#like i had bangs for a good amount of my childhood

[axiliern]

if i'm making tim asian, im Going to give him the asian right of passage experience (bowlcut......)

(this was a twt drawing request :])

[hanckocks-dagger]

oh, the night's so blue

masterlist

John hancock x f!reader

Description: After a drunken one night stand with your boss and mayor, you'd planned on hiding out in your room for several months. Those plans get delayed when Nate, general of the Minutemen and your childhood friend, asks you to join him on a quest in the west of the Commonwealth.

Tags: Drunken one night stand, Hancock is a pining simp, and a slut. Reader is not SoSu, has afab characteristics and is referred to with she/her pronouns through the story. No y/n

Warnings: Smut! Drunk sex, consentual but I'll throw in the dubcon tag anyway, talk of violence, guns and drugs a lá Fallout ofc

Word count: 6.1K

Notes: So this is a one-shot that sort of feeds into an idea I've had in my head for a while, of a reader that knew Nate from before the bombs, who either ended up in Vault 111 as well or something similar, but got out about a year before Nate did. This might end up turning into a series of semi-connected one-shots or I might just cut it off here, but I definitely have some other ideas for this story rolling around in my head. More story focused than some of my other fics, delving a bit more into what actually living in the game's story would be like, but of course a hefty dose of our lovely Hancock. But I really like Nate, and I didn't want to make the reader the Sole Survivor so we could see the two of them interact. Also my Nate build is usually high charisma, high strength and low intelligence (idiot savant perk ofc), so he's a bit of a himbo <3 my fav type of man.

Also just a small and totally irrelevant thing, but I headcanon Nate/the sole survivor as choosing not to smoke, just because the player isn’t able to smoke in the game. Just a fun tidbit I threw in there. Also, I’m a smoker and I have friends who aren’t and the relentless back and forth teasing is always fun. They all vape anyway, so it’s just a race for who gets cancer first lmao. 

Cross posted on my ao3!

"What's the status on the top shelf stuff?" You yelled out from the back room, wiping drops of sweat from your forehead before they could drop into your eyes. Sure, the new beer tap was ingenious, making the closest thing to actual fresh beer since you'd come out on this side of the cryo-chamber, but goddamn were the canisters heavy.

"Almost out of moonshine, luv," Charlie called from the bar, tinny cockney accent carrying through the open space.

That was fine, you could drop by and speak to Vadim tomorrow before opening, as long as Hancock could supply the caps and lend you some help to carry the bottles back.

"Anything else?" You grunted, heaving a full canister back out to the front, bending down to connect the pipes.

"I think you should start carrying some Fireball, I know how much you used to like it," A new voice spoke up from the other side of the bar, startling you into banging your head on the underside of the bartop. You cursed, shooting to your feet, finding a ginning, familiar face on the other side.

"Nate!"

He said your name back with the same amount of enthusiasm, slouched in one of the barstools, familiar bright blue vault suit looking a little worse for wear.

"When did you get in? How did you get in?" You asked, eyes flitting about. Sure enough, there in the background, spread over one of the couches was mayor Hancock, speaking with a smiling Magnolia and a broody looking MacReady.

"Just landed in town, figured I'd come say hi before crashing at the Rexford."

"Well, shit," You breathed, wiping your sweaty hands on a dishrag, "Can I get you a drink? I want to hear about this oh-so-secret mission you were on."

"Sure, I'll take a beer."

You fished over a clean-ish looking glass, gave it a quick wipe for good measure, and poured. The movements were practiced, muscle memory from a lifetime ago taking over as you tilted the glass, filled it, flicked the spout the other way for some top foam. You slid it over the bar, accepting Nate’s smile as payment. 

You grabbed yourself a glass, calling out to Charlie as you filled the glass with ice, “I’m calling it a night, just leave me a list of whatever needs to be done in the morning.

You poured yourself some of the top shelf stuff, nothing good by pre-war standards, but nowadays it was rare and mostly didn't taste like it was 200 years old.

You stepped around the bar, planning on planting yourself on a stool next to Nate, but he was already rising to his feet, heading for the rest of the group.Hiding your awkwardness, you trailed after him. You knew MacReady tangentially, sometimes bringing him drinks into the backroom, keeping an eye out for disagreements and sometimes running up to get Ham when things were getting out of hand. Magnolia was your coworker of course, and there was plenty to talk about after long shifts, but she was– technically speaking– about twenty years your senior, and married to her job in a way you weren't.

Then there was Mayor Hancock. A charming flirt at the best of times, happy to stand up for you on the job, as the owner of the bar, after all, but there was always something about him you never managed to crack, never straying away from genial small talk. Small talk, of course, these days, meant discussing the last Super Mutant raid, or let him rattle off about his favorite chems. As you approached, he tipped his hat at you and you responded with a little curtsy, using your free hand to tug on your apron like a skirt. 

You fell onto the couch beside Nate, stirring your drink with a finger, using your other hand to untie the apron around your waist. Being off your feet felt good. There were no clocks in the Third Rail, and no windows, so your sense of time tended to get a bit skewed, but seeing as Ham usually tossed out the stragglers by 5 am and you'd had a mess and a half to clean up, you assumed it must be closing in on dawn. A rough 12 hour shift made your liquor feel earned, as you sipped at it, feeling the warmth spread through your chest.

"So," You said, catching Nate's attention before he could get sucked into the others' conversation, "What was the notorious General of the Minutemen up to this week? Liberating some more settlements?"

"Mmm, actually doing some work for the Railroad," His tone went hushed, unnecessary and strangely endearing, as everyone in the bar knew and was at least non-committal about their activities.

"Ahh," You replied, matching his tone. "Did it go well?"

"It went fantastically. I brought my own team in," He motioned with his beer toward Hancock and MacCready, "But we ended up getting some help from another agent, too. And, man, what a lady," he went a bit starry eyed, making you laugh.

"Got a little crush, Nathaniel?"

He snorted, and you spotted the tinge of red in his cheeks with glee. 

"Nothing like that, but what a powerhouse. You should have seen her, mowing them down with a minigun."

"Don't sell yourself short, Nate, I've seen you in Power Armor before. Unstoppable force and all that."

Ever humble, Nate's cheeks turned rosier, and he glanced down at his drink. You watched his Adam's apple bob, the shy smile that graced his features.

To put him out of his misery, you turned to the group at large, "So, does this mean you've returned our beloved mayor back, or are you heading out again?"

Hancock's attention snapped up from MacReady so he could grin at you, "What, you missed me doll?"

"Well, you do sign my paychecks," You smiled back at him, then remembered, "Oh, yeah, speaking of, I have to go over to Diamond City tomorrow to get more of Bobrov's best, maybe I can steal Nate to help me ferry it all back."

