#i have a complicated relationship with technology

[ninelo74]

Drawed up a little image again 😛

[im-smart-i-swear]

self-indulgent fnin doodles cause existance is Not Fun right now:/

[miss-conjayniality]

being the tech support hottie isn’t easy but someone’s gotta do it! 🤷🏻‍♀️💅🏼

[nevadancitizen]

-> ROT IN PUREST GOLD

synopsis: you've been skipping through universes ever since you touched the source of the hexgates. through everything, you've never stopped searching for your viktor -- now, you've found him, and you just want to go home.

word count: 2.7k

ships: viktor/reader

tags: angst with a happy ending, fluff and angst, pre-established relationship

notes: inspired by purest gold by miracle of sound. and this is my first shot at writing viktor.. lmk if i got anything wrong ^_^

related reading: Oh Viktor, My Viktor (What Could’ve Been)

It’s been years since you saw Viktor. Many years – artificial years. Years spent close, away, at a distance but still observing. But they were never your Viktor. 

Viktor with the accented voice and the long face. Viktor with the work ethic of a hive of worker honeybees, tireless and continuous. Viktor with the eyes of pure gold – never pyrite or brass with a yellow twinge. He’s always been made of the purest gold.

None of them ever could’ve replaced him. With all these alternate universes you were hopping between, you met plenty of Viktors. Some came close, but none replaced him. It wasn’t their faults; they couldn’t compete with a memory. 

You were a variable, too, so you couldn’t blame them completely. You went by different names, had different stories. Anything to make this depressing, grueling trudge through many lives more tolerable. 

Some things made things less annoying, like cars. (Well, sometimes. Sometimes they were a nuisance.) Cars are one of the things you think your Viktor would’ve liked to study. To take apart, to put back together, to modify and make better. You could see him becoming a real torque dork while listening to Speedfreaks FM. 

Mostly because that’s what he insists on listening to when you drive him to his doctor’s appointments – both of which you’re doing right now. Well, this universe’s version of him insists on Speedfreaks FM, and insists on you not calling him a ‘torque dork.’ Differentiating the Viktors from each other gets really complicated really fast, but giving them numbers feels dehumanizing. (If you did, this Viktor would be V-24. You’ve been keeping track.)

You turn on your blinker and wait for an opening to drive into the parking lot. Beneath the chatter of the radio hosts, you can hear Viktor tap his slender fingers against his forearm crutch in the passenger seat. Another difference you’ve noticed – both his outward fidgeting and his different mobility aids. 

When your turn comes, you turn your car into the parking lot. You slowly let the car drift, your foot hovering above the brake in case someone needs to cross. 

You turn down the radio a few clicks. “You think you’ll need your wheelchair?”

Viktor is silent. You take your eyes off the road for a split second and glance at him. He’s looking out the side window, at the plaza’s tall buildings and a sign that says Pueblito Plaza. 

“Viktor?” You say. “You hearing me?”

You pull into a parking spot and put the car in park. Worry eats through you – you don’t know what’s happening. Why is he acting like this?

He’s turned in his seat, looking through the back window at the buildings. There’s amazement on his face and for a second – a split second – he’s there. He’s your Viktor. 

But he’s not. He’s not. 

Those eyes are not gold. They are topaz and they are citrine. They are the yellow-orange that accompanies the sunrise. Beautiful, yes, but not yours.

“Where… are we?” He asks, his voice soft and wonderful.

“We’re going to your doctor appointment,” you say. “With… what’s her name? The pulmonologist. And then you have a CT chest scan.”

“No – the nation,” Viktor says. “What nation are we in? I have never seen technology like this.”

He runs a hand over the console of the car, then over the glovebox. He opens it, then looks inside. Nothing but napkins from fast food places and a laminated copy of your car insurance. 

“What’re you looking for?” You ask. You turn the key, and the car shuts off. 

“The power source,” Viktor says, looking at the key in your hand. “May I?”

“Viktor, you’re not cleared to drive,” you say, your voice growing sterner and firmer. “The doctors said your legs are… too weak or something – I don’t know.”

You clutch the key (and the carabiner it’s attached to) tighter in your hand. The charms hanging from it jingle and clink together. A small cog and a toy that looks like a spark plug make a metallic click as they collide.

“What is that?” Viktor reaches out, but just barely stops himself from touching the spark plug toy. You pause for a second, then give him the entire carabiner. 

Viktor holds the spark plug toy up to his face, inspecting it closely. He lets the rest of the charms on the carabiner dangle freely. You watch him – watch his eyes. A spark of gold. A fleck of cooler color in a pool of a warmer, yellowish orange. 

He sets the pad of his thumb on the hex of the toy (the hex here is a piece of metal on a spark plug fitted for a wrench – not the hex you were used to, so long ago). He wiggles it back and forth, then spins it. The hex spins with a barely-audible metallic rasp, like a fidget ring.

“It’s very intricate for a toy,” Viktor says. “Who made this?”

“Wh… you did. You gave that to me,” you say softly. “Why don’t you remember that?”

A quiet question nags the back of your mind – is Viktor getting worse?

You silently beg that you’re right. In a twisted, selfish way, you want him to get worse. You’ve taken care of Viktor before. Watched him die in multiple dimensions. In some of them, he even died in your arms, his golden eyes fading and his hand falling from your cheek.

You know what it’s like to watch him get worse. You’ve done it before, seen it before. You know what to do, how to grieve. You don’t know what you’d do if this is… Viktor. Viktor for real. Your Viktor.

“Are you trying to stifle my curiosity?” Viktor asks, a teasing smile on his face, his eyes still on the toy. 

“You gave it to me… I don’t know, six, seven years ago?” You say. You turn so that your shoulder is leaning against the car seat, facing him. “A spark plug. It’s important to the engine. I don’t remember how. And now… I’m failing your test.”

Viktor puts the carabiner down on the console. He laughs, and he’s looking at you like… you don’t know how he’s looking at you. But it’s something familiar. Something long-lost that you’ve been yearning for. 

“How could I test you on something I barely know anything about?” He asks. His smile falters a little.

“Don’t bullshit me,” you say, smiling. (His laughter always manages to make you smile.) “You know everything there is to know about cars, trucks, motorcycles…”

Viktor’s smile turns forced and confused. His eyebrows furrow a little. “I… have no idea what you’re talking about…”

And then he says it. He says your name. Your real name, your true name – the name V-1 called you. The name the real Viktor called you. 

It goes through you like a cold shock. A baptism in electrified ice water. You want to put your hand to his throat and ask, “What the fuck? What the hell did you just call me? Who’re you talking about?” 

You want to… but you can’t. You’re frozen until Viktor places a hand on yours.

You jerk it away, cradling both hands to your chest and scrunch back against the car door. “Don’t touch me.”

And he says your name again. Again, in that tone that invites sympathy, but mostly pity. He’s pitying you. You’ve gone through this too many times, with too many therapists.

“You – Viktor,” you say, his name coming out in a gasp. There’s a lump in your throat and you feel almost nauseous. 

“You’re not… you’re not the real one,” you grind out. “You’re not my Viktor, so stop acting like it. In th– in this universe, you’re just a friend, and that’s it.”

Viktor is silent, his mouth agape. “My love –”

“Don’t! Please,” you say. The words escape you before you can do anything. “Please, just don’t. Who – who told you?”

“Who told me what?” Viktor asks. His voice is still soft and sympathetic and sickly sweet.

“That you’re… you were…” You slump against the car door. Your elbow knocks against the steering wheel.

You look at him again. Your eyes dart between both of his, looking, observing. They’re not gold anymore. Well, they never really were, but now they’re… they’re opaline – pearlescent. A whole kaleidoscope in a drop. This is something different, but, still… it’s almost like you can sense him. This is the true Viktor – your Viktor. 

“I was there, Runeterra, the core of the hexgates, and then… I wasn’t. I’ve lived twenty-three lives before this. My first memory of… here… is of my fifteenth birthday party. I had to grow up all over again. Make new friends, go to a child’s school. I didn’t have anyone. And you –” Your voice catches in your throat, on both anger and sorrow. “You left me here! You left me to do this all alone!”

“I would never.” Viktor’s cold hands meet yours. He cradles them both. “I would never leave you, my love. I’m so, so sorry.”

