#hmmm no I refuse to tak about this

[leftfoottrapped]

vid credit: hadouchen // trans credit: imexotrashtbh

[imagineclaireandjamie]

I’m in desperate need of some Tagalong escapism. A happy family moment would be just the ticket. 🙏

anonymous asked: Has Tagalong Roger discovered his talent for music and singing yet? Imagine Jamie and Claire et al. realising Roger can sing like a thrush 😄

Tagalong One Shot #3

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty, Part Twenty-One, Part Twenty-Two, Part Twenty-Three, Epilogue; One Shot #1; One Shot #2

******************************************

It began as a sort of game between Roger and Fergus when no one was around, a way to deal with Roger’s homesickness, especially in those first months. What things from their lives in the future did they miss the most? Football. Bicycles. Their friends from school. Going to the cinema. Listening to the radio.

Playing in the woods when their chores allowed, Roger would imitate the broadcasters or recall commercial jingles with a clarity that had Fergus doubling over with laughter. 

But the underlying sadness was more than Fergus could help his friend with alone. So he volunteered them to help Claire on one of her gathering trips in the woods. When it was just the three of them, Fergus began the game and Claire joined in.

She had spent far more time in the future. Like Roger, she was of the future in a way neither he nor Brianna were (young as she was, she had already lost her memories of where and when she was born).

When the game petered out, they continued their scavenging quietly. At least, until Roger recognized the song Claire was humming and began to sing along.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way...

Fergus recognized the tune but couldn’t remember the words and certainly wouldn’t have sounded as good as Roger did.

Claire joined Roger, grinning along and dancing a little making both boys laugh.

When they’d finished the song, Claire complimented Roger on his singing and asked if he’d picked up any of the songs Mrs. Crook knew (she always sang quietly as she went about the kitchen, though she wasn’t particularly good). 

Roger hadn’t but the seed was planted and Roger had a new hobby.

******************************************

“He has a surprise for us,” Claire informed Jamie as she tidied him up. There were dried leaves in his hair which needed to be trimmed or the dun bonnet would be useless for covering the distinctive hair of Red Jamie. 

“And do ye have any idea of what his surprise may be?” Jamie asked. He winced as Willie gnawed on one of his fingers.

“Hold still,” Claire scolded, smiling behind Jamie’s back as their three-month-old son gurgled in his father’s lap. She knew how much it meant to Jamie to have been there for Willie from the beginning (how bittersweet that Brianna couldn’t remember being without him). It was also a minor miracle that Jenny had goaded him into giving up the cave for the priest hole while winter bore down on them. 

And it would take another for her to convince Jamie it was safe enough for him to make an appearance at the Hogmanay festivities (having been so recently arrived the previous year, they’d kept the day as a family but learned of the tenants’ disappointment soon after). It would mean a great deal to so many for a glimpse of the true laird with his family reunited as the British army continued to raid and terrorize the countryside even three years after the loss at Culloden.

“As a matter of fact, I do know what it is, but telling you would mean ruining the surprise for both of us,” Claire informed Jamie, “And it means too much to Roger for me to do that so you will attend and you will be surprised. And you will enjoy yourself,” she tacked on as an afterthought.

Jamie rolled his eyes at Willin in the mirror. The babe ceased gnawing on Jamie’s finger in order to giggle.

“Alright. Time for you to have a proper wash so we can get the rest of this rat’s nest under control.” Claire took Willie from Jamie, holding him so he could watch as his father sighed and reluctantly stripped and climbed into the lukewarm tub, the chill in the room having quickly sapped the water of its heat. 

******************************************

Despite Claire’s assertion, Jamie remained reluctant to risk being seen too publicly.

“I can stay above stairs wi’ Willie and Brianna,” he told Claire. “Have Roger tell ye when for the surprise and I’ll slip down for that bit.”

“If it makes you more comfortable, I believe you can enjoy his surprise from the banister upstairs,” Claire compromised. “I’ll let him know he’ll be able to spot you there.”

So Jamie made sure he was in place as a handful of tenants arrived for the modest festivities (given the universal hardships, the family had decided to rotate who would be invited year to year). 

Willie was teething and fussy in Jamie’s arms as he looked around for Roger in the small crowd below. He spotted Fergus first. The lad was helping guide a few men bearing instruments to one side of the hall, ushering folks to clear the space for imminent dancing. Roger was close behind conversing with a man carrying a fiddle.

There was something in Roger’s arms but none of the others took it from him when the group settled in their places, laughing as young couples eagerly gathered ready to dance. Roger ended up shuffled off to the side but still stood with the players.

The largest and oldest of them looked around at the others, nodding as fiddles and flutes were raised. Then he motioned to Roger who began to beat a steady rhythm on his bodhrán. Soon the others joined in and the couples began to clap along and dance. 

Jamie couldn’t follow the music itself very well, but he could pick out Roger and that steady bodhrán beat, keeping time for everyone else. At the end of the first piece, Roger glanced up to where Jamie stood at the railing with Willie. Jamie gave him a proud smile and nod, then lifted Willie’s hand in a wave. Willie fidgeted and bounced enthusiastically. He squealed with delight as they began the next piece.

