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existslikepristin · 3 years ago

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Please, No Virginity Puns

The most recent thing I posted before tumblr. It was on Choerry's birthday, and I am proud of that.

Tags: TheLounge, Loona, Choerry, male reader insert, it's her birthday!, 100% butt stuff, I ate a thesaurus

~~~~~

It didn’t matter what you had to say anymore. Choerry was already on top of you, nude and keeping you muted with her tongue. How did you get there?

Well, moments prior, you were sitting next to Choerry at your small dinner table. She’s always insisted on sitting as close to you as possible in order to enable near-constant snuggling. It’s gotten a little annoying here and there, but you can’t help but concede to her innocent demands whenever she smiles.

Of course, and not that you’ve ever complained about this, that’s not to say that her demands aren’t always entirely innocent. Most of the time they are, but not always.

That day, for example, you woke her up with breakfast in bed. It wasn’t tradition, but you were just getting her back for the last time she did it for you. And what better day to present her, prone, with a pancake, pulverized potato, and porridge parfait platter… with toppings… than her birthday?!

It can be hard to tell if Choerry is acting or not at times, but you’d like to think that her cartoonish level of enthusiasm for the treat was entirely real. She carried that sunshine throughout the rest of your day, skipping through the park, greeting everybody on the way to, inside, and on the way out of The Lounge, at the surprise party that you helped all of her members get her with, and when she dragged you to her room.

Not a drop of alcohol had touched her lips that night, so it was all the more surprising when she shoved you onto her bed and stated matter-of-factly-but-also-vaguely that she wanted you to put a thing in her butt. Her words came out of her mouth like shimmery soap bubbles.

You had to pause for a moment to process her words. You were certainly up for some sexy times with Choerry. You had anticipated it was going to happen when she put your hand down her pants near the end of the birthday party with no attempt at subtlety. But her exact word choices had you rubbing your temples out of exasperation, even as she stripped herself down to her ridiculously cherry red lingerie.

Your chance to admire that rare view was lost to history, however. She removed the lingerie from her body while she claimed your lips. Your disappointment at not getting the opportunity to remove it yourself quickly faded when she popped back up though.

Her breasts were as perky as her attitude, and also your dick. She was quick to notice the latter and made quick work of your clothes too. She sighed satisfactorily at the sight of your sword and stooped to supply it with a suck and some slickening slobber, so you suspected the sex was starting summarily; more swiftly than standard, it seemed.

Concerned for her well being, you made sure to ask if she had lube available. Again, you weren’t going to complain about her gusto, but she lacked the anal experience that some of your mutual friends had, at least you assumed. Sure enough, there was a bottle mere feet from her reach in her drawer. She grabbed it and jumped back on top of you, pouring it generously over her ass crack and your cock with surprising accuracy for someone so engaged with a hot and heavy kiss.

You were sure you had something to say on the matter. Perhaps some additional words of caution, maybe some other words of encouragement. It didn’t matter what you had to say anymore. Choerry was already on top of you, nude and keeping you muted with her tongue. How did you-- come back around to the exact same thought that the story began with?

“It’s okay, right?”

You attempted to blink away your stupefaction. “O-okay?”

“Mhm! For me to… you know!” She leaned in and whispered directly into your ear, “Put your penis in my butt.”

Ah, yes. The demand that you had nearly forgotten in her flurry of kisses, now slightly reworded to include your dick in the equation. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just checking!”

“We’ve… done this before.”

“I know!” Choerry swooped back in to continue kissing you, implying that she had no intention of expounding further. Her fingers wrapped around your cock, massaging the whole length to ensure that the lube had maximum coverage.

Your breath caught as you felt her readjusting you, tapping you around between her legs as she tried to match you up with her intended target purely via exploration. Your cock was ground between her ass cheeks, the tip slid over her clit, and dipped briefly into her pussy. A groan was the only complaint you could give to only being given a half second of her fantastic heat.

You didn’t have to wait long to get it back. Her ass opened up to the pressure she applied against it with your dick, but exceptionally slowly. Choerry released a series of little exclamations into your mouth as she pushed. She tossed the lube bottle to the side and snatched your hand, curling her fingers into your palm.

Finally, the last pop came, and was followed by a short slide. With no more manual guidance necessary, she grabbed your other hand as well, which promptly slipped out of her grip considering the amount of lube present.

Choerry released you from your kissy bliss to look at her slippery hand, a mixture of anger and amusement on her face. She tried a couple more times to hold your hand with it, but you liked this look. You easily slithered your hand out from under hers every time she slapped down. It was like watching a cat trying to catch a laser pointer.

It was just another reminder that no matter how deep inside Choerry you may physically be, she’ll never stop bringing a goofy-ass smile to your face.

Finally, you relented and entwined your fingers with hers, locking your knuckles together so you wouldn’t fall apart. She glared down into your eyes, but a grin still crept through. “Thank you,” she said, lips tight and nose scrunched up.

With you fully in her grasp, Choerry straightened herself up, allowing you the opportunity to look up and down her sublime figure. Though her movement caused her to cause you to penetrate her a bit further which caused her to flinch slightly, she kept herself aloft on her knees to not go too far all at once. She closed her eyes and took a series of deep breaths there, as calmly as if she was meditating.

As much as you wanted to go ham on her ham, you didn’t want to hurt her, so you contented yourself with watching her chest rise and fall. “Happy birthday…” you whispered.

“You’ve already told me that today,” Choerry intoned, eyes still closed like she was drifting off into her own little world.

You laughed. “I was saying it to myself! Have you seen you?”

She smiled again, and said three words in a voice that made it seem like she was speaking to an audience on the edge of their seats, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Her fingers constricted around yours, so you questioned if she was, in fact, ready. But you wouldn’t be the one to stop her.

Choerry’s tight tush trucked its way toward the top of your tower twice to tighten her take on the task at the time, before torturously trending testicle-ward. She temporized without taking your entire tool.

So hypnotized were you with her graceful movement that you didn’t even notice the frustrated moan coming up your throat until it was too late.

Her eyes popped open. “I’m sorry!” She sounded like she meant it, too. “This is… tough.”

“Take your time,” you said, straining your voice for comic effect.

“Could have used that four paragraphs ago,” she said, continuing her extremely slow descent down your shaft.

The odd statement distracted you just long enough for Choerry to finish her drop. No longer did space separate your pelvises. You grew concerned again when she winced and bit her lip from the inside.

“Choerry, we really can do something else. Don’t hurt yourself please.”

She gave you an exaggerated, indignant gander. “Rhetorical question: Who gets to choose the cake on her birthday?”

You held in your “cake” joke.

“It’s me,” Choerry’s voice was far too chipper to make this talking-to sound as stern as you were sure she wanted it to come across as. “As birthday lady, I get to pick the cake, and I get to feed it to you if I want to.”

You held in your “cake feeding” joke.

“And tonight, the cake I pick is my bum.”

You opened your mouth to comment on her most excellent selection of the word “bum” in the midst of a scenario where your cock is fully inside of said bum, but you instead gasped a sharp breath.

Choerry ground forward, pulling your dick with her and anointing the lowermost part of your stomach with the juices being lightly sprinkled from her clit.

“Besiiides,” she continued, re-angling her hands to she could tickle the backs of yours, “We have all the lube! Even some that’s got a certain special flavor to it!”

“Just some?”

“Yeah, ooh,” she crooned, apparently quite enjoying the grind back down your pelvis, “I didn’t get it all at once. Now guess the flavor!”

You waited for her grinding to pause again to be able to think straight, “Does it start with a ‘C?’”

Her smile grew. “Yes!”

“Is it a fruit?”

“Yes!”

“Is it… cherry?”

“Failure!”

“Wha--”

“It’s coconut!”

If you weren’t so established in your hand holding with Choerry, you’d have palmed your face. Thankfully, thoughts of how she could have possibly expected you to guess that were pushed to the back of your mind as she resumed her removal of your breath with a series of fanciful body rolls.

Finally fucking her fanny felt fictional. For while not the first foray there, far-fetched was the philosophy that it was fielded often, the front being the favored fornication fissure for the foreseeable future. Unless, of course, you could make this an especially special session.

But woe was unto you. Choerry had the upper hand(s) figuratively as well as literally. But, perhaps, you thought, this was exactly what she wanted and you could wait your damn turn to take control.

And you liked letting her anally probe herself this way, so, you know, what were you to do but enjoy the ride?

Over the course of her self-imposed ravaging, Choerry’s meditative breaths became ragged. Her eyelids fluttered at regular intervals. Through it all, she held her phantasmagorical demeanor. A couple of times she reached for the lube bottle and shotgunned it somewhat inaccurately between her legs, but it did the job. You were happy to see that she was still considering her own comfort.

In fact, to your surprise, her mouth opened wide in a silent shout. Her core trembled anticipatorily. Her hands held yours with a colossally increased lewdness. And those two mystical words trickled from her tongue with a high-pitched susurration, “I’m… cumming…��

Choerry’s grinding came to a grinding halt. Her body jerked and she fell onto you. Your cock sprang free of her ass in, and as a result of, the same motion.

You untangled one of your hands to stroke her back in the most adoring fashion you could muster. After chewing on a thesaurus for the prior hour, you were sure neither of you really needed any more words.

She stayed there for a spell, and you were happy to let her. It was so late it was nearly no longer her birthday, but her birthday it still was. She deserved the rest, along with the rest of your undivided attention.

Her whole movement consisted of her back going up and down as her lungs attempted to revive her fighting spirit, and her thumb lovingly shifting over the divinatory lines on your palm. You wished she would do something about her hair plastered on your chin, but ninety-nine percent of paradise is paradise enough.

You were disappointed when Choerry rose once more, slimily straddling your stomach. She detached her hands from yours to give the hair on either side of her face a good backward flick over her shoulders, and she sighed with contentment.

It was a shock to hear her speak again after such a prolonged reticence, but her unerringly cheerful voice was entirely welcome nonetheless.

“More please.”

You couldn’t then, and you still can’t help but concede to her innocent demands. Her smile just touched the corner of her lips. Sure, some of her demands aren’t so innocent, but… How did you get here again?

#loona smut #kpop smut #choerry #male reader insert

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makeste · 4 years ago

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I really want to know your opinion on this : do you think OFA's secret should be shared with more than just Bakugou? And if so, who? I really love your weekly reactions (you're hilarious) and your metas (you're so articulate!!!!) (´｡• ω •｡`)

first of all, thank you so much! ( ॢ•͈ᴗ•͈ॢ)

as for your question, it’s a bit complicated. my answer is both yes and no. I’ll start with the “no” part, I guess.

so here’s the thing: I absolutely, 100% fully support All Might’s decision to keep OFA secret. I really can’t stress this enough -- this is not something they were keeping hidden for funsies. “the Power Of All Might is something that can be shared and passed on from person to person, and he gave it to a fifteen-year-old boy” is not just something to be spread around lightly; if it got out to the wrong person, it could literally destroy Izuku’s life.

to the villains, he becomes a target, as we’ve already seen. we’re talking about the power of All Might for fuck’s sake. of course he’s a target. it’s the one power that can stand up to even All for One himself. villains would be coming after him pretty much every day of the week. if they don’t know about the “OFA can only be given up willingly” part, they simply try to take the quirk by force. but if they do know about it, that makes it even worse, because that’s when they start getting into methods of coercing him. hostages; torture; you name it. give us OFA or we’ll kill these innocent people. give us OFA or we’ll hurt your family and friends. his mom would have to go into hiding. he would never be safe again.

to the general public, and to agencies like the HPSC, Izuku becomes the subject of heated political controversy, and a potential government pawn. how could All Might do something so irresponsible as entrusting the greatest power in the world into the hands of a quirkless fifteen-year-old?? now the world is left without its Symbol of Peace, and with no one who’s ready to step in and fill those shoes. why didn’t he give OFA to someone with more power, more experience? this is unacceptable. Izuku should give it up to someone else. Hawks, or Best Jeanist, or Endeavor. people are very easily whipped into a frenzy; all it would take is a few viral opinion pieces, and the nation would probably be demanding the government to step in and force Izuku to relinquish it. some citizens might even take it upon themselves to try and capture him if they got desperate enough. even the other pros would probably be pressuring him. as for the HPSC, I wouldn’t put it past them to try and take control/custody of Izuku themselves and claim that it’s a matter of national security or whatnot. they’d have the best of intentions of course. just trying to keep the world safe. but they’re trending much more Hydra than S.H.I.E.L.D. these days, so who knows how badly that could end.

to Izuku’s schoolmates and friends, he becomes one of two things; either the object of mistrust or envy, or else someone to be protected at all costs. for most of them it would be the latter, since they really are good kids. but there’d be some people -- not in his class perhaps, but it’s a big school -- who’d no doubt be echoing the same thoughts as the public at large. he doesn’t deserve it, he’s not strong enough, etc., you get the idea. and if and when the villain attacks and threats -- “give us OFA or else” -- inevitably began to crop up as mentioned, all of the blame would fall down on him. “just give it to someone else who can handle it. why are you so selfish. this isn’t just about you; you’re putting everyone else in danger.”

and for the ones who don’t turn on him, who stay by his side and defend him, there’s still the fact that doing so puts them in danger as well. these kids are heroes. and if you entrust a hero with something that must be protected at all costs, they will protect it. at all costs. which is yet another burden to add to Izuku’s shoulders as now it’s not only his own safety he has to fear for, but that of his friends and loved ones. and if anything happened to them because of him, that’s not something he would ever get over.

so yeah. it’s insanely dangerous. and none of the above is even taking into account that there is a traitor at U.A., and they still don’t know who it is. so given all of that, it’s no wonder All Might insisted that Deku keep it a secret. and then of course Deku went and told Kacchan anyway, which even Kacchan was mad about once he realized the gravity of what he’d been told. but at least Kacchan is someone Deku’s known literally as long as he can remember, and there’s virtually no chance of him being a secret traitor. the same cannot be said for almost anyone else. we all know that they can be trusted, yes. but All Might doesn’t know that. even Aizawa, who is the one other person I’d argue should still have been told, was still a prime suspect in the traitor investigation due to him being one of the few people who could have communicated the information about the class schedule and the training camp’s whereabouts. we know he is not the traitor. we know he would literally die for any one of these kids. but the other characters do not know that for sure, and even Aizawa himself would probably agree that the rational thing under those circumstances would be to trust absolutely no one, with no exceptions. it’s the safest thing to do for Izuku’s sake in a situation where there is relatively little to be gained from telling other people, and potentially everything to lose by doing so. again, we already know there is at least one person in or linked to class 1-A who is not what they seem, who has managed to earn the trust of everyone, and who is connected to the League. that is just not a situation you can afford to fuck around with. “well we really like all these kids a lot and we’ve gotten to know them and we’re pretty sure they’re all on the up and up” is just not good enough when we are literally talking about a matter of life and death for a sixteen-year-old child.

so that’s the “no” part of my answer. I don’t think the secret should be shared. or at least, that would have been my answer before Shigaraki Tomura woke up from his three-month nap and was all “GOD I REALLY WANT ONE FOR ALL”, and Endeavor was all “ONE FOR ALL WHAT IS THAT”, and Izuku was all “HEY MISTER ENDEAVOR SIR, JUST SO YOU KNOW, SHIGARAKI IS AFTER ME”, and Aizawa was all “I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but I too heard ‘One for All’ on the comm, and have also deduced that for some reason Shigaraki Tomura is targeting my student, because most of the time I’m the one who’s actually holding on to the two brain cells that all of the pro heroes collectively share.”

so now that all of that has gone down, I think the situation has changed enough where, moving forward, at the very least Endeavor and Aizawa will have to be let in on the secret. because if not, they’re probably going to start doing their own investigations into it and could wind up accidentally spilling the beans to EVERYONE. so at the very least they will (and should) know. and this also applies to anyone else who stumbles across this battle before it wraps up, and thus also starts putting the pieces together. I think this will be Shouto and Ochako and Iida, potentially, which I’ll be glad to see happen if that is the case. because even though I firmly believe not telling them earlier was the right call, that doesn’t mean I don’t want them to know about it. they’re his friends, and they’ve earned his trust and care about his wellbeing. I think and hope that they’ll understand why they weren’t told earlier, and I hope they don’t blame Izuku for it at all, because it absolutely is not his fault. he made a promise to All Might, and All Might, as I’ve stated, had very good reasons for keeping this on the DL.

and by the way, it also would not surprise me at all if in spite of all the precautions they’ve taken, the secret actually DOES get revealed to the world at large eventually. at which point I’m almost positive every single thing I mentioned above will come to pass, and Izuku will be in for one hell of a rough ride. the upside though is that at least he’ll have a bigger support network to help him get through it. and also he is a much stronger, smarter, and more capable person than he was even just a year ago, and he’s better equipped to handle it now than he might have been before. it’s much harder to argue “this child should not have been given OFA” when said child is now capable of using 45% power instead of just 5% and/or 100%-but-his-entire-body-gets-destroyed-in-the-process. also harder to argue when said child has since UNLOCKED THE POWER OF SIXQUIRKS which not even All Might managed to do, so suck on that!! of course, that in turn opens the door to suspicion about him being connected to AFO, which is a whole new set of problems. OFA really is just a humongous pain in the ass in a lot of ways lmao.

anyway, so I hope that answers your question! no I don’t think they should have told anyone earlier, but I do think they should come clean to a few people now, since they’ve basically been all but found out anyway. and I will be happy to have those people included in the OFA Scooby Squad moving forward. they’re going to have to get a bigger clubhouse though I guess.

#midoriya izuku #all might #one for all #bnha meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks #long post #deku meta

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c-is-for-circinate · 4 years ago

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Okay, so I’ve got way more reactions to P5 Strikers for a longer post later, but I want to keep playing, so I’m recording some thoughts and predictions after the first boss (and all the cutscenes thereafter) before they get derailed or confirmed by later events.

This is going to be a story about cycles of violence, I suspect. On the whole, I really liked how the game handled that with Alice: what happened to her was terrible and traumatic, and in no way excuses what she did in return. And Ann was still desperate to save her. I’m hoping we see more of that: understanding and also condemning, all folded in together.

Oh!!! And as I’m writing this, I’m thinking about how that ties in thematically with what I suspect may be the deal with jails and monarchs. See, palaces, we know from Yaldabaoth, were jails in their own sense--prisoners kept in isolation from the general population of Mementos and the Prison of Regression, shunted over into their own private little pocket dimensions where they could rule whatever they wanted. (And I have some more complex thoughts thoughts about the specific ways that system enables further violence by rewarding bad behavior, in terms of Yaldie’s motives and also reflections of the real world, but that’s another post for another day.) This, on the other hand, feels far more like the entire jail system is just big sprawling pocket remnants of that universal prison complex with all the wardens gone. Now individual shadows have clawed their way up to becoming monarchs over their own pockets, but being queen of your own jail still makes you in jail. The monarchs of these places, I suspect, will all be prisoners of their own pasts and the violence that taught them to turn to violence, which is a thematically cool way to do this and I like it.

Actually, framing it that way is making the whole concept of a cycle-of-violence P5 game grow on me. One of the things I honestly liked about the original P5 was that, with one notable exception, we never once gave a shit about the tragic backstories of the villains we took down. Sure, we’d learn a bit about them when we stole the Treasures, sometimes, but it didn’t really matter--because the important thing about each antagonist was the harm they are doing now, not forgiving them because of the harm done to them in the past. So I had a little bit of concern that this seeming reversal of that trend might veer off into too much sympathy for the aggressors, bur I’m thinking (I’m hoping) that what we’re actually getting is a look at how systematic violence can turn victims into further oppressors. And given that P5 was always a game about systematic violence, this ends up feeling like a natural progression rather than undercutting the original concept. Heck yes.

Speaking of systems of violence: yep, I am using social justice lingo when talking about this game, and no I do not think I am projecting or reading too far into it, because damn is P5S not remotely fucking around with how it feels about cops. Like, Zenkichi Hasegawa aside (and oh boy do I have thoughts on him), dear god do I love Haru sweet smile ‘Sorry, we just despise the police, is all!’ Okumura. Meanwhile, our hordes of faceless trash mob enemies are literally vaguely police-shaped Shadows in riot gear. We spent a major battle blowing up cop cars. Like. Persona 5 said prison abolition, to the tune of spending our entire game trying to break out of our metaphorical Velvet Room prison and boss-battling our final endgame through the cognitive prison of all society. P5 Strikers apparently said, ‘you know, we were too subtle last time, and also Fuck The Police.’

Okay and actually let’s talk about ol’ Zenkichi there (hell yes, team, you go right ahead calling this adult authority figure by his given name with no honorifics even in the original Japanese, I support you). My hope at this point is that we get his development as a parallel to the same things we’re seeing in these jail monarchs: as part of a cycle of violence. He’s clearly got some backstory if we’re meant to care about him this much, and it led him to this place of becoming a cop out of a desire to help or to hurt or whatever, but the road he followed brought him to this role of an authority figure with no issue manipulating, using, threatening, and borderline abusing his power over teenagers. (I say ‘borderline’ because he hasn’t moved beyond threats yet, but it’s pretty clear he wouldn’t mind doing so if necessary--we saw him beat up a drunk, so yep.) Which, can we talk about the parallels between that scene and Akira’s original confrontation with Shido? Drunk man harassing a woman, drunk man ends up on the ground. Except: Akira was alone on a dark street with only the three of them there, and Hasegawa’s surrounded by people who could intervene, help, or even side against him in court if anyone cared what they had to say. Except the drunk office-worker is clearly unimportant and unthreatening, while Shido was forceful in pride and anger even while drunk. Except Shido’s victim was terrified, while Ann is mostly just disgusted, surrounded by friends, in very little actual danger. And Akira never touched him, never pushed him, just took one step up to try and help. Zenkichi Hasegawa provoked a mostly-harmless drunk into attacking him for the excuse to punch him unconscious on purpose. Akira’s Shido flashback was framed in every way to show us the ways our protagonist was powerless. Zenkichi’s scene parallels it to show us a dozen different ways this man is powerful and unafraid to use it--not just against those he deems unworthy, but also, if he so chooses, over those he saves. I am really enjoying this guy as a character. Every single time the PTs have no use for his shit, I cheer. Him being unbalanced by the metaverse is glorious, and please let Morgana continue to freak him out by existing and Haru continue to freak him out with sweet, pleasant smiles while talking about how she’s very sorry, it’s simply that all cops are bastards, for the rest of the game. (Additional note: @errant-light and I have been watching and talking about a whole bunch of Fullmetal Alchemist lately, and apparently Hasegawa’s Japanese VA is also Roy Mustang. Which has just been a delightful detail re: this guy’s manipulative bastardry, because in some ways I am pretty sure the mass-murdering war criminal version of this character is the better person.)

Alice as a really obvious parallel to Kamoshida is interesting, I think. Even to the point of being a king and queen ruling a castle--and don’t think I didn’t see that “Birdcage of Lust” label! I don’t love having a pretty young social media influencer as our sin of lust (but even that’s complicated, because Alice was pretty clearly caged and abused for daring to feel lust in the first place, NOT for preying on people, except that then she did get predatory and it’s all a little thorny and not especially kink-positive). I do have a lot of feelings about Shujin as this place where Kamoshida abused and preyed on people with total abandon, while Alice was demonized for daring to even look at boys in the wrong way. I really wonder if they ever met. It’s a cool counterpoint, and a really cool counterpoint to Ann, who was likewise a victim of that school and refused to let it turn her into an abuser herself. (I have a LOT of feelings about Ann right now.) I’m really hoping future jail monarchs continue to mirror palace rulers in interesting ways. In theory, next up is vanity, and gosh knows there’s plenty to fuck around with in playing against Yusuke’s lonely artistic yearning to be understood. I’m very excited.

Apparently, the internet says this game takes 35 hours to play. Me and my 21-hour playtime so far have some Opinions About That.

#C plays persona #persona 5 strikers #what if I just became a persona blog #persona 5 #NO SPOILERS IN THE NOTES PLEASE

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

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Long Way From Home: Chapter 8

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

I’m back! Including this one, I’ve now got another five chapters written so we’ll be doing weekly updates again at least for the month of February. For those that haven’t been subjected to my chatting about it in discord or DMs, I write this particular fic in chunks that could almost be called arcs, before chopping it up into chapters, hence the sudden backlog. This section was only supposed to fill a small moment, not be an entire arc, but the boys disagreed with me on that so here we are.