“But you did!” You grip his hands as tight as you can, trying to savor the feeling. Tears well at the corners of your eyes. “You left me with this… this rot. These gilded Viktors that look like you, act like you. And it hurt. Everything hurts.”

“I know,” Viktor says softly. “You’re hurting me, too.”

You blink, then realise what you’re doing and loosen your grip on his hands. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He breathes out a soft laugh, then brushes his thumbs over your knuckles. “It must’ve been lonely, all by yourself.”

“You have no idea,” you say, your voice breaking a little. You blink hard, and a tear runs down your face. “We went to an arcade, and I spent all my quarters on you. We went to a museum, and I bought you a small paperweight of a statue that was on display there. We went to this weird, exotic place – Great Britain, I think it was called – and we shared tea and scones. And, no matter what I did, it… it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t right. It… he wasn’t you.”

“I’m here now.” Viktor gives your hands a gentle squeeze – much softer than what you gave him. “How long has it been?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you say tearfully. “Time moves differently here. Maybe… sixty years? I’m not sure.”

“Sixty?” Viktor balks. “Oh, my love…”

His hands slowly, carefully, move away from yours. Cold fingers meet your jaw, and your eyes flutter shut on instinct, head tilting down into the touch. Viktor cradles your face, both his thumbs brushing back-and-forth over your cheeks. 

 “I dreamt of you,” you say softly. “Every night. And I thought of you every day. Just… thinking of you, every moment I could spare.”

“Surely that’s an exaggeration,” Viktor says. 

You shake your head and lean further into his touch. “I’ve waited so long… so long. And now you’re here, and I – I don’t know what to do.”

He moves his hands, the tips of his fingers splayed across the sides of your neck and his thumbs gently pressing into your temples. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “This is nice, though. Just… you being here is nice.”

You lean forward, placing your hands over his to ensure they stay in place. “It felt like eternity, waiting for you. Just waiting, and longing. None of them could replace you.”

You open your eyes, just the slightest bit, and take Viktor in. Good god, he’s Viktor. He’s your Viktor. No longer the purest gold, but something new. Something better. Something life-bringing and something with infinite mercy.

“That is flattering, coming from you,” Viktor says. “You could have anyone you want – anyone across twenty-four universes. And you chose me, in every single one? That is the highest praise I could receive.”

You breathe out a laugh as your eyes shut again. “Shut up.”

“Eh… if you continue to act like this, I don’t think I will,” he teases. In a softer, warmer tone, he adds, “Your face is getting warm, too. I can feel it.”

You groan and hide your face in Viktor’s hands further. Even though you act like you hate it, you’ve missed this – you’ve missed this immensely. His teasing, his compliments that make you feel like you hung the sun, the moon, and all the stars by yourself. 

“Maybe you’re just getting warmer in general,” you say softly. “Maybe you’re getting better.”

“I have gotten better,” Viktor says, his voice light. “In our universe… I… I have touched the Arcane. I have been healed, and I am a healer. A herald into a new, better world – not only for the Undercity, but for the whole of Piltover.”

You shift his hands so that they’re resting on your cheeks and open your eyes, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “That sounds nice. I’m… sorry you had to do all that without me.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Viktor asks. “It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know. I just…” You sigh. “I blamed it all on you, and I was angry. Real angry. But it wasn’t your fault – it wasn’t anyone’s. I was angry and I took it all out on the memory of you.”

“Do you really think I care?” His voice is soft as he swipes a thumb over your cheek. 

“No,” you admit after a moment. “But, still…”

“You are occupying your mind with the past and what-ifs,” Viktor says. He draws a hand over your scalp, his fingernails lightly digging into the skin there. “Focus on the here, the now.”

You shudder and melt into his hands. Your eyes, though still closed, sting with a fresh wave of tears. 

“I missed you,” you choke out. 

“You’ve said that already,” Viktor says. 

“I can’t say it enough,” you say, your voice sticky and wet. “I was your champion in the arena. I was your personal knight. I was the chieftain of your armies. I was your tool, your instrument. And you were my everything.”

“You are my everything,” he says. His tone is so sincere and heartfelt that it makes your throat seize up. “Why would you ever doubt that?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “It–it’s just that, all these memories… I was so many people, and so were you. And some things blur together, and it gets hard to differentiate everything, and…”

You groan and lean into Viktor’s touch. You glance up into his eyes, still opaline. “Everything got so complicated so fast. I just wanted you – the real you.”

“It’s okay, my love.” His hands move to hold your jaw, to draw you closer. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“But I feel like I have to,” you say. “I just… I just want you back. I wanna go back to the Viktor I know. I wanna go home.”

“We can go home,” Viktor says. “I can take you home.”

“Then take me home,” you say, almost too quickly. “Viktor, please.”

“You don’t have to beg,” he says. There is no teasing or hidden malice in his voice. He just wants you home, too. 

Viktor’s hands slide to the back of your head, his palms almost cradling your skull. He presses his fingers down and tilts your head forward, towards his. Your eyes flutter shut as your forehead touches his. 

It’s white. It’s the bright, cleansing light of some sort of heaven. Heaven? Haven? You’re not too sure. You’re not sure you can bring yourself to care, either. Not when you’re here – not when your Viktor is in reach. Not when you can touch him, hold him, talk to the one you love. The one you’ve been pining for, fighting for, losing and winning for. From somewhere between sixty years and eternity, you’ve been wanting him. And now he’s here. Your Viktor is here. 

It’s unbelievable. Your Viktor is here. 

The memories of your past lives, the former realities you’ve lived, meld and blur into distinct feelings. Visual memories blend into base emotions. A warrior’s pride. A traveler’s wanderlust. A teenager’s excitement. A knight’s confidence and courage. A chieftain’s insecurity cloaked as hostility. 

They melt away into contentment. A gentle wave lapping at a quiet shore. Acceptance. 

You are healed. 

You are home. 

[theminiartblog]

Back w another ask!!

What were Emmy and Desmond's initial reactions to meeting Aurora? Their time with Aurora was complicated and I could see them feeling a bit more personal responsibility for what happened to Aurora before. Does that complicate things or do they see her as a different person from the get-go?

Thanks for you answers! I love this au sm, it's so so good!

I’ll say that they both took it as well as they could, Emmy a little more so than Desmond, but it was startling at first for both of them.

Emmy was warned in advance, via letters from the Professor, but she couldn’t help when the name tumbled out of her mouth upon actually seeing her; only for the young girl, unfamiliar with the stranger before her, to ask how she knew her name without introducing herself, aha! When enquired loosely about events of the past and if she remembered her at all, when the consensus was no, Emmy took it at face value and slowly but surely let it go. There are plenty of people out there with look-alikes, look at Luke and Cive, it's just an added bonus that they bore the same name as well!

Desmond on the other hand looked as if he’d seen a ghost. There's always been some lingering guilt over the events of the Azran, and for things to be looking up, only to run into this… doppelganger of a girl, he wasn't sure what to do or say. But I continue to realize I'm still not too confident in my own characterization of him to elaborate much further :') He never really voiced his opinions, though Hershel made sure to check in with him.

He'll keep all his emotions right here *points to chest* and then he'll die.

Desmond is glad to hear she's doing well for herself, reincarnation or not, but they don't talk much if he can help it. Maybe they'll get closer over time, but he's just not ready yet.

[plaidos]

sorry. it is early in the morning and i falsely equivocated trans man and trans masc. genuine mistake on my part. that other anon wasnt me but the post they referred to was the one i was talking about. its not relevant anymore but i still dont think that my example was that much of a stretch (femboys being an identity generally associated with both gay men and transfemininity) but my point was that they both rub me, personally, the wrong way in similar way. im sorry if it came across as harassment. i hope you have a good day.

to be honest, i don’t have any particular problem with trans men identifying as lesbians — to be entirely frank, i wouldn’t have a problem with a cis man identifying as a lesbian either (and a lot of people do — which is part of the actual asymmetric problem here). what i have a problem with is the systemic community wide resistance to analyse Why this happens and What It Means for the trans/lesbian communities.

the truth is, trans men who identify as lesbians primarily do so because they do not want to let go of the benefits of the social technology of the identity. and part of that benefit to identifying as a lesbian assigned female at birth is nigh-universal perceived authority over TMA lesbians, who are basically always considered to be outstaying our welcome (or close to it).

like, there is a double standard as to which masculine-presenting people with a “complicated relationship to gender” are allowed to identify as lesbians, and that double standard is pretty much entirely based on assigned gender. like there is absolutely nothing stopping somebody who identifies as a cis man having a “complicated relationship to womanhood & lesbianism” and yet i don’t see people tripping over themselves to let femboys into the lesbian community… maybe it’s time we addressed why instead of just blurting “it’s valid to be a trans man lesbian” every thirty seconds

[styllwaters]

Hailing from the harsh planet of Ettera, Knights are the only sophont in the Zhagaviit system made of two consciousnesses. ---

At last, here they are! Nearly finished with redesigning every Vivere 44 species. These guys are retconned werewolves which I posted about some time ago. You might have noticed I brought back some space unicorn aspects as well! They've been through so many design changes but I've finally settled on something solid.