He hummed, "What d'ya say, brother? 100 caps to keep my favorite employee safe?"

From behind the bar, Charlie gave his best impression of a grunt, "I resent that, mayor!"

"'M sorry, Charlie, you just don't have her charm."

"Or her tits," Magnolia chimed in, twirling an unlit cigarette in her fingers as she smirked at you.

You flushed, eyes flitting around, finally landing on Hancock and MacReady's empty glasses, "Refills, boys?"

"Thought you'd clocked out," MacReady said, even as he handed over his glass. "Well, I'm the club's ambassador even after hours, gotta keep the reputation up."

"You best not be giving free drinks to every sorry brother that walks in here," Hancock called after you as you stepped behind the bar.

"Mm, no," You sing-songed back, "Only my favorites."

The night passed easily. You stayed by Nate’s sidelistening to him tell tales of the people he'd been meeting, the farm he recruited for the minutemen last week. He didn't delve too far into this last mission, always the good soldier who followed orders. You spent about twenty minutes trying to guess his secret Railroad code name.

"Mmmm, buttercup."

"Not even close."

"Sugar bomb?"

The look of offense he gave you was so scathing it had you spitting out half your beer over the table, doubled over in laughter as he complained.

"It relates to my prowess as an agent, not some pre-war pet name!"

"Fine, fine, uhhhh. Striker? Shadow? Tank?"

"Honestly, these are terrible. Never open a baby naming business."

"Uhm, excuse you," You said, taking a sip of beer to try and reduce the heat in your cheeks, "I would make excellent raider names. Chainsaw, evil-eye, uhhhhh," You cast your eyes around, searching for inspiration, "Ricky."

"Ricky?" MacReady asked, eyebrows knit in confusion, "What's wrong with Ricky?"

"Dunno," You shrugged, "Doesn't he just sound like an asshole?" You put on an air, repeated 'Ricky' in an ominous voice, which got MacReady and Nate to crack up again.

Magnolia vanished up to the surface after a bit of flirting with Hancock, insisting on her beauty sleep. As was your usual, you whistled after her, calling lewd, joking comments as she walked up the steps. As was her usual, she gave you a scowl and the middle finger.

"Ehhh, I'll get her to crack one of these days," You murmured into your beer, that tipsy, never ending giddy smile stuck on your lips. You caught Hancock's eye where he sat, now alone on the couch, spread eagle with his gangly limbs. When he spotted you, he gave you a grin, cigarette in his teeth.

Suddenly you desperately wanted a smoke. You patted your own pockets, found that you'd left them at home. You cursed the you from the morning for whatever logic had made that choice, suddenly desperate for nicotine.

Your head, resting against the back of the couch, lolled to look over at Nate. Who, of course, didn't and had never smoked. Goody-two-shoes.

So, you clambered to your feet, ignoring the ache that made itself apparent, and collapsed over besides Hancock.

"Does the good mayor have some cigarettes to share?" You asked, hand on his knee, leaning in close to be heard over a playful argument MacReady and Nate had started.

Hancock's smile got wider somehow, those deep dark eyes crinkling at the corner, giving the appearance of crow's feet.

"For you? Always." He dug around in the deep pocket's of that crazy coat, pulling out a cigarette case. Instead of handing you one, though, he plucked the one from his mouth and stuck it into yours.

Brain slowed by a long shift and plenty of alcohol, it took a moment for the action to catch up with, fingers rising slowly to pluck at the cigarette. You blinked at him, but he seemed unphased, pulling out another cigarette from his case and lighting it.

You leant back in the couch as your brain caught up on his move, staring blankly at a gesturing Nate, MacReady equally engrossed, somehow having missed the interaction that now had your brain reeling. Hancock's arm was stretched out behind you, tantalizingly close, fingers almost tickling the hairs at the back of you neck. You felt the chill of goosebumps, shook off the urge to shiver.

You puffed at the cigarette instead, slowly sinking back in the couch, reverting back to the sort of talk you were used to with the mayor, "How'd you like the trip? Nice to get out of the city?"

Hancock took it in stride, as he did everything, "Oh, yeah. Makes you forget what's out there, staying too long in these walls."

You hummed your assent. You stuck to Goodneighbor because you wanted to stay alive. The furthest you'd ventured in the last year was scoping out that brewery for the Rexford. But Hancock was a ghoul, and even so was more careless with safety than anyone else you knew. Getting out of the city, with only yourself and the stars as company... it was a romantic idea.

"So, what, we're gonna become the Railroad's home base now?" You teased,

"Not exactly," Hancock replied, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, "But Nate knows his shit, and he trusts them. They're doing good, dontcha think?"

You considered this, rolling it around in your liquor soaked brain, "I guess it depends on whether you think the synths are just robots or... y'know, slaves being put through just as much pain as we are."

Hancock nodded, eyes trained on you, expression curious. For all his flirting, Hancock was easily one of the more respectable men you'd met, always willing to listen, even if he was usually a bit too out of his mind to interpret it. He was whip-smart, too, when he was sober enough to put a thought together.

"I suppose it depends on if you believe in the soul. Do you, Mayor Hancock?" Some deep-seated, long ago buried urge reared his head. You remembered being a kid, sitting in a diner with high-school friends, batting your eyelashes at a crush of yours, a coy smile on your face, trying for a sultry voice and missing it by a mile. But now you were about two hundred years older, and had a few years of experience under your back.

So when you looked at Hancock through lidded eyes, purposely hollowed your cheek as you sucked on your cigarette, the one that had been in his mouth before yours, you could appreciate his reaction. The widening of his eyes, the way the hand behind your head seemed to move just a bit closer, the minute shift of his hips as his body turned further towards you.

"I think I'm a bit too sober for those kinds of questions," He snickered. Being a Ghoul made determining age difficult, but sometimes you were sure Hancock was young, younger than you even, the way he carried himself, the carelessness of a teenager.

You smiled back, soft, put your cigarette out in an ashtray on the table, picking up your glass instead.

Hancock said your name, sultry, and that hand finally brushed your shoulder, a gentle, teasing touch.

You answered with a smile, a tilted, " John," followed by a sip from your drink, one you concentrated all your effort into drinking as normally as you could. If you let your tongue slide over your lips to catch the lingering taste, well, no one had to know.

"You know," You said, voice hushed as if you were revealing a great secret, "I feel like I don't know you well enough. You haven't been around enough since you hired me."

"I knew I left the bar in good hands," As if to prove his point, his fingers teased over your bare forearm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Maybe, I should- ah- give you a tour of the Old State House sometime."

