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munson-blurbs · 10 months ago

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086: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Series

Chapter 003: We're the Freaks

Summary: You muster up some courage and devise a plan to help Eddie remember the good parts of his life, while the effects of his alternate dimension adventure begin to sink in.

Warnings: dark themes, mostly canon-compliant (Eddie lives), violence, blood, restraint, amnesia, abduction, mention of shock therapy, drug use, the beginnings of mutual pining hehehe

WC: 4.4k

Divider credit to @saradika

October 31, 1984

Eddie sees you before you can even greet him, lips turning upwards in a shy smile. It’s as though he was hoping you’d be at the party, desperate for the opportunity to talk with you. He stops counting the dollar bills clenched in his left hand and casts his eyes down for a second before looking back at you.

“Hey, uh, hi. What can I do ya for?” He bites the inside of his cheek in a silent berating. You can practically hear his brain chastising him for such an awkward opening: ‘What can I do ya for?’ Christ, am I Eddie Munson or Andy Griffith?

You hold out the twenty dollars from Carol. “Can I buy some weed?” If Worst Conversational Skills was an Olympic sport, the two of you could easily win the gold medal. Maybe they’d even create a platinum one for your extraordinary contributions.

Eddie either doesn’t notice the way you cringe at your own question, or he doesn’t care. He only nods, rifling through his tin box. “You want just the flower or pre-rolled?” When he’s met with no answer, he brings his focus to you again. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” No. Carol didn’t specify what she wanted; last time, he’d only had flower. Was she happy with that? Did she say anything about wishing it was already neatly rolled into a blunt for her to smoke? Your thumbnail tucks itself between your teeth, a nervous habit. You can practically picture her disdain at your potential mistake. And Heather won’t be able to hide her disappointment; not at your wrong decision, but the way you’re squandering your chance at popularity.

“You sure?” Eddie props one elbow on the counter and gazes directly into your eyes, concern woven into his kind smile. “So you know, it’s not like cutting the wrong wire. Nothing explodes if you choose one over the other.”

Except whatever semblance of a social life you have left. “Totally fine. I’ll go with flower. Thanks.” You show him the crumpled bill again but he waves it off.

“It’s on me.” He pulls out a baggie and gives it to you, the scent of marijuana pungent even through the plastic. “This is some good shit, too. Kinda makes me mad it’ll be wasted on Carol and Tommy.” He laughs when you freeze, caught in the act. “C’mon, you think I didn’t realize that you only bought from me when you started hanging out with them?” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans in slightly, pleased with his discovery. “Do you even smoke?”

You shake your head shamefully, not daring to make eye contact.

“Do you want to?” This grabs your attention. “With me, not them,” he clarifies.

“I shouldn’t…my parents would kill me if I come home high,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Listen, I’m not trying to pressure you or anything,” he says, latching the locks on the tin box. “Just figured we could hang out or something; y’know, maybe try and figure out how Carol manages to lodge such a huge stick up her ass.”

As if on cue, the person in question shouts your name from across the room, tone thick with impatience. Your middle finger itches to flip her off, but your cowardice wins—as usual. “I gotta get this to her,” you mumble, shoving the money back in your bag. “Thanks again.”

You begin to walk away, but his fingertips gently graze your wrist. An electric current flows between you, a spark that could burn bright if only you’d fan the flame. “Look, I’m not sure why someone as nice as you is hanging out with people like them, but if you ever need a friend—a real friend—just say the word.” The smile he offers this time is not one of amusement, but of empathy. I know what it’s like to mold myself into what people want me to be. “You like to read, right?”

His seemingly random question draws your brows skyward. “Yeah…?”

“Use that,” he juts his chin in the direction of your bag, where you’re storing Carol’s money, “to buy yourself a new book. A hardcover; none of that paperback bullshit.” He punctuates the statement with a wink. The gestures have your stomach in knots; all you want is to take his hand and talk with him for hours, leaving behind the pressures of status quo adherence, but you can’t.

“Um, hello?” Carol’s screeching voice snaps you back into reality, and you shuffle over to her without formally saying good-bye to Eddie.

You have eight months left until you graduate and can get as far away from Hawkins as you possibly can. But until that day arrives, you’re stuck playing the game.

March 31, 1986

“Eighty-six.”

The voice is a whisper, an angel beckoning him towards heaven.

“Eighty-six!” the voice hisses, urgently this time, much more Lucifer than Gabriel.

Eddie jerks awake, wincing when the handcuff clangs against the gurney’s metal bar and digs into his wrist. He’s become accustomed to it while he’s awake, but it still catches him off-guard as he rejoins the land of the living. “Jesus H. Christ, what?” he grumbles, expecting the sinister stare of a white-coated man.

Instead, he sees you in the doorway: fear seeping from every pore, but not an ounce of malice in your eyes.

“Oh, hi,” he says sleepily, ease flooding his bones when he realizes he isn’t being subjected to more unpleasant memories or poking and prodding–yet. He uses his free hand to scratch at the stubble forming along his jawline. “055, right?”

You nod, lip firmly tucked between your teeth. His grogginess means that he’s moving at a pace far too slow for your liking, your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. “Yeah, mhm; that’s me.” You check over your shoulder to ensure no one’s coming, then duck into his room. “The doctors are busy with another patient,” you start, omitting that their busy-ness involves electroconvulsive therapy for “non-compliance,” “so we have a few minutes for me to pull a memory, if you want.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, softly but enthusiastically. A smile tugs at his lips. “Can you do another one with Dustin? But, like, a less, um, terrible one?” He can still taste his own blood in his mouth when he thinks about it.

“I’ll do my best,” you promise, standing in front of him. He looks naked without his signature wild mane; there’s no longer anything for him to hide behind. How many times had you seen him in class, carelessly running his hands through his hair, his rings getting snagged on a rogue curl? All of it–the jewelry included–is now gone. You can’t even reassure him that it’ll grow back, because the doctors will ensure that it’s kept closely shaved.

He assumes the same position as he did the previous day, but with one major difference: he extends his hand, an unmistakable attempt to hold yours.

“Oh, um,” you stammer, simply staring at it. “We don’t…you don’t need to do that for this to work,” you supply.

Eddie withdraws, not only his hand, but his body caves in from the rejection. He gives a quick nod, shoulders gently hunched so he takes up less space.

Immediately, your heart lurches. “I mean, we can if you…if it’ll help you feel better.” If you want to is too loaded a statement to make. “I just wanted you to know that it isn’t, like, required.”

“I know.”

With those two words, you reach out and take his palm in yours, sweat-slicked despite the lab’s perpetual chill. The rough calluses on his fingertips scratch against your skin as his lifelines merge with your own.You remember comparing with Heather back in fourth grade, sitting on a bench during recess while the other kids played dodgeball or fought over the playground's sole tire swing. She swore that she could read some hidden meaning behind them. You’d always thought it was mumbo-jumbo, that there was no way she could obtain that information from etches in your hand or the direction of your fingerprint swirls.

When she’d read her own palm, how long did she say she would live? Was it eighteen years, the age she was on that fateful night?

“You okay?” Eddie’s head is cocked slightly as though examining the gears turning within your skull. “I dunno if this hurts you or anything, but we don’t have to do this,” he says. “I’ll get my memories back another way.”

You shake your head, well-aware that there aren't any other feasible options, especially for happy memories. The scientists only want to see who was with him in the Nether, and from what you’ve gleaned, no part of that experience was pleasant.

“It’s fine,” you mutter, embarrassed that he has to comfort you. “It doesn’t hurt me. You’re the one who’ll end up with a headache,” you point out.

“Fair enough.”

You swallow your nerves, heart beating in your ears. If the doctors find you in here unsupervised and without permission…your mind won’t allow you to consider the consequences. Perhaps you’ll be next in line for Ol’ Shocky. “I need you to think about your friend Dustin. Picture him and bring the image to the forefront of your mind. Try not to let your thoughts wander.”

Eddie nods, mouthing Dustin’s name over and over as you delve deep into his brain, using his sole memory—and your memory of that memory—as guidance.

After what seems like eons, you latch onto one and tug it to the surface triumphantly. You can feel blood trickling down your nose and over your lips, but you do your best to focus on the task at hand.

Hawkins High’s cafeteria is buzzing with excited conversation, the phrases “I missed you!” and “how was your summer?” and “did you hear about what happened at Starcourt?” seem to be constants. A banner hung up in the entryway reads ‘WELCOME BACK, TIGERS!’, complete with an illustration that some poor art club sap was probably volunteered to paint.

Eddie keeps his gaze trained on the tile floor, avoiding anyone and anything. He just needs to get to his table, eat lunch, and repeat every day until—

The sound of a lunch tray clattering to the ground, followed by a cacophony of malicious chuckles, grabs his attention. He watches as a group of seniors gather around a table, laughing hysterically.

“C’mon, seriously?” A kid—Dustin, you both determine from the earlier memory pull—whines at the ruined pizza slice below him.

“What’s that?” One of them sneers. “I don’t speak Mushmouth.”

Dustin rolls his eyes and flips off the older kid. “You’re lucky Steve graduated already, or he’d kick your ass!” he shouts.

The second boy hides his face as though hoping he won’t be their next victim, but his vulnerability makes him a prime target. Down, down, down falls his lunch, followed by one belonging to a scrawny kid who looks like a poster boy for The Gap.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, wanting to ignore the situation, but his conscience steers him towards the kids. “Show’s over,” he grumbles, using the strength acquired from lugging amps to break it up. He grabs one of the bullies by the collar—a jock, Andy something-or-other, according to his letterman jacket—and snarls, “get the fuck outta here before I tip off your coach to check your piss.”

Andy just nods, attempting to play it cool, but Eddie can feel him trembling under his grip. He puffs up his chest and walks away, taking his posse with him.

“Thanks,” Scrawny Kid mumbles, haphazardly brushing chocolate milk residue off his clothes. He refuses to make eye contact, thoroughly humiliated on his first day of high school.

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie says casually. “Just, uh, it might help your case if you don’t dress like some prep school wannabe.” He grins, and to his delight, the boys smile with him.

Scrawny Kid shakes his shaggy hair from his eyes. “I’m Mike, and this is Lucas,” he points to the kid who’d tried to make himself invisible, “and Dustin.” The kid branded ‘Mushmouth’ gives a small wave.

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Weird Al, huh?” he laughs, unable to hide his amusement at Dustin’s choice of t-shirt. “Christ, you three are clueless.” He cocks an inquiring eyebrow. There’s one place he can take them under his wing and keep them safe from the moldy jockstraps known as the Hawkins High basketball team.

“You little freaks ever play Dungeons and Dragons?”

The sound of approaching footsteps down the hall pulls you from his psyche, and you blink a few times to clear your vision. “Shit, I’m sorry.” You swipe at the blood under your nose, leaving a crimson stain in its wake. “I gotta go, but we can meet up again tomorrow.” You start towards the door, but his uncuffed hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, drawing you back.

“Wait…before you go.” Fear radiates from his deep brown irises. “I know you’ll have to pull more memories–bad ones–for them.” He swallows thickly, trying to stave off tears. “But if they ask you to do it while I’m sleeping, can you wake me up first?” he asks weakly.

Realization crashes over you; his first returned memory was his near death, watching his friend witness the life draining from his limp body.

“Yes.” The word is firm, confident, though you’re making a promise you’re unsure you can keep.

Eddie manages a small smile, but it emanates gratitude, and you return it. You want to stay, to search for every happy moment in his life and allow him to bask in their joy, even if just for a moment. But both of you risk serious punishment if you’re caught, and so you make your escape as inconspicuous as possible.

Eddie lays back, staring at the fluorescent lights until his eyes start to water. Thoughts swirl through his mind, a roller coaster off of its track. In addition to Dustin, there’s Mike and Lucas. And Dustin had mentioned someone named Steve, which rang the faintest of bells.

It’s a common name, he thinks. Could be anyone. Yet something deep inside nags at him, an instinct that he can’t shake.

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve.

He twists the bed sheet below him until the thin fabric tears with an audible riiiiiip. His life has been reduced to two meager moments: saving three nerds from a jockstrap with an inflated ego, and losing in a battle against some bat-like creatures. Nothing before that, and nothing between.

The after is right now, imprisoned in this room with no evidence of a crime, let alone anything pinning him as a suspect.

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve.

He wills himself to remember any other details. What was it that he said at the memory’s conclusion? Something about Dungeons and Dragons?

“C’mon,” Eddie mutters, eyelids shut tight in concentration. Maybe it would be better to keep them open, like he does when you’re pulling a memory. Since there’s nowhere else to look, he stares down the broken clock, all three hands frozen in place.

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve.

Dustin Lucas Mike—

The hour hand ticks forward.

Eddie shoots up, yanking the cuff along with his body. No, he must be hallucinating. When was the last time he ate something? Or perhaps the ancient batteries had a little kick left in them.