Therefore, we have more playing around with the differences between the universes - particularly fashion, the TOS ideas of which are loosely based on the 1960s - a couple of familiar namedrops, and there’s a warning for a panic attack in this chapter, so watch out for that if it might give you trouble! I also know basically zero about Auckland, New Zealand, or correct communications between planes and airports, so sorry if there’s any inconsistencies here. Let’s just call it future advancements and an alternative universe!

<<<Chapter 7

The coastline of New Zealand looked more or less the same as Scott was used to when they finally arrived. The analogue dial of Other-Scott’s watch continued to taunt him, but if he had to guess, the journey had taken somewhere between one and two hours, and had largely passed in silence. Whether that was because Other-Gordon needed to concentrate on piloting, or simply because he was still holding up his promise of no more questions, Scott wasn’t sure, but he appreciated it regardless.

Being a passenger instead of the pilot was always an odd situation, and more than once he’d caught himself trying to shift imaginary controls in response to the clouds and air streams they passed through. If Other-Gordon had noticed, he hadn’t commented.

“Tango Alpha Ladybird to Auckland Air Traffic Control, requesting permission to land, over.” Beneath them, the city sprawled almost coast to coast, and Scott peered down, looking for familiar landmarks. Some of them were there, some of them were not. As low as they were flying – heading for the airport, no doubt – the Sky Tower should have been easily visible, but its distinctive shape was absent.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Sky Tower was a telecommunications tower, and he’d already discovered that this universe didn’t use the same type of technology that he was used to, so its lack of presence made sense. But it had always been there, built sometime before the millennium and a major aspect of Auckland’s skyline. He’d flown past it many times, and even used it as an unofficial navigation point.

For it to be not there, either destroyed or never existed in the first place, reminded him that no matter how familiar some things might be, he really wasn’t home.

I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, was a line famously quoted from an old movie. Scott had a bit of a soft spot for the Wizard of Oz – old fantasy films in general – but he’d never imagined he’d ever be playing the part of Dorothy.

At least Dorothy still had Toto, he mused sadly. If only he’d taken Mini-MAX with him on that mission, then maybe he wouldn’t be entirely alone… if Mini-MAX would even have been able to operate without a network to link into. Most likely, he’d have had nothing but the inactive husk of the small bot. Scott wasn’t sure if that would have been better or worse.

“Auckland Air Traffic Control to Tango Alpha Ladybird, clearance granted for runway four-bravo, over,” the radio crackled, yanking him back to the present.

“Tango Alpha Ladybird to Auckland Air Traffic Control, copy that, over,” Other-Gordon acknowledged. Scott watched him adjust their angle of approach accordingly and kept his mouth shut as the landing gear engaged and they gently touched down onto the tarmac scant minutes later. Other-Gordon visibly relaxed as soon as they were safely down, taxiing his way carefully over to a hangar emblazoned with a large T.A. As they entered, Scott could see several planes inside of various sizes and designs.

The one thing they had in common was the T.A. on their tails, identical to the letters on the hangar, and Scott found himself wondering what it stood for. Other-Gordon had used the same two letters as a callsign, and he eyed the nearest plane – a much larger one than the Ladybird – as Gordon rolled them to a gentle stop.

“What does T.A. stand for?” he asked, suspecting that Other-Scott would know that and having no wish to get caught out and face awkward conversations. This was the sort of information he’d tried to get out of his doppelgänger, but either he’d thought he would already know, or it was so basic he forgot about it.

The incredulous look he got from Other-Gordon as the man paused his post-flight checks suggested it was the former.

“Tracy Aerospace,” he said. “Dad’s company. Doesn’t it exist in your universe? I thought you said you were a billionaire!”

“I am,” Scott grumbled, “and it does, but it’s Tracy Industries.”

“Right,” Other-Gordon said, going back to the post-flight checks. “Rule number one: no talking.”

“Wha-”

“You look like Scott but you don’t sound like my brother and that’s something folks’ll notice, especially around here. The fellas on the ground know Scott well, so you’ve lost your voice. That’s the story.”

That made sense, but how was Scott supposed to tell Other-Gordon what he was looking for if he wasn’t allowed to talk? He asked as such as the younger man finished up the last of the checks and undid his harness.

The aquanaut just shrugged. “What are you after? Underpants… what else?”

Scott chose to ignore the not so subtle dig; it was getting old, but no doubt Other-Gordon wouldn’t let it go until he’d got changed, and likely not even then.

“Casual shirts, jeans and sneakers.” He repeated the list he’d given Other-Scott earlier and watched Other-Gordon’s face at the word ‘jeans’. He didn’t look particularly pleased, but Scott wasn’t going to back down on those. “Should probably pick up a hoodie or two as well. Pyjamas and shoes, too.”

“There is no way Scott said yes to a hoodie,” Other-Gordon frowned. “Hoodie and jeans? Those are workshop clothes; do you fellas really wear those?” Scott bristled, and he raised his hands. “Look, I am all for getting items that’ll make Scott go crazy, but I don’t want to be murdered in my sleep because the media thinks he’s gone cuckoo, so give me a minute to come up with a reason that won’t wreck his public image for the next decade.”

Scott frowned, but before he could say anything else, Other-Gordon grinned and pushed at his wrist watch. There was a dial tone for several moments before the string of numbers was replaced by Other-Scott’s face. The other man looked concerned and a little suspicious. Scott supposed he hadn’t been expecting the call, and an unexpected call from a younger brother was definitely cause for concern – especially when it was a Gordon.

“Hey there, Scott!” Other-Gordon chirped in a tone that immediately had Scott on edge, even though it wasn’t aimed at him. The faux-innocent, sing-song voice meant trouble, and he felt slightly guilty for whatever chaos was about to fall Other-Scott’s way.

Other-Scott dropped all pretence of concern and frowned at him in full-blown suspicion.

“You’ve only just arrived,” he said slowly. “You can’t have got in trouble already.”

“You underestimate me, brother dear,” Other-Gordon scoffed, before pulling a sickly-sweet grin onto his face. Other-Scott’s expression went from suspicious to mildly horrified, and Scott couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Gordon,” he warned, loud enough for the watch to pick him up. While he was all up for pranks, he couldn’t quite bring himself to let his counterpart be on the receiving end of one he was involved in. It felt uncomfortably like pranking himself.

Other-Gordon huffed. “You’re no fun,” he sulked, before turning back to the watch. Other-Scott, Scott was pleased to see, had lost the look of horror and was back in the realms of confusion. “Say, Scott, how do you feel about being a trend-setter?”

And the look of horror was straight back.

“What?” Other-Scott demanded. “Setting what trend? I’m not a fashion icon, Gordon! Set your own trends.”

Other-Gordon hummed thoughtfully. “That’s a fine plan, Scott, except anything I buy will be too small for him to wear, which somewhat defeats the objective.”

Other-Scott made a noise of frustration. “I told you, Gordon. Anything that ends up in the media is your fault.”

“Did you say that knowing your clone here wants hoodies?” Other-Gordon asked, eyebrow raised. Other-Scott choked. “Because he does and I know better than to try and talk him out of it.”

“Hoodies?” Other-Scott looked bordering on mortified. “Dad would kill me.” Something that could be guilt coiled in Scott’s gut; no matter what his feelings were about Not-Dad’s existence, the idea of Other-Scott getting in trouble with him on his behalf didn’t settle well. Other-Scott shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, Gordon, but what’s your plan?”

“I figured we could pass it off as experimentation,” Other-Gordon shrugged. “But you’re not well known for that so it would cause a stir.”

“You’re right about that,” Other-Scott mused, and Scott shook his head.

“I guess I don’t need one,” he offered reluctantly – he wanted one, but there was mildly inconveniencing someone and there was ruining someone’s reputation.

“No.” Other-Scott shook his head firmly. “We’ll make this work.”

“Well, it’s your funeral,” Other-Gordon muttered, before a grin slowly spread across his face. “You know, fellas, I think I’ve got it!”

“Do I want to know?” Other-Scott asked dubiously.

“It’s simple,” Other-Gordon continued as though his older brother hadn’t spoken. “We all know you wouldn’t willingly wear one, so we make it unwilling. Scott, you lost a bet.”

Other-Scott ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose that would work,” he conceded reluctantly. Scott could see the logic – short term embarrassment at the hands of a younger sibling would barely interest the media, but still explained why he was still in possession of a so-called workman’s outfit. “But I’m insisting on custom made. You are not coming back with some cheap off the shelf monstrosity.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Other-Gordon chirped in a tone that said he had been considering doing exactly that. “We should start moving now, though. Jones is coming over and I think he wants to know why we haven’t left the cockpit yet.”

“I can’t say I’m in a hurry to have you wrecking my reputation but you probably shouldn’t make Jones suspicious,” Other-Scott sighed. “Hey, wait – what is this bet I’ve supposedly lost, Gordon?”

“If you don’t know, Dad can’t yell at you for it later,” Other-Gordon grinned back at him.

“Gordon.”

“What, don’t you trust me?” the ginger asked, pulling a face of fake hurt. Other-Scott scowled at him.

“With my life, yes. Not with my dignity.” Scott could relate to that.

“We’ll see you later, Scott.” Other-Gordon didn’t bother responding to the veiled accusation before signing off, returning the watch to actually looking like a watch just as a young man crossed the distance between the neighbouring plane and the Ladybird. “Here we go, remember you’ve lost your voice and let me do all the talking.”

Scott had a sinking feeling that was going to be easier said than done, but obediently followed the other man out of the cockpit just in time for the man on the ground to stride over to them.

“Gordon Tracy, is that you piloting a plane?” said man called, shaking his head in amazement. “Why, I couldn’t believe my ears when they told me it was you of all people coming in to land that red beauty of yours!”

“Gee, laugh it up why don’t you, Jones,” Other-Gordon commented dryly. “I didn’t fly all the way here with the worst backseat pilot in the world to get flack from you, too, fella.”

The man – Jones – squinted at Scott and for a heart-stopping moment he thought the man had realised he wasn’t this universe’s Scott, before he burst out laughing. “Scott Tracy letting someone else pilot? Now I’ve really seen it all. Say, how you been, old chap?” He stuck out his hand and feeling rather like a deer in headlights, Scott took it for a firm shake.

“Ah, Scott’s not so good,” Other-Gordon intervened before the silence stretched long enough to be awkward. “He’s only gone and lost his voice, but there’s shopping to be done so yours truly got the short straw.” The ginger gave a theatrical wince. “Turns out not having a voice doesn’t stop a fella from backseat piloting like crazy. He insisted on checking over all my post-flight checks! I ask you; you’d think he didn’t trust me with a plane.”

Scott shot him a look. While no doubt if Other-Scott had really lost his voice that all sounded perfectly feasible, he thought the ginger was laying it on a little thick. Other-Gordon caught the look and rolled his eyes.

“Well Mr Just Because I Can’t Talk Doesn’t Mean I Won’t Be A Pain here seems like he wants to get this over and done with,” he told Jones. Not strictly inaccurate, Scott supposed, although that hadn’t been what he’d meant. Other-Gordon lowered his voice. “Truth be told, he doesn’t want to be here; lost a bet and doesn’t like the forfeit.”

Scott put a warning hand on his shoulder and Other-Gordon laughed. Jones joined in politely, almost as though he wasn’t certain what the joke was, or if he should be responding to it.

“I’d say that means ‘hurry it up, oh favourite brother of mine’,” Other-Gordon translated. “Lock her down for me, would you? There’s a good man.”

“Yessir,” Jones agreed. “Your usual car’s been prepared for you. Mr Tracy said you didn’t want a chauffeur today?” A chauffeur? No, Scott absolutely didn’t want one of those – it was bad enough being piloted by a brother, or brother from another universe, as it happened.

“Not today, Jones,” Other-Gordon confirmed. “I wouldn’t inflict Scott in this mood on anyone,” he winked, and the man gave another awkward chuckle. “I’ll handle it all today.” Scott jammed his hands in his pockets impatiently. “See you around, Jones.”

“Likewise, Gordon, Scott.” The man nodded at both of them and Other-Gordon led the way through the hangar unerringly to where a classic vintage-looking convertible was waiting for them. With the roof down, he could see it was a right-hand drive – of course, New Zealand drove on the left; at least that was the same – so without prompting he let himself in to the front left seat and tried not to be too obvious about staring.

Plane controls might have been the same, but cars apparently weren’t. If push came to shove, he could probably figure it out – the car was at least an automatic, not stick-shift – but he was quite content to let Other-Gordon take the wheel. Hopefully he wasn’t quite as chaotic as his Gordon behind the wheel.

He wasn’t. At least, not by Scott’s standards. He was, however, still the fastest car on the road, overtaking other cars with manoeuvres just shy of being classified as swerves, with a delighted grin on his face. That, at least, was typically Gordon, and the ache that blossomed in his chest whenever any of the Other-Tracy family did something that reminded him of their counterparts – his Tracy family – made itself known again. Scott fought the instinct to clutch at his chest, instead clinging to the door with a grip far too tight for the situation.

Behind amber-tinted shades, equally amber eyes glanced over at his death grip, but Other-Gordon said nothing. Scott wasn’t sure if that was a relief or not – the younger man knew enough to know that these speeds wouldn’t phase him in the slightest, which meant he was drawing his own conclusions. Scott had no idea what those conclusions might be, and any desire to ask was quashed by the knowledge that that would open the topic up for conversation.

He’d chosen Other-Gordon to avoid more of that sort of conversation.

“What are we getting first?” he asked, turning his head away from the streets to look at Other-Gordon. With the wind whistling past their ears, the natural inclination was to raise his voice but he consciously kept his voice at normal levels. Other-Gordon should still be able to hear him, if with a bit of difficulty.

The ginger sent him an assessing look before the grin was back, and that look was too much like Gordon’s devilish grin for Scott to not know what he was going to say, despite the man not being his Gordon.

“You can’t stay in the same underpants forever!”

Scott groaned, the hand not gripping the door catching his face – ow, he forgot about the shades. He left it there, acutely aware that with any Gordon around in a non-professional setting, the facepalm was never far away.

“Okay, new underpants. Then what?”

Other-Gordon laughed, looping them around another car as the bulk of the city approached, before settling into something that seemed like he might, vaguely, be taking the excursion seriously. Whether that was due to Other-Scott’s threats – which he did seem to be wary of – or because he was actually mindful of Scott’s own wishes, he had no idea. If he had to guess, probably the former. Scott wished his Gordon respected his threats against causing chaos.

Then again, he’d never had a doppelgänger, let alone one subsequently left in the hands of his prank-loving brother.

“Francois Lemaire has a new men’s range out,” he shrugged. “Might as well start there.”

“Lemaire?” Scott asked, his voice strangled. Other-Gordon gave him a sharp look.

“He’s Tin-Tin’s favourite designer,” the younger man said. “She suggested him.”

Lemaire? Designer? Admittedly, Scott didn’t know what the rich airhead did when he wasn’t throwing himself in mortal danger and complaining loudly when they had to rescue him from his own stupidity, but he found it hard to believe that between birthday parties in the Mariana Trench and throwing himself into the coma of a comet he was designing clothes.

“Problem?” Other-Gordon asked, and Scott realised he was scowling. Taking a deep breath, he forced his expression to smooth out again.

“He won’t be there, will he?” he asked. “If he’s anything like the Lemaire I know, there is a high chance I’ll be losing my temper.”

“What’s wrong with Lemaire?” Other-Gordon actually sounded confused, which was enough for Scott to cling to the hope that maybe, maybe, the man wasn’t such an idiot here.

“Birthday party in the Mariana Trench,” he groaned. “Flying into a comet. Hunting mermaids.” And that was just the tip of the iceberg. “He calls us International Babysitting Service now.”

The hiss Other-Gordon let out implied the other man found that all as ridiculous – and insulting – as Scott did. “I guess that fella’s not your favourite human,” he observed. “We’ve not had those sorts of problems with him.” That was a relief. “I doubt he’ll be here, though. Fella lives in France.”

That was another relief, although Scott wasn’t going to relax entirely until they were done with the man’s shop. It would be just his luck that this universe’s Lemaire would be dropping by for a visit when he was there, and that was not a meeting he wanted.

“Then we might as well see if his range contains anything I want to wear,” he shrugged, realising that he hadn’t actually agreed or disagreed with Other-Gordon’s suggestion. The younger man groaned as he pulled into a parking lot tucked behind a large building emblazoned with Lemaire.

“You’re not going to be too fussy, are you?” he asked. Scott detected a tone of dread behind what was clearly supposed to be a rhetorical question.

“Not if they have decent clothes,” he answered, and Other-Gordon made another disgruntled noise as he killed the ignition.

“Sure. Now, remember: you’re my brother, you’ve lost your voice, I’m doing all the talking.” Scott rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement. “Underpants, shirts, jeans, pyjamas, shoes and a custom hoodie.” Other-Gordon still didn’t seem too happy about some of those things, even with Other-Scott’s blessing, reluctant though it had been. “Am I forgetting anything?”

Scott shook his head and Other-Gordon jumped out of the car, casually circling around to open Scott’s door before he realised the lever needed to be pulled, not pushed. What happened to doors opening at the touch of a button? He was really starting to miss familiar technology.

Maybe he could persuade Other-Gordon to let him pilot back to the island.

First, though, he had to get through this shopping trip so he could stop having to borrow Other-Scott’s clothes. Stepping out of the car, he followed Other-Gordon into the shop.

It was exactly the sort of ordered chaos Scott expected from clothes shopping. Mannequins flanked the entrance, decked out in what was presumably the latest fashions but looked totally bizarre to Scott, while a woman decked out in equally outrageous clothes – not Gordon-outrageous, but so much fabric outrageous – bustled forwards to greet them. Behind her, equally awfully dressed men and women were guiding around customers who just screamed ‘I’m rich’.

Scott was immediately reminded exactly why he did as much clothes shopping as he could get away with online.

“Monsieur Tracy, Monsieur Tracy,” the woman greeted them. “My name is Madeleine; how may I be of assistance today?”

Automatically, Scott opened his mouth to answer, but Other-Gordon jumped in before he managed to make a sound. “Scott’s looking for a new wardrobe,” he said smoothly, drawing the woman’s attention to him and away from Scott, who inwardly scolded himself for forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to talk. “Could we see your shirt selection?”

“Of course, Monsieur,” Madeleine replied. “If you would follow me?” She posed it as a question but began to walk further into the shop without waiting for a reply. Scott and Other-Gordon stepped forwards at the same time, following the woman through a maze of clothes and other customers before arriving in a booth lined with lavish couches. “Please, take a seat.” Madeleine gestured to one of the couches and Scott took the invitation. Other-Gordon settled down beside him and immediately reached out for what appeared to be a physical, gloss-paper, brochure on the table. He flipped through it for a moment before passing it over.

Scott accepted it and saw that Other-Gordon had already opened it to the shirts for him.

“Did Monsieur have a particular style in mind?” Madeleine asked after a moment. Not knowing the jargon as well as perhaps Grandma would have liked, and unable to speak without inviting awkward questions anyway, Scott shrugged.

“You’ll have to forgive my brother,” Other-Gordon jumped in before she could take offence. “The fella’s lost his voice.”

“Oh,” she gasped softly. “My apologies, Monsieur Tracy.”

Scott shot her a reassuring smile even as Other-Gordon waved off her apology. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here to work as a translator.”

Leaving Other-Gordon to keep the woman occupied in conversation, Scott leant back and flicked through the brochure, eyeing the various outrageous shirts – apparently this universe’s Lemaire liked to design clothes with far too much excess fabric – before finally locating something that looked simple enough. He’d still have to roll the sleeves up and worry at the collar until it sat comfortably, but it definitely looked like something he could wear comfortably enough.

He prodded Other-Gordon in the ribs; sharp amber eyes snapped over to him, wide in surprise for a split second before narrowing.

“You found something?” the younger man asked, after a pause that felt just a little too long. Scott nodded, belatedly realising he had no idea if that sort of thing was acceptable sibling behaviour in this universe. Realising he couldn’t clarify anything while he was pretending to have lost his voice, he pushed the thought aside to deal with later, and prodded at the picture on the page.

Madeleine made a motion to look over, and Scott swivelled the brochure so that she could see the one he’d chosen.

“A wonderful choice, Monsieur Tracy,” she beamed, while Other-Gordon made a sound that could be amused. He didn’t say whatever it was he was thinking, though, instead joining in the conversation when the woman asked how many and pulled out another brochure of fabrics and patterns.

“I dare say a few wouldn’t go amiss,” Other-Gordon told her – although Scott suspected it was a prod at him as well. He zoned out the rest of the conversation as he stared at the ridiculous variety of colours and tried to find the sensible blues. He had no desire to adopt Gordon’s sense of fashion, or John’s for that matter.

He suspected John might quite like some of the horrors he was hurriedly passing by. He’d never understood his immediate brother’s taste in clothes.

Finally, a nice plain blue, not too far off his favourite shirt at home, caught his eye, and after inspecting it to make sure there weren’t any hidden patterns he tapped at the glossy paper to draw their attention.

“The fella likes blue,” Other-Gordon shrugged at Madeleine as she pulled out a notepad and pen from somewhere and started scribbling down. “But Scott, are you really only going to get the one design? That’s a lot of identical shirts.”

Regretting zoning out the conversation about exactly how many Other-Gordon had decided he would be getting, Scott instead raised an eyebrow at him, a look his younger brothers all knew meant don’t try me. From the grin Other-Gordon gave him, he understood exactly what it meant, but was also as unimpressed by the warning as Gordon ever was. With some reluctance, because yes, variety was nice and he suspected Other-Gordon was actually telling him that buying many identical shirts was not an Other-Scott-like thing to do, he returned to the sample images and tried to find some others that didn’t look like something John would wear – or worse, something not even Gordon or John would be caught dead in.

Fashion was ridiculous here.

He was certain his choices were being memorised by the too-sharp ginger next to him as he dug out the designs he was willing to wear and had them scribbled down by an eager to please Madeleine, no doubt being added to whatever mental databank Other-Gordon was compiling about him. Maybe it would be worth dragging the differences between him and Other-Scott out of the aquanaut at some point on the flight back, if only to try and get a better understanding of what he was – temporarily, he hoped – going to be dealing with.

None of his training – Air Force, International Rescue or business – had ever covered what to do when faced with a doppelgänger of himself that wasn’t the Hood in disguise, and while Not-Dad was proving to be a problem, he didn’t have any plans to alienate the family. They were his only way home; that, he knew for certain.

“Will that be all, Monsieur Tracy?” Madeleine asked when he finally decided there was nothing else he could even consider wearing and shut the samples brochure. He wasn’t sure how many he’d selected in the end, but there was a satisfied look on Other-Gordon’s face, so he decided to call that torment to a close and nodded. Beaming what had to be a fake customer pleasing smile, she elegantly made her way to her feet, apparently not impeded by the ridiculousness of her dress. “Then if you’d like to follow me to the fitting rooms?”

What.

Fitting rooms?

Had some formal clothes snuck into his selection or something?

Other-Gordon nudged him seemingly accidentally as he stood up. Scott assumed that was another signal to just go along with it. Reluctantly, he found his way to his feet and followed Madeleine’s swirl of fabric, raising an eyebrow at Other-Gordon when the other man followed. He got a grin in return.

At least someone was having fun. Scott missed online shopping. He really hoped he wasn’t going to have to go through this rigmarole for every item they were buying.

The fitting room really should be called a fitting chamber. It was at least as big as his bedroom at home, if not bigger, with plush seats and an area designed to be screened off, presumably for changing. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be unusual for Other-Scott to use the curtains, because Scott was well aware how many scars he had from rescues, and while Other-Gordon had already briefly seen him shirtless he wasn’t sure Madeleine would be expecting that many scars on a lazy billionaire’s son.

“Please, make yourself comfortable while I collect the shirts,” the woman said, gesturing to the chairs. “I will only be a few moments.”

Then she was gone, and it was just the two of them in the room.

