#i also get reduced to tears when literally anyone writes things in tags and stuff too

[lynaiss]

Oh gosh I still have to hyperventilate into a paper bag when an artist I admire likes or shares something of mine.

This will never stop, will it?

[flashfuture]

hi!! re: your tags on a post not too long ago—what do you mean by dick’s previous love interests not respecting him? i haven’t read a whole lot of his stuff and tend to avoid romance-heavy plot lines in general, so this is 100% a genuine question and not me trying to start anything i promise, it’s just that i’ve seen dickb4bs and dickk0ry shippers in the past claim it’s sexism when people dislike his partners?

Ah well DC are big brain and they think peak humor is the boomer meme of the nagging wife. 

So basically Dick and Kori were an absolutely fucking amazing couple. But then there was the issue of Mirage where she pretended to be Kori and tricked Dick into sleeping with her. Which is r*pe. Dick was slut shamed and victim blamed for this. DC has an absolutely awful track record with male victims of sexual assault. Ollie was always victim blamed for happened to him. And Dick they didn’t even acknowledge that he was assaulted. As well they had Dick sleep with Babs before the wedding I think. And that is so ooc it’s not even funny.

And when Dick started dating Babs they slowly chipped away at his skills to prop Babs up. And I’ll say it again if you have to tear down another character to make one look good you haven’t proven any skill. Character A just got butchered for no reason and Character B stayed the same. So Babs started mocking Dick for a lot of things. And it carries over into modern stuff. Where she’s the big brain and her dumb himbo boyfriend. Dick Grayson is not a fucking himbo. He’s smart as hell and dangerous as hell. 

So they write Dick wrong to make him the butt of the joke. No one is laughing with him, they’re laughing at him. You see it in the newest Nightwing comics where Babs is there to make sure the reader knows how silly Dick is. 

The issue is with the writers being incapable of writing a het relationship well. Literally, the best ones I can think of is Dinah/Ollie (though Gail Simone and Judd Winick tried their best to fuck that one up) Big Barda/Scott Free, Clark/Iris, Barry/Iris, Wally/Linda (but DC keeps fucking my Flashes)

So yeah DickKori got a bad rap because the writers want to over-sexualize Kori so then it’s like she and Dick were only sexual and I just- they were gonna get fucking married. And I literally could care less about DickBabs except that it contributes to the character butchering of both Babs and Dick by the way. Because when Babs is mocking Dick she just looks like a bitch. They reduce Babs over and over again to Dick’s ex-girlfriend. 

So uh yeah those are my thoughts. People do indeed like to throw around sexist the same way they like to call Gail Simone a feminist because she thinks men are bad. She’s also the ally who says read this book because it’s got a gay character and that is about as surface level as you can get🤷‍♀️ I mean sure call me a sexist cause I don’t think the woman nagging and mocking a man all the time is a very good relationship dynamic. Lol yeah when people say that a lot of the time they’re just angry you don’t like their faves. As long as you aren’t you know actually being sexist (which really is not that hard to tell) then it’s best to ignore them. 

I’ve got some scalding takes on characters who are there just to be women for the sake of having a het love interest. They’ve certainly evolved Babs since then but every time she’s with a batboy she gets snapped right back into that box of 60s housewife. I’ll never exactly ship Babs with any of the Batboys because she was made to be Bruce’s love interest and keeps getting shifted around to fit with each and every other batboy. 

It is usually best to avoid Dick romances as the writer just uses the women to cause him more man pain cause of course they do. DC is traditionally written by men and lots and lots of white people. These people are older who have older views of relationships based on what was on TV but it’s still lame.

For example, there is always the age-old Babs and Kori fight over Dick storyline that absolutely no one wants to read. Women being pit against women over a fucking man??? Seriously? And if I see one more writer claims the only woman Dick has ever loved was Babs I’ll scream. It’s the tiniest smoothest brain take I have ever seen. 

Bea was lovely the cherry on top of the Ric mess. She was adorable and fun and she really cared about Dick as a person. I miss her. Which is I think the post you were talking about? Idk I can’t remember what I tag where lol. 

I think to derail for a quick sec the reason so many people turn to same-sex relationships in fiction is that the relationship between two women and two men will almost always be more developed than whatever het thing is going on. 

Dick is much much closer to Roy, Wally, Garth, and Joey than he ever was to Babs. Now DC is retconning that Dick and Babs were childhood friends. But they still imo have no chemistry outside of they both work with Batman and ones a girl ones a boy. 

Kori and Dick had real chemistry they were trying to both find freedom and safety within one another. The writers didn’t constantly have to hammer home that they loved each other or have random thought bubbles to try and make some connection happen. They just did happen. 

Anyone who knows me knows I am not the biggest Babs fan. However, I’ll still protest the unfair treatment of any character. I don’t have to like a character to not want them to be butchered by bad writing. Like confession time I don’t even like Jason that much but I talk about him all the time because I want him to have a good story. So to me DickBabs is directly connected the butchering of both characters and it just doesn’t work. 

so yep rambles on top of rambles. I’m not character bashing here just to make it clear. And I am a little bit relationship bashing but more so writer bashing. 

[gryfon-spanish-werewolf]

About the frozen fandom ask :

🎨, ✍️, and 👗

P.s remember to get enough sleep~

@like-redhead-probably I got enough sleep I swear ;-; actually I overslept TBH

🎨- Favorite fanart(s)/ artist(s)?

I’m gonna limit my answers to those who are currently active in the fandom otherwise we will be here all day xD. Anyone who has seen my tags knows this  to be true. My favorite fan artists are:

@giuliaciulia89 - because asdfghjklssh have you SEEN her line art?? And her expressions?? And how she does shading and color (with markers!! Traditional Art YO!!) literally is just... takes my breath away. Her recent Hogwarts Elsanna commission was absolutely delightful, but I am always delighted to see her original content as well such as her 101 Dalmatians au and her All For One And All For Love Three Musketeers au. It has so many mysteries, I’m very intrigued. Watching her process is very relaxing as well, like *sketch, sketch, sketch* and suddenly WHOA, there’s like, a whole concept outlines in no time at all. Incredible

@zero-kiba - because while much more active on Deviantart, I am ALWAYS extremely gay for Copper! That’s been going on 5 WHOLE YEARS Y’ALL! I stayed up until the sun started creeping through my windows catching up on every single page that I’d missed out after about 2017 when I started working full time. Zero-kiba’s work is BOMBASTICALLY expressive and really hits that mark between UTTERLY badass and heart-meltingly soft. Also do yourselves a favor and read their other works too! Tip of the Iceberg is Copper characters in a comedy setting, The Realm is 65 pounds of concentrated whoop-ass, and The Whole Shebang?? Gay has hell. Really gay. I cannot stress that enough (also it’s a little self plug - I help make that one alongside Zero-Kiba, daughterofhel and giuliaciulia89)

@ice-bjorn - because like.... do I even need to....expand?? Y’all have seen my tags. Ice-bjorn’s got the kind of content that just pulls you up short. Doing something? Concentrating? Not anymore you’re not! Ice-bjorn posted new art and you’re gonna FEEL ABOUT IT for the current conceivable future! Unbelievably emotive, you can see all the hard work that goes into each piece (including writing!!). I’ve gone OFF in my tags so many times about their stuff and I aLWAYS anticipate doing it again XD I can’t possibly pick a favorite piece, but this one gives me the warm fuzzies (Edit: although I did link another further down)

@jabs-wocks - because they constantly surprise me. One day ADORABLE! Next day ANGSTY. Next time? New style?? New type of coloring?? Always has a great sense of humor and unique ideas. Also, such an enabler xD Always makes me want to make something in turn <3 Like, remember when I went OFF with that angsty piece of Anna drowning after the dam collapses? Or when I nearly ditched my (already very long) project to idea bomb on about their Skadi!Elsa piece? Yeah, I love their work very much

 @gracepago0314 - because I’m a long time fan from when they had a different username! Great style, strong short comics, and WOW have they come a long way! They already had such a strong aesthetic, but seeing their work at the top of 2020 was such a treat because it was SUCH a change! I loved seeing what I recognized about their unique style and getting to see all the ways they’ve improved and expanded! Also that reincarnation au goes straight for the heart ;-;

✍️- Favorite fanfic(s)/ author(s)?

Limiting my answer to the same for the same reasons. Many of my favorite authors are no longer active, but my heart is very big, and I am always making room for new stories and writers to love!