Something implores him to try it again.

His eyes lock onto the clock, channeling all of his anger and confusion to move the hand another centimeter.

There’s a gentle splintering noise, so quiet that he’d be unable to hear it if another person in the room was breathing. It gets louder until the glass frame covering the clock face shatters completely, shards clattering to the floor like rain.

No battery glitch could explain that. And it couldn’t explain his nosebleed, identical to yours when you utilized your powers.

He can’t even clean his face before dizziness overtakes him, and it all goes black.

November 9, 1984

It’s been just over a week since Tina’s Halloween party. The talk of the high school is still Steve and Nancy’s bathroom argument—and subsequent breakup—though new developments about two teachers getting frisky in the staff lounge has taken some of the attention away from them.

“Hey,” Carol says, leaning against the locker next to yours and obnoxiously popping her bubble gum, “that shit you got from The Freak was pretty good.” She raises her eyebrows in amusement and challenge. “If you can score some more, you and Heather should smoke with us.”

Translation: you’ll get more weed, and if you don’t, I’ll tell Heather that you ruined it for everyone. You can picture the look of disappointment on her face, slumped shoulders and dejected frown screaming, you let me down.

“Yeah, I’ll see if he still has any,” you mumble, grabbing your history textbook and slamming the door. You spin the lock’s dial and give it a tug to ensure it’s closed, giving Carol the chance to leave.

She doesn’t.

“Y’know, maybe it’s because Heather’s been vouching for you,” she starts, blowing another watermelon-scented bubble, “but you’re not as much of a drag as I thought you were.” It’s her version of a compliment, and you hesitantly accept it with a nod. “Anyway, eight o’clock. My place.” She flounces off, probably to find and cling to Tommy, leaving you with a churning gut.

The closest you’ve ever been to smoking weed was getting a contact high at the party. Carol and Tommy hadn’t offered to share, and you didn’t certainly volunteer yourself. If you try and end up coughing like a tuberculosis patient, you’ll never live it down. If you decline to smoke with them, you’ll all but solidify your role as the loser, straight-laced outsider and catapult yourself from their inner circle. And if you don’t show up at all? Heather will never forgive you.

You keep your textbook clutched to your chest, making a beeline for class. Goody two-shoes can’t be late. No, she’ll get there early; maybe place a shiny red apple on the teacher’s desk, and sit patiently with her hands folded. Just like she always has; just like she always will.

You’re so intensely focused that you bump into someone, your head snapping up at the sudden collision. The textbook slips from your grip and hits the ground with a thud.

“What’s the big rush?”

Eddie.

You shake your head. “Nothing. Sorry, I should’ve watched where I was going—”

“No worries,” Eddie says with a small laugh, leaning over and picking up the book. He hands it to you and smiles. “See you around?”

Now’s your chance. “Actually, I was hoping we could meet up after school,” you force out the request, not realizing the implication until he cocks his brow. “To buy some more, um…” You look away, unable to finish the sentence in fear that the wrong person will overhear.

Eddie grins, eyes alight with anticipation. “Yeah, of course,” he replies. “After school, during lunch, even right now, if you want. Got it all in here.” He gives his tin box a proud slap.

“After school is fine,” you say hurriedly. There’s that one other favor you need; it hides behind your molars and sticks to your tongue. “Would…could you maybe…show me how?” Your cheeks are so hot that your face may as well be ablaze. “Carol asked me to join them, but I’ve never…and I don’t wanna look like a total moron…” Shut up, shut up, shut up.

His face briefly shifts expressions, something resembling disappointment, though you can’t pinpoint it before his usual shy smile returns. “Sure. Meet me by the picnic benches right after last period.”

“Thanks.” You give your book a squeeze, fingernails digging into the old newspaper you’d repurposed as a book cover. Eddie gives a quick nod before disappearing into the hallway, packed with students. The whole encounter has your head spinning; you’re going to smoke pot in the woods with Eddie Munson. It’s almost distracting enough to make you late to class.

Almost. You’re not risking detention for this.

March 31, 1986

Eddie awakens to the pungent odor of vinegar and something sulphuric, rousing him back to consciousness. His eyes water even after Dr. Snell removes the bundle of smelling salts from under his nose.

“086,” the doctor says stoically, fishing a tiny key from his pocket. His unnerving stare never leaves Eddie as he unlocks the cuff and untangles the chain. “I see you’ve been busy.” He gestures towards the pile of broken glass on the floor, lips twitching with the faintest hint of amusement.

“It was an accident,” Eddie mumbles, flexing his wrist and feeling the blood begin to circulate again.

Dr. Snell chuckles, sending a shiver shooting down Eddie’s spine. “Was it?” He leans over; Eddie hates his confidence that he won’t be attacked. All he wants is to wring the man’s neck like a washcloth, but he recalls your advice to earn their trust. He’ll have to remain calm if he ever wants to learn more about Dustin, Mike, Lucas, or Steve; if he ever wants to learn more about himself.

Eddie nods pathetically. Technically, he’d only been trying to make the hand move again, to see if it was just a fluke, but he’d ended up with a shattered clock instead. “I don’t understand how…”

“Dr. Moseley would like to conduct some tests.” Dr. Snell selects his words carefully. “See what other new skills you’ve acquired during your little adventure.”

“No…” Eddie starts, catching himself before he can protest further. He swallows, throat sore with aridness. “I mean, I don’t think I have any other, um, skills.”

The doctor sneers. “That’s for us to determine, isn’t it?” He tugs on Eddie’s arm, hoisting him from the cot and guiding him down a long, dimly-lit hallway. His torso aches with each step, but when he tries to stop and breathe, Dr. Snell continues pulling him along.

“G-Gimme a sec,” Eddie finally pleads aloud, and the doctor relents with an irritated huff. It’s not from sympathy–Eddie doubts there’s a selfless bone in the man’s ugly body–but likely because he wants to avoid a ripped stitch or another fainting spell. Whatever the reason, he’s grateful for the small break.

The room he’s brought to is white on white; there’s not a stitch of color. He’s seated at a table while doctors attach adhesive-backed electrodes to his temples and forehead, cold and slimy on his skin.

Salt-and-Pepper—Dr. Moseley, he surmises—approaches him with a thin-lipped smile. “Good afternoon, 086.” But there’s nothing good about it, and Eddie can’t even be sure it’s truly the afternoon. “I heard you had a bit of an incident today, yes?”

The doctor already knows the answer, so Eddie doesn’t bother to lie. “Yes. I, um, made the clock hand move and then broke the glass. With my mind,” he adds, as though there was any confusion about the means in which it occurred.

“Excellent.” Dr. Moseley shoos the others out of the room, so he and Eddie are alone. As soon as the door closes, he sits in a chair across from his patient, tapping a pen on a clipboard.

“I’m going to ask you to complete a series of tasks,” he tells him, somehow already marking notes. “Some tasks will be to assess your existing abilities; others will be to strengthen them.” He motions towards a large monitor. “This will detect any changes in brain wave activity with remarkable accuracy.”

In other words, don’t phone it in. You will be caught.

Dr. Moseley grabs a rubber ball off of a shelf, rolling it in between his palms before placing it in front of Eddie. “We’ll start off slow; see where you are.” He clears his throat. “Move this ball–using only your mind–as far as you can manage.”

Eddie nods, clearing every thought except for move. Move move move. He chants it silently, his lips parting but no sound coming out. Maybe if he does this, they’ll be less stringent about memory accession. Maybe you’ll get him to a point where he can begin to connect the dots and remember on his own. Maybe—

“Focus, 086.”

He makes a strangled noise in response. Move move move. Move for Dustin, for Lucas, for—

The ball rolls slightly—not even a full inch—but it’s noticeable enough to draw approval from the doctor.

“Well done, 086. And on your first try.” God, Eddie would love to smack the smirk clean off of his face. “Let’s continue with our assessment, shall we?”

There’s a memorization task next; apparently, his short-term recall is above average, Dr. Moseley reports. After this, the doctor makes drawings on a notepad that Eddie must decipher without physically looking at them. It’s by far the most difficult of the activities. He harnesses all of his energy trying to determine what is being sketched, but he comes up blank each time.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, wiping the blood from his nose. “I can’t do it. I want to,” he adds, not wanting his inability to be misconstrued as disobedience, “but I can’t.”

To his utter shock, Dr. Moseley accepts this, likely because the monitor corroborates his admission. “Not yet. But with continued training, you will.” He detaches the electrodes from Eddie’s head snd motions for him to stand with one crooked finger, and Dr. Snell re-enters at the same time.

“Wait,” Eddie chokes out as the second doctor leads him away, “I noticed something.” He takes a breath, garnering the doctors’ attention. “I was able to break the clock and move the ball when I thought about Dustin—” he stops abruptly, not wanting to give away the secret session you’d had earlier. “I think if 055 finds more memories with them—him—I’ll be able to channel that emotion into doing more tasks.”

The room falls dead silent until Dr. Moseley speaks. “I’ll consider it,” he finally says.

Not a win but not a loss, Eddie thinks as he shuffles back down the hallway, feet sticking to the tile. But I’m not going down without a fight. No way.

tag list (still open):

@munsonmuses @vintagehellfire @chrissymjstan @munsonology @lady-munson @roadkill-writes @randomreader1999 @babez-a-licious @madelynraemunson @the-unforgivenn @nailbatanddungeon @lokis-army-77 @laurenlokirby @american-idiot-jpg @str4ngergirlw0rld @gnrquinn @katethetank @inourtownofhawkins @rorylover71 @kirisuteg0men @tlclick73 @aysheashea

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #086

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sponfawn · 3 months ago

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MTH: The Rowdyruff Boys and the Power of Friendship?

Ok, so we know that the Boys have slowly changed over the course of the fic so far, and we know that the Girls have had a lot to do with that. But something I think people (including me) have overlooked in the past is the influence of their friends/acquaintances.

Brick doesn't have many people he would likely consider "friends", but he's been softening towards acquaintances quite a bit over the past year. Aside from Blossom's obvious influence, I think it started with Bubbles.

Then Julie followed Bubbles' lead and didn't take his shit.

After awhile, people just got used to him. Yeah, he's an ass with a short temper and a loud bark, but that's generally as far as he goes, at least as far as other students see. He doesn't necessarily consider anyone a friend but he has acquaintances with shared interests and he has time for his art and photography. He's in a normal high school, where things aren't nearly as cutthroat and political as JS (other than Mrs. Morbucks, of course). My best analogy is that he's like an irritable, poorly socialized dog who has been sent to doggy daycare to hang out with the calmer, elderly dogs and given enrichment. Except replace elderly dogs with nice, normal kids his age. Nevermind that he thinks he's better than everyone else. It's not exactly friendship, but I suspect it's still a lot more pleasant and straightforward than his relationships with other peers he's had. And that's a big change for a reserved, standoffish boy who takes himself very seriously.

Butch on the other hand, has Buttercup and the guys. His most vulnerable friendship is with Buttercup by far, but he genuinely values his little group of stoners. This latest chapter has made that clearer than ever. Seriously I almost cried

In some ways, Butch is actually the best socially adjusted of the Boys in their new environment, which... says a lot about Brick and Boomer. He has a close-knit group of friends and while they mostly bust each other's balls and goof around, they pretty much see uncensored Butch because (except with some interactions with BC) he says and does what he wants, when he wants. He wants people to like him, but not enough to shut up or stop pushing people's buttons. He isn't the calculating type unlike Brick and Boomer. And despite the fact that Butch isn't as friendly and (seemingly) nonthreatening as Boomer or smart and talented as Brick, the guys truly enjoy and appreciate his company. Look at 'em, caring about his well-being:

Boomer is the least changed of the Boys. He tries to do what he thinks Bubbles would want him to most of the time. But as we saw in this latest chapter, when the temptation is strong enough and he has an opportunity, he slips back into old behaviors. We never really see him spend time with anyone other than Bubbles since they've gotten together. Except for his brothers, the Girls, and people at parties, where he mostly hangs around Bubbles. As much as Boomer's circle has "expanded", those connections don't likely run deep. And there's nothing wrong with having less deep friendships, except I think a contributing factor to his relatively stunted growth is this lack of connection to others.

Boomer hides his capacity for cruelty and his lack of empathy behind a mask of behavior he knows will be seen as likeable. He holds everone except Bubbles at arms length, even though he's outgoing and gets along with everyone. He shows a much more edited version of himself compared to his brothers. We thought he had started to change when he fought impulses, even if it started out as just being for Bubbles' sake. In the last few chapters we've had a feeling that his possessiveness and jealousy were likely going to head into some dark places. And now we've started to see how dark, although, according to Brick his "jokes" get much worse. The way he thinks about Mike in this chapter (and others in earlier chapters) is so detached, much like his attitude towards the spider:

And this is a side of himself that his friends probably haven't seen, and that Bubbles hasn't seen in quite a while. This time when he chooses to mess with Mike, he is still careful to appear like he always does. While Brick works out jealousy by showing off (see prom), and Butch gets a little sullen and subdued and tends to isolate from crowds (see BC wearing Mitch's jacket and the concert), Boomer manipulates ppl while framing himself in a good light (see this incident and Will and Bubbles' anniversary).