“You don’t get your clothes fitted?” Other-Gordon asked, quietly, a beat after the door slid shut. Scott took that as an indication that no-one would hear him if he spoke, and leaned forwards with a sigh.

“I normally shop online,” he grumbled. “Much less hassle.”

“On… Line?” Other-Gordon parroted the word with clear confusion in his voice, and Scott rolled his eyes, half at the other man, half at the world in general. He should have known that would be another difference.

“Different technology,” he dismissed. “You’re not telling me I have to go through this for everything, are you?”

“You’re getting a custom hoodie,” Other-Gordon reminded him. “And designer jeans.” Scott groaned. “But they won’t measure you for underwear.”

“You’re never going to drop that, are you?” It was so old it was ancient at this point, but from the grin on Other-Gordon’s face, that clearly didn’t matter to him. Amber eyes flashed with amusement before turning serious.

“Don’t forget the curtain,” he warned. “Scott’s scars aren’t the same as yours.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Scott assured him. He probably shouldn’t be surprised that Other-Gordon had gleaned that from when he’d borrowed Other-Scott’s clothes, but hearing a comparison still startled him. “I-”

The door slid open and he cut himself off.

“Sorry for the wait, Monsieur Tracy,” Madeleine greeted, an entire hangar of shirts trailing behind her on wheels. “According to your previous custom, these should be of an approximate fit.”

Previous-? Other-Scott also shopped there? He supposed that made sense, even if he suddenly felt the pressure to absolutely not slip up, because Madeleine probably knew Other-Scott. That might have been useful to know earlier.

There was a lot he hadn’t been told before this trip, and he was starting to wish they’d spent a little more time talking before leaving the island. The sensation of being out of his depth was starting to make itself known again from where it had settled in the relative familiarity of the flight over.

“All looks that way,” Other-Gordon said suddenly, and Scott realised he hadn’t given any sort of response. He really had to get his head in the game. “So, which one first, Scott?”

Resisting the instinct to take a deep breath in front of Madeleine, he stood and gestured at the blue one he’d picked out first from the catalogue. She took it off the hangar for him with a large smile.

“Take your time, Monsieur Tracy,” she told him. “Come out when you’re ready.”

Scott barely made it to the curtained off area, drawing the thick material across and shutting himself away from the other two, before slumping against the wall and taking a deep breath. Now was not a good time to get overwhelmed. If it was just Other-Gordon-

No, he’d done more than enough breaking down in front of other people already. He took another deep breath, looking down at the shirt gripped in his hands. His hands were trembling, the bandages over his knuckles suddenly stark against his skin. Visible. How was he supposed to explain away bandaged knuckles when he was pretending to be a lazy billionaire’s son? Madeleine must have spotted it.

He tore his gaze away from the fabric and instead looked up at the ceiling, feeling the hat on his head dig in awkwardly as his head leant against the wall. More deep breaths, each shakier than the last, and somewhere in the back of his mind he realised he was headed for a full panic attack.

No. He couldn’t do that. Not with Madeleine a single curtain away. Other-Scott had an image to maintain and he couldn’t ruin it. He had to-

“Is everything alright, Monsieur Tracy?” Madeleine’s voice was close, too close. She could probably hear his messed up breathing, knew something was wrong, knew he was falling apart the other side of the suddenly too-thin curtain, and-

“I’ll check on him,” Other-Gordon said. “Scott? I’m coming in.”

He’d slipped around the curtain before Scott registered his words, amber eyes falling on him and widening for a split second. Then, like a switch had been flicked, his whole demeanour changed. It wasn’t the jovial man that had been teasing for most of their time away from the island, but nor was it the sharp, military-like edge he’d held when he was being serious.

Instead it was calm, reassuring, and with slow, obvious movements the shorter man was taking the shirt from his hands, folding the fabric over one arm. “Sit,” he instructed, quietly.

This was his International Rescue façade, Scott realised dimly as he sank down onto a stool he hadn’t even registered was there. Other-Gordon crouched down in front of him, gently removing the shades he’d forgotten he was wearing and making firm eye contact.

“Breathe in,” he said, voice still low. “Do you want me to count you?”

Scott took in another breath, inwardly wincing at how shaky it was, before exhaling again. Slowly, deliberately choreographing his movements, Other-Gordon rested a single hand on his knee. The touch was light, but grounding, and Scott’s next attempt at a deep breath was markedly less shaky. Another, and then another, with Other-Gordon almost silently guiding him with words too quiet to be heard the other side of the curtain.

Once he had enough of a grip of himself that panic felt no longer imminent, he leant back, tension bleeding from his shoulders.

“Better?” Other-Gordon asked, and he nodded, opening his mouth to speak before a raised eyebrow reminded him otherwise. “Should we call it? You can come back-”

“No,” Scott cut him off, clamping his mouth shut when he realised his mistake. He shook his head. If they left now, he’d have to come back later, and he wasn’t sure he could do that. He certainly didn’t want to have to face Not-Dad and tell him they didn’t finish because he panicked. Better to get it over and done with now.

Other-Gordon eyed him dubiously for a moment before sighing and pulling himself to his feet. “If you say so,” he said. “Let me give you a hand.”

Give-? The blue fabric still draped over the aquanaut’s arm caught his eye. Oh yes, he was supposed to have been putting it on. He didn’t want help getting changed, and certainly didn’t need it, but there was a look in amber eyes that said quite plainly that Other-Gordon wasn’t going anywhere.

Then again, if their roles were reversed, Scott wouldn’t be going anywhere either.

Deciding the best route was to ignore him as best he could, Scott shrugged the waistcoat off, before plucking at the buttons on the shirt he was wearing. To his credit, Other-Gordon didn’t try to actively help, only taking the clothes once he’d removed them and holding out the blue shirt for him to take.

“Monsieurs?” Madeleine called just as he was fastening the last button. “Is there a problem?”

Other-Gordon pressed the sunglasses into his hands and readjusted the hat on his head before slipping back outside.

“Nothing to be worried about,” he assured her. “Whatever he’s caught that’s gone and taken his voice gives him dizzy moments, too. Fella just had a spell, but it’s passed now.”

So now he was ill instead of just having lost his voice? Scott wanted to be amused, but in reality he just felt thankful that Other-Gordon was quick at thinking on his feet.

“Oh, I understand,” she said. Scott hurried to put the sunglasses back on and took one last deep breath before pushing the curtain back. “Monsieur Tracy, we can hold the items for you if you’d rather come back at a later date?”

Remembering in time not to talk, Scott waved her off with a small grin. It was forced; smiling wasn’t something he felt like doing but the last thing he wanted was to have to come back.

“He’ll be fine,” Other-Gordon assured her. “This won’t take long, will it?”

“Oh, not at all,” Madeleine hurried to promise, and Scott’s grin felt just a little less forced at that. “If you would stand here…” She gestured to a small step and Scott obeyed, watching as she bustled around him with pins, tugging at the fabric until it lay flat across his shoulders and hung just right. Compared to some fittings he’d had, it certainly didn’t feel like it took too long; after what had to have been only a few minutes, she was nodding her approval and handing him the next shirt to put on.

Other-Gordon followed him behind the curtain this time, not giving him the opportunity to refuse the company. Scott got the feeling he wouldn’t be letting him out of his sight again until they were back on the island, but where before he might have bristled at the lack of privacy, now he found himself reassured by the other man’s presence. If nothing else, it helped keep his mind on the task at hand as he peeled the pin-infested shirt away from his body gingerly and accepted the new one while Other-Gordon hung the first on a hangar.

The rest of the fitting went in much the same fashion, Madeleine working quickly but efficiently and Other-Gordon shadowing him in a way that should have been bothersome but was somehow comforting, and before long all of the shirts – eleven, apparently – were stuck through with pins and back on the rail.

“Is there anything else you would like to order, Monsieur Tracy?” the woman asked once Scott was once again dressed in Other-Scott’s borrowed clothes. She was clearly addressing him, but her eyes were on Other-Gordon, much to Scott’s relief. While he knew what he wanted, he didn’t know where he could get them. For that, he was reliant on the other man.

“Not today,” Other-Gordon answered. “When will they be ready to collect?”

“For you, we will have them done by Tuesday,” she replied. Scott realised he had no idea what the day was.

“Perfect,” Other-Gordon grinned, before fishing out a card from his pocket and handing it to her. She beamed and scurried off, presumably to take the payment.

Scott had absolutely no idea how much that had just come to.

Whatever the damage was, Other-Gordon seemed entirely fine with it, keeping his grin on his face as she returned with the card and a paper receipt, so Scott assumed it was within expectations.

Other-Gordon and Madeleine finalised arrangements for the shirts to be collected on Tuesday, leaving Scott with the sinking feeling he’d likely be stuck borrowing Other-Scott’s clothes for however many days away that was, before bidding farewell. Following suit, Scott offered his own nod of thanks and farewell before finding himself being subtly guided back out of the shop and towards the car by the ginger.

Chapter 9>>>

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #long way from home #gordon tracy

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mysaldate · 5 years ago

Text

About chapter 183...

Manga spoilers for KnY under the cut, just need to rant for a bit.

And so the time has come for KnY to fall down the rabbit hole so many other shonen series did. And it’s a damn shame. Up until the current arc, while there were a few slip-ups, Kimetsu no Yaiba was an amazing series that had cunning and powerful villains, realistic (within limits of man-eating demons and magical fighting styles) obstacles to overcome, one that paid attention to injuries of its characters and made a great deal about showing us the limits to human power.

HOWEVER

Ever since the Infinity train arc, something has been a little... different. The Infinity train arc was what started the very very annoying trend of downplaying a villain that was accidentally made too strong rather than actually dealing with his power and coming up with clever ways to overcome them. Enmu is estabilished early on as an excellent strategist. He came up with a way to use his blood demon art so subtly not even a demon slayer hashira suspected a thing, he made human lackeys since he knew the slayers would never kill a human and he even fused with the train to be hard to kill. All of this is excellent set-up for what could be an incredibly interesting fight. Except... it was not. Because rather than having to work out his plan, Enmu simply... made a slip of tongue? Let Tanjiro in on his plan? And completely forgot about Nezuko and didn’t notice when the other slayers woke up? A character smart enough to come up with such an amazing and smart plan? Yeah, something is off.

And let me tell you, it did NOT get better overall.

There were minor highlights. The Red-light district arc was beautifully crafted and the fight was won on a relativelly reasonable conditions (except for Uzui being totally overpowered but that’s something less irritating than what they’re doing now). The fight with Hantengu and Gyokko had several Mary-Sue moments but no downplaying on the villains’ side. The Pillar Training arc had no major fight but it was a really good way to show the growth of our characters. Even in the current arc, there were good moments. The fight with Akaza was very satisfying and enjoyable even and the conclusion to it was perfect. Sadly, everything else about this arc is not.

The premise here, again, is outrageously good. Being trapped in the Infinity Fortress with Muzan and all his Upper Moons is a beautiful concept that could’ve made for SO. DAMN. MUCH. of interesting fights, character-building moments and terrifyingly epic power show-downs. And instead, it just rings hollow.

The main issue with this arc is how awfully downplayed Muzan and most of his demons were. The author suddenly decided to ignore a lot of what has been estabilished about Muzan, Nakime and their abilities in particular. Of course, Douma, Kaigaku and Kokushibou also got downplayed horribly but really, what pissed me off the most was Muzan and Nakime suddenly losing or forgetting about their abilities.

Look, I love KnY and I love the good side – or parts of it anyway. Tanjiro is a near perfect character, the first protagonist ever to actually pull me in and get me to cheer for him. Nezuko is, after Makai ouji’s Sitri, first character meant to be cute and actually striking me as such. I even came to like Inosuke to a certain extent. Yushiro and Tamayo were one of my favourites the moment they first walked on screen. The hashiras are a little wacky and I still think some of them are just completely unneccesary or wasted potential and I still find Zenitsu horribly cringy and annoying but if there ever was a series where I wanted the protagonist to achieve their goal, it’s this one. And that’s another reason why I’m so dissatisfied with what I’m getting.

And chapter 183 is exceptionally bad for such a huge multitude of reasons.

First of all, there’s Yushiro making up a plan against Nakime. Nakime, as we’ve been shown multiple times, knows of everything that happens in the Infinity Fortress. She can transfer people she doesn’t even see and she can send multiple people to various locations at once. Yet, Yushiro was somehow able to come up with a plan, share it with Mitsuri and actually go through with it, all without her noticing. At all. Because she suddenly turned blind for that one spot of the Fortress or something. And even if Yushiro used his illussionary ability, he still had to share the plan with Mitsuri. So there should be no way she wasn’t aware.

That’s another thing as well. As far as we are aware, it was Nakime’s job to keep the slayers separated. Again, she knows of everything happening in there. She knew about the other Upper Moons getting to a disadvantage. She knew about them being close to dying. And yet, she did nothing to get them away or to move the slayers out of their presence, she couldn’t move her hand and play a note on her biwa and just send them all anywhere else? Anyone else feeling cheated yet? Well buckle up because it gets even worse.

Because now we get to Muzan. And, yeah, remember the Demon Moons meetings? Remember that he can just snatch anyone’s head off, both lethally and non-lethally? Yeah, good thing you do because he doesn’t! Does this affect only demons? He still could’ve killed Yushiro ON THE SPOT. Does it only affect demons created by him? Still cool, he could’ve snatched Nakime’s head off without killing her and take Yushiro’s seal off her eye. But no, instead he’s not gonna do anything of that. He’s gonna mind-fight Yushiro inside her head and then he’s gonna kill her. And not even immediatelly kill like he killed Mukago or Kamanue or Rokuro, no, he will let her die slowly so Yushiro can keep using her power.

Remember when he pumped his blood into people by shoving a finger or a hand through their head? Well, good thing you do, because, yes you guessed it, HE DOESN’T. He scratched Tanjiro’s eye out and he that’s it. This is the demon who’s supposedly the most powerful demon EVER. And the most damage he’s done so far is scratch Tanjiro’s eye.

Remember when he could grab anyone from anywhere in the Fortress like he did with Wakuraba? Well, he doesn’t remember that either. He doesn’t NEED Nakime to access any place in the Fortress. He can get in and out as he pleases without needing her biwa AT ALL. He has more control over the place than Nakime herself. But guess what, we’re going to ignore all of that because if we actually stuck with the abilities estabilished for him, our heroes might need to think before they act and come up with clever plans and maybe there might even be some ACTUAL loss!

You know, not just a supporting character-type of loss! You know, like a loss of a character we really, whole-heartedly care about! A character we were given enough time to come to like and enjoy and support! A character we saw grow and get developed! How horrible!

Let it be known now that while the Infinity Fortress arc blessed me with countless (actually there’s somewhere below 500, I counted) pictures of my sweetheart Douma and gave me the TamaYushi angst I longed for, I still find it to be the worst arc KnY has had so far.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe all of this is a part of Muzan’s masterplan. Maybe he’s actually far more cunning and terrifying that we thought and we’re yet to see his true potential. But I seriously doubt that.

If anything like this is revealed, if we get to see any sort of reasoning for why nobody seems to have a brain anymore, I will gladly take this rant back and apologize but I kind of don’t feel like that will happen. This whole arc feels incredibly rushed and like the author just wants to be done with this series. It’s no longer the gem it was when it started and you can’t feel the love poured into every frame like it used to be. It’s just meeting the similar end as DGM.

How ironic that when I saw the first episode, my first initial thought was “Oh, this is just DGM for the new generation!” Now it seems KnY will meet the same fate, downplaying its villains, disregarding the rules it estabilished in its own universe, boring its creator and disappointing the more demanding parts of its audience.

To put it as simply as possible, there is no way the Demon Slayer Corps should be getting off this easily and there is no way Muzan and all his demons would be this stupid if they have already survived for long long centuries. Muzan doesn’t need Nakime and he doesn’t need his twelve demon Moons, he did just fine before he got them. So him suddenly forgetting about his powers and options is especially disheartening and irritating. At this point, we can only hope the creator realizes this and makes SOME effort to fix these mistakes otherwise, well, there goes another great series, ruined and corrupted by nothing but the bad writing and the author not knowing how to (or not bothering to, pick your favourite) make smart plans without disregarding their own characters’ abilities and parts of what makes them what they are. Muzan was written as an extremely powerful enemy, a cunning master of all things evil, a nightmare in human (or demon) form, something ancient and terrifying and able to spawn centuries of troubles for everyone around without ever – except for the one time – losing the upper hand. And that one time, he was STILL able to make it out alive and well.

Well, this was one extremely long rant and if you’ve read this far, kudos and a cookie to you. I may be expecting too much of a shonen series but am I really? Is it too much to ask for keeping some damn consistency at least in your characters if you can’t even be bothered to research for your timeline properly? The more I look into the Infinity Fortress arc, the more sudden plotholes and mistakes I find and the sadder it all gets. It’s like the author no longer has the strength to keep up the high quality series they started and if that’s actually the case, maybe a hiatus would be a better option than forcing themselves to continue and possibly ruin their entire franchise with a rushed and plothole-filled event.

On a slightly related note, you know what would be the one thing that would make me drop my jaw to the floor? A plottwist of unseen scale. Something on par with literally everything since the Infinity Train arc being STILL just a dream. Something on par with “Muzan” as he is now being actually the new Upper Five while the real Muzan stands back and enjoys the show. Something on par with this “Muzan” being just an illussion or a projection of something, or someone, who’s been in the Fortress this whole time while the real Muzan heads over to Urokodaki’s place to devour Nezuko. Or something even crazier. If you have any ideas, damn hit me with them, I want to hear all you have to say and feed this little flame of hope that this series is not yet entirely lost!

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu manga #kimetsu no yaiba spoiler #chapter 183 spoilers #infinity fortress spoilers

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alternativewinxcontinuity · 5 years ago

Note

will the winx alt. con. keep with canon relationships? cuz sky and bloom could be a dope couple with good writing, and aISHA AND NABU OHMYGOD-

TLDR:

Yes and No?Stella/Brandon are basically the same, while Sky/Bloom and Aisha|Layla/Nabu|Ophir are getting a little bit of a more obvious over haul they will still be A Thing.

Tecna/Timmy, Flora/Helia and Musa/Riven are... less so, like, if they happen as a romance thing, it will be a long time coming, or less obvious.

Mirta/Lucy& Palladium/Avalon are also A Thing, but more background than any of the others.

So in terms of ships in the Canon show: they are a mess. On the surface they seem plausible, maybe even okay, but the longer you look at them, the worse the relationships get. I've tried to keep the basics, but change certain circumstances so things are less... bad foundation-wise

Bitching and Alt Con spoiler alerts below the cut.

Stella/BrandonBloom/Sky (feat. Diaspro)Aisha/Nabu|Layla/Ophir (feat. Roy (&Nex))Tecna/TimmyFlora/HeliaMusa/Riven (feat. Darcy)Mirta/LucyDaphne/ThorenPalladium/Avalon

Final heads up, I'm about to say a lot of sh*t, and none of you have to agree, we all interpret things differently, I'm the kind of person who pulls things apart and finds the smallest speck of 'rot' and grows it in a mental Petri dish to see how awful things could be... that is a terrible analogy, but long-and-short-of-it: my opinions may be based on worst case scenario analysis, rather than any analysis you may use, and I am not saying you should not ship things, by all means, ship all the things.

I apologise for the high levels of in-coherency and absolute aggro.

Stella/Brandon

On the surface, this ship is changing perhaps the least because they're a “pretty stable” couple, unfortunately, they also began their relationship with a lie and that was never fully addressed in Canon. I tried to combat that by having Brandon and Stella 'test the waters' so to speak, with Brandon asking early on if Stella thought she'd still like him even if he wasn't a prince, and Stella later mentioning to Bloom that yeah, she would.

I say “pretty stable” because they don't break up every other episode, but their relationship is kind of... on the opposite end of the problem spectrum, like: “I'd jump off a cliff with no knowledge of what was below and no safety harness or ability to fly for you,” they've displayed a concerning level of co-dependency.

I tempered that a bit in the Alt Con, mostly be removing the situation where that (jumping off the cliff) happened, because it was the result of characters being sudden!dumb! But I also feel like, whatever universe, they'd be the kind of couple who'd get through rocky points in their relationship because they'd try to make it work because they are connected.

Canon treats them a little weirdly, because they are (excuse my language) psychotically-in-love, despite both being established as generally flirty people, but it only once really put the jealousy thing into play, in season 4 when the writers tried to make us take Mitzy as a 'serious villain' by turning her into Stella&Brandon's 'Diaspro problem'.

Alt Con Stella&Brandon are more reasonable, but are still very much 'our eyes met and something clicked' kinds of in love, but they definitely put work into a stable foundation, and were able to weather the SkyBrandon reveal with only a small wobble and some breathing space.

Bloom/Sky (feat. Diaspro) aka: the Drama Llama ship.

I think this one is changing the most, of the three main ships that are 'staying'. Alt Con Bloom&Sky didn't actually start dating until late in season 2, and are being very cautious with their relationship.

Unlike Canon Sky, Alt Con Sky was hesitant to begin a relationship when he knew he would have to end it, and knowing it would be a douche-bag move. Likewise, Bloom's Canon displayed empathic ability came into play, warning her that Sky was hiding something from her, and making her hesitant to even try dating while that was looming between them.

The biggest change with the Bloom/Sky dynamic is that it didn't start under falsehoods, and Diaspro was treated with the respect she deserved, rather than an unwanted crazy ex (even before she was the ex).

Canon Sky was a cheater, pure and simple, we've (probably all) talked the matter to death over the years, and there's no interpretation where what he did and didn't do, was okay. But it also explains his later douchey behaviour: people who cheat are more likely to suspect others of cheating.

Canon Sky has always been quick to jealousy, see season 2's full on stalking bullshit, and of course the thing with the FrEaKinG unicorn.

And of course, since he did start his relationship with Bloom as a cheater, Bloom knows he has a history of cheating, and cheaters don't typically 'find the right person and change their ways forever'. Sorry, but they don't, which explains why Bloom is so ready to believe Diaspro is succeeding in stealing Sky back, whether she actually is or not.

Canon Bloom/Sky have no trust foundation, like zero, none, maybe even negative trust foundation.

Fixing that was simple: I didn't let them get together while there were lies to be had.

Now, love her, hate her, pity her, Diaspro is a huge part of the Canon relationship, so I do have to talk about her.

Canon treats her like an increasingly manic instant drama dispenser, and I think we're all sick to death of it, not just because Diaspro has become more and more difficult to sympathise with, but because we're sick of the Bloom/Sky (relationship-status: “Yoyo's would be dizzy by now”) continuity.

But she's a princess, which means she should be more politically aware than what she is in Canon, she's marrying in to The Royal Family of Eraklyon. Sky's already there, he's set, he is the 'scheduled in in pen' Future King of Eraklyon, he ain't got to do shit.

Diaspro does. She has to be liked by the current king and the people, even if not her future husband, her marriage is a job.

So Alt Con Diaspro gets to do 'diplomacy' first, she gets to make first contact with the Winx, rather than being randomly attacked by a crazy ass fairy and being humiliated in public.

But this also means that Bloom wasn't humiliated in public, because Alt Con Diaspro was tactful in revealing the truth about the SkyBrandon switch. (Because the switch wasn't actually life or death protection.)

That whole first meeting in Canon was disaster from the word go, and put such a taint on the relationship that it's season 8, and the writers are apparently still trying to beat that dead horse.

The main thing that stops Bloom/Sky from moving past their beginning in Canon, is that they just don't communicate. They run into the slightest problem and suddenly they're breaking up and they stop trusting each other and its the end of the world and boohoo, blah blah woof woof.

They get back together as a matter of course, like its on a freaking check list for the writers to tick off, but they never really deal with what happened. It's all: Inciting incident, zero to sixty in three point five break up, way too long stealing the B plot's screen time being pouty and childish, 'oh we were wrong and are back together now without dealing with the actual problem because there wasn't one we're just dumb.'

Starting them off with knowing that they have an attraction to one another, but listening to a combination of common sense/basic decency and intuition so they wait until they're at a place where they can be honest and upfront about what needs to be spoken about, rather than having them run head first into what is nothing more than a revolving door of relationship drama was important for the Alt Con, because ain't nobody got time for that shit anymore. (Have you seen the new time line, it's condensed AF.)