Jamie stood watching through three more songs before carrying Willie off to put him to bed and check on Brianna. Besides, they’d be sending the firstfoot out soon and they’d want him safely tucked away for that. 

Claire ushered Roger and Fergus up to bed a short time later, the festivities downstairs winding down. 

“You played beautifully,” Claire told Roger, sitting at the edge of his bed and brushing his dark hair away from his eyes.

“Alec Mackinnon said he’d continue to teach me the songs he kens,” Roger said with a tired but somehow still excited yawn. “No just the bodhrán either. Though, it doesna quite feel like Hogmanay wi’out… you know.” He raised his eyebrows at Claire who smiled in a way Jamie recognized too well. She never wanted the children to think she was laughing at them, no matter how amusing the things they said might be.

“You’ve done very well not to say anything about it,” Claire commended him. “But now it’s just us. It should be safe now and, I agree, it doesn’t feel complete without it,” she said with a conspiratorial glance to Jamie and Fergus who were both baffled.

Roger smiled and sat up in bed. Fergus lounged with his head propped up on his hand. Jamie took a seat next to Brianna’s cot where she and Willie slept. They’d take Willie to his cradle when they returned to their own room for the night.

“Softly now,” Claire reminded Roger before nodding for him to start. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot…

Claire dropped off after the first chorus but Roger remembered and sang the second and third verses as well.

“You sing as beautifully as you play,” Claire assured him. “Like a songbird.”

“A smeóraich,” Jamie agreed. When Claire gave him a confused look, he explained, “A thrush.”

“Time for bed, smor– how do you say it again?”

Jamie repeated it for Claire a few more times, eliciting giggles that turned into yawns. She gave up and tucked Roger back in.

******************************************

“The song you and Roger sang earlier… It’s of the future?” Jamie asked as he held Claire in bed a short time later. He’d be back in the priest hole the next day but refused to spend the first night of the new year anywhere but next to Claire.

“Yes and no,” she said with a sigh. “It will come to be associated with celebrating the new year in the twentieth century, but the words will be penned by a great Scots poet in another decade or so.”

“A great Scots poet,” Jamie mused, grinning in the dark.

“Mmmhmm. And it’s not just in Scotland that he’s celebrated or that song that gets sung. It becomes popular the world over… At least, to my knowledge. There’s even a night celebrating his birth that’s a sort of unofficial holiday.”

Jamie scoffed. “Now ye’re teasin’ me, Sassenach.”

She curled into him and nuzzled against his chest. “Not at all,” she yawned. “I’ve been to my share of Burns Night celebrations over the years.”

“Hmmm… Sounds nice,” Jamie murmured as he drifted off to sleep, the words of the song – which he’d had Claire repeat for him slowly – ran through his dreams. 

We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne…

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 76

Squee takes a break.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Spring Breaking

           Squee: Nny and I are gonna stay with Granny Cammie for a while. We’re taking Nugget with us too

           Pepito: starting spring break early! Sounds nice

           Gaz: Yeah who cares about skool anyway

           Dib: Take all the time you need Squee

           Tak: Yeah, you deserve a break.

           Zim: We’ll keep things handled here. Leave it to Zim!

           Squee cracks a weak smile at the messages from his friends. Then he drops his phone into his bag, slips it onto his shoulders, and grabs his suitcase before leaving his room.

           “I’m ready,” he says to Johnny as he enters the living room.

           “Good. Granny’s already in the car,” he replies, “let’s go.”

           They leave the house and get into the car. Cammie’s in the passenger seat and Squee sits in the back with Nugget while Nny drives. And they head out.

           The drive is pretty quiet, with just the radio to break the silence. Squee watches the scenery go by, his head resting against the window. Sometimes he’ll catch himself reaching for his lap, where something- or someone- used to sit and his chest will tighten. So he tries to keep himself distracted by stroking Nugget’s fur.

           They arrive to Cammie’s house in a few hours and park the car in her ridiculously large driveway next to her other vehicles that are never used. After grabbing their luggage, she lets them into the house.

           “Welcome home, Cammie,” Thomas- her caretaker- nods respectfully as they enter.

           “Thanks, Thomas,” she replies as they walk by to the hallway of bedrooms. “Your rooms from the summer you stayed here are still the same,” she says to Nny and Squee. “But they’re pretty plain. Maybe we can go to the city later and pick up some décor for you, Squee. Maybe some posters or uh…lava lamps…um…glow-in-the-dark stickers…I-I don’t know what kids like.”            “Glow-in-the-dark stickers sound nice,” Squee remarks as they reach his room. “But can we go another day?”

           “Sure, hon, we can go whenever you want,” Cammie replies, “you just relax and make yourself comfortable.”

           Squee smiles weakly before going into his room and closing the door behind him.  Cammie and Nny both sigh and continue down the hall.

           “He seems to have gotten a little better these last couple days,” she comments.

           “Yeah, he’s trying really hard to pick up his pieces,” he agrees, “but I’m still worried. I hope he takes a break from everything while we’re here. He really needs it.”