@fruipit - because every time I get an email from ao3 that they’ve updated I go ballistic. Every story I have ever read (or reread... many times) by them is just SO INCREDIBLE. Their writing makes me make bad decisions: like fighting sleep to make it through one last chapter xD Their work makes me ask questions, their stories flows like a needle and thread, their diction makes me believe. I have nothing but the highest praise for Fruipit’s work, they’ve been writing for years and continue to pick at that gentle thing called wonder. Choosing a favorite work of theirs is GENUINELY DIFFICULT, but I love Risky Business, Koselig, and When Spring Comes very much. Tiny Hearts is a riot tho xD Oh wait and Who Dares Wins! .....Look just... go read Fruipit, you won’t regret it xD

@arendellesfirstwinter - because after years and years they just bang out one badass story after another. Their most recent (and with the dawn, what comes then?) has reduced me to tears twice. No. Three times, I reread a chapter. Their writing is exceptionally raw and pointed, but they are never angsty for angst sake. Their prose has the kind of weight one gets from having a huge amount of intent and care for what they create, and the characters they foster along the way <3

@daughterofhel - because I enjoy the simple pleasures of comedy. Literally just makes me laugh. Her dialogue SLAPS. Her world building is effortless (well, it’s not, she works very hard but it FEELS effortless, which is quite the trick xD). Her stories just WORK, her scenes are so alive and colorful and I adore how she makes characters interact even under the most RIDICULOUS prompts xD Exceptionally creative and silly, I guarantee she will surprise you for the better

@themountainsays - because every story idea is completely fascinating. Even if it’s not like, written yet? Just idea bombing or musing? Totally cool, I love reading them because you can feel the excitement behind them. Or the spite xD. Ara’s writing is also almost lyrical, it’s lovely to read, and honestly? Read out loud too! I’m a huge fan of spoken poetry/spoken stories and Ara’s always gives me that vibe. I’m behind (orz) on Creatures of the Arctic, but it’s SO FUN, I’m always keen on updates :D

@theseerasures - because I adore their frohana stuff. So freaking much. Kristanna + Icebros with so much tenderness that I just stare at my screen and go “holy hell someone MADE that.” Reading their work is like... being given a soft blanket to wrap yourself in, receiving a mug of hot chocolate, and then being told “Okay, now here’s a story that’s going to make you feel feelings really hard,” and you kind of nod back like, “Okay, seems fair.” Idk man they just get me real good, every time. For years.

👗- Favorite outfit? One you’d like to see?

Picking a favorite is hard! But please for the love of god: bring Anna’s military-esque jacket/dress to the silver screen. Holy hell. I’m such a sucker for how absolutely DASHING Elsa and Anna look in masculine/military dress. @giuliaciulia89 and @ice-bjorn both here and here get me xD But I also love their highly feminine outfits? Anna’s coronation dress in F1 is a fav and of course Elsa’s ice-dress is iconic, but my absolute favorites? I don’t know, they’re all so beautiful...

Oh! You know what else I’d want? Casual wear. They’re always dressed up for adventure! Or a fancy party! Let the crew relax more! More day-to-day, more cozy pjs! Kristoff in a big oversized shirt, Elsa in Fifth-Spirit inspired sleepwear, Anna in clothes made by their new Northudran family - complete with little hexagons but like, lined with soft reindeer fur <3. I’d love to see them when the world isn’t falling down around their ears, for more than 5 minutes, please ;-;

Thanks again for asking!! I know this is a few days late but I hope my jabbering made up for it ^_^

[siilvers-blog]

twinkie obession ;

pairing : peter maximoff x gn ! reader word count : 1 951 note : soulmate au where you can taste whatever your soulmate is eating at that moment . and my baby boy is too good for this world . i wanted to write something like more grandiose , but for now this dumb soulmate au will do ! feedback is appreciated <33 requests are super open btw so if u sent in any ,,, peter stuff ,,, we’d be grateful ( moreso me , but whatever haha !! ) - mod em ( under the cut for length ) 

For as long as you could remember, you’d feel the taste of twinkies in your mouth. When you were young, the taste would be occasional and welcome, but around your early teens it began to plague you every single day. Eventually, even looking at twinkies made you feel sick to your stomach and, god, you couldn’t understand how the hell your stupid soulmate could eat a whole batch of them every day. It was kind of admirable, the fact that they could eat the same exact thing so often and not throw up, but your burning hatred overshadowed whatever respect you had for them.

Hate would’ve been a strong word for the first month of non-stop twinkies, somehow you thought you’d manage. But one day it felt as if twinkies were all your soulmate was consuming. That, topped by a bad grade on one of your essays made you reduce your desk into ash in front of your whole class. And that was how you found out you were a mutant; the same exact day all your friends deemed you a freak (some friends) and the same exact day all you could taste were twinkies.

And it was safe to say you hated your soulmate. Which was fine. He’d hate you too if he knew you were a mutant.

You beat yourself up for years for being a mutant, refusing to interact with most people in fear you’d burn them as quickly as you burned your desk that day. Your parents would always try to console you, tell you that you were perfectly fine, that you’d become something great one day. But after your graduation, you came to find that people didn’t really want to hire mutants that much, especially those with an unpredictable and flaming personality. So, you accepted the reality that you’d just have to live with your parents forever, that your soulmate was off somewhere being all happy and eating twinkies, and that you’d never even meet them because you were, what society deemed, disgusting.

Not that eating twinkies every day was any better.

But life of a mutant wasn’t as black and white as you thought, as now you were standing right in front of the famous Charles Xavior school for the gifted with a suitcase in hand. Just a few days back you had burst into tears after receiving an invitation and now you could barely hold them back at the sight of it. Finally, you though, your life was going to turn for the better. You were about to step foot inside, but you suddenly felt someone run past you and into the mansion. Felt; it was an odd word to describe someone who was probably running, but you literally only saw a flash of silver skim past you insanely fast and you just assumed that it was a mutant with super speed. Oh, and the fact that this mystery mutant bumped into you and now you were falling backwards also factored into your deduction. Were you going to tumble down the fancy porch stairs on your first day here? Yeah. Were you still happy with the fact you were here, that there were already careless people bumping into you and not minding their mutations? Extremely and your sudden grin proudly showed that off.

Yet you didn’t have the chance to fall, another mutant teleported by your side and grabbed you by your forearms, looking at you with concern. He was…blue and he had three fingers on each hand, and a tail, and he just teleported in front of you, and, wow, you were so happy to be here.

“Hi!” You couldn’t help but beam at him, despite the fact that he was the only thing preventing you from crashing down. “I’m (Y/N)!”

You noticed the stranger opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it upon noticing something…someone behind you – someone else, who was now pushing you back up to your feet with a giggle.

“Sorry about Peter, er, the guy who almost knocked you down here!” You heard the person behind you say. “We were supposed to show you around, but Peter’s awfully impatient so he said that the last person here was gonna show you around and ran off.”

“I’m Jubilee!” She was now in front of you, grinning and waving. “We’re super glad you’re here, actually, I’m sure you’ll have a chance to get back at Peter for being such an idiot!” She then pointed at the blue mutant who was still holding your arms. “That’s Kurt!”

“Guten tag!” He grinned and let go of you to wave with both of his hands. “It is very nice to meet you!”

And you could’ve sworn you’ve never felt more at home than now. Kurt was gracious enough to teleport all your stuff into your room before he and Jubilee began the tour. It was very extensive, they insisted they weren’t going to leave you to your own devices until you knew exactly where everything was, even if it took the entire day to show you around. You even met some others along the way, like Scott and Jean, who you learned were soulmates. Jean complained about some food she didn’t like that Scott absolutely loved and you shared a laugh, even feeling comfortable enough to mention that all your soulmate seems to eat is twinkies and how much it annoys you. They shared a look as you said that, it almost seemed like a knowing look, before Jean told you how much that must suck and took her leave with Scott. Eventually, you circled back to your room, a little sad that the day was coming to an end, but excited because this was your life now. You had a place where everyone accepted you for what you were and-

Oh god, that god-awful taste of twinkies was in your mouth again. Just as you thought your soulmate wouldn’t eat any today.

“Jubilee, wait!” She turned to you once you had called for her, still smiling. “Everything in the kitchen is…free to take, right?”

She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course it is! Everything is everyone’s, you’re free to take anything anytime!”

Exhaling, you raced past her, yelling out a “thanks” and “see you later!” as you ran. You thought you’d at least try to drown out the taste, even if it didn’t work most of the time, if anything, you might inconvenience your soulmate a little bit by eating something else. Like a fruit for a change!

As you finally reached the kitchen, you exhaled in relief upon finding it was empty. You were a bit worn out from the excitement of today and you didn’t want to seem weird in front of anyone, especially with how frantically you looked around the kitchen for something juicy and sweet. Ah, that apple sat in a basket in the middle of the counter made your mouth water! In fact, at this point, anything that wasn’t a twinkie made your mouth water.

“Ah, so good…” You muttered to yourself after taking a bite, feeling the taste of the twinkie disappear and be replaced with that of an apple.

“You a telepath, or are you just talking to yourself here?”

