#if his concept art is in the book of death please send it to me!

[rosenbergi]

If anyone out there has made fanart of Shachi I need you to send it to me immediately.

[jackmanifold-daily]

CAN WE KNOW ABOUT PROTEGE!JACK AU PLEASEEEE I'VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT TOO.

WHAT IF HE WENT WITH DREAM WHEN HE FIRST JOINED THE SERVER. WHAT IF DREAM FOUND HIM AT HIS LOWEST, AND EVENTHOUGH DREAM IS HIS (OTHER) SWORN ENEMY HE HAS NO ONE ELSE TO TURN TO OR TO HELP HIM. PLEASE TALK ABOUT CHILDMURDERDUO.

Ok so, I& was initially going to answer these asks with some art, but I& am realizing I& do not have the motivation and time to draw at the moment T_T I& still sprinkled in a few traditional doodles but not U_U Sorry that these asks were left unanswered for so long!

Protejack AU's core concept is Dream finds Jack right after his revival on Doomsday. Dream, naturally interested in Jack's powers, decides to get closer to him and team up.

Initially, Jack's hesitant to trust Dream for obvious reasons, but after a bit of time talking to him and having Dream show more support for him than any of his friends did, Jack agrees. Of course, the main goal they decide to work together towards is stopping Tommy from ruining the server, the one view they both share very closely.

This AU actually complies with canon pretty well, and all the events described so far I& genuinely think are things that should have happened in canon. It makes too much sense not to have. (They also did literally happen to me& in my& memories, so... maybe I&'m biased)

The things that happen next vary a little bit every time I& try to write or roleplay them out. But, in theory, project Dreamcatcher still can happen just fine with Jack working secretly both with Dream AND Niki. After that though, I& think rocketduo would fall apart when Jack would start suggesting that Dream may be misunderstood, something that would not sit well with Niki.

This leads me& to the next big point: isolation as one of Dream’s manipulation tactics. He convinces Jack that, because of his hatred for Tommy (and eventually, because of his association with Dream), nobody else would understand him and would even want him dead. Jack believes it because his experiences of everybody denying his death in Exile and Niki leaving him after he admits to supporting Dream.

This is where it gets self indulgent. I&'m not quite sure if it would be the most in character or fitting for canon idea, but a lot of the time I& imagine Jack kidnapping Tommy under Dream’s guidance and the two of them dragging him to The Second Exile.

(Yes it's a little bit stupid but it's a really good setup for whump and it kind of makes a little bit of sense)

Jack's duty in the Second Exile is to constantly guard Tommy so that he doesn't escape. Additionally, this is when Dream’s fascination with revival turns into an obsession, and when he also begins to properly do experiments on Jack (depending on the headcanon maybe he did a few before but this is where it picks up full force).

One of the honourable mentions here is an AU of this AU where using the revival book and knowledge from all the experiments, Dream binds Jack’s and Tommy’s souls together so that every time one of them dies, so does the other, but also since Jack always revives himself, him and Tommy are now functionally immortal.

I& am not entirely sure how this all ends. If everything before this is already variable and up for change, then the ending is doubly so. I& personally like imagining someone coming over to rescue Tommy and killing Dream and rescuing Jack in return, but I& get if that's a bit too boring. It's up for anyone's interpretation!

If anyone has any questions or ideas left, feel free to send them here or to my& main, @luigra , since this might be a little bit off topic for this blog.

[benoitblanc]

Okay sleepover questions.

Tell me about 5 of your tumblr crushes and why they’re so amazing to you.

Also, what kind of books do you like to read? Romance? Mystery? And do you have a book you love recommending to people?

to be completely honest i don't really understand the concept of a tumblr crush BUT if this is an opportunity to brag about how amazing my friends are i will happily oblige! i will endeavor to limit myself to only 5 people, and for those of you reading this whom i did NOT mention my sincere apologies and please know that i love you anyway. i am going to list them below a cut and put my book recs first just so this post isn't fifty miles long lol.

let's talk books! i will read just about anything i can get my hands on, but my favorite genres are urban fantasy, mystery, and historical. i don't read a lot of contemporary books that are only romance with nothing else, but i love jane austen and shakespeare. i also ADORE genre-melding, eg the seven deaths of evelyn hardcastle by stuart turton, which is a sci-fi 1920s murder mystery.

my top 7 favorite books of all time- i originally was going to do five but realized i also would recommend 6 and 7 to literally everyone i know- which i would absolutely recommend to everyone, are:

the book thief by markus zusak (historical; coming-of-age of a german girl during wwii as her foster family hides a jewish man in their basement. this book should make you SOB)

the sweetness at the bottom of the pie by alan bradley (historical mystery; 11-year-old aspiring chemist solves murders in 1950s england)

murder on the orient express by agatha christie (historical mystery; a passenger is found dead on a snow-trapped train. basic premise but i am not exaggerating when i say that this book reinvented the murder mystery genre)

six of crows by leigh bardugo (high fantasy heist; six teenagers are recruited to break a chemist out of prison in order to stop- or maybe start- a magical war)

if we were villains by ml rio (mystery; a shakespeare student at a performing arts conservatory is found dead and his classmates try to decide if they want his killer to be caught)

code name verity by elizabeth wein (historical; a spy and a pilot during wwii are sent on a mission that only one returns from. holy SHIT this book is plot-twisty)

good omens by neil gaiman and terry pratchett (urban fantasy; an angel and a demon team up to stop the 11yo antichrist from starting armaggedon)

sleepover asks!!!

(read on for me gushing about my friends!)

@tellthemhowihope NINA MY SCIENCE SISTER MY RECENT OVERGRAD LIGHT OF MY LIFE!!! nina is one of the sweetest funniest and most brilliant people i know (she is a scientist!!!) and it always makes my day to exchange doctor who memes, cute animal pictures, and souffle recipes with her. throwback to the time she cut off a foot of her hair on impulse and one of our mutual mutuals thought she cut off her foot... the good old days...

@wespers aka tuser weepers... jamie is one of my oldest mutuals and i am so so grateful she's in my life! she has the market cornered on beautiful pale gifsets, is my go-to for book recs, has excellent opinions on just about everything, and actually gets around to consume all the content i bully her into consuming (see: knives out, hadestown, the book thief...). ily jamie you're not beating the theatre kid allegations any time soon. i am also planning to think of something else to bully you into reading/watching/listening to shortly. what about into the woods have you listened to into the woods before. or little shop of horrors. i think you'd vibe with both of them.

@gracelcdomas is another very old and dear friend and is my murdoch mysteries and knives out buddy for LIFE. milo is one of the most upbeat people i know, and i love chatting to them about just about anything. also am ETERNALLY grateful that they will always send me an ask if i rb an ask game. get yourself friends who will enable you to rant about yourself for fun online.

@jewish-mulder- hi anna! a relatively more recent mutual of mine but one who can always be counted on to have the most correct x-files opinions, and is also a very talented screenwriter! i hope my incoherent x-files liveblog as i watch the show for the first time brings them joy, because i always love reading their little replies to my comments.

and last but certainly not least @anakinskyiwalker, who might actually be my very first mutual? ashlyn has always been such a constant and kind presence in my fandom experience and i adore her to bits.

(other people i love and cherish who deserve shoutouts: @iloveuspiderman @eohwyyn @heroeddiemunson @laowen @faithinthefuturedeluxe @angela-bassetts @danielsousa @billhaders @elliewillaims @karmas @trashcora and @clayfaced SAM WHEN WILL YOU RETURN FROM THE WAR I MISS YOU)

[bytebun]

📒!

Put “📓” or some other version of a book emoji into my inbox and I’ll explain the plot of a fanfiction that I haven’t written but daydream about. You remember how that concept art for sw had force-sensitive padme (as a side-effect of being pregnant with the twins) with visions, and also of her showing up to mustafar with a knife?

Yeah, that fucks. But I mean, this would be a padme looking at her two great loves, both of them slipping from her grasp, and chooses… not anakin. Which is very different from my beloved vision of canon padme, which is to say - a good woman, to be sure. But not an angel. (and can we blame her for it? Perhaps from a distance.)

So Padme dies on Mustafar, choking on her husband's love.

Padme wakes in the bed of her marriage, visions of death like ash on her tongue. Her husband sleeps next to her, face soft and open in the moonlight - not for long. Anakin's always been a light sleeper.

She doesn't know what her face looks like, as he wakes. But he's asking Padme, love, what's wrong. Reaches out a hand to comfort her.

She flinches from it. From him.

She regrets it immediately, of course - her Anakin would ever hurt her. Just nightmares, she says, it was just a nightmare. Buries her face in his shoulder before that expression of surprise can be replaced by -- anything else.

She knows he's dangerous, of course, the same way any Jedi is, all power crackling just beneath the skin. But the point of being a Jedi is that they would never use it - not on anyone who didn't deserve it.

The hand cradling her shoulder is warm.

Dreams pass in time. She sends him off to the temple just before the sun rises, watches the plume of his tail lights till she loses him in the rest of Coruscant's morning traffic. Puts on her outfit for the Senate. Puts her head down and works.

She meets with her committee just after noon, the handful of delegates representing thousands sitting about her living room. If she hesitates to go the Jedi - Bail agrees as well. And the odd turning-over she feels in her gut when their committee meets with the Chancellor - well, it's not unusual for a pregnancy. She hides it with her usual grace.

It means nothing. It doesn't mean a thing. She puts her head down, tucks away her fear and her fury, and works.

And then - and then -

Smoke rises in the distance.

Padme runs. She'll never make it like this but - she crashes into Bail in the hallways of the Senatorial apartments, and then both of them are in his Tantive, speeding down the road to the temple.

There are clones. Padme is fast, and desperate, and a damn good shot when she needs to be. She doesn't - can't- look at the bodies in the hallways. She makes it to the inner chambers, ducks silent behind a doorframe, and there -

There's Anakin, 'saber a violent slice of blue in hand. In front of him there are -- children.

One hand clutched to her belly, she runs and falls to the ground between them.

"Anakin," Padme cries, "Anakin, please. Don't do this." She begs him to come with her, leave all this and raise their children, and for a second it seems as if it might work. "Come back to me -- I love you."

But love won't save her, he says.

He whips around, a bolt pinging off his 'saber, and she gets a flash of Bail's pale drawn face around the doorframe. Then she hits the wall with a crack, and she can't breathe -

Padme dies in the Jedi temple, choking on nothing.

Padme wakes in the bed of her marriage, husband sleeping next to her.

--

So basically, I asked myself, how do we go from canon!Padme to concept art!Padme? the tenative answer: brute force application of extreme time loop shenanigans. girl, aren't you tired of going apeshit :) don't you want to go another flavour of apeshit :)

[bigteefsmallbrain]

General Soul Eater HCs please

Soul Eater: General headcanons

Death the Kid:

He’s an art critic

Hear me out

He is obsessed with symmetry, and loves the beauty in it

So when he sees something non-symmetrical, especially in art, he can’t help but to critique it

May go as far as to send a personal letter to the artist (If they’re alive) about how offensive it is that they created something so asymmetrical

If he can’t send a letter to the artist, he’ll send one to the owner/museum and request it be taken down, while listing reasons why it’s horrible.

Anything he writes has an even amount of letters and words

Be that his test answers

Essays

Letters

Diary entry

Speaking of diary entries, he definitely has one

But it’s actually just a catalogue of symmetrical things he’s seen

He puts photos into it and writes about how beautiful it was to see

He doesn’t care what it is much, just that it was beautiful

Meaning he takes photos of people too

Which can be unnerving at times

He’s probably taken a photography class before, or at the very least is self taught

Literally has a photo album of things he views are beautiful, but non symmetrical and he would die if anyone found it

Like a particular sunset with uneven hills

Or a flower with one too many petals

Definitely has an 8 ball, not a magic one, just an 8 ball, it’s placed on a velvet pillow in his room and he frequently polishes it

Elizabeth Thompson:

Makes several backup plans as a way to cope

Especially after dealing with an experience with a ghost

She has notebooks full of them, labeled and detailed

At one point she started putting them in alphabetical order but stopped immediately when she realized Kid’s perfectionist habits were rubbing off on her

She practices acting in the mirror

Usually so she can charm a man into dating her

But also to con people

She used to be a “Street rat” and that thought of ending up on the streets again constantly plagues her mind

She takes full advantage of the “Rich life”

Shopping sprees

Quality makeup

Salons and spa days

The works

She lets Patty’s thought that she knows everything get to her head

The fact alone that her sister believes in her that much is enough to make her a bit egotistical

And Patty’s admiration for the girl makes it ten times worse

She literally doesn’t care if she ends up being wrong because she’ll just be right next time anyways

So stubborn in that aspect

Patricia Thompson:

She likes dark humor

You can’t convince me otherwise, you actually can’t, I have evidence

She made an origami Giraffe, and broke its neck

Laughed when Kid said he “wants to die”

She literally pokes him with a stick when he’s depressed

She likes dark humor, and probably looks up jokes to tell others just for kicks

She’s secretly sadistic, and likes scaring her sister and others

She may act naïve and innocent, but she is anything but

She definitely has, more than once, banged on Liz’s door at 3AM just to hear her sister squeal like a little girl

Honestly, she probably purposefully gets their pose wrong, just to see her sisters annoyance and laugh when Kid gets smacked

She likes origami

Probably first got into it because of the paper ninja stars

Then just found it relaxing

She most likely makes the ninja stars mostly, and keeps a box of her origami creations somewhere

Has in the past, and will not hesitate to do so again, beat someone up for kicks or just to destress

Patty has two faces, the childlike innocent one, and the insane anger one

So it’s not too far fetched to say that she’ll hide her anger till she can corner someone alone and beat them up

Or that she gets bored and decides to do so

I wouldn’t be too surprised if her sister occasionally joined as well

Maka Albarn:

She’s a Harry Potter nerd and you can’t convince me otherwise

She loves the concept of magic

Loves the dynamic between Ron and Hermione, though feels a bit of Deja vu thinking about it

Probably used to write fanfiction, but in a way that made it seem like it was actually part of the story

She will hit you if you mention it

Definitely the type to compare books to their movie counterparts

Not in like, a critic way, but she will definitely rant about the differences, or how a character looks exactly like she imagined, or if they didn’t put in a particular scene she liked in the book

Forces Soul into movie nights, but it’s only the movie counterparts to her books

I can see her forcing everyone into a group study session

Be super organized about it, and setting it up in a way so that no one can refuse

She probably has specific ways for everyone to study

Like having Black☆Star work out while studying so he retains the knowledge better

Or setting up the session in a symmetrical way so Kid doesn’t freak out about it

She writes letters to her mom, as a coping mechanism for when her emotions get to be a little too much

Like when she’s having a bad day

Or if she’s particularly peeved at something Soul did

She writes a lot more letters when it comes around the time of her mom's birthday or death anniversary

She likes the thought of an old timey romance, and often listens to songs that give off that kind of feel

She really likes “It’s Been a Long, Long Time”, it’s one of her favorites

She also likes the old Disney songs, like “Once Upon a Dream” and “So This Is Love”

She would be so embarrassed if anyone found out though, especially if it was her dad or Soul

She isn’t quite sure why she’s so worried about Soul finding out though

Speaking of, she half realizes, half doesn’t with anyone's romantic feelings, including her own

She’ll fantasize about getting a love letter or having someone present her with a bouquet of roses

But if it actually happens she’s like “Oh, thanks friend!”

She knows the behaviors, she just can’t put two and two together

They would have to be extremely blunt, no over dramatic confession, just “I’m in love with you and want to be romantically involved with you”

She reads dictionaries for fun

She really likes to read out of date dictionaries, just to see what words and slang existed back then

She also highlights words she likes and uses them frequently on accident

She has most definitely yelled “I have cupid’s kettlebells*! I’m not flat!” at Soul before

Soul Evans:

Bottles. Up. His. Emotions.

He’s influenced by “toxic masculinity” and fully believes that being vulnerable in a serious way “isn’t cool”

He will bottle everything up so deep down inside that it seems impossible for it to surface

Feelings of inferiority to others? Bottled

Want to cry or break down? Nope, gotta be cool

Started crying in front of someone and can’t stop? He’s not crying, you’re clearly blind

Speaking of crying, once he starts, and I mean genuinely starts, it’s so hard to get him to calm down, and even then the tears don’t stop

Sometimes he’ll start to freak out and send himself into a panic attack because the tears just won’t stop

He’s that influenced by the thought of being vulnerable

On a lighter note, he does adore playing the piano, but the only person he’ll play for is Maka

He swears it’s not favoritism, and it’s partially true, but favoritism does play a large role in it

He frequently drags Maka to his room to show her a new piece he put together

And if he notices her feeling a little down that day, he’ll start playing a song that he knows she likes

He definitely knows about her love for old timey romance songs and is very embarrassed to admit a lot of the pieces he constructs are based off of that

The walls are p a p e r t h i n , he can hear her music through the walls

He secretly finds it adorable when he catches her listening to it because she’ll be dancing around to it

He also frequently finds himself thinking about those moments

He’s the stereotype that parents tell little girls about, with how boys will bully their crush

He’s a lot more playful and easy going, but still teases Maka, so much

Unlike Maka, he’s fully aware of his feelings, and acknowledges them, but bottles it up, only letting himself entertain the thought every once in a while

He jabs at Maka’s lack of “Cupids Kettlebells” as a way to try and ensure she won’t fall for him, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if she does

He reads the same dictionaries that Maka does, not for fun, but so he can know just what the actual h e l l she’s saying

More than once he’s had to look up a particular word or phrase online because he can’t find it in the dictionary

“What the hell? It’s an old Victorian saying!? Where does she keep finding this stuff!?”