           In his room, Squee drops his bags onto the floor and flops onto the bed. He stares at the ceiling, his mind numb and blank. He could just lie here all day but he won’t let himself do that. So he gets up, grabs a pen and notebook from his bag, and flips open to a blank page.

           Squee presses the pen to the paper and waits. And he waits. And waits. He starts impatiently tapping the page as the minutes tick by and the words refuse to flow. Finally, having lost his patience, he tosses the book to the side and stands up.

           “Whatever,” he grumbles as he leaves his room. “Maybe I’ll get some inspiration from TV.”            The hours tick by lazily as Squee and Nny spend them watching cartoons. Late into the evening, everyone retires to their rooms for the night. But Squee doesn’t try to sleep. He’s been too scared to after what happened when he stayed with the Night Terrors a couple days ago. So he grabs his notebook and tries to take another crack at writing.

           This time is no more successful and twice as frustrating. If it were just normal writer’s block, then Squee could handle it. But this doesn’t feel like a normal blockage. He can clearly see the words he wants to write in his head, but for some reason they can’t pass onto the paper like they used to. Once his pen would flow like a rushing river; now it’s like a clogged toilet.

           His frustration boils into a rage. Rage towards his head for not releasing those words; rage towards his hand for not moving; rage towards his pen for not writing. And suddenly he snaps and throws the pen across the room.

           The rage doesn’t last long though and is quickly replaced with an exhausted guilt. Squee stands up and goes to where his pen landed by the window. Sitting on the floor, he cradles it gently in his hand. It’s the fountain pen Johnny gave him for his thirteenth birthday- the first of his birthdays they spent together. That seems so long ago now.

           Sighing heavily, Squee rests his head against the window and looks outside. The stars are so bright and clear out here, even through the glass. His focus lands on two perpendicular ones peeking out at him over the treeline. They seem bigger than all the others.

           And then they blink.

           Squee leaps up, opens the window, and throws his head out. He looks around frantically but the two…stars?...are gone.

           Confused, Squee leans against the windowsill and stares at the sky. Did he really see that? Was it just a trick of the light? Or something else?

           The next day is just as lazy and quiet. Squee spends it either watching cartoons or chilling on the porch swing, Johnny and Nugget always by his side. It’s so peaceful and relaxing. Or at least it should be.

           Squee loves it out here. But his nerves are shot. He feels like there’s something hiding behind every corner or in every shadow, and he can’t be sure what’s real and what’s his paranoia. They haven’t been attacked by anything yet, so is it safe to assume it’s all his paranoia?    

           Having Nny by his side helps him feel a little safer, but it’s not the same as…well, it’s not the same as before.

           Squee tries writing a couple more times throughout the day, but the outcome remains the same: frustrating, disappointing nothingness.

           That afternoon he’s curled up on the couch, tapping his pen against the paper with annoyance. Nny watches him for a second before asking, “can’t think of what to write?”

           “Not exactly,” Squee sighs, “I know what I want to write. The words just won’t…come, you know?”

           “Not really,” he shrugs, “I don’t know anything about writer’s block.”

           “No, this is…different.”

           Johnny watches as Squee closes his notebook and walks away. He stares after him, curious and a bit concerned.

           Squee spends that night just like the last: mostly staring at the sky. When his eyelids get too heavy, he’ll lie down in bed and let himself sleep for a couple hours, but until then, the stars are a lovely show.

           He’s still thinking about the two stars he saw blink last night. He actually wanted to write a story about them today, but of course that didn’t happen.

           Resting his chin on the window’s ledge, Squee continues to stare at the sky while his eyelids get heavier and heavier.

          Meanwhile in his room, Johnny is also avoiding sleep. He lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind deliberating. Finally, he makes up his mind and goes to the living room. He picks up the phone and quickly dials a number before he can change his mind. It’s late, but he’s sure this person is awake.

           “Al’s Assmeats. How may we serve you today?” an obnoxiously loud voice answers.

           “Devi, it’s Nny,” Johnny says.

           “Oh, hey,” she replies in her normal voice. “Something wrong? You never call me.”

           “No-ah, well…no, not really,” he stammers with uncertainty.

           “Then…why are you calling me?”

           “Uh it’s um mmmm.” Pressing his palm into his forehead, Johnny takes a second to collect his thoughts. “Do you remember when the Nightmare tried to control you?”

           “Yeah…?” Devi replies, somewhat uncertain.

           “How did it feel when you tried to paint?”

           “Um…well, I was working that shitty painting job at the time so I didn’t have time to paint for myself. And anything I painted for them was just following the instructions they gave me- which fucking sucked by the way. So…I don’t know. It sure didn’t feel the same as before, when I painted for me. It felt like…nothing. Like a void, you know?”

           “No,” Nny replies as he sits on the floor and leans up against the end table. “I don’t remember much from back when it was happening to me. But I feel like…like whenever I tried to draw…there was a clog.”

           “A clog?” Devi questions.

           “Yeah. Like something was blocking my creativity from leaving my mind.”

           “That’s interesting,” she comments, “I guess because I was doing that job, I wasn’t really using my creativity.”