The innuendo was painfully obvious, accompanied by a lecherous wink, but you felt your face flush anyway, ridiculously charmed by his brazenness.

Charlie ended up kicking the four of you out, insisting on sweeping before the sun came up. On the way up the stairs, conspicuously a few steps behind Nate and MacReady, the two of you got a bit too handsy, after you'd spent the last couple of minutes petting the velvet of his coat, hypnotized by the luxurious softness of the ancient costume, as Hancock rattled off history facts about Boston, some of which you'd half remembered from history class.

"Found the old fucker's diary in a closet on the second floor," He'd said, as your fingers traced down his arms, across his chest, barely disguised fascination. You wanted to steal his hat, tuck it onto your hair, flick it the way Hancock often did.

"That old bastard was– was kinkier than you could ever imagine," His voice stuttered as your fingers traced near his navel, studying the stitching on the waistcoats he wore.

"Oh yeah?" You snickered, loose enough with drinks to lose your impulse control chasing after whatever felt good in the moment. Mostly that had been cigarettes, but now it was the idea of kissing him, of feeling that mouth on you, anywhere.

"The mayor of Goodneighbor," You breathed, smoothing out his collar, "Keeping himself busy with five hundred year old porn."

Hancock laughed with you.

Outside, the two of you stumbled apart, leaning against the brick wall to share a cigarette, Nate and MacReady somehow still talking, even if Nate was shooting you curious glances and MacReady smirked every time your eyes passed over him.

Eventually, though, when a too loud sentence awoke a grumbling drifted who threatened to hurl a bottle at Nate, it was time to call it a night.

Nate clapped Hancock on the shoulder and kissed your cheek, which got him a punch on the arm, a bit harder than you meant to with the alcohol in your system. He took it like a champ, of course, calling out, "Have fun!" As he rounded the corner towards the Rexford.

MacReady vanished with a tip of his cap, leaving you with smoke in your mouth and the morning sun in your eyes.

"You want to take that tour now, doll?" The brush of a teasing hand over your lower back.

You thought about your dusty apartment, of waking up in a few hours to repeat the same shift for the millionth time. A cold bed, empty.

"Yeah," You breathed, hand catching on the fluttering sash around Hancock's waist, setting a firm pace and tugging him along with you like a dog on his leash. His hands found your hips before you even made it to the door, pinning you against the old wood to kiss you, deep and warm and wet. Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer, till you stood hip-to-hip, chest-to-chest.

Somehow, one of you got the door open, falling through the door, walking each other in an embrace towards the staircase. The kiss deepened, Hancock licked into your mouth as you bumped into the banister, struggled to keep your balance.You let him lead, pushing you backwards up the stairs, hands always gentle, ready to catch you if you tripped.

It was a drunken fumble, your shirt rucked up, trying to get all his stupid buttons unbuttoned as you staggered to the stairs, his lips suddenly attached to your neck.

His hands moved to your exposed waist as you reached the second floor, greedy hands moving over the expanse of skin. You huffed against his mouth, finding it unfair as you struggled to even get under his ridiculous fucking shirt, finally managing to sneak a hand under it, nails gently scratching against rough skin. You weren't exactly versed in Ghoul anatomy, but you'd heard enough complaining from drifters at the bar about the lack of feeling in their skin to know you'd have to push a little deeper, press a little harder. Sure enough, as Hancock lead you stumbling towards his bedroom, you pushed your hand up to his chest, pressing down into the meat of one of his shoulders, you received a deep groan against your mouth.

Then suddenly you were in the Mayor's bedroom. Clean enough, by the wasteland standards. Strewn with chems, as you'd anticipated, but the bed looked as clean as you could be.

Hancock had ended up behind you, hands sneaking around to your ass, your collar pushed to the side so he could kiss the exposed skin of your shoulder. It felt... nice. Soft. Softer than you'd anticipated from him. It sent an ache through you, not to your core, though electricity tingled, desperate for attention you hadn't provided it with in years. The ache was in your heart, extending out to your lungs, stealing your breath the way his kisses had, as he gently guided you towards the bed.

You spun around in his arms to capture his lips again, nipping at his bottom lips, hands moving to his waist, sneaking down into his waistband. The two of you danced around the room, lips locked, hands moving as clothes were unbuttoned, tossed to the side, shoes pulled off.

Then you were naked, falling onto a surprisingly plush mattress, as Hancock dropped his coat onto the back of his desk chair, pants unbuttoned and half falling off his skinny hips. He left the hat on, even as he stripped everything else off, and it made you huff a quiet, airy giggle. He grinned back at you, always happy to be happy, as he crawled on top of you, bracketing you between his legs.

His dick was the same as the rest of him, scarred and pocked, but you found you didn't mind in the slightest as your hands wandered downwards, teasingly gentle touches running over him, drawing out airy breaths and groans.

You were quick to guide him into you, pulling him down for a kiss when he entered you, sending shocks of burning pain through you, uncomfortable but manageable. Still, he noticed, unfocused eyes blinking down at you, a frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong," You breathed, even through the tension of your muscles, "Just– uh– been a while. Gimme a moment."

He seemed unsure for a moment, looking as if he wanted to pull out, but you forced a calm through your muscles, slowly feeling him inch his way further inside, until the two of you were hip to hip. You breathed through the sting, shutting your eyes and guiding his face to your neck, happy when he got the hint and nipped at your skin. Your breath got shaky when he found a perfect spit by the junction of your neck and your shoulder, feeling his teeth sink into the flesh, soothed quickly with his tongue, with his spit-slick lips.

"Okay," You breathed eventually, one hand holding the back of his neck, the other clutching at the muscle on his back, "You can move."

"Are you–"

"Hancock," You said, voice firm. In a more sober state, his caution would touch you, but you were desperate to feel the drag of him, to feel his hips working. "I'm a big girl, it's okay. You can move."

He bent down to kiss you as he slowly pulled his hips back. With conscious effort to keep your muscles calm, your side of the kiss was a bit half hearted, but you gasped into his mouth as he pushed back in, the stretch not painful but, "So fucking perfect," You breathed, "Just like that."

Hancock was amazingly receptive, somehow cataloging every moan and twitch, and he had you pushed into the mattress within minutes, gasping and shaking beneath him. His hips drove into you at a perfect pace, his mouth moving to your tits, gentle bites at the soft skin, pulling your nipples into his mouth to flick at them with his tongue. Your whispered words of direction quickly dissolving into moans and gasps of his name.

Almost the exact second the thought of your clit popped into your head, his fingers were there, moving tight circles, pressure just the right side of too hard. You arched into him, a moan so loud it would have made you self conscious if you weren't too focused on driving him deeper, getting him closer, getting as much of his skin on you as you could.