Subconsciously, as time goes on, he starts using old phrases as well, he was so embarrassed the first time he got caught saying “Keep your idle daddles* off of her!” when defending someone from a perv.

Black☆Star:

Is so unbelievably selfish with food

It’s not even funny

He will stab someone if they reach for his food

He surprisingly eats healthy most of the time though?

Says something like “I have to otherwise I’ll never surpass the gods!”

The only person who could ever p o s s i b l y steal his food is Tsubaki, but even that’s pushing it

He has the weirdest dreams, and I mean weird

Dreams like being turned into a potato and being cooked, mashed, and devoured by Tsubaki herself

He didn’t talk to her for a week after that dream, and refused to eat potatoes for a full year because “You never know if it could be a person turned into a potato!”

He was also very offended when Tsubaki ate potatoes during that time period

He takes things very literally

Like up above, if someone does something in a dream, he acts like it was real

Or if someone makes a joke about fighting, he will drag them outside to fight

He’s secretly scared of Tsubaki

But it’s for literally the stupidest reason

And he fully believes that because of it she could fight god and win

She used to have a pet cockroach

One of the flying ones

And he is so unbelievably scared of them, because for some reason they just don’t die, and they have w i n g s

So the fact she owned one as a pet scares him so bad even though it was literally for only a week

He has a soft spot for children

He doesn’t really know why

He just does

Is secretly really good with kids

Literally the definition of dad material

He has his flaws but still

Little kids are the only people who could steal his food and get away with it

Every. Time. and it makes the others so mad

Tsubaki Nakatsukasa:

What can I say, she’s perfect

She probably receives love letters

Reads them over when she’s feeling sad

Likes to keep them in a shoebox she painted

She definitely paints to unwind and relax

Likes to go outside and paint the sunrise/sunset

Takes note of beautiful scenery so she can come back in her free time and paint it

She probably draws/sketches too

Carries a sketchbook with her

More than likely has drawn Black☆Star doing something

Like napping or training

She’d never show him though, too scared of inflating his ego or giving him the wrong idea

Stress bakes/cooks

We know she cooks

Liz took advantage of it and pretended Tsubaki’s cooking was her own

So we know she does

Sometimes painting/drawing doesn’t cut it

So she heads to the kitchen and bakes away her worries and unwinds

The main reason Tsubaki would possibly be spared from Black☆Star’s stabbing habit with food is because she cooks all the meals

She makes sure everyone is comfortable around her

She’ll go as far as to learn someone's customs and practice cooking their unique cuisine just to make sure that they feel comfortable and safe in her presence

She radiates mom friend energy

She’s perfect mom material, perfect wife material, perfect in general honestly

*Cupid's Kettlebells is a old term for a woman's bust

*Idle daddles is a old term for hands

I Hope you like these general headcanons for the main seven! You didn’t say which characters you’d like to see, so I played it safe by putting the main characters! Thank you for the ask!

[mrpenguinpants]

I have,, a new Genshin oc 👀 hope u don't mind me sending in so many asks dsdjgjshd but I had to tell someone about her

Her name is Lilith (Lily) and she's a cryo catalyst user from Mondstadt and a senior member of the investigation team. She was childhood friends with Kaeya and Diluc but the Crepus incident pulled them apart. I don't have too many details of her backstory pinned down yet but I've already figured out all her skills and talents and her voicelines lmao so I guess I'll share those instead:

About Kaeya - Friendship: Captain Kaeya… he's an enigma alright. It took me years just to get under that mask of his, and even now I'm still not sure if what I'm seeing is the real him. That said, once you get to know him, he's a loyal and reliable friend. The best anyone can ask for.

About Kaeya - Eyepatch: Kaeya's eyepatch? Why are you asking me?…you think because I'm the closest to him that I would know what's under there? Haha, don't be ridiculous, I hardly know him well enough to pry into his secrets.

About Diluc: I knew him when I was still a knight in training. He was… different back then… happier. Now, after all that's happened… well, best if you go talk to him yourself if you want to know more.

About Albedo: He's brilliant! I admire him a lot—not just for his alchemical genius, but for his dedicated work ethic. Unlike a certain other captain whose name I won't mention, Captain Albedo would never drink on the job.

About Jean: Ah, Acting Grandmaster Jean… though, she's been doing this for so long I feel like she should just take the title of Grandmaster. She seems to be good at everything except taking care of herself. Maybe I should bring her some lunch again today…

About Rosaria: Would it be sacrilege to say I agree with her views on the church? In fact, I have never been a fan of the Church of Favonius. If Mondstadt is the City of Freedom, should not its citizens have the freedom to choose how they worship their Archon?

About Lisa: Is she still calling me her "little helper"? Ugh, when will I be rid of that nickname…

About Venti: Ah, that bard who has recently become Kaeya's drinking buddy? I… admit I may have a distorted judgment of him, as I have yet to see the lad completely sober.

About the Vision: Ah, this is my proudest achievement… though, I'm not sure if I can call it that. I was just in the right place at the right time. Anyone else would've done the same.

Favorite food: Nothing warms the heart and soul like a nice bowl of soup! What, you think just because I wield cryo that I can never get cold?

Least favorite food: I will never understand this city's love for alcohol. Not only is the taste repulsive, it clouds the mind and impairs judgement. …How can Kaeya drink so much of the stuff?

Lilith's Hobbies: Did you know that there's a grand piano in the Knights' headquarters that no one uses? Such a shame that this beautiful instrument goes unappreciated. Say… when you next have time, would you like to come in for a private concert?

Lilith's Troubles: There's just not enough time to do all the things I want to do. If only Captain Albedo's alchemy could add more hours to the day… hmm…

More about Lilith - I: My research? Oh, you misunderstand. I'm merely a member of the investigation team, not an alchemist. However, I have helped Captain Albedo with various experiments, so I've picked up a few things.

Kaeya's About Lilith: Lilith? Heh, I've known her for quite some time now. Yes, we're friends. Are we close? Hmm… let's just say that she understands me in a way that most people in Mondstadt cannot.

Fun facts/backstory?:

Kaeya calls her his little lily (only in private or when he's trying to tease her)

She and Kaeya drifted apart after Crepus' death, but once Diluc returned to Mondstadt Kaeya began approaching her once again. They rekindled their friendship but Lilith knows Kaeya's keeping secrets from her. She just hopes he can one day trust her enough to reveal the truth.

Kaeya hasn't told her about Khaenri'ah or his past, but just the fact that she was one of the few people who were actually friends with him before the Crepus incident puts her in his circle of trust

She's shorter than Kaeya and he will not stop teasing her for it

They're not dating (yet)

Lilith got her Vision when the library of Mondstadt caught fire (this is canon but it happened like way back in the day so I'm bending the timeline a little lol) and she rushed in to save the books. This was before she became a knight and was just working as a helper around the library (hence her voiceline about Lisa). She was able to save several rare manuscripts thanks to her newfound power keeping the flames at bay. Afterward she was awarded a medal by the Grandmaster but she always considered the Vision her true reward. This event is also what pushed her to become a knight in earnest so she can use her powers to protect Mondstadt

I just realized that both of my Genshin OCs' visions match the characters I paired them with lmao

As a playable character she'd likely be a main/sub DPS whose focus is critting the hell out of your enemies. She'd synergize well w cryo resonance. You'd want her on a freeze team bc her charged attack summons an icicle and counts as a heavy attack so it can deal shattered damage

Haha whoops this became really long dskfjdjd but uhh hope you enjoyed reading about Lilith!! I'm still trying to figure out what she looks like so there may be art on the way soon 👀

Blinking at this 20 page essay in front of me haha but please don't worry about sending me too many asks. If you're okay with my shit reply times then spam my inbox with anything.

Is there a cyro catalyst in genshin yet? I don't think so (maybe signora but she's not playable yet) but it's such a good fucking concept and I want it. It would look so pretty or elegant or we could be throwing snowballs goddammit. But can I say how much I love voice lines??? As much of a lore junkie that I am, there's something about voice lines that send me. If you have any more voice lines. please feed me.

Side note: "…How can Kaeya drink so much of the stuff?"

I'm pretty sure it's borderline confirmed since Venti drinks to forget his ptsd...I'm hard eyeballing Kaeya for the same reasons.

Can I say how fucking hot it is when characters don't pry into each other's business? Just having that mutual trust that you can take care of whatever you're dealing with, and if you can't, you can come to me for help without feeling ashamed. I'm not self-reflecting at all, what do you mean? But I'm enjoying this dynamic a lot. Feels very healthy and I support that. But hey, double cryo has a pretty good element synergy bonus haha. Speaking of criting, my Eula has a 15% crit chance....

But if you do create art or more lore, please share with me! Unless you already have and I haven't seen the ask yet haha.

[hispeculiartreasure]

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Seventeen | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: Teen

Word count: 9,636

Chapter 17/24

Warnings: PTSD, brief cursing, light discussion of a WW1 veteran’s amputation, mentions of war-related death. 

AN: Apparently, I needed time. Time to heal, time to think, time to gain perspective. This chapter is not at all what I had planned, but it’s exactly what it needs to be. Thank you for your patience. Hope you enjoy. ❤ 

I do not have a set posting schedule for this story.

Chapter Sixteen

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

Bucky could not wrap his head around how bewitching you were in the autumnal twilight. The pink hue of the sun’s last rays set the skin of your arms in an alluring tone, made the color of your eyes even more pronounced. It wasn’t only your visage that was stunning, but your confidence behind the wheel of the cruiser. Freshly manicured fingers commanded the steering wheel with a grace that should not have taken him by surprise.

The 1941 Oldsmobile was a loan from Harvey. When you’d told him you were planning a visit home to Tarrytown he claimed he had a vehicle that needed test driving before it was detailed pending a sale. You and Bucky knew full well the car didn’t need any added travel time - Bucky being the mechanic who had repaired it in the first place. The train tickets had been easy enough to return, so the pair of you had taken the clandestine gift and reveled in the luxury of having a vehicle at your disposal.

With an ease that betrayed your years of experience, you navigated the road out of New York City and pointed the vehicle in the direction of your hometown. From his view sitting in the passenger seat, the thought crossed his mind that the woman seated next to him on the bench was a truly authentic you that his soul craved. No walls up, nothing to hide from the world - you behind the wheel cruising down the streets with a peaceful smile spreading to your cheeks. If Bucky had owned a camera he would’ve gladly spent a whole roll of film trying to capture this moment that was imprinting itself on his mind.

He could tell you knew he was watching you. Yet you didn’t shy away; didn’t admonish him for the way his eyes roved over you, nor the length of time they did. You merely continued to talk about your day like you would any other evening. Where you’d normally catch up over dinner and pie in a diner’s cozy booth, you did so in the comfort of the sedan as pavement moved steadily beneath you.

Bucky had expected you to be pleased earlier that evening when he picked you up from work in his Sunday-best; coveralls traded in for a dapper look after a long day working beneath the hood of this very vehicle. Instead, your eyebrows furrowed together, insisting he didn’t have to dress up to meet your parents. He’d waved off your protests with a cheeky “Can’t have your parents thinking I’m a hobo, right?”  He bit off a comment about how despite your overtures, you were impeccably dressed. Hair coiffed in perfection, not a speck of makeup out of place - your immaculate appearance didn’t ring true for a reason he couldn’t identify, so he kept the observation to himself.

You had quickly slid back into your rightful place snug in his heart when you’d overruled him by climbing into the driver’s seat.  Since he’d put in so much effort, you insisted he rest on the ride out to Tarrytown. Neither of you were fooled. You truly loved being at the helm of a car. With traffic to thank, the hour-long trip to Tarrytown was otherwise pleasant. When he wasn’t marveling at you, he admired the green fields of the rolling countryside.

A roadside advertisement for “Tarrytown’s Best Antique Shop - 2 miles ahead!” prompts Bucky to say -

“So, this is it, huh?”

You slant your eyes to his for a moment before they’re back on the road, a smirk gracing your lips. “Almost.”

Where a moment ago you had been the picture of serenity, an undertow of unease now laces your tense jaw. Try as you might, those eyes couldn’t hide from him.

Before he can ascertain the cause behind the shift, your hand comes down to his knee with an excited squeeze. “Well - this is Tarrytown!”

With the sparkling Hudson River visible in the west, a quaint village looms up to meet the Oldsmobile. All was exactly as he’d expected based on your stories. The place had the charm of another time with buildings betraying architecture from another century, a different kind of world. Towering dogwoods filled with red leaves greet the pair of you everywhere he turns. The road curves past the stately Tarrytown Village Hall, proudly on display in the center of the community.

He whistles appreciatively, eyes definitely not on the town. “She’s a beaut.”

“You’ve barely seen her,” you tease.

“Don’t have to, I know she’s a keeper.” He winks.

Your eyes roll with all the fondness in the world.

Not too much farther into town you take a turn, and another turn, and then another turn. Bucky’s sense of direction is lost in the maze of picturesque homes nestled in the hilly streets. He’s grateful one of you knows where you’re going; he’s grateful that it’s you.

Sooner than expected you bring the car to a slow stop; shifting the gear and pulling the emergency brake before killing the ignition, plunging the cab into a descending quiet as the engine settles.

You, however, are not settled. His attention is drawn to the way you twist the ring on your right hand as your eyes lose focus somewhere in the direction of what he assumes to be your childhood home.

The concept of you being nervous with a home-field advantage puzzled him. When he had brought you home he was fully confident in his sisters and mother making you feel welcome, truly taking a shine to you. To his joy, he’d been right. His father was another story, but that was an unfortunate surprise.

There wasn’t a bit of self-assurance in your shoulders as you gazed through the front windshield. The ring takes another spin around your finger.

He says your name as a question and you snap back to the present, eyes locking with his. You feign a grin and open the driver’s door before he can figure out how to word his question.

Following your lead, he opens the trunk and retrieves the bags, playfully refusing to let you carry yours. “And let your folks think I’m anything other than a gentleman? Come on, you’ve gotta give me something to show off.”

This only pulls a small smile from you before you’re checking your reflection in the side mirror. You wipe a bit of stray lipstick from the side of your mouth, rub at a dark spot beneath your eye. Slow steps lead you to the porch, where you pause again. The nippy breeze sends a flutter through your hair and Bucky takes the moment to really study your face.

Clearly there’s a mix between anticipation and unease. You’d been ecstatic at the prospect of bringing him home just a week ago when you’d made the final plans, so what had happened in the intervening time? Mentally flipping through his past observations he searches for a sign of what lays on the other side of the front door.

He had only heard you speak fondly of home, but in the seconds he reviews your statements they all land on the side of vague. Your hometown was big on traditions, so he assumed your parents would be of the same mindset. From what he’d gleaned you spoke with your mother on the phone fairly regularly, but any calls he’d been within earshot of had sounded almost. . . polite. He’d noticed letters from your father on your home desk and in your purse, sometimes reading a new one on the subway if you hadn’t had time the night before.

Based on his own time around Harvey, Bucky recalled several stories about you and your father. Your mother remained enigmatic, aside from the picture in your apartment of you nestled between your parents.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You avoid his eyes, blink one too many times. “Of course.”

Before he has the chance to press you’ve twisted the doorknob and stepped across the threshold.

“Mom? Dad? Anybody home?” You call out into the sparse foyer.

Bucky can’t help the involuntary tremor of muscles at the sound of a crash from the kitchen, followed by a clamor of voices. When he pulls air back into his lungs, you're smiling an apology. A reassuring hand touches his cheek before fixing an errant lock of hair that had fallen from the strict hold of Brylcreem. He should’ve remembered that as clearly as he can see you, you can also see him.

You raise your voice a fraction, “Everybody okay? We’re home! You can set the bags down there, Buck.” With a motion to the side Bucky obediently deposits the luggage next to the door. It looks incredibly conspicuous in the tidy home, where everything seemingly had a place and stayed there. Some interesting artwork hung on the walls, a few he recognized from Steve’s art books. He’d have to ask who the art connoisseur of the house was.