           “Like it was being clogged from the outside,” he muses.

         “Yeah. I never thought of it that way before,” she remarks, “why are you asking about this?”            “Mmm,” Johnny merely groans in reply.

           “Is it about Squee? Is he okay?”

           “I think so. For now at least,” he replies, “but…he said he’s having trouble writing. Like he’s feeling blocked.”

           “Hmmm,” Devi hums curiously, “well…he’s going through a lot right now. He could just be mentally exhausted. Maybe he just needs a break.”

           “That is why we came out here,” Nny replies, “but I think he’s trying too hard to, like, beat his depression.”            “Fuck, I know how that feels,” she sighs.

           “Yeah.”

           They both sigh heavily.

           “Well,” Johnny grunts, scratching his head. “I’m sure he’ll get through this. He’s tougher than he thinks he is.”            “He really is,” Devi agrees, “oh, hey! I finally got my business cards done!”

           “Oh, yeah?” he replies with half-interest.

           “Yeah, Dib helped me design them. They’re pretty fucking sick. I’m gonna go around tomorrow and hand them out. I’m gonna start with small businesses first- you know, spread the indie love. But if I have to, I’ll try bigger businesses.”

           Johnny rubs his forehead as Devi continues to babble on. He doesn’t really care, but he can’t just hang up on her. He’s the one who called her in the middle of the night, so this is the price he has to pay.

           Back in his room, Squee is slowly starting to pass out in his window. His eyelids are drooping but he can’t be bothered to pick himself up and go to bed. So he keeps blinking heavily as he stares at the sky.

           Between each blink, everything appears the same. The silhouettes of the trees and all the stars remain stagnant.

           And then two more stars appear.

          Squee’s eyes fly open and he leans out the window. This time, the new stars don’t disappear. They stay poking over the treeline, seemingly staring back at him.

           With his eyes used to the darkness, he can barely make out the outline of what appears to be a head surrounding the new stars.

           Squee cocks his head curiously. The other head cocks back.

           Squee blinks with surprise before leaping out the window. His bare feet land on the soft, chilly grass surrounding the house but he doesn’t want to get his shoes. What if the new stars disappear again?

           He quickly loses sight of them as he goes into the trees but he keeps moving forward. He trips and stumbles on roots and branches but he doesn’t stop. Not until he reaches a small clearing.

           It’s so sudden he almost runs into it, but he stops just in time. Just in front of him is a giant foot, the big toe alone almost taller than Squee. Swallowing hard, he looks up in awe at the rest of the creature towering over him and the surrounding trees.

           Their body is humanoid and androgynous, but their skin almost looks like tree bark. They’re so tall, Squee can’t make out their face; just their two eyes, glowing like stars in the darkness.

           The giant stares at him before slowing kneeling down just enough to rest one of their hands at Squee’s feet. Squee glances at it with uncertainty before climbing aboard.

           “Whoa!” he exclaims as the giant lifts him at the same velocity as a speeding car, all the way up to their face.

           This close Squee can see the giant’s eyes really are just two glowing white orbs. They have no nose or ears, just nostrils, and a massive mouth filled with browned, chipped teeth. While the creature doesn’t have eyebrows, Squee can still tell their expression is quizzical.

           “Why have you sought me out, little one?” they ask, their voice booming but somehow still gentle, like a wise, old man.

           “I-I wanted to see if you were real,” Squee replies, wonderstruck.

           “You are the first of your kind to notice me in thousands of years,” they muse, “I admit, I wasn’t sure you were real either last night. Rather spooked me.”            He cracks an amused smile at that. “I scared you?”

           “At first. Why? Do I frighten you?”

           “Lots of things do, some more than others. But I’m not afraid of you now.”            “Yet you were before. And you still came for me.”            “Like I said, I needed to be sure you were real,” Squee says, “I…I’m worried I might start losing the ability to tell the difference.”

           “Hmm,” the giant hums in response. “You are young, even for your species. But I see ages of stress on your face. Care to join me on a nightly walk? I find they always help me clear my head.”

           “Uh, well, I…” Squee stammers with uncertainty as he looks back towards the house. Then he realizes just how high he really is.

           Not only can he see the house, the few lights on glimmering in the darkness, but the highway as well and the surrounding trees and fields, stretching on and on endlessly towards the darkened horizon where it all connects with the sky, its countless stars and the moon shining overhead.

           “Sure,” Squee sighs, “why not.”

           “Wonderful,” the giant comments and carefully moves their hand to their shoulder. Squee climbs on and sits in the crook of their neck.

           “Uh, my name’s Squee, by the way,” he says.

           “My kind do not use names,” they reply.

           “Oh. Um can I give you a nickname?”            “You may.”

           “I’m gonna call you…Celestial, cause your eyes remind me of the stars,” Squee says.

           “Hm, I like that,” Celestial comments.

           They walk in silence for a couple minutes. Celestial moves quickly, one step covering several feet. The chilly, night air breezes through Squee’s hair as he watches the world pass by.  

           “This is nice,” he comments blissfully, “it reminds me of when I was in space. Like right now, nothing matters.”

