is a seashell –” You bolt upright as Aegon begins reading out the message. You try to snatch it from him, but he moves it out of your reach. “I just got YiTish dick – Seven Hells, then there’s more of these drawings, they look to be peaches? – freaky as everyone says.”

You stare, stunned into silence, at Aegon as he processes what he’s just read, looking at you with a wicked sort of grin. He sets the phone down, now playing some modern house music you barely remember adding to your playlist.

“I’m to understand this is some sort of raven, yes?”

“Yes,” you say. Gods, what else could you even say to that? Your former roommate was never the most couth person, and you were never her biggest fan. But even though she’s disappeared to the other side of the world, you’re still subject to her unprompted oversharing.

“This Jeyne is quite something.”

“Yep,” you mumble, managing to grab your phone back. “How about we wrap this up for today? I’m suddenly craving YiTish food.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Aegon snickers. You realise that this may be the first time you’ve seen him smile, however wry and mocking it may be. It’s a lovely expression, but one you suspect he doesn’t wear very often.

“Come on,” you say, picking up several of the books. “Grab a few. We’re taking them back. But I’m borrowing this weirwood tree one.”

Aegon groans in protest, but gathers up the remaining books to balance in his arms. Once you’ve borrowed the book and created a list of the others, you escape the dusty library into the waning sunlight.

Aegon is a chatterbox when you’re on the bus again, and as you order the both of you some YiTish food. Clearly his hangover’s worn off. You smile apologetically at the young girl behind the counter as you take the bags of food. You shoot Aegon a look in hopes of shutting him up, but you have no such luck. The walk back up to your flat is accompanied by the sound of Aegon's voice.

When you get inside, he finally stops. Now that you’re in private, he wishes no longer to speak? You glance back at him with a raised eyebrow, but he's watching you unpack the food.

“I got you sweet and sour pork,” you tell him, handing him the little box and a fork. “Should be free enough of any major allergens… if not, Jeyne left behind an epipen.”

“I’m growing quite tired of asking you what things mean,” he says, opening up the box and sniffing at it. He pulls his lips down but doesn't look to actually be frowning.

You grab your own food, moving to sit down on your worn sofa and beckoning for Aegon to join you. “I’m guessing your time doesn't have YiTish food,” you say.

He huffs, nodding as he sits down and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. You’d tell him to knock that off if you had a nicer coffee table, but as it is – a piece of shit wooden box with shaky wheels on the bottom – you don't bother. “Not by far.”

“I’m not sure how authentic this is,” you say, poking your chopsticks into the box and searching for a nice crunchy bit of cabbage. “But it's cheap, and has never done me wrong.”

Aegon takes a tentative bite, and you watch as his face twists in curious acceptance of the new flavours. It’s… Gods, well, it's sort of cute.

“I like it. I think,” he remarks, taking another bite and leaning back comfortably. “Much has changed.”

You nod, glancing out of the window at the city lights. How had it looked all those years ago? How has the skylike changed? Brightened?

“You say you can't tell me what you know about my life,” Aegon says slowly. You nod, opening your mouth to sigh and tell him again that you won't budge, only he stops you. “I’m not going to ask. I only want to make sense of your world. And what remains of mine.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “Okay. Well, I’ll try.”

Aegon nods, looking down contemplatively. “Hm… the Dothraki?”

Not… exactly where you expected him to start. “Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “They're still around. They're kind of baller, actually. Like they gained all the modern stuff but still live nomadically.”

“Are they still so… brutal?”

“Oh, no,” you say. “Really kind of a peaceful state now. Jeyne reckons she'll be heading to the Sea after YiTi.”

Aegon nods slowly. “This Jeyne girl is quite something. She used to live with you?”

You nod. “Yeah. We were assigned the same flat… I can’t say I ever really liked her much, but she was tolerable.”

“And she… left? Escaped? “

“Mhm. Decided she was unfulfilled by higher education and fucked of to YiTi to ‘find herself.’ Alright for some, I guess.”

Aegon stares at you in silence for a moment, smiling ever so slightly. “You speak in such a strange and wonderful way,” he murmurs.

You can't help but smile. He has a nice smile about him. You suspect it's not an expression he uses much, at least not in a real, involuntary way.

“So do you,” you say softly. He’s… goodness, he’s beautiful in this light. You know you shouldn't think that.

(But then, why shouldn't you? He's a grown man, he’s sober, what’s stopping you? Responsibility? Expectation? You’re not certain.)

He must see the budding conflict on your face because he reaches out to touch your cheek. He lifts his thumb up, pressing it between your eyebrows to smooth out the crease there. “Why the frown?”

You smile wryly at him. “Just thinking,” you tell him as he sets his food down.

“Of course. You do a lot of that, don't you?”

You huff a soft laugh. “Too much.”

He shifts closer, and you find yourself less and less willing to stop him with every second. “Take a break from thinking,” he says, leaning forward and catching your lips in a kiss before you can respond.

There's a moment of hesitation, the briefest second where you contemplate pulling away. You should. The last thing you should be doing is letting Aegon entangle himself with you. He's misplaced in time, practically a stranger. Not to mention married.

(Unhappily, and to his sister, but all the same.)

But the moment passes. And you let him. And you lean into him and return the favour. Encouraged by your response, Aegon shifts closer and grabs at your waist, trying to pull you closer.

It happens fast, he doesn't seem to want to waste time building up to a point before he's shoving his tongue into your mouth and crashing his teeth against yours.

“Aegon,” you murmur. He only grunts in protest, continuing his advances. “Aegon, slow down.”

Aegon huffs as he pulls away just a fraction, hands groping a little too harshly at your hips. “What for?”

You frown at him, gently pushing him away. He relents, but begins to scowl. You place your hands firmly on his shoulders. “There's no need to rush,” you say quietly.

You realise then that Aegon is used to taking. He is used to taking what he needs and not bothering with any sort of lead-up beyond unrefined kissing. He surges forward to kiss you again but you place your hand in his face and shove him away.

He cries your name indignantly, unused to being denied either.

“Sit down,” you say firmly, shoving him back onto the sofa cushion. “And stay.”

Aegon looks stunned, but readily obeys. He leans back against the cushions and watches you warily as you shift closer to him, throwing your leg over his lap so you straddle him. Aegon seems almost afraid to touch you all of a sudden, so you take his hands and place them gently on your hips.

Should you be encouraging this? Absolutely not. But some touch starved little sect of your brain has staged a coup on your good sense, so here you are.

“Have you never done this before?” You ask him softly.

“Been ridden?” He scoffs. “Of course I have.”

“No,” you say. “I’m not riding you. Have you ever just made out with someone for a little while?”

Averting his eyes, Aegon shakes his head.