Your orgasm approached with mounting tension in your muscled, strangled cries of more, harder, "Please, John."

You came with a strangled cry, every muscle in your body tensing and then going completely limp, gasps of air as your peak faded, replaced by a pleasant buzzing sensations. John's pace slowed as you shook, hands leaving your clit to grab at your hips, pull you towards him as he chased his own release. You were happy to let him, your hands exploring him leisurely, gripping at his biceps, his shoulders, wrapping around his neck to guide him into another kiss.

You could tell when he got close, the way his hips jerked, thrusts growing rushed and sloppy, desperate, the way his breath quickened, the way his dark eyes seemed to darken even further. At the last moment, he pulled out, wrapping his hand around his cock, haphazard pace the same as he fucked into his fist, a few more pumps and he came over your stomach. You tensed under the surprising heat of it, but relished the soft groan that escaped his mouth, head tilted back, mouth open,

He half collapsed on top of you, breathing against your mouth, only his arms holding him from falling into you. With every inhale, his expanding chest brushed against your breasts, every touch sending electric shots through you.

He collapsed beside you, still panting, one arm curling around your chest, just under your tits, pulling you into his side. "Just– give me a second, I'll get you something to clean up."

"Mmm," You breathed, relishing the heat of him, positive he was warmer than a normal person, the way it radiated off him, heating your skin at the contact points, "Don't worry about it. Deal with it in the morning." Your words were slurring, eyelids heavy.

"Mmm," Hancock agreed, tucking his face into your shoulder. He held you tight, like little kids held onto teddy bears. It was... nice. Unfamiliar to you, but, as you buried your head into the soft pillow, you supposed it was something you wouldn't mind getting used to.

You woke with a start, unfamiliar footsteps thudding above your head. It took a moment to reorient yourself, to recognize the walls you were blinking at, the hand tucked around your waist, the soft snores in your ear. Your head thudded, your mouth dry as a desert, tasting like cigarettes and whiskey. 

"Shit," You whispered, slowly extracting yourself from Hancock's warm arms, getting to your feet. Stark naked. Your pants were slung over a chair, one sock still in the pant leg, the other tossed onto a desk, surrounded by several tins of mentats and empty jet canisters.

"Fuck," You breathed, hopping around trying to get your socks on. One of your boots was on its side, halfway under the bed. Your shirt was hanging on the fucking doorknob and you tugged it on, ignoring the stale smell of sweat and alcohol that clung to it from last night’s shift.

You swept the room, but couldn't for the life of you find your underwear. The thought of leaving them somewhere was mortifying, but when Hancock shifted in the bed, you decided not to risk staying. You pulled your boots on, leaving them unlaced as you crept over the ancient floorboards. Seeing as Hancock was managing to sleep through the ruckus of the drifters on the top floor, you doubted the creak of the house would wake him, but you were still extra cautious as you cracked the bedroom doors open, just enough for you to slip through and rush down the staircase, pointedly not looking at any of the Neighborhood Watch.

Out in the semi-fresh morning air, you took a deep breath, mumbling another curse to yourself as you began a quick jog home, trying to avoid any knowing glances as you rounded a corner and shouldered the door to your apartment building open.

Shower, underwear, find Nate, get him to ask Hancock for the caps while you cowered in the background with sunglasses and a baseball cap over a dark hoodie. Fuck.

The shower was cold, obviously, and you counted your blessings for having running water at all, even if it was a bit too irradiated for comfort. You did your best to scrub fast, hands brushing through sweaty, greasy hair, soaping the necessary areas. You very pointedly did not linger on the dried, flaking cum on your stomach, exorcizing it with a washcloth and curses.

You were busy drying your hair with your dirty shirt, because whenever the water lingered too long it left an uncomfortable sheen over your hair and smelled a bit like a bog. A knock sounded at the door, sending ice through your veins, a response equivalent to the roar of a Deathclaw or the clicking of a Mirelurk.

For a moment, you contemplated crawling onto the rusty fire-escape outside your living room window and walking into downtown Boston to let some Super Mutants eat you.

Instead, though, you stepped over to the door, moments quiet as you contemplated what the fuck you were going to say. Last night was a mistake. You're my boss. I haven't had sex in two years and I'm sorry for leading you on, can I please have my panties back?

Another knock startled you out of your thoughts, fast and panicked, followed by the call of your name from a voice that definitely did not belong to Hancock.

You opened the door to a panting Nate, already back in his suit and armor, gun tossed over his shoulder.

"Nate?"

"Hey! Have fun last night?"

You flushed, even though his expression was nothing but kind; curious and happy for you, like a good friend should be.

"Uh. What's with the get up?" You deflected, which Nate took in stride.

"Distress call from the Minutemen, they asked me to head out west to Graygarden."

"The... farm run by robots?"

"Oh, that's what it is?"

"Wh- Never mind. What are you doing there?"

"Something about the water supply and Super Mutants. I'm leaving in a few minutes"

"Okay, that's fine, I'll drag someone else with me to Diamond City, no stress."

"No, I want you to come with me."

You blinked, hand tensing on the door frame, "Nate I'm not a fighter."

"Yes you are," He said, looking so genuinely confused it made your heart seize a bit, "We fought together. At Anchorage. Did you forget?"

"No, I didn't–" You swallowed. 

After returning home, witnessing massacre after massacre, you'd sworn to yourself you wouldn't get involved in that kind of shit. Even after the world ended, you'd managed to keep that promise. At night, alone in your cold bed, you could still hear the hissing of sentry bots, the creaking of power armor, the whistling of bullets. "I don't do that anymore, Nate."

Nate pulled one of his more serious faces, a rare sight for a man with seemingly endless drive and relentless optimism, even after losing more than you could imagine.

"Look. I understand what you're feeling–" You took a breath to interrupt him, because his blind patriotism had driven him forward when you'd lagged behind, weighed down by the blood on your hands. Nate pushed forward, "I know you don't believe me, but I really do. And nothing helped me heal those wounds like helping people."

"Helping robots." Your voice was flat.

"Who provide food for over a dozen settlements. You'd be doing good."

You bit your lip, casting your eyes over your apartment to avoid the earnest look in Nate's eyes. Sure, you were... content in your life. Goodneighbor was as safe as any settlement could be, you had steady income, some sort of purpose. But you remembered the day Nate had walked into the Third Rail with Nick Valentine on his heels, bleary eyed, vault suit still pristine. The way your heart had sung, the way an aching loneliness you'd felt since coming off the ice had faded.

Was this what the rest of your life would be? Slinging drinks, small talk with coworkers and bar patrons, waiting for the next time Nate would walk in through the doors like some yearning wife waiting for her husband to return from war?