It's like a subversion of the "I can change him" trope. Certainly, Butch and Brick have genuinely been changing internally. But it's not just because of Blossom and Buttercup. They are significant contributing factors, catalysts even, but it takes a village of genuine friends (and pseudo-friends) to help them grow and change. Brick and Butch get this experience because they don't hide their personalities as much. Unfortunately, Boomer's current approach to other people basically guarantees that he won't get that.

#sbj more than human #sbj more than human meta #sorta #churned this one out faster than expected #idk im just really loving that brick is having positive interactions and ppl care about butch #for all brick's machinations and political plays boomer is the one who manipulated best #did i spend like 5 hrs writing this after posting my 'maybe ill write some meta idk' post?#why yes yes i did #rusty af but take this humble offering to the fandom

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imaginationlane · 2 years ago

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Six Nights In Paris [Marquis Vincent de Gramont x Reader | Prologue]

Warnings:

Adult Language & Themes, Violence, Death, & [Eventual] Smut.

Rating:

Explicit (18+) [Minors, if I catch you in my notes -- I will block your account from my page.]

Author's Notes:

I cannot fucking believe this character brought me back here. I've been revived from the dead for a sociopathic character with no empathy. Of course, my ass would come running for this walking, talking, red-flag factory. What the hell is wrong with me and why tf am I like this?!

On a side note, this Prologue is a little shorter than what I've written for stories in the past. But we dive into the meat and potatoes of the story in chapter one and it'll be a fairly long chapter that most of you may have been used to from me. So enjoy this reprieve, lol. It won't last long.

Summary:

Winston was out of his element, and it showed. It was rare to see such a proud man fall so far from grace, but he knew I would be one of the very few people left to answer his calls and he was right. According to him, the job was simple: Get to Paris, make an appearance at the Grand Masquerade Ball to celebrate the newly anointed Marquis, and infiltrate his ranks to gather intel on him. After all, the Marquis was rumored to be a ruthless wildcard. The High Table appointing such a man could spell disaster for anyone who happens to get in his way.

But I should have known that nothing ever goes according to plan. In an underworld filled with assassins and spies, it is a certainty that people distrust and use everyone they encounter as a means to their own ends -- and the Marquis and I are no exceptions. Now, as my reputation hangs in the balance, ending up as his newest obsession is, quite frankly, the most dangerous game of cat and mouse that I've ever played with my life, my mind, and my heart.

He had to have known that he was driving me to the point of pure madness. My black polished nails tapped impatiently against the scrapped and marred oak table in front of me as I listened to my burner ring for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Winston was calling again, and God only knew why.

Twelve years of insanity. That's all he brought me since he blew into my life like the gale-force winds of a hurricane all those years ago. And I was still no closer to getting any of the answers I was so desperately seeking from him. This man knew more than he was saying about my past, answers that I couldn't find no matter how hard I tried. For years, he dangled what I wanted from him like a carrot on a string; holding it over my head as if it were something to taunt me with in order to get me to do his fucking bidding.

He had a lot of nerve calling me right now, I'd give him that much.

Part of me wanted to continue to ignore his calls. I owed him nothing and the last I heard, he was excommunicato -- so that would be an automatic death sentence for me if I were caught breathing within a five-block radius of him. The word on the street was that Wintson was out, the New York Conntennital Hotel was deconsecrated and decommissioned, and as for his favored concierge that was glued to his side like a shadow? Well, apparently, Charon took a bullet in the chest for him. It was official: Winston was radioactive and people would drop like flies around him. The message was crystal clear to me: if we all valued any semblance of our shitty existences, we'd stay the fuck away from him.

I could picture him now, sighing dramatically into his phone as he waited for me to pick it up. Had I really become so predictable that he just instinctively knew I was going to answer his call eventually? Of course, I had. Because he knew just how passionate I was for the answers I was seeking from him. For a moment, I continued to wonder about the options that lay ahead of me as I nursed a glass of whiskey in my hand and stared at a Cuban cigar sitting in the ashtray beside me. Twelve years in this business and Winston knows I'll come running whenever he calls. Figures.

Perhaps I really am that predictable. But believing that doesn't soothe the fierce emotions warring with each other deep within the recesses of my mind and soul. I hated being in this position and what's worse was that I hated how I kept doing this to myself.

Screw it, if I'm going to die, I might as well enjoy this fucking cigar while I still have the chance.

Without another thought, I flipped open my phone and placed it to my ear.

"This better be fucking good, because me just answering this phone call will probably put me on the High Table's shit list."

Winston chuckled softly as if mocking my impatience with this situation. "And here I thought you liked it whenever I called you."

My eyes closed momentarily, straining to hold in a tired sigh.

"Before you were excommunicated, sure. But you know as well as I do that me answering any calls from you now puts me at risk," I quipped back. "Now, what do you want Winston?"

He sighed over the other end, knowing my patience was running thin.

"I have a job for you --"

"Go to Hell, I'm not interested."

"If you weren't interested, little Dove, you wouldn't have even picked up your phone in the first place," his smooth baritone was amused at my initial refusal. "Besides, you will be once I tell you that your life is in danger if the new Marquis finds out who you are. Right now, there's a journal on its way to Paris and making its way into the Marquis's hands. A journal, by the way, that belongs to me."

I released a frustrated sigh of my own as I ran my hand over my face.

"I'm failing to see how that's my problem. A lot of people have worked with you in the past. Surely the High Table can understand that," I stated confidently.

Screw the cigar, I'm gonna need a cigarette just listening to him being cryptic as fuck like this.

"Maybe if John had not killed The Elder, then sure. You'd be right. But the new Marquis is pulling out all the stops now and he's on a warpath."

Wait, what did he just say?

"I'm sorry, John did what? I thought John was dead." I question incredulously.

Winston was silent for a moment, absorbing the fact that I sincerely had no idea what the hell he was even talking about. It shouldn't have been surprising for him though. When I'm not handling assignments, I'm dropping off the radar and ignoring the rest of the world until it's time for me to step back into it again. "You didn't know? Apparently, John Wick survived his brush with death at my hands. And it appears that I have a lot to catch you up on. Meet me at the old safe house location in Albany. You know which one I'm talking about, right?"

I hesitated for a minute, but my hesitation was futile. He knew I had agreed to meet him just by picking up the phone.

"Only on one condition."

"Name it, little Dove."

"I know you know who I was before this. For twelve goddamn years, you've kept me in the dark about who I am, what my past was like, how I ended up here -- and you've refused to tell me anything. I want every shred of information you have. No more hiding, no more games. Because if you dick me around again Winston, so help me God... I'll save the High Table the trouble and kill you myself." I stated matter of factly. I was done. The games stopped here or he could find someone else to do his fucking dirty work for him.

Winston remained silent on the other end of the phone, clearly contemplating his next move.

"It's non-negotiable Winston. Do you want help? You wanna stay alive longer than the next day or two? I need my answers, that's my price. You give me what I want and I'll not only meet you, I'll do whatever you need to keep you alive and help you undo the excommunicato. Do we have a deal?"

Sighing heavily to himself, he knew it was over. If he wanted my help, he was going to have to give me exactly what I wanted or he could take his risks with John Wick eventually coming after him.

"You want the information? It'll be yours. Get to the safe house by this afternoon. We've got a lot of ground to cover and time is of the essence," and with that, the other line went dead.

I snapped my phone shut and tossed it carelessly on the table in front of me. For twelve long years, this man used me as a means to an end. The training, the jobs, the marks that have nearly killed me until I killed them first; there was so much blood and death surrounding me that I gave up a long time ago on ever being able to wash my hands clean of it. My only question now, was how the hell did I get here and how come I couldn't remember any part of my life prior to Winston finding me? He had the answers and he sat on them, refusing to tell me anything. Now, I finally had a reason to force his hand in telling me everything.

Snatching up my glass tumbler, I downed the rest of the whiskey and stood up from the table. Plucking up my cigar, I was slightly depressed I wouldn't have a chance to smoke it today. No matter though. When this job was finished and I had every answer in my hands, I'll smoke it then. Besides, if I wanted to make it to Albany by the afternoon, I needed to pack up and leave immediately. Traffic was going to be a bitch anyway, thanks to the fact it was a weekend, so I needed to pick up the pace and hurry.

I wasted little time searching out my backpack and stuffing it with a change of clothes, necessary toiletries, an extra pair of boots, and a selected stash of guns, knives, and other lightweight weapons. Once that was complete, I walked to the front door to grab my helmet, riding gloves, and leather jacket. As soon as I was dressed and ready to ride, I strapped my pack across my back. Depending on what Winston would require for this so-called "job" of his in Paris, I may already have what I need at my French safe house location so it was important that I pack as lightly as I could. After locking up my penthouse, I was opening my garage and climbed on the back of my Black & Silver custom BMW S1000RR motorcycle. I didn't have to worry about too many folks being nosey in this neighborhood, as many of these people had their own secrets to hide anyway.

And as I began to gently coast along the quiet and sleepy neighborhood street on my bike, riding along serenely into the early morning orange rays of the sun, I took one last look around before I turned off that familiar little street and drove forth into a destiny that would change everything for me. __

Tag list: SkarsgardDreams, Parrabellum, FourteenGemStones, @egotistical-bastard4532 @adoringsebstan @adrilari @orenmcdamia @olivia11803 thelovethatnortherndownpoursent @thewastelandwriter @davvydobrik arabellaofmaddness, ladscarlett, @shadowfirecat @blue-1505 sallyp-53, heartrot666,

The next chapter will be posted within a week!

See you lovelies on the flip side!

#marquis vincent de gramont imagine #marquis vincent de gramont x reader #marquis vincent de gramont #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard imagine #six nights in paris

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rosesocietyy · 1 year ago

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Brilliant people have said everything that needs to be said about this much much better and I don't got anything substantial to add but I just have to get this off my chest cause y'all I'm still in disbelief

like this is a grown ass person btw oh I simply have to laugh😭

this perfectly exemplifies literally everything cringe af and wrong with these "assigned welcomers". this is just my scapegoat but there are way worse I've seen

First of all, get a job. how, at your fossil age, do you have time to spend all day scrolling through every single iwtv related post and arguing with people who say anything even slightly damning about lestat (which mind you, is literally just objective facts about things he did). I'll dm you a McDonald's application hell I'll even put in a referral for you out of the goodness of my heart.

Second, Lestat is not a real person. he's fake, a made up character, the figment of someone's imagine, non-existent, people hating him will not affect your life in anyway shape or form. He didn't assign you as his PR agent I promise you'll live. "They'll never accept him" ok and?!?

Question, and I'm genuinely asking, is this their first time in a fandom? why is someone having a different opinion about a character they love enough to send them into hysterics like?? 13 year olds on anime twitter have a better grasp on reality that y'all do get a grip!

And like the above posts have talked extensively about, I most definitely noticed whose posts a specific bunch of them love to go under to share their dog shit "explanation" that nobody asked for. When a black person sees Louis being brutalized by his white lover what do you expect their reaction to be? oaur wow this white french slut is so pussy cunt slay period queen? "but louis is flawed too" do you hear yourself? do you listen to yourself when you speak? can you activate the barest hint of brain activity to understand why we would react differently to what we're watching than you would and that knowledge of the source material has nothing to do with it? Just because you read those shitty books and posses no empathy for black people in media doesn't mean you gain some higher understanding of "gothic romance ".

"No but the thing is you don't understand this is a gothic romance and they're supposed to be monsters and lestat has suffered saur much and he's also the real main character so you must love him" so now how exactly does that negate their point about him being an abuser? quickly! sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up when black people are sharing their thoughts on the show cause who the fuck are you fr and what convinced you that you have the right to argue with them about THEIR experiences. that tweet that said white people act like God left them in charge, yeah.

Funny enough, half the people that are so gung ho about him now didn't even fw him at all when they only read the first book. wow it's almost like you were allowed to sort out your feelings about him on your own without insects disguised as people in your mentions calling you slow for not licking his feet.

I despise so much in this fandom. From the bottom of my heart I really truly do. I don't know what I was expecting, I guess more common sense and maturity because the average age in the fandom is quite high compared to other fandoms I've been in but nah, just mfs screaming and crying bc ppl don't jump up and down and scream yipee! everytime their white fav commits abhorrent, disgusting crimes.

I was so caught up in the euphoria of an anne rice property finally being given to skilled creators who'll pick it apart and say something poignant with it that for a moment, I forgot I lived in a world where majority of its audience would sadly be the anne rice crowd.