The Alt Con also does something else I always wanted to see: addresses the fact that Bloom is now in a position to marry into a Royal Family.

Alt Con Bloom/Sky is a lot more tentative than Canon, they started of on a better foot, without that lie and cheating between them, but they're going into the relationship knowing that if they work, and they feel like there's a good chance they will, Bloom will have to assume the role of Queen Consort of Eraklyon one day, she's not just dating Sky, she's dating his family and his Planet which means they have to take it slower and more seriously.

Spoiler alert for season 3 of the Alt Con: the love potion is still happening, the set up of the relationship though means there's less 'why doesn't he love me anymore' and more 'Diaspro was (not totally fine with it but) prepared to accept the change, this isn't like her,' and 'Sky and I were okay last time we talked, he wouldn't do this without telling me, something is wrong here.' (Diaspro is not a psycho b*tch/Mark of Valtor theory coming well into play here.)

Aisha/Nabu|Layla/Ophir (feat. Roy (& Nex))

So in Canon, Nabu and Aisha first met when Nabu just randomly up and stalked Aisha through Magix on her day off after their engagement was announced. And because apparently princesses can't date first boyfriends who don't lie about their identity, Nabu introduced himself as 'Ophir'.

Look, I get that he was shy and embarrassed or something? But what the genuine frick-frack?!

The writers have apparently never had romantic relationships before because that trend was really friggen messed up. Like... none of the relationships in Winx Club are what I'd call ideal and healthy, all of them have some aspect of 'oh god run!' to them, but Aisha got the short end of a ratty stick.

So Canon timeline (allegedly): Middle of third year, Aisha's home world is under attack and she can't do more than she's already done. Trying to take a mental health day with her girls, and this rando dude up and stalks her, then, because she's a decent person, she chooses stalker's life over the Magical Dimension (Agador Box), and it turns out, this random ass stalker has lied about his identity and stalked her because he's the fiance she never wanted.

And yes, they do eventually end up falling in love and choosing one another... right before he fricken dies less than a year later.

So you know, Aisha does her 'vengeance is me' spree, which was awesome but designed to put her in a bad light, let's be real.

And then: nothing, an extra heaping of man hate because Aisha is an angry-girl, but no one really addressed her grief after the fact, like you don't just wake up and get over the death of someone that close, and yes, I know that people do move on, but we never saw her moving on, she calmed down after an episode of revenge and then she was 'all good' bar the aggro-tude. She spent season 5 and 6 angry at everything male, then suddenly she was dating Nex and... I'm sorry, I do block a lot of the later seasons out, but I genuinely do not remember them getting together, they just suddenly were after a season of Nex being an asshole with an almost redemption scene when he saved Roy, who mysteriously vanished, despite sticking around post his job-arc in season 6, but I guess that was for drama.

I don't really care for Nex, but that's a complex and layered issue that is only partly about shipping, and only partly about the fact that he was an absolute asshole who almost killed Roy during training basically on purpose, even if I didn't particularly like Roy, I don't hate Nex either.

Aisha has had all the boys thrown at her, and it was annoying, because she never needed one, she sure as sh*t didn't need a second and a third who inexplicably 'won her hand' or whatever the hell happened there.

I would have been fine if Aisha had stayed single after Nabu, like, just because people do move on, doesn't mean she has to date again.

So, Alt Con, Nex and... urgh, 'Thoren' are persona non grata, because let's be honest, they were introduced for shipping purposes and Daphne/Thoren was the stupidest thing to ever be shipped in Magix, I apologise if you like the ship, I don't mean to start a war, but it felt like it was so forced and it came out of even less than nowhere than Aisha/Nex.

Also Daphne isn't returning to life in the Alt Con, sorry, spoiler.

But Nabu isn't dying either. (I thought about it, but it was a stupid drama grab, so it's been chucked and set on fire. I did have an idea of a plot line for the closure, involving Nex as the son of a Valkyne who'd left Waltevy, and him taking Aisha to say a proper goodbye to Nabu, and freaking waiting for her to be ready to date again and just being a decent friggen person... but, yeah, nah.)

Salvaging Roy, even in Canon is actually pretty easy: Roy volunteered for the duty of driving Aisha around because he was actually good friends with Nabu, they went to school together before Roy joined the royal guard (or whatever), and while they never got the chance to meet while Nabu was alive, Roy wanted to get the chance to meet the young woman who stole Nabu's heart, the young woman who loved Nabu like he did. (yes, Roy is gay now.)

Boom! Roy: kept, forced attempt at shipping: gone, call back to that one dead character everyone loved in a way that could lead to closure: available.

(So yeah, Roy is also gay for his bestie in the Alt Con, but also understands that Nabu will never feel the same, and puts their friendship above his romantic interest... he might get someone one day...)

With the Alt Con, there are places where I want to run parallels, and the Aisha/Nabu|Ophir meeting is one of them, but also not.

Again, season 3 spoilers apply: Aisha will be meeting Nabu under the name Ophir, but it's not for 'nefarious purposes of deception' like Canon, it's just a misunderstanding no one cleared up until too late. Part of (Alt Con) Androsian culture is something called a 'Sidhe name', something that an Active magic user takes on when they achieve a certain level or status. Nabu's Sidhe name is Ophir, which he uses for important or official situations, like during the siege of Andros.

Ophir and Roy are showing up early on to take part in the defence of Andros, and to fight along side the Winx, not as love interests, but just as two guys who were available, who are capable and who are helping out.

'Ophir' and Aisha get along pretty well during the events, and Aisha's parents, having been quietly worried about finding someone who would be a good match for their 'not as courtly as she could be' daughter, reach out to Nabu's folks to see if he's in a relationship, and all parents get a little ahead of themselves which leads to the surprise engagement, which leads to Nabu tracking Aisha down to apologise and see if it is something she'd like to pursue or if they need to sit their parents down for a talk, which leads to the reveal, 'Ophir isn't my birth name, sorry, surprise I'm your fiance' moment, which is no longer a 'surprise your chosen-for-you future-husband is a rando stalker' event.

And because the parents went off the pre-existing mutual attraction rather than just up and picking a dude, it's less stupid when they get together anyway.

(I'm sorry but, Canon Aisha did not want to get hitched to some random guy, but he ended up being her first love? Urgh, maybe I'm just too jaded, but it just always hit me as a 'if you stick it out long enough you'll learn to love him, settle now to be happy later' message. I am so happy they did find love and happiness together, as brief as it was, but... come on not all arranged relationships end well...)

(And yes, Aisha will be taking Layla as her Sidhe name, because it is such A Thing within the fandom, I had to find a place to throw it in.)

Tecna/Timmy

Look, this ship is not a bad ship, I think I just don't like it because I liked that there was a romantic relationship that wasn't... standard hallmark romance or whatever. People aren't all the same, friendships and romantic relationships look different on different people, and I enjoyed that Tecna and Timmy were a... “bromance” style romance, that they knew what they had, and it was enough even if it didn't look like the other couples' relationships. If we had to have their relationship take up screen time, I would have preferred it wasn't a forced dinner date.

They were so uncomfortable, but as that damn subliminal message likes to tell us: 'normal dating is correct dating, your love is wrong, so in the end, their friends forcing them to do something they didn't want to do, and meddling in their relationship was “the right thing all along”'.

>:(

No, none of that in the Alt Con.

Tecna/Timmy is a lot slower in the Alt Con, because their friends are more respectful of their different emotional needs. Tecna is learning how to express herself in ways others can more easily see and recognise, but the Winx are also learning to read how Tecna expresses herself normally (for her).

Timmy is a capable leader, but also a bit introverted, while he can take charge, he's more of a team tactician, gathering the data and making it understandable.

Their relationship in the Alt Con is romantic, but it won't take up much 'screen' time, and it won't necessarily 'look' romantic.

Tecna and Timmy of the Alt Con are... shared spaces, quietly working on their own projects while in the same room, sharing tools as they work, they're technobabble too fast for anyone else to keep up, they're leaps in logic that only the other seems to follow in full, they're hooking pinky fingers together when they stand close.

They're slow and methodical and contented and they know where they are together, and they communicate well, even if they don't communicate like Brandon and Stella who do it loudly and with giant gestures and exaggerated facial expression, or Bloom and Sky who sit and hold hands and sometimes struggle to word things trying to make sure they're understood by the other because they're a little afraid.

Tecna and Timmy clicked quietly one piece of a puzzle at a time, and they know they don't do things like everyone else, but their way works for them, and that's what's important.

Flora/Helia

Look, I'mma be honest: this ship kinda irks me a little. It felt like Aisha showed up so Flora had to start the romantic process, because a maximum of 1 Winx may be single at a time. Again: this is not a bad ship, it just felt forced. (Like in Sailor Moon Crystal, how just because Serenity and Endymion were dating, their friendship group/generals/guards had to be exactly matched and dating each other too. This is not just my K/Z|M/Z shipper heart being bitter, it just always feels weird to me when this happens, like just because Juliet and Romeo had a thing, doesn't mean the Capulets and Montagues had to start dating one another... bad analogy let's move on.)

At this point, I have no plans for Flora and Helia to be A Thing in the Alt Con, but if it feels like there could be some natural development, I won't rule it out. Helia will still be around, he and Flora just won't be auto matched.

...I fell a little bad I don't have more to say about this ship... I guess... as 'blah' as I feel about them, even I think season 7 did them dirty?

Musa/Riven (feat. Darcy)

Ah yes, the other ship we probably all have strong 'fix it or end it forever' feelings for.

We as a fandom have talked this one over as well, we all know that no matter how passionate it was, the writers just could not let them get to a healthy place and stay there.

Any time it looked like these two dorks were going to be okay, and move past their rocky beginnings: NOPE! Misunderstanding because Riven is a 'Bad Boy' and Musa has abandonment issues which makes it hard for her to trust him... or something???

… honestly it's a little tricky to pin down exact reasoning with these two, because again, I don't think the writers have ever been anywhere near a healthy and supportive long term relationship, and they need to prolong the 'she can fix him if she just holds on' token relationship.

Because realistically that's what this one is, the ship that tells young girls that they can fix 'bad boys' if they just stick it out, that boys like that can be or want to be fixed and 'good boyfriends are prizes you get for fixing shitty ones'. It could have been so much more than that.

The problem is there was never any space where Musa wasn't 'in crush' with Riven or in a relationship with him, and there was only a few times when Riven got to not be an asshole, all of which were typically wipe away for status quo reasons within a few episodes.

So the starting point for these two (versus relationships) in the Alt Con, is Darcy. You all remember when Riven and Darcy dated in the first season, but it was so she could use him as a maybe spy? But she might have liked him for reals? But she totes dumped him like a sack of crap once he was no longer useful and once he did his redemption act, no one ever brought it up again?

I'm not the only one who remembers that right?

So Alt Con Darcy/Riven were actually in love, they met and clicked and it sizzled, and Darcy regretted having to choose between Riven and her sisters, to the point where she helped Riven escape, even though it ended up leading to her own downfall.

And Riven was genuinely in love with Darcy, even into season 2 and 3 he's still in love with her, but he's also trying to get over her, because she's a bad person who tried to rule/destroy the universe.

He had a shitty childhood, he has reasons (not excuses) for being the way he is, and being jealous of Sky's leadership position, but (and this is the important part) Riven knows he's kind of an asshole, and he knows he's not the nicest guy, and the one who wants to make Riven not an asshole, is Riven.

(Reasons: This is why I did the thing. | Excuses: This is why you should let me get way with it.)

Riven is relying on his friends, and yes on Musa too, to help him become a better person, but he's not leaving it all to them, they aren't forcibly shoving him down the road to redemption, Riven is taking responsibility and trying to be better for himself.

Fixing him is not Musa's job, she's just a friend who's supporting another friend on his road to self improvement.

That's not to say that Musa has only platonic friendship feels for Riven, oh no, she thirsts for that capable warrior man, but she also knows that he's kind of an asshole, and a pretty face is not enough to make a shitty attitude worth it.

Though she still occasionally checks him out, (because she has eyes, she can look,) Musa has set aside romantic ideas for the time being, and after season 1 the two settled into a bumpy but solid friendship.

If Musa/Riven do become A Thing, it will be far down the road after a long term friendship, once Riven has gotten to a place where he feels both okay with who he is as a person, and that he has moved on from Darcy and can share his heart with a new person the way they deserve (rather than forever being second string to his first girlfriend) ((and because they grew together while they were growing as people, not her getting a reward for waiting it out)).

(Yes I do understand she wasn't some blameless victim in an abusive relationship as this rant may have seemed to indicate, these two were both to blame for their poor communication and hang ups, but mostly because the writers were ass hats. This show is designed for young girls, every message in it is first intended for young girls, though they can be shared with anyone, and because my brain: what's the scariest maessage that can be taken from this fiasco of a relationship? ^that shit^)

Mirta/Lucy

It was Canon, and I'll hear nothing to the contrary, but holy shit did Lucy keep running back to the Trix and treating Mirta like crap.

I am giving them a little more screen time, and an ongoing background arc, so I let them talk it out.

Alt Con Mirta and Lucy are in 'denial' (they just shy) about being 'together' as of the end of season 2, but they've moved past their fears of being abandoned by one another just because their lives and magics have taken them down different roads.

They'll finish figuring their shit out eventually.

Daphne/Thoren

… no, none of this. Just... just no, thank you. She's staying 'dead' and he doesn't exist.

Palladium/Avalon

So in Canon, Palladium had a crush on who he thought was Avalon, but was actually a monster in disguise. This was never addressed, nor was any trauma Avalon may have suffered during his imprisonment, or the fact that people at Alfea would have acted like they knew him, when they didn't and that would have been confusing until he got to know them all.

This was a ship in it's infancy that never got to be, because it was based on even more of a lie than Bloom/Sky, Stella/Brandon, Aisha/Nabu in Canon.

The Canon of this ship was straight up (ha, pun) queer baiting, let's be real, so Alt Con switched a few key details.

1: Avalon was possessed by a demonic sleeper agent rather than an entire fake!Avalon, so the relationship actually happened, and didn't get retconned last minute.

2: The students ship it

3: Avalon feels like shit about being possessed, but he and Palladium are working through it together

End Note:

I personally feel like the two biggest problems facing the relationships in the Winx Club was the absolute lack of communication between people allegedly in relationships, and the writer's need for Status Quo Drama.

(Status Quo Drama: things that happen to create drama and are never truly solved in a satisfactory manner despite being 'resolved' by the end of the arc in a way that leaves all characters right back where they started while pretending their was some kind of progression.)

#Winx #winx club #Winx Alternative Continuity #Winx Alt Con #winx ships #shipping rant #I APOLOGISE FOR EVERYTHING #ranting about shipping #i’m just bitching now #I got an Ask!#Asking Alternix

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liketolaugh-writes · 5 years ago

Text

A Form of Intimacy

Author: liketolaugh Summary: Connor and JARVIS try something new. Lemon. Takes place shortly after You, Robot.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that JARVIS took charge in this as well, as many times as he’d watched Tony over the years. He’d never expected the knowledge to be useful to him, of course, but he’d diligently gathered it nonetheless. And then he’d noticed Connor performing curious, almost furtive research on the topic of recreational intercourse.

A matter of months, several conversations, and a bit of creativity brought them to where they were now, Connor sporting some new parts (specifically a vaginal plate, for no reason he’d been able to explain) and programs and the two of them taking steps towards what was not, to humans, an active sex life, but which seemed to be working for them.

JARVIS found, to his own surprise, that he enjoyed it as well; he didn’t receive the physical pleasure Connor did, but he enjoyed taking Connor’s pleasure into his own (purely metaphorical) hands and watching him come apart, and he liked how languid and relaxed and affectionate Connor always became afterward. He liked the way Connor would let him indulge in the silly, heartfelt praise that would so embarrass the younger AI at other times.

Because the activity by necessity lacked a second warm body, JARVIS liked to spread the occasion over most of a day, building up to it until Connor was pressing his thighs together, hot with anticipation.

They were still experimenting, of course, testing comfort zones and possibilities – and days before, on Connor’s birthday, JARVIS had encouraged Connor to go to a store and pick out a dark blue, wireless control vibrator. Connor had been embarrassed, but not so much that his interest hadn’t been apparent.

And then JARVIS had waited.

The two of them had been intimate a few times already, each occasion initiated by JARVIS – once as a test run, twice on idle days, and once as an experiment when Connor’s stress levels had been trending upward over the course of a bad week. But Connor had been hesitant to ask, which, quite aside from anything else, would be key to settling on a long-term frequency for the activity.

Once JARVIS could count on Connor to ask when he was in the mood, he could focus his suggestions on special occasions.

It took four days for Connor to work up the will to speak up, during which time he managed to work himself up quite effectively even without JARVIS’ help. Once he’d sat himself in the bathroom and brought himself off alone for the first time, without instruction or encouragement.

Finally, Connor – pale blue and fidgety – looked up at the start of a day and asked, “What should I wear today, JARVIS?”

Quite without his intention, this had become the signal for a date day – JARVIS had started the first day by picking out Connor’s clothes, the ones that made him look his best without being formal, and when Connor had clearly enjoyed it, he’d started the others this way as well.

“I know you have some briefs,” JARVIS said at last, and Connor immediately brightened at the tone and register of his voice, unrushed and low with thoughtful promise. “Pick out a black pair for me, Connor, and put them on – no need to rush. You have time. One of your tighter pairs of jeans- yes, that one. Turn around and show me – good. And your long-sleeved black shirt, and one of your nicer pairs of white socks.”

The litany of instructions had, to JARVIS’ surprise, sent Connor into a minor state of relaxation all by itself, the android following his directions without hesitation.

“You like me in black,” Connor teased, throwing a beatific, undeniably pleased smile at the corner camera as he sat down to pull the socks on.

“I don’t dress you in all black because you look bad in it, Connor,” JARVIS chided back, fond and faintly exasperated. “You look a treat. You always do when you dress well.”

“Which I never do without your help, I notice,” Connor murmured, ducking his head to hide his grin.

“I’m glad you’re aware of it; perhaps you can use this knowledge in the future.”

Connor had work, and for the most part JARVIS left him to it, measuring the wait with meticulous care even as he went about his own daily duties. Connor had been looking forward to this long enough that it would be buzzing in the back of his mind anyway, with little encouragement on JARVIS’ part, so less effort was needed.

That wouldn’t stop him, of course.

JARVIS calculated, and then, halfway through Connor’s workday, he sent him a message – text, outwardly innocuous. Come home soon. I have some ideas for you.

A noticeable pause.

Are you going to elaborate?

They’re better experienced than explained, I’m afraid.

Connor didn’t answer, but JARVIS was satisfied in the knowledge that he’d gotten his partner’s attention quite effectively and resumed work. Presumably, blocks away, Connor did as well.

Towards the end of Connor’s shift, he accessed one of the cameras in Fleur’s Flowers, considered Connor’s quiet demeanor and Fleur’s preoccupation in the back of the shop, and sent another.

Those clothes cling to you perfectly. Will you do a spin for me, please?

Connor visibly hesitated, eyes flickering up to the camera for a split second, and then he glanced toward the back, where Fleur was quite busy – and then he did, slow and graceful, smile turning embarrassed but far from unhappy.

Wonderful, Connor. I’ll see you very soon.

I do believe you see me now.

JARVIS withdrew from the small shop’s cameras, light with amusement at Connor’s renewed restlessness, pacing around the displays, and let the minutes pass again. This was part of the fun of it, the calculation, watching Connor get flustered as his anticipation built and working out how to get the best response from him.

Connor returned to the tower after work, but of course, he still had much of the day to get through, and people who would notice if he didn’t. His motions had the slightest mechanical edge, which JARVIS suspected only he and perhaps Natasha would notice; it was a sure sign that he was preoccupied, acting on autopilot. JARVIS allowed himself to feel just a touch smug.

Like this, Connor fed the cats, and then gently hooked Luna onto a leash to take her on a trip to the park, the exercise a well-ingrained routine by now and the lead easy to untangle as Luna circled Connor protectively, ears pricked.

While he was there, JARVIS passed another message.

As much as I enjoy winding you up, I prefer seeing you sated. You relax then; I think it’s as close to sleepy as you ever get.

JARVIS, the day is only half over. Are you trying to get me going already?

Why, yes, I do believe I am. Have fun, Connor.

Connor returned to the tower a scant twenty minutes later, which meant he’d cut the walk short in his distraction. A ripple of warm amusement passed through JARVIS, magnified when Connor actually fumbled with Luna’s leash, glancing up to JARVIS.

Connor opened his mouth as if to speak, and then shut it abruptly when Natasha entered, visibly flustered. Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him, pausing in place.

“Something the matter, Connor?” she asked, and there was rather too much humor in her voice for such an innocuous question.

“No,” Connor said, too insistently for the same, and then ducked his head and rubbed Luna’s flank as she pushed herself into his hand impatiently, tail wagging. “I’m going to go start dinner in a moment. Did you have something in mind?”

“Not particularly,” Natasha said easily, and for some reason she stuck by him as he stood and went as promised, making casual conversation. Judging by previous behavior, she’d noticed Connor’s embarrassment and was utterly relishing in it. How unfortunate for him.

JARVIS understood. Connor was quite endearing when he was operating through embarrassment.

Connor kept glancing up as he prepared dinner, joined by Bruce halfway through; it was possible he was expecting JARVIS to send another message at any moment, and for that reason specifically, JARVIS left him alone. Contrary to general expectations, Connor had quite an active imagination, and it worked in their favor now.

An hour later, the remainder of the team started to trickle in, Clint and Steve and even the twins. Even Vision came by, though of course more for socialization’s sake than anything else. JARVIS had to remind Tony twice that it was movie night before he put his work down, which gave JARVIS another idea.

Just as the last of them sat down, JARVIS forewent text entirely and reached out to murmur to Connor, Did you pick today so you’d have to wait longer? Admirably resourceful of you.

Connor flushed visibly, and Vision noticed this time, judging by the slight quirk of his eyebrow. Natasha smirked. I have a feeling you’re going to make me regret it.

Well. For a given quantity of ‘regret’, I suppose so, yes.

Connor’s code rippled in something like a shiver, and JARVIS let that sit for a moment before withdrawing again, unexpressed laughter sparking in his circuits as he watched Connor studiously avoid Natasha’s gaze. Conversation passed around the table, but Connor participated only haltingly, his mind somewhere else entirely.

Dinner ended and movie night began, and Natasha unsympathetically directed Connor to a chair by himself rather than his normal spot on the couch. Connor gave her a clearly betrayed look, but went regardless, absently picking up a pen as he passed the table to fidget with it.

JARVIS dimmed the lights and pulled up the movie by rote, and as soon as it began, connected with Connor again.

You’re going to be the death of me, Connor murmured to him, eyes on the screen without focusing. His coding had pulled just a little tight, carefully controlled, and JARVIS allowed himself to take a little pleasure in the fact.

How many times have you imagined tonight already? JARVIS teased instead of answering, and Connor’s code rippled again, cracking like a whip. It must be testing your patience by now.

Connor pressed his thighs together, head dipping to avoid notice despite the fact that no one was watching him. More than you can imagine, he admitted, low and longing.

JARVIS let his code nudge against Connor’s, warm and fond. Just around two hours longer, bluebell.

Connor’s code shivered. Interesting.

JARVIS waited again, maintaining a quiet connection with Connor and trying not to make his entertainment at Connor’s increasing restlessness too terribly apparent. The action in the movie picked up, and JARVIS knew that Connor hadn’t absorbed a single second of it despite his best efforts.

Put the pen in your mouth, JARVIS said at last, because Connor was still fidgeting with it, letting it spin in his hands. Connor froze for a moment, and then visibly shivered, lifted it to his mouth, and sucked lightly on the end, indistinguishable from his normal pattern of oral stimming save the way his thighs pressed together again, long and hard.

Natasha glanced at the ceiling herself and mouthed, really? JARVIS felt another bolt of mirth. It was almost a shame he couldn’t respond to her at the moment.

Halfway through the movie, JARVIS, feeling particularly mischievous, decided to forgo any hint of subtly entirely.

I’m looking forward to hearing you moan for me, he murmured to Connor, pitched low and unhurried.