More information below!

I'll try to keep this concise. Most of this info is introductory biology.

Knights are the only sophonts living on Ettera, a mostly barren planet where survival is tough. Their civilisation is the least advanced compared to others in Zhagaviit, such as Arrows and Sea Crawlers. They were the third species to be contacted by the ZGC (Zhagaviit Galactic Community) followed by Post Humanity. Knights are known for being hardy, efficient, and motivated.

If it isn't already clear enough, Knights are two species in a symbiotic relationship acting as one individual. Helmets and Hosts have an evolutionary history so intertwined that one cannot survive without the other.

The Helmet is attached to the head of the Host, and will remain there for the rest of their life (unless separation happens - but we'll get into that later). In the relationship, their role is vision and dexterity. Since the Host is effectively blind, it is the Helmet's job to guide them. Their hands are also important, being the Knight's primary manipulators. They played a large part in early tool use. The Helmet lacks a mouth, and receives all its nutrients from the Host through a specialised organ not unlike an umbilical cord.

The Host is essentially the main body of the Knight. Wolflike and mammalian in nature, the Host is the Helmet's mode of transportation. Because they need to eat for two, Hosts are omnivorous and will eat just about anything. Although majority of their diet is comprised of meat, they are capable of digesting plant matter and bones. They are highly skilled and effective hunters.

It is in both party's best interests to assimilate as soon as possible. The Host cannot see without a Helmet, and within a few weeks bonding will become impossible. The stakes are higher for a newborn Helmet, because they cannot feed by themselves and will starve in under a week without a Host or an artificial feeder tube. Prior to first contact with the ZGC, Knights did not have the technology for artificial feeders, and infant death rates were high.

So how do two beings coordinate one body? The fact is that once assimilation occurs, they become one being. The Helmet's brain and the Host's brain are connected by millions of nerves exchanging signals. It's complicated, but the best way to describe the experience would be a 'mutual trance' in which full body coordination is achieved. They have shared interests and intentions. However, a Knight can mentally separate the Helmet and the Host, gaining back individuality; they do this for many reasons, perhaps to discuss something among themselves or simply for company. Yet on the whole, a Knight will spend 80% of their life in this 'trance'.

Both Helmets and Hosts have noticeable sexual dimorphism. Male Helmets are called Pikes, and females are called Guards. Pikes are distinguished by their horn, bold stripes, and more prominent crest spines. Guards lack a horn and have less contrast in their thinner markings.

Female Hosts are called Forts. They are larger than males and have a mane of fur on the back of their necks. Male Hosts, Spires, lack this mane.

In Knight society, individuals are usually referred to based on their combination of Host and Helmet. Since there are four sexes involved, there are four possible combinations.

Guard-spire [female Helmet, male Host]

Pike-fort [male Helmet, female Host]

Guard-fort [female Helmet, female Host]

Pike-spire [male Helmet, male Host]

(Knight languages have their own version of pronouns for each, but in English all are referred to as they/them by default. Of course, each individual has their own preferences. Usually a Knight will refer to themselves as we/us).

____

I'll get into Knight social structure, cultures and more in another post! For now, if you have any questions, feel free to send an ask. Always happy to answer!

[lkfarrout]

I've always been a bit confused why Stan would want to wear his father's fez and suit. Why he would want anything to do with the man who never took the time to play catch with him, who made him stand outside with the "extra Stan" sign, who would list his faults at Passover, who kicked him out onto the street...

and I realized that, despite all the bad that Filbrick did, Stan probably still just... missed him.

We, as the audience, know the bad things that Filbrick did, and I'm sure he did many more bad things. But I think he also did some good. He cared enough to put Stan into boxing and teach him to defend himself. He probably taught Stan how to run a business by having him work at the pawn shop. Stan probably has positive memories of his dad. We as the audience feel no remorse for Filbrick because of the abuse he committed, but Stan was a child. And children bond with their caretakers, and we have to accept that Stan cared enough about his father to not burn his belongings as soon as he saw them.

I think the other solution to this dilemma is that, when Stan first came to the shack, the man he saw there was vastly different from the twin he grew up with. He was surrounded by strange technology and cryptic journal pages, and those belongings of Filbrick's that he found in the shack were a reminder of the Ford he once knew - moreso than even Ford's belongings, except his glasses, of course. They were a connection to their childhood and to all the memories he had with Ford.

Family relationships are complicated, yall. I'm so glad that in the end, Stan got the family he so desperately wanted and clinged to for so long. And I'm glad the fez has happier memories tied to it now. Stan gave it new life and made it his own, and passed it to his own "son", who will do the same.

[emese-of-void]

I have so many feelings about the psychic autism creature from Scavengers Reign.

It's such an interesting idea to have a creature with telepathy but not human level intelligence. Having Kamen in his mind doesn't mean that he now knows everything Kamen knows, but it does change him in really destructive ways. Kamen's complicated feelings about the Demeter filtered through Hollow seem to translate to indiscriminate anger towards all technology - the emotions are there, but not the comprehension.

Another thing I really liked is that mind control is presented as quite bening in its natural context, and also that it's purpose is so simple and so easily achievable by other means. It's so typical of evolution to not only solve the same problem in many different ways, but also to solve it in wildly extravagant ways. Trying to reach food high up? How about claws, flight, mind control, shock waves to shake the branches. Why not. Just irrepressible abundance.

I've been trying to figure out the potential evolutionary function of Hollow's kind absorbing their symbiotic critters. I think this could be super useful if the ecological niches of Hollow and the tripod creatures only partially overlap. And there are times when the tripods are in distress or desperately lack some nutrients or something. Hollow took Kamen in when he was clearly in distress, and after Hollow was completely focused on actions driven by Kamen's feelings, not even feeding. So the critter is kept alive and safe, and through the mental link Hollow knows what it is they're in distress about and can get them to the right place. That is such a neat adaptation! And potentially really flexible, allowing Hollow to create symbiotic relationships with different species. Maybe originally it started as a gestational adaptation. If the environment was unpredictably hostile it could be useful to be able to give birth to young but then, uh, unbirth them I guess, to keep them more safe temporarily.

The problem is, Kamen's needs aren't evolutionarily driven, and Hollow has no way of fully comprehending them or achieving them.

Oh man, the scene where Hollow lies down next to Fiona's body. Kamen doesn't know and Hollow doesn't comprehend, and it's killing them both. It's like Kamen completely abandoned his responsibility to be present in the world and act upon it, but his will is still acting on the world in a blunt and uncomprehending way through Hollow. Which as far as the addiction metaphore goes, yup, that's pretty spot on.

I'm so happy that Hollow got a happy ending. For a moment when he was melting away to reveal Kamen I thought that they were going to treat him as just a container for a human, a violent problem to be solved with violence. I should have trusted the show to be kinder.

Hollow is just a little creature, he shouldn't have been forced to try to understand concepts like self loathing or divorce, and now he never has to ever again.

[chronicbeans]

Queerplatonic Alastor x Reader Headcanons

Hehe my plan of writing headcanons for various Aroace-spec identity Alastor headcanons has begun. This one is with a cupioromantic and asexual Alastor in mind. I haven't seen enough of them, and as they say! "If you want it done right, you gotta do it yourself."

TW: Frustrations regarding romantic identity, complete unawareness of certain LGBTQ+ topics (my man's from the 1920's, he's almost completely in the dark), slight yandere behavior? (I feel he's just obsessive by default, regardless of the relationship type)

• So, this man has never necessarily identified himself with any sort of LGBTQ+ labels. Back in his day, there weren't any terms to use for being asexual or aromantic. At least, not any that he knew of. He's always been comfortable with his sexuality, though! His main thought process was always "I'll probably find someone that I'm attracted to at some point, and if I don't, that's alright." That thought process has also followed him down to Hell, and stayed the same for all these years.