#gag is the first time watchers don't even hate lestat as character #they all think he's brilliantly written #but because they're not calling him mother and liking edits of him to club music #those roaches have decided to take personal offense #interview with the vampire #iwtv #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #amc iwtv

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thetoaddaddy · 6 months ago

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I dont think i ever really explained why I like the idea of Jiraiya living a more troubled/neglected childhood. Honestly I just like the juxtaposition of the rich girl from the most influential family, the tragic orphan full of resentment, and the white trash hick from the slums.

Have I hooked you? Long sorta in this essay I will type of explanation of my reasoning post. Trimmed so you don’t have to suffer through scrolling a big long post unless you volunteer to it. And I welcome reblogs with your own thoughts added to it or comments. I like having these kinds of discussions.

It makes for a fun dynamic and puts together three very different social classes that make up the Sannin and the most common 3 classes of society. Tsunade has everything from money, social status and livin in the rich how dare the neighbours put up an extra twinkle light we’re contacting the police neighbourhood. Orochimaru lost his family but lives fairly okay being a ward of the Hokage/state plus as a genius kid with potential to end the war with his big fucken brain and lack of empathy he would most likely be treated more special. Jiraiya hiding his money in the floorboards of his room cuz he knows his parents will steal it to buy into their addictions and he’s well aware no one really expects him to be nothing more than a failure.

Plus we don’t have any characters who have a troubled relationship with their parents in this way. Yeah we got dead parents and asshole cold distant rich clan expectations parent tropes. But not too much on poor and abusive. Which is weird cuz its pretty common to be low income with some garbage parents. (Not to say that’s the case all the time of course) Nor do we see much for alcoholism or similar addictions just ruining a family. The most he ever speaks about his parents in canon is that they were civilians. Kinda cold imo. Like I get that most likely kishi figured no one cares that much from where Jiraiya came from but that throw away line had me thinking and this headcanon came out.

So it’s pretty poetic that Jiraiya grew up full Glass Castle from a nothing neglectful civilian family and made something of himself with his own determination rather than being crutched with clan powers or high blood relations. He’s a nobody who proved people wrong and grew beyond his upbringing. His life we see on screen has always been pretty born under an unlucky star/he had to claw his way for anything he’s wanted and nothing was ever given to him. So it makes sense to me anyways that his early life was just as claw his way out from falling off the face of the earth. He could have just picked the easy way and not rise above being some drunk gutter rat that is just a direct product of his upbringing. But he focused on trying to get out rather than keep the cycle going. He picked the academy and proved he was not just above the curve but the grit he already had from surviving his broken home made for a determined courageous motherfucker. With that he became rich and renowned. All on his own.

I think that gives him more interesting motivation than the canon basically being ‘on my quest for pussy brb🏃‍♂️’ Like damn can we please uncreepy him kishi i stg. And I like to ignore his railroaded prophecy ass I must find my destiny stuff. That ruins his accomplishments. Honestly as a fairly empathetic person who grew up poor and hungry why wouldn’t he take pity on three war orphans and try to do good by them where he was never given that comfort? It’s far more compelling and interesting story than some crazy old toad told me to do it and I took those words so fucking literally it led the rest of my life.

I like to imagine he’s simply more wayward and never felt satisfied staying put(especially with all the horrible memories Konoha gives him). It also makes more sense for him to have this kind of chip on his shoulder over being some average guy who had an average upbringing. He can handle himself not just in battles but in dealing with the more uncomfortable situations like traveling through poor areas with the know how.

Like he knows how to speak crackhead and the slum folk clock him as one of their own. I wouldn’t call it street cred or anything. He just has the street smarts beyond that of an average person and it shows. Plus in some verses I like to think he travels hoping to find love as well. Can’t find one’s soulmate staying put in a village can they? ;)

Not every character has to be tragic I know. And this is just what I think. You don’t have to agree with me or accept my interpretations. He could have easily just brushed off the subject cuz he keeps people at an arms length. Which he does for the most part.

But I feel like with the Sannin era we were left with such well cooked and seasoned snippets that it became kinda frustrating that the rest was kinda undercooked or plain still in the damn deep freeze. So we get brain zoomies and try to fill in the big ass gaps. I want to know how three of the most interesting and important ninja of the shinobi world grew up. It’s fun to imagine and make these types of interpretations. Even if it is answered one day in a mini series or a book, I’ll still probably prefer what I and my moots cooked up. Cuz honestly we put more care and deep thought into these characters than kishi does at this point 😭

#q #uuhhhhh headcanons #🌺 ooc post #jiraiya

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saratinz · 2 years ago

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Maneater (Chapter 9)

pairing ➩ Ex!Bucky Barnes x Promiscuous!Reader (College AU)

series warnings ➩ drinking, asshole!Bucky, enemies to lovers, exes to lovers, love triangle, smut, slut shaming, cursing

chapter warnings ➩ cursing, implied smut, hospital setting, reader does some embarrassing stuff, reader was drugged (nothing happened), pet names, making out, pda

synopsis ➩ Y/n finally admits her feelings.

word count ➩ 1.1k

a/n ➩ as a little gift from me to you, I give you the finale two hours early.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” You wake up groggy. “The police are asking to speak with you later.” Great. You start to wonder what the fuck you did last night to end up wanted by pigs and in a hospital gown. And what the fuck is Bucky doing here by your side, acting like the two of you are in love or something?

All of a sudden, memories start flooding back. You’re overwhelmed by the onslaught of hazy conversations. Oh yeah, Bucky being here makes a lot more sense when you remember you found him after being drugged by Jane. And it turns out the worst thing that could have happened, did indeed happen. “Oh god, James.” He cringes at the use of his first name.

“It’s Bucky.”

“Bucky, please tell me that I didn’t tell you I love you.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“Buck I wasn’t drunk, I was roofied, I would’ve told Steve that I loved him.”

“But you didn’t, you told me.”

“Steve was here?”

“Yeah, and you told him to his face that you love me.”

“What did he say?”

“He, umm, still hasn’t changed if you’re asking what I think you’re asking.”

“Oh.”

“You dodged a bullet there. He has no empathy. Told me the only reason he came was to have sex with you again.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing. After all, I don’t deserve shit.”

“Y/n, I wasn’t serious when I said that.”

“Call Steve for me, please.” It’s mere seconds before Bucky is pulling out his phone and finding Steve’s contact. He puts the phone on speaker, hoping that he will say something awful about you, and you'll finally realize his roommate isn't the one for you.

“Hey Steve, Y/n is asking for you.”

“Perfect, I’m actually on my way there already.”

“Wait, what?”

“I wanted to see her.”

“But what about last night?”

“You really want me to say it?”

“Yes.”

“You were right, I want a chance to be with her.”

“Okay.” He hangs up, surprising himself with the amount of jealousy that is festering in his body. It courses through his veins. He turns back to look at you.

“Jam- Bucky I hope you understand, I just don’t love you. It’s just the truth. And it’s okay, because you don’t love me either.”

“How do you know I don’t love you?”

“Because you don’t leave someone you secretly want to be with.”

“Please, you have to stop bringing that up.”

“You broke me.”

“I left you because I didn’t think I deserved you.”

“But you got with my best friend within weeks.”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“You don’t get to do this, you don’t get to come into my life, only to leave me again.”

“I’m not gonna leave you.”

“You said that last time, too.”

“I mean it this time.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You shouldn’t, but I don’t think I will be okay if I lose you again.”

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“SAY IT!”

“I love you, Y/n. I never stopped, I didn’t break because of Natasha, I broke because I had to watch as you became me.”

“Get out Bucky.” Tears flow steady down your face. He leaves without another word. Five minutes later, Steve walks in your room. You try your best to wipe your tears, but they’re still falling down your face.

“Hey Y/n, what’s wrong?”

“Just Bucky, he’s an ass.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s just, he’s like a pathological liar or something.”

“I’m not following.”

“He uhh, he told me that he loves me.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, and I know I said it last night but I was high as a kite. I didn’t mean it.”

“You sure?”

“Yes Steve, I’m not over you. Can I please show you that I’m more than just my reputation?”

“No, you can’t.”

“Oh, okay. Can I ask why?”

“Because I’m a shit person, and a shit friend, but even I wouldn’t get between the two of you.”

“There is no ‘us’. I don’t even like him.”

“Maybe you don’t like him, but deep down you love him.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I fucking hate him.”

“Who’s the first person you think about when you wake up? Who’s the last person on your mind when you fall asleep? Who can you not ever seem to forget, no matter how hard you try? Who haunts your dreams? Who can get under your skin so fast he should earn a Guinness World Record?”

“I, uh, what do I do now?”

“I saw him in the gift shop, he’s probably there picking out a meaningful apology gift.” He suggests, snarky as ever.

“Thank you Steve.” You get out of bed and walk out of the room, still attached to your IV pole. You roll it to the elevator, impatiently pressing the button over and over again, despite knowing it won’t go any faster. Shit someone is coming, please close. You decide to be a good person and hold the door open, even though you just wanna get to Bucky. The stranger beside you presses the second floor button, damn it. It doesn’t take that long to get to the bottom, but you’re just so nervous it feels much longer. You head over to the gift shop, but you don’t see him. You wanna cry this is so embarrassing rolling around this big ass cart.

You’re about to give up, but then you spot him about to leave the hospital. He’s a step away from the door. Without thinking, you scream. “Bucky!” You feel eyeballs on you, suddenly, you feel very conscious of your attire. You thank god he heard you, so that you only have to go through a little bit of awkwardness. You run to him, almost tripping multiple times. When you finally come face to face with him, you forget everything you were planning to say. “I love you too.” You finally blurt out. He looks a little shocked, but then a big smirk starts to form. He lunges forward, pressing your front to his. You felt a little weird about making out in public, but his lips are so delectable you can’t stop. You finally come up for air, putting your forehead against his. You hope this feeling will last forever, for you're not sure what you would do without Bucky. You would have been tricked by Steve, or there would have been a video of you getting naked on the internet. But worst of all, you wouldn’t be in love. You pull his face towards yours to whisper in his ear. “Let’s go to my room.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Previous chapter / Masterlist / Next chapter

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #college au #enemies to lovers #exes to lovers #love triangle #angst #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers smut

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bitegore · 2 years ago

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WIP ask; dysfunctional bulkhead fuck yeah please and thank you

This one spawned out of a conversation I had with @honestlyvan, resident Bulkhead understander and one of the friends I have the absolute most fun bouncing ideas off of because for real I have never met someone who is so good at yes-anding ideas until they turn from a one-off line into something really cool. If I remember right, we were talking about Bulkhead's very visible delineation between "people I care about" and "potential targets," since Bulkhead is pretty clearly kind of... like...

ah, continued under the cut because this got long. A lot of discussion about Bulkhead characterization and then some very light details about the fic, because I did that thing where you have a general point but no actual outline and you run out of plot super fast because you never had much to begin with.

Okay so let's take a very brief detour through the land of psychology. Empathy runs on the idea of an "in-group" and an "out-group". The in-group is where you feel strong empathy, the out-group is not. This is what empathy is for, largely; it makes you feel bad for the people around you when they're hurting so that you don't start killing your buddies. Nothing wrong with that. The trouble is where this in-group ends. And for Bulkhead, at least as far as I see him, his in-group stops right at the end of Team Prime. Miko is in, Jack is in, Raf is in, Fowler is in eventually, and Wheeljack his old friend is in. And that's it. Everyone else could drop dead and Bulkhead wouldn't shed a tear. Why should he care? They're not his people, he's not invested in them. If they die that's their problem. He's got better things to worry about.

He's also an ex-member of the Autobot Warcrime Squad, the Wreckers. The "get in, kill everyone, get out, try not to die" team. He and Wheeljack are the only ex-Wreckers still standing, which is pretty damn impressive because even outside of IDW it's still a team with pretty high turnover (see: Marvel).

Anyway none of that gels too well with the way Bulkhead gets written in fic, which is to be a nice soft sweet kind of guy a la Animated. Which is fine, all the more for you guys, but I just find it painfully boring. There's a reason I don't read Animated fic unless my friends have written it and asked me to.

So on the face of it I basically just wanted to write Bulkhead kicking ass and not even bothering to take names because who gives a shit. Not him. He's got better things to do, people to give a crap about. Don't die here and he'll remember you to kill you harder later, maybe, but unless you're annoying or matter to someone who matters to him he just sort of doesn't give half a crap about who you are. He is just going to put you in the fucking ground. Bye.

in practice that is not what I did.

In practice I wrote a couple hundred words of internal monologue and went "oh, fuck, hang on", because guess what I did? Smartest boy ever, best writer in the world. I forgot to come up with a plot.