Besides, you weren't going to be able from Hancock in his own fucking town, not for long.

You shut your eyes, feeling the phantom weight of a gun in your hands.

"Fuck. Fine."

The smile on Nate's face was like a kid's at Christmas.

"Great! I'll meet you at the front entrance in..." He glanced down at his pip-boy, "Thirty minutes?"

"Okay."

And he was off, leaving you standing in your doorway, blinking at nothing wondering what the fuck you'd agreed to.

Under your bed there were some loose floorboards you'd been using to store the important things. Your spare caps, your vault suit and pip-boy, your 10mm pistol and your combat shotgun. The former was familiar to you, used centuries ago in a war no one understood anymore. You'd grabbed it on your stumbling way out of the vault, and it was a good thing to or you would have gotten gored by some very territorial mole rats before even making it to a settlement. The shotgun had been stolen, in your trek to downtown Boston, taken off a raider you'd knocked out with a lead pipe. He'd clearly made some adjustments to it, with a hair trigger, less recoil than expected and a scope you'd never needed to use. You'd been meaning to sell it since you'd gotten in, but it had ended up in the floorboards where you'd simply hoped it would stay unless you were strapped for cash.

A knapsack was quickly filled with everything you needed, a change of clothes, a portable water purifier, all the food that would go to waste if you didn't take it with you. You tucked some spare caps into a hidden inside pocket, wrapping them in cloth to keep them from rattling. Your spare 10mm ammo, a few packs of cigarettes, a lighter, a flashlight.

The pistol was strapped into a thigh holster, a gun belt held your shotgun rounds. The shotgun went around your shoulder. They felt heavier than you remembered them being, their weight an oppressive reminder with every step you took out of your apartment. You'd need to let Charlie know you wouldn't be in for a while, and you'd need to stop by KL-E-0's for some spare parts. Easy enough, it was just the matter of avoiding certain tricorn-hat wearing mayors.

You kept your head down as you made your way through the street. You cut a more imposing figure with your armor, with the glint of weapons. People moved out of your way as you jogged towards the Third Rail, sliding in through the door like a mouse darting into its burrow.

You rattled like a tin can chime as you walked down the steps to the bar, announcing your approach before you could be seen, a cat with a bell. You were skittish, pausing at the last step to peek into the lounge, trying to spot a red coat, a familiar smile. Coast was clear.

"That the new uniform, then?" Charlie's voice nearly sent you flying, a squeak leaving you as the Mr. Handy suddenly appeared in view. The three eyes didn't exactly convey emotion well, but you could hear the dry amusement in his tone, maybe a hint of judgement.

"No, I uh–" You shook yourself, loosening the cotton in your brain, "Nate asked me to accompany him on a mission. Shouldn't take more than a week."

"Seven days and I'll file a missing person's report." Dry, dry, dry.

"Right," You breathed, gripping the banister like a life line, "Right. I appreciate the uh– The thought, Charlie. I'll see you around." Saliva filled your mouth, and you had a second to panic about throwing up on the floor as your stomach rolled, before the feeling faded.

Charlie didn't dignify you with a response, going right back to... whatever it was he did when the bar was closed, so you turned around, rattling right back up the stairs. First vacation in two years.

Again, you kept your head down as you walked through the alley towards Kill or Be Killed, pointedly avoiding letting your gaze slip to the Old State House, like the building itself would summon him. Something burned in your chest, not quite shame, but the next thing to it. In another life, you would've considered chewing on a baby aspirin, kept the landline in view, ready to dial 911, if you were having a heart attack. Now, though, you shrugged it off, grabbing your canteen and taking a greedy drink, washing away the cigarette taste that still lingered in your mouth.

KL-E-0 was in her usual place, piercing red eye landing on you.

"Well, don't you look dressed to kill."

You'd wondered, sometimes, if she had been especially programmed to sound so sultry, or if it was just her natural charm.

"Heading out for a while," You dug your bag of caps out of your pocket, placing it on the table as your eyes roamed over the wares available, "Think you could spare some grenades and shotgun shells?"

"Let's get you outfitted, killer."

The word left a sour taste in your mouth that had nothing to do with the cigarettes. You made it through the trade quickly, enough ammo to last you several encounters, enough grenades to get you through a couple rough spots. You left with your pockets lighter, your bandolier, pack and shoulders weighed down.

"Have fun, baby."

"Yeah, thanks, Kleo."

Nate was standing by the entrance, a respectable distance from the Neighborhood Watch, a focused frown on his face as he fiddled with his Pip-boy. He looked up when you approached, frown turning to a bright smile.

"So," you said, shouldering your gun, "Ready to head off?"

"Not quite, we're still waiting on the rest of the party. You know how he is, always fashionably late."

You didn't manage to get out your confused "Who?" Before a familiar hand was clapping Nate on the shoulder, saying, "So! Ready to get this show on the road?"

Fuck.

Notes: This is so insanely self indulgent it’s crazy, but I do hope you enjoyed at least a little <3

[spdrvyn]

Can we maybe get pt.2 of I’ll be lonely with you?

can you be lonely with me? — MIGUEL O'HARA

SUMMARY: ever since your first real encounter with miguel, you're sure that your relationship him has grown ever since. it's hard to put an exact label on it but it's safe to say that he's grown more comfortable to confide in your presence nowadays.

NOTES: i keep getting reqs for miguel fluff and a part 2 from the last fic i did so i am killing 10 birds with a machine gun here. you also don't really need to read the first fic to understand this one but if you want to see how it all starts out then it's on my masterlist if you wanna get a better understanding of it! this one is more from miguel's perspective by the way :3 this gets fluffier as i proofread it uhhh good luck you're gonna get cavities!!!

No matter where he went, no matter how hard he tried. Noise, it followed Miguel.

If he was dealing with an anomaly, he would hear the shrieks and cries of the people all around him. The shuttering of phone cameras, law enforcement telling civilians that they'll be able to handle it.

If he was in his own dimension, walking amonst the other Spider-people, he would hear the chatter and the gossip. Mechanical whirring, the sound of webs being shot, it's like it was haunting him.

It's the reason why he enjoyed staying in his office so much. Even if he can hear the occasional bang or clang, it was mostly quiet. He's contemplated getting earplugs to drown out the sounds but there's always a need for him to be alert.

That's where you come in.

Granted, it's not like you were a magical pair of noise-cancelling headphones that descended from the heavens (maybe just a little bit) but you provided some relief for Miguel.

On the chance that the two of you met, whether it's in the cafeteria, passing by each other in headquarters, or once you built up the courage to actually visit him in private—

He didn't want to admit it. It might be a little dramatic but he'd rather die than admit it.