“That’s okay,” you murmur, catching his lips in a gentle kiss that seems to startle him. You place your hands on his chest, closing your eyes as you kiss him again. He’s hesitant now, unsure. But you press on, sucking gently at his lip before slowly, gently, sliding your tongue into his mouth and dragging it over the flat of his. Aegon makes a soft noise of shock, hands grasping a little harder at the soft of your hips.

Before, he hadn’t seemed to know what to do with his tongue in your mouth except to have it shoved in there, desperate to have some sort of dominance over your mouth. You can tell he’s still fighting the urge to take over, but he sits nicely for you, only gently pushing back against your tongue. He seems to rather enjoy the feeling of not being in charge, of simply being guided. Not told what to do, not commanded, just… treated gently.

After a while, you gently pull away, your thumb brushing over his wet bottom lip. “Do you want to keep going?” You ask, though you know you shouldn’t.

Aegon looks up at you with dilated eyes, pupils almost sparkling as he blinks slowly. Almost dazed. “I’d like to keep doing this. It’s nice.”

You smile, gently pecking his lips and nodding. “Okay,” you whisper. “We can keep doing this.”

You decide your research can wait. It’ll still be there tomorrow.

#my work #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfic #fic: you're out of touch i'm out of time #DONT EVER THINK ITS OVER #IM ALWAYS COMING #WATCH UR BACK

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marlynnofmany · 18 days ago

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Fuzzy Eggs

After several deliveries that we had to cross alien terrain for, it was nice to have a client actually meet us at the ship for pickup. We didn’t even have to leave the spaceport, small though it was.

“I can’t wait to try this out,” said the green lizardy guy as he tapped away at the payment tablet. “The advertising promises it will repel any small pest with a sense of hearing, and the last three repellents we tried did nothing.”

I asked, “What kind of pest?” (Was I about to find a hard downside to meeting someone right outside the airlock? I really didn’t want any kind of infestation on our ship.)

The guy handed the tablet back and gestured vaguely. “Round furry things. I don’t know what planet they’re from, but they could easily overrun this one if we don’t get a handle on the situation fast. The colony’s already having to keep every window and door shut, but they slip through the tiniest cracks. At least they’re wildly colored and easy to spot before they eat all your food.”

Mur tentacle-walked over with the package, holding it up like he was a squid-shaped butler with a tray of champagne. He gave me a look as the client snatched it up eagerly. “Well, animal expert?” he asked me. “Any insights?”

I shrugged. “Sounds like rodents from Earth, though ours aren’t usually wildly colored. And I have my doubts that a product exists that makes noises to repel every kind of pest. Especially without also repelling the people who set it up.”

The client was already ripping open the box. “Gonna find out. I see a few of the fuzzy little food thieves over there.” He jerked his snout toward a cluster of bushes at the edge of the landing pad.

I’d thought the puffs of color on the ground were other plants, but now that I really looked, they were moving. All in wild pinks and blues, too. Exceptionally fluffy.

Paint came trotting up. “The captain says we should close the door as soon as possible. Apparently there’s a known pest in the spaceport. Oh, hi.” She greeted the client as an afterthought.

He mumbled something polite back, more interested in getting the gadget to work than in greeting another of his own species. He hadn’t stepped back far enough for us to shut the door yet.

Mur peered past him suspiciously. “Did those things come here by stowing away on another ship?”

“Probably,” the client said. Then something clicked. “Aha!”

There might have been a noise. I couldn’t really tell. General spaceport sounds and local breeze made a background ambiance, but I kind of felt like there was something I should have been able to hear. Almost. A glance at Paint and Mur showed similar non-reactions. The fuzzballs by the bush did nothing.

“WHAT is that SOUND?” demanded Zhee, sticking his bug eyes around the corner. He had his pinchers clenched and his posture lower than usual, like he was crouching to make the sound quieter. I still didn’t know where his ears were. “Kindly stop it!”

“Sorry.” The client produced another click, apparently turning it off. “At least I know that it came fully charged. I’ll go test it on the fuzzball invasion.”

Zhee had already picked up a foreleg to continue down the hallway, but he paused at that. “What kind of fuzzballs?”

The client launched into an explanation, but I just pointed at the bush. “Those things over there. Lots of them, apparently.”

Zhee hurried over for a look, nearly knocking Paint off her feet. He sounded absolutely delighted when he exclaimed, “This planet has Egg Day?”

Blank looks all around. I asked, “Egg Day?”

He clicked a pincher arm and spoke quickly, like he was explaining something blindingly obvious that we all should know. “Mesmer holiday. The fuzz eggs emerge all at once — the first wave, anyway — and culling the population is great sport.” He addressed the client with an intense look. “These are an invasion you’d like to be rid of, yes?”

“Yes,” the client said in surprise. “They’re—”

Zhee was already turning away from him and talking to Mur. “Tell the captain to wait a little. We’re not in a hurry.” He looked at Paint. “Don’t tell Trrili.” Then he dashed out onto the landing pad, purple exoskeleton gleaming in the sun, a spectacle of predatory joy.

I’d made a step towards the hallway at one point, with thoughts of putting the payment tablet away, and an ominous voice hissed over my shoulder. “Don’t tell Trrrrrili what?”

I flinched a little, and pretended I hadn’t. “Hi there. Something about Egg Day?”

The tilt of her antennae and the flare of glossy black mandibles looked offended. “And he wanted a head start? The cheater!” She launched herself past all of us in a whirlwind of black and red. Paint thumped against the wall and the client nearly dropped the gadget.

Outside, Zhee already had a pile of crumpled furballs at his feet, and he was excavating the bushes for more. Trrili charged past him to upend a wheeled cart and expose the cluster of rainbow fur underneath. She put her praying mantis pinchers to their intended purpose, all the while bickering with Zhee about unsporting head starts.

The rest of us stared from the doorway.

“Oh my,” said the client.

Mur picked up some stray packing foam and handed it to him to put back in the box. “Those two ought to make a dent in your infestation,” he said. “And I daresay we can pass the word on to any other Mesmers nearby to come join the fun. Depending on the scale of the problem.”

“That … might be a good idea. Thank you.”

Eggskin appeared with a medkit, looking concerned. “What’s happening? I heard something about wanton violence.”

I hurried to reassure them. “Nothing to worry about. Just pest control. And a competition, apparently.”

Eggskin peered outside, shading their pale-scaled face from the sun. “Oh, Egg Day!”

Paint demanded, “You know about that?”

“Sure, it’s a Mesmer holiday,” Eggskin said, setting down the medkit. “Looks like somebody accidentally introduced the fuzz eggs here, huh? They leave egg cases in every hiding place they can find, and you usually don’t suspect a thing until they emerge all at once like that. Good thing we brought a couple of Egg Day veterans with us.”