A deep, soothing voice sounds from the doorway to the left. “Should have known you’d bring trouble the second you walked into the door!” The sentence hit Bucky’s ears a moment before your father, tall and lanky, rounded the corner, assisted by his two forearm crutches. “Hey, Sassafras!”

A giggle escapes you as you wrap arms around your father’s middle. “Hi, Dad. Missed you too.” He squeezes you with a little extra force, prompting an “oomph” out of you before turning to Bucky.

“Sorry about all the noise, we’re trying to get the pumpkins decorated for the contest tonight. We had a little mishap, but everything’s just fine. I assume you’re the young man we’ve heard about.” He worms his right hand out of the crutch and offers it, which Bucky takes amiably. “Glad you could make the trip out, son.”

You had mentioned your father’s service in the Great War that night in the diner when he’d finally told you of his own service. That conversation felt like a lifetime ago, especially when Bucky was faced with the reality of the injury in front of him. Below the knee of his right leg, his pants hang loose without the limb to support them. Nearly 30 years of practice could make anyone deft with crutches but the way he carried himself drew attention away from the injury and to the warmth in his presence.

“James Barnes. Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Do you prefer James?”

“Everyone who knows me calls me Bucky, but-”

Your father’s eyes shine with insight his tone belies. “Bucky it is, then. Come on in you two. Your mother is scrambling to get the last things together before the party, but we have a few minutes ‘til we need to leave.”

He tosses his head in the direction from which he came before offering an elbow to you. You tuck your hands into his elbow and kiss him on the cheek. Bucky trails behind the pair of you, noticing how you easily step in perfect time with each other.

“Your boss still giving you trouble?”

“Dad, it’s really okay,” Bucky hears you murmur.

In return you get a disapproving noise and he shifts to get a better look at you as they pass through the living room. “But if it’s not-“

Without an edge you state, “Not now, okay?”

“You’ll catch me up later?”

“Promise.” Crossing the threshold into the kitchen you quickly change the subject. “So how’s your pumpkin looking? What theme did you pick this year?”

Bucky isn’t sure he hears correctly when your father mentions something about dwarfs, but upon seeing the kitchen table he’s proven wrong.

Seven pumpkins sit in a row, each showing painted characteristics of Walt Disney’s cartoon variations of the fairytale dwarfs with background details carved to shine out from the candle burrowed in the pumpkin. The whole gang was there. Each pumpkin dwarf had its own colored hat; everyone’s beard a different shape and length.

A myriad of paints and brushes litter the table protected by a spare sheet that looks as if it had received much love over the years during arts and crafts time. Eyeing the paint stains on your father’s fingers, Bucky can make a fair wager as to who the artist in the house is.

Only one dwarf could have Grumpy’s sour expression, the one with the roses cheeks was not doubt Bashful; and who else could sport a grin that wide except for Happy?

A memory from 1939 surfaces fondly of Evelyn begging him to take her to the pictures to see it even though he told her he was too old. Her wide eyes eventually won him over and he dragged Steve along for the viewing.

Remnants of pumpkin entrails lay on the floor and the aforementioned mishap comes into focus. Bucky reaches for a rag to clean up the remaining spill but you snatch it first, quick to mop up and join your mother in the kitchen.

The most pristine-looking woman Bucky has ever seen in his life turns from the wastebasket in the corner, broom and dustpan in hand. Not a hair out of place, her pearl necklace looks as if it had just been polished.

“Oh,” the crease above her nose pinches, “I wish you hadn’t brought everyone back here, there’s so much clutter from this. . . project.”

“Dear, it’s just family.” Dad inclines his head toward Bucky. “Bucky, this is my lovely wife. Darling, this is Bucky.”

“Bucky? I’m so sorry, I was under the impression your name was James.”

“Oh, it is, Bucky is a childhood nickname that just stuck. But you can call me whatever is easiest for you.”

“Well, welcome to our home, James.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry the place is such a mess, it’s been a bit of a chaotic day.”

A few awkward beats pass before you approach your mother.

“Hello, dear,” her syrupy sweet voice contrasts the stiff kiss she leaves in the air above your cheek.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Have you been working long hours again?” She fixes a bobby pin that had begun to worm its way out of your hair. “Poor thing, the circles under your eyes are so dark, I knew this job would be hard on you. Have you been drinking enough water?”

You protest weakly, telling her it hasn’t been that bad and you must not have touched your makeup up good enough because you were resting just fine. Shoulders tighten slightly when she does a scan of you from head to toe - stopping to fix the collar of your dress that had crumpled when your father hugged you.

Some of the awkward tension breaks when your father clears his throat, drawing attention away from the mother-daughter reunion. “So what do you two think of the pumpkins?”

Immediately, your face softens. Joining your Dad to look over the assortment of pumpkins, you let out an appreciative whistle. “You’ve outdone yourself this year. Only one pumpkin required for entry and you bring six extra? The other contestants are going to hate you.”

“Probably,” your father replies with a chuckle. “Although the town already resents that I’ve won seven years in a row.”

“That’s quite an impressive reign.” Bucky runs a finger over the most prominent pumpkin, one that wasn't quite right. “But, I-uh, I think Doc is missing his glasses, sir.”

“Oh gosh, you’re right. He is supposed to have glasses. How did I miss that?” Leaning heavily into his crutches he groans. “And how do I get specs for a pumpkin on short notice?”

“You got a coupla paper clips around?”

With a puckered brow, your dad indicates to a drawer in the kitchen, from which you produce a handful of paper clips. After a minute or so of fiddling with the wire - using a glass to get a perfect round shape - he offers a pair of miniature spectacles fit for a gourd.

After examining the makeshift glasses your dad peers at Bucky, letting out a bark of laughter with a clap on his back to match. “Now we’re cooking with gas! Sweetheart, can you hand me some of that glue so I can pop these on?”

You proffer the pot of glue and help your father attach the glasses to Doc’s pumpkin.

The grandfather clock in the family room announcing the hour prompts your mother to sigh heavily. “Oh dear, we are running late. I told you we did not have time for these last minute additions. I warned you about leaving things until the last minute this year.”

“Ah, we all know they aren’t going to start without us, don't sweat it.” Dad waves a hand, not one to be rushed.

“You always think the best is going to happen.”

“And you always think the worst is going to happen.”

An unladylike humph passes from her lips before a bit of panic flashes across her eyes and she’s the picture of grace again. For a second, Bucky saw a shadow of you pass over her features. “Can you grab the boxes from the garage to help your father pack the pumpkins?”

A ‘yes ma’am’ rolls off your tongue before the sentence is finished, feet moving to carry out the request. Bucky lends a hand, following your dad’s instructions not to knock their hats askew.

As soon as your back is turned your mother slips in behind you, shifting a handful of the pumpkins you’d painstakingly placed. Despite her efforts, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m sorry to leave the place a mess, it’s a horrible first impression. I hope you can forgive us, James.” Your mother tugs on the strings of her apron, shaking it out before placing it on a designated peg.

“I don’t mind cleaning up, Mom.”

“Oh,” she shakes her head, patting you on the cheek, “don’t you worry about it. I’ll take care of it later. Do you two want to join us?”

You and Bucky each grab a box, following your parents to their vehicle to pack them in the trunk safely.

“No, we’re just going to take a walk around since we’ll be busy tomorrow night.”

Bucky casts a suspicious eye to you. “We’re busy tomorrow night?” he mutters under his breath.

“Mhmm,” you hum. “It’ll be fun, don’t worry about it.”

Again, your mother repeats her invitation.

Your dad exhales loudly after opening the passenger-side door. “Honey, let them be, no young couple wants to spend non-stop time with the parents. We’ll see them tomorrow.”

Mom huffs. “Well, there are enough leftovers from dinner for both of you. We really need to get going.”

Dad leaves an obnoxious smooch to your cheek. “So happy you’re home, sweetie.” Then he turns his head to face Bucky. “Really really glad you’re here. Looking forward to getting to know you.”

“You two have fun!” Bucky catches a moment between you and your mother. She shimmies her eyebrows up and down a few times as you close the driver’s door. With a wink she pulls the car out of the drive without any response from you.

Slightly miffed, you walk back into the house with Bucky on your heels.

It’s not until you start scrubbing the table Bucky speaks. “I thought your mom said she’d clean up?”

You snort, tossing a rag in the sink. “She said that because our cleaning standards have never seen eye-to-eye. Anyway.” With a deep breath you start digging in the cabinets, pulling down a few snacks. “You wanna grab that bag on the coat rack so we can head out?”

Once the food and a picnic blanket are stashed in the bag, Bucky slings it over his shoulder and accompanies you outside.

The neighborhood is homey, even sweet, Bucky thinks. Everywhere he looks he’s met with greenery and actual white picket fences. He hadn’t been convinced they existed in real life until this stroll through your old stomping grounds.

“Where exactly are we going?”

Nonchalantly slipping your hand in the crook of his elbow you answer. “Tomorrow my mother will insist on taking us on a horribly boring and irrelevant tour of the town, so tonight you’re getting my tour.”

Someone across the street calls your name, interrupting your conversation. An elderly woman beneath an oversized straw hat straightens up from her garden.

Your smile is instant and full of sunshine when you return the older woman’s greeting. “Mrs. Robbins!” Leading Bucky across the empty street you meet her on the other side of her gate.

Her eyes crinkle kindly as she takes your hand in hers. “Oh, Sassafras, it is so good to see you again!”

You laugh and shake your head. “Good to see you too, ma’am.”

She tuts her tongue a few times before patting your hand. “Darling you’re old enough to call me Fiona, please do. And who is this handsome young man?” Dark eyes examine Bucky, keener than her feeble posture would suggest.

“This is my boyfriend, Bucky. Bucky, Mrs.-” you stop herself at her sharp look. “This is Fiona. A dear family friend and Harvey’s sister.”

Brown skin wrinkles around her softening lips. “It’s nice to meet you, Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you too, ma’am. I work for your brother at the garage, he’s been more than kind to me.”

She titters at that, hand swiping through the air. “I should hope so! He better be payin’ it forward after he inherited the place from her grandfather. I’ve gotta warn you, kid. This one,” Fiona nods to you with no small amount of affection, “has always had moxie; done what she wants, what other people want be damned. She’s a brave girl. Sure you can keep up?”

Bucky beams down at you and you return it easily. “Probably be a step behind her most of the way, but I’m up for the chase.”

You bid her goodbye only after securing a promise to see her tomorrow night.

“And what exactly is tomorrow night?” Bucky’s question is drowned out by another neighbor exclaiming at your presence.

You seem to feel rather than see Bucky’s questioning gaze on you. “Babysat,” you nod to a young family pouring out of a vehicle and heading into their home who were waving at you like maniacs.

Next house down you offer another explanation. “Cat-sat.”

Ten more steps and you speak again. “Helped her tend her garden when her husband left for the war,” you wiggle your fingers at a pregnant woman checking her mailbox who was wearing a sparkling smile.

A car slows down to move alongside you; the mustachioed gentleman at the wheel asks, “You kids need a ride?”

Bending at the waist to make eye contact through the open window you say, “No, thank you, Mr. Quaid. We’re enjoying the evening walk.”

“Take care!” The car speeds up and is gone.

A little more solemnly you nod toward a couple sitting on their front porch, hands joined. “Their son was a few years younger than me, I tutored him in math. He ended up doing really well. . .” Your voice fades when you smile in their direction. Hand moving to grip his, you continue quieter, “He was drafted when he was 18. Died in the first battle he saw. They were devastated. I tried to visit and bring them food as often as I could.”

He squeezes your fingers, no words needed - the weight of loss heavy in his own heart. Seeking to lighten the mood, Bucky clears his throat. “You didn’t tell me you were a local celebrity.”

You scoff in a way your mother certainly would’ve labeled as undignified. “Oh, it’s just a few neighbors. Helps that I’ve got a dreamboat on my arm.”

Then it’s his turns to scoff. “Hardly. You’re the good-looking one of the pair, Sixth Floor.”

“Ah, but you’re the new one in town. The place will be buzzing with news of you by the time we’ve walked the neighborhood.”

Bucky isn’t quite sure how to feel about that, but before he can voice any concern you’ve arrived in the town square where volunteers were setting up decorations and festivities for the coming weekend.

He whistles at the splendor of the unfurled banners hanging above the streets, dozens of jack-o-lanterns hanging from light posts, and the fervor of the crowd orchestrating the perfect swoop of a swag of orange and black tinsel. “Man, you weren’t kidding about your town being into Halloween.”

“No, I was not,” you admit with a rueful laugh. “Everyone really got into it in an effort to lower kids’ interest in vandalism. What were your Halloweens like growing up?”

“Umm, usually pretty relaxed. The girls always dressed up; I put minimal effort into putting a costume together.”

“Party pooper.”

“I do remember this one Halloween when we were young. The ice cream store down the block would give you a free scoop if you showed up in a costume. It was more like a mob than a store, kids everywhere. The employees couldn’t keep up with how many cones to give out. Don’t think they ever did that again.”

“That is adorable, but I can’t blame the owner. I would’ve knocked down some doors for ice cream too.”

“I’m assuming your Halloweens were slightly more eventful than mine?”

“Slightly.”

“Yeah, that’s your lying tone.”

“I don’t have a lying tone!”

“That’s the same tone of voice you used when Steve and Peggy were arguing about which one of them was more likely to win a bear fight and you told them you didn’t have an opinion.”

You both chortle at the memory.

“Oh my god, how had I already forgotten about that? How could such a playful question escalate into them aggressively advocating for their individual tactical advantages over a bear?”

“Alcohol is one way. Stubbornness is the other. And they both had loads that night.”

“I thought you said Steve couldn’t get drunk.”

“Fine, pure stubbornness on his part. Either way, you’re lying to me.”

You continue your walk through the downtown neighborhood in the direction of the river.

“Okay, my Halloweens were plenty eventful. Lots of dances and parties and festivals. We don’t know how not to take Halloween seriously. Spooky is literally woven into the fabric of our town.”

“Right, right, I remember you talking about the Headless Horseman poem.”

“Yep. The author lived not too far from our house. Rumor has it Walt Disney is doing a cartoon based off of the story.”

“That what inspired your dad to go with the dwarfs for pumpkins this year?”

The sparkle in your eye proves his theory. “Has anyone told you you’re very astute, Sergeant Barnes? Anyway, we’ve got loads of other stories. The cemetery is haunted; some of the statues have been seen getting up and walking around, visiting graves. The British head of intelligence during the Revolutionary War, John Andre, was captured in Tarrytown after meeting with Benedict Arnold to negotiate his defection - he was killed several days later. People still report seeing Major Andre wander the woods, along with the Headless Horseman, obviously. The Flying Dutchman, the phantom ship, has been spotted offshore in the Hudson too.”

The look on his face must have betrayed his fear that his girlfriend believed in ghosts, because you snicker. “It’s mostly all in good fun, but the legends leave plenty of room for the local kids to terrify everyone.”

“Don’t suppose you were ever involved in any of those pranks?”

“Me? Oh gosh no.” Your intense tone of innocence has his lips curling in disbelief. “Well. . . one night some friends and I scared some tourists who were walking around the cemetery. It’s funny how from a distance, lit jack-o-lanterns can look so realistic when being swung from a stick.”

“You tricked people into thinking heads were floating around in the fields?”

“We were just carrying our jack-o-lanterns around, I don’t know what you’re talking about. . .” Oh, mischief was a good color on you.

You turn down a worn road and Bucky takes a moment to admire your silhouette in the eventide.

Over your shoulder you call, “You coming?”

“Depends, you taking me into the woods to scare me with floating heads?”

Beguiling eyes twinkle. “Not yet. I wanna show you something.”

He takes your outstretched hand and lets you lead the way; your feet carrying you as if you’d walked this trail a hundred times before. Turns out, you had.

Not too many steps later, the smell of the river and a cooler breeze greets the pair as a huge building looms in the distance. Beginning to block the view of the Hudson the closer you get, Bucky can just make out the sign affixed in bold letters across the side.

“This your old factory?”

Your silence prompts Bucky to glance down where he finds you nodding. As if the words had suddenly been snatched from your throat, like your faculties were stripped down to remembering how to breathe. He looks at you closer.

There’s. . . pain. Not the physical type. The type that was beneath the skin, underneath the beat of your heart. A type of pain uncomfortably familiar to him.

The affliction etched into your brow is too close to how he feels when recalling his time overseas. Countless hours you had spent asking about and listening to his stories, holding him close when the memories were so vivid he almost couldn’t distinguish them from reality.

But there were moments he found himself yearning for pieces of that life, he must admit. The camaraderie among his unit, the steady sense of duty, the sharing of stories around the fire when Dugan wouldn’t shut the hell up, sharing a dance with a Red Cross girl on a rare night off in London. Yes, there was inarguable tragedy, trauma, and sacrifice. He was left with scars and loss.