You nearly choked on your treat after hearing the unfamiliar voice so suddenly and nearly choked again after the owner of it appeared in front of you in a blur. Silver, he must’ve been the mutant who nearly knocked you over - Peter.

“Talking to myself, relishing in how good this apple is, mostly.” You shrugged, a small smile on your face. “What brings you here?”

He was no longer in front of you, instead opening the fridge door. Witnessing someone utilizing their mutation for such mundane things brought a smile to your face. It was quickly wiped though, seeing as how he had pulled out a twinkie from the fridge and waved it around.

“Hungry, soulmate’s not munching on something too tasty right now.” He said, unwrapping that godforsaken thing and tilting his head after you had turned away. “What’s wrong? Am I too attractive for the eyes of a newbie?”

“Nope, I just hate twinkies.” Biting the apple, you shook your head. “My soulmate eats them, like, every day and I can’t stand it. I’m convinced they’re insane.”

Peter fell silent and you were almost concerned that he ran off after you had declared you hated twinkies. Maybe he just held a deep love for them. Did you offend him, perhaps? You turned back and as soon as you did, he bit down on the twinkie, staring right in your eyes. And then you felt the all-too-familiar twinkie taste. And then you realized.

“Oh my god…” You breathed, slamming the half-eaten apple back on the counter. “It’s you!”

You didn’t quite understand why your heart started beating so fast at the sight of him eating that damned twinkie and grinning at you like an idiot. You didn’t understand why suddenly you felt so…anxious, why you were scared to move. This was it, you always visualized meeting your soulmate and then hitting them over and over again for making your life a living hell just by eating twinkies, but all you could do now was stare.

“Y-You’re a mutant!” You choked out, hands flying to cover your gaping mouth. In reality, you just tried to hide the smile growing on your face because you were supposed to hate this guy. “Like me!”

“Yeah, a freak, if you will.” He chuckled, licking his fingers after just finishing this twinkie. “That’s why I’m here, just like you.” He pointed at you, but really, he was trying his hardest not to run up to you and spin you around. Then you’d really think he was insane.

Could you blame him though? He also didn’t think his soulmate would be a mutant too, the chances were just too slim.

“I can’t believe this!” With quick steps, you walked up to him and proceeded to punch his chest lightly, light-heartedly, which was proved by how much you were giggling. “I hate you, you know! Do you have any idea how much you made me hate twinkies? I was literally so annoyed one day, I burned down my desk at school!”

Peter laughed; it was cute. “You don’t really sound like you hate me.” He grabbed your wrists, grinning down at you. “But it’s charming to see you pretend that you’re totally not head over heels for me right now.”

“I am not!” You shook your head, a grin of your own decorating your features. “I am extremely annoyed! Especially at the fact that my soulmate is some maniac who looks dumb and thinks that eating twinkies everyday is good for him!”

“Well,” he began slyly. “I’m sure we can discuss my new diet plan during a date.”

“Peter, you are insufferable.” You paused. “But I suppose we could talk about your twinkie addiction sometime.”

His smile fell for a moment. “Hey…what’s your name again?”

You snorted, light giggles eventually escalating into a laugh that made Peter smile softly. Still laughing, you placed your head on his chest, making him turn slightly red, unbeknownst to you. You had already forgotten that you could feel the taste of that twinkie he had eaten moments ago. Perhaps you were just too overjoyed to remember all the downsides of having this dummy as your soulmate. Sure, all he ate was twinkies, but he was a mutant too, which instantly meant he wouldn’t hate you for your mutation. And he looked dumb, which was charming, you thought.

Well, you supposed you’ll just have to deal with the twinkies, since your soulmate wasn’t that bad.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Sick Little Games: Twenty-Seven

“You wanna talk?” Nat said gently, handing you a bottle of water.

“Not here,” you sigh, “Too many ears.” The spy nodded. She could understand that. Agents were lurking everywhere, and she could already hear the rumor mill churning. By this time tomorrow, you were gonna be having a baby with Thor or Bruce so they could raise the kid, and Sam was gonna be mad about it.

Stupid.

So stupid.

And usually, the pair of you might have a good time causing a few more rumors. But right now, you look like you just went ten rounds with Tyson, and she hates it. And she understands. Programming never really goes away. It can go dormant. It can be shouted over. But it’s there. Always there. And it never really goes away. Natasha helped you to your feet and sighed, “Come on. We’ll go get lunch.”

“I don’t know if I can eat,” you tell her.

“Well,” she said, “You can watch me eat. I’m starving.”

“Okay,” you say, smiling a little. She throws an arm carelessly over your shoulder and kisses your cheek.

“Chinese?” she suggests, hoping that she can tempt you to eat something.

“Just as long as there’s alcohol.”

“You can’t get drunk,” she snorts.

“I know. And I miss it so much... I really miss drugs.”

She rolls her eyes, “Degenerate,” she teased. But there was no real heat. She knew how easy it was to lose yourself in overindulgence. And she knew your drugs of choice had been depressants and hallucinogens. Things that dulled the world around you and made it feel more bearable.

“Don’t knock it,” you sigh, rubbing the back of your neck, “The closest I can get now is having sex for a few hours.”

“Which I’m sure Barton is more than happy to help with,” she said, smirking.

“Are you kidding? He’s thrilled.”

Natasha snorts, “Oh, I’m sure... Thanks for that, by the way. He’s a lot more focused on missions.”

You smile a little, “I gotta be good for something, right?”

The spy gives you a look and frowns at you.

“What?” you ask, feeling self-conscious. She has a really unique way of making you feel naked when she glares at you like that.

“You’re not a fuck toy,” she says, “You’re not just here for him to Fuck and Bucky to get a hate boner for.”

Yeah?” you counter, “Then why is everyone obsessed with my reproductive capabilities.”

She snorts, “Mostly because you and Clint will make some really adorable, really fucking clumsy babies. But also because if any of us has a chance to make the whole white picket fence thing work, it’d be you.”

You lean against the car for a second and rest your forehead on the cold metal, taking a deep breath. “You know,” you say after a long moment, “I really- before all of this. And HYDRA. I wanted to be a Kindergarten Teacher. I was maybe 7. They’d put me in the Tree of Life school by then... I was the only girl in the class that didn’t write ‘mommy’ as a dream job on my cute little paper. So my teacher wrote a note home. Said I needed discipline. So Stirling knocked out four of my baby teeth.”

Natasha blinked at you slowly and exhaled, “Can I kill him?”

“Get in line,” you snort, “I got dibs if we ever get to take him out. Fury said so.”

Natasha didn’t have to ask any more questions after that. And she didn’t need to know what had been said to you by anyone to trigger this particular thing. Marriage and Family had some bizarre stuff tangled up in your head. And pressure on it was probably gonna make you bolt. Or unravel a little. Nat made a mental note to talk to Clint. She knew he wasn’t going to press on you for anything. Mostly because you could literally tear his head off if you ever wanted to (not that you would, she amended). But he needed to know. He needed to understand if you started getting cold feet. She didn’t think she could stand it if you broke up. Not now that you’re together. It’s just adorably right. Sweet. And it suits you. You glow differently when someone loves you the way you should be loved, and Clint is a better person when he has a reason to look after himself. She wants you to have a happy little family and a house somewhere. You deserve it. And it would be nice to have a new little vacation spot.

“Get in,” she sighs, “I can’t believe you already called dibs.”

“Well, I mean. Coulson tried it, but I told him I lived the Cult life so like... I overruled him.”

“I mean, That’s fair,” she admitted, waiting for you to buckle your seat belt.

“Are you serious?”

“We’re not doing the passive-aggressive death wish shit today,” she said, fixing the mirrors.

You roll your eyes but buckle it, sticking your tongue out at her, “Not like it’d kill me anyway.”

“Not the point, Y/N,” she said, “And you know it.”

______________

Clint sheathed his practice sword and sighed. He wished it was your day to beat up rookies. This batch was cocky, and they seemed to think he was “less” somehow. He’d really love to see you go a few rounds with some of them and made a mental note to put a bug in Steve’s ear about it.

The training room was quiet now. Quiet and Clint was grateful for it. It gave him time to think. Time to plan. He could see a future, so clearly, it made his chest ache. It was the first time in his life that he could look forward and not feel a vague sense of dread. He wanted that future he saw. And he wanted it with you.

Clint exhaled slowly and started towards the door planning on a shower. What he didn’t expect on was colliding with Steve’s chest, “Sorry, Steve,” he said, stepping aside as Steve put a hand out to steady him before he fell over.

Steve chuckled, “No worries,” he said, “Distracted?”

“A little,” Clint said, “Trying to figure out how I want to extend the dining room and add a little Atrium.”

“I didn’t know you were handy like that,” he said, amused.

“Yeah,” Clint snorted, “Offseason for the circus meant I had to get a hobby.”