The client was still clutching the box of electronics, wide-eyed. “They mentioned calling in more?”

“Probably wise,” Eggskin said. “We’ll have to be on our way before too long.” They picked up the medkit again. “Speaking of which, I should make sure we have enough storage space in the refrigeration unit, since they’ll want to eat every one of those.”

I shook my head. “This is a far cry from Easter when I was a kid. Though we did get to eat the hard-boiled eggs. And the ones that had candy inside. None of those took much of a battle to open, though. Well, except for the really little kids who weren’t strong enough yet.”

Paint looked up at me in consternation. “Your species has the same violent holiday as theirs?”

“Ours isn’t violent,” I said. “Unless kids fight over who saw an egg first, I guess. And there is that one noteworthy bit of lore that features a violent death, but that’s just part of the story behind it all. The actual event is totally different from this.” I watched my coworkers seek out brightly-colored round things in every little crevice about the spaceport. “Totally different.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

#I didn't set out to write anything Easterish #I really didn't #much less with knockoff tribbles #but here we are!#can't say I'm sorry about it #my writing #The Token Human #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #writeblr #science fiction #happy easter #a day late #but with alien nonsense #which is always fun

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typewritingyip · 3 months ago

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Arcturus Three

Part One - Introductions

———

In 1975, nine years before the Quintesson invasion, it was the waning years of the space race between the United States and the USSR. Not long after the end of the Vietnam war came the Apollo-Soyuz Test Project, where both major space programs attempted to dock together for the first time. After it’s success came further joint missions and projects to be had in what was dubbed space stations.

It wouldn’t be until after the end of the Cold War and war against the Quintisons had started that the then American Vice-President and Russian Prime Ministers would make plans for a new space station after the previous failed attempts, this would come to be known as the International Space Station.

The ISS sits in a low Earth orbit, intending to be a laboratory, observatory and factory along with roles that were added in 2010.

It’s initial intentions would be adjusted to fill the need of the different mech based organizations on Earth attempting to retrieve data from the alien invaders, to decipher where they were coming from or at the very least what they are. These attempts have so far been limited in success.

Six mecha pilots have attempted to follow the stream of data received by the ISS from the unknown invaders to potentially end this decades long conflict. All six pilots have lost contact with Earth. Another ten pilots are scheduled to follow the same data in the next five years.

Pilot(s): 3141, 6986, 17741 for Arcturus Three, plus medical officer RH.

Pilot(s): 12437 for Arcturus Four, solo mission.

Pilot(s): 555, 1060, 4341, 17740, and 3113 in suit eleven for Arturus Five, the last projected mission.

—

Two Years Post Arcturus One - One Year Post Arcturus Two

The pilots were sitting backstage, leaning around a small table talking quietly, “I mean, there has to be something they aren’t telling us.” Sitting back, the pilot lightly scratches at his implants, it was a habit most pilots who’d nearly faced rejection picked up after a while, “I mean no offense, but I thought we were all told that our seniority would be the judge of these missions.” Nodding some, another one of the pilots sighs, “We were initially told that, yes, but certain things must be accounted for.” The other pilot threw his hands up lightly.

They all were staring at each other, they couldn’t help it, “Alright, I’m not the only one who thinks it’s weird that this mission has me, one of the designers of our suits, the best female pilot on the planet, and supposedly a medical officer.” He kicked his feet up on the table, sending the tablets and papers on it flying.

He winced, “Uh, sorry, but seriously. This can’t be a normal mission, not like Arcturus one or two. I still don’t think we know all the details for those either.” Finally, one of the other pilots leaned forward, “No one is making you do this Roddy.” The other pilot grins before shrugging slightly, “Think of this as an adventure.” Then another pilot then spoke up as well, “A mission where it is likely you’ll be able to catch fire as often as you desire.” He chuckled at his own joke.

“Now that sounds like fun.” ‘Roddy’ had a killer smile and was unafraid to display it.

—

The media room was packed with reporters, as it always was for any mecha announcement but another packed room because it was combined with a NASA announcement. As per-usual, Swindle was wearing his overly charming smile while some government schmuck was talking the ears off the reporters.

It was almost easy to zone out, to remember the past and how the fight felt in those earlier years that these government geeks loved to reminisce on. Like the one next to him was currently doing, hemming and hawing over details that 99.9% of people didn’t care about.

Sighing deeply, Swindle shifts forward in his seat, “I am sorry to interrupt you Rick, but uh, we do in fact have a time frame to fit into, so if we could wrap up the science and make way for the pilots that would be great.” The NASA expert, Richard something, quickly shut up.

Scratching lightly at his jaw, Swindle smiles his award winning smile and stands, adjusting the microphone, “Well, it’s good to see all your familiar faces again. Welcome back to the Kennedy Space Center, we’ve got some exciting news for today.” Several hands were already in the air, but he elected to ignore them, “We have the absolute pleasure of introducing the crew of Arcturus Three and their spacecraft the Iliad, which yes, I know that was supposed to come before the Odyssey but we didn’t think we’d go with the mythology aspect till after the first shuttle was painted.” A few reporters chuckle and others keep their hands up.

It took a moment for him to take a breath and gesture to one of the reporters with their hand up, “You,” she smiles and stands, “Lillian Carmichael, The Wall Street Journal, are you going to talk about the loss of pilot 2672?” Nodding slowly, Swindle takes a breath, “His call sign was Cliffjumper, that was his name, not his number Lillian. They are people who are giving their lives for our planet, there is no greater sacrifice. So, no, we aren’t going to talk about Cliff cause his family will be watching this broadcast and it’s hard enough to miss him then to hear us talk about his sacrifice as if it meant nothing.” Clearing his throat a bit, he nods.

“Now, we’re here today to introduce the crew of Arcturus Three and their spacecraft.” He smiles and steps to the side, a projection lighting up behind him, “Meet the Iliad, the newest version of NASA’s space shuttle.” It looked nothing like the space shuttle and looked much more like something that would attach to the international space station, “Richard, you know more details on this.” Sitting back down, Swindle adjusted his hat.

This state of the art spacecraft was designed specifically for the transportation of mech suits and the study of the foreign enemy, from space of course. Swindle would not let another good pilot die cause they sent them up there with little to nothing.

The Iliad would be sent up initially in pieces, which would come together to reform the outer structure of the ship. Those pieces would remain in orbit where the rocket would be able to connect it and the suits necessary for the mission, while propelling the entire structure out into space. The pilots wouldn’t go up with the pieces, just their suits and the initial shuttle, it would give them more maneuverability in the long run and something for Mecha to maintain contact with when all the pilots kicked the bucket, again.