• However... Whilst he's very comfortable with his sexuality... His romantic feelings are very complicated, now. He's always desired to have one, and he's very confused as to why he hasn't felt any romantic attraction, yet. It makes sense that someone who wants a romantic relationship to be able to feel romantic attraction, yes? He's very much in the dark to the complexities of how these things really work, mostly due to him being from the 1920s-30s. He's caught up on slang and technology, but he hasn't bothered to keep up with sexualities and romantic identities, as he doesn't think about them much.

• So, does he ask any more modern demons and sinners for help? Ha! No. He's too prideful, and simply assumes that there probably isn't much of a difference in knowledge on romantic attraction as compared to his day. Yes, he's aware that there's way more identities for sexualities. People talk about them often, and he hears terms thrown around here and there as he walks through Hell. He never hears anything in regards to romance, though. It's simply not talked about as often, from his experience. So, he's completely in the dark. If anything, he's probably completely unaware that there are identities for romantic attraction.

• He does what he can to cope. This whole situation is very frustrating for him. However, at the same time, he thinks that it shouldn't be so frustrating. So, it's embarrassing to him, and he doesn't tell anyone about it. Instead, he does what he believes everyone who is single and ready to mingle does: reading romance novels. More specifically, he flips to parts where said attraction is described, or little scenarios that he wants is going on. Restaurant dates, walking through the park, dancing, holding hands and cuddling. Those sorts of things! Things nobody would ever expect someone as unhinged as him would want...

• The most frustrating part, however, is that he feels he should already be feeling such an attraction to you. You, being his most close friend. You're the one he trusts with certain secrets, one of the few people he doesn't mind touching him unprompted (besides, say, Niffty), and probably the only person he lets his smile down around. Though, he rarely does so, as he doesn't want to worry you. Unlike Niffty, who he sees as having a more familial feeling towards, he sees you as a close friend. His closest friend, but just a close friend, which frustrates him to no end.

• It takes him a long time to even think of mentioning it to someone. However, when he does, he'd feel too awkward to bring it up to you. So, he decides to speak to Charlie about it! After all, she has one of the more "modern" relationships. So, she probably also knows something about whatever is going on with him! And after the long and grueling process of talking to her? He comes out even more frustrated than before. Being unable to feel romantic attraction, but still want romance? Cupioromantic? It is all so confusing. However, he won't question it. He's clearly out of his zone, and he was horribly wrong when assuming the world of romance hadn't progressed...

• You, however, are his most trusted friend. His closest friend. So, he decides to waste no time in deciding to propose an idea to you. He's heard of these things called "queerplatonic relationships", and his understanding is that they are like friendships, but with some more traditionally romantic interactions involved. Which, whilst his understanding of the nature of queerplatonic relationships may be a bit off, he's trying his best. Once you explain it a bit further, emphasizing that they're closer relationships than friendships, but not romantic and can vary widely in affectionate interactions, he is immediately is set on trying to start one with you. Luckily, though, you agree rather quickly.

• Despite him wanting many of your interactions and ways of showing affection to be more traditionally romantic, such as cuddling or going out on friendly dates, he won't cross any boundaries. Both because you're his closest, most prized relationship with another person, and because he can't think of many other people who would even be willing to enter such a relationship with him if he ever asked. Not that he'd want to ask anyone else. There's a reason why he immediately went to you. It's hard for him to describe it, though. Despite being a man of words, whenever he tries to explain why he feels like you are the perfect person for him to enter this queerplatonic relationship with, he stumbles heavily.

• His little ideal for this relationship is, essentially, the types of things he's read in the romance novels he has. Sure, a little bit of a twisted version of it, but at it's core it's the same. He wants to cuddle in a nice, safe, and warm room (while there's probably the screams of an extermination going on the background). He wants to go to restaurants (this man's a cannibal so check your food). He wants to do the cheesy move of handing you red roses and candy as a gift (do not ask how he was able to buy such an expensive brand, or where the two large, heavy trash bags came from or what they are filled with).

• He's going to be very, VERY protective of you. Almost, if not completely to an obsessive degree. He knows how Hell is. People want power, and he's powerful, and you are close to him. He's sure many people are going to go after you, in order to get to him. So, your little relationship is going to be as well protected of a secret as it can be, at first, until he believes he can properly protect you from any danger. And after the secret is out, he's going to be right by your side the entire time. Literally. Whenever he can be, he's next to you. Nobody, except maybe Vox or another pesky overlord, is going to try to hurt you as long as he is there. Even then, he could completely destroy them, anyways!

[cyborg-squid]

I wanna talk for a minute about Secunda (Underflow) and Irene for a minute, and I don't mean just in the shipping sense (though that's great as well), it's something that's come up before with the other Abyssal Hunters (and extends to Aegir culture as a whole), and it's dance and song.

Dancing is such a big thing for Laurentina, it is both combat and communication for her, a clearer way for her to communicate when lucidity could be snatched away from her at any moment. In Gladiia's files, dancing is a show of Aegir's refinement and elegance, of it's great triumph as a civilization; not in the realm of pure science or combat, but in culture. Skadi, less tied to dance, but more so to song and music, incredibly so. "A hunter is walking on seacoast way♪". And Ulpianus too, with his 'test to see if you're still human' revolving around his Hunter's abilities to memorize and carry a tune. Being able to is, quite literally, proof that you are still human. And despite Andreana not being an official Abyssal Hunter (when are they going to address that?), her module story still describes an almost physiological reaction from her when she encounters the hunters singing on deck.

Gladiia's dancing is also mentioned in reference to regular balls that Rhodes Island seems to hold, and Irene's dialogue also mentions them, which reads as Irene trying to get closer to Gladiia and the other Hunters. And when we get to Underflow's files, Irene fully says that "it wasn't until I saw the Hunters dancing that I began to understand your culture". And that's not the only way, we see at the beginning of Path of Life, Irene noticing some aesthetic similarities between Milarium and the Stulifera Navis, including the 'Hands of the Saint/Little Handy', witnessing some of the origins of her culture's golden age, right? Because Iberia's Golden Age is quite literally brought about through the technology and efforts of 'Islanders' like Breogan, and now Jordi (this is what "Golden age will return again" means to me), and Irene recognizing what Iberia and the Inquisition 'took' from the Aegir in the past will enable it to conduct itself better in the future.

And this is part of what ties back into Underflow, the fact that it is Irene who invites Secunda to dance with her, at these balls specifically. And this is the part that almost makes me cry for some reason, despite dance being initially tied to the Abyssal Hunters, it's not them that extend that to her despite her past connection to them, it's Irene, for whom dancing was also 'learned'. You get it, right, that Irene is able to offer to Secunda what the Abyssal Hunters (and maybe the Aegir nation) were not?! Of course, this is not their only point of connection, they've both had to hunt down those that have 'turned' from their respective societies, they've been confronted with human-Seaborn hybrids (in Tullia and Garcia) and understood them, and both have complicated mentor relationships, with both respective mentors hoping for their pupils to find their own 'truth' instead of blindly following them.

Oh! Oh! I almost forgot! It doesn't stop their either! We have Irene extending out too Secunda, and we also have Secunda, of her own accords and effort, getting into landdweller 'culture', specifically through food, that great bridge of peoples. And with coffee in her module, it's kinda funny how it's presented extremely scientifically, but she also still considers the less effective landdweller stimulants to have lessons worth conveying to Aegir. Even the fact that her long cooking stints are a habit she brought over, and there they could just "upload whatever new creation they think up", the fact that she leaves the food in storage for others is still sharing it, part of her expression and part of her culture, even if she's not communicating with you directly.

[jinxed-sinner]

I am simultaneously terrified and excited to see Alastor and Vox's backstory honestly. On one hand Viv said it's "complicated and sad" but on the other I swear I remember Amir Talai said ITS SAD ON ALASTOR’S SIDE? (don't quote me on that I remember seeing something about it but can't find anything about it)

What the fuck did Vox do? He's not the type to take any accountability for a relationship not working out (whether it's romantic or not), is he blaming Alastor for something that was entirely or mostly his fault? Is Vox the main reason Alastor hates modern technology so much? Was Vox stalking Alastor before the series ever started? Was Vox ever NOT a fucking weirdo towards Alastor?