Selfishly, he realizes, he had not spent a moment thinking about what you had lost.

Your tone is unintentionally forlorn as you share the names of your crewmates, what your days were like, a few anecdotes of your time there. A sadness that seemed a cousin to the dissatisfaction you’d had when clocking out of the corporate office every day seeps through the tension in the hand tucked into his.

Buried under the facts, he senses a void that aches more in this moment than he’s ever witnessed. The quiet charm of your hometown dampened by the war factory up the river. Tension in your household when you told your mother of your career plans. Knowledge and skills you excelled in. The team of women in your charge who you loved deeply, felt a responsibility to. Childhood playmates that hadn’t returned from the European theater. A sense of purpose and pride ripped away after the last Axis power surrendered.

You’d never stared mortality in the face like he had, but you’d fought battles, risked a lot. The course of your life changed forever because of the war. The troops were celebrated, at least publicly, upon their return. There was a reverence reserved for the uniformed troops.

But you. . . you were thrust aside to make room for men like him. You, thousands of yous, were told you were no longer needed. You could go home and sit. You were meant for something softer, something more domestic. Your expertise and fortitude were no longer needed, could be put in a memory box and forgotten about.

The awareness that this is the first he’s seen this side of you unnerves him. Had he ignored it? Could you be that adept at hiding these inner struggles? Were you concealing this on purpose? Did guilt haunt you into silencing this wound? Sure, you’d alluded to how you’d been unhappy being pushed out of your job at the factory, that the office job was a consolation prize. Although, could it be called a prize when you’d forced the hand that had given it?

Shame washes over him as you blink tears away. Why hadn’t he asked? How hadn’t he caught this earlier? He wants to ask now, desperately wants to know and hold you, but he can read you well enough to see the sign your eyes hold that screams ‘do not cross into this territory’.

It dawns on him that he doesn’t know what to do. Helpless had never been a good fit for him.

Minutes of silence pass as he continues to watch you stumble through the visceral memories whirling about.

Then the answer hits him like a ball cracking against a bat.

Follow your example.

He can listen. He can respect boundaries. He can gently nudge. He can be present. He can offer perspective. He can provide backup when you face the scary depths of your mind. He can love.

Wordlessly you turn your back on the factory, unknowingly desperate to put space between you and a home that is too dear, too. . . no longer yours.

He can relate.

So he falls in step as you walk away, lost in thought. Trusting that you subconsciously know your next destination, that you’ll feel it when you arrive.

Every step away from that spot, you’re cast in a new light in the pitch black of night. One that paints you in braver, more hallowed strokes than before. A new admiration, a new respect. . . a new love blooms in him for you. And again, he finds himself thankful that he dropped into your life.

Releasing your hand, he pulls you closer to him with an arm around your shoulders and presses a vow to your head with his lips. A promise to watch closer, to always give you the respect you’ve earned, to care about the safety of your heart as you do for his.

In that moment, he decides that you deserve the world. And he’s going to do whatever he can to deliver it right to your feet.

You’ve walked a mile or so when you break out of your reverie and survey your surroundings, angling further toward a clearing free from artificial light or people. Finding a satisfactory spot - by what standards, he’s unsure - you pull the blanket from the bag he’s been carrying and settle it over the lush green grass. While you make yourself comfortable on the checked picnic blanket, he watches you with what he’s sure is an obvious adoration.

Looking up, what you were going to say dies on your tongue. “What?” you ask uncertainly, dragging out the vowel.

“Nothin’,” he shrugs. “Just enjoying the view.”

The cock of your head says you don’t believe him but you don’t press the matter.

“Well, c’mere.” You motion to the blanket next to you.

Feeling playful he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Answer one question.”

You hum inquisitively.

“Did you bring me to the middle of the woods to scare the bejesus outta me in the spirit of Halloween?”

Laughter has never sounded so sweet in his whole life. The mirth in your cheeks tugs a dopey grin upon his face as he plops down next to you, shoulder to shoulder.

“Alright, what’re we doing out here, Sixth Floor?”

“Well, you’re always complaining about how the city has too much light to really see the stars, so. . .” You turn your face to the heavens, Bucky following in kind.

He had been so wrapped up in you he’d failed to notice the mantle of twinkling lights above his head. A steadying breath is necessary as a peace washes over him at the beautiful sight.

“Now that’s a view.”

“Go ahead, talk my ear off about them.”

Growing up in New York City, the area was notorious for blackouts. Gradually growing bored during a summer filled with lightless evenings he found himself crawling onto the roof of his childhood home and examining the sky. He had been slow to fall in love with the sky but it had persisted throughout his childhood.

During a sleepless night on the cold ground in Italy, he realized the constellations he was looking up at were different from the ones back home. Peggy had surreptitiously smuggled him an astronomy book after Steve had rescued the 107th from Azzano and he’d carried it in his pack until he’d returned home. The same book rested permanently on his nightstand, a faithful companion when a different kind of sleepless night plagued him.

He settles in, throwing an arm around your shoulders, rubbing you for extra warmth.

“Ooh ooh, Jupiter is right there.” He points out the planet.

“Where?”

“Right there.” He wags his finger in emphasis.

“I. . . I just see stars.”

“Here, lay down.” Bucky falls to his back, feeling you drop next to him. He circles the planet again with a finger, hoping it’ll help guide your line of sight.

“Oh. . . yeah, absolutely, wow.”

“You still can’t see it can you?”

Your move to roll into his shoulder to muffle your giggles and embarrassment is futile; there’s no way he can pass up the opportunity to tease you about it.

In a torrent of words he finds himself helpless to stop, he tells you all about the skies above. He waxes poetic about the solar eclipse he’d seen over the summer, explains the draconid meteor shower that had graced the atmosphere earlier that month, and indicates several constellations.

He’s still not convinced you can actually make out the constellations; Ursa Major and Cassiopeia being his two favorites that evening. At one point you sit up and he shuffles to rest his head in your lap, legs crossed at his ankles.

Although he usually preferred to observe from the wings, he finds himself drawn to your audience. He could count on one hand the number of people he was at ease enough with to speak unbridled. Granted, you were an easy audience. Even if you were indulging him. there was refuge in your company.

Your digits twine into his hair, looping through the beginnings of a curl at the ends, undoing the efforts of the hair cream. A touch so gentle he could not bring himself to care. His eyes slide shut and he focuses only on the feeling of you playing with his hair, fingernails pleasantly scratching his scalp every so often.

Eventually, he runs out of things to say and you both keep your faces turned up to the blanket of stars. A thousand questions cross his mind yet he struggles to find his footing in this unfamiliar emotional territory.

“So, your mom seems a little. . .”

Your fingers falter for a moment before slowly resuming their perusing of his hair. “Obstinate?”

The bitterness surrounding that one word tells him all he needs to know.

“Invested?” He offers as an alternative.

You only hum.

“She cares enough to go along with your dad’s ideas. Like helping with the pumpkins, even if it seemed to stress her out.”

“Guess that’s love for you.” He detects a hint of strain in your voice, as if the unexpected emotions of your hometown arrival had drained you.

He’s hesitant to push further and his newfound courage fails him.

The stillness that falls is peaceful. A cozy bubble that’s just the two of you and the stars.

You eventually squint to see your watch in the dark and declare its time to head back before your mother calls the cavalry.

“She’d call the cops?”

“If it’s so late she thinks we’ve gone missing. And the Chief is my uncle, so. . .” A docile mirth meets him as you pull him up from the blanket to join you on two feet. “Do you want to explain to my mother's brother what we were doing in the wilderness at night in solitude?”

Bucky opens his mouth but you cover it with your hand.

“No innuendo-laced sass, sir.”

In a moment of impulsivity he kisses your fingers and is enamored by the embarrassment you hide by looking away, clear desire visible in the starlight.

“Let’s go before you give us a reason to really be in trouble, Sergeant.”

Unsurprisingly, he finds himself awake well before the sun. Given the unfamiliar environment and his mind turning the events of last night over and over, he was already pacing the guest bedroom’s floor. After debating internally whether or not it was rude to make coffee in someone else’s kitchen, he settles for scrawling a few passages in the journal you’d gifted to settle his mind.

He opens the door to leave the bathroom in fresh clothes and a shaved face, only to come face-to-face with sleep-rumpled you; in your pajama set with a robe thrown over it. Your bare feet brush against his - per usual, your toes are freezing.

“Good morning,” he hums.

“G’morning,” you return, burying your face in his chest, arms securing around his middle.

Unable to contain his grin, he scratches the back of your neck with one hand, smoothing circles on your back with the other. “You sure are cute in the morning.” He catches something vaguely resembling a ‘stoooooop’. “I’m telling you, you look your best right after you’ve woken up.”

“Shhh, stop talking,” you slur into his shirt, seemingly attempting to rub the sleep from your eyes.

“I mean,” he half-shrugs, “we have spent a night together.”

Your hand presses firmly over his mouth before he could finish his sentence. “James Buchanan, if you utter another word about that you and I will be banned from this house for the rest of our lives.”

He tugs your wrist down to kiss your knuckles. “We literally just fell asleep on the same couch, babydoll.” If asked he would blame the morning hour, not the overwhelming sensation of having you close, responsible for the deep rasp of his voice.

“I promise my mother will not listen to that story long enough before she disowns me.”

Releasing you, he steps out of the bathroom to let you in. Nodding, he turns around to watch as you shuffle to the sink. “Rest of our lives, huh?” He tosses a smug grin which you volley with a scowl.

“Shut up and make me coffee.”

He knows you miss the wistful glance accompanying his laugh as you shut the door in his face. Not that he minds.

When you do emerge for your lovingly-prepared beverage you are dressed to the nines. A new dress, coordinated stockings, and hair in perfect rolls. . . Bucky was more than a little taken aback. Saturdays were when he was treated to your out-of-the-office look; the bare face, your overalls, the unmitigated sass. This was. . . different.

“What?” You eye him from beneath your heavy eye-liner, taking a cautious sip out of your mug.

“N-. . . nothing, doll. You look nice.”

Your rigid smile gives him pause, but it’s one of the only pauses he has for the day.

The rest of the morning and afternoon don’t leave him much time to mull over all he’s learned about you in the last 24 hours; your mother kept the four of you quite busy with her town tour. Bucky can practically feel you cringing from your place next to him on the backseat bench of your parents’ car as your mother drags you all over town.

He doesn’t completely understand the point of most of the stops. She makes sure to drive by the newly built gazebo, the lovely park adjacent to downtown where there was plenty of space for kids to run, and a new boutique that had opened that spring. The tour included lunch with the mayor and his family, tea and coffee with the neighbors, and a quick stroll around the block where your mother pointed out several wonderful houses for sale.

However, he did notice how quiet you were. Your commentary was nil in comparison to the night before. Choosing to listen to your mother rather than add on to her narration struck him as slightly odd. Was it born from weariness or a reluctance to start an argument?

As the day progressed, Bucky clocked a growing agitation in you. Without so much as a minute alone with you since that morning he couldn’t put a finger on the source of your turmoil. He ached to fix it for you. Since he didn’t know what was broken, he settled for grabbing your hand and squeezing it three times.

Squeeze.  I.  Squeeze. Love. Squeeze. You.

The scowl you were wearing diminishes slightly when you redirect your gaze from outside the window to him. You squeeze back:

I. Love. You. Too.

The time for supper approached quicker than your mother anticipated, landing you, your father, and Bucky in the family room while she prepared the meal alone. After your lackluster attempt at offering help, which was quickly denied, you plop down onto the couch next to Bucky. He draws comfort from the way you nuzzle into his side, the way you rest your head on his shoulder for a few minutes. Your breathing evens out enough for Bucky to table his concern for a later time.

It isn’t until your dad shares a story about the time 10-year-old you had insisted a bead you were using to make necklaces was small enough to fit in your ear. It turns out you were correct, it was small enough to fit in your ear. After spending five hours at the doctor’s office with your father, the bead fell out the second the nurse had called your name to be seen by the doctor. It’s the first time that day Bucky hears you give a genuine laugh.

When the group sits down for dinner he can’t help but compare his family table to yours. Unlike being crowded into each other’s space in Brooklyn, he felt a world away from you at the formal dining table.

In between demure bites, your mother asks: “So James, we’ve been told you served, but haven’t heard many details.”

“For 1943 I served as a Sergeant with the 107th Infantry. I then became a part of a special operations combat unit.”

“Is it true you served with Captain America?”

“Mom.” If your mother could feel the waves of fury rolling off of you, she didn’t show it.

Feigning surprise, her shoulders raise in a shrug. “It’s a harmless question.”

Seeking to quell the simmer of anger bubbling in you, Bucky swoops in. “Yes ma’am, I did. Alongside a group of strong, fearless men.”

“And what was that like?”

“We dealt with a lot of classified information, so unfortunately I’m not at liberty to discuss much of it.”

A parroted line given to him by the SSR the moment he’d landed on American soil; a line that had saved him from this exact conversation a hundred times before.

Undeterred, your mother pats her lips daintily with her napkin. “Well, what is Captain America like? Have you met him, dear?”

After chewing on a forkful of the meal for a touch longer than necessary, you respond. “I’ve only known him as Bucky’s friend Steve. And he’s very kind, intelligent, thoughtful. He’s an artist, Dad. I’m sure you two would find a lot to talk about.”

“Well, James, thank you very much for your service. It’s an honor to have you at our table.”

“It was nothing, ma’am. I only did what other able-bodied men were willing to do, except I had the blessing of coming home.”

As if to stop whatever retort burning hot on your tongue, your father clears his throat. “We all do what needs to be done in times of war. Think all of us here can relate to that.”

“Oh yes,” your mother hums. “During the Great War, my husband, brother, and father were all off fighting. I took care of the household while everyone was gone instead of trying to find work. I felt that creating a stable home would be the most comforting for returning soldiers.”

Bucky does his best not to sputter around the food in his mouth, eyes going as wide as his dinner plate.

Your comeback to the obvious jab was a lifted chin and pursed lips. The line in your shoulders speaking to the countless times this conversation had happened before.

Without a rejoinder from you, the matriarch sighs. “But so many young people had a fervor for a more hands-on approach to war, as they are wont to do.”

“No need to mince words, Mom, we all know you weren’t a big fan of my factory work.”

“Thank goodness,” Bucky says amiably “or I wouldn’t have a job or career path. Your daughter has really steered me down a road where I feel a sense of purpose again, and I won’t ever be able to convey what that really means to me.”

The smile does not extend beyond your mouth - not when you catch how starry-eyed your mother looks. Undercurrents he doesn’t totally understand emanate from both women at the table. What he does catch is your father’s eyes flitting back and forth between the most prominent ladies in his life, measuring the same current Bucky feels.

The man opposite him shakes his head at his wife, who tsks quietly and pushes her food around her plate for another moment.

Head tilting toward you, your mother asks, “Will you help me clear the table and wash the dishes?”

“I don’t mind helping out, ma’am. Dinner was delicious and-” Before Bucky had fully risen out of his chair your mother was shaking her head.

“Oh no no no, you boys just relax while the two of us clean up.”

Probably a little heavier than intended, Bucky drops back into his seat. Discomfort knocks in his knee bouncing under the table as he watches you pile your arms full of dishware before joining your mother in the kitchen.

The fingers of his left hand fidget with the tablecloth. It had been several years since he’d been forced to sit unbusy for this long a stretch of time. Unsettled hands often led to unsettled thoughts. If he wasn’t careful-

A muffled grunt at his right jerks Bucky from his thoughts.

“You okay, sir?”

Jaw clenched, your father nods as he shifts in pain, taking a few deep breaths.

Blue eyes flit down to the older man’s right leg where he’s gripping what Bucky would guess to be the site of the amputation. It passes seconds later, the WWI vet relaxing once again. The moment didn’t appear to worry him; in fact, it seemed to be a regular occurrence.

“Has Sassafras told you about how I lost my leg?” The deep voice prompts Bucky’s eyes back up to your father’s face, one that is watching him thoughtfully. A pang of guilt twitches in his chest at his outright perusal of the man’s injury. But he didn’t seem embarrassed or self-conscious. Just a soldier asking a question of a fellow GI.

“No, sir. She’s only mentioned it in passing. I didn’t want to overstep.”

“Ah,” your father waves a hand dismissively. “I was in the hospital recovering longer than I saw combat. Bullet hit just wrong enough in Saint-Miheil. I don’t remember it happening, but I can recall the ambulance ride to the field hospital. Once the surgeons did their work,” he nods to his leg, “I only had to wait to become stable enough to get shipped back here. The hospitals were crowded wall-to-wall. Staff was in a rush to move those of us who were deemed unfit for service to make room for more casualties.”

“Did you ever get a prosthetic?”