           “Yes, your kind spend so much time scurrying around,” Celestial says, “but your lives are short. You do not have much time to do the things you want to do, so it’s understandable. But you must remember to take a break once in a while.”

           “Yeah, that’s why I came out here,” he agrees, “to take a break. But…I can’t write. That was always my escape. And now something’s stopping me, keeping me from it. It’s so…frustrating.”

           All of Squee’s anger erupts to the surface in a sudden blow. It would surprise him if he wasn’t so aggravated.

           “Writing is important to you,” Celestial observes.

           “I…I lost something not long ago,” Squee explains, “a big part of myself. I can’t lose writing too.”            He glares angrily at his hands when Celestial suddenly stops. Squee looks up and quickly rises to his feet in awe.

           In the distance they can see Los Angeles, its countless lights glowing bright enough to blot out the stars. Even this far away, the city’s noises can be heard; vehicles, muffled voices, and miscellaneous clamoring.

           “Look at your people,” Celestial says, “even this late at night, they don’t stop. Always moving, working for something, even if they don’t know what it is.”

           “You say you came here to take a break, but perhaps it is not just a break from your everyday life you require,” they suggest, “perhaps it is a break from yourself.”

           “My…self?” Squee questions.

           “Take a break from writing, from your worries. Try something new. Or do nothing at all.”

           “But I’m trying to do the exact opposite,” he insists, “I don’t want to lose myself.”            “You are fighting a tremendous battle that no one could possibly understand,” Celestial points out, “taking a break from it does not mean you have lost.”

           Squee stares at them, his eyes welling up. He swallows a sob as he sits back down.

           “I will take you back home,” Celestial says as they turn around.

           The walk back is quiet. Tears drip down Squee’s cheeks the entire way, suddenly overwhelmed by his emotions. When they make it back, he wipes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

           “Thank you, Celestial,” he says as he stands up. “This was really nice.”

           “Indeed,” they agree as they hold up their hand for Squee to step on. “It has been many decades since I’ve had a conversation with someone. Perhaps someday I will see you again.”

           “I would like that,” Squee smiles.

           Celestial carefully lowers Squee to ground in front of Cammie’s house. They wave goodbye to each other before turning away and Squee goes in through the front door.

           “Hey.” Squee looks over to the living room, where Johnny is sitting on the floor holding the phone receiver, Nugget curled up in his lap. “Where did you go?” he asks.

           “I…had a very enlightening conversation with a giant,” Squee replies.

           “Huh. Cool.”            “Who are you talking to?” Squee asks.

           “Devi,” Nny replies and covers the receiver. “She gets really talkative when she’s overtired. Wanna talk?”

           He smiles gently. “Yeah.”

           Squee sits next to him and takes the phone. “Devi?”

           “Squee!” she exclaims excitedly. “It’s good to hear you. You uh…you doing okay?”            A lump forms in Squee’s throat but he quickly swallows it and takes a deep breath. “No. Not really. But I’ll get there.”            Johnny smiles warmly and drapes his arm across Squee’s shoulders. He smiles back as they lean against each other. Nugget mews and moves over into Squee’s lap.

           “So uh how are you doing?” Squee asks.

           “Pretty good,” Devi replies, “I finally got my business cards and they’re pretty fucking awesome. I’ve been thinking about getting a haircut; it’s been a while and my hair’s getting too long. But I’m not sure what to do with it. I need it to be different, you know. Maybe I should get some like hairstyle magazines, look for inspiration.”

           Squee smiles wearily as he covers the receiver and whispers to Nny, “she really does get talkative.”            “I know,” he whispers back.

           They both smile and lean back, relaxed as they listen to Devi’s babbling.

[sabotager-k]

I love your style! But I'm not familiar with your character, so you can ramble on as much about yourself as you like. ^^

HMMM OKAY WHERE TO START

so, on a most basic level K is a defective and rebel who really REALLY hates Red and Purple, and really likes Zim, she's clever and that trait is usually clear to others, but she's also pretty goofy and extremely unpredictable, I made her so that she could be flexible and be thrown into a whole bunch of situations easily and have her backstory be easily changeable without changing her overall character, THAT BEING SAID I have a favourite version of her past... which actually happens to be the only version that is fleshed out and that is this:

as a young smeet K was like, insanely tall, so much that I guess she was like... bumped up in her age group that she ended up being around Zim nd Red and Purple and everyone, and for a long time she either exceeded or matched Red and Purple in height... and then one day she just stopped growing, which already made her resent R&P for passing her in height, which was made worse by them making fun of her, I don't really have any details for her early life past that, but when Red and Purple became the Tallest she just kinda snapped and decided that she would refuse to follow them and rebel, so that's what she did, she ended up on a planet as a regular soldier and kinda, blew everyone up I guess, she sabotaged that battle (and her having that thought is probably when she self appointed herself the title Sabotager-K) and talked to whoever the Empire was fighting to like, tell them her whole deal I guess, her rebellion is at first just a result of her grudge against Red and Purple but the more she travels the more she like, enjoys seeing other species and what they create and starts to gain more compassion, even if she looks down on most individuals and considers herself superior, though that starts to fade into less of a trait she has regarding her being Irken and moreso regarding her being herself as she starts to also look down on her own species