I have so many questions that I genuinely want answers to but at the same time I'm terrified to know the answers. Like I want to know what makes them "sad and complicated" but I ALSO DON'T because I don't know if I'd be able to emotionally handle it and it literally gives me butterflies every time I remember it's even going to be expanded on in the show itself

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ when i'm alone ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by @lokotrona11 ˚₊ ⊹

ft. peter pevensie x f! reader — the chronicles of narnia

╰₊✧ peter meets a bookworm who makes life in london a bit more bearable┊1.3k words (prt two coming soon)

setting: england after the golden age contains: exposition, first meetings, strangers to friends, minor blood & injury & mentions of fights

➤ author's note: the very first narnia request i received!! there will be a part two that’s further into their relationship and includes more of the request, so please look forward to that (it will be better than this one, trust me, i just thought this meeting would be cute)!

to say adjusting to life back in england was difficult would be an understatement. although it was nice to see his mother again and the familiar landscape of where he grew up, it doesn’t change the fact that it was a complete accident as a result of them exploring during a hunt and going back towards the wardrobe’s tunnel in nostalgic curiosity. all of the siblings would be lying if they said that home had the same magic spark that narnia did with the gray skies and the nauseous smell of pollution, but at least they had the wonders of modern technology here like lightbulbs rather than wax candles. it was even a shock for them to remember that they are no longer the only humans in the world, that animals didn’t talk anymore, and that mythical creatures like centaurs and griffins were only real in fiction. however, the most difficult change for peter by far was the fact that he was no longer the king of a fantastical land, instead he was now some nineteen-year-old boy who wasn’t taken seriously and was often told to go off and do literally anything else that isn’t meddling in adult affairs. it’s common knowledge that he was always very mature for his age since he’s constantly looking out for the younger ones, but it was such a drastic change for him to already be acting like he was in charge of everyone after just a few weeks in the countryside and even wondered what the eccentric professor must have taught him for him to come back acting all high and mighty.

he’s tried so hard to go back to being a normal boy, yet he struggles to hide the regality in the way he acts and the air of superiority he holds. the other former royals are used to his behavior even before being crowned, but soon he found himself isolated from others his age no matter how close they were previously and getting into physical fights with anyone crosses him. he was no longer used to holding his head low when disrespected and now that he’s had a taste for being held in high esteem, he would no longer tolerate it and was now known as a troublesome person whom most people steered clear of.

although his family was concerned for him, peter didn’t seem to have cared less about how quickly his reputation plummeted and he spent his days as a loner. he often found himself exploring the city’s largest library instead of playing sports or getting a job since no one wanted to hire a rebel, reading through overly complicated books about portals and other dimensions. he knew that science wouldn’t be able to explain the phenomenon that he experienced since it was magic, but studying up on the subject made him feel a little bit better that there were other people around the world exploring the subject.

the entire section dedicated to this field of knowledge was in a far corner quite a ways from the entrance, a dusty little space a tad bit darker than everywhere else, and never had a soul near it which made it the perfect place for him to brood and be alone for the most part. the only other person he saw there occasionally was you, someone he only saw through passing within school hallways and heard about receiving academic prizes all the time. while classes were out, he fully believed you had already read all the books in the building. you were there from the moment the sign was flipped to “open” until the moment the librarian told you it was closing time, never thoughtlessly roaming around since you always walked with purpose knowing exactly what you were looking for, and often seen carrying books that towered over your head threatening to tilt over.

despite seeing you every single day, he never really had the chance to talk to you. you seemed so… untouchable… like you didn’t have the time or place to spare for people who weren’t in your schedule. he wonders if he used to appear like that to others back in narnia when he was rarely approached by anyone who wasn’t one of his siblings, but at least he had the excuse of being a high monarch— what was yours? it was the first time he found himself curious and thinking about something else that wasn’t his former life.

turns out, peter’s chance came to him when he least expected it and when he was in his most vulnerable state: freshly bruised and cut up after a fight with a gang of middle schoolers over stepped-on toes. he’s landed himself in this situation countless of times yet still never learns his lesson to leave it alone before it escalates. fortunately, he got to witness the satisfying conclusion of the leader getting dragged away by his mother, but he was really the one with the egg on his face when he barely managed to get in a single punch while he ended up with a busted lip. to say he was pissed off was an understatement, but frankly, emotions that weren’t anger or longing didn’t come to him much anymore. he didn’t want to get a scolding from his family about he should have been more careful again so he wandered back into the library to take care of himself in his usual corner, unwittingly catching your eye on his way and leading you to him.

neither of you said anything when you walked up to him with a first-aid kit in hand as you used your eyes to ask for permission to patch him up and he simply nodded to grant it, the silence being more tense than awkward. you wrapped bandages around his aching knuckles, applied ointment to his wounds, and uttered nothing but a “hold still” when he hissed in response to the sharp pain of hydrogen peroxide on his lip. he didn’t even feel your skin against his, just feather-light touches that tickled him slightly as he intently looked at you while you were focused. he’s never seen you up close before so he took the opportunity to study your features, slowly realizing that he developed a crush on you at some point and immediately straightening his posture to act like he wasn’t staring when you glanced back at him.

“you’re… the guy who’s always reading about different dimensions, right? your name is... peter?”

“yeah… that’s me.” he's surprised that you knew anything about him at all, much less his name and the books he was reading. considering that you were always in your own little world, it meant that you paid more attention to your surroundings than he originally thought.

“have you visited any other realms lately?” your tone was serious, but the absurdity of the question made it sound like a joke.

“you wouldn’t believe me, it sounds ridiculous.”

“really? i’ve heard all kinds of tales, i doubt it would be even close to the worst one.” you weren’t sure why you were the first to start the conversation when you never cared for your peers or what they had to say before.

“well… it all started when we left for the countryside and my youngest sister wanted to play hide and seek…” he wasn’t sure why he was telling you about the wardrobe and narnia when he refused to open up about it to anyone other than his siblings, but it felt right to do it. at best, you’ll believe him and he’ll have someone to talk to. at worst, a cute girl will think that he’s crazy.

neither of you were quite sure about the reasons behind this conversion, but perhaps there didn’t need to be one as long as it felt like the right thing to do.

request [ I didn't find your requests so I'm writing to you here 😅 I wanted to ask Peter falling in love with a bookworm (they only see each other in the library in the last hallway and she's shy and all that) (in the second movie) in London, as if she were the one capable of removing his anger for a while and Peter felt calm with that little girl. (If you write smut with +18 at the end or just fluffy, whatever you choose) ]

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

𖦹 ࣪˖ ◂ To The Future⊹ ˖ ࣪✦

WHAT IF!! | Diana Prince, The Wonder Woman, and her wife had a baby? But the problem is...how?

Synopsis; Diana loved you, and in her love, there was everything you needed: an infinite calm in her arms, a refuge in her words, and a future full of promises they didn’t yet know how to write. Together, without haste, without fear, only with the whisper of a love that grew day by day, building a home that needed no words, just shared glances and fleeting smiles.

Pairing ── Diana Prince x Wife! Reader.

Content. MDNI ── Fluff, Mentions of pregnancy, babys, elements of experimentation, mild angst, themes of family, and emotional vulnerability.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish— A flood of posts is coming. Honestly, I've always wanted to write about Wonder Woman x reader (my inner lesbian speaking U.U) — she's my true "Hear me out" moment.

There always comes that inevitable point in relationships when the conversation turns to family. But in your case, we’re not talking about just any relationship. No, you’ve been happily married for three years to none other than Wonder Woman herself. The impossible dream of any average mortal, and here you are, sharing your morning coffee with the Amazon princess while debating whether the coffee should have sugar or not.

Then, one day, you notice it. At first, it’s small, subtle gestures. Maybe she takes you to the park on any random Saturday, and suddenly her eyes shine a little too brightly when a couple with a stroller walks by. “Isn’t it adorable?” she says, pointing to the baby who’s sleeping like it’s dreaming of cotton clouds. Or maybe, while shopping at some store, she stops in front of a mannequin wearing a tiny Wonder Woman costume, complete with a miniature tiara. “Look at this,” she says, holding it up with a smile. “Don’t you think someone in our family would look perfect in this someday?”