So then it crashed headlong into my obsession with the Combaticons and I had some vague idea of pulling the FoC Combaticons in for Bulkhead to just lay brutal waste to without waiting around to care too much about who they were. I thought about having him go fight one of the Insecticons but decided against it because I don't know them well off the top of my head and I didn't want to make a whole oc up so I'd probably be working with Hardshell, who doesn't work as an enemy for "named and therefore not someone I can just kill off" reasons. I'd established that it was during the whole "hunting down the Iaconian Relic macguffins" arc(s), so it didn't make sense to me for me to pull in characters that die before that or make significant appearances after, and there's really not that many that just show up and vanish without a trace. So okay I needed a new set.

Trouble is I've never played Fall of Cybertron.

So then I was like "ooh, I'll watch a playthrough". And then I did not do that. You understand how it goes.

Anyway, as a result the fic has been languishing ever since, but because it's so goddamn short i'm just going to copy paste the entire thing down here for your perusal. Enjoy.

Things were different back when the Wreckers were still running together and no one was really running with them. Much as Team Prime was small, it wasn't a hyper-specialized unit designed for getting in and getting out and getting slag done and nothing else. Totally different internal culture. Sometimes Bulkhead didn't really know what to do with it. And the humans- anything weird about Team Prime was weirded ten times harder by the humans. They were small, and fragile, and they didn't seem to realize it at all, constantly putting themselves beyond their stress tolerances for no good reason. Miko kept wandering straight into battlefields like she'd forgotten guns existed, and Bulkhead had to admit she was better at evading fire than he'd first expected but the other two humans definitely didn't have her reflexes and they kept on following her and needing the Autobots to get the three of them out of trouble. These things were so much more convenient when he and Jackie and Seaspray and Springer and the rest were all just doing what they did. They were good at that. Team Prime was pretty damn effective, sure, but they weren't half as good as getting in and getting out and laying out everything in their path, the way the Wreckers had been. At least Wheeljack was here. If he needed to blow up a metric fuckton (thank you, Miko, love that expression) of Vehicons, Jackie was always good for it. Aw, whatever. Jackie was off doing whatever it was he was doing- wherever the action was, that was for sure- and Team Prime was on one of their completely weird and inexplicable little backwards jaunts again. Recon, digging old weapons and scrap up out of the ground to keep them out of the Decepticons' hands. It'd've been nice if the boss would've let them use the really cool ones, but for the most part Optimus Prime had a very firm "no powerful game-changing strategies" policy.

#red replies #jeegoo #wip ask game

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yooniesim · 2 years ago

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Literalite, sojutrait and all their cliquey ass friends are just a bunch of hypocrites, sitting on their high horse, trying to destroy everyone who calls them out on stuff. They're the ones who keep dragging this out because they thrive on attention. You're a good person, Ceci. Hope you know that ❤

Thank you, nonny. They're both seriously awful & proud of it apparently. I ignored this ask for several days, but when I see shit like this, why bother? They consider it harassment & fixation just to point out they lied their asses off (and continue to lie) to their thousands of followers. I pinned the post because the original was full of lies and I have yet to see a single thing proving otherwise because it does not exist. I say that confidently even in a time where everyone screenshots everything that happens immediately, because I know I'm right. The events the way they described them simply never occurred, and they can't get away from that fact, which is why they're still bullshitting to ignore the actual issue even now. It's just like how there's no proof of Seph ever doing any actual "peacekeeping" at any point in time, other than the act of "kindness" of joining the server itself, which says absolutely nothing besides he sat there and read what was said just like 200+ other people. There was never an attempt to come to an understanding between us, no added perspective on behalf of his friends, no meeting in the middle during discussions/disputes. The one time I actually asked for his help with a situation related to both of our friend groups, I was straight up ignored. And every time I've asked for any type of empathy or understanding, I either haven't gotten any. So what peacekeeping, honestly, can he say he's done? I'd be curious to know, though I'm well aware I'm never going to get an answer, because it never happened. That's why you never hear a detailed account of anything that occurred, or god forbid an actual screenshot.

While I have plenty to back up what I've done, including an extensive account of very much punishing the person responsible for what they're pinning on me because it's convenient for their made-up narrative (and there's nothing else for them to use besides "she likes kpop too much for our personal tastes" which shows how shallow it all really is). And they can't refute that, so they have to resort to acting like I should've had the power to... somehow prevent someone from sending a message in a group chat before they sent it? If that sounds like nonsense, that's because it obviously is, and they don't even realize how ridiculous it was to say. Not to mention the silly, middle-school "cohorts" concept about people I only knew online in a public server, that I was not "warned about" by them in any capacity, which is yet another lie to add to the pile. It shows they find people that agree with you on the internet to be your ride or die friends, which explains a lot. And yes, I am very much able to call out people I was formerly friendly with when I get evidence of them showing their true colors, even when it's towards people I'm not particularly fond of, because that's what you're supposed to do- but clearly none of them have learned that yet. Instead it's always "my friend is never wrong because... they're my friend" or "the enemy of my entirely self-perceived enemy is my friend", which shows the immaturity in their thought processes. I don't find them any different than any of the others spewing false allegations, microaggressions, shit talking, or bigotry, because they're not. They just don't have the self-awareness to see what they do compared to when they're happily criticizing the people they don't like. That's why they're always convinced people are mad at them for "having fun" or "having friends", they have to victimize themselves to distract from their own shitty actions.

This entire post by sojutrait is nothing actually substantial because there's nothing to lean on other than being vaguely edgy & rude, better than, and using words and concepts they don't seem to fully understand. You can really tell no thought or deeper meaning was put into it at all. Just like how Seph's earlier response was absolutely nothing relevant as well. Both are obviously more or less a performance for their own egos and to justify their blatant lies so, as Seph said, they can be stable and happy and sleep at night despite the obvious hate they bring to others. Because if they'd truly moved on & were so much better than me, they wouldn't have posted either in the first place. (Including the tags- if I was lying, why didn't you just take your friend's advice and ignore it? Is it because you don't want anyone to see it and question you? Because posts like that with no proof should be questioned, precisely because of situations like this. You lied, you know it, and now you're caught in it.) People that are unbothered don't need to repeatedly tell you how unbothered they are... if they do, chances are they really aren't. They only want me to "move on" because they can't stand being criticized, it burns them up inside and you can tell. Which is a shame, because I don't care about them having fun with their friends, but I do care about this vile and embarrassing behavior that has gone on for years unchecked. They're not "consequences" if you had to outright lie to get them to happen, including knowingly using those lies to encourage disgusting asks... that's a "harassment campaign", one they're doubling down on despite knowing it's wrong and what they alone caused. That they never would've even had the guts to try if they hadn't known I was in a vulnerable place at the time, which is sad and gross enough. They should both honestly be ashamed and I hope they do some serious growth in the next five years or so to gain a little empathy and maturity because they desperately need it. Both in public and in private. Especially if they continue preaching accountability and self-reflection while never once (I challenge you to check) embracing those concepts themselves.

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wingsmadeofwaxx · 1 year ago

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officially finished watching sherlock. i have been irreversibly changed as a person. what the fuck (affectionate)?

1: i cant even force myself to be mad about the queer-baiting cuz i'll just pretend they're canon anyway (guys, come on, episode 1 had so many cliché romantic tropes that i genuinely lost count, everyone around them assumed because their feelings were see-through, and their endgame is literally living together and raising a baby!)

2: the show is so clever that even when i predicted a few plot twists i still felt absurdly dumb throughout all of it. it was so humbling to see sherlock as the most intelligent human to ever exist and then he gets outsmarted by so many others and *sigh*. i must have a bit of a masochist streak after all because it was actually amazing, not despite the unreachable deductions but because of them.

3: sherlock growing as a person?? consider me devastated. i don't even mean "learning not to smile in front of grieving witnesses", i mean every single time he was extra gentle with molly knowing her feelings but not wanting to exploit them, every single time he was unafraid to vouch for john as family and (quite literally) go into fire for him if necessary to make it known how much he cares, every single time he promised mary and rosie are under his protection, every time he gets greg's name right, every time he worries for mrs hudson's well being more than his own, every time he looks after his siblings despite them all pretending to be above that, every time he's silly and smiles easily and carelessly because he is happy and he is allowed to be so because there are people who care about him just the way he is but that also inspire him to always he better. high-functioning sociopath my ass. empathy's a problem, sure, but he grows to care so much. he loves so deeply and unapologetically and possessively and it makes me wanna sob for hours to know they won't let him be lonely and self-destructive any longer.

4: the cases were so well-thought of and the writing and cinematography of the whole thing were just beautiful, i am proud to call it not just an entertainment media (although there's nothing wrong with that) but a real work of art.

5: how on earth did they manage to keep the chaotic dark academia vibe so well in a adaptation set on present day??? yknow how in mystery stories or fantasy quests you're just like "a phone would literally solve the problems in half the time"? they actually do! keep everyone updated! photograph every part of the puzzle! google clues! and it's great! refreshing to see, truly. not to mention all the women in strong positions and casual queer support. but at the same time, to set the vibe right, there's so many letters and cabs and newspapers and easy access to drugs and their clothes and vocabulary make it all so distant in time too! i wonder if england is just perpetually old fashioned or if they mixed elements on purpose. loved it though.

6: it is currently 04:21 in the morning and i am sleepy and no one cares about this rant so 5 reasons why i loved it are more than enough thank you

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moonrisecalamityretreat · 2 years ago

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i believe what you said || hanji || trial 1.idk || re: reimi, luca || attn: ikko, mascots

I thought if I c-crushed a couple pills--

--it would make things easier.

She thought if she crushed pills...

...it'd make it easier.

She thought if she crushed pills and put it in his drink, it'd make it easier. It make his death easier. Make it calmer. Make it painless.

He'd fall asleep,

and it wouldn't

t e r r i f y i n g .

Hanji's grip on the puzzle loosens, their hands shaking against their will. How pathetic. This is completely unrelated case, and yet...

"Hah..."

They try to subtly wrap their arms around themselves as though they were cold.

"...Pills...

...don't do that."

Deep breaths. One, two, three.

Speak clearly.

(Their throat burns.)

"Pills... heavy duty painkillers, in specific... uh, they don't make ya fall asleep. But y'can violently overdose on 'em, that's fer sure. I ain't no doctor so the actual doc will haf'ta fact check this 'un, but sum'n happens to yer breathin' when ya overdose on 'em, right. Never heard o' them makin' ya violently cough up blood though."

And just like that, they're back to normal. See? Easy as pie! Chewing on the inside of their lip again, they shove their hands in their pockets for now.

"The pill cabinet was rummaged an nothin' was seemingly taken. But. Hisakawa's notes did say that shit gets refilled periodically. I originally assumed that it hasn't been touched 'cos the poisons haven't been replaced yet, but... I guess the rabbits just ain't restockin' shit at the same time or sumn'.

...My current guess now is that maybe th' vial an' clean tea cup belonged to Hisakawa. Notes clearly show that he's been in th' infirmary. Maybe after realizin' some vials were gone, he took one fer 'imself. Was gonna lace th' drink but... dude changed his mind. Even though he had a wife t'go back home 'ta, dude was probably too kind in th' end.

Not like it matters 'nymore, anyway."

The glove was clearly torn, and so the culprit's identity was as bright as day. Still, the circumstances were sad, even to Hanji, despite showing no feelings on their face. Well, there was no feeling, until their brows start to furrow.

"Luca... Yer startin' t'git real goddamn annoyin' wit' that."

Luca Knight... No, that wasn't quite correct. A rook or bishop, perhaps...? Did he have the worth of a rook? Bishop, maybe.

"Y'need t'git that potato sack off yer head and realize where you are. Now that someone's dead, folk're gunna keep dyin' like a domino effect. You need to accept that people are going to die around ya if ya wanna work towards doin' sum'mink about it. Sugarcoatin' shit ain't gunna do shit, or do ya jus' prefer 'ta have shit coated in pointless sugar all th' time?

People. Are. Going t'die. If we don't approach th' topic head on, then the fuck are ya expectin' us t'do. Sit on our asses hopin' a ~miracle~ will come if we do nothing? Think you'll git a trophy fer avoidin' upsettin' topics in an upsettin' environment? A game is stagnant if y'don't make any fuckin' moves. Conversations like this need to be had if we're gonna be here, and if we wanna get out.

Yet yer actin' like yer on a high horse fer havin' basic empathy. Is it so wrong for us to want to live too?"

Although it was a game they liked to think about a lot, Hanji knew not everything was black and white like a chessboard. Did this guy think everyone was so cruel for valuing their own lives? Sure, it was insensitive, and spoken in rather haphazard way, but... Since when did sensitivity ever belong in an environment like this?

Hanji sighs... They look at Reimi again, and they instinctively look away again. A painless death in one's slumber, huh...

"...Angeline. Do ya guys restock on all infirmary stuff all in one go, or only restock what ya can at th' moment and plan t'restock on others once ya can?"

#chapter 1 #hanji

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thedailybullshit · 2 years ago

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RDR2 Incorrect Quotes pt. 27

Pearson: What are the signs of depression?