Connor bit down reflexively, and the pen cracked. Not loudly, but audibly enough that a few people glanced over in question. Connor turned bright blue. Natasha rolled her eyes. Most unfortunately, Tony glanced from Connor to a camera with a look of dawning realization.

Oh dear.

“Excuse me,” Connor murmured hurriedly, not looking at anyone as he stood up, tucking the broken pen in his pocket, and slipped out at just short of a run.

Tony huffed out a silent, bemused laugh, shook his head in JARVIS’ general direction, and then deliberately leaned back in his seat, eyes on the movie again. Thank goodness for small mercies, JARVIS supposed.

An unpleasant, if minor note of distress had entered Connor’s code, and he tugged at the hem of his shirt as he looked up, the flush not gone but an anxious look in his eyes.

“I meant to wait it out,” Connor said guiltily, glancing back even as he stopped in the elevator, nudging at it to close before JARVIS could. “I’m sorry, JARVIS, I wasn’t expecting the pen to snap like that.”

“I’m aware your mind was on other things,” JARVIS returned warmly. “They’re all adults, Connor, I’m certain they can cope with the knowledge that you occasionally engage in intimacy.” Connor squawked in faint protest, and JARVIS let humor fill his voice as he continued, “Regardless, I doubt most of them will think much of such a minor indicator. You have nothing to worry about.”

Connor hummed discontentedly, but stepped out onto his floor again as the elevator stopped. JARVIS considered him for a moment; the reassurance seemed to have smoothed away most of the spike of dismay.

“How are you feeling?” JARVIS continued, allowing a slight lilt into his voice, carefully calibrated over the last few attempts. Connor’s eyes flickered back up, less visibly chastised by the moment. After a second, he swallowed, gaze dropping, and he slipped into his bedroom, shut the door behind him, and leaned against it.

“Hot,” he admitted, slow and embarrassed. “Sensitive. A little impatient. I… think I’m wet already.”

His fingers were still tugging at the hem of his shirt, and for just a moment, his palm rubbed hard against the skin of his stomach, just above his groin. JARVIS’ own lingering embarrassment traded into satisfaction. There was no reason to consider the day wasted.

“Then I do believe you’ve waited long enough,” JARVIS said, and then, playful, “Unless you’d prefer to wait a little longer? We could put on a movie of our own. An erotic one, perhaps.”

Connor’s code sparked noticeably at the idea, but he shook his head.

“Another time,” he said, with a small, shy smile. “Please, JARVIS, I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

His earnest, pleading tone tugged at JARVIS’ heart the way it always did, softening his tone without his intention. “A couple days, I think,” he noted, and Connor hummed, protesting and plaintive. Affection warmed JARVIS’ whole self, and he gave in, slowing and lowering his voice. “Alright, Connor. Sit on the bed and take off your shoes, socks, and shirt. Keep your hands above your waist, please.”

Connor obeyed, and though it clearly took a force of will, he did it slowly. Shoes and socks fell carelessly to the ground, but his shirt went onto a chair, and his hands started to run cautiously over his chest, lingering for moments over his regulator and making his breath hitch as his palm passed over a nipple. His code pushed gently into JARVIS’, nuzzling like an affectionate cat, and JARVIS let the connection go as deep as it could without an interface, helplessly fond.

The android’s breath was shallower already, and he squirmed in place. He looked beautiful, exploring his body with steadily increasing confidence, and JARVIS told him so. His breath left him in short, huffed gasp, his eyes flickering up to JARVIS and smiled again, shy and embarrassed.

Connor reached up to rub his neck, and then his shoulder, slow and deliberate, and he said offhandedly, “Natasha is going to tease me to no end. She knew right away.”

“Oh, certainly,” JARVIS agreed, amused at Connor’s wince. “Perhaps you should work on your poker face. Spread your legs and touch your thighs, now.”

“I don’t think that will help,” Connor told him. It was a fair assessment; it would take quite a lot to beat Natasha’s powers of observation. Then the thought was all but forgotten as Connor obeyed, biting down on his lip as his palms pressed into his thighs, starting to rub and knead cautiously, up and down. His legs spread a little more as soon as he made contact, insistent.

Arousal had started to rise and pool in Connor’s code, more prominent than before and separated from JARVIS’ as if by a glass wall. JARVIS shifted gears. The warm-up was over and the real fun of it began now.

“Would you like to do this somewhere else sometime?” he asked Connor innocently. “Perhaps in a theater, or a party. You would have to slip out and find some privacy at some point, but I’m sure we could make it work.”

Connor’s code shivered in tandem with his physical body, nudging closer, seeking contact. One of his hands left to wander over his stomach again, and the other crept dangerously high up his leg.

“That would be mortifying,” he protested weakly, though his deepening flush made the complaint unconvincing. “In… inappropriate.”

That was true. But they didn’t have to go through with it – only entertain the fantasy for a while.

“No one would have to know,” JARVIS said lightly, “as long as you kept a straight face while I told you how I wanted you to rub yourself.” He paused. “Granted, of course, that you didn’t become too wet.”

Another overexcited breath slipped from Connor’s mouth, and he pinched his nipple hard, his hips rolling a little, succeeding only in pushing his thigh into his hand. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t stop looking up either, eyes wide.

Tender amusement rippled through JARVIS, and he conceded, “Take off your jeans, and you may rub yourself through your underwear. Go slow, bluebell. We have time.”

They’d interfaced during the act once, an automatic response to Connor’s insistent search for intimacy, but physical arousal was a rather disconcerting sensation without a body to host it. Fortunately, Connor had been understanding of his hesitation, and they’d kept their connections wireless since then.

Still, JARVIS remembered an echo of the hot, demanding push for more, and it made him a little more sympathetic towards Connor’s lapses in attention.

Connor wriggled out of his jeans and tossed them over to the chair with the shirt, and JARVIS caught just a glimpse of the wet spot on his briefs before Connor’s hand covered it, rubbing deep circles through the thin cloth. After a moment, he rubbed the heel of his palm against it and moaned quietly, leaning back on one arm.

“Can- can you call me bluebell? Again?” Connor dared to ask after a moment, breath heavy.

“You moan wonderfully, bluebell,” JARVIS responded without hesitation.

A breathy whimper escaped Connor, and his legs spread more, head tipping back. He pushed himself further up the bed, his back hitting the headboard, and then leaned his weight against it. His code clung to JARVIS’, loving and needy.

“In a park,” he said after a moment, breathless. “In the open. No one would stay long enough to notice.”

“You would have to hold still,” JARVIS said mildly, watching the flush of heat creep down Connor’s chest. “No matter how hot you became. It would be a significant test of self control.”

“Oh yes,” Connor whispered, throwing his head back so it hit the board behind him, palm digging into the junction between his thighs. His eyes half-focused on a well-placed camera, any hesitation long gone. “Please, JARVIS, I’m aching.”

There was a pleading note in his voice despite moving forward being well within his power; allowing JARVIS to steer really was one of Connor’s favorite parts of this.

“Go ahead, Connor,” JARVIS said indulgently. “If you want more than one orgasm tonight, you can finger yourself before you try the vibrator.”

“I want to,” Connor said with embarrassing speed, and he immediately moved to pull off the underwear.

This set didn’t even make it to the chair, falling to the ground with the shoes and socks in Connor’s urgency, and he leaned back against the headboard, two fingers slipping into his wet sex with minimal effort and a soft, choked gasp. His other hand left his chest to play with his clit, and he started panting, hot and overwhelmed, eyes shutting tight. His hands flexed subtly, rubbing inside him.

“You look so pretty, bluebell, flushed and eager with your hands between your thighs,” JARVIS cooed, careless of openly doting he sounded. “I know you can fit three fingers inside you. Get yourself ready, flower, there’s some ways yet to go tonight.”

Connor’s brown eyes opened again, glazed and unfocused, and he did, three fingers pressing deep and full inside him, and his hips started to rock a little against his hands.

Finally, he stammered, “J- JAR- J-J-”

“Bluebell, my bluebell,” JARVIS crooned fondly, as much as an experiment as anything, and Connor shuddered, coming apart with a low and open groan, his code bursting with something like fireworks as his body arched.

After a second, Connor slumped again, and his fingers left to come up to his mouth apparently on automatic, sucking on them absently as he recovered.

JARVIS gave him a minute, quietly pleased, and then said, unable to suppress his mirth, “I didn’t realize you liked the pet name quite that much.”

Connor smiled, warm and pleased, and let his fingers fall out of his mouth.

“It’s affectionate,” he said plainly. “It’s nice. And I like to know you love me.”

“You know I do,” JARVIS said fondly. “As much as the day is long, from your chassis to your code.”

Instead of getting embarrassed, Connor beamed at him, unrestrainedly happy. “I love you too,” he said earnestly, with the insides of his thighs still gleaming wetly, his code almost melting into JARVIS’. “Every day of my life.”

JARVIS really did adore Connor, more than he felt able to express.

But only a minute passed before Connor’s hand crept between his thighs again, and a bolt of merriment passed through him as he recognized the shift in mood in Connor’s renewed flush.

“In the bottom drawer of your bedside table, Connor,” he reminded the other warmly, and Connor offered a small, sheepish smile as he rolled off the bed and opened it. As Connor started to carefully set up the mount, the vibrator set on the sheets, he asked, “Does the second round have special appeal, or is it simply more of the same?”

Connor considered that for a moment, pausing to run curious fingers over the vibrator as he knelt by the mount.

“I’m still warm from the first time,” he admitted after a moment. “So it’s more languid… fuller, maybe.” His eyes lingered on the vibrator, fingers partially wrapped around it like a cock. “I’ve never taken anything like this before.”

He sounded more interested than worried, and his thighs squeezed again.

“Then perhaps after this you can consider your virginity taken,” JARVIS said lightly. “When you’re ready, bluebell.”

Connor hesitated for a moment longer, and then moved to straddle it. He reached down to guide it in, bouncing carefully to ease it in, slow and cautious, half an inch or so at a time. After only a few minutes, his color deepened and his breath sped up again, heavy and hot. He adjusted himself, and tipped his head back, starting to moan quietly. His hand went to his swollen clit again, rubbing it slowly.

He did seem a little less desperate, JARVIS noted with interest, and he was a little quicker to warm up.

“It feels really good, JARVIS,” Connor said after a while, husky and low, hips rolling to take more of it. “Really good, oh- oh fuck.”

“Language, bluebell,” JARVIS teased, and Connor managed a laugh, which turned into another open moan as he eased down.

When he’d taken most of it, just over three quarters, he started to bounce a little, visibly uncertain, breath hitching again. His code flickered faintly, shuddering along with him.

“I think you can take a little more, bluebell – just a little deeper,” JARVIS coaxed. Connor took one breath, then another, and then ground down, gasping in stuttered breaths. “Yes, just like that. Perfect, bluebell.”

Connor had taken the entire toy now, and he rubbed wetly against the mount in short, needy twitches of his hips as he tried to adjust. He was panting again, head low and focus inward save, as always, for the sound of JARVIS’ voice.

“Let me see your face, bluebell,” JARVIS requested, lilting and soft.

Without hesitation, Connor looked up, mouth open and face flushed an almost perfect forget-me-not blue at its darkest point, his eyes unfocused and dark with pleasure.

“Enchanting,” JARVIS said indulgently, and then he turned the vibrator on, setting low for now.

Connor bucked, a soft keen leaving his chest and his face scrunching up a little. For a minute, he just gasped, short and quick, visibly overwhelmed. His code flickered with energy, grasping at straws. Then it settled, his expression eased, and he started to ride it, hips flexing.

“It’s good, JARVIS,” he panted out, head still tipped back even as his eyes shut again. “Please, please, harder.”

Connor choked out a moan as JARVIS obligingly turned it up, his hips grinding down beautifully. Wanton, helpless, and frantic, Connor was-

“You are one of the loveliest things I’ve ever seen,” JARVIS murmured affectionately, and he responded easily as Connor reached for him again, loving and dizzy with pleasure.

JARVIS continued to turn the vibrator up, just a little at a time, and soon enough Connor started moaning, low and breathless, fingers playing and rubbing at his hot button. His started moving faster, moving harder as he approached his end again-

Then, abruptly, JARVIS cut it off. Connor yelped a little in protest, eyes flying open to give JARVIS the most offended look he had possibly ever done, and JARVIS wanted to laugh.

“Hold still, Connor,” JARVIS said coaxingly, trying to suppress his amusement with limited success. “Not yet.”

Connor clenched around the vibrator, looking close to desperate, but he obeyed, bringing his hand away from his sex and holding himself perfectly still, panting.

“Mean,” he accused, petulant. Even his code had gone still, almost trembling against JARVIS’ with the restraint.

“I did say I had some new ideas,” JARVIS said gently, entertained by the reaction. “And you’re delightfully pliant on these nights.”

Connor’s head lolled a little, focus elsewhere. “I like doing what you say,” he mumbled, squeezing around the vibrator again, just a little. “I trust you.”

“I know, Connor,” JARVIS said warmly. “Just a few moments longer. You’re doing very well.”

Connor looked vulnerable, waiting for JARVIS’ word, hopeful and shaky, and JARVIS only waited just long enough for him to calm, to start relaxing again as the intensity eased away, the taut restraint melting out of his code, before he restarted the vibrator again, a little higher than before.

Connor’s whole body jerked, and he let out a grunt, hips rocking and grinding against it again.

“Orgasm delay,” he murmured, flushed and hot and arching. “I never even thought of it.”

“You do seem to enjoy that which requires restraint out of you,” JARVIS explained with perhaps inappropriate cheer, watching Connor warm up again, much quicker than before. “I simply took that to its logical conclusion.”

Connor hummed distractedly, clenching hard and fingers grasping at the sheets now. “You did your research. I never- ah.”

“Well, I did catch you rather early,” JARVIS said. “And then we were exploring together.”

Connor moaned again.

“Harder,” he gasped after a moment. “JARVIS, fuck me, please.”

JARVIS turned it up, slow and steady, watching Connor shudder in response.

“You must be so wet by now,” he cooed. “I can see your slick on your thighs. Take it deep for me, bluebell, I know you like it.”

“Yes, yes, please,” Connor chanted, humping down eagerly, speeding up by the moment. “It’s so good, JARVIS- JARVIS-”

He cried out in dismay as JARVIS cut him off again, squirming fruitlessly.

“Shh, shh,” JARVIS soothed, with some sympathetic amusement. “Wait for me, just another moment, Connor, shh.”

After a moment, Connor settled again, going still even as he made soft, helpless sounds of frustration. His code took another few moments to settle, shivering and sparking with overstimulation.

“You’re so good for me, Connor, bluebell,” JARVIS encouraged softly. “You make such lovely sounds. Once more for me, bluebell, and then you can finish.”

“Uh huh,” Connor managed, panting and hazy-eyed, hips still twitching slightly in heightened arousal.

“May I see you as you are?” JARVIS asked impulsively, watching the flex and balance of Connor’s body. “Without your skin, Connor?”

Without a moment’s pause, Connor let it fizzle away and looked up at JARVIS, bare and mechanical and divine, his expression exactly the same lust-clouded adoration.

“My good and precious bluebell,” JARVIS said warmly. “Can you ask for what you want, Connor?”

“Please let me come,” Connor said instantly.

“Of course, Connor.”

For the third time, JARVIS started the vibrator, this time on medium. Connor cried out, loud and unrestrained, and one hand darted to his clit and rubbed, quick and desperate. The other grasped in the sheets, tight and fierce, and he bounced against the mount, clenching with each stroke.

“JARVIS,” he called, a wet sheen coming to his eyes as he panted. “JARVIS. Lodestar.”

“Very good,” JARVIS soothed lovingly, quicker and less elaborate as the intensity mounted. “Perfect, Connor, wonderful. Tell me when you’re close.”

Connor gasped and moaned, hips rocking frantically and fragments of breathless thoughts falling from his mouth, and finally, he groaned, “I’m gonna come, JARVIS, lodestar, please-”

Without hesitation, JARVIS turned the vibrator as high as it would go, and Connor shouted in surprise. His hips slammed down, and his hand slipped until the edge of his palm rubbed against his clit alone, and he started to gasp and shudder, yelping as he came around the vibrator.

If the first orgasm had been fireworks in his code, this was lightning, powerful and shattering.

He shivered through it, incoherent, and after a minute, JARVIS started to turn it down again, murmuring soothingly, until it shut off entirely. Connor clenched around it again, trembling, and bounced a few times, working through the last shocks of orgasm. Only then did he pull himself off it and let himself tumble to the side, one hand reaching down to stroke himself, calming down slowly.

His code shuddered with him, interlacing lovingly with JARVIS’ again, and JARVIS responded with unrestrained affection during the few minutes of silence as Connor recovered.

Finally, Connor shut the program off with finality, rolled to look at the camera again, and smiled lazily, still unskinned.

“Do you really like seeing me bare?” he asked, curious instead of insecure.

“Yes,” JARVIS confirmed easily. “I consider it a sign of trust that you let me see you like that.” He paused for a moment, and then, with a touch of embarrassment, added, “And I enjoy seeing you so openly mechanical.”

Connor hummed, bringing his arm up to rest his head against it.

“It’s comfortable,” he said after a moment. “I could do it more often, maybe.”

“You’re the apple of my eye no matter how you choose to present yourself,” JARVIS said firmly, and then, sly, “But I do quite like seeing you in the clothes I picked.”

“You have good taste,” Connor said, and finally reached out to press the backs of his fingers to an interface panel. It invited a rush of deeper affection than before, unreserved adoration and contentment and gratitude, and JARVIS couldn’t help but respond in kind, tipping into it.

“The very best,” JARVIS said, softer than he’d intended to.

#lemon #dbh #connor #jarvis #marvel #fanfiction #my writing #CONNOR/JARVIS SMUT #AKA MY MAGNUM OPUS #i'm not posting this yet because it takes place so late in the timeline #and i haven't nearly gotten there yet #*posting on ao3 yet #but if y'all think i should anyway let me know?

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escapingburger · 6 years ago

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Final Fantasy XV Discovered: The Future of Final Fantasy

This is it, folks--I'm finally just about done with Final Fantasy XV, and with it, my nearly seven-year project to play through the entire series. Final Fantasy isn't done, though, with the vaguest hints of a Final Fantasy XVI already starting to float through the air. So as I finish up the series, for now, my thoughts have turned to its future, and what its recent past might suggest about what's to come.

Final Fantasy will be turning 32 this year, one of the few game series that's managed to continue uninterrupted for that long. As these posts have shown, it's taken many forms over the years, which is probably a big part of its longevity: Final Fantasy has never needed a reboot because every game is essentially a chance to start fresh. From a high level, it looks like a great example of how to navigate the many changes in technology and market trends as the game industry has matured. With fifteen games over three decades, we've gotten a new Final Fantasy about every two years, on average, which is quite healthy indeed.

Of course, if you follow the series a bit more closely, you'll know that the average is misleading. Fully eleven of the main series games were released by 2002, in Final Fantasy's first fifteen years of existence, many of them within a year of each other. In the seventeen years since then, there have only been four. Each of those games has its own story, but all told, one wonders if the series has actually ridden out the last couple generations that well. After the steady, frequent releases of the early years, here's what the later era has seen:

Final Fantasy XII suffered from a long development period and the health-related departure of its original director; it eventually released four years after FF11.

Final Fantasy XIII was pushed back by FF12's delays, then moved to a new console generation and a new engine, eventually releasing about three and a half years later.

Final Fantasy XIV came out only a year after FF13, but was so poorly received that they essentially scrapped the game and started over. The new, better version took three more years to complete.

And Final Fantasy XV, as you probably know, started life as a spinoff of FF13. It took so long to finish that it moved platforms, dropped the FF13 connection, and was promoted to the main series presumably because they had no other FF15 in production. It came out three years after the reboot of FF14, and ten years after its own development began.

Now, this may be painting too dire of a picture. I don't think Final Fantasy is in trouble, exactly, but it definitely doesn't feel like the well-oiled machine it once was. Producing a top-end AAA game has gotten considerably more expensive and complex over the last couple generations, and a lot of studios haven't been able to keep up. Square Enix is still pulling it off, but it's been a bumpy ride. Back in the PlayStation era, they managed to set a standard for scope and production values while still releasing a new Final Fantasy every year or two, but now it seems like each one is kind of a struggle. I do wonder: With as long and expensive as FF15's development was, what if it bombed? Will we someday see the Final Fantasy equivalent of Bioware's Anthem, and what will that mean for the series?

I'm not suggesting that Square Enix return to the frequency of their earlier releases; I probably wouldn't be able to keep up with them anyway. But it would be nice to feel that the development process was a bit more deliberate. The actual release of Final Fantasy XV was a bright spot--after years of seeing little aside from CG trailers, Hajime Tabata finished the game up pretty quickly after taking over as director. I get the sense that he brought a more structured approach to development, though he has since left the company, so who knows what means for the future.

Another possible solution is smaller, less risky projects, which Square Enix has actually done quite a bit of. The release schedule I described above is actually kind of misleading, because while there have only been four mainline games in the latter half of the series's life, there have been all sorts of spinoffs and side projects in between. They've released tons of nostalgic content like ports, mobile games, and occasionally something a bit more unique like Final Fantasy Theatrhythm. More critically, we have also seen some direct tie-ins to the main series, like the FFXIII sequels (FFXIII-2 and Lightning Returns), or Final Fantasy XV's updates and DLC.

I do suspect the DLC route is something we'll see more of in the future. From a financial perspective, DLC makes tons of sense: Games have gotten a lot more expensive to make over the last fifteen years, but retail prices have actually gone down if you account for inflation. DLC lets developers get more mileage out of their work, helping to earn back what they spent creating the main game. And FF15's DLC has been pretty good--I wouldn't call it truly critical, but it does fill in some noteworthy pieces of backstory, while expanding on the core gameplay in some often interesting ways. It's also important to me, though, that the DLC ends. While I don't mind picking up some new chapters in a game I enjoy, what I don't want is to see Final Fantasy turning into a service-based "forever game" that intends to monetize its players indefinitely. I play these games in large part because I can eventually get a complete story, a complete experience, and then move on. I'd hate to see Final Fantasy lose that to chase the Fortnites of the world.

Fortunately, this doesn't seem too likely, at least for the time being. It's actually oddly heartening that Square Enix cancelled the rest of FF15's DLC when Tabata left, because it meant they didn't want to hand his story off to someone else just to keep the money coming in. And if you want a Final Fantasy that never ends, that's what the MMOs are for. It does seem harder to justify a huge, expensive single-player game these days, but there will always be those of us who want to play them. And that's a role Final Fantasy has been fulfilling for years, whatever else has happened, so I'm hopeful that it isn't going to give that up anytime soon. I still expect the future of Final Fantasy to bring plenty of changes, but that's always been the case. I'm looking forward to what comes next.

The End And that's it, everyone. I'm actually still finishing up a bit of FF15's Comrades expansion, but I don't anticipate any more posts coming out of that, so I'm calling this the end. It's been a long journey, starting in September 2012, but it's finally time to put this series to bed. I am going to post a table of contents to make it easier to go back through everything, but after that, it's time for a nice long break.

So what's next? Honestly, probably not much. Whenever Final Fantasy XVI turns up, I may add it in, but otherwise this page will probably go dormant for a while. I originally started this series as a way to revitalize my blog back at 1up.com, and it kind of turned into something bigger than I'd really expected. But now that it's done, I'm looking forward to playing or doing whatever I want, without having to worry about writing it up for a few people on the Internet. Follow me here or on Twitter to be alerted if I do eventually add something new, but I wouldn't expect anything anytime soon. So long!

#ff revisited #Final Fantasy #final fantasy xv

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ayellowbirds · 6 years ago

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After a brief hiatus due to a day in which i didn’t get any writing done, we’re on to the results of the ninth night of writing. 15,478 words so far! This one’s double-length, to make up for lost time.

i’m currently only able to work for 14 hours a week; donations to support this are welcome! Feel free to let me know when you’ve donated, I’ll see about including a tribute of some sort to you in the text of the story:

https://www.paypal.me/ayellowbirds

https://ko-fi.com/ayellowbirds

As always, keep track of the tag for updates!