so she eventually ends up on earth somehow, I usually think of it as an accident, like she got list or her ships coordinates got messed up and she ended up near this planet that she detected Irken technology on, so she goes to investigate. I feel like she finds Tak's ship first since like it's been stated that its more powerful and detectable than Zim's base haha, she probably suspects Dib is an Invader maybe, but probably only gathers the information that he goes to Skool and then just decides she'll infiltrate that place nd confront him somehow? idk but she comes up with her lil cat hologram disguise, mostly cause she thinks humans are ugly, and a backstory that she was made in this lab or something and successfully joins Dib and Zim's class posing as a weirdly tall cat child, ofc when shes there she's like 'oh, I was wrong about Dib but WOAH Zim's here' but she's like, not really sure what to do, she's successfully fooled everyone with her disguise tho, like her being a cat person is SO distracting that not even Dib suspects her to be an alien, Dib does talk to her abt Zim tho and she says she believes him, and that she thinks she might be able to help expose or defeat him or something, and so later her and Dib and Zim face off in like the woods or smth where K does make a dramatic and theatrical reveal that HA SHE IS AN IRKEN but she still hates the Empire and while she won't help Dib hurt Zim or expose him she'll generally help if it looks like the earth IS in trouble and she wants to take down the Empire, hijinks ensue

K and Zim really start out as enemies I guess, nd K at first really doesn't think much of him, but I guess as her loneliness and feelings of isolation hit her the more she realizes that they have similarities and also, man if anything Zim did was purposeful he'd be a way better rebel than she is, and she just starts enjoying his company and develops feelings for him, which she really doesn't understand or have many words for, but yea, she likes GIR a lot and has a guardian type affection towards him, which she is not hesitant to show, as far as Dib goes she cares about him and is a friend, she thinks he's smart for a child, and since they're on what she perceives as the same 'side' she'll look for confirmation that her actions are 'good' from him, she respects but is a little scared of Gaz and doesn't talk to her much, and she just, doesn't trust Professor Membrane, she can't pinpoint why tho

I've not come up with a whole bunch beyond that, she's incredibly stubborn and won't let go of ANYTHING unless she loses interest in it, she's chaotic and while she's empathetic for an Irken because of her defective nature, she really doesn't have a moral compass and tends to mostly care about herself and the people or things she's come to like, her behaviour and movements are theatrical, or intended to be usually, she's kinda clumsy, she overthinks things A LOT, and she wants those she likes or admires to respect her, and those she doesn't like to fear her

I AM working on a character document or maybe a carrd with all her information on ot, I'm just still currently in the process of organizing and writing it ahaaaa

[harlockauxillia30k-blog]

🖋 longest beard? How long has Harlock had to go without shaving?

[Klyn Secundus, Ignatiev System.]

Harlock sat warming himself over a fire, shivering in his officers clothes, as a man in fine furs wrapped a blanket- or was it a coat? over his shoulders. The Klyn people were quite willing to join the imperium - and its wealth of agricultural worlds, provided cultural outreach was had, agreemenets made, foodstuffs shared, and a minor terrorist threat within the Klyn’s borders be purged. Harlock was one such outreach officer, given over to establish goodwill with the Klyn. They seemed quite used to the cold of their world, and posessed a bounty of hair covering layers of fat built up about muscles. They looked nearly abhuman in their size when they had their wintering gear on, and comparatively Harlock was short and rail thin by comparison.

“Nymatieh? Manui? Pashol Pashol.” One man, apparently named Siev, said, poking Harlock in the arm with a worried expression.

Harlock nodded and smiled. “No thats quite alright. Thank you for your concern Siev.”

“Tak.” Siev said, sitting down and nodding. Fumbling about some pockets, he produced some apparently dried grain packet, and obsessed over it religiously. Siev stopped half way through his snack, and glanced at Harlock.

“Nyie Vakskriemenya?”

Harlock blinked and logiced his way through what the words might have meant. “Go on friend, its alright. I’ll manage.”

Harlock knew his words would make just as little sense, and mate an eating motion, then a thumbs up or ‘good’ gesture - it usually didnt mean a bad thing in non imperial cultures.

“Hmmm.” Siev grumbled, then produced a small knapsack and pulled out another pair of grain snacks.

“Vaksriemnya, Vasiek, na chock.” Siev the replicated the eat gesture, and handed them to Harlock.

Harlock did not know how to politely refused, and risked offense by not accepting the pellet. He took them, and tried one out. Siev smiled and nodded.

“Naaa. Vaksriemnya Vasiek?” he asked. Harlock guessed that Vaksriemnya was this food, and vasiek... he had heard that twice. And the questioning tone this time... good? Maybe it meant good. Harlock would try.

The taste was mediocre at best, but the long fighting soldier knew bad food well, had a well rounded appreciation for terrible soldiers food. This was on the tasteless, probably healthy side of bad. A far cry from the hell that was C-rations.