But... he enjoyed your company.

Granted, he had trouble putting his thoughts into words at times. Talking about the arachno-humanoid-poly-multiverse could be easier than answering a question about what his favorite pet was but you? You made it seem so simple, so easy.

You didn't really talk to him about crude and mindless topics such as 'how his day went' or whatever. Conversations could span from your childhood best friends to your most memorable trip with your family or even high school love lives.

Miguel contributed much less to the conversation obviously but listening to you talk was more than enough for him. Your voice satieted him, it was almost addicting.

The melodies sung by birds in the morning, the praise he receives from colleauges about his deeds. They couldn't even compare to you.

Although, there were a lot of things that he also hated about you.

He hated how you could make him hear his heart drumming in his chest whenever you lay your hands on him. Even if it's for the most miniscule of things, like whenever you brush shoulders or graze fingertips; it sends a pleasurable shiver up and down his spine.

He hated your face, your smile, your eyes. Whenever he had the chance to open up about himself, when you had the pleasure of experiencing the rarity that is hearing a personal detail about Miguel; he'd look back at you once he finished talking and he'd see that look. A look of how proud you were of him, a look of longing and wanting. It's taken his breath away more than you'd ever hear him say.

He hated your compassion. Miguel has had an uncountable amount of bad days that if he made an attempt to number them, it would give him migraines. During those days, he would be grumpy, irritable, upset at the little details and during those days, you still wouldn't give up on him how he imagined even some of his better known acquaintances probably would.

Most of all, he hated himself for not knowing why.

For the longest time, he's thought of himself in the worst way possible. Unlikeable, difficult to be around, anti-social, and so much more and so much worse. Why did you continue to stay with him?

Having late night meals or snacks with him has now become a very frequent occurence, it was practically a ritual at that point. You'd even managed to convince to come out during more normal hours for lunch or just to "take a stroll around".

He's given up on himself, given up on the possibility that he could be anything more than his role of protecting the multiverse.

Yet, you gave him even the smallest sliver of hope.

He hated himself for wanting to hold onto it.

He didn't care anymore if he didn't know the reason why you continued to tolerate him after all this time, all he knew is that he'd try to stay by your side to the best of his ability. Holding onto that brittle string of a dream you handed him.

Key statement being 'to the best of his ability', tonight was such a time he couldn't be able to see you, much to his dismay. Swamped with surveillance, reports, reminiscing. The last time that he got a glimpse of your beauty was earlier this afternoon, only god knows how many hours have passed since then.

Perhaps it would be best if he found out himself. "Lyla," He called out, the virtual assistant hovers over his shoulder. Pixels floating over him. "What time is it?"

A little clock glitches into Lyla's hands, she hums before looking back at Miguel with her usual smug expression. "3:47 in the morning. You've been at it for seven hours now, Miguel."

His eyes flutter short for a moment, possibly the only wink of sleep that he'll get through out the night. Even when his eyes are closed, it's like the screens he's been looking at for hours to no end are now tattooed into his eyelids or something.

With a deep sigh, he continues working at it anyway. It's not like whatever anomaly or evil that's awaiting him in a distant universe will allow to him to get some shut-eye anyway. What's the use if he takes such an opportunity now?

Unusually, Lyla doesn't 'disappear' yet. Normally once he's done making a request, she poofs straight into thin air unless she's going to make remark back at him yet she remains in complete silence.

"Anything else, Lyla?"

"Someone's coming." She announces abrubtly, her tone is blank and lacking of emotion. Is that a sign of danger? Without daring to hesitate, Miguel puts his mask on. Eyes shifting to each dark corner in the room, ready to snatch and tear at whatever beast is—

All of a sudden, there's giggling. Coming from Lyla, of course. A hand clutches at her stomach, the other waving a finger in his face. The small outburst of laughter sends echoes. "Oh, wow! You're that paranoid already? Jeez, get some sleep maybe..."

As quickly as his mask came on, he takes it off. An aggravated scowl playing at his features, Miguel folds his arms over his chest. "I can't believe you. No me asustes así, Lyla. Is there someone coming or not?"

Finally, her stream of cackles stop as she catches her breath. She nods, perching herself on his shoulder; she pretends to check her nails. "Take a guess."

"I don't know. Who?"

"Come on, take a gander at who. You won't believe who it is."

"Lyla, no more messing around. Dime quién es, or else I'm putting you on low power mode." The threat is empty and there is no low power mode, Miguel has said it to her more than a dozen times but the response that he's able to provoke with it is a little laughable.

Begrudginly, she swipes a screen into view. Revealing you entering the hallway that leads into his very office, he's barely even get a good look at it before the screen disintegrates. Lyla crosses her arms, basically imitating the same position that Miguel is in right now.

"Happy?"

"Very. Leave us alone for a bit, won't you?"

In retaliation, she sticks her tongue out at him before her avatar shatters into mere blocks of code then disappearing entirely. Perfect timing he'd say as he sees you come into view on the stage below.

Once you're able to catch sight of him, you wave at him. That same gleeful smile that tugs at his heart strings. The lowering of his platform is finished, signified with an audible click.

You don't hesitate to head on up, immediately you wrap your arms around Miguel, pulling him into a warm but unexpected embrace. He doesn't have time to respond or think, muscles tensing once greeted with your touch.

He doesn't get the chance to hug back either before you pull away, hands remaining on his shoulder and his forearm. Only then does he realize that the grin you wore was tinged with a hint of concern.

"Sorry, sorry," You sputter out, chest rising up and down as you huff with relief. "I just didn't see you in the cafeteria a while ago, I thought something happened to you but I had to go back to my dimension due to reasons."

There's a sharp punch at Miguel's head once he realizes. He forgot about your midnight ritual, drowning in his work that he neglected the one other person important to him. "Mierda, I'm so sorry. It— it slipped my mind, I was just..."

Unable to finish his sentence, mind scrambling for what to tell you. To say that he was doing his job would maybe be fair but would it spare any of the pain that he may have caused you for missing it?

He's fully expecting you to be simmering with anger, even by just a little bit. That whole thing was how you two got to develop such a connection with each other anyway and he fucked it up.

A small lecture, a scolding, a disappointed glare.

"Hey, hey. It's fine, what matters is that you're okay. Whatever tasks you're taking on here are really important, I'm not upset at all. You're just doing what you gotta do,"

Nothing?

Nothing at all!

"Oh." All the apologies, the reasons he's been looking for, the pleading that he would've saved as a last resort to quell your boiling rage has now gone out the window. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, I am. I have no reason to be mad at you right now, Miguel. Although..." Oh no. Here it comes, brace yourself! "When's the last time you slept? I swear,"

His hands clench into fists, nearly flinching away as your hand reaches up to his cheek. Your thumb rubs the circles under his eyes, "These get deeper everytime I see them." With a sigh of defeat, he wraps a hand of his own around your wrist. Cheeks sinking into the soft caress, ever so slightly.