It was a horrible thought, Swindle knew this but what other choice did any of them have at this point? These things were getting bigger and badder, and in the two years since Arcturus One the number had gone up by another thousand pilots. Most of them died in compatibility testing in other countries, but that didn’t take away from the fact that there were another thousand dead pilots and nearly another million civilians.

The man from NASA lightly cleared his throat, “Sir?” “Hmm?” Glancing back up, Swindle smiles, “Oh, my turn again? Great.” He stands back up, smiling brightly and adjusting his suit jacket.

”Ladies and gentlemen, now I have the absolute pleasure of introducing you to our pilots for Arcturus Three!” The door to the side of the stage opens and he extends an arm, grinning as each pilot comes out to their name. “Pilot 3141, callsign Perceptor. Pilot 6986, callsign Hot Rod. Pilot 17741, callsign Arcee. Along with their medical officer, code name Ratchet.” The four people come up to the stage and take their seats, dressed in NASA gear.

—

Swindle was talking on and on, about the differences for this mission and how nothing like Arcturus Two would happen to this group and blah blah blah.

Currently, Jesse was twirling a pen through his fingers, running his tongue along his teeth and very clearly bored. A few reports snapped pictures, which he was almost smiling for without even trying. His look was very reminiscent of IceMan from Top Gun in that moment, bored and full of potential.

The female pilot to his right was quick to snatch the pen from his hands, whispering harshly, “Would you stop that? This is a press conference.” Cecilia put the pen back on the table, just out of his reach with a scowl, “We’re meant to look professional.” Jesse tried not to smirk, whispering back, “Yeah, I don’t think you reprimanding me is helping that case much Arcee.” She went to open her mouth again before just scowled and shifted her attention back to the speaker from NASA.

Now there was a pilot who knew what she was doing, Arcee had come to the program more recently than most. At least more than those still alive. She had made waves protecting Washington DC and the Chesapeake area in the last four years, for a lot of people it was like she had come out of nowhere.

Those in the program had known her and her mentor for longer, though she was young, too young to get the implants up until a few years ago. Now, she was leading in this year's kill count, even as others were falling and the survival rate of pilots was dropping. Originally, she wasn’t scheduled for an Arcturus Mission till the fifth one, but certain securities must be taken.

Afterall, you needed someone who knew how to fly that was mentally stable enough to do it.

Preceptor was the only other pilot on the stage and he was taking notes of everything that the engineer from NASA was saying, biting the end of the pen every time the speaker took a breath. He’d worked on this project from both sides and was keeping track of what was being said, compared to what was actually happening. The man from NASA wasn’t entirely accurate.

It still dragged on before questions were finally allowed to be asked, at which point Swindle stood, “Let’s stick to the guidelines people, you know what you can ask the pilots and what you can’t. Keep it PG if you can.” Most of the reporters laughed, not realizing the last bit was for the pilots on the stage.

Several hands went in the air and questions were being shouted in every direction, “Hot Rod, why did you sign up for Arcturus?” “Preceptor, Sir, why have you decided to become a full time pilot?” “Arcee, what do you think the commander will think of this change of schedule?” “Hot Rod, are you sad your other group mate Springer is not on the register for these missions?” “Arcee, are you prepared to fly such an experimental spacecraft?” “Preceptor, why do you think you’re going on this specific mission?” And they went on.

—

The workshop was dark except for an area in the corner, where an older man was working by the light of a desk lamp, a large wrench was leaned against his chair and his hair was tinted with grey.

Swindle closes the door with a bang, hands in his pockets as he starts over, “You were missed at the press conference.” The older man grunted in response, rolling his chair back while lifting the obscenely large wrench, moving over to another workbench and turning on a small lamp there.

It left a soft glow on his scowling face, sighing, he looked up, “What do you want, Swindle?” Smiling, Swindle heads over slowly. The whole space was generally kept tidy but lately it looked like a bull had been let loose in the china shop, “Just to talk about Arcturus Three.” Ratchet groaned.

”I don’t know why you keep pestering me about the project, and honestly I don’t appreciate you interrupting my work.” Swindle lightly kicked something out his way, humming, “Because you’re a part of the crew for this mission Ratchet. You know that.” Ratchet set the wrench on the table, likely so he didn’t swing it at Swindle’s head.

Moving over, Swindle leans against the edge of the desk, “You know why you have to go Doc.” Ratchet scowls and glares at Swindle, “Shouldn’t it have been my choice?” Smiling sadly, Swindle shrugs a bit, “It would have been, had you not taken that thing into your little workshop here.” There was an angry rev from the dark corner of the shop, Swindle loosely waves his hand, “Oh shut up you overgrown pile of bolts. Look, the only safe place for that thing—““His name is Deadlock.” Standing, Ratchet jabbed a finger at his chest.

With a nod, Swindle removes his hand and scratches at his old implants, they’d been capped years ago but still would itch with scaring, “The only safe place for him is as far from Shockwave as he can be, we both know this.” Slowly, he lowers himself onto a nearby stool.

Ratchet stared and shook his head, “He’s been plenty safe here.” Swindles laughs, “Has been and will be are two entirely different statements and you down well know it. If Shockwave gets so much as a whiff of him, he’ll do worse than dissect him, he’ll dissect you for protecting him. And we both know I can’t stop him.” He adjusts his blazer slightly, shaking his head.

Swindle had tried to fire the psychopath more than once, on a number of grounds, even his own torture but the congressman was far to popular and the government footed to much of the bill. His constituents footed most of the bill. Sure, not having to worry about putting his own money into the company made him a bit more at ease but that didn’t take away whatever the hell Shockwave was.

“Shockwave wants to move into a bigger lab space and we’ve bought the plot next door, there is no way your friend there would be safe and I think it’s best if we stuck with human technology torturing us all. Not whatever the hell he is.” There was another angry rev, though it sounded much more like a growl. Swindle nodded slightly and put his hat back on, “Plus, Roddy is going on this mission. It’s starting to get around that you and him have grown close because of experimental tech.” Ratchet’s eyes widened and he glanced towards Deadlock, hidden in alt mode in the dark.

Taking a breath, Ratchet looks back, “So, you’re launching me into space to face certain doom then?” Swindle shakes his head, “I’m sending you after who we’ve lost.” With a scoff, Ratchet stands and heads back to his other work space, “I can’t believe this.” Swindle followed, “Neither of you are safe if you stay.” The growling started back up, accompanied by a voice, “I can keep us safe.” Swindle glared at the car, “Like hell you can! Not against a man who has been working on the mecha program longer than most pilots have been alive!” He turns back to Ratchet.