Hosea: It depends, why?

Pearson: Arthur just dropped a deer and said, “Why has God forsaken me?” while holding up a peace sign.

After Blessed Are The Peacemakers:

Arthur: Hostage or not, sometimes it’s nice to be held.

Dutch: Nothing disturbs Arthur anymore . . . just watch this. Hey Arthur, I heard there’s an impending natural disaster headed right our way!

Arthur: Cool . . . Imma go fistfight god behind a general store.

Dutch: See, my son thrives in chaos.

Kieran: I really don’t feel like this is something we need to praise and encourage . . . I should’ve let you guys kill me when you found me.

Dutch: Hey, Hosea?

Hosea: Yeah?

Dutch: I love you.

Hosea:

Hosea: What did you do?

Arthur: How high are you?

Swanson: No, it’s “Hi, how are you?”.

Hosea: Is the pain bad?

Arthur: It’s not that bad.

Hosea: Don’t lie to yourself.

Arthur: I’m not lying to myself, I’m lying to you.

Dutch: Annabelle, I never meant to hurt you. Whenever you’re hurt I feel awful, it’s the worst, I hate it.

Annabelle: Wow. You’ve managed to make even empathy selfish.

Vet: I’m sorry, but your horse is pronounced dead.

Kieran: Oh my god

Kieran: I can’t believe I’ve been pronouncing it wrong this whole time.

Bessie: This is my husband, Hosea. And this is Hosea’s husband, Dutch.

Annabelle: Wait, sorry, what’s the situation?

Bessie: Hosea is bi, so he’s straight for me, but he’s gay for Dutch, and Dutch’s really gay for Hosea. And Dutch hates me.

Dutch: It’s not that complicated.

Hosea: No . . .

Arthur: Sorry I’m late. I was . . . doing things.

Micah: *comes running up the stairs out of breath* He pushed me down the fucking stairs!

Arthur: “Push” is such a strong word. I prefer to call it “giving you a little nudge”.

Micah: Oh, I’ll give you a little nudge when I shove my foot up your ass!!

Arthur: Hey! Watch your fucking language in front of the gang leader.

Dutch:

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clarissalance · 3 years ago

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Who has the upper hand?

Pairing: Kaeya x G/N!Reader, mention of Varka and Diluc.

Warning: Slight swearing, Kaeya is a lil shit, reader being stubborn and scheming, immense tension

Summary: You’re so terrible at swordsmanship that you can’t withstand 2 strikes from Kaeya or, are you?

Word count: 3k5

Disclaimer: What is written in here is based on my imagination, nothing from this fic should be taken seriously. Most of the fact I put in this fic does not follow the lore of the game so it should only be taken as a grain of salt. For example: section 8 in Knight of Favonius codebook.

A/N: I struggle so much when I wrote this piece. This was suppose to be angstier but I tone down a little bit (because Kaeya was very OOC in my draft, I think he’s still a bit OOC in this fic but I tried my best ;-;, pls don’t bite me.)

How did author write a 50k+ oneshot? I can’t write something more than 5k properly ;-; Anyhow, please enjoy this fic. I’m going to have a good rest for 2 weeks before release a comeback. Please shower Kaeya and our new MC with a lot of loves!!!!

As a strategist of the knight of Favonius, you don't usually have enough time to finish the towers of reports, the never-ending meetings and dealing with cheap tricks Fatui diplomats. Often, you have to skip your daily sword training session, which results in a rather miserable situation. The whole practice ground is staring holes at your defeated posture. You are sitting on the hard soil ground, and the Calvary captain is towering you, his sharp blade just a few inches away from your throat.

It is not a strange scene for any knights to lose a spar against the Calvary captain, he should be one with the best swordsmanship after Grand Master, and maybe Acting-Grand Master, too. However, as knight, they can usually withstand him at least more than 2 blows.

Whispers and talks start to circulate around as soon as you stepped your foot in the training ground. It’s very uncommon to see people from that department wandering around this area. The strategy department is famous inside the Knight of Favonius to be the weakling-cunning-mouthy-jerks, who always find excuses after excuses to skip the monthly knight evaluation.

So, who gives them the right to be exempt from the test? Of course, it’s from the ultimate high chief of strategy department. Rumours say before the strategy chief works for the Favonius knight, the man was once a legendary attorney. That person can flip words from black to white, turns the defendant from guilty to innocent. With a profound convincing skillset coming from the chief, persuading the Grand Master Varka is easy as a piece of cake. The whole department of 10 people is easily off-hook for 3 years, never participate in the monthly evaluation before the man suddenly dropped the bomb 2 days ago.

“ I’m tired from coming with excuses to cover for your lazy asses.” The man waved his hand, his eyes staring outside the window. His nails scratching the messy shaved chin.“ Varka seems to get used to navigating my thoughts-”

“Maybe time is wearing away your skill-” At the corner, someone accidentally blurted out, and the whole table gave him a sharp look. Did he have a death wish or something? If so, everyone here can happily dig him a hole, free charge for the coffin.

The chief cleared his voice again, blue eyes melancholy drifted to the table. “So, you guys have tried your best on this monthly evaluation. I hope to see you all again next month.”

The meeting was dismissed afterwards, and everything spiralled into chaos. The whole department hasn’t touched anything aside from the parchment papers and the quills in the last 3 years. How are they going to master the swordman-ship in 2 weeks?

But, the worst thing is,

Your well-respected, talented, and tactful chief has run away.

The next morning, you received the news that a foxy old man is on a business trip to Fontaine with the Grand Master. The expedition is 2 weeks long.

You should have known what he meant when the deceitful man ambiguously ended his sentence like that. Nothing goes well when the chief said: ‘Farewell, my comrades’.

For the last 2 days, you have been starting to familiarize yourself again with how to hold a sword and how to swing the sword.

As you trail along with the long-forgotten memories, trying to look through the familiar feeling when swinging the sword, you hear footsteps coming in your direction. It is familiar, with the way the person is walking, the beat, the sudden burst of noise in the air, you can only conclude it’s the Calvary Captain. The practice ground seems livelier as soon as the man steps inside, people rushing to his side to give their greetings. Maybe today is one of his practice days.

“ Never thought I would see you here.” The young man calls out, successfully jostle you up from your thoughts. You give him a complex look and turn away, focusing on the tattered dummies. Your wrist is screaming in protest, legs wobbling. You remember those golden days when you were young when you were flexible, and your bones didn't crack as much. Oh, where the golden days have gone?

“What do I own the honour of seeing you here, captain?” You fold your arm defensively, voice monotonously. Kaeya despites the most when you start talking in an emotionless tone. Oh, how you love riling him up in the middle of the practice ground!

“ I come here for my weekly practice, but-” He shrugs, eyes glinting with mischief. “ look like the rumour about the abolishment of special permission for the strategy department is true.”

So he has heard the rumours. You roll your eyes, face blanks. You know Kaeya has his own way to obtain his information, but you never thought it’d be this fast. Words don’t easily leak from the strategy department.

“What do you need? Make it short, so I can practice for the upcoming evaluation.” Tired of his long introduction, you ask him directly. If you are going to ignore him any longer, the man will continue poking you.

Starting an argument only wastes your time, and asserting dominance in the middle of the training ground won’t boost your ego. You’re a strategist, your weapons are detailed plans and sharp word, not sword and bow. Showing off your strength in front of those ruthless knights don't improve your relationship with them.

“ Straight the point eh?” You give him an impatiently look, tempting to ignore him again before he flashes you a smug grin. “How bout sparing with me?”

The whole training ground falls in silence, and you direct at the captain a confusing look. Is he serious? No one in the knight except the Grand Master can go against him, not to mention someone who hasn’t touched a sword for three years.

“I can help you with your training, and you can help with mine” Kaeya speaks with utmost confidence that you almost nod and agree. That man is really deceitful, he knows how well your skill has gone dull, yet he still wants to practice with you? What is this man plotting?

“ Do you realize how absurd your offer is? ” You give him a complicated gaze, voice unwavering. Everyone takes in a deep breath, tension crackling. It's not everyday scenery you often encounter. A heated argument between the mischievous cavalry captain and the tactful strategist. Nosy people gather around the pair, internally hoping for the war the breaks out.

“ You know well that I can’t properly block your first strike.” Light-hearted, you joke, but there is no hint of amusement in your voice. Sharpe eyes glaring at the blue figure, you notice the man remains unfazed.

" Shouldn't you choose a more competent opponent?"

The sound whispers and talking about the reasons why Kaeya picked such an easy opponent start to circulate, and you can’t help to curl your lips up. Within a few seconds, you have effortlessly turned the gossiping direction toward your desired path. Flashing Kaeya a victorious grin, you tap your foot impatiently, waiting for his reaction.

You should have worked at PR damage control or marketing instead! The diplomat would have been fine too! At least, you wouldn’t need to practice swordman-ship.

As you mulling on your terrible choice of career, a chill runs down your spine. Tilting up, Kaeya is beaming sweetly at you, the frost slowly creeping up and nipping your shoes. Look like you just pressed the wrong button.

The man narrows his eyes, and you gulp nervously, avoiding his calculating gaze. Kaeya chuckles, his voice laced with worry, wavering and hurtful.

“I just want to help you improve as fast as possible. The test is coming in two weeks isn't it?”

The whole table has turned, and people start to say how considerate and thoughtful the cavalry captain is. The crowd starts to criticize you and tell you to be more grateful and stop suspicious of his unconditional help. Oh, you wish he wasting it on you, many knights in this training ground would love getting advice and improvements from him.

Applause for our dear Calvary captain, smoothly seeking empathy from the crowd and turning the favour back to him. No wonder how fast he climbed up the rank.

Bantering and arguing with a person like him is meaningless, so you accept his offer and drag your sword toward his direction. Let finish this within 2 strikes.

Moving to the centre of the field, both of you face each other, his eyes scanning you sceptically. What is this man plotting again? Bowing, you finally give him a warning look before standing at your ready position. Kaeya holds his sword, analyzing your starting posture.

As soon as the whistle blows, you charge at the man, opening the spar with a direct hit. Kaeya quickly raises his word up to block the first blow, the sound of steel clashing loudly. He then forcefully diverts the sword to the left, a classic way to counter the strike.

Knowing your limited strength against him, you take a step back and swiftly angle the blade downward, aiming for a weak spot at his waist. This move would create a noticeable weakness on your right, and only the idiot doesn't use this as his advantage to disarm you.

You’re right, he uses the loophole you planned, successfully disarm you within 2 strikes. The sword slips from your hand clanging loudly behind as your foot slips and fall on the ground.

His sharp blade is just a few inches away from your neck. The calvary captain wears a solemn look, his cerulean eyes imbued with irritation. Seems like he figures out you purposefully planed to end the match in 2 strikes.

Quickly raising your hand in defeat, you shoot him a taunting grin. The referee declares Kaeya is the winner, and people start to clap and cheer loudly, but overall no one is surprised. As the match end, audiences start to disperse, return back to their tasks.

Kaeya put his sword away and offers you his hand. You stare idly at the gloved hand a moment before putting yours on. The man effortlessly pulls you up, your body flush against his. With Kaeya so close to you, your first reaction is to push the man away, but his firm grip says otherwise. He inches closer, dark blue locks brush your cheek, tall figure towering you intimidating.

“Why end it so early?” He leans down and whispers, your body tenses up visibly. “Surely, you could handle more than 2 strikes of mine.” The young man in blue hums, his voice sultry.

“ What are you saying? I haven’t touched the sword more than 3 years.” You remind him, hands pushing his chest away, trying to create some distance. The man doesn’t budge an inch.

“Your strikes doesn’t say so. The first strike was not bad.” Noticing your effort to push him away, Kaeya stands straight, heels dig into the ground. His lips curl up at the helplessness flashing in your eyes. He loves seeing you struggle, seeing how anxiety and desperation rising in your sparkling orbs. “I think you could at least have a decent fight with me.”

“ Quit spouting non-sense Kaeya, let me go. We are in public.” You let out an annoyed hiss, punching his toned chest. He still wears the uniform improperly like that, the exposed tan chest can be under many layers. Sometimes you don't even know the reason why doesn't he just button the shirt up properly. Finger grazing at the bared skin on his chest, you turn your head away, cheeks heat up.

The man loves seeing you squirming in his trap, and you’re not going to let him see that. Anything, but satisfying his masochist hobby.

“You don’t like skin-ship?” The man fakes a gasp, his orb sparkles with mirth. “But you were being touchy with your friend. Why can't we be a bit touchy? ” His tone suggestively, the tall man snickers at your blushing mess. Out of everything, why would he mention that? You give him stinky eyes, brows furrow deeply.

“I’m not touchy with you.” You deny dreadfully. Archon, how long have you wasted your time here with this slithering serpent?

Kaeya arms wrap tightly around you, your body moulds perfectly into his embrace. You hate how perfectly you fit into his hug like this, but you can’t deny how warm he is, despite the fact he wields cryo.