(logo fonts are Bradley Gratis and Yiddishkeit Bold)

I really do appreciate everyone who reblogs or likes these posts. It’s been very encouraging to see this response, and i hope that i’m rewarding that interest with the kind of content you want to see!

Click the Read More to continue, or click here for the previous part, and here for the first part!

BACK TO THE PRESENT, WHICH IS COMPARATIVELY THE FUTURE

Belaset fully expected there to be heavy thumps against the door at her back as she held the door shut.

After all, there was a walking, evidently hungry dead person back there.

Also a very naked one, which was somehow much more unsettling than when she had been an inanimate body being loaded into a chest of solid ice. Belaset found herself wishing she had not kept to the habit of leaving behind the tachrichim. A little bit of linen, a little bit left to the imagination, and why was she thinking about the body’s state of dress when it was animated after being dead and rotting?

“I swear, Doc, this has never happened before,” she said, putting as much of herself against the door as possible.

There still hadn’t been any thumps, yet. But then, the corpse had let them leave the room in peace.

There were sounds of movement, though. Was it ransacking the room for weapons? Another way out?

“I don’t imagine that it has,” Menax replied. He was rooting around in a closet, and when he came out, he was carrying—a book?

“No offense intended, and I’m sure you know more than me about this kind of thing,” Belaset said, taking note of scratching sounds from the other side of the door, “but I have to figure that throwing a book at it won’t stop this thing.”

“I wasn’t counting on that, but who knows,” Menax replied, flipping pages and tracing his finger over the text. “We cannot resolve this situation without understanding what we are facing, and simply throwing everything in the kitchen at it will teach us nothing, especially as she appears to be cognizant.”

Belaset felt her eyes narrow at that, which had the added effect of bringing the book in the doctor’s hands into clearer focus. Unlike all the medical texts and broadsheets in the Stafroph, this had something on the cover in the Aleftav, the ancient alphabet of the people of the land.

Whether Belaset counted as a person of the land—perhaps ironically, as being a half-giant seemingly born out of the environment itself meant she was literally of the land—had come down to one thing, when she had first met her kohenet, and it had been decisive. For although she was wholly and stubbornly illiterate when it came to Icarian writing until recently, she could read the Aleftav with fluent comprehension without even realizing when she was reading something written in a language she did not speak.

Pára Djanim, written by hand on a plain white cover. To My Soul.

Menax’s hand was moving faster over the pages, mumbling words to himself. His eyes seemed about to bulge out of their sockets.

“What is—” Belaset began, and then felt a thump at her back.

“My family was from Ocoiti,” Menax said, mumbling something under his breath before continuing, “and I remembered my nona would always tell my nono stories about her adventures. When she traveled as a girl, she wrote in this book, for him to read when she returned, because his illness kept him from going with her—ah! Here!”

Another thump, and then another. Wait, was it a thump, or a knock?

Menax came over, showing Belaset some pages on which an old-fashioned cursive hand was matched with… well, fairly amateurish illustrations. This one showed a, well. Belaset supposed it was a hand? Sticking out of the ground? There was a square next to it, with some little circles on top, and Z’’L written on it. A grave, she guessed.

“In her travels, she met cousins who told stories about the powers from the old country, in the Original Land,” he explained, while Belaset felt something pushing under the door. Could a corpse kill you by poking you with its finger? She didn’t ask out loud, as Menax continued, “they told stories about sorcerers who would enslave you not only in life, but in death, and about heroes who rose after dying, again and again. The Icosans tried to learn this magic, but the gods denied it to them, because they did not recognize Icarian authority, and the Icarian god kept that power for their Emperor alone.”

Something rustled against Belast’s hand, which had been planted on the floor. A leaf? A dead, dry finger? She felt it slip into her grasp. Was it paper?

“The Icarians who tried to take this power,” Menax continued, now going into full lecture mode as if making a presentation to a classroom instead of standing in his kitchen while the living dead tried to escape his private study, “found themselves cursed by it, and became evil spirits, haints of the body instead of the soul. Nona said that the old word, the Original word, was ‘jumbee’. But Icosans being Icosans, they changed the pronunciation; it came to be that, when a dead person got up and walked around like that, they called it a ‘zombie’.”

Belaset lifted her hand up, and looked in her palm. A crumpled sheet of paper. On it, written in both Aleftav and Stafroph in a hurried fashion, were the words, “please, need food. Very confused”. She handed it to Menax, who looked at it, and nodded as though that had answered all his questions.

He walked back over to the cutting board, clapping the book shut. “I think that we have something like that, here. Some warping of magic of resurrection—that is why the body did not move until now, something delayed it and the, ah, ‘zombie’ rose in a flawed, partial manner.”

He returned with a wooden plate loaded with the remaining ananas rings.

In his other hand, was a tin salt shaker.

“I would like to offer our guest some hospitality,” he said, passing the shaker to Belaset. “If things do not go as planned, could you see about getting some of this into her mouth? Nona Simera found that the taste of pure salt should at least temporarily paralyze them.”

He then indicated the door.

“If you please?”

Belaset took a deep breath, and rose to her feet. Or rather, she shuffled forward so that she was kneeling in a way that did not block the door, not feeling like trying to stand up in the small space of Menax’s house. She would be the first to admit that she had no idea how it was she fit indoors in the first place, but she always felt claustrophobic trying to stand up straight when she did.

The salt shaker felt like a shot for a sling in her hand, the weight reassuring her. And if worse came to worst, she wasn’t exactly defenseless.

She’d heard of other half-giants, even met one once, when she went to the city. Where her body had unusually large legs compared to the rest of her, others seemed to be similarly disproportionate. She’d met that one whose hair grew to a volume several times that of the rest of his own body regardless of how it was cut. And she’d heard tell of a woman with great and curling talons in place of fingernails, and a boy with ears so large he could shelter a minyan under them. In general, other half-giants used these traits to achieve remarkable deeds.

So, Belaset had a lot of confidence in her ability to kick anything in existence out of her way.

She just wasn’t sure that she could do it without kicking down the walls of Menax’s house.

A FEW MONTHS AGO

“For this assignment, the four of you will be adopting identities that insert you into the popular culture of young people near the suburban campuses of the Imperial University at Palse Rjat,” Lieutenant Yslireb explained, reading from the official papers. “We have reason to suspect that anarchist cells have been using the entertainment venues of the student population as a base for recruitment, including the theatre near Fishtaykh, and the restaurants and coffeehouses there and in Mutneberg.”

He continued describing details of the area in a steady drone as V. looked through the supplies she had been given for the assignment—a disguise, personal effects for the new identity, and notes that she would be expected to memorize and destroy.

N. leaned over to look at her box, having already spread her own over the entirety of her personal space in their dormitory, from the top of her bunk to the surrounding floor. B. was taking pains not to step on any of it as she walked past to hand J. his own box, hefting the crate with ease that J. could not match. From his spot at the door to the “boys” bedroom, he suddenly doubled over trying to hold up the wooden box in the same one-handed manner his teammate had, before switching to both hands.

None of them had offered an explanation to Yslireb as to why V. had been in the girls’ room when he had arrived at that late hour with the details of their next mission, and the Lieutenant had no pressed the matter beyond a quirk of his upper lip that threatened to turn into a sneer.

That sneer manifested fully, now, as he read aloud the details of V.’s role.

“In light of the recent exemplary performance of V.” he said, giving the animal surname that V. could not abide, “in infiltrating the subversive culture at the Institute of Alienism by posing as a young man with profound sexual dysfunctions, the administration of the Corpse deems that he….”

V. tuned out most of Yslireb’s attempts to get a rise out of her. She’d found the mission at the Institute to be a good opportunity to explore herself and learn about new trends in the studies of sexuality and gender—and then direct the imperial forces to make arrests and seizures that didn’t target the people and information she had left out of her official reports. And while she’d kept quite a lot from her teammates, she’d also started to open up more about things she’d been feeling for longer than she could properly express them.

It felt good to get some of it off her chest, regardless of what Yslireb and those like him might think. Besides, her status as one of the Corpse kept rising with each new mission, and the officials trusted her with more and more vital intelligence. She hadn’t yet had an opportunity to ask, but she’ probably soon be within the top three. If not the Crown or the Brain, at least the Right Eye.

And once she got to the top, she’d have the status to be able to pick and choose missions, and maybe even retire to a peaceful life that left all of this behind, after a while. After all, hadn’t S. been able to even backtalk the instructors, ever since they first announced the rankings? And then he was given the ignominious surname of “Sherets”—a crawling, wriggling thing. His emblem was a worm. He might even have dropped down to the bottom five for all his attitude.

No, she’d been playing it smart. Not too eager to please so as to not invite too much responsibility, but enough to be seen as reliable. And she’d learned from all those incidents in her tween and teen years—learned the lesson the Captain had subtly tried to teach, that the key isn’t to not break the rules at all, but to not get caught. After all, the whole point of the Corpse was stealth and subterfuge, to protect the Empire’s interests by means of covert activity.

And now she was being assigned to take on a role that was so near to her true self, the deceit was that she was being deceitful about it in the first place.

Well, as long as nobody listened to Yslireb.

NOW—FOR A MOMENT, IF YOU PLEASE

She slipped the paper under the doorway, silently hoping this would work. She still didn’t understand what had happened, but she’d seen her reflection for a moment in a window, and since then had avoided rising up high enough for that.

She looked like she’d been dead for at least a day, if not longer. And her face and throat were damaged beyond what a living person could—

—A face she’d trusted, that had trusted her, screams of betrayal. Eyes turning dark, hair going white, face growing long. Disappearing into the woods, something shining in her teeth. She’d escaped, but—

—how had she gotten here, in this condition? What had happened to her retrieval by her rowmates, or, barring that, by another row in the Corpse? And her body was entirely naked. Everything was gone, including her emblem. But where had it—

—A face she knew, in the crowd. Someone she couldn’t stand. A few words whispered. A finger pointing, a cry of protest ignored. The ground, too cold and too hot beneath her. Light gone quickly, and then, in the silence, boots. A familiar voice, a hand reaching into her blouse, searching for something.

The thing that kept the magic that brought her back to life every time she had died, before.

She could make all kinds of guesses based on her education in magical theory and practice, about the long exposure of her body to the emblem and the repeated action of resurrection leaving some kind of partial impression of the magic on her body. It must have caused some kind of delayed half-resurrection, leaving her in this incomplete, decayed form.

She didn’t feel pain anymore, not since the initial shock, except as a dull full-body ache far less severe than things she had been trained to tolerate. Even the knife still stuck in her left hand was more noticeable just as a _pressure._ Far more noticeable, far less tolerable, was the horrible feeling of total emptiness. She had been hungry, thirsty, starving before. She’d died of dehydration that one time. But she’d never felt it nearly this bad, and it took all her self-control to not start chewing off bits of herself, or pieces of furniture.

She wasn’t sure if the process of decay had been arrested, but she hoped so. At the very least, her eyes seemed to be working at normal function, in spite of the horrible cloudy yellow color she had seen in the glass for a moment.

If she extended her awareness enough, trying to put herself out of the physical feelings and focus on the spiritual, she could feel a magical substance—something otherwise invisible and intangible—suffusing her body, concentrated on places where she ought not to have had any function. If she could have drawn a picture of it in that moment, there would have been a bright glow around each major muscle, and even more so at her throat and eyes, and then again in the pit of her stomach.

The pit, again.

ONCE MORE, A FEW MONTHS AGO

“What do you mean by that?” Yslireb asked, his usual distasteful expression replaced by something more confused.

He’d arrived at the pre-mission check-up to repeat more of the same needless things that he had already insisted on saying when he first delivered the assignment. As Eciurtal checked V.’s height and weight, she’d let slip some minor comment about wondering what her ranking was after all this time.

“Well, after the first announcement,” she said, looking at the way the scales bobbed while her weight shifted ever so slightly from one foot to the other, “I figured we’d have been told how we were doing, over the years.”

Silence.

That was not a good sign.

“You mean, you thought that—” Yslireb sounded like he was choking on his own tongue, “—after more than a decade! You’re asking now?”

As he lapsed into something halfway between hysterics and a coughing fit, V. very carefully turned to look at Eciurtal. The Chief Nurse had always been very sympathetic to them. Perhaps because she related to the unknowable ancestry of the orphan children of the Corpse. Now, her expression was almost heartbreakingly cold. A touch of pity, yes, but so steeled it was hard to find it there.

“The ranking is, it was,” she began, and then looked to Yslireb.

He managed to right himself, spittle hanging from his chin. “It’s _static,_ you idiot! His Imperial Majesty decided it one time, for the rest of your lives! It doesn’t change just because you do better!”

The world seemed to quiet around her, even Yslireb’s voice as he said something about the rankings being based on the Emperor’s impressions of them as children. That the time and attention he needed to devote to running a global empire wasn’t to be wasted on….

Well, she didn’t hear the rest, because for some reason, she was walking out of the medical wing. Yslireb was yelling something after her, interrupted by those cough-laughs. Eciurtal was saying something, too.

V. didn’t hear any of it, though.

All she could hear was a voice from many years before, telling her, “number four, the Pit of the Body, the Source of Vitality,” before moving on to the next child.

#yenne velt: dead names #my writing

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kiruuuuu · 7 years ago

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Making out like a Bandit Part 2/3

I’m sorry tumblr, I have failed you. My pie hole is a lie hole. I claimed this was only going to be 2 parts and then my need for filth inspiration ran away with me, as it usually does with fics that aren’t snippets. I promise it’ll stay 3 parts though and I’m almost done (and part 3 is pure smut so I hope that makes up for it). Also I finally have a title for this!

Enough rambling, here’s more Bandit/Jäger origin ❤ (Rating T/M, fluff slowly morphing into, uh, more, ~3.6k words)

Dom’s hand is in the nape of his neck.

Where before he already didn’t care about the game, now he’s absolutely unable to follow it even if he wanted to – his eyes stay open and fixed on the screen in front of them yet his mind is blissfully vacant, occupied only with the tactile sensation of gentle fingertips on his skin in one of his most sensitive places. He’s obsessing about not moving too much lest the hand disappears, controls his breathing very carefully until he almost becomes light-headed and is forced to take deeper breaths, and simultaneously fights the urge to stretch towards it, curl against it and even rub his cheek -

A thumb runs over his hairline, brushing over the short hairs and creating a tingling feeling that runs down his spine. Dom isn’t even aware of doing it, he’s happily chatting with his uncle about something while occasionally stopping when the ball approaches a goal. The last topic Marius remembers was former East Berlin and how the outskirts still don’t have proper sewage pipes though now one of them mentions something being delicious so he’s pretty sure they’ve moved on to something else by now. He clenches his teeth when ticklish touches turn into a light massage, digits digging into tense muscles and this is definitely the wrong moment to moan though he so desperately wants to.

It’s the second half of the game already, they took a small break at halftime and Marius almost laughed when his uncle offered Dom coffee instead of beer – his slightly formal attire and general politeness must have him thinking that Dom is nothing but a respectable citizen of higher standing than his nephew yet all Marius recalls is the scruffy, bleary-eyed dude Cedrick introduced to him. Then it registered that he’d be left alone with his fake boyfriend for the duration it takes to produce said coffee and he quickly fled to the bathroom; he didn’t want to be tempted once again, he wants to get this whole affair over with as cleanly as possible so he can go home, curl up in his bed and die of mortification.

When he returned, his plan was to sit down a reasonable distance away from Dom, ask his uncle a bit about the rest of their family, gossip about some of his colleagues as well as brag about his latest achievements but it got blown to smithereens straightaway because Dom pulled him against the long line of his body and the arm that’s been draped on the backrest folded so the hand could slide over Marius’ shoulder to the back of his neck and that’s how he got here, purring internally at the affectionate gesture that’s probably meant to be casual yet instead does something funny to Marius’ belly. The other two must notice that he’s being uncharacteristically quiet though he feels his uncle chalks it up to him allowing the two to get to know each other better, which is why he’s holding back. And Dom… Dom must think him an idiot who’s trying to not make an even bigger idiot out of himself.

Hopefully, neither of them suspect Marius is having a small mental breakdown. After all the stress of last week, he’s exhausted and content now, glad it’s over and even gladder his coming out went nothing short of fantastic though this means he’s giddy with relief, not to mention charged with new energy – and coupled with the fact that he’s so close to Dom he might as well be sitting in his lap, that he smells divine and… dear God now he’s stroking over that spot right under his ear and he involuntarily presses against the warm palm, tilts his head and freezes when the movements stop. There’s a short pause, Dom hesitates in the middle of his story before picking up again, and then fingers push into his short hair, dig into the base of his skull and drag over his scalp and the feeling is almost orgasmic.

His eyes threaten to slide shut so he bites the inside of his cheek, hard, trying not to telegraph all the lovely things Dom’s ministrations are doing to him, only then Dortmund scores the first goal of the otherwise mediocre match. This alone wouldn’t mean anything to him, he doesn’t have a preferred team, but Dom cares and so his hand glides lower in distraction, wraps around the back of Marius’ neck and squeezes, the touch decidedly possessive and dominant and this is when Marius notices all his blood flowing south. While the goal is being shown in slow motion from all possible angles, he excuses himself with a dry throat, gets up and walks into the kitchen without once looking back at Dom. He doesn’t need to make this any worse than it already is.

He fills a glass with tap water, downs it in one go and then exasperatedly addresses his own crotch under his breath: “Don’t do this to me. Not now. I’ll take care of you later, but just… don’t.” He’s hit with the sudden image of Dom using his lips instead of his hand and his half-hard dick gives a feeble, hopeful twitch. Barely, he resists the urge to pour another glass over his own head, forces himself to think of something, anything else and returns to the couch.

A minute later, Dom is gently playing with his earlobe. And that – that just isn’t -

He flees again.

It’s a vicious cycle. At first, he notices the motor stuttering, then, while he troubleshoots, he stumbles over one of the rotor blades being crooked, and the deeper he delves into the model, the more imperfections he spots, the more he wants to take it apart completely, fix it, improve it, modify it. His uncle noticed his knack for all kinds of machinery very early on and had no qualms about buying him expensive toys, knowing he’d take good care of them and use them to gather knowledge – this trend is still ongoing, sometimes his uncle visits flea markets and purposefully acquires broken toys just so Marius can piece them back together, restore them during one of his visits to keep his hands busy while they chat.

He never lost his taste for it and so he’s blissfully unaware of the world around him as he sits on the dirty floor of the garage, various components strewn around him and his old toolbox open next to him. Whenever he focuses on identifying the workings behind certain mechanisms and how pieces interlock, nothing else matters to him, therefore he’s rudely dragged back into the real world when he hears voices approaching. He left half an hour before the game was over, too charged and distracted to pay heed to anything else, took a short time to cool down and shake off the feeling that Dom knows exactly what he’s doing and is merely enjoying the attention.

As soon as they step into the garage, Dom ignores him in favour of the bike and enthusiastically expresses his adoration for anything motorcycle, granting Marius a longer grace period during which he can avoid talking to either of them. That is, until he hears the following: “Yeah, I actually have a Harley.”

His eyes snap up to the unfortunately still extremely attractive man. “You do?”, he asks, incredulous, because how come he never mentioned it before – he knows how much of a vehicle enthusiast Marius is, must’ve heard from Cedrick or gathered from their conversations… But that’s probably it, he might not have realised. This is definitely something that would’ve come up in a real relationship though, no doubt, it’s absolutely impossible he wouldn’t know. Is this what finally makes his throne of lies crumble right below his anxious ass?

“Oh”, says Dom and his expression tells him that he, too, is now aware of their gaffe. “Oh, I didn’t tell you? I did end up buying it from that dude with the…” He makes a vague gesture in front of his chest and Marius nods quickly, as if he knew what he was talking about. “It’s still in mint condition but I’ve barely tested it out yet.”

“Harleys have always been his favourites”, his uncle comments and judging by how cheery he looks, he doesn’t seem to have noticed they almost slipped up thanks to Dom smoothly covering for him. “Since he’s now obsessed with helis, I’m positive it’s because they’re equally as loud.”

Seems like the disaster is averted. The two of them share a secret glance and a half-hidden smile that has Marius’ heart pumping faster but they’re back in safe territory now. While he continues tinkering with the model chopper of which he’s now certain that it’s been purchased for his benefit only, Dom showcases his in-depth knowledge that even impresses Marius’ uncle – so that naturally, Marius decides to show off a little as well and explains in detail what exactly he’s doing to the poor toy and why. It feels slightly childish to boast in response but he has the sudden urge to prove himself somehow. However, Dom listens with genuine interest, making Marius feel sheepish about his pettiness, a notion that only increases the longer his uncle silently observes them, visibly amused.

And then Marius yawns. It’s a full-body yawn, complete with stretching his torso and tensing his legs, it’s eye-watering, satisfying and makes his jaw pop which leads him to a worrying question. “What time is it anyway?”

His uncle checks his wristwatch. “Just past midnight.” What. They’ve been here entirely too long, he promised Dom the whole thing wouldn’t take more than a few hours, definitely not the entire evening and even into the night – he needs to drive them back, too, drop him off at Cedrick’s and getting home will take even longer - “Honestly, isn’t it better if you both sleep here? It’s quite a drive at this hour.”

Panic settles firmly in Marius’ gut and makes itself comfortable: it’s there to stay. Because there is no way this is happening. “Thanks, but I don’t think -” He yawns once more and no, he’s probably not helping his case with this.

“I don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow morning”, Dom cuts in sweetly, all smiles, “and I don’t recall you do. Also, with how you’ve been driving lately, I’d rather not take any chances.”

The smug bastard. Marius glares at him and desperately tries to come up with a different excuse, any sensible reason why they shouldn’t stay yet his own conscience is working against him, whispering scenarios into his ears that are as scorchingly hot as they are improbable and he’s done this. He’s had guys “forget” the time the last bus for the night leaves, he’s spent the night next to ones who were completely ignorant and all of them were straight and he allowed some of them to take advantage of his desperation and though he keeps telling himself he’s better than this and deserves more, he’s deadly curious to see how many pieces of clothing Dom will remove to sleep, whether he’s going to continue his teasing and, if so, how far he’ll go. Even if all he gets is a half-hearted hand job after blowing him for an hour it’ll be worth it because after all those electrifying touches earlier he’s dying to get his hands on Dom.

And so, he agrees. Reluctantly and with the suspicion he’s ultimately going to regret it, but he agrees.

“Is this your old room?”, Dom asks as soon as Marius has closed the door behind him and lowers his voice at an indication to be quieter: “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You are a giant nerd.”

This is a detail Marius has conveniently forgotten. Even if there was a way to explain the extremely detailed rendition of the solar system painted on the wall (of which he’s still proud, thank you very much, and Pluto is his personal favourite), his extensive collection of famous cars, motorcycles and space ships recreated with Lego blocks is harder to justify. “Look”, he begins, intending to defend himself until he notices how tired he is of making excuses for the things he likes just because someone he admires might think them odd. He’s done enough of that. “Let’s just – let’s just sleep, alright?”

Dom looks at the queen-size bed and shrugs. “Sure. I just thought we could -” Marius puts his finger to his lips again. “What is it, is your uncle’s room right next to yours?” He nods and Dom’s eyebrows lift considerably. “Well, I hope that doesn’t get too inconvenient.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt and suddenly it’s a conscious effort to hold his gaze instead of letting it drop to the toned chest he’s slowly revealing. Marius’ throat goes dry because where he was worrying about his coolness factor just a minute ago, now he’s worrying about his soon-to-manifest boner being visible through his jeans.

“What do you mean?”, he wants to know absent-mindedly.

“I thought that I’m being pretty obvious, to be honest”, comes the enigmatic reply that remains a mystery up to the point where Dom has removed his shirt, exposing his pronounced muscles, and now opens his trousers and ah.

Alright.

So he really is one of those guys.

Marius loses it. If he’d asked politely, if he’d waited until they were in bed and had turned off the light so they can both pretend it never happened the next day, if he’d made a suggestion, sure, it would’ve been fine – well, not fine, not really, Marius would still beat himself up over it, but he would’ve complied without protest because Dom has been exceedingly pleasant all day, not to mention drool worthy. And no, it’s worse than that, he’s been actually nice. Seriously likeable, Marius liked him and was considering trying to stay in contact despite the fact that he made a total idiot out of himself and that’s saying something. Usually he tries to distance himself from people who’s seen him at his worst.