A loud bang drew Swindle’s eyes back to Ratchet, who had slammed his project against the table, “We can handle that threat.” Swindle laughed, pulling at his hair peeking out from under his hat, “You can’t. This is the man that convinced Blurr back into a suit, the reason why Vortex is the way he is, and a monster unafraid to do whatever it takes to reach his fucking monsterous goals!” He jabs a finger into Ratchet’s chest, “He wants all of us dead Ratchet! He doesn’t even see it that way, but he is willing to kill every living thing to end this war!” He grabs Ratchet’s shoulders and starts shaking him.

The sound of grinding metal and shifting gears was loud, but Swindle didn’t let go of Ratchet, “He will kill you and that thing that is your friend if you don’t go! And I won’t let him kill the one person who tried to save us!” Trying to catch his breath, Swindle stared at Ratchet’s wide eyes, “Rusty, I can’t let him kill you. I owe you my life and I will fulfill my debts.” Ratchet rolled his eyes slightly before resting a hand on Swindle’s shoulder, “Alright, alright.” He sighed slowly, letting go of Ratchet and taking a step back, adjusting his blazer.

Turning, he could have shit his pants as something almost as big as a modern mech glared down at him.

Ratchet’s hand came down and rested on Swindle’s shoulder, “Relax kid, he’s just trying to protect us in his typical asshole kinda way.” The thing growled again, “Like I said, in his asshole kinda way. Breathe and go back to recharge.” It grumbled before turning back into a, well, it looked like an EMT chase vehicle.

Nodding slowly, Swindle sighed, “We both know Shockwave would want his hands on that kind of—“”You say technology and he will shoot you.” Nodding again, Swindle adjusted his hat before looking back to Ratchet, “You fly in a year’s time. I can get him up on part of the Iliad as soon as next month, but it does need to happen.” Ratchet sighed and nodded, “We’ll talk about it later.” Swindle nodded before starting back towards the door, touching his implants briefly, “I meant it Ratchet, I owe you a debt and this is how it’s going to be paid.” Then he left.

—

It was late and the warehouse was empty except for a few pilots and their mechs being fitted with new gear, but that would start in the morning. At the moment, Hot Rod, Arcee, and Preceptor were sitting around a small table eating take out.

Jesse was once again twirling around what he was holding, though this time it was a chopstick, “I want to know why they have sent five people on this mission and with one missing our mission isn’t potential recovery.” Cecilia sighs before shaking her head, “Cliff is gone Roddy and I don’t think anything is going to bring him back.” Percy hummed, setting down his food for a moment.

It took a moment for him to figure out how to phrase what he was going to say kindly, “Cliffjumper was a strong pilot but not one built for solo missions, I think sending him on Arcturus Two was their easiest way of getting rid of the problem child.” Jesse snorted and Cecilia hit his shoulder, he deserved that.

”I’m being serious Percy, Cliff is either dead or wishing he was, and I don’t wish that on anyone.” They fell quiet for a moment, Percy picking his food back up and Roddy stabbing his chopsticks into the sushi on the table.

A door across the hanger from them banged open and a familiar face came strolling in, white coat a stark contrast to the dark space as always, Jesse looked up and grinned, “Ratchet, come on, we got your favorite.” He moved over slowly and grabbed one of the chairs, turning it before sitting in it with the back of it against his chest and grabbing his takeout container, “Thanks kid.” Percy smiled a bit, “It was Jesse’s idea for us to do this tonight.” Rusty hummed.

It had been two years to the day since the launch of Arcturus One, one year since Arcturus Two and a year from this day would be their own launch.

Jesse popped a piece of sushi in his mouth and started talking, “So, why the four of us? I mean, I know Springer wasn’t found compatible for this specific mission but I know some of Breakdown’s brothers wanted to go. We all know Aid’ was supposed to be on this mission, but uh,” They all shifted a bit uncomfortably, “And Jazz’s brother wanted on but he got stuck with like, Arcturus Five, right?” Cecilia nodded, sighing.

Clearing her throat, Cecilia sat forward, “We know why suit eleven isn’t going,” “It’s too heavy for the Iliad to carry it up.” Percy nodded slightly and Arcee rolled her eyes, “As for everyone else, I don’t think we’re going to know. I think we’re just going to be kept in the dark on that front.” Jesse rolled his eyes and Rusty nodded.

The older man sat forward, “I think dwelling on who could have been on this mission is the wrong move, we can see who is going to be on it and now we’ve got to figure out not only how to work together but how to understand each other.” Percy nodded and Cecilia shifted a bit in her seat.

Pilots were not team players typically, not since, well, regardless they weren’t team players anymore.

“I still think it needs to be said and asked, why us?” Roddy gestured around with his chopstick, which he went back to twirling through his fingers. They all glanced at each other and honestly, none of them knew why this group was paired together.

Cecilia shifted again, “Well, I’m the only one who knows how to fly, so that’s a bit of a given. Ratchet is medical as well as he can work with Preceptor, the Iliad is an experimental spacecraft.” Percy nodded, “Very experimental.” She smiled a bit and looked back to Jesse, “So the only one in question is you Roddy.” He was quick to throw a potsticker at her, “Can it Arcee, who asked you?” Ratchet chuckled, “You did.” “Oh shut up.” He was pouting now.

Rain started to hit the metal roof, leaving a soft ringing sound throughout the hanger space. Three suits against the wall with tool boxes around them and supplies across the way; new seals, paint, and upgraded tech were all called for. Soon, three of the four of them would have to go through the next steps for their suit upgrades with the upgrades to their integrated tech, even before the NASA training would even start.

It was daunting and scary, but in the moment of the four of them sitting around a commandeered workbench covered in takeout, talking like tomorrow would be the same as any other day gave them all some bit of relief.

They would take off three years to the day from Arcturus One.

One year, counting down to July 10th 2016.

———

A/N

So here is the something different! Now, this series is going to be 5 parts, compared to Arcturus Two’s single part which was logs from MECHA databases.

To clarify, Jesse is Hot Rod, Cecilia is Arcee, Percy is well Percy, and Rusty is Ratchet. The old man of the group.

This also confirms the timeline! Which originally before I fucked up the way space time works, I wanted this series to take place in 2004. I messed up and the current point in Arcturus One is them in 2014. They took off in mid 2013.

We will go back to our regularly scheduled programming, in which I continue to just try and keep writing and not lose inspiration.

Tags!

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @childofprimus @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @dimencreasatlas @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @starscreamloverfr @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @blue-wrens @sirassban @astridkolch @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @osqindaxend @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscarpheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @pour1tin @thetrexartist @naaaafam

As always, I want to thank @keferon for this amazing AU and just giving us generally free rein.