Steve nodded, “Sounds like you got a nice little house picked out.”

“Y/N already had a house,” Clint corrected, “I’m just planning on making it a little better.”

“Oh,” Steve said, “Wait- When did she get a house?”

“Where do you think she went when he disappeared?” he asked.

“Hawaii?” Steve suggested, “Mexico? Bali? I just figured she went somewhere warm.”

“I mean sometimes,” Clint said, “But she goes there more often.”

“Got rooms picked out for a nursery?” he teased.

“No,” he said, “But we did decide to give the boys the attic. Plenty of space and no convenient way to sneak out.” He can feel his cheeks heat. He had kinda figured out where to put an eventual baby, but. He was reluctant to bring that up with you. At least not until you were actually married and settled in.

“Good tactical Advantage,” Steve said, “Her idea or yours?”

“She did the “escaping a Cult” thing before. She kinda went buck wild for a little bit, I guess. So she figured she’d make it harder for them to do. Keep them from learning some stuff the hard way.”

“Y/N? No way?”

“Lots of drugs, Steve,” Clint clarified, “Some weird passive-aggressive death wish.”

Steve frowned, “I didn’t know that.”

“Not many people do,” Clint said, shrugging, “She’s not really proud of it. Even if she will occasionally cop to missing getting high.”

“I-”

Clint held up a hand to stop him, “Before you get all moral compass on me,” Clint said, giving him a meaningful look, “Remember. She didn’t figure she had anything to live for. Also, remember that mind control can really fuck someone up.”

Steve snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

“And that’s why,” Clint continued, “She and Natasha get along so well. They understand what it’s like to be reduced to one biological function. To be told that all you are is that one function... And that’s why I’d really appreciate it if everyone would stop talking about it. You can tease me about it all you want. As long as Y/N can’t hear you.”

“Fair enough,” Steve said, exhaling slowly. “I never thought of that,” he admitted.

“No one does. Not really,” he said, “They’re too well adjusted. Or at least, they can pretend to be.”

“Well,” Steve said, “At least she’s doing better now.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, feeling a little bit of pride. “Yeah, she is.”

Tags:

@lancsnerd, @thorfanficwriter @blameitonthecauseway @etherealwaifgoddess, @stevieang, @beautybyfire, @sunmoonandbucky @mrsfox79, @bbmommy0902, @mendes-fan, @iheartsebastianstan, @wtfcas @pinknerdpanda, @process-pending, @ladifreakingda, @leasly, @coldbookworm, @hv-chw3, @past-perfect-future-tense, @starkrobb @beardburnsupersoldiers, @petlaufeyson, @queenoftheunderdark, @potatoheadthewise, @thehyperactiveteen, @thefridgeismybestie, @boyett514, @an-awkward-human-1, @sunshine-and-riverwater

[sometimesrosy]

I don’t mean to sound like a jerk but the show can be wrong. People can have valid criticisms about it without being anti. You calling everyone an anti when they express distaste with something makes it seem like you wear rose coloured glasses about the show. It’s not perfect. The writing isn’t perfect, the characterization aren’t always accurate, the continuity is sometimes garbage. It doesn’t make me love the show less than you do.

Who said the show had to be perfect? I never asked the show to be perfect. I think YOU’RE asking the show to be perfect and when it isn’t perfectly to your liking, you rip it apart to destroy it and make it garbage. “You” meaning the people who seem like antis to me.

And you may love the show while you actively try to tear it apart to call it garbage, but your negativity affects ME. And the way you act about it is trying to make me love it less than I do. Telling me that Clarke is bad, when I don’t think she’s bad. Or Bellamy is wrong when I think he’s doing the right thing. That Echo is evil, when she is literally just doing what she can to save her people just like our heroes, who you say are not evil. 

The show is The Show. And it is not WRONG to tell the story it is telling. The fandom is does not have the right to say the show is doing it wrong. THIS is the story they want to tell. FANDOM isn’t telling it. 

The show can be bad, it can be confusing, it can be flawed, it can be illogical, it can be boring, it can be not worth your time, it can be a lot of things, but even if it sucks and doesn’t hang together as a story, it isn’t WRONG. It’s canon. THIS IS IT. You don’t have to like it, but this is the only canon there is. This is the story as it’s produced. Anyone who thinks it SHOULD have gone another way is wrong, because it went the way it went and that’s codified on screen. There is no WRONG Clarke in The 100. THAT IS CLARKE. They created her. We didn’t. Like her or don’t like her, it’s HER story for good or ill. You not liking her doesn’t make her wrong. 

 You are so busy telling everyone what you hated and what failed and what is wrong that you don’t bother to try to understand what was working, how it goes together, how contradictions might be adding to the story, what the confusing parts might be trying to say. WHY they keep playing with the hero/monster story. WHY they have the characters make bad choices or be unlikeable. The writers made those decisions and as long as you are saying the writer made the WRONG choice, you will never understand WHY they did it, because you have dismissed it. Reducing your analysis down to “it’s bad writing” means your analysis has FAILED to understand what the writers intended. 

DO YOU UNDERSTAND? THIS is why I don’t do that. When I think something doesn’t fit, I work HARDER to understand the story they are trying to tell. 

Being negative is not the same thing as critically thinking about a thing. It doesn’t mean that you are more discerning when you point at the flaws and go “this is bad, this is bad, that is wrong wrong wrong.” 

Me LOVING a show is not rose colored glassed. I LIKE IT. LIKING it is not wrong or flawed. I have written more meta on this damn show than almost anyone. I have analyzed aspects that a lot of you didn’t even know existed until i brought them up. Structure, symbolism, character development, wardrobe, science fiction tropes, literary allusions, art references, psychological development, political parallels, cinematography, feminism, and on and on. Of course it is flawed. SO what? Every story is flawed. Having flaws is not a sign that it should be hated. If you think you can’t see a shows flaws and still like it, then maybe your world view is a little off. 

 I analyze EVERYTHING like that. I look at what doesn’t work and what DOES work and how it all goes together. And when my analysis reaches a point where I consider something offensive or bad or not working as a story, I DUMP IT. I don’t watch it anymore. And I don’t stick around pointing out all the ways it sucks. I have analyzed the show and found it worth my time and enjoyable, if painful. The pain is part of why it is so engaging. It makes me FEEL something and that is how it does a good job at what it does. It told us that was the story it was from the very beginning and it has lived up to that claim.

Fandom has been saying The 100 is ruined for as long as I’ve been a part of fandom. You are all being JUST like the CL fandom when L died. And you didn’t like what they were doing. So why are you doing it now and saying it’s the correct way to be and you are right and the SHOW is wrong. No Heda No Show, they said. And now it’s No Bellarke No Show. And you think you’re DIFFERENT? 

An anti, to me, is someone who is against the show. If YOU go around talking about how Clarke-Bellamy-Bellarke is ruined. How JR is a bad writer. How the show is terrible. THEN YOU ARE AGAINST THE SHOW. What exactly do you think an anti is? Do you think antis don’t think their reasons are valid? Everyone always has valid reasons about why they should hate the enemy. Even if the enemy is just a storyline or character. Or JR.

If all you do is talk about how the show sucks, then HOW exactly are you loving it? Because I’m not hearing anything from any of you about what is good about it, just about how it is bad. 

 I don’t agree with you and I’d like be able to ENJOY MY FAVORITE SHOW, thanks. I have unfollowed and muted and blocked. I have gotten rid of fandom twitter. I am *this* close to leaving fandom entirely, because you are ruining the show for me. I try to stay in my lane, keep to my blog, answer my asks, have my own opinion and never interfere in anyone else’s. And I STILL get people telling me I’m wrong, the show is wrong, the characters are wrong, they hate this or that or me. You, nonny, are LITERALLY in my inbox telling me that being positive is worse than being negative. That your criticisms are valid but my criticisms are not and my interpretation is “rose colored glasses,” therefore also not valid.

I’ll never understand why people who think that when THOSE people over there are negative about everything they are antis, but when THEY THEMSELVES are negative about everything it is valid and constructive criticism and an expression of their love for the show. 

Guess what? These are my VALID CRITICISMS of fandom. 

Do you ever reflect upon your own behavior, or do you just keep your critical lens solely pointed outwards towards others, so they can understand how they are doing everything wrong? Perhaps you think you’re doing the world a favor by telling them how they’re doing it wrong. 

I have struggled for YEARS with trying to keep this blog positive, and every time I do, I have offended people coming to me, telling me that I am wrong to love the show, and they are right to hate what they hate. I never said you couldn’t. GO FILL YOUR BLOG FULL OF WHAT IS BAD. You have that right. When people tell me I am doing something wrong, I often disagree with them. That’s fine. You aren’t obligated to be on board. I’m not on board with you.  I don’t like the negativity and I will unfollow you. And I’m not going to pretend hating stuff is cool. So if I want to talk about how fandom culture affects us, I will. If you don’t like what that says about you, maybe instead of getting mad at me for saying it, you should reflect upon the fact that you, too, have flaws, and you DO have the ability to change what you do.