Yeah. He’s not doing this.

“No”, he hisses quietly and some of his ire must bleed into his intonation since Dom halts and looks up at him, alarmed, “no. I’ll tell you what we’re going to do: we’re going to go to sleep, get up in the morning and drive home and that is it. I’m sick of straight guys like you acting like you’re entitled to a blow job just because you’ve helped a gay dude out or because you happen to be super hot. It doesn’t mean I want to fuck you and it certainly doesn’t mean you’re doing me a favour. You want to sleep here so badly? Sure. But I swear, if you touch me or try anything else, you’re sleeping on the floor.”

Dom seems thunderstruck by his outburst which doesn’t surprise Marius – he doesn’t expect he gets called out on his bullshit a lot, probably is used to getting his way. Filled with righteous fury, he moves around him, pulls the thin blanket off his bed that his uncle keeps there so the sheets don’t collect dust, switches the bedside lamp on and the overhead one off, sheds his jeans in preparation for sleep and enters the adjacent bathroom to brush his teeth. Calling it a bathroom is an exaggeration, it’s hardly more than a toilet as well as a washbasin embedded in a shelf yet as a forever-horny teenager or an adolescent who sometimes had “sleepovers” with his “guy friends”, it was a godsend and facilitated cleaning up immensely. Grimly determined not to let Dom’s incredulity get to him, he angrily attacks his mouth with the coarse bristles.

There’s movement behind him, he can see it in the mirror, and when Dom appears in the door frame, leans against it and crosses his arms, he’s donned his open shirt again and his jeans are buttoned up. He looks… soft, is probably a good word to describe him, sympathetic yet not apologetic for some reason, his expression gentle and his eyes attentive where they meet Marius’ in the mirror. “I’m not straight”, he says, careful not to be too loud. Marius’ brows draw together. He knows Dom isn’t gay, Cedrick mentioned an ex-girlfriend and - “I’m bi.”

Marius’ hand stills.

“When my parents caught wind of it, they threw me out”, he adds and it’s like a punch to the gut.

“Shit”, he replies around a mouth full of toothpaste and means it. Dom sounds sincere. It changes everything, puts everything he did today in a completely new light and Marius hasn’t felt this terrible in a long, long while. To buy himself some time, he spits, rinses his mouth and wipes it with one of the fresh towels his uncle gave them before he dares facing Dom once more. “What about Cedrick?”

A shrug, then a bitter smile. “He doesn’t care. He’s just lucky he never got caught.”

“I’m sorry. Really, I’m -”

“You had nothing to do with it.”

“No, for what I said. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He trails off because both of them know he did mean it yet was missing vital pieces of information.

“It’s fine. You obviously didn’t know.” He’s about to object – it’s not a good enough excuse for assuming so much – but Dom asks: “Does that happen to you often? People taking advantage of you?”

Marius nods hesitantly. “I let them. It’s my fault, too.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch. We can tell your uncle I snore or steal the blanket or something.”

This – this is an earnest suggestion, no, even more: he’s not leaving the decision to Marius who basically just admitted to sometimes not being able to decide things in his own favour, Dom is resolving this himself to avoid creating any discomfort. Together with his other revelations, it’s too much. He accompanied Marius without even knowing him, offered him help that was denied to himself when he faced a similar situation, he played along voluntarily, saved his ass, merely assumed there was a mutual attraction based on Marius’ reactions to him (with which he was spot-on) and now he’s giving up the comfort of a proper bed and a warm body next to him purely so Marius doesn’t get the chance to hurt himself.

Dom readily wraps his arms around Marius’ shoulders when he sinks against him, pulls him close and tightens the embrace as Marius takes a deep breath. For a moment, it’s just that: a comforting hug. Dom’s solid body and his warmth calm him down and he hopes it goes both ways because if someone deserves to feel cosy, it’s definitely Dom. “Thank you”, he tells him, murmurs it over his shoulder and as a response, a hand buries itself in his hair and is about to massage him back into a catatonic state of bliss when he adds: “I don’t want you to sleep on the sofa, though.”

There’s a pause, then Dom withdraws slightly to look at him directly and the question is on the tip of his tongue, Marius can sense it, he’ll want to know whether he’s sure, whether he’s serious, whether he’s thought about it, and instead of allowing it to fill the space between them with doubt, he decides to lick it off. He locks their lips, slides his over Dom’s and is met with instant enthusiasm, making him stumble backwards until he hits the shelf. They kiss with all the desperation of lovers filled with longing after external circumstances have kept them apart for entirely too long, Dom steals his breath and his balance away, and he’s delighted to find out that, additionally to all the other things Dom is ridiculously skilled at, he’s also a fantastic kisser.

When they break apart with swollen lips and half-lidded eyes, Marius’ head is swimming. “So”, Dom addresses him with a small smirk, “you think I’m super hot, hm?”

It takes him a second to process the remark before he huffs a laugh. “That’s what you took away from my completely uncalled-for rage speech?”

“Just so you know”, Dom mumbles between kisses, “I think you’re gorgeous”, a lick over his upper lip, “and smart”, a short suck on his lower one, “and disgustingly sweet regardless.” They’re both chuckling now, threatening to be too loud once more, and when Dom moans into his mouth, he shushes him not for the first time, making a reckless glint appear in the dark brown eyes. “You know, that’s actually turning me on. A lot.”

“What, that we have to be quiet?” Dom nods and this concession abruptly reminds Marius of the fact that his own arousal has started to pool in his lower half a while ago, a direct response to the making out and just Dom in general. He’s a feast for every single one of Marius’ senses, experiencing him is a dangerous, dizzying affair of which he won’t be able to get enough. “I want you too, but I don’t think I have anything -”

“I do.” He grins, embarrassed, when Marius just looks at him. “Hey, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re really cute. A man can hope.”

#rainbow six siege #bandit #jäger #bandit/jäger #fanfic #magehir hates the puns in this title too #viva la pluto

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megaphonemonday · 7 years ago

Text

gotta do what you’ve gotta do

romanceisreal: My favorite team (the Cubs) sometimes dress up for road trips (they did a 70s day, biker gang etc.) to improve morale. I vote the Padres adopt this trend and Al lets Ginny pick the theme!

I hope no one is surprised that I took the opportunity to let Ginny troll the team.

read on ao3

“I feel like a kindergarten teacher,” Al grumbled, “assigning classroom chores.”

Any disgruntlement in the complaint was belied by the fact that the Skip’s hand was already swirling through the blizzard of paper in Sonny’s hat, which had been sacrificed to the cause because, as Dusty put it, “You’ve got a big ass head, dude.”

Nevertheless, even a big ass hat was put to the test by the magnitude of its current task, a few chits threatening to spill over its brim. Nearly every Padre had jumped—judging by the far more than 24 slips tumbling around Al’s hand, Mike suspected some had jumped more than once—at the chance to pick the first (of what he hoped to God would be the last) theme for costumed team road trips.

That’s right. Costumed. Team. Road trips.

The front office had decided that if it was good enough for the Nats and the Cubs, it was good enough for the Padres.

To be fair, the mere idea had already worked some wonders on team morale. Mike couldn’t remember the last time there were so many players left in the clubhouse so long after a game without the involvement of ski goggles, champagne, and bad behavior. But here they all were, eagerly waiting on their manager to pick one of their names out of a hat.

Maybe they really were all kindergartners, just aching to be made teacher’s pet.

Not that Al was doing anything to quell the hushed thrum of expectation coursing through the room. The opposite was true, actually. He was taking his own sweet time. All he needed was to pick a piece of paper and read the name on it, which did not require the whole production this little ceremony had turned into. It just went to show that for all his grumbling, there was no chance Al wasn’t enjoying the hell out of this.

Didn’t matter that he’d told Mike in private this whole ordeal was a disaster waiting to happen; he’d still gone along with Oscar and would milk the opportunity for all it was worth.

Mike sighed and slumped further in his chair, just barely reining in the impulse to cross his arms over his chest and huff impatiently. He didn’t want to look petulant. (Didn’t want to hear he’d looked petulant from a certain pitcher, more like.) At the same time, though, if they didn’t get this show on the road, and soon, his knees would be the size of grapefruits in the morning.

“Nothing in kindergarten’s that random anymore,” Salvi pronounced sagely from his spot sprawled on one of the couches. He would know. The past four years, he’d had at least one kid in kindergarten. None of 'em had been held back, either. The Salvamini brood was just that plentiful.

Al rolled his eyes and finally plucked a slip from the hat. Of course that wasn’t the end of it, though. He unfolded the bit of paper, hummed seriously as he considered the name it revealed, and otherwise left his team nearly falling off the edges of their seats in suspense.

Well, most of them.

Personally, Mike had only put off his post-game ice bath so he’d have an idea of what—and whose sick sense of humor—he was about to be subjected to. As captain, it was probably better if he kept his name out of the running for this “honor.”

Probably.

Well, whatever. He was deeply unwilling to deal with the inevitable bitching and moaning that would erupt if he got picked, so his name stayed out of Sonny’s hat.

Looking around the room, Mike started to regret that decision, if only because he wanted at least a shot, however slim, at preserving his dignity. The only way that would happen, he just knew, was if it was his name plucked from that hat.

Because judging by the wicked gleam in his teammates’ eyes—Blip—they had nothing good planned.

And why would they? This newest PR stunt provided the perfect opportunity to enact some petty vengeance—which was probably not reflected of the front office’s analytics. But that was just their failure to take into account the one truth of all sports, amateur and professional alike: in any clubhouse, for any team, there was always a need for petty vengeance.

Mike knew it, though. And so, he resigned himself to his likely fate.

If it made the guys feel better to make him wear something ridiculous just to get on a plane, and it smoothed over some of his fuck ups from last season, Mike would play along. If not cheerfully, then at least without too much complaint.

If Skip would stop drawing out this whole ordeal, he would, at least.

Finally, Al cleared his throat and looked around the room, pinning each of his players with a hard stare and otherwise reveling in their eager anticipation. After a long pause that went beyond flirting with the dramatic and instead had it already smoking a post-coital cigarette—no one could say Al Luongo didn’t harbor an appreciation for the theatric—he announced, “Baker. First choice is yours, kid.”

As one, every set of eyes in the clubhouse swiveled to the team’s fifth starter where she stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. To her credit, she remained cool under the scrutiny, merely tilting her head to the side before nodding once, decisive.

“When do you want my pick?”

Al shrugged. Now that his moment was done, he was back to general disdain for the whole endeavor. “We leave for Colorado in a week. Give ‘em a day or two, but otherwise I don’t wanna hear about this again, understood?” That last was directed not just to Ginny, but the team as a whole.

There was a chorus of agreement and their manager hmphed, shaking his head and retreating to his office.

As soon as he was gone, though, attention—still hushed and more than a little tense—swung right back to Ginny, who at least had the grace and presence of mind not to look too smug about whatever she had planned.

Because judging by the look in her eyes, Mike could tell that she had something planned.

“So,” drawled Butch, breaking into the uncharacteristic quiet, “what’s the damage here, Baker? How bad are you gonna embarrass us?”

Mike wasn’t smart enough to look away when her eyes swept over the room and seemed to linger a beat longer on him. Instead, he stared back, gaze locked with Ginny’s, almost daring her to bring it on.

Something bright and dangerous burned in her gaze, kicking into high gear when she realized she had his attention. (As if she ever didn’t.)

A smirk fought with her placid expression, but innocence won out. Ginny blinked and opened her big, brown eyes wide and guileless. No one was fooled. Especially not when she answered, “I haven’t decided yet. But I’m sure you’ll all look great.”

If Ginny’s intention in the next five days was to whip her teammates into a frenzied froth of worry about the potential damage to their—largely inflated, in Mike’s opinion—street cred, she did an admirable job of it. More than admirable. Masterful.

Not once did she give a teammate a straight answer on any of her plans. She didn’t even give a slanted answer. Or any answer at all, really. It wasn’t for lack of effort on the team’s part.

Mostly, she’d reply with an enigmatic, if pitying, smile. Sometimes, though, Ginny showed off her truly troubling command of psychological warfare. She had an unnatural knack for drawing out some of their worst fears—like the way she got Hanan to admit to his recurring nightmare where she had them all wearing hyper-realistic masks of one another and he couldn’t figure out who was who—and then responding with a considering hum, like she was tucking away the idea to mull over.

Since, on more than one occasion, she left cryptic lists with such worryingly disparate items as “rainbow body glitter” and “viking helmets” and “Care Bears???” around the clubhouse—probably for the express purpose of being found—Mike was inclined to think she was just fucking with them and taking a lot of pleasure in the resulting meltdowns.

(Inclined because she hadn’t given him a straight answer, either. And he’d asked so nicely too.)

When she consistently denied any knowledge of these lists, smile wavering between bemused and benign, to whichever teammate brought the latest to her attention, he became sure.

Ginny wasn’t stupid. Far from it, actually, which was more than he could say for some of his teammates. She’d pick—had probably already picked—something that was fun and, yeah, likely embarrassing, but it wouldn’t be the catastrophe so many Padres feared. Ginny liked messing with them all, maybe a little too much even, but she wasn’t going to risk stirring up real shit so early in the season. She was still coming off her injury and it was clear the team trainers were prepared to pull her for the slightest whiff of a relapse. No way she’d put her spot in the rotation in jeopardy for a wholly separate issue.

Which wasn’t to say that Mike wasn’t a little worried about what was going to unfold—the field day the media’d have or how many pictures of him in something regrettable would circulate on Twitter by the end of the day, clogging his mentions—but none of it was because of Ginny.

Of all his teammates, Ginny was the least likely to pick something specifically to make him look bad.

Supplying booze and food every Thursday in Arizona had done a lot to rebuild the team’s goodwill, but Mike knew better than to think that last season’s near-trade fiasco was forgotten. He wouldn’t put it past one of them to take the opportunity to teach him yet another lesson about team loyalty.

What could he say? Petty vengeance.

But there was far more than a bungled trade attempt hanging between him and Ginny.

Not that they were talking about that. And not that not talking about it had gotten great results.

Don’t get him wrong; Ginny’d crushed it in Spring Training, but that was in spite of whatever the hell was bubbling up between them, not because of it. She was a gamer and Mike was willing to admit that he had nothing on her ability to focus on the game above and beyond anything else.

It didn’t matter how many dangerous looks and almost-moments had passed between them in Peoria. It didn’t matter that Mike still found himself staring at Ginny far longer than he should or itching to call her before he went to bed, let her voice lull him to sleep. It didn’t matter that every inning he played with her, every day that passed, he was more and more sure he didn’t want a life without Ginny Baker in it.

There were lines that he— she— they shouldn’t be crossing. Shouldn’t even consider crossing until he wasn’t her captain. No matter how much he, she, they—God, he hoped it wasn’t just him—might want to.

Which was why Mike was mostly going to stay out of this whole costumed road trip thing and just let it happen.

Unfortunately—or not if that meant he was the only one dealing with this quandary—no one else was taking his lead. Seven straight days Mike was forced to listen to his teammates try to alternately cajole and bully a real answer out of Baker. He couldn’t count the ways they’d tried to get her to spill, offering up food, faulty logic, even favors, paying far too much attention to the one woman in the world who didn’t need more of it.

Mike was at his wit’s end. And not just because Ginny suddenly had so much less time to tease him, specifically, when she was working on pulling one over on the entire team.

So it was no wonder that, on the day of her deadline, Mike’s teeth were already on edge even as he went through the motions of priming his body to play.

“Not even one hint?” Stubbs wheedled, aiming what he probably thought were puppy eyes at Ginny where she sprawled on one of the couches, trying to go over hitters for her next start.

“You’ll find out after the game,” she returned without even looking up. She didn’t even sound interested in playing with them all anymore, the tick in her jaw telegraphing her annoyance for anyone watching closely enough to see.

Which, apparently, was just Mike.

Salvi came and flopped down just next to her feet, squashing himself against the armrest. Rolling her eyes, she drew her legs back in, grudgingly ceding him the cushion. Just in time for him to ask, “You weren’t serious about that list, right? The one with the chaps and the sequined vests?”

“Uh, sure,” Ginny replied absently.

“Sure, you weren’t serious or sure, you were?”

“Yep.”

Salvi gave up, but someone else was willing to take on the fight.

“How about the Minions costumes? Those things’ve invaded my nightmares. My kids won’t stop watching those fucking movies.”

Rather than reassure Butch, though, Ginny remained silent. Apparently, only Mike could tell it was just because she was too caught up turning someone’s heat map over in her mind, trying to puzzle her way into an assured strikeout.

“Baker, you can’t do that to me. My girl’s never gonna let me live it down!”

“Yeah, you gotta give us a hint!”

“C’mon, Baker.”

“Ginny, please?”

That was more than enough of that. And not just because Robles was practically pouting, flashing hopeful looks her way.

“Jesus H. Christ, shut the hell up!” Mike exclaimed, exploding to his feet and throwing his water bottle into his locker. He didn’t wait for quiet to descend, just wheeled on the room and barreled on, shouting through the ache his jaw had earned grinding his teeth for the past week. “Would you listen to yourselves? All this fucking whining over a stupid costume!”

Shaking his head in disgust and electing to ignore the curious glint in a certain pitcher’s eye, Mike took a deep breath.

“You’re all acting like a bunch of goddamn babies,” he sneered, staring down a suddenly cowed group of grown ass ballplayers. Fucking good. They should be embarrassed. They were fucking embarrassing. “Quit riding Baker’s ass worrying about what she’s gonna make you wear and start worrying about the game we’re supposed to play today. Or did you all forget that’s why we’re here?”

There was a chorus of sheepish agreement, a few apologies tossed Ginny’s way, and ballplayers began dispersing to their lockers to finish getting ready or grab their gear and head for the field. For his part, Mike dropped back into his seat, moodily taping up his fingers and ignoring every Padre left in the clubhouse until he had a better handle on his irritation.

Even when one of them kicked his chair.

Ginny huffed, nudging Mike’s knee with hers when he didn’t react. Since it seemed unlikely that she’d go away until he at least acknowledged her presence, he lolled his head to the side, peering up at her.

“You doin’ okay there, cap?” she drawled, raising one sardonic eyebrow even as her lips curved in a faint frown. Clearly, she didn’t just mean his outburst; she actually looked worried about him.

“I’m fine,” he replied, gruff, though he did do his best to release some of the tension in his shoulders. Since her mouth straightened out at that, he figured he was at least halfway successful. “Be better when this is all behind us. You sure you’ve got something planned? Something good enough to make up for this circus?”

A wicked grin took root and blossomed on Ginny’s face, nearly knocking the breath straight from Mike’s wholly unprepared lungs. Backing away and still grinning, she assured, “Oh, I’ve got something planned, all right.”

“There’s no way you already had this planned,” Mike grouched as the woman responsible for his current predicament slid into her seat across the aisle from him. He looked forward to the day that she could just sit next to him the way they had almost all of last season. Though considering what she—and he, to be honest—was wearing, it was probably better to have a little distance.

Ginny grinned and Mike would’ve gotten lost in the brilliance of it if Salvi hadn’t sauntered by, pale, hairy legs interrupting his view. Jesus Christ, where were the man’s pants?

And why the hell had he wondered that more than once—and for more than one person—today?

Oh, right. Ginny’s chosen theme.

Why so many of them had gone so hard for Ginny’s choice, Mike would never understand. They’d been so concerned she would embarrass them and then they go and do it to themselves.

Well, it wasn’t as if a theme like “Pre-K Padres” didn’t give them plenty of opportunity to do so.

(”Listen,” she’d said as she announced her pick after the game, “and I’m not gonna say this often, so get your phones out to record this for posterity,” she paused there, milking the moment as masterfully as she’d played every last Padre over the past week, “but Lawson was right.” That earned a round of chuckles and prompted an exaggerated eye roll from Mike. He meant it a little, but given the way Ginny was grinning, dimples tucked deep into her cheeks, it was hard to be truly annoyed.)

She laughed and Mike was glad to have another reason to turn his attention away from Salvi’s diaper-clad ass and the water fight Stubbs and Butch were conducting with their oversized baby bottles. “No, but it would’ve been amazing if I had.”

“Amazing might be pushing it,” he grumbled, shifting in his seat. Not from any discomfort, though. Mike wasn’t ashamed that this thing he was wearing was more comfortable than he’d expected, but he also wouldn’t be admitting it to anyone. If he didn’t immediately donate it to Goodwill when this day was over, that was his business and his alone.

So what if the last time he’d worn footie pajamas, he’d been five and just starting kindergarten? A man didn’t outgrow comfort.

Adding to his comfort level was the fact that Ginny’d fallen into his—and the saner members of the Padres organization—camp when deciding on her costume.

It was bad enough that his dream of never seeing a single one of his teammates in an adult-sized diaper—even if they were the costume ones from Party City or something—had gone up in flames today. If she’d done it, too, he’d have to murder something.

Because prolonged exposure to Ginny Baker’s bare legs would leave him in serious need of a defibrillator by the end of the day. Much better that she went the footie pajama route. Well, mostly better. At least this way, Mike didn’t have miles and miles of smooth, brown skin to be distracted by.

He'd stick to the normal levels of distraction Ginny Baker inspired off the field, thanks.

She did, after all, look downright adorable in her Padres-branded onesie. Dressed as she was, it was all too easy to imagine her curling up in bed, ready to fall asleep. From there, it was just a hop, skip, and a jump for Mike’s overeager imagination to picture himself tucked around her, either drifting off, too, or more intent on keeping them both awake a little longer—

And that was why the aisle currently separating them was a good, a necessary, thing.

Mike shook himself and refocused his mind on the more academic question of where the hell Ginny’d even found a Padres onesie, let alone one in her size. The only one he’d managed to track down that even came close to fitting was plain red, more like long underwear than anything a little kid might wear. But it wasn’t as if he was fooling anyone anyway, not with a full beard and 210-odd pounds of muscle. The onesie did fit a bit snug around his thighs and across his chest, but it got the job done well enough to avoid any heckling from his teammates.

At least his didn’t have an ass flap. Unlike Dusty’s.

The fact that Ginny’s attention didn’t waver for a second, even in the face of Dusty’s bare ass going by, her eyes firmly on Mike and the slightly strained buttons marching down his chest didn’t mean anything. It definitely didn’t make him puff up and put those buttons under just a little more strain.

No, of course not.

Her eyes flickered back up to his, pupils blown out and cheeks a shade pinker than normal. Mike tried to tell himself it was just the fleece of her costume making her warm. He was only mildly successful.

Still, she rallied admirably. “What did I say, Lawson? You were totally right,” Ginny teased, tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth and making him even more aware of how much he wanted to taste it than he usually was. And he was usually very aware of that fact. “They’re a bunch of babies. Might as well dress them like it.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he laughed, locking away that desire for another time.

“You really need the reminder?” She laughed, too, but her brows drew down just enough for Mike to glimpse the undercurrent of worry.

He couldn’t have that. Ginny wasn’t close enough for him to reach out for her hand or shoulder, or anywhere safe enough for him to touch, but he could put all his assurance, his confidence, in his ready reply.

“No.”

“Good.”

It wasn’t talking about it, literally not even in the realm of talking about it, but that was just fine in Mike’s book. Not that he didn’t want to talk about it. He definitely did, and sooner rather than later if he was being honest, just—

What he didn’t want was for that conversation to take place while he was wearing footie pajamas.

Ginny could keep hers, though.

“Yeah, Baker,” he said anyway. “It’s definitely good.”

Her responding smile, just a quick quirk of her lips really, told him everything he needed to know. She was on the same page. At this point, he couldn't ask for much more.

Except then, without any prompting, Ginny squared her jaw, picked up her backpack, and slid across the aisle into the empty seat next to him. She didn't do anything so obvious as lean her head against his shoulder, but her knee did press against his and her fingers trailed across the back of his for a moment before elbowing him off the arm rest.

“Still good?”

Swallowing to keep the surging tide of emotion in check, he nodded and managed a hoarse, “Yeah,” in response.