“I did, I did. Sure was an uncomfortable thing, though. We were rushed out of the amputee specialty hospital too. None of us were taught how to use them properly. I tried to make it work. Eventually, it wasn’t worth it. Only caused pain on top of pain. The limb found much better use as a makeshift shovel for a certain daughter of mine.”

Both men chuckle at the image of you shrunken down as a toddler, digging a hole in the backyard to bury your treasure with a wooden prosthetic.

“After a while, I stopped trying to get the pain treated. Spasms like what you just saw will come along every once in a while, but it’s manageable. I’m just thankful I got to come home.” His features mellow as he watches his wife and daughter moving in the kitchen in tandem.

Bucky observes the scene as well with a slightly more scrutinous eye. Your mother maintains a steady stream of chatter without any response from you. Eyes fixed on the plates you were lathering with soap, movements mechanical. Something unidentifiable has shifted.

Having caught a vulnerable glimpse of you the previous evening, a tide of protectiveness nearly moves him to his feet. To do what, he wasn’t sure.

Once again, your father’s voice pulls Bucky back to reality. “While not having part of my leg is a pain, tons of soldiers suffer from deeper wounds. My brother-in-law, for example, is still dealing with his shell shock.”

The hair on Bucky’s arms stands up, his blood chills. Briefly he reflects upon his first date with you - the episode he’d had when the busboy had dropped a tray of glassware. He wonders if you’d shared that with your father. If he knew.

As if he could read Bucky’s demeanor, he continues unprompted. “When he arrived home after the Treaty, he lived with us for a few years. I did everything I could for him. Through all my efforts, the most powerful was simply being present. Reassuring him that I was there, I was listening, that he was safe.

“Really, all I did was talk to him like he was human. Which is surprisingly rare with shell shock. Even my wife struggled not to treat him like he was breakable.” Again, the elder’s gaze shifts to where you’re now drying dishes. A wisp of sentiment curls his lips. “What never failed to make his day was his baby niece fearlessly crawling into his lap. She always brought a smile to his face with her kindness, her innocence. . . her belief that her uncle was just that. Not a fighter. Not damaged goods. Just her uncle.”

Ah. So that’s where you’d gotten the extra dose of tenderness.

“Time passed. He healed. Got back on his feet. Found a job in town that suited him; settled down, had a family. Every once in a while he gets that thousand-yard-stare that tells me he’s still fighting battles.”

The scars on Bucky’s chest and back from his time spent with captors in Azzano itch incessantly; he exercises all his self-control to stay still. A bead of sweat rolls down his back.

“In all the chaos and gore, I think the hardest thing to watch was the way men were treated differently in the hospitals. Those of us with life-altering injuries were treated with compassion. But the men with shell shock; the ones shaking uncontrollably, staring into the distance, screaming in their sleep. . . medical staff were unkind to them. Almost like my physical wound protected me from judgement or impatience.

“People who haven’t seen a second of action seem to think physical trauma is the only excuse for mental trauma. Like that can’t exist by itself. I never saw that at all. I know you and I both have seen our fair share of shit. The biggest difference? I was discharged. The shell-shocked were often sent right back into battle. The experts, doctors, nurses - it was obvious they believed treating the mind was an acknowledgement that there was a problem in the first place. Because they didn’t have a solution, they turned it into the soldier’s own problem. He was weak. Needed to buck up and get the job done.”

Frozen to the spot, Bucky regards your father as he takes a deep breath. Shifting forward ever-so-slightly he locks eyes with Bucky. Through all the combat the younger veteran had seen, he’d never felt more exposed than in this moment.

Fingers rubbing at his chin, the older veteran begins again. “The things all those doctors say, that certain men’s minds are fragile or it’s an excuse to go home. . . there’s no reason for someone to continue the behavior once they make it home. When you’re in a room by yourself and wake up from a nightmare and find trouble breathing - what audience benefits from that act? That’s not something anyone wishes for.”

Somehow sensing the trepidation across the table, he leans back in a relaxed, yet calculated posture. Gives a sheepish chuckle while Bucky tries to catch his breath.

“Not to prattle on like an old geezer, but all that to say; I’ve had first-hand experience with wounds that aren’t visible. Every man is different. Time moves differently for every one. There’s not a set recovery time. As long as a man has a support system and is honest with them, he’s going to be okay.”

A long pause stretches out, Bucky’s mind ticking as his knee bounces slower eventually stilling.

One whispered phrase floats across the table. “You’re going to be okay, son.”

Voice thick, every muscle straining to suppress a display of emotion, Bucky manages a, “Th. . . Thank you, sir.”

“Anytime.”

That one word, filled with a copious amount of conviction, did more to convince Bucky of his value than almost anything else he’d heard in the last year of his life.

Movement from the kitchen catches his eye again and momentarily, you glance over your shoulder and catch him looking. Bucky smiles, remembering a similar moment in his mother’s kitchen the night you’d all had dinner together. Instead of returning his grin you whirl back to the sink, spine tight.

He can’t imagine what has you so tense, what could have changed so drastically from the night before.

His only course of action is to hope you’ll shed light on it when he can steal a moment alone with you.

Chapter Eighteen

Lovely dividers by @firefly-graphics!

Tags: Crossed through and bolded means I was unable to tag. I am aware this list is over 13 months old; please let me know if there have been username changes.

@lucyyannabel @abovethesmokestacks @blue-like-barnes @thorfanficwriter @ursulaismymiddlename @ren-val @sarcasm-ing @hiddles-rose @thisismysecrethappyplace @palaiasaurus64 @fanfic-diaries @majesticavenger @cake-writes @moderapoppins @collinsstanharbour @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @thinkwritexpress-official

@fearless2tobeme @laneygthememequeen @past-perfect-future-tense @drhughgrection @promarvelfangirl @anditwasjustus @p3nny4urth0ught5 @usernamemingmei @the-canary @blueskiesbleakeyes @silverwing2522 @satansmushroom @nerd-without-a-cause @firewolf-marvels @reginaphlanageadams @kiliakit @forsaken-letters @barnestruck

@bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @part-time-patronus @biavastarr @ellaenchanted91 @ihopeyousteponarosepetal @bloatedandlonly @itsbuckysworld @captainsbuck @writemarvelousthings @havanaangel @animeflower26 @igotkatiepowers @clockworkherondale @mcueveryday @buckybarneshairpullingkink @cassianpeia @ladylizzieofdarbyshire

@russian-romanova @yknott81 @starkrobb @xmarveled @holyshitcats @flipflopasshat @creideamhgradochas @youclickedthislink​

[sweetiepie08]

Rebel Z (Chapter 10 Final)

nvader Zim fanfic

While analyzing Zim’s PAK for weaknesses, Tak discovers strange coding that sends her on a search for answers. The clues lead her to uncover a conspiracy that governs all of Irken society. When the truth sends her on the run, she has no choice but to return to the one place the Tallest would never willingly go: Urth.

Meanwhile, Dib has noticed odd changes in Zim’s behavior. Has the invader simply grown bored of his mission over the last few years, or is there something more interesting going on?

People who asked to be tagged: @incorrect-invader-zim , @messinwitheddie, @reblogstupids, @cate-r-gunn

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list please let me know.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. 

Thank you for reading! I do plan to continue the story in a sequel fic, but I may take a short hiatus first. I hope you enjoyed this!

Be on the lookout for the next book in the series, RevolutionZ! In which Zim and Tak attempt to join the Resisty and gain new companions! Dib fills his gap year by joining an alien rebellion! Gaz gets dragged in too! And what happened to Zim in Death Melee is explained! 

However, I will most likely only be posting links to Ao3 than full chapters to Tumblr. Again, Thank you everyone for reading!

[-]

“So, what exactly the fuck was all that stuff with the punch about?” Dib asked once they were a comfortable distance away form the Massive.

Zim glared straight ahead at the stars. “It’s nothing that concerns you, human.”

“Bullshit!” Dib slammed his hand down on the control panel. “Your little stunt could have gotten us killed. Out with it!”

Zim gritted his teeth and gripped the steering mechanism until his knuckles quaked. Dib braced himself for the inevitable screaming denial. Instead, Zim let out a pained sigh. “Fine, if you must know, I figured out three Urth years ago that my mission was a sham and my leaders were trying to have me killed, so I took revenge. Happy?”

“We know all that,” Tak snapped. “And anyway, I told you your mission was a lie a long time ago. What I want to know is how you managed to betray the Tallest without your treasonous thoughts setting of your life clock.”

“Yeah, and who’s Spek?” Dib added.

“You wish to hear Zim’s tale of woe?” He clenched his fist and heaved out another sigh. “Fine. Three Urth years ago, the Tallest contacted me, telling me they selected me to participate in Death Melee, an inter-galactic event that all would be watching.”

“The one where they throw criminals on a planet together to fight to the death?” Tak deadpanned. “That was your first clue?”

“They told me the rules had changed and it was now a contest of elite warriors. For my partner, they gave me a Spek, a smeet just shy of his cadet years. He hadn’t even seen his first cycle yet…” Zim’s fists shook as he cut himself off.

“Since you’re still alive, I’m assuming you won,” Dib said.

“Yes, but…” his gaze fell to the floor. “Yes. Anyway, throughout the Melee, it became clear to me that the Tallest lied. This was still a game for criminals, but Spek…” Zim narrowed his haunted eyes, “he was only there to lessen my chances.”

Dib watched, mesmerized. He thought he’d seen the many moods of Zim. He’d seen everything from proud boasting, to spiteful rage, to pathetic schmooping. But this, this was something else entirely, something he never expected to see from the alien. True remorse.  

“On my journey back to Urth,” he continued, “I had too much time to think and when made it back to m base, I was done with all of it.” Rage grew in his voice with every word. “I knew they lied. I knew they’d been lying. For a moment, I thought, if they didn’t want my genius, maybe someone else would. And that thought was enough to set off my life clock. Instead of simply ripping out my feedback chip, I infected it with a virus that sends the Control Brains a loop of my Urth memories, preventing it from receiving new thoughts and experiences.” A bitter, satisfied smile came to his face. “As far as I can tell, it hadn’t noticed anything was off until now.”

“And the machines I saw you building?” Dib pressed.

Zim drew himself up. “I have a contract with the Resisity. I build them machines, they appreciate my genius and send me monies.”

“And that’s what you’ve been doing for three years?” Dib asked, voice sripping with skepticism.

Zim nodded and said nothing more.

Dib stared at him, trying to get a read on this whole tale. He wasn’t sure what to believe. Zim’s reason for existence seamed to be pleasing his Tallest. The little green monster talked of nothing else since arriving on Urth. He couldn’t imagine Zim wanting anything else and he’d fallen for the schmoopy act before. But this was not schmoop. It was too subtle, too quiet. And that betrayal of his Tallest couldn’t be denied. Something had truly changed.

Dib looked to Tak to gauge her opinion, but her face revealed nothing except careful calculation.

“I’d heard the Resisty had been growing and gaining power,” she mused. “New technology granted them upsetting victories and made them more of a problem than they once were. They could be the key. We need to fight if we ever want a chance of defeating the Control Brains and freeing our people, and for that, we’ll need an army. With your connection and my information, we could pose a real threat to the Empire.”

Dib expected Zim to launch into another tirade about how he wasn’t in it for the politics. That this was all a personal mission and he had no interest in going rogue. That did not happen.

Instead, Zim said nothing for a long time. He simply stared through the windshield in tense silence. But then, a grin grew slowly on his face. “I’m in.”

[-]

When they made it back to Earth, they found that Gaz made use of MiMi and Mini Mouse as gaming companions, Dad bought her excuse that Dib was hanging out at Zim’s house, and that he hadn’t even stopped home long enough to notice the two additional robots in the living room.

Dib went straight to his room and laid out all of his recording devices. He had the notes he took the night Zim and Tak rambled drunkenly on the couch. He had the audio recording of the old man Irken that he couldn’t wait to translate. And he had the spy camera he’d been wearing to capture the whole experience. He never got so much undeniable proof on one mission before, and no one, to his knowledge, had this much evidence of this quality ever. He’d be king of the Swollen Eyeball network if he showed even a fraction of…

His eyes drifted to the Swollen Eyeball emblem pinned to his bulletin board and he let out a sigh. The Swollen Eyeball… what a joke. They’d been reduced to a bunch of anti-science conspiracy nuts. The organization became a competition to see who could shout their wildest theory the loudest. What were they compared to a real evil alien empire, a real soul-sucking, Lovecraftian horror, and a real space alien rebellion?

No. This was bigger than some crack-pot conspiracy group. This rebellion universe-shattering consequences. And he was going to be part of it.

[-]

Out in his ship, Zim stared at his PAK connector with warry eyes. He wasn’t sure what held him back now. His stunt on the Massive already solidified his traitor status, but this felt different, more official. It was one thing to enact vengeance on those who betrayed him. It was quite another to completely detach himself from society.

He’d been unwaveringly loyal to the Empire since his conception, but they didn’t want him. He’d seen that years ago. So what was he waiting for?

He disconnected the PAK from his back and ignored the lifeclock in the corner of his eye as he plugged it in. He opened the hatch, clicked a pair of tweezers in his fingers, then reached them toward his feedback chip.

At a light tug, his computer’s voice gave an automated warning.

You are attempting to remove the feedback chip. Doing so is an act of treason against the Irken Empire. Are you sure you want to proceed?

Zim closed his eyes and pulled the chip free.

[-]

Tak’s footsteps echoed as she walked across the concrete garage floor. MiMi’s metallic feet clacked beside her. Apart from that, the room was silent. She was used to silence. One grows accustomed to it when traveling alone through space. But these last few days had been anything but. And with Zim as her dubious ally, silent moments like this were certain to be few and far between.

And yet, this moment, she felt the need to fill it with something.

She popped open the windshield of her ship and hopped inside. “MiMi, my disc please.” Mimi reached into her head and took out the Urth data storage disc. Zim wasn’t the only one with a secret stash.

Tak took the disc from Mimi and placed it in a tray on the ship’s control panel. “Ship, track six please.” As she hopped out, music began to play. Smooth, jazzy horns filled the air and the singer began crooning.

Maybe this time, I’ll be lucky. Maybe this time he’ll stay…

The song was from an Urth performance art piece. The vocalist sang about some male mate. That part didn’t interest Tak in the slightest. Still, there was something about it...

Not a loser anymore, like the last time and the time before…

The song continued to play as Tak opened the engine access panel and began her work. While manipulating the many gears and wires, she found a few interesting repair methods that the human implemented over the years. Many employed the use of an Urth bonding strip called “duct tape”, which she had to admit came in handy. The human didn’t do a bad job, even if it was pretty slap-dash.

All the odds are in my favor, something’s bound to begin…

She finally untangled a mess of wires and reconnected them.

It’s gotta happen, happen sometime…

She fused together the final wire and the ship hummed to life. Fuel Regulation Systems online.

Tak smiled, “Okay Mimi, looks like we’re finally getting somewhere.” She ducked back into the access panel as the song his its crescendo.

Maybe this time I’ll win.