“Vaksriemnya, Vasiek!” Harlock said, trying to be a little enthused about the gift.

Siev smiled and clapped his hands. “Na!  Vas-i-eck. Vas. i. Eck.”

“Vas i eck.” Harlock repeated, trying to match the pronounciation.

“Na, nah. Mmmh.”

Siev concentrated, pointed at harlock, and smiled, his beard littered with crumbs “Good!”

***Four months later

Harlock sat as the Klyn did, on a big furry chair, bedecked in clothes that would have made him look like a Tsar. Next to him, sat the newly christened Colonel Siev, of the Klyn 1st.

“Parashol!” Harlock yelled, feeling his beard sway in the winter wind. Wordlessly, Siev’s men picked up their stub rifles.

“Neh vehek gra-sa, neev mashok. Shuk! Gra-ha-ka, na, Vahsok. Ne Greesok. Tok. Mahan.”

The soldiers listened carefully, and field stripped their rifles. Harlock was glad no one shot himself. Siev smiled a yellow toothed smile, stood up from his chair, and shouted ‘Regiment! Good! Train gun! Hard! Emperor Happy. We eat long time!”

Harlock shrugged. He enjoyed letting his beard defy regulations with these strange furry people. It was too bad he would have to go back to a colonel that did not value him. Siev seemed to really enjoy Harlock. Ah well. Soon they would all be shipped off, and maybe Harlock could apply for a transfer then out of his insufferable unit.

...He would try to keep the beard though, at least until someone made him cut it.

[koalas-koalas-everywhere]

Wow, I just saw a giffed version of the therapy scene (at least the part where Dean tears off the kiddy gloves and goes after Sam’s whole life). 

First of all, Jensen’s life during all of it gives me life.

Second: “you just upset your brother so much he had to leave the room” but he wasn’t so upset he couldn’t yell a bit before, right? Also, even though it’s just an act, they tried to give the impression that it was Sam’s idea to go to therapy, but he wasn’t expecting to have an outburst? 

Third: the therapist’s reaction? I’d like to talk about her reaction towards the patient who had just been prodded and responded by getting angry and prodding back. Am I talking about Dean or Sam? I’m talking about the person who stayed so the “conversation” could play out. If I was a therapist, no scratch that, because that would require knowledge of a field I don’t have, if I was witnessing that argument, I would assume, because of their reactions, that this was the first time they said those things to each other. They were communicating. That’s progress, even if it’s ugly. She condemned one of them for doing the same thing the other did, only because Sam ran out of the room (after giving his own shot [btw, that looked like he was overwhelmed by his own confession, not what drove him to it]). She called him out in front of Jack, which has the same effect as a parent favouring/targeting a sibling while they’re having a row. It was a terrible reading of the situation and a not too better handling of it. I mean, “don’t deal with your anger if you don’t want to, but don’t make it other people’s problem”? Paraphrased, but accurate. Also, with that face? And that tone of voice? (I watched the scene on youtube while writing this) Talk about a safe space. 

And going metatextual! She was supposed to be the mouthspeak so the audience. We (or you, I don’t watch anymore) were supposed to listen to her and say “Aha! So that’s what’s wrong with Dean!” But the situation she faced was completely different to what was going on. She saw three brothers whose mother had just died. One of them went so far as to say she hadn’t, but the little one contradicted him.* Then they went in and they started talking and Dean wasn’t cooperating, which is contrasted with Sam’s therapy vocabulary. (”I hear what you’re saying...” “I wish...” “I threw up a little in my mouth”- oh no, that was just me.) Nicely ignoring how Sam is just pushing everybody, first to therapy, then by talking about Dean’s issues before even touching his own, even an “I’m sad that...” (where’s your therapy vocabulary now?) And then, the patient she just saw and thought “this one’s gonna be trouble” is... trouble. He refuses to let his brother puch him to the front line (like cannon fodder) and returns the favour, with the added bonus of acutally taking a shot by not only pointing out that Sam has issues, but by explaining them, making him confront them. Nicely ignore how Sam admitted to having those issues and expounded on the resons for them, including some blame towards Dean (which was weird, because first he accuses Dean of having an easier time than him with her death and then says they had a deeper relationship, like, okay). This also might have left her with the opinion that a) Dean had been a bit of a momma’s boy and/or b) Dean was hit the hardest because he was closest to her. He who denies there’s a problem and might but seen as lashing out. Hmmm. Then, Sam walks out. We’re left with Dean and Jack (who hasn’t talked yet). Well, I’ve talked about what bothers me here, picking at one of the hurt parties only because he’s  the one who stayed. (hey, season 1 Sam!) She thought that Jack was scared of Dean. (I’ll talk about this later.) It all points to something, violence, most likely, even if it might not be physical. This is what she reads.

The truth is that they’re hunters (and the devil’s child) who are there to solve a case. No matter how real some of the accusations and feelings are, they are there on a lie. 