Oh. I get it. Y’all think criticism is for OTHER people. It’s you telling THEM what is wrong with them. But you think criticism of YOU is offensive. That’s why people come into my inbox to tell me that THEY have valid criticisms of the show and that I have no right to criticize their critique. Oh. LOL. I was just thinking about how I’ve been adjusting my fandom behavior and experience as I have come up against other fans I don’t agree with, who have criticized me. And like, I take the responsibility to change my behavior where I see something wrong and adjust to the culture, and put out what I want to see in fandom and cut off what I don’t. I’ve apologized, changed how I tagged, abbreviated, avoided the tags, unfollowed, filtered, had mediators, private convos, stopped commenting to argue, stopped arguing with people who comment on my posts, learned to block anons, made public requests, private requests, blocked people, set boundaries, stopped checking some people’s blogs, chosen not to answer asks, taken anon off, gotten rid of fandom twitter, stopped debating, ignored name calling, avoided judgment, deleted rants before posting. I barely even scroll my feed anymore.

And you all, you just keep blaming other people when you’re not satisfied with something. The show. The characters. Other people’s interpretations. Being criticized. It is the world’s job to adjust to YOU. Fandom and the show should all cater to your interpretation and tastes.

You think it’s your place to FIX the show by pointing out the wrongness. To FIX JR by explaining how he’s a bad writer and ruined your fave. To FIX me by explaining that your criticisms are valid and mine aren’t. 

Oh. Holy Entitlement Batman. 

Honestly, Nonny, I don’t think you’re being a jerk. I think you are too self involved to even know you’ve done anything wrong. 

[awed-frog]

I just want to say - this is what worked for me, and this is my personal experience, so it’s not a universal truth or anything like that, but since I’ve been accused, again, of inducing a panic attack in someone, I thought I’d share.

[suicide stuff under the cut]

So, the thing is, I’ve been luckier than most - I know that, and I am truly thankful for it. Nonetheless, I’ve still gone through episodes of abuse and depression and general life misery. The event that likely marked me the most occurred twelve years ago, almost to the day (the anniversary was last month), when a friend of mine committed suicide and I was forced to deal with the consequences. That included telling everyone (friends, relatives, our professors, his girlfriend), speaking with the police, and also accompanying his father to a funeral home to pick a casket and arrange trasportation and try to be there for him as he fell apart over his son’s dead body. For reasons I won’t go into now, despite the fact I was a kid myself, it was all on me. It was a horrendous few days which stretched into an awful summer and a difficult couple of years after that. I went through the usual stages - I was angry with my friend for a long time - but this post is not about that. What I meant to say is - I was in a bad place for months after his death. I couldn’t study, I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t sleep. I could barely leave the house. It was hard being with people and it was hard being alone. I was lower than low, and most things would reduce me to a sobbing mess. And the reason I’m telling you guys this is because I think that, in a way, the turning point for me was going to the theater with my mom - she’d chosen a comedy, it was the first time I’d been out of my bedroom in weeks - and, I don’t know - things went okay for about twenty minutes before someone made a fleeting reference to a 19-year-old cousin who’d died in a car crash - and, since my friend had been 19 himself, I was immediately overcome with tears and had to run out of the theater. My mother followed me, and on the way home I think I insulted her and shouted at her for forcing me to go to the movie - and she just took it, without saying anything. The next morning, however, she told me that my behaviour had been out of line. 

(“I understand that things are difficult right now, and you feel everything is about you and your pain, but unfortunately that’s not true. The world is not about you, and you can’t be angry at it for not conforming to your needs. I will help you in every way I can to get past this, but this is something you must acknowledge.”)

Man, it’s difficult to think back to that summer, and I’m not sure if this will be useful to anyone, but the thing is, my mom was right. I was so miserable and broken inside that I could be pushed over the edge by anything - one line in a comedy movie, a waitress mixing up my order, the wrong photograph in the paper, the colour blue (his eyes), foxes (he’d been in love with Le petit prince), a certain brand of tea, people crying, people laughing, people doing literally anything - and my grief had been made worse by the sheer fury I felt - by the fact the entire world could so unthinkingly push painful things under my nose day in, day out - could make me start to grieve all over again without even trying - but those words made me realize I was going about things the wrong way. It was unfair, maddening, and hard to accept, but - my mom was right. My mom was right. And so, as difficult as it was, from that day on, and for months, I did my best to stay away from everything I didn’t know (and, therefore, from things that could hurt me). I didn’t read any newspapers and didn’t watch the news (which was a huge sacrifice), I didn’t start any new novels or movies (ditto), I didn’t even see all that many people, and not anyone who didn’t know what was going on with me. In fact, I limited my world to things I knew and trusted wouldn’t set me off - old children’s books, a dozen of movies I knew by heart, some embroidering. And I waited. And waited. And waited some more. And eventually, slowly, painfully, I got better. I got over the paralizing sadness, the anger, the huge sense of injustice and missed potential and sheer unfairness that a 19-year-old boy would choose to die (would make me his fucking guardian angel, and way too late to save him). 

Looking back, I realize that’s when I stopped writing fiction, and it’s only because of Supernatural, because of the fanfiction community, that I’ve been back at all, and for that, I am very, very grateful. Writing stories is a huge, crucial part of who I am, and I don’t know how I managed to even breathe during those ten years I didn’t write a word. And, to be completely honest, writing is mostly everything I am, but is also, inevitably, upsetting, because I tend to go as deep as I can in all sort of feelings, and I often touch on some flayed thing inside me that, I don’t know, maybe wasn’t meant to be touched. 

(Or maybe it was.) 

In any case - as I said, precisely because I know what writing these stories does to me, and I know what a profound experience reading can be, I always try to be there for my readers. But as a meta writer and a fic writer who sometimes deals with shitty things because, well, our show’s canon is incredibly shitty, beyond tagging the most problematic things and keeping both my inbox and my email open 24/7 for questions, spoilers, and hugs, there’s not much I can do. So, well, I do my best, and I do not appreciate being accused of ruining someone’s entire life when all I’m doing is writing a story and posting it on AO3 with the appropriate warnings. 

So - please remember that it’s not my responsibility to protect you and look out for you, and, more importantly, that I am not capable of doing so. I’m not in your head - I don’t know your pain, your past, what is too much and what isn’t. I simply do not. As I said, I don’t go out of my way to upset people, and I always encourage readers to come and talk to me, even before reading my fics, if they’ve got any questions about the triggers I listed or the direction the story will move towards, but the thing is, if you’re so upset and affected by non-graphic fanfiction, by innocent discussions about a show’s characters (by the mere existence of a specific character, in fact) - by a whole series of things that are commonly found in the world around you - well, don’t take it out on me, because that’s not on me. Please, look after yourself instead of shouting at me. Take your time, build your walls, ask for support instead of policing my behaviour, and come back to a life of starting new fics and sailing the unpredictable waves of the internet when you know you can take it. I know it worked for me, and I truly hope it will work for you, too. Really - I wish you all the best. 🖤

[anghraine]

“part of the past, but now you’re the future” - fic

AKA the fic I planned to write for Day 2 of Rebelcaptain Appreciation Week (“Comfort”), but lol what are plans. (Also the one I was whining about last night. And last week.)

fandom: Star Wars

verse: the one where the early script idea for Jyn and Cassian to narrowly escape the wreckage TOTALLY HAPPENED*cough* (tagged as #script au because I’m creative like that; follows directly from threshold of a dream, though is probably comprehensible without it)

characters: Cassian Andor, Jyn Erso, K-2SO; Jyn/Cassian

length: 4400

stuff that happens: grief, uncertain love, spinal injuries, involuntary drug use

It all made sense in his head. Yet, for one of the only times in his life, thoughts didn’t translate smoothly into words, the bonds between head and heart and speech worn near to snapping. 

Just his head alone … his mind didn’t work quite right, he could tell. Everything jolted along uneven paths, simple sentences meandering off. Even without the sharp, hot anguish that swallowed up nearly all else, he couldn’t—he kept slipping in and out of the blue glow, exhaustion more threatening than a dozen cracked bones.

Jyn, he reminded himself. She jostled him again, pain slicing through him, but his eyes flew open. Jyn was here, and he had to get her home. He’d promised.

Cassian didn’t know if he would ever go back into the field.

Not because of his very real distaste for it, and not because of self-pity. It was just the doctors and droids, with their anxious-cheerful voices, assuring him that he would very probably walk again.

“Almost certainly,” stressed Dr Tanth.

Cassian was not often at a loss for words.