[bettsfic]

march pinned: ending the sex project

in the march edition of my lowkey writing-related newsletter, in addition to my writing-related post roundup and upcoming consultation availability, i have personal essay recommendations and a segment on the definition of a project!

for more information on my creative coaching services, check out my carrd.

if you want to receive my lowkey writing-related newsletter directly, you can subscribe here.

full newsletter below the cut, or you can read it here.

fuck february, amiright?

i thought january was bad. but february. february was the stuff of nightmares. my cousin passed away from covid (you can read about her here; she was really an amazing person and i feel so lucky to have known her). i was finally formally diagnosed with PCOS (bittersweet, i guess). my car broke down. i took two (2) days off and it took me two and a half weeks to get caught up again. i can only hope march treats us all a little more gently.

the good news is, i finished revisions on my short story collection to send to my agent, finished workshop submissions for the semester, and now i can return to my first love, fanfiction. that i am constantly working through original fiction to return to fanfiction has been making me think a lot about the nature of a creative, capital-p Project. so, this month’s BTALA (been thinkin a lot about) is going to inspect the concept of a “project.”

new resource

last month i unveiled a folder of my favorite short stories which i’m pleased to hear several of you have perused and gotten some inspiration from. this month i’ve compiled my favorite personal essays. there are fewer essays than there are short stories because i’ve broken them into two groups: personal and craft. next month i hope to have the craft essays compiled.

i’m always looking for more things to love, so if you have recommendations for your favorite short stories and essays, i’d be happy to hear them!

writing-related posts

how to physically maneuver the revision process

the difference between M and E ratings of fic

resources for worldbuilding (check out the reblogs for more!)

a couple syntax/prose book recs

how to break a long work into chapters

march availability

unfortunately i have to cut my coaching hours down a bit, so i don’t have any openings left in march, but i have some availability in april. if you’re interested in a writing consultation, please fill out this google form!

you can learn more about my services on my carrd.

what i’m into rn

for the past year, i’ve basically been trapped in a 10x10 room, and my health is definitely reflecting that, both mentally (does anyone else feel like they’re living in groundhog day? just, every day being exactly the same except fractionally worse than the day before??) and physically (i reorganized the kitchen and could barely move for two days).

reader, i have discovered something called “walking,” in which i put on real human shoes and go outside. it feels strange, bestial. neighbors wave hello to me. a harrowing experience.

while doing this, this walking, i’ve been listening to the lolita podcast which a friend recommended to me, a ten-episode series that dives into everything lolita: the novel itself, its context, adaptations, greater cultural responses, and — as a sticker on my laptop says — vladimir “russian dreamboat” nabokov. as far as i can tell it seems well-researched and presents the many perspectives of lolita in a fair way. i’m only a few eps in, but i’m entranced so far. highly recommended if you, like me, have a complicated relationship with lolita.

i’ve also found myself mildly addicted to a mobile otome game called obey me, which. look i know it’s like the definition of cringe but it’s also mind-numbingly fun and if i want to spend my minimal free time pretending 7 demon brothers are all vying for my affection then that’s between me and god. it’s a lot of what i loved about WoW: frequent events, bright colors, a daily to do list of simple but satisfying tasks, many many rewards, and it doesn’t take itself very seriously. and if i have 4k fic written of mammon/reader that’s nobody’s business but mine and my longsuffering ao3 subscribers.

i’m telling you this because i don’t know anyone else who plays it and am desperate to trade headcanons. so if you play, or start playing, hit me up!! i will give u mad tips and daily AP.

been thinkin a lot about

the project. the project. even the word “project.” PROject (noun). proJECT (verb). what is the project? “project” comes from the latin pro and jacare which means “to throw forward,” or projectum which means “something prominent.” a projector throws forward an image. to project onto something means to throw your perspective onto something else. to embark on a project is to make something prominent in your life. the concept of “the projects” comes from public housing projects, the government throwing forward affordable housing.

what is the project? in joseph harris’ essay “coming to terms” he says that “to define the project of a writer is…to push beyond his text, to hazard a view about not only what someone has said but also what he was trying to accomplish by saying it.” harris’ perspective is that of an english teacher encouraging his students to read critically, not just to summarize a text but to find its project, its greater purpose. and while i first read this essay in a seminar on composition pedagogy, it stuck with me as a writer. it made me reconsider the greater nature of the creative project.

how many of us, if asked to describe our writing project, would begin with a plot or character premise, the nuts and bolts of a specific story? maybe even the working title? but i wonder, is breaking out the plot really the project? is the discipline of sitting down and typing really the project? and when the story is finished, is the project over? what is the project?

in 2019, i wrote 86k words of a novel. i began revising that novel last fall, and i’m finding that i’ll probably keep maybe less than 10k of that initial draft. i’m not bothered by that. the novel i wrote before that started at 125k, then i rewrote the entire thing to 200k, then i whittled it back down to 160k, and next i’ll be tasked with paring it back down to 80k. i’m not bothered by that either. in the past five years or so i’ve written about 2 million words, and i’ve only published 20k of them. only 1% of what i’ve written, i’ve published. in the words of lauren cooper (catherine tate), i’m not bothered.

i used to see publication as the birth of the project, and writing it akin to a long gestation period. then i saw publication as the death of the project, and its life was lived in its drafting. now, publication seems irrelevant to the project. the confines of a story and its many revisions are also irrelevant to the project. the beginning of a story is not the start of the project and the end of the story is not the end of the project. the project is larger than the story, its revisions, its publication, and its eventual readership.

i think it took me so long to see this because for so many years i was still in my first project, the sex project, an exploration of trauma and sexual identity, which began in 2014 with destiel fanfiction, endured through many fandom shifts, my MFA, years adrift as an adjunct, all the way through 2020 with the completion of my short story collection. i used to wonder how anyone could write about anything other than sex. to me it was the only topic worth my attention. i was certain that i would spend my entire life being a sex writer and i’d never find fulfillment writing a young adult sci fi adventure or a highly literary novel about complicated family dynamics. i was baffled by people who were interested in other things, who could write entire novels without using the word “cock” even once.

then my sex project ended. i don’t know when exactly it happened or why, but suddenly i realized i never wanted to write another artful description of an orgasm or find a tactful euphemism for a vagina ever again (personally i prefer “wet cunt” because not only is it blunt, i find it phonetically pleasing). obviously i’m still writing explicit fanfic but it doesn’t feel the same as it used to. sex feels more sidelined to me, even if it’s still the center and drive of a fic. i no longer get any personal satisfaction from writing it, although i do get satisfaction in sharing the work for readers to enjoy.

it’s like i’ve somehow solved the biggest puzzle of my life. or i guess made peace with my meanest monster, that extremely complicated double-mind of desire that some non-sex-repulsed asexuals feel: you want to feel desire you can’t actually feel so you write it into fiction, to try to understand this thing you can’t have and which society tells you you’re missing, and you don’t even know if you don’t have it, because you still feel desire for affection and intimacy, and maybe even a desire to be desired. and for those of us who are asexual and have c-ptsd, sex you don’t actually want (but don’t know you don’t want, because maybe you’re ambivalent and mildly curious and touch-starved) and an unrelenting drive toward people-pleasing can be a dangerous combination. how can you ever know what consent is if you always put other people’s desires above your own?

maybe i’m alone in this. maybe i’m not. maybe for most people, wanting sex is a light switch: yes i want it, or no i don’t. but for me, i had to write a whole lot of words to figure out things like desire, consent, intimacy, forgiveness, the shape that good love takes. the lengthy theoretical flowchart of “i might be interested in having sex if this and this and this and this and this happens in this exact order and under these exact circumstances.”

it was hard to write something into reality that i have never seen except in pieces, in subtext i clung to with no lexicon to give it shape and meaning. te lawrence in lawrence of arabia. some of tarantino’s early work. the film benny and joon. and weirdly, the star wars prequels (that one’s hard to explain; i’ll spare you). i don’t think the sex project was about coming to terms with my asexuality as much as it was trying to organize my thoughts and feelings by continuously rendering my own experiences within a greater, shinier ideal — like how you sometimes have to unravel the entire skein of yarn to find the loose end, and only then can you get started.

i guess i’m in the infancy of the power project now. i’m moving toward themes of control, infamy, greatness. the exact circumstances in which atrocity occurs. how people rise into leadership and fall from grace. the consequences of success. i don’t know why this project has come to me, or what, if anything, it has to do with me. i’m not famous and have no intention of becoming famous; i don’t have social power or influence, at least not beyond my little corner of fandom, and i’m not interested in having it. and yet, here we are, already hundreds of thousands of words in.

my fics digging for orchids (tgcf) and a standing engagement (the hunger games) deal with the detriments of fame. and even float (breaking bad) to a degree is about the aftermath of being so close to power. my novel cherry pop, loosely based on macbeth, is about an ongoing power exchange between two teenage girls. my other novel, vandal, is about a girl who believes she has magic powers and casts a spell on her neighbor to fall in love with her. and i’m in the very early stages of a novel called groundswell, a cult story i’ve been wanting to write for years. i had no idea why i couldn’t write it until i realized it wasn’t yet my project. i’m not even to the stage of developing characters, let alone a premise or plot. i’m still just building my aesthetic pile (i discuss the aesthetic pile here, as well as vandal in more detail), watching documentaries on cults, reading books, finding inspiration, marking down ideas as they come. it may be years before i’m ready to sit down and write it.

now that i know what the project is, i have more patience with myself. it doesn’t bother me to rewrite a novel from the beginning, or to scrap novels altogether, because the story isn’t the project. the project cannot be diminished by cutting words, sentences, paragraphs, entire chapters. the project does not have a product. the project cannot be published. the project is in the practice, in dragging the impossibly large into clear, acute existence, so you can see it. so you can see the very center of what you thought was an unknowable thing.

[weirdponytail]

MIC!Arya and the Infamous Tarnag Temple Argument in IC Canon (AKA Modern Inheritance’s Take on Trauma, Religion, and Arya F***ing Apologizing)

Everyone gives Canon!Arya shit for the scene in the books where she gives Gannel shit in his own temple for having religion. I agree that it’s a bad moment for her character. I also feel it comes out of left field for Arya’s character up to that point but I’ll get smacked from here to the core mantle boundary for that by some of the fandom. I digress. This is very much not about my feelings on the canon version.

Let’s move on to how it might go for my Modern Inheritance!Arya and my version of events. 

A lot of what I write about in MIC is trauma related. Arya’s one of the easiest characters for me to write for in that regard for obvious reasons, and because I’ve shaped my mental picture of her over the years so she’s the one I have the most practice with. Please note that usually when I go to bat for Arya I tend to get my MIC version of her muddled in with canon, so I apologize for any sharp words, brow beating, etc. Anyway...what was I talking about? OH RIGHT, TRAUMA AND THAT WHOLE TARNAG THING. 

So just to further stress, this is Modern Inheritance/MIC right now. 

Arya’s coming off from a hell of a time. You don’t exactly process deaths of loved ones very well while being tortured, and while she’s juggling all that plus two near death experiences that occurred probably within a week of each other, Eragon nearly dying and his back spasms, the guy that tortured her and killed her best friend and her mate is dead but she didn’t get to have a swing at him, mentally preparing to face her queen/mother, the ‘a whole clan now wants to murder Saphira and Eragon’ situation, civil unrest in the city they’re in, just Brom being Brom, physical stresses from the whole *waves hands at previous paragraph*, she’s suddenly reminded that hey...the dwarves and humans have something that elves don’t. 

What’s that? Religion. And what usually comes with a religion? 

The concept of an afterlife. The general idea that when someone dies they have not really left. The comfort that if you pray, meditate, visit a grave, do something special to you/your faith then you can make a connection to your lost loved ones and friends. The promise that even though they’ve left this world, they’re still looking out for you. And one day you’ll see them again. The separation is only brief. 

And damn. Right then, that hurts for Arya. It’s like being kicked while you’re down. 

TMI and on but off topic: My mother died when I was 12. She had a progressive neural disease which pretty much destroyed her mentally and physically over the course of a year or so. During that year, there were a bunch of ‘spiritual’ people coming over. Not mainstream religion types, but still. 

I hated them with a passion. I hated them, the stuff they said about any type of afterlife or spirituality, prayer, the idea that the dead were not all gone, I fucking HATED that bumper sticker that says ‘if anything can go well, it will’ because ho BOY did that say something for the shit I was seeing and going through at the time. 

I had been agnostic bordering on atheist before but this was the nail in it for me. After mom finally died I was a real sourpuss/snarky little shit whenever religion came up. I insulted every religion any time it came up. I shut down anything having to do with my mom ‘watching over me’ or ‘being with me/us in spirit.’ 

It took me years to understand it. I was angry because I couldn’t bring myself to believe that after all the shit I saw, the pain my dad went through, that I went through, and the whole year of watching a bright, loving, intelligent woman that was my whole world turn to a fully paralyzed drooling mess with mood swings and no voice besides a pained moan...that there was any sort of god or spiritual energy or other bullshit out there. Because then why would it happen? And why to her? People say that ‘well if there is a god then why does war/famine/assault/torture/disease/etc. happen?’ but when it happens to you, and you were already teetering on the edge of ‘does it or does it not, maybe there is something out there…’ it’s like being smacked in the face with a shovel. 

I’ve got nothing against religion now, as long as it isn’t toxic or manipulative, etc. But I can see where Arya would be coming from. 

Because deep down, Arya sees what the dwarves have. This comfort in thinking that the dead aren’t all gone, and that all it takes is reaching out to them to share thoughts and feelings, and that you’ll see them again. 

And she wants that too. She wants it so badly. She envies their ability to think that way, to simply have faith in what they cannot see. She wants to talk to Fäolin and Glenwing (who is still alive in MIC but at this point she doesn’t know that) again, she wants to tell them that she misses them and that Eragon and Saphira exist and their deaths weren’t for nothing and tell them all the things unsaid...but no matter how much she wants to, she can’t get past everything thats happened in the past 6+ months and her own cultural beliefs. 

It hurts. She can’t think of anything else to say past the hurt and so she lashes out like I did. She doesn’t understand why really, but knows that religion and afterlives and all of it just make her...angry. Because what else could that cold rock in her chest be?

In MIC, Arya is not as stubborn when it comes to atheism or other cultures. Before the ambush, she frequently asked questions about the dwarvish religion, not exactly realizing that her questions could be considered more of ‘you dare question the faith’ than ‘so wait what if this happens? Do you still get to go to the afterlife? But what about when you feel a mind die? Where does it go?’ innocent type questions that come from curiosity. She still has the feeling that the money donated to religions could go to better places, but also realizes that sometimes the religions actually send said donations TO those places/the needy, and that structures/art/etc that were built long ago do kinda need upkeep. So instead of being a dick about it, when the dwarves at the temple bluntly tell her ‘would you shut up and leave already we don’t want to answer your questions’ she adds a cheeky ‘sure I’ll go as long as you donate to the Varden’s current fundraiser’ and goes on her way when they agree to donate.

But Arya still blatantly crosses a line by confronting Gannel rather sharply about her newfound feelings on religion while Eragon is there. She’s been following them as Eragon’s bodyguard (why the HELL did canon!Arya leave Eragon alone, even in a temple full of warrior monks, wheN A WHOLE CLAN WAS TRYING TO KILL HIM?!)  and she doesn’t even realize that she’s said anything until Eragon looks back at her like ‘ooooh nooooooOO ARYA WHAT THE HELL?! WAS THAT?!’ and she sees that the back of Gannel’s head is turning purple with rage. 

Eragon manages to extricate himself from it all and meet up with Saphira, and after a rather...heated...uh…”discussion,” Gannel finally flames that while Arya’s questions before pushed the limit, this was beyond unacceptable and asks what the fuck is wrong with her. Arya just storms out.

Arya comes back to the temple later that night, asks for Gannel, and pretty much kneels down and puts her forehead on the floor in front of him (MIC elves do this only when they realize they REALLY fucked up and use this stance as an open way of saying that they fucked up, apologize, and will accept the consequences) with a sincere apology for her earlier conduct. Honestly, her ear is still red from where Brom had twisted it when he caught wind of what she had done, but she’s not apologizing just because of that. 

She wants to learn how to pray. 

Not to a god or spirit, but how to talk to the ones she’s lost. The idea of religion giving a false sense of hope still hurts and angers her...but she’s realized that maybe there’s a reason why it can bring comfort. 

Gannel awkwardly explains that a way to get started is to simply speak aloud, as if talking to someone that isn’t there. When he realizes Arya isn’t pulling his leg or going to go off on him again, he decides to give her the ‘how to talk to dead people’ primer course over some mead and does his best to keep the more hard religion stuff out of it. As a priest/monk, he’s used to consoling people who have lost family and loved ones. He can pick up the signs easily enough...when the person isn’t ready to punch a hole in his fancy history wall. 

As she leaves, Arya apologizes again. 

And prods Gannel to donate to the Varden’s current fundraiser. 

[bookishable]

if harry potter characters had social media

harry

has over a thousand followers on everything but only follows like six people

what does he even post??