The way that your expression twists into one of worry once he doesn't respond, how Miguel feels the stinging in his chest for making you concerned but he thought it would be better than telling you honestly.

Your hand slips from his cheek, he tries to tamp down the disappointment at the loss. "I wish I could stay for longer but you have your duties, I have mine."

He nods understandingly, why wouldn't he? He knew that notion best, arguably a lot more than most Spider-people. At least, he'd be able to better appreciate this moment you two shared no matter how short lived it was.

"Promise me that you'll sleep once you're done."

Silently, barely even above a whisper, he utters: "I promise."

You shoot him one last smile before you swing back onto the lower platform, sparing one last glance then you disappear into the dark hallway. Miguel's face falls once you leave,

He despises how he misses you already.

[meadowsofmay]

so, i am one film in of my the hobbit re-watch and it's interesting how they portrayed each dwarf visually. there's quite an amount of fighting which showcases us the way they act: who's the fighter and who's the carer, who's the leader and who's the follower, who's the mind and who's the brutal force. but — their appearance does tell a huge part of the untold story about who they are and what are their roles in the company.

while re-watching 'an unexpected journey' i had an opportunity to pay closer attention to fili and kili:

and if i still didn't know a single thing about them aside basics and was asked «who's going to be the next king?», i'd say fili without hesitation, based only on the visual.

fili is put together. he might even seem to be somewhat arrogant with his facial expressions. and visual implications of him being the mature one are in his braids, his still growing beard but already braided mustache.

in comparison to kili — fili has a little bit of the weight that the age brings on him.

one of the reasons why we might sympathise alot with kili is because kili feels young. his appearance screams that he is the youngest: long unbraided/barely braided hair and those bangs, strands of hair over his face in a way to make it look rounder and cuter. we see kili act impulsively, him being all over the place with attachement and trust, him being childishly loud and stupidly brave. and his appearance really makes sense of that.

the relationships between durin's are also quite interesting to look at:

the thing with fili is not just him being the oldest of the brothers, for also because he is prepared/taught to be mature one. we hear it quickly in action during the departure from laketown but richard also said in the appendices that thorin prepares fili to be the next to the throne. and i think, he used the word «groomed» which might mean that they're at the beginning of the process that is not exactly wanted by one of the sides. hence, why i am using «prepared/taught to» — fili is still young and dumb at times but he is ahead of kili on the ride of growing up. because he has to. he is, again, more put together but he has alot of weaponry that he carries on him in order to be prepared for any sort of fight. he learns skills and hence the reason he still has huge assignment of blades to chose from.

fili is also less confrontational with thorin. kill is really open and honest about his feelings towards thorin's actions, for example in the scenes where thorin is unfair to bilbo. seems like kili really did get attached to the hobbit and was not shy to be judgemental.

also desperate for he is still young and doesn't really understand the meaning of calculated decisions and compromises.

fili usually keeps to the side, be it because he observes, has less confrontational character or just knows not to interfere when thorin gets moody. when kili jokes on bilbo — fili just plays along. when thorin starts to berate them it's kili who's ashamed but fili is just there. he is so done with thorin, it seems, he doesn't have it in him to react.

observing kili's behavior we can say that kili looks up to thorin in a more sincere, childish way. thorin is the hero of his childhood dreams, for he is the dwarf who took up on the role of his father while juggling all of his other duties. kili wants to impress thorin, wants to be good for him too, it shows in a way he jumps into fights hot-headed. and he is often ashamed when he disappoints him.

fili, on the other hand, just does what thorin says because he knows thorin will want of him exactly that. he learned a lot from and of thorin, he knows how to operate under his command. in a way, he might start to see thorin more as a leader rather than a father figure.

and it might be for another post but we see fili get openly confrontational only in 'the desolation of smaug' and only because kili is in danger. no matter how important it is for thorin to raise a king out of him, fili is still going to put his brother first.

he protests:

first time is when thorin rushes everyone on the river bank while kili needs healer's attention because of his leg.

second time — when thorin wants fili to go with them to erebor and fili choses to stay in laketown with kili who's gotten worse. thorin needs fili there with them because he is the next in line. fili's priorities lie with his brother. and that's probably the most loud conflict fili had with thorin in the whole trilogy. that was the conflict of interests.

the most loud conflict kili had with thorin, though, is in 'the battle of the five armies' when he finally had enough of thorin hiding behind a wall while the rest are dying for them. he almost lost respect for thorin and that was his last attempt to bring him to his senses because this thorin was not his childhood hero, was not the person he looks up to and the matter at hand wasn't just his foul character. it was the conflict of morals.

and i find that beautiful.

[rizaposting]

big bang ask time!! woohoo!!

1. what was your favorite thing about the event?

2. favorite and least favorite canon things about royai?

3. what was the most challenging thing to draw for you?

Can't wait for everyone to see your work!! ☺️💕

Yippieeeee!!! Thank you Ana!

1. what was your favorite thing about the event?

I know everyone has been saying it BUT it's been so fun to get to chat and get to know everyone involved. We have so many silly conversations and everyone is genuinely so nice and talented!!!! ;w;

2. favorite and least favorite canon things about royai?

Oh this is a tough one hmmm... I think my favorite thing is their dynamic, which is kind of a wet noodle answer but! Even before we know about their past you can really tell that there's history between them, and they care about each other more than a usual amount. Some might even say... They are really abnormal about each other. I also love the potential!!! Almost any scenario you could propose, I could see there being a way for it to happen between them. Childhood sweethearts? Secret dating during canon? Post-PD confessions? I could go on.

For my "least" favorite... It's not that I dislike it, but something I wish more people would address is that Royai grew up entrenched in fascism, and I think that's, in part, where their rigid black-and-white idea of punitive justice comes from. And I see a lot of people interpret it as the Correct mindset to have or don't really think about it and it can be so frustrating. I ALSO wish more people would address how self-centered Roy's ambitions are. They're good and well-meaning, don't get me wrong, but he (and Riza) tends to view himself as The Only One Who Can Make Things Right And Make Sure There Is Justice. Which stems from a good place but man it really smacks of his (both of theirs, really) martyr complex WHICH I THINK IS AN INTERESTING FLAW. CAN WE CONFRONT THEM ABOUT THAT? It's one thing to go "if you want something done right you have to do it yourself" and it's another to be like "if Roy doesn't become the Good Guy Dictator this can NEVER happen by any other means. No one else cares about it". I dunno. I'd love them to get called on their bullshit <3 Like babes, get over yourselves <3

3. what was the most challenging thing to draw for you?