And then there’s the direct talk, as only Diana could do it. Straightforward, but with that sweetness that disarms you. “I’ve been thinking,” she says one night while you both watch the stars from the terrace, her hair gently waving in the breeze. “You and I… we could be wonderful parents.” And even though she says it seriously, there’s a playful gleam in her eyes.

But of course, this is Diana, Wonder Woman. For every serious conversation, there’s an avalanche of charmingly chaotic moments. Like that time she taught you how to hold a baby using a sack of rice because, according to her, “a warrior must be prepared for any situation.” Or that other time, during dinner with Clark and Lois, she launched into a philosophical debate about whether their baby should have an Amazonian, human, or Kryptonian name “just in case”—leaving you with your face completely red.

The problem came later, when you both looked at each other one afternoon in the Batcave, in front of a whiteboard full of equations, diagrams, and something that looked like a drawing of a baby with a cape, made by you in a burst of nerves. Yes, that was the tricky part: how.

The conversation with Batman was, in short, awkward.

“Let me see if I understand,” Bruce said, massaging the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “You want me to use my resources, technology, and—oh, I don’t know—my few hours of sleep, to figure out how an Amazonian and a human can have a biological child.”

“Exactly,” Diana replied, crossing her arms with the naturalness of someone who had already defeated gods. “Why are you making that face? You’ve done more complicated things.”

“Not with babies involved.”

Meanwhile, you tried not to make eye contact. After all, how do you explain to a man who spent his life as a dark knight that you now needed him for something so… personal?

Despite his reluctance, Bruce agreed to help. But not without conditions. “This doesn’t leave the circle. Not a word to Clark or Barry. Ever.” His look was so severe that even Diana raised an eyebrow, amused.

J’onn J’onzz, on the other hand, was a little more kind when consulted. “It’s a fascinating topic from a scientific perspective,” he said with that alien calm that seemed to come from centuries of Martian patience. “Though I must warn you, interdimensional hybrids aren’t a widely explored field.”

“Thanks for the optimism, J’onn,” you replied, glancing sideways at how Bruce and Diana argued about whether Amazonian genes could overpower normal humans.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of experiments, consultations, and technology that seemed straight out of a science fiction movie. J’onn led the genetic analysis, while Bruce applied his methodical obsession to create a viable procedure. Every night, Diana came home with a detailed report and summarized it for you with a mix of enthusiasm and seriousness.

“Bruce says we might need a Kryptonian catalyst,” she said one day, as if she were talking about what to have for dinner. “Do you think Clark will mind if we ask him for a hair sample?”

By the time everything was ready, you were already used to the strangest conversations of your life. But when the time came, when Diana held your hand while J’onn and Bruce confirmed that their plan would work, you couldn’t help but smile. They had achieved the impossible.

And so, with the help of a grumpy dark knight and a Martian with infinite patience, your dream of starting a family with Diana began to take shape. Because, in the end, if there’s one thing that heroes understand better than anyone, it’s that no challenge is too great when it comes to love.

The months flew by, and with each one, the Batcave became a second home for you and Diana. Every week, you would enter the dark, cold sanctuary of Gotham, where Batman, or more specifically Bruce, waited with an air of seriousness and a look that made you feel like you were participating in a high-risk operation. And in a way, you were.

Diana, although more than capable of facing the universe’s greatest threats, couldn’t help but show a completely human vulnerability when it came to her baby. At first, she tried to hide it, but every time Bruce, J'onn, or worse, Tim, began to review the baby’s growth with that scientific look, her face would tense. Tim, the Robin at that time, was so meticulous that he seemed to enjoy measuring every aspect of the baby’s development more than anyone else, as if he were calculating the exact moment a future superhero might crawl out of the crib and start kicking butt.

“Everything seems to be in order,” Tim said, again and again, checking the monitors as if it were a game. Diana smiled, but you could see her fingers interlacing with Bruce’s, looking for some sign of support. Bruce, meanwhile, kept observing in silence, calculating every possible scenario with a sharp mind, but also a little bit of affection hidden between his words.

“If Tim tells you it’s fine, it probably is,” he said with his voice tone that left no room for doubt, but that, to you, sounded strangely reassuring. He wasn’t used to showing many emotions, but when Diana couldn’t help but bite her lip, he noticed.

Every time Bruce and Tim gathered to review the baby’s growth, she would remain still, as if waiting for a verdict. “Is everything okay? Is this all we hoped for?” she would ask from time to time, even though the answers were already quite clear.

And then, the day came.

It all happened in the blink of an eye: a quick trip to the Batcave, followed by a torrent of emotions that no one could have anticipated. Diana, calmer than you expected, held the baby with a softness that only she could have. And there it was, the little being that had been the center of so many scientific consultations, now wrapped in the warmth of the woman who had carried it in her womb.

“It’s a girl,” Bruce murmured, his deep voice but with a rare warmth. “Welcome to the world.”

Diana’s smile was as bright as the sun. Her eyes, always so firm, were now filled with infinite sweetness as she looked at her daughter, who slept peacefully in her arms.

If it was a girl, things were simple. She could grow up on Themyscira, surrounded by the peace of the island, with the ancient warriors and her grandmother, Hippolyta, to guide her. The aunts would also be there, and they could teach her the secrets of her lineage, as well as her mother’s story. Diana could freely take her to the island and watch her grow in an environment of love and power.

But if it was a boy… the rules were different. Although Diana’s love, yours, and her grandmother’s would be endless, they couldn’t take the little one to Themyscira for now. The island, a place of ancient traditions and mystical protections, wasn’t the best place for a human child at the moment. There were too many dangers and secrets still to be understood, and Diana knew the boy would need a larger, more complicated world before he could be part of that sacred refuge.

When J'onn confirmed the gender, Diana's relief was palpable, and although the joy of holding her daughter was absolute, there was also a slight shadow of concern at the thought of what might have been if it had been a boy.

But as the hours passed and the little being with bright eyes and a peaceful smile woke up, Diana leaned over her, whispering with unconditional love, “Everything will be fine. The world will be ours to give her.”

And as the little girl snuggled against her mother, both knew that no matter what the future held, their family had already begun to take shape. With Diana’s love, yours, and the support of all the heroes around them, the little being would grow up in a world full of protection, love, and adventures that would undoubtedly surpass any challenge.

A/N ── Since I was little, when I lived in a messed-up country, Wonder Woman has always been one of my favorite heroes. I have other heroes I love too, but with Diana, I kneel and pray, no kidding! She’s so gorgeous, especially in those fanarts of Buff! Wonder Woman… God, she drives me crazy, I adore her to the core. It’s like my heart is a suit of armor about to crumble because of her!

[thesoftboiledegg]

"Unmortricken" was a lot. In fact, it might have been a little too much.

To start, I loved the glimpse of what exists outside the Central Finite Curve. The visuals were stunning and reminded me of M.C. Escher's drawings. The Jetson-like family was a nice touch--if anything can happen, who says they can't have different animation styles? All those colorful portals make me wonder what's lurking just out of sight.

It's also funny that the space outside the Curve is full of Rick's favorite thing: crystals. If he took a trip there, he'd come back with his pockets stuffed with gemstones.

Evil Morty's reappearance gave us a decent character study. Since he wasn't the antagonist, we saw him interact with the C-137s as a regular person. Morty's a little impressed, and Rick has a grudging respect for him. Others have called Evil Morty the Rickest Morty, and I agree: similar intelligence, similar technology and similar bloodthirst.

I was glad that he left in the end because that's what his character arc is about anyway. He doesn't want to be part of anyone else's story, not even another Morty's.

However, that's also part of the issue that I had with this episode. Seeing Evil Morty was great, but it was also a little...pointless? You could've had the same story without him. He's not working with Prime, and he has no ties to C-137 after "Rickmurai Jack," so it felt like the writers just said "Hey, you know what would be cool?"

I'm not against writers having fun and giving the audience what they want. "Spider-Man: No Way Home" (yeah, groan at me, Marvel haters) is fan service in blockbuster form, and it was one of the best theater experiences I've ever had.

Still, if Evil Morty came back, I think he should've had a separate episode. The episode juggled C-137 Rick, Morty, Evil Morty and Prime Rick pretty well, giving them satisfying interactions with each other, but no Evil Morty would've meant more relationship development for the C-137s.