#defeatedvoldemortagain

rants on twitter about the true story and how no one will believe him

hating on umbridge on ratemyteacher

really good at roasting people in the comments

mainly photos of quidditch

he and ron run a youtube channel that is a hogwarts legend

ron

documents a lot of chess games

regular looking instagram with photos of friends etc

selfies with the elves from the kitchen

“what’s going on at the borrow?” becomes a twitter thread

instagram feed is jumbled but somehow works

also has an orange theme without intending to

promotes weasley’s wizard wheezes all the time and hermione doesn’t notice because she never looks at her feed

hermione

probably the least likely to have social media but anyway

100% has a bookstagram

but her photos aren’t well arranged or aesthetically pleasing

campaigning for elf rights over every social media app

creates a S.P.E.W facebook page

only followed by her close friends and then only because she bribed them

follows millions of public figures and famous wizards and witches

has a study blog

everyone annoyed by her posts

schedules weekly posts so even when she’s petrified she can stay active

tweets about all the ways wizards can improve their approach to things

makes book recommendation videos on youtube

as well as the fake galleons, she manages to send private messages through people’s phones to tell everyone when the next DA meeting is

neville

mainly photos of plants

mimbulusmimbletonia would be his username for everything (took this from @sasmilledge ’s artwork bc it’s literally perfect)

lots of photos from dumbledore’s army, documents their progress and how happy he is to be a part of it <33

but somehow keeps these photos private to not expose them

sends positive messages on tumblr

also spreads awareness for #supportharrypotter during seventh year which was probably part of the reason he got punished

figures out a way to let students know via social media that the room of requirement is a safe place without snape or the carrows finding out

ginny

bomb selfies

literally doesn’t care

doesn’t have a good instagram theme and posts all the time

writes a lot, has all the writing and reading apps and uses tumblr to write short pieces that are lowkey good

you can stalk all her old photos since she never deletes anything

posts lots of family adventures once her and harry have children just like james and lily would have done :)

really good outfits??

millions of followers like harry but unlike him she follows lots of people

luna

two instagram accounts, one for the aesthetic which has photos edited for her theme, the other a complete mess of random facts and irrelevant spam

doesn’t post photos of the thestrals or other magical creatures because she respects their privacy and believes they are too magical to be exposed

the embodiment of quirky

hand crafts her own jewelry which she has a business page for

has a youtube channel called nargles are behind it

draco

lowkey good photography

doesn’t post photos very often if at all

only really uses social media to complain about potter and brag about his new broomstick

#myfatherwillhearaboutthis

fashion model

dean

has an art instagram account which has like 50k followers

personal account dedicated to friends and football

#supportharrypotter used frequently

posts about gryffindor quidditch a lot

weasley twins

run a weasley’s wizard wheezes business account on facebook and instagram

youtube channel shows them testing their products

their separate instagram accounts aren’t even similar

fred posts all the time, updating hogwarts on their latest mischief

george posts less often and his posts are almost always clever jokes

arthur weasley

muggle technology discoveries

posts photos of his plug and battery collections on instagram

CARS

snapchat over-use to the point where it is annoying but everyone loves it

dumbledore

probably only uses twitter

cryptic lessons and messages that make no sense

“mr filch has asked me to remind you that the third floor corridor is out of bounds to any who do not wish to die a most painful death… lol there’s a giant killer dog there go check it out���

goes live during all speeches in the great hall and these are kept in an archive in case you missed the feast because you and your flying car were being beaten up by a tree

or if you got your nose broken

or if you didn’t show up for the year because you’re following his (lack of) advice and have gone camping

#fiftypointstogryffindor

this hashtag is posted at random intervals throughout the year for no apparent reason

hagrid

starts an instagram account to document the progress of the blast-ended skrewts

makes baking videos on his youtube channel, most of which end with smoke obscuring the camera and harry has to go check that hagrid’s hut hasn’t caught fire (no one has quite mastered the concept of “if hagrid has managed to upload a video, he’s alive”)

most of his photos are blurry or of the ceiling because he finds it hard to handle a phone in his bucket-sized hands

the trio decide to get him a bigger phone, at the electronics shop in hogsmeade they customise one

hagrid of course cries at this

mcgonagall

only uses social media to remind her students of the homework they have to do

prefers to text over anything else

creates her own homework tracker app inspired by howlers that causes the student’s phone to shriek at them if they haven’t handed it in

#haveabiscuit

[infini-tree]

☕️ + any of the kung fu panda movies!

send me ☕️ + [topic] and i’ll tell you my opinion on it!

i feel like i’ve mentioned it before, maybe not but. it feels weird, tone-wise to watch the kfp series in order due to how the shift from 2 to 3 feels. too steep? 

like, going from kfp1 > kfp2 feels like a natural evolution from a comedy-drama to a comedy-with-a-little-more-drama. kfp1 > kfp3 also works since the tone jump isn’t as vast. but going from kfp1 > kfp2 > kfp3 feels like tonal whiplash that i feel like that’s where a lot of my personal disappointment to the third movie comes from. that and, the fact that they don’t follow the ‘pattern’ of previous movies in regards to villains, their additional One Person of Conflict besides po, and how that One Person develops

in kfp1 tl’s One Person was shifu. shifu’s practically the second protagonist after po since tl is so intrinsically linked to him and gets ample development along with po. his arc effectively ends by movie’s end and then he never really becomes more relevant in later movies despite being the second protag of this movie which. c’est la vie

kfp2, shen is an interesting case since that One Person is po. the conflict is so personal to him and it sends both characters in interesting directions. tigress and the soothsayer play an interesting part as the ones who also instigate growth and big moments towards po, and in the soothsayer’s case, for both po and shen

but kfp3, kai’s One Person was oogway. a guy who walked out of the story in the first 30 minutes of the first movie and was never made relevant until now. and it honestly is such a missed opportunity to give oogway development since his backstory absolutely slaps-- he was a warlord alongside kai, complicit in terrible deeds, only to turn his life around after a near death experience and hide all that for centuries! like, the absolute drama! the implications! the idea that it comes full circle as oogway, who was taught by pandas, makes po his True Successor! but like the plot point was shoved aside in favor for a more comedic angle

like, this isn’t a soothsayer situation where you can rely on subtext alone. as much as i love the soothsayer, by the end of the day she’s a secondary character. having the movie say that she was shen’s nanny wouldn’t really further the plot and could even risk bloating the movie. but kfp3′s whole conflict is arguably BECAUSE of oogway. you can’t just give us a flashback half an hour in that’s so vague people can interpret oogway and kai being the good guys and kai becoming evil when the narrative is literally the exact opposite.

also: dwa release the translations for the poem in the scroll vision scene in kfp3 and the concept art book. please i want to Know

[rucbarthatbowtiesarecooldw]

Sunday Afternoon Session

President Henry B. Eyring

- I’m praying for you to feel and have lasting happiness

- Lasting Happiness: That is what our Heavenly Father, His beloved son Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost have offered every child - to you and me. That offer is sometimes called the plan of happiness.

- Increasing in holiness is the only path to happiness

- Greater holiness is made possible through the atonement of Jesus Christ, cleansing and perfecting us

- How to gain holiness

- Humility

- Meekness

- Patience

- Keeping the commandments

- Temple attendance

- Sacrifice

- Making and keeping sacred covenants

- You have never been here before - you are remembering a moment before you were born. You have been in a place a sacred place like this. You could feel the Savior was going to be in the place you stood.

- When there is spiritual peace in my heart I can feel an assurance of that happiness

- 7 My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; 8 And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes. 9 Thy friends do stand by thee, and they shall hail thee again with warm hearts and friendly hands. 10 Thou art not yet as Job; thy friends do not contend against thee, neither charge thee with transgression, as they did Job. - D&C 121:7-10

- 7 And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good. 8 The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he? 9 Therefore, hold on thy way, and the priesthood shall remain with thee; for their bounds are set, they cannot pass. Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever. D&C 122:7-9 ——My Kindness Shall not Depart from Thee

- greater holiness will not come simply by asking for it; it will come by doing what is needed for God to change us

- Daily repentance is the pathway to purity

- When we choose to repent, we choose to change. We choose to allow Jesus to transform us into the best version of ourselves.

- 1. More holiness give me, More strivings within, More patience in suff’ring, More sorrow for sin, More faith in my Savior, More sense of his care, More joy in his service, More purpose in prayer. 2. More gratitude give me, More trust in the Lord, More pride in his glory, More hope in his word, More tears for his sorrows, More pain at his grief, More meekness in trial, More praise for relief. 3. More purity give me, More strength to o’ercome, More freedom from earth-stains, More longing for home. More fit for the kingdom, More used would I be, More blessed and holy— More, Savior, like thee. - Hymn 131

Elder Hans T. Boom

- Your sound is making all the difference!

- The gong may play only a few ties but it changes the whole song

- We are all needed to bring color and meaning to this world

- We all know where we can do better. There is no need to continually remind each other. But there is a need to love and minister to each other and in doing so, provide a climate of willingness to change.

- Heavenly Father will never leave us, he will help us get up again.

- We have been taught His gospel. We know it and God knows it - so we cannot deny it.

- He did not send us here to fail, but to return gloriously to Him.

Elder M. Russell Ballard

- Please do not it’s an opportunity to look at your family members with love (and appreciation).

- Everything we are taught during conference is taught through the Love of Christ

- He turns 91 in two days and is still wondering if he is ready

- living right can be a pretty confusing concept

- Especially with social media, where any voice can share beliefs about God

- We have eternally true gospel principles so we may be better prepared

- Our greatest battle is between our spiritual and carnal natures.

- Spiritual Beings having a human experience: https://youtu.be/PXw_5r5ZHpM

- This is who you really are and who you have always been. A son or daughter of Heavenly Father.

- Learning to choose the things of the spirit over the things of the flesh is one of the reasons we have this earthly experience as part of His plan.

- You are first and foremost and always a spiritual being.

Elder Peter M. Johnson

- Deception, Distraction, discouragement: what satan uses

- We are created in His image and have a work to do

- If we are not careful they can distract us from fulfilling our potential

- AKA carful not casual in living the gospel

- Are you so focused on everything you have to do that you forget who you are?

- If we do not understand who we are, then it is difficult to recognize who we can become

- 1 remember the first and great commandment is to Love God with all our heart might mind and strength

- As we do that our capacity to love will increase

- 2 pray in the name of Christ everyday, everyday, everyday

- 3 Read and study the Book of Mormon everyday, everyday, everyday

- Studying with a question prompts revelation

- 4 Prayerfully partake of the sacrament every week, every week, every week

- My dear friends, please do not let anyone steal your happiness, do not compare yourself to others, and please remember the loving words of the Savior: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” - John 14:27

Elder Ulisses Soares

- Focus on spiritual not earthly

- to those with same-sex attraction there is always hope in the love of God and in the Atonement of Jesus Christ

- There was a distinction made by him between those who identify as LGBTQ+ saints and those people who have committed serious sins

- You are not incapable - please do not give up

- Don’t hold on to negative feelings and emotions

- We cannot repent for other people, but we can forgive them.

- Trust in His promises and endure to the end

- Taking upon us his cross and trying to become like him require us to follow his example

- 18 Behold, the eye of the Lord is upon them that fear him, upon them that hope in his mercy; 19 To deliver their soul from death, and to keep them alive in famine. 20 Our soul waiteth for the Lord: he is our help and our shield. 21 For our heart shall rejoice in him, because we have trusted in his holy name. 22 Let thy mercy, O Lord, be upon us, according as we hope in thee. - Psalm 33

Elder Neil L. Andersen

- This precious fruit represents the incomprehensible blessings we receive because of the Saviors Atonement

- This fruit is the most precious to the soul

- Heed not those who insult and despise

- If He loves you why would ________ happen?

- He would have healed you

- He would help others to understand your situation better

- There is eternal joy that comes only from Him

- Because He did this He knows how I feel right now.

- When the focus of our lives is on Gods plan of salvation and Jesus Christ and his gospel we can feel joy no matter what is going on in our lives

- Russell M. Nelson is blessed with revelation from God. Like Lehi of old he is the prophet of God. He wants all of Gods family to partake of the fruit of the tree.

President Russell M. Nelson

- As new temples are dedicated, people not of our faith will come to the open houses. Many of those people will have questions.

- It is up to us to help them receive the answers they seek

- Temple questions have been edited for clarity

- He shared but I can’t type that fast

- In some respects it is easier to build a temple than it is to build a people prepared for the temple

- Spring 2020 will be exactly 200 years since First Vision

- Designated as a bicentennial year

- Prepare for a unique conference commemorating the restoration

- how would my life be different without that knowledge I’ve received from the Book of Mormon?

- How have these events of the restoration made a difference in my and my families lives

- revelation continues and will under the Lord’s direction until the work has been accomplished

—don’t know what he means by any of this but I’m excited for next conference. :)

[kelmcdonald]

I'll be at ECCC in theory

New Post has been published on https://kelmcdonald.com/news/ill-be-at-eccc-in-theory/

I'll be at ECCC in theory

Crossposted from my newsletter.

Hey all, I’ll be at Emerald City Comic Con in a couple of weeks. At least I will if the show doesn’t get canceled. In case you don’t know what is going on, several publishers and artists have already backed out of ECCC because of the coronavirus. I’m still going because I’m low risk for catching it and for me it’s go or don’t pay any of my bills the next few months. Those of you who read my old year in summary posts would know that con sales are over half my income. And ECCC is about a 1/3 of that half. Last year was a very bad year for me finically, so this winter I’ve been taking some none art work to help me get out of the bad money situation I was in. It’s why I haven’t been posting much new concept art for the past couple of months (well that and depression from it being winter.) I thought I was getting ahead on things but that was under the assumption I would be making a large chunk of money at ECCC. I need it to basically pay my all my bills for April and May. Because that’s what it has done every year I’ve gone.  So I’m obviously worried and stressed out about the fact that it might be canceled or even just have a very poor attendance. I’m not saying folks show risk their health to go. Obviously if you are feeling sick or have a bad immune system, stay home. But at this time I would like to encourage everyone reading this to please consider backing my patreon or buying something from my store. Did you know I have an original art lottery? For $30 I’ll send you a random page from one of my comics. I don’t think my patreon and online store could cover no ECCC but they will at least give me a little bit more time to try to get some money from else where. So again. Please help me out.  And if Emerald City happens, I’ll be at table 208. I’ll have hand sanitizer and a lot of comics to for sale.

Anyway, on to a happier topic. C2E2 was fun. I stayed at Spike Trotman’s house and spent the evenings cuddled up with her dog, Lucy. She is adorable and a sweetie. 

I tabled with Molly Muldoon. The Field Museum had plush wolves for sale, so I bought one to display our Can I Pet Your Werewolf book. That little guy is pictured above. He’s super soft. A lot of people came up to our table to pet him. Our table topics during the show were Death Note the Musical, mostly letting people know there is indeed a Death Note Musical, explaining My Hero Academia to Blue Delliquanti, the movie Birds of Prey, and what it’s like to wrap up a long term project.  This past month I’ve mostly been working to get ahead on money like I mentioned earlier. Not really anytime to draw. My free time mostly went to cleaning up a pitch I want to send out soon. It needs a couple of pages of sample art though, so this is more a maybe will pay off in 6 months thing rather than a it will help me now thing.  I read two new mangas this month, curtesy of my public library. One is Way of the House Husband. It’s about a former yakuza who is now the house husband to his career woman wife. It’s very charming and funny, but is more a series of gags rather than having an on going plot. 

The other manga I read is Beastars. Beastars is a manga I was vaguely aware of. It was on my to read list but wasn’t a high priority. But then I watched Jack Saint’s video about it and made it the top on my reading list. That basic plot is it’s about a wolf boy who has feelings/a crush on a rabbit girl. However, his crush on his is also mixed up with the fact that he wants to eat her as well. It’s was weirder than I expected and I really like it. Really anything else I’d say about it would just be quoting Jack Saint’s video. So just watch it for more details. 

Anyway, my patreon this month is going to bills and what not. Again, please back it.  Thats it for this month. Thanks for reading and your support. 

[wanderingspacedragon]

Snoke & Mirrors

Back again with a third meta/speculation this time about this tall pale raisin.

I know what some are probable going to think. 

*SPOILERS FOR THE LAST JEDI & LOTS OF SPECULATION FOR EP IX*

But he’s dead! Why do a meta about this guy now?

Well I think there’s more to this guy then what we’ve seen and the Sequel Trilogy has been trying to clue us in on that. Maybe too much so when it came to the Force Awakens. There was/is a lot of backlash from the killing off this character before we got answers leaving many to go, huh? Others have taken to the idea that we don’t need any answers cause, hey, Kylo Ren/General Hux are the big bads now so who needs Snoke. I believe Lucasfilm would like the audience to be lulled into this idea cause coming in Episode IX when those answers are revealed they will have more of a ‘punch.’ Problem with the backlash now is I think many were expecting this reveal in The Last Jedi and that expectation is bit of The Empire Strikes Back fault.

In ESB, we got the huge reveal that Darth Vader was Luke’s father. (Sorry if I spoiled that, but seriously who hasn’t seen that movie and is currently reading this) This left the audience reeling and they didn’t get a resolution to this until The Return of The Jedi. Thing was there was nothing on that same or greater emotional impact like that scene with Luke and Vader at Cloud City in RTJ. Don’t get me wrong. I loved RTJ, but just doesn’t have the same weight as ESB and I think it suffers a little from that. The last movie of the Original Trilogy is mostly resolution so the beginning part feels a lot of waiting around until we get the pieces into play to get to that resolution. I’m talking about the Jabba’s palace and rescuing Han. I think Lucasfilm realized this issue and is saving the big reveals for Episode IX so they finish the Skywalker saga with a BANG! Gotta have that weight for the last movie.

So who is Snoke? Well I don’t think we’ll get a final answer until the next movie, but here’s what we do know. Star Wars Sith/Dark force users have on-the-nose kind of names. You have the title of Darth (which George Lucas has said to mean Dark), there is Darth Plagueis (Dark Plague), Darth Maul ( Dark To Wound by Tearing/Scratching...to maul), Darth Tyranus (Dark Tyrant), Darth Sidious (….I mean come on!) and then even Darth Vader (Dark Father, The Dutch word for father is Vader). So back to Snoke….what’s the first thing his name reminds you of....SMOKE.