#transformers #tf mecha universe #mech pilot jazz au #mecha pilot jazz au #the arcturus missions #maccadam

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imlosingitiswear · 18 days ago

Note

would love to hear your breakdown of the most egregious things the new season’s animation has done to the og intent of the manga (comparisons and all).

(note: i’m an animator and i agree with you i just wanna see what you’re specifically thinking of)

Oh boy

Ohhhh boy

Spoiler alert for ep 3 and comparison to the same scenes in the manga.

Also tw for some triggering moments from ep 3, please proceed at your own risk.

So this is going to be part 1 and I'm gonna start with shrimple 🦐 things because I don't have my big tablet with me so the suggestions are made with what I have available.

So first of all, the RCiel flashback, absolutely disgraceful execution.

I'm not going to go into it fully yet, but for example this scene:

In the manga you can see the horror in his eyes.

When using only black and white, one is forced to convey emotions in their most pure form because of the color restrictions. That's why it works so well, plus Yana is a master of shadows and compositions primarily containing black.

The "animated" shot does not convey even remotely the same emotion for me.

Firstly because of the style they have chosen. You can't have his eyelashes be this bright and expect to portray fear properly.

Secondly because of the colors.

IT'S SO DAMN BRIGHT.

Yes, the manga is also bright but that's because it wants to point your attention to his eye. And the emptiness that comes with the terror in it.

The blue in his eyes and the two highlights ruin any convincing part of this shot left. Too much detail, TOO MUCH. It works in the manga because it's made with as little lines as possible, the detail takes away the effect.

So here is what I added according to what I mentioned:

It's darker on the side, creating a greater contrast with the eye. I have included only one highlight, just like in the manga and have made the eyelashes darker. I also added a bit more detail under the eye for a stronger effect (just like it's done in the manga).

Here's a gif to show the difference:

(Please keep in mind I'm not claiming to be an expert and I'm not claiming to be better than the studio itself, this is just how I would have done it to fit the aesthetic and story better)

The next one is Sebastian related.

I hate his new design.

Bro he's so petite and shiny, WHY ARE THEY ALL SHINY, SINCE WHEN anyway

Here's one shot I took of his face that annoyed me to hell and back

Who is this man.

Is Tamatoa gonna come for him soon, what's the deal?

So I used Book of Atlantic as reference and fixed his face a bit. I also made the shot darker because OF COURSE IT WILL BE

(Once again, it's not the best, but at least the hair reminds of the og Sebastian and at this point, that's enough for me)

Here's the gif

And for last, another Seb related

He's giving again, he's a bit, just a tiny bit more serious again, you see how big of a difference to his personality it makes.

It's paying attention to those details that keeps a character in character.

It's this scene from the manga:

I love it's composition because look at how full and sad and overwhelming ociels panel is compared to how small and cornered sebs one is.

Not only is he so small, but he's also off center IN HIS OWN panel, pushed as much to the left as he can be to portray how distant he is to ociel now.

Its not about the speech bubble, it's about unconsciously separating them from one another.

And here's what the stupid ass studio decided is best

SMACKED HIS AAH IN THE MIDDLE, TAKING vertically 2/3 OF THE SHOT.

EHM

WHAT

Also IT'S SO BRIGHT YET AGAIN.

He's supposed to be lonely in this shot, left aside, pushed away, unwanted.

DON'T PUT HIM IN THE MIDDLE YOU DUMMIES FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

I put him in the first third of the composition, put the light source off camera, cus we don't need that brightness, fixed his hair and made IT DARKER YET AGAIN. I also had to draw some of the background, I hope it doesn't stand out too much.

ANYWAY.

No gif cus there's a 10 pic limit that I didn't know about.

This is just the first part, I'll get to the animation and specific scenes later. I know I didn't cover any of the important ones but I can't do much without my tablet 😔

All of those shots, that mind you, 2 of which are not even animated at all aside from Sebastian's mouth, took me less than 2 hours to work on. Yes, the base was already there, but that little effort makes THE DIFFERENCE, IT MAKES SUCH A DIFFERENCE!!!

Once again, I'm not claiming to be an expert, I just really love this story and want it to get the care and proper adaptation it deserves.

And if you think I'm being nitpicky...

Yes.

I absolutely am.

Because that's how you make a high quality product.

By THINKING. And making THE APPROPRIATE CHOICES TO MAKE THE WANTED EFFECT EVEN STRONGER.

Wow I feel better.

Can't wait to get to the animation heheehehhe

Thanks for the request btw, you're awesome, let's colab and fix it together :3

Bye now, see you soon, keep arting!!!

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #ciel phantomhive #kuroshitpost #sebastian michaelis #sebaciel #emerald whitch arc #yana toboso

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youngsadlesbian · 2 months ago

Text

BORN FOR THIS

pairing: natasha romanoff x bucky barnes x daughter!reader

summary: growing up as the daughter of natasha romanoff and bucky barnes, you prove your brilliance and earn your place among the avengers.

a/n: it's been a long time since i wrote anything for buckynat x daughter!reader so here it is.

word count: 914

warnings: just fluffy <3

Being the daughter of two of the world’s most dangerous spies came with a lot of expectations. People assumed you’d be a perfect soldier, a flawless fighter, or maybe an expert in covert operations. But you were none of those things—at least, not in the way they expected.

Your mind was your greatest weapon.

It started with a Hydra firewall.

You were twelve, sitting in the Avengers Tower’s common room, absently hacking into a secure system while eating a bowl of cereal.

Steve, Bucky, and Natasha were sitting nearby, discussing an upcoming mission. They were stuck on a major issue: Hydra had encrypted files that could expose their newest operation, and no one—not even Tony—had been able to break through their security.

"FRIDAY, any progress?" Natasha asked, crossing her arms.

"Negative. Decryption process remains incomplete. Estimated time: seventy-two hours."

Bucky groaned. "We don’t have seventy-two hours."

You looked up from your tablet. "What are you trying to get into?"

"Classified," Natasha said automatically.

You rolled your eyes and turned the screen toward them. "You mean this?"

There was a long silence.

Steve nearly choked on his coffee. "How the hell—?"

Bucky snatched the tablet from your hands. Sure enough, the encrypted Hydra files were right there, already decrypted.

Natasha blinked. "You cracked the encryption?"

You shrugged. "It wasn’t that hard. They used a basic 256-bit cipher. Amateurs."

Tony chose that exact moment to walk in. "Hey, who’s been messing with my—" He froze as he saw what was on the screen. His face went through at least four different emotions before he turned to you, eyes wide. "Wait. Wait, wait. You cracked the Hydra encryption? The one I spent a week trying to get through?"

You nodded. "Yeah, but to be fair, they used a weak key. If you tweak the algorithm to—"

"Okay, nope. I refuse to be shown up by a twelve-year-old," Tony declared. "This is unacceptable."