“Oh,” he said. “Good.”

Tanth kept talking, and the droids, but he tuned them out. For once, it didn’t seem important to catch every detail. He’d walk, or he wouldn’t. The chances appeared to be in his favour, though he couldn’t know more precisely without Kay to—

Without—

He’d never anticipated this. It was foolish, of course; a single droid, however powerful, could always be destroyed. Easily, even. Cassian knew that. But he didn’t think he would live long enough to see it. Anything that could take out Kay would have long since taken out him. Kay himself gloated … used to gloat that he would still be in peak condition after Cassian had gone through five or six iterations.

(Cassian had briefly considered explaining how organic reproduction worked, then decided he would rather do literally anything else.)

It seemed almost obscene that his vulnerable human body had outlasted Kay’s circuits. He’d been shot and smashed his spine and cracked his bones until he could no longer hold himself upright, but with Kay reduced to a smear of metal, somehow Cassian hung on. Through that excruciating climb—and then, there was Jyn. He didn’t know that she hadn’t sustained him through will alone.

“That’s Alderaanian,” she’d said when he swore under his breath. Cassian squinted through his unsteady vision as he swerved their shuttle around laserfire. His records said he was a competent pilot in his own right, but he felt half of one in the instant. “Is that where you’re from?”

“No,” he panted, forcing his attention away from burning pain in his side and back and legs, and onto the warmth and strength of her grip on his shoulder. “Fieste.”

Her hand tightened and his focus narrowed with it, as if her fortitude somehow bled into him, arced along her fingertips. He’d done this before, flying alone and injured, with smaller stakes than Jyn’s life. Dodge, calculate, time the jump.

He knew that they would die if he couldn’t do it this time. Joyless as his life was, Cassian dreaded death; but he dreaded it for Jyn still more. Most of all like this. Dying on Scarif, however horrific, would have made a certain terrible sense. Their lives for the mission. But this? No. Jyn couldn’t get killed by the Empire’s cannon fodder.

She wouldn’t.

Jyn had stayed quiet, as usual, while Cassian plotted the coordinates. But when he counted down under his breath, she unhesitatingly yanked down the hyperdrive clutch, and they slid smoothly into lightspeed.

For a long few seconds, they just watched the whirling lights of hyperspace. But his head spun, and agony splintered through almost every part of his body. Behind the pilot’s seat, Jyn was fumbling with something he couldn’t see.

Even his breath felt thin and difficult, something that might betray him at any moment. He’d only taken this kind of damage a few times, and never without Kay.

She’d said she couldn’t fly. He thought so, anyway. Cassian would collapse soon enough, but it couldn’t be now. He had to land the shuttle on Yavin, had to keep concentrating.

Teeth clenched, he said, “Can … you talk?”

“Of course I can,” replied Jyn, her voice clear and steady even as she wrangled with whatever she’d found. He hadn’t expected so immediate or easy an assent, even now. Sure enough, she stayed silent at first, a heavy pause that stretched on like the starlight around them. Then, voice shriller than he’d ever heard it, she said, “Fieste? I’ve never heard of it.”

“You wouldn’t.” Cassian had to close his eyes; he thought he might throw up, otherwise. “Not important. Outer Rim. And you don’t … Basic. Fest.”

It all made sense in his head. Yet, for one of the only times in his life, thoughts didn’t translate smoothly into words, the bonds between head and heart and speech worn near to snapping. 

Just his head alone … his mind didn’t work quite right, he could tell. Everything jolted along uneven paths, simple sentences meandering off. Even without the sharp, hot anguish that swallowed up nearly all else, he couldn’t—he kept slipping in and out of the blue glow, exhaustion more threatening than a dozen cracked bones.

Jyn, he reminded himself. She jostled him again, pain slicing through him, but his eyes flew open. Jyn was here, and he had to get her home. He’d promised. Talk to me.

And Jyn, always so taciturn and brusque, had talked. She carried on that one-sided conversation until her voice went hoarse, cracked. At that, she dredged up water, gulped it all down, then talked on.

Cassian couldn’t follow most of it, but that didn’t matter. He latched onto her voice, and kept flying.

Now, some unknown number of days later, she was gone.

Not permanently, as far as he knew, and he didn’t anticipate that. He could think of above half a dozen things she might be doing: showering, sleeping, praying, fighting, a wide range of possible meetings. Also, every time before now—and Cassian gathered that he’d been in and out of surgery at least a week—he had woken to Jyn hovering nearby like some bad-tempered falcon, and she wasn’t the sort to run. Others would probably doubt that, but he didn’t really care. Cassian trusted his judgment and he trusted Jyn.

Perhaps unwisely in this case. But Jyn did not turn her back on anyone who had not first turned theirs on her. And it was Cassian’s nature to expect nothing and hope for everything; he had not followed it this far to turn back now.

“—to test the fusion of the implants with nervous tissue,” Tanth was droning on.

Cassian focused on him. “Cybernetic implants?”

Startled, Tanth said, “Yes, of course.”

Before he could reply, they both heard a shrill robotic voice from outside the room.

“You can stay here until Dr Tanth finishes the consultation.”

“I can also tear your circuits out,” said Jyn calmly.

Cassian was repressing a smile before she even walked in. When she did, he noticed two things right away: she looked livid, and she was wearing one of his jackets.

“There you are,” he said without thinking, then almost winced.

“Here I am,” agreed Jyn. Her voice betrayed nothing, but her scowl faded into what seemed very much like self-satisfaction as she strolled over and flung herself into the nearest chair. She studied him, with a clinical air that meant it signified little, but—

“You look better.” She glanced over at Tanth. “He’s had another surgery? How did it go?”

The doctor shifted, pretending to examine his datapad. The light it cast didn’t so much as flicker; there couldn’t actually be anything new. “Ah … I can’t—the patient—”

Cassian, not bothering to wait him out, waved this aside. “You can tell her anything.”

Though Jyn remained withdrawn, she gave one of her slight, ambiguous smiles.

“Well,” said Tanth, “as I was saying, captain, we’ll want to test the integration of the cybernetic implants into the organic material.”

Jyn narrowed her eyes. “The organic material of his spine?”

“Yes,” he said shortly, while Cassian fought off a wave of exhaustion. He felt like he’d slept more in the last … whatever, than in the five years before. It was unnatural, and felt it, his dreams strange, and his mind disoriented when he woke up or went to sleep. They must be drugging him—and if so, they must have a reason, since the Rebellion never wasted resources. In all probability, he couldn’t help it, but he felt like he should be able to power through. Cassian frowned, trying to concentrate on the doctor.

Something, something, antibodies. Tanth’s mouth kept moving, but it didn’t seem quite right. About the edges, he blurred into the background.

Cassian turned his gaze on Jyn, instead. She was nearer, and more real. Not fuzzy at all, just sitting there in his leather jacket, frowning.

“—what do you mean by ‘almost certainly?’” she was saying. Her fingers lay over his wrist, though he wasn’t sure she’d noticed herself placing them there. He hadn’t.

“Exactly what I said, Miss Erso,” replied Tanth. Jyn must have given her name at some point. “It depends on the success of the cybernetics, and the success rate is very high.”

“How high?”

The pause lingered, like so many of the pauses she left behind her.

“Pardon?”

Jyn’s hand curled around his wrist, her grip tight enough to hurt. Cassian said nothing, since he didn’t mind. It couldn’t begin to compare to everything else, and regardless, the brush of her skin more than made up for it.

In short, clipped syllables, she snapped, “Doctor, I want numbers.”

Kay would have them. Kay would already be haranguing Tanth and Jyn alike—and Cassian, too, but with the undertone of devotion he showed no one else.

He hadn’t programmed Kay to love him. You couldn’t, really. Even before the reprogramming, Kay loathed the Imperial captain who owned him. But not Cassian.

“Are you my master now?” he’d said doubtfully. “You do not appear to be a fully advanced version of your subclass.”

“No,” Cassian told him. “I just wanted to help. You’re free.”

“Free,” K-2SO repeated, as if he didn’t quite understand.

Cassian could believe it. In all probability, Imperial droids never had cause to understand freedom. So he said,

“It means you can do and say whatever you want.”

K-2SO peered around, eyes flickering. It took him a good minute.

“I find this room utterly unappealing.”

Cassian burst out laughing. He was still very young, and it didn’t trouble him that he had creatively interpreted his orders. With the bright certainty that always guided him, however opaque his path, he knew it had been the best thing to do. And he’d been less cautious in those days, less constrained.

Back then, only his skill at programming made him useful, since he’d grown too old to play at tragic orphan, too big to slip into tiny spaces, and too youthful for recruitment or combat. Instead, he got assigned to the laborious process of learning, writing, and adapting the codes for assorted devices. In this case, that meant 1) wiping the memory of a potentially valuable security droid, 2) identifying and stripping out the bonds of his Imperial programming, and 3) replacing them with Alliance ones for security. Cassian only managed the second of these things.