Their mother did die, suddenly, but she got her goodbyes and her resolution, even if the expected outcome of that wasn’t her death. Yeah, it was probably a life where they were all together. Guess what? It wasn’t Dean who kept Sam from that. In fact, he was quite free to go for it, by working with the BMOL. She would’ve paid them attention then. But, hey, guess they decided betraying their values weren’t worth that. (And here I use they with a pinch of salt.) The reasons Sam didn’t have a relationship with Mary were 1) Mary herself avoiding them, at least at first and 2) none of them reaching out except for Dean. Dean and Mary weren’t even on the same side, the way she was with Sam. And let’s not even analyse the last ep, with Dean’s speech (which would supposedly solidify their bond) ending up being about Sam (I mean, if anything, his beef abt being made to take care of him was with John, that was on him) instead of all the ammo the season gave him, then this fight where they aknowledged they were both killers (??? ? ?????) and a hug for Sam and not Dean because (??? ? ?????). Sure, okay. Relationship.

So, they go there, the whole narrative manipulation- er, I mean, Dean being rude and a just plain bad hunter happens. Sam says they’re brothers. Understandable for the lie, but for the audience it reinforces the “we’re family now” crap, which Dean has been rejecting so far, while Sam has been puching, and pushing and paushing at him. As many other people have pointed out, this is him reinforcing the parentification he has already been through, ironically, with Sam, making him completely responsible not only for another life but, because this is a nephilim, countless other lifes. Jack not even being a relative. All this to say: no, they’re not family, Dean wants nothing to do with Jack and, at the moment, probably not much to do with Sam. Aside from all of this, he’s grieving (as the showrunners love to point out). Instead of being allowed to deal with it, he has to deal with the Jack dilemma even though he doesn’t WANT TO, AND HE MIGHT BE FEELING EVEN WORSE BECAUSE HIS BROTHER IS TELLING HIM THAT IF jACK IS SCREWED UP IT WOULD BE HIS FAULT. 

Anyway. They’re not a family, at least not all three of them. The show is already painting Dean in a bad light for rejecting Jack, i.e. the concept of family wich, supposedly, is what the whole show is about (forget actually treating your family well, just collect as many members as you can, right?). Then they go to therapy, where Dean behaves like a caveman despite everything we’ve known of him. They play their act, where Dean looks even worse because the only thing we see as a reaction from him is his “attack” on Sam (see paragraph 3 of this post which is turning out to be a lot longer than I first thought it would be, which, typical) while Sam uses his therapy talk and conciliatory manners and actually gets to talk about how he’s feeling and then walk away and be validated for it. (Which, yeah, if you don’t want to talk about something, you shouldn’t have to. I mean, if you go to therapy, it’s because you know you need to talk about it, even if it makes you feel wretched, so the therapist shouldn’t have reacted like that. Within the context of the lie, though, Sam probably wasn’t planning on and didn’t want to talk about it. Like, I’ve said before, walking out of the room seemed to me to be more about realising what he’s been feeling than what Dean said.) How is he validated?, you say. You mean besides the tragic music going on in the background?, I respond.

No, but really. The therapist’s response is what validates him. (Besides the writers and their manipulation the rest of the time.) Everything from what she says to how she says reeks disaproval. And because she’s a professional (and let’s face it, this sort of reluctance we have about going against a black woman) we’re supposed to take it at face value. Yes, Dean just upset Sammy, completely unwarrantedly. Yes, Jack, a nephilim, the son of Lucifer, who has been shown to be dangerous (even if his intentions aren’t malicious), is scared of him, and that makes Dean such an asshole, because look how tiny and smol he is. (Like I’ve said, I haven’t been watching, but really? What does he think Dean is gonna do?) Yes, he’s angry and taking it all out on everyone else. Yes, he should stow his crap, again, because Sammy’s right, of course, as always. (Btw, is this the episode when Sam says Dean supported him when he was drinking demon blood and everythign turned out okay because of that and not literal divine intervention? Just curious.) 

It’s a method they’ve used before: tak someone who knows more than the boys (maybe even make them more scary because they know so much) and make them say what they won’t admit to themselves or others/what they don’t know/what they should know and the writers/audience wish they could tell them. Does Marie in Fan Fiction ring a bell? (Miss Scarlett in the ballroom with a fucking bulldozer?)

The thing is, what the therapist sees? What she says? That’s what the show’s trying to tell, but it’s ahowing a completely different story, which would be much more compelling if it was the one they were actually trying to tell. Instead, they’re trying to erase it through a manipulative narrative and shitty retconning, which wtf? I may be biased, because I love Dean, but I dare you to tell me where I got it wrong.

*(Btw, Dean’s attitude the whole while? Completely unprofessional as a hunter. We’ve seen him screw up a little [in The Purge, which, btw (I’m using a lot of btw, but there’s a lot to say that isn’t completely necessary but helps understand where I’m coming from when I say all this) was also meant to show him in a bad light textually], but that was going too heavy with the lie, too enthusiastic, and that was when his brother had disowned him. Here he’s just uncooperative in a hunt, which could get them all killed. And so blunt! Tose were rookie mistakes, which we can recognise as such because Dean had to deal with them when Cas and Charlie made them. We can say that he’s depressed and reliving past trauma, but the fact that he’s still kicking goes to show that he’s good at what he does, and this is just insulting him.).