“ When will you let me go?” Your voice starts to grow weak, dragging slightly in discomfort. Kaeya curiously looks down, noticing your pouting. Sensing his gaze, you turn your head away but his fingers have quickly grabbed your cheek, forcing you to look at his deep blue eye.

“Give me a kiss, then I'd let you go.” His voice serious, but what he just said is not. You look at the cryo wielder horrendously, mouth gaping. His face is composed and relax, like what he just ask is like asking about the weather, asking about your health, not for a kiss. Is he being serious? What in the world did he just ask? A kiss? Excuse me, a what?

“You...you are not being serious.” You wriggle your way out, escaping from his fingers, but his embrace tightens, caging you inside. Damn it, Kaeya. He’s messing with you.

When you flash him a furious look, the man shrugs nonchalantly, his cerulean lock fluttering gently in the wind. Suddenly, you have an urge to wipe off that calm demeanour. He can’t be serious. Why does he have to go all the way to annoy the shit out of you?

The smug grin hanging on his face, the mischief in his blue eyes, the arching brows, everything about him screams a flirt, yet you feel so mesmerized. Blinking a few times, you have to constantly remind yourself this man is not trustworthy. From the attitude to the way he looks at you, to the way he acts around you. Nothing from his action is truthful. Like Diluc’s warning, you can only believe half of his word and action.

“ Of course I’m being serious.” His voice solemn, but you can see the amusement in his eyes. If he doesn��t like you, why would he spend so much effort bothering you this much? What reaction is he expecting from you?

“ I really like you, Y/N” Kaeya confesses cheerfully, and you can faintly hear a few gasps around. Not this again...

Archon, you’re going to die early at this rate. You just want to practice for the upcoming evaluation, not becoming a hot topic for all Mondstadt citizen to gossip about.

And this man too, how can he easily slip out those words when you just heard him flirting with another woman the other day? You already told him numerous times that you’re not interested in dating him, or anyone right now!

Hung your head down in exhaustion, you tap his shoulder, mumbling quietly. “ Fine, fine.” You finally open your mouth, too exhausted and bothered by his stubbornness. He only wants a kiss, and you won’t hurt giving him one. Just a kiss then you can get back to your practice.

“Just don’t confess your love to me in a crowd like this again.” Before closing the deal, you weakly add a bargain, nudging him.

The calvary captain looks surprised, his eye widens little, not expecting you to agree. Normally, it takes another argument or two before you comply with his request. Kaeya timidly raises his gloved hand to your face, gently caresses your cheek. This time, you lean into his touch, nuzzling your face into his palm, eyes glimmering softly. Despite a cryo wielder, his hand is surprisingly warm.

The man in blue curiously peeks at you, he feels like a feather tickling the itchy spot. Are you plotting an escape route? Since when did you become so obedient? He has never seen the soft fur under the spiky façade you set up to face with the world, but strangely, he likes this version of you more.

Noticing his relaxed stance, you carefully gently wrap your fingers around his wrist while keeping eye contact with him. Kaeya eye widens, startles at your sudden touching. Trying your best to not break the unspoken connection, you bring his hand away from your cheek. In those cerulean eyes, you see a hint of disappointment, but it quickly dissolves. Slowly, you draw closer toward the hand hanging in the air, lips fluttering on the smooth skin on his wrist.

The calvary captain instinctively moves back, trying to escape from your sudden contact. Ironic, he is the one who innates the hug and demands a kiss from you. Tightening your grip, you press your wet lips on the exposed part of his wrist dedicatedly while maintaining eye contact with him, eyes drown with submission.

Kaeya stares at you in awe, maybe not expecting the passionate look in your eyes. His azure eye fills with mischief, now replaces with confusion and hesitation. You notice how his ears have dusted with pink despite the winds blowing in the practice ground. The man avoids your eyes, flustering.

Whispers and gasps start to remind you of the crushing reality, so you let his hand down while grinning cheekily at the cryo wielder. Poking and breaking Kaeya meticulously façade is always something you want to try. The man is a living devil, so it’s extremely unusual to see him losing his composure.

Sneakily, you untangle his other arm wrapping around your waist, plotting an escape route.

However, Barbatos doesn’t let you slip away that easily. Quickly regaining his composure, Kaeya snakes his hand around your hip again, tightening his hold. Unlike the first time, the sneaky bastard lifts you up and has the audacity to throw your body on his shoulder, carry you like a sack.

“ Yah! What are you doing?” You exclaim, fluster at his sudden antic. Kicking and punching on his shoulder, you try as many as you can, but somehow, Kaeya manages to dodge all of them.

“ You said you will let me go when I give you a kiss!” The crowd uproars, stares and gossips poke pointedly at your back. You don’t want to hear those comments from those knights again. They're not going to let this live down, aren't they? Bury your face in the Kaeya's furry collar, you let out a frustrating sigh, punching his shoulder as hard as you can.

“ You give me a kiss on my wrist. That doesn’t count.” Kaeya nonchalantly strides away from the practice ground, unfazed by your attempt to escape. This man is a beast, how can he not budge an inch with all of your kickings on his shoulder?

“ You didn’t specify the place. A kiss is a kiss!” You emphasize, and you can feel his shoulder shaking. Is he laughing? “You didn’t keep your promise.” Fuels by the rising anger, you kick your leg aggressively, struggling to free yourself from the iron-clad grip. This time, his strong arm wraps around your calves like a chain.

As soon as you raise your head up, the familiar pathway hits your memories. Shit, he is heading toward the headquarter, likely to his office. You can’t let anyone in there see you in this state. Punching his back profusely, you shot back.

“Not fulfilling the contract is breaking the Knight of Favonius's code of cond-.” Before you can finish your sentence, the man smacks your calves loudly, successfully shutting your mouth. Speechless by his sudden punishment, you let out a disbelief breath.

“ There are no such a section states about fulfilling contract inside the code of conduct, so stop making the rule up.” Kaeya smugly grins, and you can already picture his blue eyes glinting with mischief, the signature shit-eating grin on his handsome face.

" There is, it's in section eight-" Before you can finish your sentence, Kaeya cuts in, waving his hand dismissively.

" Section eight is about interaction with your co-worker, there is none about keeping contracts." The calvary captain humming, trying to recalling the content of the book. Speechless by the detailed memories of his, you can only close your mouth, quietly waiting for him to drop you down. If you stay still on his shoulder, will he let you go?

" You know, not everyone reads and memories the knight of Favonius handbook, you are just unlucky that I know the book by heart." Seeing you deflate weakly on his shoulder, Kaeya lets out a chuckle, patting your head comforting.

Before heading inside the HQ, the man doesn't drop your down but leans in closely, his whisper tickling your ear. “But at least I had fun seeing you squirming in my grasp.”

And then it hits you, the bastard purposely falls for of your antic.

#kaeya alberich #genshin kaeya #kaeya x reader #no beta we kayak like tim #genshin impact #clarissalance #who has the upper hand ?#argument #fluff #tension #smart reader #strategist #genshin varka #diluc ragnvindr #genshin diluc

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lonely-lost-soul · 4 years ago

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Under the Floorboards Pt. V

(Technoblade X Reader): Pt. I, Pt. II, Pt. III, Pt. IIII, Pt. V, Pt. VI

Alright so maybe you spoke too soon; the four of you were going to do great things, minus Tommy. Technoblade had finally agreed to let you join Tommy and him on an adventure into L’manberg. The plan was to crash their festival, and ultimately attempt to get Tommy’s discs back from Dream and Tubbo. You expected your first adventure into the country to be fun, if anything you’d get to steal some shit, what you didn’t expect was to be thrown in the middle of a public dispute.

Clearly, you underestimated what ‘getting the discs back’ actually entailed.

You and Technoblade were back to back swords drawn, surrounded by about thirty people in the ruin of what was once deemed a community house. Technoblade never would’ve agreed to let you come if he thought the confrontation with Dream was going to be this serious, he assumed they’d watch from afar. If things got to dicey Tommy and him would rush in and he’d have you stay behind to watch from afar. If only he could’ve predicted someone blowing up a random building would cause such turmoil.

Nothing could ever come up Technoblade.

“Yah know when you first invited me out to partake in a festival for some reason I didn’t expect to be attacked by like thirty people.” You chirped a hesitant smile on your face as Technoblade made a confused sound.

“You definitely should’ve expected it,” Technoblade grumbled, barely taking his eyes off of Tommy and Tubbo’s argument. You watched Techno’s back but you couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the boys conversation as well. As much as your heart broke for the two war-torn children, you had your alliance first and foremost with your boyfriend. You also couldn’t help but feel this conversation should be happening privately but here they were airing things out seemingly for the first time in front of everybody. Speaking of your boyfriend, your attention was drawn back to him as he caught Tommy’s attention, “be very careful what your decision is here Tommy.”

You narrowed your eyes and took a step in front of Technoblade, he made his classic ‘heh’ sound as you did so. You felt his hand grip your forearm and tighten trying to hold you back in case you wanted to do something stupid.

“Tommy, come home with us.” You held out your hand to him, the one Technoblade didn’t have a hold of obviously. “Phil’s waiting for us, we’ll get your discs back together as we planned.” The smile on your face could part the cloudiest of days and it broke Tommy’s heart, she had given him something that he hadn’t had since the war with Dream began.

A home.

“(Y/N),” That’s the first time he used your name, the first time you weren’t just Ms Blade. It broke your heart and you whimpered a little bit, “thank you for everything you’ve done for me. But I can’t go back with you and Technoblade. I don’t like what I’ve become, this isn’t me. I’m sorry. I hope one day we can be friends again. Tubbo give Dream my disc.” You leaned back into Technoblade in disbelief, Tommy had just betrayed Technoblade right before your very eyes. The man who gave Tommy the clothes on his back and a place to stay when no one else would. Weapons to help him fight against Dream when everyone else abandoned him, even though they all treated Technoblade as a weapon he still went out of his way to help Tommy. Your hands clenched into fists at your side as Dream let out a roaring laugh collecting the disc from Tubbo. He called the two children stupid right to their face and no matter how angry you were with them that was harsh, it’s like everyone in this country forgets that they are children. Children fuck up, it’s how they learn and it’s in their nature why does no one here understand that. You looked up at Techno your eyebrows furrowed and you pressed your lips tight but he didn’t take his eyes off Dream, he had different priorities in mind.

Protecting you from the Dreamon if anything went south.

Dream continued to mock and criticize the people of L’manberg before turning to you and Technoblade. The mask he wore may hide his facial expressions, but it couldn’t mask the unadulterated glee in his voice. Technoblade pulled you behind him as Dream stepped closer to the both of you, you felt a growl rumble in Technoblade’s chest,

“That’s close enough.”

“Down boy.” Dream mused, holding up his hands to show faux innocence. “I have no issues with the both of you. Tomorrow, with your help, Technoblade and woman.”

“(Y/N).”

“Don’t tell him your name.” Technoblade gaped at you and you only could huff in frustration,

“Better than just being called woman! Plus Tommy already said it.”

With an eye-roll Dream continued his speech, “With the help of Technoblade and (Y/N) L’manberg is going to be a crater. We’re blowing it sky-high.” Dream turned over to face Tubbo once again, “I had to pretend to be friends with you, to get the dumb disk back! I don't care about you. I'm not your friend. Okay? I cared about getting the disk back, and I got the disk back. I got it back. And that's-that's- that's the only thing that really matters. You can't even run your nation right. RANBOO IS A TRAITOR. ONE OF YOUR MOST TRUSTED FRIENDS.”

Your eyes widened as you spotted another child looking horrified, it was the half enderman from the butcher gang. You’re adopting him next.

“NO, IT IS TRUE. READ THIS BOOK. READ THIS BOOK. There's his memory book. He was meeting with Techno and Tommy and told them EVERYTHING. The proof’s all his own memories! He writes it down! You can't even run your own nation correctly Tubbo. Listen. Tubbo, you, I mean you, ... L'Manberg is weaker than it's ever been, and it's because of you! You have- you have destroyed everything. You have ruined your friendships. You have ruined L'Manberg's allies. You have just-you are a horrible president Tubbo.” Dream continued as Tubbo looked sick to his stomach, you felt just as nauseous.

“YEAH, YOU SUCK TUBBO!”

“TECHNOBLADE!”

“What?” He flinched at your tone, “he’s right!”

“They’re children,” You tried to argue but Dream cut you off by stepping in between you and Technoblade. Your pulse skyrocketed as you were separated, and you made sure an ender pearl was at the ready. Tommy looked at the both fo you nervously, but there was a spark of hope in his eyes when you defended Tubbo. Tommy turned over to Tubbo who honestly looked just as shocked that a partner of Technoblade’s would defend him, espeically considering he had tried to kill her a few days prior. Tommy had hope that he wasn’t completely dead to you.