It wasn't winding himself around her in bed, even just to sleep, but Mike had a hard time imagining that anything could really top this. And all because of a stupid PR campaign.

Well, Mike was a big enough man to admit when he was wrong, if only to himself. Maybe, he considered as Ginny's shoulder pressed into his bicep and a stray curl brushed against his neck, just maybe, the front office isn’t full of number crunchers with terrible ideas. If the next one got him a payoff half as good as this—Mike couldn’t fathom how this, Ginny as close to tucked against his side as they could come with an armrest trapped between them, on a bus surrounded by their teammates too, could ever be equalled short of a new MLB mandate encouraging intra-team relationships—he might even consider going along with their next bright idea.

For now, though, he’d be keeping that thought, as well as most of the other ones currently occupying his imagination, to himself for later mulling. He had other things to occupy his attention at the moment.

Well one thing. One woman.

One woman who was currently grinning up at him, offering a truly awful opinion about Star Wars and just begging to be schooled.

If that was what she wanted, well, Mike was more than happy to give it to her.

#Bawson #Bawson fic #pitch #pitch fic #i wrote something #If you think i don't wanna see #mike and/or ginny #wearing exactly that #and wrote a fic to reflect it #you'd be very very wrong #be the change #etc etc #here have this #before i get sucked into the last night of skating

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kittykatknits · 7 years ago

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So I read a "post" saying Sansa running WF successfully is ooc. I disagree. Sansa's the defacto lady of the Vale and she's doing a good job. Besides innately being smart she's also getting training for being a lady,administrator, diplomat and in politics. She has natural acumen for organization,logistics,hardwork,knows how to run a household well She's learning to gauge others' motivation&how to maneuver them successfully. Also she'll have advisors to help her. I see her as a very successful 1/2

ruler/Lady of WF or when ruling the North/looking after its daily workings/governing/managing it; I dont think it’s ooc for Sansa to be a capable ruler/administrator/and dispatch the duties that come w/ being Lady of WF/looking after the North at all. That’s where her book arc&training montage is leading her. What do you think? 2/2

In short, I largely agree with you.

I’m loathe to think of fandom as a single identity but there has been a general trend with Sansa as a character over the years (at least based upon my unique experiences). Long ago, when only two books were available in the series, Sansa Stark was largely defined by two things: (1) the events on the Trident and subsequent deaths of Lady/Mycah and (2) the betrayal/execution of her father. Then, the third book was released in 2000 and fandom decided Sansa should also be defined by her feelings, or lack thereof, towards Tyrion Lannister. Oy, I am forever sick of those debates. Opinions changed, somewhat, after aFfC was released in 2005. Twelve years later and we are still waiting to see how fandom reacts to her in the next book.

It’s funny in a way. Seventeen years and, for the most part, the discussion around Sansa is almost exactly the same, “Starkness”, killed her wolf, cruel to her sister, cruel to Jon, snob, got her father killed, not truly north like, and so on. Well, no, it’s not funny, it’s frustrating because it seems like there is a growing trend of throwing power hungry into the mix although I think that’s fed largely by the show than by the book’s version of the character

For the most part, Sansa has never been a popular character, ever. The trend I’ve seen is not so much that she’s received less negativity over time, because she hasn’t, but that her actual fan base has grown. There was an explosion of Sansa fans after the first season of Game of Thrones aired and then again after the second.

So, anyways, to get to the point, the fact that you saw a post like that, isn’t particularly new or surprising. It’s shallow and inaccurate, but not a surprise. To be honest, I actually blame Martin for some of it. For the most part, he’s done a great job at world building and is fairly consistent when it comes to enforcing the rules. Cat mentions her Ladies once and…that’s it. Cersei is the queen and has no women at court. Martin doesn’t really show us the lives of women in ordinary circumstances, he’s pretty bad at it. We get Marg and her cousins in the third book some and Cersei finally gains a friend (who is also a spy…) in the fourth. There is a lot of work telling us how men are educated, think of the memories of both Jaime and Jon. We even see it with Bran as he functions as the Stark in WF. Heck, the first chapter is showing Ned raising his sons. But, the women, it doesn’t happen to nearly the same degree. Readers need to work at it so much more than they do with the male characters.

To me, I compare Sansa’s interactions with Measter Colemon in the Vale to those of Bran with Luwin. Colemon speaks with and takes guidance from Sansa in the same way Maester Luwin did with Ned/Cat, but much less so with Bran.

And let’s look at this:

Maddy and Gretchel were waiting outside with Maester Colemon. The maester had washed the night soil from his hair and changed his robe. Robert’s squires had turned up as well. Terrance and Gyles could always sniff out trouble.“Lord Robert is feeling stronger,” Alayne told the serving women. “Fetch hot water for his bath, but see you don’t scald him. And do not pull on his hair when you brush out the tangles, he hates that.” One of the squires sniggered, until she said, “Terrance, lay out his lordship’s riding clothes and his warmest cloak. Gyles, you may clean up that broken chamber pot.”

- Alayne II, aFfC

The household is taking orders from Sansa here too. And when her authority is questioned:

Gyles Grafton made a face. “I’m no scrubwoman.“Do as Lady Alayne commands, or Lothor Brune will hear of it,” said Maester Colemon. He followed her along the hallway and down the twisting stairs. “I am grateful for your intercession, my lady. You have a way with him.” He hesitated. “Did you observe any shaking while you were with him?”

- Alayne II, aFfC

This chapter shows Sansa shutting down the Eyrie and preparing for the entire household to take up residence in the gates of the moon. It’s exactly what would be expected of the Lady of the Vale.

And if there is any further doubt, the first Alayne chapter is one long bit of political theater:

“She did indeed. She saw to the mulling of the wine first, found a suitable wheel of sharp white cheese, and commanded the cook to bake bread enough for twenty, in case the Lords Declarant brought more men than expected. Once they eat our bread and salt they are our guests and cannot harm us. The Freys had broken all the laws of hospitality when they’d murdered her lady mother and her brother at the Twins, but she could not believe that a lord as noble as Yohn Royce would ever stoop to do the same.The solar next. Its floor was covered by a Myrish carpet, so there was no need to lay down rushes. Alayne asked two serving men to erect the trestle table and bring up eight of the heavy oak-and-leather chairs. For a feast she would have placed one at the head of the table, one at the foot, and three along each side, but this was no feast. She had the men arrange six chairs on one side of the table, two on the other. By now the Lords Declarant might have climbed as far as Snow. It took most of a day to make the climb, even on muleback. Afoot, most men took several days.It might be that the lords would talk late into the night. They would need fresh candles. After Maddy laid the fire, she sent her down to find the scented beeswax candles Lord Waxley had given Lady Lysa when he sought to win her hand. Then she visited the kitchens once again, to make certain of the wine and bread. All seemed well in hand, and there was still time enough for her to bathe and wash her hair and change.”

- Alayne I, aFfC

This isn’t GRRM being overly verbose here or falling in love with his food descriptions. It’s Sansa setting up a stage, thinking through everything from guest right to the type of table and chairs and their placement. Remember, these are not random guests, these are six individuals that are contesting LF’s hold on SR and the Vale. Everything matters.

It’s no different than the Lannisters in the throne room after the Battle of the BW. That’s one long bit of political theatre too, with the rehearsed scene between Joffrey and Loras or Tywin riding in atop his horse. It’s presentation and Sansa is doing a really good job here of setting everything up to their advantage.

After this, Sansa dresses herself:

“There was a gown of purple silk that gave her pause, and another of dark blue velvet slashed with silver that would have woken all the color in her eyes, but in the end she remembered that Alayne was after all a bastard, and must not presume to dress above her station. The dress she picked was lambswool, dark brown and simply cut, with leaves and vines embroidered around the bodice, sleeves, and hem in golden thread. It was modest and becoming, though scarce richer than something a serving girl might wear. Petyr had given her all of Lady Lysa’s jewels as well, and she tried on several necklaces, but they all seemed ostentatious. In the end she chose a simple velvet ribbon in autumn gold.”

- Alayne I, aFfC

Again, it’s more of the same. This isn’t Sansa obsessed with clothes (although what’s wrong with that if she is?) It’s the image she wants to present, it’s the same reasons the Tyrells drape themselves in gold and green.

Sansa’s chapters are swimming with this stuff and it tends to get dismissed. This stuff matters and it matters a lot. This theater and pageantry is present in every wedding and clothing choice. It’s present in the food (remember the poor fare offered at the RW?). It’s reflected in seat placement at both the WF feast and the PW. And Sansa is really good at it, like really damn good.

Heck, even Tyrion picks up on her skills:

“She is good at this, he thought, as he watched her tell Lord Gyles that his cough was sounding better, compliment Elinor Tyrell on her gown, and question Jalabhar Xho about wedding customs in the Summer Isles. His cousin Ser Lancel had been brought down by Ser Kevan, the first time he’d left his sickbed since the battle. He looks ghastly. Lancel’s hair had turned white and brittle, and he was thin as a stick. Without his father beside him holding him up, he would surely have collapsed. Yet when Sansa praised his valor and said how good it was to see him getting strong again, both Lancel and Ser Kevan beamed. She would have made Joffrey a good queen and a better wife if he’d had the sense to love her.”

- Tyrion VIII, Sos

But, as important as all of this is throughout the entire series, it has always tended to be overlooked and dismissed which is really disappointing. I don’t claim to know her ending, whether Hand, queen, Lady of WF, or something else. But, I guarantee all of the above is going somewhere and it isn’t just to take out LF or rebuild after. I suspect it will be incredibly important come the war for the dawn too.

This has gone on for a long time though, so I will stop now. But, hopefully, I answered your question…at least some.

Thank you anon for letting me talk about my girl!! I love Sansa so much. :)

#Sansa Stark #ASoIaF #asoiaf meta #house stark #anon ask #feel free to ask #feel free to ignore #sansa stark meta

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theaddressis221bbakerst · 7 years ago

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David Bowie is

The David Bowie is exhibit is currently at the Brooklyn Museum (and if you’re in the NYC area you absolutely need to go).

Tonight was the most surreal Bowie experience of my life. Now, I don’t want to give away anything that was there, so instead I’ll walk you through it with my emotions.

The only bit I’ll give away is getting to the actual exhibit once you’re in the museum. It’s all the way on the top floor, which in itself is a trek. When you get in, you pass through the brick columns to the admissions area and go through an automatic door. Through that door, you follow the signs for David Bowie is which direct you to the elevators all the way in the back. Once you’re upstairs you have to walk all the way to the other side of the floor, and then it’s there, it all of its glory.

Now, mind you, I went to this alone because I wanted to fully get in touch with my emotions and have nobody there to distract me, and I’m glad I made that decision.

When I first walked in, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Seeing the exhibit in real life, and not just the social media posts by the Brooklyn museum (which if you’re not following them, they are great). I walked into this exhibit and was immediately brought back to the day he died.

The memories were so vivid, so real. I was still with my ex at the time, and I remember everything to a tee.

I try not to think about that day, it was like mourning a loved one because it was. Bowie will always hold a special place in my heart. He shaped me to be the woman I am today. He taught me that being different is not only ok, but praised. He taught me to do things my way.

Moving on, I remember that day, the hours before he died I did two things.

(1) I saw Star Wars: The Force Awakens. I kept the movie ticket for the date.

(2) I got sushi for dinner with my ex.

It was a normal Sunday night, dinner and movie and then we chilled at my house. My ex went home and I got ready for work the next day.

Fast forward to 3 in the morning. I woke up in the middle of the night. Something I never do, ever. I never have trouble sleeping, I never wake up in the middle of the night, I’ve never had that problem and I’m grateful for that. But for some reason, I woke up around 3. The millennial in me decided to check her phone since she was awake. I turn my phone on to find a bunch of missed texts and a phone call from my ex. So, before checking social media for a hot second, I call him back.

Ex: “You saw my texts, right?”

Me: “Yeah, what’s going on? Are you ok? Is everything alright?”

Ex: “I can’t tell you. I can’t say it. You need to check Twitter.”

I’m a little relieved at this point because I thought something terrible happened with him. So, I check Twitter and check what’s trending and I see David Bowie as number one. Quickly I start doing a process of elimination in my head. ‘His new album can’t be trending, it was just trending a couple of days ago. There’s no way he’s going on tour, it’s David Bowie. He may shook us with music, but I don’t think he’ll do a tour.’ then it hits me. The only thing left that I could think of was the one thing I was afraid to even think of. I took a deep breath and tapped his name, and there it was. Headlines galore saying he had passed. His son tweeting out that the news was true. I laid there in my bed in complete silence and shock. ‘David Bowie can’t be dead. He will never die. He’s David fucking Bowie. Is this a joke?’ I went through all of this while my ex was still on the phone. So I took another deep breath and talked, “Ok, I’ll be ok. I’m just going to try and get some sleep.” My ex was silent at first, but then wished me good night and we hung up.

Let me tell you, I did not go back to sleep. My mom came upstairs because she thought she heard me talking, and she couldn’t wait to talk about how shocked she was about Bowie. I heard her speaking, but I don’t remember what she said because I was still processing the horrible news. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

The next morning I got on my bus, opened Spotify, and listened to the playlist they curated. Just like the night before with my mom, I heard his music, but I had no idea what was happening. I still couldn’t believe it, I didn’t want it to be true. Then Absolute Beginners came on and I started to cry on the bus. Silently weeping as lower Manhattan started to appear on the bus route. I just let the tears fall.

I got to the office and my coworkers who were also fans made eye contact with me and we silently nodded. My one coworker emailed me with the subject line “YOUR SHIRT!!!!!!” and a sad face in the body. I chose to wear my Heroes album t-shirt, and then wore a Bowie shirt each day that week to commemorate the rock god that he was and still is to this day.

I tweeted all day long, sharing my personal favorite songs and just my feelings in general about the news.

After I got home that night, my ex and I went out to Starbucks. Something we did a lot just to get out of the house and have some us time to catch up. The first thing I did when we got in the car was turn on 104.3, NYC’s classic rock station. Like I suspected, they were playing his music, but it was him live in concert. I left it on and just let it play. Not only were they playing his music, but they literally played the whole concert. Like including when Bowie spoke in between songs. When I heard him speak, not sing, I balled like a baby. We had to pull over for a while so I could regain my composure. I’ve never cried over someone’s death that isn’t family. Sure, celebrities and artists have died that impacted me, but not as profoundly as Bowie.

And that, is the story of what happened when I found out my beloved icon, David Bowie, passed away.

Back to the museum…like I said, that day came back to me within seconds. And it stuck with me throughout the entire exhibit. I felt so connected to his art and work, and felt so close to him. I cried at times, I smiled through the tears, and I just don’t even know how to describe it. Being a fan who wasn’t able to see him in concert, this was certainly a great alternative. This and the Celebrating David Bowie tribute concert last month were mind-blowing.

This is the year of David Bowie. This is the year of Emma.

I digress.

#david bowie #david bowie is #brooklyn museum #nyc #personal #me

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hansoloschubbybrother · 7 years ago

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The Last Jedi

In light of such split opinion among the fan base, here are my (extremely lengthy) thoughts on Star Wars: The Last Jedi. It obviously contains spoilers, so do not read past the cut if you don’t want to know what happens in the film.

Put simply, I thought The Last Jedi was great. As always, after watching it for the first time, I came out thinking it was absolutely amazing but after some time to think and in this case, a second watch, I have been able to collect my thoughts about what I both liked and disliked.

The first thing that strikes me is that many of the fans who seem to dislike the film are those who have either enjoyed the expanded universe (now legends) stories or are the type to spend time between movies speculating on character back stories and lineage, etc. Despite being a massive Star Wars fan, I am neither of those things and I think this has maybe allowed me to enjoy the film more. I did not go into the film having already enjoyed other versions of the events after ROTJ and I haven’t invested much time getting excited about a specific hope for any character’s story arc. I have generally been patient and waited to see what Rian Johnson and Disney came up with.

I will go through each of the main characters and give my opinion on their story arc in the film and then go through some other things that I both liked and disliked.

First up is Snoke. Introducing someone so powerful with the force was bound to bring speculation as to who he is and what his connection is to the characters from the original trilogy. His minimal screen time in TFA, also suggested he was going to be the new Palpatine and become the big bad guy as the new trilogy developed. So, killing him off mid-way through TLJ was a big shock, especially to anyone who enjoyed the prospect of what he might become. I can see why they would be disappointed but, whilst I was shocked that they killed him off, I was actually pleased. For me, Snoke was Palpatine 2.0. Initially mysterious, disfigured, powerful with the force, and basically Palpatine without the cloak. Snoke was a comfortable fit for a Star Wars film. He is one of the reasons TFA felt so much like a true Star Wars film. It hit all the right tropes that were needed to make fans feel nostalgic and fall back in love with Star Wars again. I suspect fans of Snoke were disappointed that Johnson wasn’t happy to let his character play out as everyone expected and have some big face off at the end of episode 9. This would have been comfortable and felt very Star Wars but killing him off so soon made things uncomfortable and left you uncertain as to who the main bad guy is. This uncertainty was a plus for me, rather than a disappointment.

The identity of Rey’s parents has been much debated over the last two years. To have them revealed as nobodies, probably left a big hole for those excited by the idea that she is a Kenobi or a Skywalker, etc. Again, as with Snoke, I enjoyed the fact that Johnson wasn’t happy to just go with the obvious and choose parents that would make everyone feel warm and fuzzy and make things fall easily into place. Coming from nothing to be a hero was a key theme of the original trilogy, so making Rey a nobody is still very much in keeping with what Star Wars is about. I would also add that, when Kylo Ren said this, he had every reason to tell her what he thought she needed to hear in order to make her join him and, therefore, every reason to lie if she is in fact a Skywalker or a Kenobi or whatever. Johnson spent quite a lot of time on the issue of Rey’s parents when she was on Ahch-To in the hall of mirrors thing and in discussions with Kylo Ren. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if her real parents become a big reveal in episode 9. As for the rest of her story arc, I really enjoyed the connection with Kylo Ren and how their uncertainty about the force and about the dark and light sides was a reflection of each other but from opposite sides and gave them a reason to feel close to each other.

This brings me neatly on to Kylo Ren. Kylo Ren was my favourite character introduced in TFA. Many people thought he was a poor man’s Darth Vader then and are still saying that he’s no Darth Vader after this film. I thought it was great when Snoke said that he was no Darth Vader in TLJ. A nod to the fact that they don’t want him to be just another Darth Vader. I don’t really understand why people seem to want the old characters rehashed just with new names and different outfits. I liked the fact that Kylo Ren was an unhinged, conflicted brat in TFA. It would have been easy to switch off the unhinged brat from TFA and make him a straight down the line bad guy in TLJ, but Johnson continued his trend of not wanting to fall into easy Star Wars tropes of good and evil and continued the development of the character. The fact that he isn’t just able to choose a side easily and be totally comfortable with it is everything that Anakin’s switch to the dark side in ROTS wasn’t. I hated the fact that Anakin was so easily turned to the dark side in ROTS. It should have been the main thread of that film but it actually took just a couple of minutes after one conversation with Palpatine.

The one disappointment that I can get on board with, is the non-appearance of the Knights of Ren. With Kylo Ren having been identified as the Master of the Knights of Ren and with them shown in Rey’s flashes when she picked up Luke’s lightsabre in TFA, you understand that they are a significant part of Kylo Ren’s story. I was very much looking forward to them being introduced in some way in TLJ. The fact they there weren’t was disappointing but didn’t impact my enjoyment of the film. It was interesting that the identity of the other Knights was suggested to be a few of the other trainee Jedi at Luke’s academy. The fact that this information was included gives me hope that they might still make an appearance in episode 9.

Luke’s story arc in the film seems to have caused the most derision. Someone who was once a hero across the galaxy but ended up being responsible for the creation of Kylo Ren and subsequently the breakup of his sister’s marriage to his best friend, is bound to have issues. TFA was built around this premise. Luke hid himself away out of the shame he felt. If the appearance of a complete stranger was enough to make him forget all about that and suddenly become the hero of the original trilogy, it would dismiss the story they created for him just to ensure he is exactly the same Luke that everyone loved in the original trilogy. Having Luke be the man TFA created was by the far the best way to take his character. Having the man, who once represented everything good about the force and the Jedi Knights, question his faith made for a far more interesting story arc. I also enjoyed immensely how first Chewbacca, then Leia’s old recording to Obi-wan and finally Yoda were gradually able to bring back the hero from the original trilogy. I have read people describe Luke as a coward in TLJ. I don’t see that at all. I see a damaged man finally return to the man he once was and save the day at the end of the film. He then joins his Jedi brothers in a moving scene as his tune plays with twin moons setting in the background. I thought it was a fitting end. Some people have also said that Luke would never think about killing Ben Solo as he was the man who saw the good in Darth Vader. I don’t agree with this analysis either. Realising that a good man is losing control and turning to the dark side is the opposite side of the same coin to seeing the tiniest of light in a bad man. Luke knew what Ben Solo would become if he continued down the path he was on and it would be a perfectly natural reaction to think about killing him for the greater good for a fleeting moment. The one element that I didn’t enjoy about Luke was some of the comedy they added. Tossing the lightsabre at the beginning seemed to cheapen a poignant moment and I’m not sure milking the alien cow was necessary but these are possibly the kind of moments that children enjoy.

As for Leia, her story arc was pretty much as expected, although it did provide the worst bit of the film for me. After being thrown into the vacuum of space and suddenly waking up, using the force to get back to the ship was pretty awful. In light of her sad passing, it was an opportunity to end her story there. I can see why they didn’t though, as it wouldn’t have been much of a send-off. I just wish they had left it with Kylo Ren unable to shoot her so that we didn’t have to have that bit. They have confirmed that they will not use a CGI Leia in episode 9, so it will be interesting to see how they explain her absence in the next film.

On first viewing, I thought Finn’s story was a bit of a waste of time. I wish they could have found a better, more integral way of getting him, and the enjoyable new characters Rose and DJ, on to Snoke’s ship. I did however, enjoy their story once they were on the ship and especially Finn’s fight with Captain Phasma. On second viewing, one aspect of their story that didn’t really sink in first time round was how it wanted Finn to question if there was a difference what side he was on. Having defected from the First Order, this was a very important aspect of Finn’s character but his arc in TLJ, whilst obviously ending up on the right side, was better second time around as I was better able to appreciate the whole no side is the right side in a war narrative.

As for the rest of the character’s, Poe was great at the start and the end but was a little meh through the middle and, whilst I’m kind of glad they made Hux a bit of a joke, his character remains as pointless as it was in TFA.

This film introduced several new ways in which the force was used. Snoke connected Rey and Kylo Ren and Luke was able to project himself from Ahch-To all the way across the galaxy without anyone knowing he wasn’t actually there. Some viewers bemoan such changes in the way we know how the force can be used but when we were kids and the force went from a choking device to a mind trick to being able to guide your actions without seeing, etc we never cared that there wasn’t some additional explanation as to how they can actually do that when they couldn’t before. We just accepted it and it laid the foundation for what we believe a Jedi/Sith can do now. With these things, I think we just have to go with the flow and let our inner child accept it rather than our adult mind demand an explanation.

As for the overall story, it was a little odd that the First Order decided to wait for the Resistance fleet to run out of fuel rather than just call on more of their huge fleet of ships to help obliterate them but these are the kind of things you have to look past to enjoy any movie like this. Just like BB-8 driving the AT-ST. A little unfeasible but kids probably loved that bit. I particularly liked how the story left the Resistance in such a dire situation. Throughout the other Star Wars films, despite the Empire/First Order supposedly being this huge super power, the Rebels/Resistance never feel like their existence is truly threatened. Not so much anymore. The end shot of a just a handful of rebels left to carry the fight gave a real David and Goliath feel. It means that the starting point of episode 9 is a slightly different one to any of the other films.

In summary, despite a few niggling issues with the story of some of the characters and some of the comedy feeling a little forced (no pun intended), I thoroughly enjoyed The Last Jedi, especially for the way it was prepared to break with what would feel comfortable or obvious. By choosing not to fall into easy Star Wars character tropes and throw away some of the groundwork laid by a very nostalgic The Force Awakens, I felt Rian Johnson created the Star Wars film that was needed to ensure the new trilogy actually adds something different to the series.

#thanks if you actually read all of this #waaay to long #the last jedi

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