Evil Morty's backstory also didn't reveal much about him. I mean--yeah, we all figured that he had an abusive Rick and got fed up. The fact that he had a "regular" Rick instead of a deranged lunatic does make a point about the banality of abuse. Monsters aren't always raving maniacs who torture people in their basements. Ordinary people can wear you down with a slow drip of toxicity and neglect.

I enjoyed this episode, and Evil Morty's return was exciting, but cramming the series' two biggest antagonists and storylines into twenty minutes was a little overwhelming. New plot developments kept showing up, too: Rick found Prime! Prime's various lairs! Omega device! I would've preferred a two-parter.

I'll admit that if you told me that we'd see Evil Morty and Rick Prime in the same shot, I never would have believed you, but here we are.

On that note, Prime's characterization was perfect. No attempt at a cutesy, sad backstory; he's a laughing monster until the end. And is it really the end? He has regeneration abilities, but C-137 acts like he's dead and even gives up the search. This leaves us with a few options:

C-137 killed him.

Prime fooled C-137 into thinking that he's dead when he isn't.

C-137's keeping him alive for later use.

Hopefully, this is more complicated than it looks because I'll be disappointed if this is the end of Prime. He's a brilliant reflection of C-137: the Rick he'd be without his tiny shred of humanity.

And Prime's a maniac, but he tells C-137 the truth. Rick broke into Prime's house. He pretended he belonged with this group of strangers. He latched on to Prime's grandson because he never had his own. His brutal, violent streak never went away no matter how long he tried to play house.

Prime says "Admit it! You would have been me!" In season three and parts of season four, Rick was close. His love for his family--love that he pretended he didn't have--and desire for their approval just barely pulled him back. But what kept that spark alive? How close was he to becoming a cold, unfeeling shell?

In the end, C-137's not satisfied after he destroys Prime--and weirdly, I'm not satisfied, either. Beating Prime to an unrecognizable pulp doesn't bring Rick's original family back. It doesn't erase the atrocities that Rick's committed. It doesn't make his grief go away. It doesn't change the fact that Rick teetered on the edge of turning into the monster that he despised.

What's more satisfying is that Rick didn't turn out like Prime. His Morty doesn't give two shits about Prime, but he loves him. He hugs him in relief (come on, Rick, hug him back already!), cries out "Rick? Rick!" and shakes his body when he thinks he's dead, and talks excitedly as they return home.

Rick's going to therapy, which Prime would have mocked. He went from having nobody to living with FIVE kids if you count Morty and Summer. Even he and his Jerry are pretty tight.

Rick knows this, but he still feels empty all the time. Vengeance doesn't work, drinking doesn't work...wouldn't it be easier if he just switched off his humanity and laughed at everything, even his own death?

But now that he knows how it feels to be loved, especially by his hypothetical grandson, I think he'll always find himself at the Smiths' doorstep.

[kathlare]

rebuilding bridges

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando joins Amelie’s father and brothers for a round of golf, aiming to rebuild their trust and strengthen his connection with her family.

Wordcount: 2.4 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

June 18th, 2024 - London, United Kingdom

The early morning in London was gray and drizzly, a typical British day, but Lando couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. It had been a while since he’d seen Amelie’s family, and despite the years of friendship and the undeniable connection they had, he still felt the nervousness of trying to make a good impression.

He had flown in for a meeting at the McLaren Technology Centre, but today, he had a free day. And on that free day, Amelie’s dad, Elías, had invited him out for a round of golf. Amelie had warned him about the family’s sense of humor, about the way they poked fun at him, especially her brothers, Callum and Jack. But after everything, after the awkwardness of getting back together after their complicated past, Lando was eager to rebuild those bridges with her family. They had been so close to him before, and it stung when they all seemed distant, uncertain about his relationship with their daughter.

He arrived at the golf course early, a bit too early, trying to avoid the typical awkward small talk that always seemed to be his downfall. When he stepped out of the car, a gust of wind ruffled his hair, and he immediately regretted not grabbing a jacket. The cold London air was different from the warmth of Monaco, but the familiar feeling of being in the UK made him nostalgic.

Walking towards the clubhouse, he was greeted by Elías first, the older man smiling warmly at him, offering a handshake that lingered a bit longer than usual.

—Lando, good to see you, son,— Elías said, his voice gruff but filled with sincerity. There was a softness there now, a kind of acceptance that hadn’t been present before. —Glad you could make it. I know the family’s been looking forward to this.—

Lando returned the handshake, feeling a sense of relief wash over him as Elías's firm grip held him steady. It was a good start, at least. The older man’s presence was warm and reassuring, and it made Lando feel a little more at ease.

—It’s good to see you too, Elías,— Lando replied, a bit of a grin pulling at his lips. —I’m looking forward to it. Been a while since I’ve had the chance to play with some proper company.—

Elías chuckled, nodding his head as he gestured towards the others who were starting to gather near the course.

—Well, you’ll be playing with some of the best. You better keep up, or we’ll never hear the end of it from Callum.—

Lando’s stomach flipped at the mention of Amelie’s oldest brother. Callum was, well, Callum—intense, serious, and always with a sharp sense of humor. The one that would take every opportunity to poke fun at Lando, and at the same time, make him feel like he had to prove himself.

Lando smirked, glancing towards the group. —I’ll do my best, but I’ll warn you now, I’m not losing to any of them.—

At that, Elías let out a hearty laugh, slapping him on the back. —Good. That’s what I like to hear.—

Just as they were about to head towards the golf carts, Callum came walking over, the tall figure of Amelie’s older brother flashing a wide grin. He was dressed in a polo and khakis, looking every bit the part of a seasoned golfer, and his presence was enough to make Lando's nerves tingle. The man’s sharp eyes locked onto him immediately.

—Well, well, if it isn’t the McLaren golden boy himself,— Callum teased, clapping Lando’s shoulder a little too hard for his liking. —Ready to lose, Lando? I’m not going easy on you today.—

Lando let out a tight laugh, trying to match Callum’s energy without letting it show how nervous he felt. —You’re on, mate,— he said, grinning. —But don’t get too cocky. I’ve been practicing.—

—Uh huh, sure you have,— Callum snickered. —I think I’ll have a little bet on this round. You’re not going to embarrass yourself in front of my family, are you?—

Lando’s cheeks flushed slightly, the friendly jabs cutting just a bit too close to the awkwardness he had felt in the past, when he wasn’t sure where he stood with them. —I’ll hold my own, don’t worry, Callum,— he said, forcing a confident smile. —But if you want to put money on it, I’m game.—

Jack, Amelie’s big brother, appeared beside Callum with a sarcastic grin of his own. He was a few years younger than Callum but had the same mischievous gleam in his eyes that Lando had always found intimidating.

Jack's voice carried across the green as he approached, his tone dripping with playful challenge. —I’ll bet you a round at the pub that Lando’s gonna choke halfway through this round,— he teased, nudging Callum with his elbow.

Lando could feel the heat rise in his cheeks, a familiar feeling of being under the microscope that he had grown used to over the years with the family. But this time, there was an edge of determination in him, a desire to prove himself. It wasn’t just about winning; it was about showing them that he was still worthy of being part of their lives—especially now that he was with Amelie.

—Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass myself. But I’m not sure about you two,— Lando replied, his voice light but with just a hint of bravado. He gave a quick wink, trying to keep the atmosphere casual despite the nerves that were still bubbling beneath the surface.

Callum’s grin widened. —We’ll see, won’t we?—

—Oh, we will,— Jack added, giving Lando a knowing glance. His playful smirk never left, and it was starting to feel like they were setting him up for something.

Lando's attention was briefly pulled away as Checo and Joe strolled up, both of them looking relaxed and ready to play. Checo clapped him on the back with a friendly grin.

—You good, Lan?— Checo asked, his voice low and warm. It was clear that Checo knew Lando's nerves well by now, having spent enough time with him in similar situations.

Lando exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the nervousness. —Yeah, yeah. Just… trying to make a good impression. You know how it is.— He shot a quick glance at Amelie’s brothers, who were still giving him their usual teasing looks.