One of his rare but recurrent episodes of insubordination, he supposed. But he hadn’t thought of it that way. He only thought it impossible to do otherwise. Cassian had not joined the Rebellion to turn Imperial slaves into Alliance slaves; he was here for liberation.

“Let’s see if you’re working properly,” he said.

K-2SO’s eyes flashed, head tilted in what would be thought, were he human. Running scans? Basically the same thing.

“You have not altered any essential processes.”

“No,” said Cassian, appalled. “You wouldn’t be you.”

Before the droid could try to process that, Major Derlin showed up to check his progress. To Cassian’s alarm, he seemed angry as much as surprised.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded, while K-2SO amused himself with making clinking noises and slouching.

“I didn’t think the Rebellion kept slaves,” Cassian said sharply. “Sir.”

Derlin stared at him. Some part of his outrage seemed to have subsided, though not all. He took a step forward—probably to examine the droid more closely. He wasn’t a violent man.

K-2SO, however, did not know that. Without hesitation, he seized Cassian’s arm and shoved him behind his own towering frame, hard enough that Cassian staggered and fell, gracelessly.

“You are a small and decaying specimen of your kind,” he informed Derlin. “Your odds of overpowering me are less than one percent.” He turned his head to peer down at Cassian. “This one is mine.”

“Uh,” said Cassian. “You can’t own people. That’s the point.”

K-2SO’s eyes flickered. “You misunderstand. I am a security droid. Now, I shall secure you.” He was already glowering at Derlin again. “Forever.”

Cassian, speechless, gawked at the droid’s back. He would be covered with bruises in the morning, but that didn’t seem important. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had sheltered him, or anything like it.

Dimly, he realized: everything had changed.

“Thanks?”

Of course, in the middle of a Rebel base, even a droid of Kay’s stature and strength could be easily overpowered. If they wanted Kay bolted and coded into obedience, it would have happened. Instead, Draven interceded with the bemused Derlin. He kept Cassian on a leash, but a long one. While nobody could say Draven coddled anyone, Cassian later realized that he’d seen potential in him, quick and clever and convincing at fourteen. No point in burning through the ideals of a protégé who would do anything for his convictions, and therefore the Rebellion, as long as he saw them bound together.

And even among droids, Draven valued loyalty above obedience. He always said that free droids were far more effective, when reliable. He might be no Jedi, but no doubt Draven had foreseen—in his way—a time when a loyal, independent droid watching Cassian’s back would be more than worth the loss of a bolted one.

So Kay retained his new programming, and Cassian gained a protector. He was almost giddy; it seemed like the kind of story his sister might have read to him. A boy and his droid.

Not mine. He’s a free droid. Anyway, he didn’t feel like a boy.

A Rebel and his friend, maybe. That was better, better than anything. He hadn’t had anyone to care about for eight years, since his brother and sisters got shot.

But then there was Kay. For twelve years, Kay’s hulking body clumped at Cassian’s side or behind his back; for twelve years, he complained when Cassian replaced some defunct part or upgraded to a new one, though he gloated insufferably after; for twelve years, he delivered odds and mowed through stormtroopers and aggressively slouched around bases and ships alike. Twelve, twelve: it cycled through his head like Chirrut’s mantras. Twice the length of time Cassian had been alive when the clonetroopers came.

In his head, Cassian, nos enti—¡corre, corre! muddled in his head with Goodbye, clonetroopers joining with unseen stormtroopers, memories of peering up through rubble mingled with his horror as he gazed down at Jyn. He’d seen her swallow after he screamed, either in grief of her own or sympathy, and then there’d been … the plans, the Rebellion, they overrode everything. 

Even Kay, for the moment. And Jyn was—he had to find Jyn. That man in white was somewhere up there, and the remaining deathtroopers. Maybe reinforcements. He had to get to her, for the plans and for—just, Jyn. Her name shrieked through his head, as it so often did: Jyn, Jyn, Jyn, Jyn!

Cassian couldn’t do much at that point. But he could climb and he could shoot. And he could block the way to her if needed, take another blaster bolt. Maybe several, like Kay.

“Captain?”

It took a strong exertion of effort to drag himself back into the infirmary. He squinted, trying to get the edges of the room to stop swimming.

“If you’re willing, then I’ll just have you sign here.” Tanth handed him a datapad.

Cassian blinked down at it. He had no idea what the man was talking about.

As he tried to make it out, something dug into his left hand. Jyn’s nails.

“Look at me, Cassian,” she ordered, in a tone that suggested she’d already said it a few times.

He turned to her, not really comprehending, but responding to her tone more than the words, and contented enough with the slide of her hand on his. Or, not contented, but … soothed? Perhaps.

Jyn stared into his eyes. Not like in the elevator, regrettably. She looked more irritated than anything.

“I thought so.” She shifted to look at Tanth, jaw tight and brows furrowed. Not angry, but definitely displeased. “Maybe you could time these conversations for when he’s not high as the stars?”

That seemed … oddly poetic. For Jyn.

“Thanks,” she said dryly. If the doctor replied—though Cassian wasn’t sure why she’d be thanking him—he didn’t catch it. But Jyn went on, “They want to run a test to make sure the surgeries have done what they’re supposed to. Understand that?”

“Yes,” he said. They’d been talking about that for … an hour? Or whatever it was.

Jyn’s mouth twitched for some reason. “And then they’re going to do one more, which should get you functioning without medicine. Are you fine with that?”

“Yes.” Why wouldn’t he be?

Her fingers tapped unconsciously over his palm. He presumed unconsciously. It was nice either way, though he took care not to say so. Even drugged half out of his mind, he knew he had to keep some things to himself.

Jyn cared, to be sure. At this very moment, she jabbed the doctor with as many questions as Kay would have asked, held his hand again. Back in the Citadel, she’d screamed as he fell. When she saw his injuries afterwards, she flashed from triumph to murder almost faster than he could grasp her. 

And, in the elevator—Cassian could still feel her boxing him in, small as she was, her arm slipping around his neck and face lifting up to him. Even so, he had to bend his head down: not that it troubled him, even through the pain piercing every part of his body. Her mouth pressed against his, as soft and tentative as they’d been in the shuttle, and it wasn’t like the others at all—he wanted this—

Yet he didn’t think it was quite the same for her. Cassian had been completely charmed since he saw her trouncing stormtroopers on the streets of Jedha, except when he lost his temper, and mostly he didn’t. But his heart nearly stopped every time he realized her life was in danger, and often it was. Jyn stopped at nothing, suffered not a flicker of weakness in herself; she would be dead near a half-dozen times if he hadn’t been there. If he’d been just that bit slower, or weaker, or less accurate. He could have been. He certainly was now.

In any case, she didn’t panic as he did, or look half out of her mind, as he felt, or any of that. It didn’t bother him. This ... indistinct affection was more than he’d ever anticipated from another living person. She had called him her friend after a week, and felt furiously betrayed after another, and drawn close and smiling in the third. It was something. He just didn’t want her to feel any sort of—expectation.

As ever, he hoped, but did not expect.

“Cassian!” Jyn blew her hair out of her face, or tried. “Are you listening?”

“No,” Cassian said, honesty a rare luxury. He thought about it. “I keep getting lost.”

She studied him, her own eyes wide. They weren’t like jade, or emeralds, or anything like that; from a distance, they looked vaguely grey or even blue. This close, though, he could see the pale green of her irises, the dark grey rings circling the edges, spokes as brown as his own flaring out from the pupil like dark stars. A bright, uninterrupted green would be less interesting. This wasn’t something that could be approximated by a rock.

Thankfully—he thought later—Cassian clung to enough sanity to keep his mouth shut on that, too.

“Give me the datapad,” she said.

“Miss—”

“He can’t consent,” said Jyn. It made sense, though he couldn’t remember anyone ever bothering themselves over the finer details of that. “I’m next of kin, I’ll sign for it. He agreed as far as he could follow, anyway.”

Cassian handed it over, though not without complaining, “I am right here.”

She just pushed her fringe out of her eyes again. He sympathized. In fact, he tried to lift his free hand to his brow, but it felt impossibly heavy, as if it were as much a cybernetic as the implants in his back.

Abruptly, he said, “Am I a cyborg?”

Jyn had been grumbling under her breath, and he thought the doctor, too. Maybe at each other. But both broke off, now. He could tell they were staring at him, even though he couldn’t have sworn the former was human, at this far away.

“Uh,” Tanth said. “We don’t generally apply the term with respect to purely internal cybernetics. You won’t be considered one on your personnel records, certainly.”

That was answer enough. Right, he thought. Okay.