Steve just stared at you. "How long did it take you?"

You tilted your head, thinking. "Maybe… ten minutes?"

Natasha looked genuinely impressed.

Bucky looked horrified.

Tony groaned. "I hate this. I hate this."

At fourteen, you had another brilliant (but completely ridiculous) idea.

The mission was in Madripoor. The Avengers needed to infiltrate a high-tech facility, but security was tight. No one could get past the biometric scanners without raising alarms.

The team spent hours brainstorming. Then you walked in, half-asleep, holding a bag of chips.

"Why don’t you just trigger a system-wide false alarm first?" you suggested between bites.

Everyone turned to look at you.

You chewed slowly. "I mean… if the whole system freaks out first, no one will notice when you actually break in. Hydra will think it's just another system malfunction."

Silence.

Bruce adjusted his glasses. "Technically, that could work."

"That’s insane," Clint muttered.

"It’s also brilliant," Natasha said.

Tony groaned. "Okay, fine. Let's try the kid’s dumb idea."

It worked.

And no one ever called your ideas dumb again.

By the time you were fifteen, it was clear that you weren’t just "the kid of two super-spies." You were an asset.

So when a mission required an undercover agent who could blend in as an ordinary teenager, you were the perfect candidate.

Natasha was against it.

"No. Absolutely not."

"Nat," Bucky sighed, "she’s the best option."

"She’s fifteen," Natasha snapped.

"She’s also better at this than half the team," Tony added. "I mean, let’s be real, she’s already saved our asses multiple times."

You sat there, watching as your parents debated your fate.

Finally, you crossed your arms. "You do realize I’m in the room, right?"

Natasha sighed, rubbing her temples. "You’re not ready for this."

You met her gaze, unwavering. "Yes, I am."

She studied you for a long moment. Then, finally, she nodded. "Fine. But if anything happens to you—"

Bucky cut in. "—we’ll burn the whole damn place down."

That was the only reassurance they needed.

The mission went too well.

You slipped in undetected, blending in as just another teenager at an elite school. You befriended the target’s daughter, gained access to restricted areas, and managed to get crucial intel without setting off a single alarm.

Everything was fine—until it wasn’t.

The second Hydra caught wind of an intruder, all hell broke loose.

Gunfire. Alarms. Agents swarming the building.

You could hear Natasha’s panicked voice over the comms. "Where is she?"

You didn’t have time to respond. You were already running.

A Hydra agent lunged at you, but you were faster. You ducked, disarmed him, and took him down before he could blink.

Natasha and Bucky reached you just in time to see it.

You turned to them, slightly out of breath. "Hi."

Natasha’s eyes flickered to the unconscious agent. "Did you—?"

"Yeah."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Bucky grinned. "That’s my girl."

Natasha sighed. "God help us all."

But you caught the tiny smirk she tried to hide.

After the mission, things changed.

No one treated you like a kid anymore. Not even Tony.

You had a seat at the table. You had a voice in the room. You were an Avenger.

And as you sat there, watching Natasha and Bucky exchange knowing glances, you realized—

This was where you were meant to be.

#bucky barnes x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #buckynat x reader #bucky barnes x natasha romanoff x reader #avengers #mcu #marvel

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luveline · 1 year ago

Text

hello, I know you’re all probably aware of what’s happening in Palestine, but just in case you don’t know, since Israel's offensive military onslaught began, over 25,000 Palestinians have been killed, and things are continuing to get worse, there is real risk of genocide

I realise you’re all probably in a similar position to me where you feel like you don’t have much power to help, but there are some things you can do to help that will only take a few minutes! for free, you can sign this petition at amnesty demanding a ceasefire

with save the children, any small donation can make a difference. I know it’s hard to budget sometimes and if you can’t make a contribution that’s okay, but if you can a little goes a long way. when I donated £33 in march toward the Gaza crisis page, it was enough for one food basket. If you can donate £3 today that money can pay for 17 malnutrition treating food sachets, or 25 water sterilising tablets. These packs go toward the 600,000 children that are affected by the conflict and Israel’s demand that civilians in eastern Rafah leave to Al-Mawasi (all the info I’ve said here is from the save the children page where you can visit yourself from the food basket link)

So sorry if any of this information is incorrect but please read the links if you want to know more they are where I’ve received some of my information, or research how to donate if you want to donate to a broader demographic and make your own informed decisions, With a lot of information available it’s difficult to know what’s reputable so I’ve included links from sources I think are trustworthy, and I would never profess to be an expert in any of this but hopefully it can point anyone who isn’t aware of what’s happening or what is going to happen soon in the right direction

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mistydeyes · 2 years ago

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Hello!! Could you do headcanons with the 141 boys with a partner who has frequent migraines and they are in the task force with them as well?

Honestly, any of these boys taking care of me while I have a migraine or just sick cures me in just a few seconds lol

thank you for requesting! I thought this was super cute to write and I was able to recall some of the non-harm methods for treating migraines :) I literally cannot even deal with a headache so I can't imagine what frequent migraines must feel like

migraines and forehead kisses

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: You've been diagnosed with frequent migraines but sometimes it is so unbearable that the 141 will step in and be sure to soothe their significant other.

pairing: Taskforce 141 x gn!Reader

warnings: none, all fluff :)

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

price

most of the time, your migraines are triggered by stress or following a long, sleepless mission

price can tell when your in pain, especially when you close your eyes tightly or put your head in your hands

he'll rub your shoulders and offer to make you some coffee to help

he knows you are regimented about your medication so he often offers other methods of helping your headache

and as caffeine is the answer to all of price's problems, he immediately makes you a pot of coffee

as you put your head down on the table, you can smell the strong scent of coffee beans

"don't make it too strong" you mumble and he would laugh

it's a legitimate request as you have tried his coffee and you swear it would kill a small child

"here you go, love" he would say and presents you with a small mug

you're not sure if its the stimulants from the caffeine or just being back on base, but you're headache dissipates within moments

he'll continue to ask about your condition until you reassure him you're fine

"it's always the coffee"

he's so proud of it even though its something you can buy from the grocers

soap

when you first had a migraine, soap wanted to rush you to the infirmary

he practically loses it when you tell him how you can see an aura in your vision and how it feels like a jackhammer on your brain

only after you reassured him it was a reoccurring thing and you were diagnosed before you entered selection, he calms down

now he's an expert at helping you recover

you found that brufen helps the best and soap will always have it on hand

when you closed your eyes tightly on the plane and complained about the fluorescent overhead light, he immediately searched through his tac vest