“Techno. Got any withers?” You watched a sickening smile spread across Techno’s lips he picked at his nails.

“I got a few.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you all tomorrow when the L’manberg loses its last cannon life,” Dream announced before disappearing into the wind. The citizens turned to face you and Technoblade, he only had to utter a single word:

“Run,” Before both of you pearled away from the wreckage of the community house.

Technoblade scooped you up in his arms as he made his way through the Nether portal back to his base. He was much faster than you were and you didn’t fight him on wanting to make a quick getaway. You both were silent on the way back to his base, bottom line was you didn’t know how you felt about what just went down. On one hand, destruction was your middle name and you weren’t going to oppose blowing a government to smithereens with your boyfriend.

Nothing could be more romantic than that.

Yet at the same time, unlike Technoblade, you felt the guilt eat away at you. These were people’s homes, and lives you’d be destroying tomorrow. Most of the citizens you had no affiliation with, which you were grateful for, but those you did you almost couldn’t justify blowing the country up. Tommy was by all accounts dead to Technoblade and by that extent you as well. Still, you didn’t want to see him physically dead, it wasn’t his fault he got corrupted by the government and a homeless teletubby.

You were starting to sound like Technoblade now too.

You made a sound of distress and Techno glanced down at your form, his face flushed as you nuzzled your nose against his neck.

“You okay princess?”

“No…” You answered with a sigh, you reached out and twirled a strand of his pink hair through your fingers. “Tommy’s gone, we’re going to blow up a country tomorrow. I feel bad for the people we’re gonna leave homeless. So, no I’m not okay bubs.” The socially awkward man winced a little as he battled with what to say to you, he tends to forget you both aren’t the same person. For as much as both of you agree, you were still different from him, you had more empathy than he could ever wish to have.

“You don’t have to come.”

He watched a frown appear on your face as you pulled away from him. You clicked your tongue in distaste, a sure sign that you were about to pick a fight with the blood god. You were one opponent he could never seem to defeat. That did not come out the way he intended.

Time to backtrack before he got his ass handed to him.

“What I mean is, you have no affiliation with L’manberg. You have no prior issues you need to settle with them so technically you can stay home tomorrow, no one would blame you. You’d be safer away from the explosions, I’d feel better with you at home.”

“That way you’d only have to worry about Phil tomorrow right?”

“Well, that’s part of it,” He stated bluntly, never one to be dishonest. “He has only one life and he’s going to want to fight, he has a lot to avenge. The government drove his eldest son mad, enough that Phil had to kill him. He’s one of my oldest friends, I wanna look out for him and protect him.” You couldn’t help but sigh softly at his response, you brushed your thumb across his cheek fondly.

“You’re wrong.”

“Eh?”

“I do have something I want to fight for, I want to fight for what I believe is right. Let’s face it Techno the way everyone’s treating those children is sick. Dream manipulated Tommy and used Tubbo to get what he wanted from him. I know you did what you thought was right for Tommy but he’s a product of a war-torn country, they all are. Now, that doesn’t excuse his betrayal but… did he even know what the right thing to do was in this situation, does he even truly know what peace is? I want to fight to protect those kids. They deserve to know peace, true peace away from bloodshed and war. If I can I want to give them that.” You watched Technoblade’s jaw tighten, “I’m going with you tomorrow but I’m not going to kill the children.”

“I don’t think I can ever forgive Tommy.” He sighed adjusting his grip on you a sure sign he was nervous, “but I love you.” Techno kissed you once again, it was long and tender you watched as the apples of his cheeks turn red after you both pulled away. He took a breath, “You’re unstoppable and you’ve never stopped me before so I won’t do the same for you. Just stay safe. Please. You need to come home with me tomorrow I won’t settle for anything else.”

“I will. I promise.” You pressed a light kiss to his cheek, and he hummed gently in response. “I love you Technoblade, I’ll fight beside you. Till the end of the line.”

“Till the end of the line,” He repeated as you both approached the snow-covered house to convene with Philza Minecraft himself.

~~~

Hi guys! Officially feeling a bit better, enough to get a small part out before I work on the next chapter. I hope you like it, thanks so much for reading and your amazing feedback. Also, thanks so much for your kind words and well wishes! Also, also, If anyone ever makes fanart of this story (I doubt it would happen) please tag me and let me know. I love to make art myself and always wanna support other artists! Thanks Again!

#technoblade x reader #technoblade x you #technoblade #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #fanfiction #fanfic #minecraft fanfiction #x reader #dreamsmp x reader #minecraft x reader #x you #Blood for the Blood God #rp #dream smp

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mardereads19 · 4 years ago

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A Comparrison between Az’s Chapter and Cassian’s Chapters in Acofas

Today I found myself inspired by @thereaderspeaks ‘s post and what I had to add about it, to write this long-ass post comparing Az’s chapter in Acosf to Cassian’s three chapters in Acofas.

@rhyssescups does an amazing job in this post (and @psychee92 in this one) of comparing Az’s chapter to Cassian’s POV in Wings and Embers. I’ll also attach @psychee92 ‘s comparison of both batboys’ attitudes after their respective solstices. But I’m going to concentrate on Az’s POV and Acofas rather than Wings and Embers.

There are a LOT of things in common, so when you add the posts linked above to this one, you’ll see how Azriel’s emotions and his interaction with Gwyn mirror those of Cassian. Everyday I find more peace of mind regarding Elriel.

Before I begin, I want to clarify that Emerie is not in Wings and Embers, but on Cassian’s perspective in Acofas. I had seen many people on Tumblr and on Twitter saying (by mistake) that she’s in W&E, so I wanted to point that out. It is Mor who is mentioned in W&E. How Cassian does not want to tell her about Nesta, etc. For more on that, check out the links I attached above.

There are many elements that Cassian and Azriel share in their chapters and I decided to divide them into categories. I’ll support them with quotes so that we have the receipts. With that said…

Let’s get started!

1. Distance

In both instances there was something that separated the couples and caused distance.

In Cassian’s case it was post-war-Nesta and even Cassian himself (it was pride that kept him ignoring her all through the party until he couldn’t take it anymore and ran after her, simple as that):

In Azriel’s case it was his understanding of what he feels for Elain and the fact that she has a mate. But also, let’s add Rhys’s order as a new element that will cause distance.

2. Emotions

Cassian did not allow himself to think about Nesta because of the feelings that stirred up in him.

Anger, passion, confusion.

And Azriel…

Well, well, well... What do we have here?

Anger, passion, confusion.

He was ready to spar it out of his system, too, like Cassian.

3. Something the batboys associate with their mate Archeron sister

I noticed that in both cases, Cass and Az had given their girls something that they associated with them, be it material or other.

For example, Cassian’s was names for Nesta’s poses.

He saw Nesta stand in any particular way and if it was something she repeated he gave that pose a name. It is something he associates with her.

In Azriel’s case, we know he gives Elain a rose necklace.

Roses signify Elain because of what she does: gardening; But also, it could simply represent them. Their way of spending time together (here’s a post of different refences of Elriel in the garden by @silver-flames) and their relationship that has been slowly blooming in secret, like how that charm shines with colors when it’s in the light, but looks ordinary in the dark.

4. The batboys hurting the sisters

In both POVs the Illyrians hurt the Archerons.

Cassian does it out of anger. Because Nesta kept rejecting him. Instead of holding his tongue, like any mature person should, he tells her something that destroys her (we know by her reaction).

See how her eyes go empty?

Well, in his chapter, Azriel hurts Elain, too, though it pains him as much as it pains her because he did not do it intentionally.

5. The sisters rejecting/returning the gifts

Nesta rejects Cassian’s gift, though I wouldn’t have taken it either after what he told her. This quote comes from before his insult, but my point is that she left without taking the gift.

Also, notice how Cassian hadn’t wanted to give Nesta her present in front of the others, something that Azriel does, too, though for different reasons. Cassian had feared rejection and had been waiting for her to approach him.

Azriel had not given Elain her present because Lucien, her mate, was there.

And of course, Elain returns her gift after Azriel left her standing in the hall with the words “this was a mistake.” I wouldn’t have stayed with that necklace either, not when it reminded me of that moment.

6. Regifting/Comparing

Something particular that happens in both characters’ PoV is the regifting of the objects the batboys used to relate to their girls. I do not think they are necessarily wrong, just that it happens.

Cassian uses the name of one of Nesta’s poses to describe Emerie.

He also compares her way of speaking and the look in her eyes to that of Nesta.

Azriel regifts the necklace that represents Elain to Gwyn (though he doesn’t give it to her personally, just hands it to Clotho for her to do it), and describes her with the same quote he used on the necklace (Elriel).

I have my own theory on why the thought of her smile makes him smile. Soon I will explain.

7. Getting rid of the gifts (decisions made in haste)

Cassian being all impulsive and throwing the very expensive and extremely unique gift to the Sidra:

Gotta love our hotheaded overgrown bat. (My baby!! <3)

Then, we have Az making the dumb decision of regifting the present because somehow he couldn’t get rid of it (symbolism but not the post for it).

He was in a bad place when he made the decision, and even Clotho points out that his eyes are sad.

The quote in purple is important to note. The theory about Clotho not giving Gwyn the necklace? That line is good for it. The fact that he told Clotho to give the necklace to anyone as long as he didn’t have it and the sadness she gleaned in his eyes is enough for her to know there is more to it than what he tells her.

I also want to point out that we know for a fact that Cassian regretted getting rid of the present and that he knows he had been foolish that night. So, considering how parallel to each other these chapters are, I’m sure that Azriel will, too.

8. Distraction/Consolation (Aftermath)

I think it is important to highlight how Cassian got to the Townhouse late and was followed by a worried Mor, who most likely consoled him after his disastrous evening with Nesta...

...and compare it to how Azriel had needed to release unspent energy and was successfully distracted from his bad juju by the short lesson he gave to Gwyn:

He straight up says he’s thankful for the distraction. That was what the whole convo had been for him -in a good sense.

It also aligns super well with @silverlinedeyes ‘s theory of Gwyn being a lightsinger in how they appear to people when they are lost. Gwyn was there when Azriel needed someone (even just to distract him), be it coincidence or not, and that cannot be ignored.

If Gwyn does take on a role in Acotar 5, I think it will have a lot to do with being his friend and confidant (and trainee), someone who will help him figure out what to do about his situation, just like how she unknowingly helped him on solstice.

9. Empathy towards the Valkyries

Another parallel that I found in the chapter is how Cassian felt empathy for Emerie’s situation upon looking at her...

...and how Azriel’s interaction with Gwyn brought about the same reaction:

This is what I was talking about earlier. Notice how he sees her pain and grief and prefers when she’s happy to when she’s sad? Who wouldn’t want that? That is the same mentality I apply to his smile at the thought of her smiling. That he is glad that something would make her happy after what she has been through. Especially after remembering her past (within the last three pages).

10. Emerie and Gwyn’s attitudes

This was super curious for me! Look at how both girls say goodbye to the batboys:

Emerie being a whole independent female, and Gwyn…

All business.

Literally got the same energy from them.

Gwyn finished the convo and continued her practice like the badass warrior that she is. There was no demure glance or cloy blush anywhere. The interaction was not romantic, purely platonic. Just like Emerie’s with Cassian.

11. This interesting parallel:

These two moments that are almost identical:

Cassian tells Emerie to give the Illyrians the clothes he just bought and to tell them it was the High Lord’s gift. He does it because he knows the Illyrians would not accept them if they knew they came from Cassian.

Azriel:

Another one (DJ khaled voice).

“Just tell her it was a gift from Rhys.”

Why does he do that? Because it wasn’t romantic and if Gwyn had known she’d have brought it up in conversation. He just wanted to be rid of it, so he gave it to her, perhaps as a way of thanking her for the distraction yesterday, but nothing more.

“If there’s another priestess here who might appreciate it, give it to them.” He didn’t care who’d have it as long as it wasn’t him.

Conclusion:

(Wings and Embers + Acofas) Cassian = Acosf bonus chapter Azriel

That’s the real formula bestie SJM used and the receipts are here.

Azriel mirrors Cassian in emotions, actions and interactions.

Remember how Nesta Antis began shipping Cass with Emerie after their interaction in Acofas simply because they hated Nesta? Their scene had zero romantic energy, but Nesta Antis still did it.

Well, history repeats itself with Elain.

Regarding Gwyn: So far, I see no build-up to something more than a friendship. Like we explored, Az’s scene with her was similar to Cassian’s with Emerie. The differences lie in that Gwyn is more energetic than Emerie and that Az’s shadows reacted to her power (she has powers, read about it in the lighsinger theory).

There is literally nothing more I can add.

Peace out.

#elriel discussion #elriel endgame #elriel #elain #azriel #elain x azriel #acotar #acotar 5 #acosf #acosf spoilers #azriel bonus chapter #wings and embers #acofas #sarah j maas

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