Joe, who had been quietly observing, gave Lando a comforting smile. —You’ve got this, mate. They just like to mess with you. It’s how they show affection, I think.—

Lando raised an eyebrow. —I’m not sure I’d call this affection, Joe. They’ve been going at me since I arrived.—

Joe chuckled softly, shrugging his shoulders. —Trust me, it gets better. Just play your game, and let them jab all they want. They’re testing you, but if you hold your ground, they’ll warm up to you again. Besides, if it gets too bad, you’ve got Checo and me here to back you up.—

Lando smiled gratefully, appreciating the support from Joe and Checo. —Thanks, I’ll try not to get thrown off. But… if I hit a bad shot, I’ll probably be hearing about it for days.—

—Don’t worry, you’ll hit plenty of good ones too,— Checo said, his voice light. —Just focus on the game. You’ve been playing for years, remember? You’ve got this. And if not, we can always blame it on the weather.—

Lando snorted, shaking his head. —I’ll hold you to that. If I lose, it’s definitely the weather's fault.—

The group made their way to the first tee, where they all took their positions. Elías, still in high spirits, stood nearby, ready to call the shots and make sure everything was running smoothly. Callum and Jack were already jockeying for position, pretending to strategize while clearly just trying to outdo one another.

As Lando prepared to take his first shot, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of the moment. The pressure to impress wasn’t just about the game; it was about being accepted back into the fold, about showing Amelie’s family that he was here to stay. He took a deep breath, feeling the cool breeze against his skin as he focused on the ball.

—You’ve got this, Lando,— Checo called out from behind him, offering a reassuring thumbs-up.

Lando smiled at the encouragement, his hands steadying as he lined up his shot. When he swung, the ball soared through the air, landing in a perfect spot on the fairway. The sound of it hitting the grass was satisfying, and a small surge of pride went through him. He glanced over his shoulder at the others, who were all watching intently.

Callum raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. —Well, well. Looks like someone knows how to play after all,— he said with a smirk.

Lando gave a nonchalant shrug, trying to play it cool. —What can I say? I’ve been practicing.—

Jack smirked, stepping up to take his turn. —I’ll believe it when I see it.—

As the round continued, Lando felt himself loosening up. The teasing from Amelie’s brothers was relentless, but there was something different about it today. It wasn’t as cutting as it had been in the past. There was a certain camaraderie starting to return, a sense that maybe they were finally accepting him back into their fold, even if they were still trying to find the balance between teasing him and showing respect.

By the time they reached the back nine, Lando was starting to feel more comfortable. He had held his own, and though Callum and Jack still joked around, there was a sense of mutual respect beginning to form. Checo and Joe had kept things light and fun, offering subtle encouragement when needed, and Lando appreciated it more than he could express.

During a break between holes, Lando found himself walking alongside Amelie’s dad, Elías, who had been unusually quiet up until this point. The older man glanced over at him, offering a nod of approval.

—You’ve been doing well out here, Lando,— Elías said, his voice steady, but there was a warmth in his tone that immediately caught Lando’s attention. —I’ll admit, I had my doubts about you for a while. Not as a driver, mind you—you’ve always been good at that—but as someone who deserves to be with my daughter.—

Lando’s steps faltered slightly, and he quickly recovered, glancing over at Elías. His throat felt tight, and he wasn’t sure what to say. Elías didn’t seem upset, just reflective.

—I get it,— Lando said softly, finally finding his voice. —I didn’t handle things the right way before. With Amelie. I was… I was young and stupid. But I’m not that guy anymore. I care about her. A lot. And I’m trying to prove that to her every day.—

Elías studied him for a long moment, his dark eyes sharp but not unkind. —I can see that. She’s happy, you know. I haven’t seen her like this in years. You must be doing something right.—

Lando let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his lips curving into a genuine smile. —Thank you. That means a lot.—

Elías chuckled softly, patting Lando’s shoulder as they reached the next tee. —Don’t let it go to your head, though. The second you mess up, you’ll have me, Callum, and Jack on your case. Got it?—

—Got it,— Lando replied quickly, grinning. —No pressure, right?—

—None at all,— Elías said with a wink, stepping aside as Lando prepared for his next shot.

As the day wore on, the atmosphere grew more relaxed. Callum and Jack continued to joke around, but their jabs had softened into something almost fond. It felt like old times—like before everything had gone wrong between him and Amelie. By the time they reached the 18th hole, Lando was starting to feel like he was finally winning them over.

When the round finished, the group gathered near the clubhouse, laughing and sharing stories. Callum handed Lando a pint, smirking as he raised his glass.

—Well, Norris, you didn’t completely embarrass yourself. Consider me impressed,— Callum said with a teasing grin. —I’d even go so far as to say you might just be tolerable now.—

Lando rolled his eyes but clinked his glass against Callum’s. —Coming from you, that’s practically a declaration of love. I’ll take it.—

Jack laughed, leaning against the bar. —Don’t get too comfortable, though. This doesn’t mean we’re going easy on you next time.—

—Wouldn’t expect anything less,— Lando replied, his confidence bolstered by the small but meaningful shift in their tone.

Checo, who had been watching the exchange with an amused smile, stepped in to lighten the mood. —Alright, alright, don’t scare him off. He did well today. Let the man enjoy his moment of glory.—

Joe nodded in agreement, raising his glass. —To Lando, for surviving a round of golf with this lot. That’s an achievement in itself.—

The group chuckled, and Lando felt a wave of relief wash over him. The tension that had lingered between him and Amelie’s family for months was finally starting to dissolve, replaced by a sense of camaraderie that felt genuine. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.

As they wrapped up their drinks and began to head out, Lando’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a message from Amelie.

Ames💛: How’s my Lan doing? Survived the gauntlet with my dad and the boys yet, or should I start preparing a rescue mission? 😘

Lando couldn’t help but smile as he read the message, his chest warming at the familiar teasing tone. He could picture her perfectly—probably sitting in her trailer on set, her hair done up for the cameras, and that mischievous little smirk she always wore when she was winding him up.

He quickly typed back, his fingers moving over the screen with ease.

Lan🧡: Barely survived, but I think I’m winning them over. Your dad even gave me a compliment—well, sort of. But if you wanna send a rescue mission, I wouldn’t say no. Missing you. 🧡

As he hit send, Callum leaned over his shoulder, peeking at the screen.

—Is that Amelie?— Callum asked, his tone dripping with mock curiosity.

Lando turned off his phone screen quickly, shooting him a glare. —Nosy much, mate?—

—Aw, don’t be shy, lover boy,— Jack chimed in, grinning as he leaned on the bar. —What’s Ames got to say? Probably sending you some motivational speech to keep you from choking in front of us.—

—Actually,— Lando said, straightening up with mock confidence, —she said I’m doing great and that you two should be nicer to me. Direct orders from your sister.—

Callum snorted. —Yeah, right. If anything, she’s probably telling you not to screw it up. Again.—

The playful jab stung, but only for a moment. Lando took it in stride, forcing a grin as he sipped his pint. —Well, I didn’t screw up today, did I? So I guess I’m off the hook. For now.—

—For now,— Elías interjected, stepping back into the group with a calm but firm smile. —But don’t get too comfortable, Lando. This family’s got high standards, and you’ve got a lot to prove.—

Lando nodded, his expression serious now. —I know, sir. And I don’t take that lightly.—

There was a pause, and for a moment, the weight of Elías’s words hung between them. But then the older man’s face softened, and he gave Lando a small nod of approval.

—You’ve done well today, Lando. Keep it up.—

The quiet affirmation felt like a victory, and Lando couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. —Thank you. I will.—

Checo clapped him on the back, breaking the tension with a wide grin. —Alright, let’s not scare the kid off. He’s already survived more than most would with you lot. Let’s call it a win.—

Joe raised his glass in agreement, offering Lando a friendly smile. —Yeah, you’ve earned a bit of a break. For today, at least.—

Lando chuckled, lifting his own glass. —I’ll take it. Cheers, lads.—

As they all clinked their glasses together, Lando’s phone buzzed again. He glanced down to see another message from Amelie, and this time, he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face.

Ames💛: Proud of you, Lan. And I miss you too. Can’t wait to see you again. 💛

Lando slipped his phone back into his pocket, his heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. The day hadn’t been perfect, but it had been a step in the right direction. And as he stood there, surrounded by her family, he felt a sense of hope that maybe—just maybe—he was finally finding his place again.