"it's here somewhere," he would say as you could hear various zippers and velcro pockets being opened

eventually he opened your palm to offer you the small tablet

"you sure this isn't expired?" you asked and he reassured you he just got it from the chemist's last week

he handed you your flask of water and patted your back after you swallowed it

as you waited for the medication kick in, he lets you rest your head on his shoulder and draws circles into your back

"it'll be alright" he reassures and you have to tell him to lower his voice as it makes the migraine worse

he'll get it right one day

gaz

when you first told gaz you had frequent migraines, he spent all night looking up remedies

you already were on medication and had your analgesics at the ready so he focused on home remedies

for a few weeks, you both tried out various techniques (caffeine and essential oils being your least favorite)

eventually, you found that a good scalp massage was ideal for making the pain go away

something about increasing blood circulation

as long as you're not in the middle of an active war zone, he will gladly sit you in between his legs and give you the best massage in the world

he'll start at the base of your scalp and work his way up with his fingers

"just let me know if i'm hurting you, love," he'd reassure but his gentle touch always made you feel comforted

it honestly feels like one of those head scratchers but a thousand times better

you joke that he should've been a masseuse instead of joining the military

he'll hum lightly as he continues until you let him know that you're feeling better

you're more than happy to return the favor with his aching muscles (especially his back and shoulders)

ghost

you know your migraines are triggered after long mission briefings where you strain to look at the screen and through various floor plans

since they're unavoidable, ghost knows what to do when you exit the room and tell him you have a migraine

plays 20 questions with you and will ask if you tried everything

did you drink enough water? yes, you know me. took your paracetamol today? yeah tried that. what about your rizatriptan? you saw me take that before the briefing.

he'll sigh before offering you some other methods

"just follow me" he responds and you walk with him back to your quarters

he leaves the light off before returning from the bathroom with a cold, damp towel

before you can ask, he sits on the bed and motions for you to sit in between his legs

you compile and once you're comfortable, he places the cold compress over your eyes

despite the initial shock, it actually worked quite well and you swear you can fall asleep like this

ghost swears he heard you snoring but you deny it

now whenever you have a long briefing, you will follow the same routine and ghost gets to enjoy some quiet alone time with you

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dragonnnerdd · 5 months ago

Text

Things I wish more people would talk about in Lego Monkie Kid

(Prepare for a rant longer than the bible /silly)

Spoilers for LMK seasons 2, 3 and 5 (also a brief mention of emotional abuse, and trauma)

Li Jing's terrible parenting

First of all, can we acknowledge that Nezha was CRYING when he had to go against his father??

LOOK AT HIM

How are we supposed to forgive Li Jing so quickly when all he does is talk down to Nezha? And you could argue that Li Jing said he was always proud of Nezha, but all he did was treat him terribly, and as an expert on horrible parents (*cough* my dad *cough*), if they're in a situation where they have to say the right words, 👏 THEY 👏 MOST 👏 LIKELY 👏 WON'T 👏 MEAN IT 👏, especially if they don't change after that. Li Jing could possibly change his treatment of Nezha, that still doesn't forgive what emotional trauma he could've given Nezha to make him CRY AT THE THOUGHT OF GOING AGAINST HIS ORDERS. Now, you could say that Nezha just didn't want to betray his father, and that's what made him cry, but the evidence still points to Li Jing being a horrible father. And I might have a bias towards Nezha, since he is one of my favorite characters, but I know for a fact I'm not the only one who thinks at least one of these things, because I learned one of these things from a post I saw (I can't find it tho, but if anyone might know what I'm talking about, please tell me). Keep in mind I'm not in any way a psychiatric professional, but I do know about what emotional abuse can do to a person, and how the way a parent treats their child can really effect the child's mental health.

Summary: It is implied that Li Jing is a terrible father.

Did I really make a giant paragraph on how Li Jing sucks? Oh, girl (gender neutral), we ain't even done yet.

How Possessed Sun Wukong is actually really creepy, and how he is the perfect temporary antagonist

I hardly think the first part needs explaining. LOOK AT HIM

Now, we all know how Wukong is, like, one of the most powerful guys in the world. Which makes it even more shocking when he is turned against the protagonist, whom he cares about like a son/brother/whatever you prefer (as long as it's not proship-y), by someone who is thought to be less powerful than him. Usually, Wukong makes a lot of noises while fighting, which is something really intimidating about the absence of any grunts or yells when he is possessed. I will use this scene for example

And there is just something about the zero hesitation to attack anyone, up until the end of the special when he slowly walks up to MK, showing that he is fighting LBD's control. And, may I just add, that scene is REALLY CREEPY

LOOK AT HIM

Anyway, as I said in the title of this rant, Wukong is a perfect temporary antagonist. He is extremely powerful (so powerful that he literally punched the lotus out of Nezha)

He caused a crater in the ground from punching Nezha one time, and he took one step and caused a dent in the ground. The protagonist (MK) clearly doesn't want to fight him, and Wukong is immortal. He LITERALLY WALKED THE UNIVERSE-ENDING FLAME

NOTHING CAN KILL HIM! (I apologize for the quality of some of these images, my tablet sucks)

This next thing ties into Wukong's possession--

LOOK AT THE PURE FEAR ON MACAQUE'S FACE WHEN HE IS FACE-TO-FACE WITH WUKONG

That is the face of a guy who is reliving trauma. And let's not forget the scene in the Shadow Play episode where MK charges at Macaque, and the flashback to Wukong flying at him makes it very clear what this moment reminds him of. And in the Benched episode, he tries to convince Tang that his friends (and specifically Wukong) are better off without him, and I bet that's how Macaque felt when Wukong had killed him. I really hope that season 6 touches more on Macaque's trauma.

Now, onto my last topic (finally, I spent so long writing this overanalysis about Legos)

Wukong apologized to MK

If you remember, in season 3, Wukong actually apologized to MK. This is mainly something I'm just really happy about, because he finally admitted he made a mistake. Throughout the first two seasons, Wukong is known to be a silly guy, not taking things seriously, and not admitting his mistakes, so for him to actually apologize for something he did, and actually look guilty for it, is something that just really is nice. LOOK AT HIM (fourth "LOOK AT HIM" of this rant)

He is genuinely sorry. Now if he could APOLOGIZE TO ALL THE OTHER HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE HE HAS MADE ANGRY, THAT'D BE GREAT

Wukong, I love you, you're my babygirl, but MACAQUE IS MY OTHER BABYGIRL, APOLOGIZE TO HIM

Now, finally, my rant is done (for now)

Did I really just make the longest post I've ever made to say what I wish more people would talk about, which turned into an in-depth analysis of Lego monkeys, and a Lego prince whose whole thing is pink flowers? Yes, yes I did. I have no shame

Now, to quote a great man...

MONKEY KING DRAGON NERD OUT!

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