“If that’s all …”

Jyn handed over the datapad with a dismissive gesture, and Dr Tanth receded. Cassian thought he did. At least, the space that he’d occupied looked empty, and a pleasant quietness settled around them. It was one of the many things he liked about Jyn; so many people rushed to make clamour out of peace, like the Empire. Jyn dwelt in silences—sometimes venturing out, but always returning again. She could deliver monologues without a word.

He, not so much. For Cassian, words were less tools of clarification than extensions of himself: sometimes artificial, but always rooted in his own being. He held them close, most often; that did not make them absent.

“There’s no difference,” he announced.

Jyn eyed him. Since he liked her eyes, it didn’t matter.

“No difference between what?”

“The cybernetics,” said Cassian. “Outside or inside—why should that change anything?”

She shrugged. “Aesthetics. It’s not about science.”

The disdain in her voice caught him. Her father’s, perhaps, though it seemed she would have been too young to absorb much before his disappearance. She’d been older than Cassian, though—eight or nine, not six. She would remember more. He thought the mother had been a scientist, too.

“Do you mind it?” Jyn asked, voice awkward and brows knit.

Puzzled, he said, “Science?”

She made a strangled sound that he couldn’t quite identify. “The cyborg thing.”

“Oh.” His thoughts tried to wander again, but for the instant, Cassian held them fast. He shook his head, everything spinning. Even like this, the laugh in his ears sounded strange. “No. I was just thinking that Kay would be delighted.”

Jyn’s mouth curved, the smile tight but real. Like him, she had lines about her eyes, and they deepened now.

“One step closer to droid superiority?”

“Exactly.” He felt surprised that she saw it, and utterly unsurprised, all at once. But they’d understood each other in the end, Kay and Jyn. If he had escaped, they might have made a remarkable pair. The two of them really did have plenty in common, though Cassian valued his skin enough not to say so. “He liked you.”

Jyn snorted.

“Eventually.”

“Like captain, like droid?” She was blurry now, too, so he needed the words to hang onto.

“No,” he said. “I liked you from Jedha. When you clobbered all the stormtroopers.” Cassian almost let himself sink into that memory, so much pleasanter than thinking about Kay. But she was here as much as there, the fingers on his hand curling up in—surprise?—and relaxing again.

“It would be that,” said Jyn, amused. “But I didn’t notice.”

“I know.” He narrowed his eyes enough to make her out through the heaviness in his head, and through his hair. She looked—soft, almost, in a way he’d only seen once or twice. 

In the hangar, he remembered, when she seemed to truly realize he wouldn’t abandon her. She’d drifted forward into their odd sort of binary orbit, tilting her face up and smiling like every burden in her life had just tumbled off her shoulders. Like she had no desire to be anywhere else, with anyone else. It’d been the same here, earlier, when she leaned down and echoed his welcome home.

Now, Jyn snapped her fingers in front of his face. “You need to go to sleep.”

Probably.

“You’re wearing my jacket,” he pointed out.

Colour rose to her cheeks. He didn’t think he’d seen her do that, ever.

“My vest is disgusting,” said Jyn, with an air of casual unconcern that he didn’t even slightly believe. “I had to wear something.”

First he thought of saying that she might have stolen from someone her size, or at least her gender; then he thought of saying that she could have just taken one of his shirts, since the leather jacket was warm for Massassi; and, finally, he thought of asking just how much time she had spent in his quarters.

“Right,” Cassian said.

Her voice quickening, she went on, “The other coats were much too big. I like how I look in this one, though.”

Valiantly, he tried to think of any reply other than so do I.

“Did you steal another blaster?”

“What do you think I am?” Even through his haze, he could see that Jyn looked offended. She lifted the edge of the coat to reveal her hip, where sure enough, one of his older blasters rested. “Of course I did.”

“You’ll get a better model,” Cassian said vaguely. A new alarm struck him. “If you stay with the Alliance.”

Somehow, between that moment and the next, Jyn went from seated at his side to bracing his shoulder with one hand, the other reclining the chair into a bed. Even a half-hearted effort to stay upright on his own lashed fire down his back.

“Lie down,” said Jyn, from wherever she was. Near.

Now he obeyed without hesitation, trying to catch his breath.

“The new surgery should fix that,” she told him. “And the final bacta treatment. That’s this afternoon.”

He barely caught that, mind stuck on his previous thought. Nothing about the ceiling eased it. Nor did the one lock of his fringe that always fell over his eyes. Irritably, he blew at it, as Jyn had her own, but with no more success.

“Where will you be?” Cassian asked, too sleepy and dazed to even speculate at how he sounded. He closed his eyes. “You’re free.”

There was a long pause, and then Jyn’s voice:

“I’m not going anywhere.” Someone touched his brow, so hesitant that he barely felt it. Then, more confidently, they stroked his hair out of his face. “Go to sleep, Cassian.”

[sturlsons]

teesta, i love your replies so imma take a shot here: can you make an EPIC list of books that changed your life in a way? your favorite authors and stuff :-)

hi anon!! I SURE CAN but u will be sorely disappointed because it’s not a long list despite the extensive reading i did as a child. instead, allow me to present a mix of works and writers (mostly poets) whose work impacted me growing up! will also contain some fanworks because some of the biggest divine moments of my life came from fic. additionally, i have an old list of important books here which hasn’t seen many updates since i haven’t done a lot of reading in the past few years.

under the cut! 

1. fight club. yes, i’m one of those people. no, i’m not ashamed. i believe there are some works that are genuinely brilliant, then become pop culture/cult phenomenons, which decreases their legitimacy and reduces them to something that people only refer to ironically. i believe fight club is one of those. i unabashedly adore it, it was formative for me and my work ethic, it was a comfort when i needed it (inasmuch as someone’s as bitter as me) and i’ll never forget it.

2. harry potter. doesn’t need explaining, but all the same i’d like to specify that the impact here was less emotional and more formative in the sense that it completed my childhood, it took me away, it introduced me to magical realism which is arguably my F A V O U R I T E genre to write in (my beta ksenya, who has to deal with an average of 4 college AU ideas per day, is eyeing me very skeptically right now) and it’s just beautiful you know? i mean, ignoring all of what JKR has been pulling recently. i don’t consider any of that shit canon. 

3. haruki murakami. another victim of popularity imo, though i agree with just about anyone else who has spirited opinions about his narratives. i guess it’s something personal where i don’t get sick of the surrealism no matter how many times he spins it, because surrealism is surrealism, hey. for me the point of it is that it’s bizarre every single time it happens, whether it’s a magic elevator or a girl who’s been sleeping forever. i also just love murakami in the i went through his works while i was in depression and i think it made it worse but it also made it better, etc. 

4. sylvia plath. one of my top five poets, arguably my biggest writing influence after siken, and just. ‘nuff said.

5. richard siken. um, this man is everything. after rumi, that is.

6. rumi. now this man is fucking everything. let me put it this way: i have about 600, 700 books. when i moved to france i could take along maybe 10 of them. i dropped everything and took all my rumi’s. 

7. one by richard bach. this one is quite abstract in a way while being very vivid in others, and bach’s writing either SUPER works for you or doesn’t work at all, but it worked for me. one is one of those books that influenced the very core of my life philosophy. 

8. pablo neruda. i’m not the biggest fan of the man himself, but i love, love, love his work. where possible within the confines of my mind, i try to separate my opinions about an artist’s personality/life from the work they put out. sometimes it’s a good practice, at other times it could be apologist. i accept that it’s a little wonky and am still trying to find my balance.

9. favors the bold by maayacola. my first tattoo is going to be fortune favours the bold on my left wrist, under mountains sketched by my best friend.

10. the doors of time by felisblanco. (i think only the timestamps are available and the main story has been taken down by the writer, but all the same.)

11. rich bitch by mindheist. i can’t talk about this one without tearing up. i just can’t talk about this one. (bonus, there’s a tag on my blog for this story.)

12. comeback kids by rix. STORY TIME, JESS LITERALLY SAVED MY LIFE. i was going through a HORRID depressive episode and i felt like i’d never crawl out of it (as one does) and i started reading this fic at like, three in the morning. i finished at six, and i didn’t sleep. i just. jumped out of bed and got started with my day. this piece of writing SINGLE-HANDEDLY YANKED ME OUT OF MY DEPRESSIVE EPISODE AND GOT MY LIFE BACK ON TRACK. and you know why? because it’s fucking awesome. (( 05:29 teesta since you are my best friend i just need to keep you updated on the fact that my life has changed, i am a changed woman, nothing will ever be the same again now that i have read the hockey fic, // 10:36 teesta I FEEL SO POWERFUL I WONDER WHAT RIX FEELS LIKE WAKING UP EVERYDAY BEING THE ONE WHO ACTUALLY WROTE THE DAMN THING ))

13. gusari.