When we see him in The Force Awakens we see this ghostly hologram form.

Now this is striking to me cause it reminds me of an old illusion to create ghost effects.

So in the 1700′s there was an illusion trick were it would look like an entity floating in midair using a hidden projector, a mirror to bounce the image off and smoke to cast the reflected image on.

These is example I found. There is also an effect called Pepper’s Ghost Technique which is what the Snoke scene above reminded me of. This technique is similar except it uses glass to cast the reflected projection on.

They use this effect in Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion

(Here’s a video describing the Pepper’s Ghost Technique in detail https://youtu.be/TcqyoYfHIFM)

So what’s the meaning of all this. Well the term “smoke and mirrors” which meant an obvious illusion came from this very trick. Snoke is just smoke. That isn’t his true form, but an illusion. This isn’t the only clue that what we see of Snoke is not his true self. Recently Rian Johnson responded to this on his Twitter. 

Link to original post. Source for images are from @mydeardetective

I’m adding this cause come on!

(Big ol’ evil Oz floating head)

Which begs the question...Who’s behind the curtain? 

Now one thing I think is not the case. I don’t think it was a force projection in the throne room of TLJ. Reason why I don’t think this is the case is cause one we see the body afterwards and two we actually see him physically cut in two. We see the effect the lightsaber had on his form. With Luke Skywalker we see Kylo Ren stick his saber into his chest and see it had no effect. I know my husband likes this theory, but I don’t cause I feel it undermines the sacrifice and weight of what Luke achieved by this feat. No, I think this Dark Side user had something else up his sleeve.

Here’s what else we know about Snoke. We know he’s not a Sith, but is of the Dark side of the Force. Andy Serkis said himself in an interview that "He’s definitely not a Sith, but he’s certainly at the darker end of the Force. Without giving too much away, that begins to unfold a little in this one. (referring to The Last Jedi Movie)” This seems to me that there is more we are going to find out about Snoke later on. Now mind you this interview was right BEFORE The Last Jedi came out so he could be just trying to not give away what would happen in the film. But I don’t think so... 

We know Snoke views compassion and attachments as weakness as stated in the Force Awakens Novelization. He considers Darth Vader’s sentimentality towards his own son was his failure and weakness that Snoke believed not only brought Vader down, but the whole Empire. We know he’s from the unknown region and that he is both a new character to the audience (at least Lucasfilm keeps saying that) and is very old. Hence he watched the rise and fall of the Empire. He’s also very into collecting dark side artifacts. Like the ring with the stone from Vader’s Castle with the glyphs from the Four Sages of Dwartii enscribed on it. The four Dwartii were seen in statue form in Palpatine’s room in Revenge of The Sith.

This is interesting cause Mustafar is a locus (focal point) for the Dark Side of the Force. So a rock from Vader’s castle (which by the way Vader went to in order to help him bled his kyber crystal) must have some dark side significance. We really don’t know much about the these sages of Dwartii other than they were a group of contentious philosophers and lawgivers from the early days of the Galactic Republic, who had great influence on its early constitution. Emperor Palpatine was fond of the Sistros staute which he had in his office and later moved it to the Imperial Palace, (the former Jedi Order’s temple). But so far they’ve only been associated with Palpatine and Snoke, so we really don’t know who the Four Sages of Dwartii truly are yet. 

My husband really likes the idea that he’s Darth Plagueis, a sith lord brought up by Palpatine in ROTS. 

The Sith legend says that Darth Plagueis The Wise was once so powerful that he could use the Force to influence the midi-chlorians to create life and could even save others from dying. He became so powerful all he worried about was losing his power and then, in his sleep, was killed by his apprentice Darth Sidious. Now I don’t think Snoke is Plagueis... well maybe he is but this idea has been shot down by Lucasfilm several times. So I’m not sure. There is also the fact that Snoke does not consider himself a Sith. I think he may have taught Plagueis this ‘power’, or Plagueis was just one of Snoke’s many shells he used. You see, I think the reason we’ll see more of Snoke in Episode IX is cause we’ll see his dark force ghost or at least the dark side version of force spirits.

Let me explain force ghosts a bit. The force ghosts we’ve seen so far have been Obi Wan Kenobi, Yoda, Anakin (at the end of ROTJ), and Qui-Gon Jinn (Clone Wars show). The knowledge to become one so far have only been those on the Light Side. This ability was first partially taught to Qui-Gon though he never completed his training so he could only manifest his voice. He showed Yoda where he could learn this from. The Five priestesses of the Wellspring of Life taught Yoda how to manifest himself after death. Yoda after mastering this ability then past it on to Obi Wan. We don’t really know how Anakin learns this ability except maybe post-mortem? (If it was explained somewhere I would love to see the source!) Force spirits are beings that have become one with the Force and are now part of it and its will. So when Obi Wan had said to Vader, “If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” This is what he meant. So we haven’t seen dark side force spirits. Not really. We did get to see a bit an illusion of them on Moraband, aka Korriban, when Yoda went there to complete his training to learn this ability at the homeworld of the Sith. There were several “specters” that try to stop Yoda when he arrives, claiming there is nothing after death. These I believe are just part of his test and to explain why the Sith focused on power so much.

They thought after ones death there was nothing hence they focus on trying to obtain as much power as they could and keep it as long as possible. George Lucas has stated that the light side was selflessness and the dark was selfishness. The Dark wants to control and keep that control. Their interest in staying alive or preserving oneself would logically be on their agenda. Heck Palpatine was always dabbling in that and trying to find a way to maintain his rule to be forever lasting.

So Dark side force ‘ghosts’ could be something else. A perversion of the Force. Bending it and stealing it from others in order to retain for oneself. They may need to be tied to a physical place like the illusion of Darth Bane and his tomb. Or The Presence, the voice inside the Sith Holocron in Star Wars Rebels. Perhaps just to obtain this dark side ability requires extreme measures. I could have swore I read some where that Snoke was twisted and deformed, used very dark side abilities to maintain/heal himself. (I can’t find where this is from so if anyone remembers could you please send me a link so I could source it?) 

We also got this concept art teased in The Art of The Last Jedi book.

(Thank you @inwildspace for this!)

From The Art of The Last Jedi:

“We’ve seen dead Jedi come back as blue ghosts. Maybe Sith can come back. And maybe there’s some all powerful Sith that’s controlling whatever the dark side is. We did talk a lot about how the final battle frontier for Jedi might be in the spirit realm. So you have to have a bad-guy ghost.” - Alzmann 

That sure does look like Snoke….doesn’t it?

The other thing is I think neither of these two are the “big bad.”

This is cause they just don’t ramp the stakes up enough for me. I’ve said before I’m pretty sure we are getting a Bendemption (redemption of Ben Solo) in some form. You don’t leave the big villain at the end of Act 2 looking regretful and kneeling on the floor looking like he’s about to cry, staring down at his father’s fading dice. You also honestly don’t have Leia say “I know my son is truly gone.” and then have Luke say to her “No one’s ever really gone.” I can go into more depth of how Lucasfilm has been repeatedly hinting at Kylo Ren getting redeemed, but that’s a meta/speculation post for another time. (This is already ridiculously long). He’s also doesn’t seem care about the First Order’s cause and is really after is own agenda. 

Then there’s Hux. I love his scheming and gloating little smug mug and goodness it would be fun to see him go full emperor, however it has been stated that he doesn’t have any use for Force abilities or powers. He’s more reliant on technological power. Hence in TLJ novelization he wants to make a second Starkiller and rely on massive fleet capabilities. And I’m pretty sure everyone is tired of is another Death Star as the thing to blow up. No more Death Stars/Starkillers. It’s been done. Please Lucasfilm, not another one.

So what could ramp up the stakes even more in the next film? Well I think it’s going to be Force related and something that could effect the whole galaxy. Think Darth Nihilus level of power. Consuming life through the force to gain power. 

We’ve seen this ability hinted at a bit in canon in Clone Wars with Mother Talzin using an orb to absorb the life force of living beings in the episodes The Disappeared, part 1 & 2. Just on a waaaaaaay bigger scale. 

Sooooooo yeah...that’s my crazy speculation for Ep IX regarding Snoke. Sorry for the length, but I like to explain where I’m coming from with these. Remember this is all speculation and I’m most likely wrong on this, but woah what a rabbit whole I went down!

[sage-nebula]

Okay, since probably no one will send me things from this ask meme, I’m going to just go ahead and fill it out myself because I really want to talk about Hollow Knight some more.

🐞 Favourite character?

All three of the royal siblings (Little Ghost, Hornet, and the OG Hollow Knight) have a special place in my heart. Hornet especially, obviously, given that she’s the one that actually gets characterization; I love how seriously she takes her duty to protect Hallownest, but also how she recognizes that perhaps it’s necessary for the seals to be broken after a time, and how she allows that to happen even though it means the death of her mother. There’s so much in Hornet’s characterization, right down to how she calls out Little Ghost (or perhaps the player) for thinking she’s completely cold, even though she isn’t, but instead has had to harden herself to some degree to deal with being one of the few living among the ruins of Hallownest. But I love Little Ghost and the OG Hollow Knight as well. Even though they’re supposed to be completely hollow, we know that the OG Hollow Knight came to love his parents and that’s why he failed at being a perfect vessel for The Radiance. And Little Ghost? We’re meant to believe that Little Ghost is completely hollow, and that that’s why they have the Void Heart, but I can’t help but feel that’s not really the case given the fact that Hornet or other characters will sometimes remark upon Little Ghost being surprised, or other emotions. The White Lady says that she senses nothing from Little Ghost, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they feel nothing; it just means that the White Lady doesn’t sense anything from them.

That said, aside from the royal siblings, I have to give special mention to the Old Stag, because I love him with my whole heart. I love that he gets some hope after finding his nest and realizing that an egg hatched there at some point, and I dearly hope that there are other stags out there that he can connect with. I’m so sad that we can’t give him a delicate flower, because he really does deserve some beauty and happiness. He’s my buddy. ♥

🐜 Favourite enemy?

I think the crawlids and tiktiks are so cute. It almost makes me feel bad for killing them, tbh. So probably them, especially since they’re just minding their own business much of the time and so they’ve never really posed a threat. (Also, props to them for not becoming crazed with infection even after the Forgotten Crossroads changed to the Infected Crossroads. They’re the real MVPs.)

🕷️ Favourite boss?

Probably predictable given what’s above, but it’s a tie between either Hornet or the OG Hollow Knight. Hornet I love because fighting her is really like dueling her; it’s a lot of jumping over and dashing under, and a lot of sword clashing as well. Meanwhile, I love the OG Hollow Knight because of how many emotions that fight instills in me; the moment that the music turns tragic, and he begins injuring himself to try to avoid hurting Little Ghost and instead hurt the Radiance / infection), my heart just breaks for him. I love him. ♥

🏔️ Favourite area?

It’s a tie between the City of Tears, and The Abyss.

The City of Tears is just beautiful; I wouldn’t be surprised if most people said that’s their favorite area. It has such a haunted, melancholic feel to it, on top of being a sprawling area that’s so interesting to navigate. The statue to the OG Hollow Knight delivers as many tugs to my heartstrings as questions it raises, and you can also access Soul Sanctum from the City of Tears as well, which is another fascinating area full of so much interesting lore. The fact that the music in the City of Tears---particularly with the ambience of the rain---is beautiful doesn’t hurt, either.

Then there’s The Abyss. The Abyss is a gruesome, haunted place, but that’s why I love it. There’s so much history there, so much lore---and yes, it’s cursed history and cursed lore given the fact that millions of bodies litter The Abyss because that’s where the Pale King tossed vessels (his children) when they couldn’t hold The Radiance . . . but again, it just gives the entire place such a powerful energy. It’s where Little Ghost was born, after all, and the OG Hollow Knight as well, and there’s just something about that that has a powerful draw no matter how horrifying the place truly is (and it is pretty damn horrifying, let me tell you).

🎵 Favourite music track?

I have to give this one to “Sealed Vessel.” Not only is that build-up great, and not only does it throw itself into the track with epic force once it kicks up, but the way that it transcends into a somber version at 2:15 just breaks my heart. It’s incredible.

That said, Hornet’s battle music also got a fantastic remix in Godmaster, complete with a background chorus, but I don’t think anyone has uploaded the Godmaster tracks yet, alas. It’s still incredible, though. (Honorable mention also goes to the City of Tears music with the rain, which you can listen to in the link in the previous answer.)

🛡️ Favourite charm?

Mark of Pride, bar none, because it was given to me by the Mantis Lords after I passed their trial, and shows that the entire mantis village has given me their respect. Considering what I went through to get it, you better believe I’ll wear it with pride. (Also, the fact that it lengthens my nail so much is also a plus. You have to love that.)

🏃 Favourite ability or upgrade (Mothwing Cloak, Isma’s Tear, etc)?

In terms of lore, my favorite is Shade Cloak, because I feel that it’s the most fitting for Little Ghost. It’s Little Ghost embracing the Void, which is an intricate part of him, and it allows him to phase through things, which is perfect since dodging is such a necessary thing for him to stay alive. However, personally I abuse the hell out of the Monarch Wings, and often use those to dodge even when I don’t need to. (Plus, it just opened so many areas to me; I waited forever to get it, and it was so worth the wait.) So I’m torn between Shade Cloak and Monarch Wings for this.

💥 Favourite spell?

I kind of want to say Focus, since it keeps my reckless ass alive, but honestly, probably Abyss Shriek. It’s super powerful, I love that it comes from the Abyss, and I also love that it’s Little Ghost (and the Siblings?) screaming despite how the Pale King wanted them to have “no voice to cry suffering.” The irony there is delicious.

🗡️ Favourite nail design (Coiled, Channeled, etc)?

The Pure Nail, and not just because it does the most damage (but that doesn’t hurt), haha. I honestly just really love the design; the tight, intricate spirals are very aesthetically pleasing to me.

⚔️ Favourite Nail Art?

I really love the Cyclone Slash, since it reminds me of the Spin Attack from the Legend of Zelda series, and The Legend of Zelda will always be one of my favorite game series. However, the Great Slash is also great for being able to One Shot primal aspids. Anything that takes out primal aspids is excellent in my book.

📖 Favourite Hunter’s Journal entry?

I’m going to be mean and say Zote’s:

“Some rare creatures are so weak, so helpless, so inept and irritating, that hunting them gives no pleasure at all.”

I wouldn’t hate Zote so much if he didn’t absolutely ruin the ambience of Dirtmouth, but seeing as how he has continued to ramble on even after Bretta left, yeah, I take what little victories I can get, and the Hunter dragging Zote in the Journal is one of them.

That said, there are actually a lot of great Journal entries. I like the ones where the Hunter muses about abstract concepts, such as in the entry for the Infected Balloon:

“The infection creeping through the Kingdom’s dead veins . . . does it have a mind? Does it produce soul? Is it truly alive?”

As well as the ones where the Hunter shows that, despite how he wants to kill everything, he actually does have a heart and some feelings. This is evident both in the Oblobble entry, and in the Hunter’s Mark entry:

“Having a mate by your side . . . one that will never leave you until death. Strange. No mate has ever come forth to stay by my side . . .”

“I have no offspring, nor subjects, nor worshippers. The sum of my being, my learning, my instincts . . . I leave it all to you. Good luck, hunter.”

And lastly, the entry for the OG Hollow Knight is also one I love for the sheer feelings factor it brings:

“The old King of Hallownest . . . he must have ben desperate to save his crumbling little world. The sacrifices he imposed on others . . . all for nothing.”

Damn.

🗨️ Favourite dialogue?

God, honestly, there’s too much, simply because the way the characters talk in this game fits my aesthetic perfectly. But if I have to pick one off the top of my head, let’s go with this line from Hornet:

“Then do it, Ghost of Hallownest! Head onward. Burn that mark upon your shell and claim yourself as King.”

Have I mentioned that I love Hornet? Because I love Hornet.

💿 Favourite DLC?

Probably The Grimm Troupe, simply because it felt more like a story DLC than the others have. I will admit to being a bit disappointed that Godmaster is more of just a series of boss rushes than anything else. I was hoping for a whole new story segment, but alas.

🎭 Favourite ending?

Dream No More, as far as the original ones go, but I’ve been spoiled on the new ending for Godmaster (though I don’t know the name of it), and that has me so goddamn excited for the Hornet DLC. I only hope that beating Godmaster is not a requirement for the Hornet DLC, because goddamn . . . I don’t know if I’ll be able to. I’m struggling on the third pantheon right now, and that’s not even getting into the fourth and fifth ones, both of which I’ve read up on and are super yikes. :/ Either way, as heartbreaking as the Dream No More ending is, I do love it a lot (especially because it lets the OG Hollow Knight get revenge on the Radiance at last), but that new ending . . . that new one . . . oh boy.