I knew EXACTLY what I wanted to draw for 'Accretion' (by raisingmybanner on AO3; get hyped it's a SUPER fun art heist fic) but I struggled a lot trying to figure out the composition. I wanted to show Royai of course, but also show the art piece in question, but also show the gallery. I wanted a lot of depth but I really struggled with it XD The most "classical" art training I have was high school art courses, so my lofty ideas made me really feel that lack of technical skill and know-how. I still ended up really liking the end result! But I certainly had to reign it in to match my current skills hahaha

[wielderofmysteries]

(We Need to Talk About Narset)

[Left: Narset, Enlightened Master - Livia Prima. Right, clockwise from top left: Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory, Dr. Shaun Murphy from The Good Doctor, Sam Gardner from Atypical, Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds.]

(This is a re-upload of the original article since there were some formatting issues with the original. You can still read it at this link, but the pictures aren't full resolution.)

This is article is intended to be a primer for my larger upcoming article on autistic representation in Magic.

I found out about Narset in 2018, when I had just started learning about Magic’s lore for the first time. I was overjoyed to see that Magic’s first official autistic character seemed to be the complete opposite of the stereotypical depictions of autism I’d seen in other media. Instead of a nerdy brown-haired white boy, Narset was a 50 year old Asian woman and a badass martial artist. As an Asian autistic kid, I often felt invisible and underrepresented in the media I consumed, so Narset really meant a lot to me.

However, when I actually read Narset’s lore, I was disappointed to find that she wasn’t nearly as revolutionary as I’d thought.

When the Dragons of Tarkir stories were being published in 2015, Doug Beyer, a writer and designer for Magic, confirmed in a Tumblr post that Narset was intentionally created to be an autistic character.

=========

maudlingoblin asked:

hi doug!! reading the new uncharted realms, i felt an enormous amount of sympathy for narset, specifically with reference to the beginning sequence with her as a kid. the restlessness, the sensory overload, the self-distraction with counting and observation - these, to me, heavily code narset as being autistic. i am autistic myself and it would mean the absolute world to me to know that a character in a game i care deeply about is like me, and many other folks. is this something you can confirm?

dougbeyermtg answered:

That was the intent, yes. The most important part of Narset’s character is her amazing mind, which is central to her potential as a powerful Planeswalker and as a pursuer of knowledge — but it happens that she processes information and input differently than a lot of other people. Tarkir denizens might not have a term for the autism spectrum or being neurodivergent or neuro-atypical, but those terms would correctly describe her. In this timeline she is not khan of the Jeskai, but no matter the circumstances, she hasn’t let go of her commitment to seeking her own path to wisdom and truth. Kudos to Creative Team member Kimberly Kreines for exploring this aspect of Narset in her story “The Great Teacher’s Student.”

[https://dougbeyermtg.tumblr.com/post/112727174244/hi-doug-reading-the-new-uncharted-realms-i-felt]

=========

(Art: Dragonlord Ojutai - Chase Stone)

The Great Teacher’s Student tells the story of Narset’s childhood under the rule of Dragonlord Ojutai. At eight years old, Narset was a pretty realistic autistic child, having many traits that I shared. She fidgeted restlessly, had sensory overloads, and her mother found it difficult to take her out to public spaces. Narset’s brain was extremely pattern-oriented, one of the most defining traits of autism. She saw numbers everywhere, and counted to soothe herself.

=========

The cries of the merchants, the bold colors of the wares, and the too-sweet aromas of the produce were like walls that made the marketplace feel too tight, too close, too much. The muscles of Narset’s legs twitched and her lungs felt cramped. She tugged at her robe; it was strangling her. Her mother must have cinched it too tightly.

“Stand still,” her mother scolded from above. “You’ll knock something over.” She was poring over the apples at the top of a tall mound too high for Narset to see.

Narset tried to stand still, but she couldn’t. The restlessness inside her wanted her to move. Sometimes when she felt that way she distracted herself. She would count things, or search for patterns, or study people’s expressions. But she knew the marketplace too well; she knew its numbers and she knew its patrons. She had already taken inventory. The man with the cane was limping less that day, putting more weight on his bad leg; Narset supposed the balm he had purchased from the herbalist the week before had worked to ease the pain. There were, as usual, three dozen meat slabs hanging at the butcher’s stand with an average of eighteen striations per slab; the average number of striations hardly ever changed, although sometimes there was greater variance. The merchant at the squash stand had uneven stains on his sleeves and three stray threads hanging from his robe; he must have gotten it caught in his cart and had to pull himself free. And there were sixty-eight apples in the mound in front of Narset; that was accounting for the volume inside the mound, which she couldn’t see but could predict well enough. There would be sixty-seven apples if her mother would ever just choose one.

Her mother hemmed and hawed, her fingers alighting first on one apple and then another, fluttering over the choices, but never settling.

She’s never going to pick one, Narset thought. We’re never going to leave. Panic set in. Her vision blurred, her ears rang, and her forehead began to sweat. She frantically searched for something else to distract her, but there was nothing else she could see. At eight, Narset wasn’t tall enough to see over any of the stands or any of the bodies. It was like she was in a never-ending maze of tall sweaty, smelly people-trees.

She was trapped.

[The Great Teacher’s Student - Kimberly J. Kreines]

=========

Narset was a believably written autistic character in this story, but that doesn’t automatically mean it was good, or that it was what autistic people wanted to see. To be clear, this story was neither unrealistic nor offensive to me. Writing Narset as an autistic character was something the creative team genuinely cared about and tried to do well. But I was still disappointed because Narset in this story is just another example of the “autistic savant” trope that the media can’t seem to let go of.

Fictional or real, almost every autistic person you will see in the media will be a savant; some kind of socially-inept genius whose intelligence or skill far surpasses their peers. This person may be a mathematician, a surgeon, a child prodigy who attends college but can’t tie their shoes– the list goes on and on. You’ve probably seen many stories like this before.

As a child, Narset had an extraordinary memory and a gift for mental math. She was able to calculate the volume of a pile of apples, find the exact trajectory of a falling apple to catch it in mid-air, and memorize things like the pattern of a river’s flow; all at a glance.

In The Great Teacher’s Student, Narset accidentally knocks over a pile of apples at the market, upsetting the merchant and prompting her mother to send her outside. Dragonlord Ojutai noticed Narset’s talent and desire for knowledge as she explored the field outside, and wanted to encourage her. He tutored her from a distance for several years before officially deciding to train her as a student when she was 11 years old.

After this moment, the story shifts its focus almost entirely to Narset’s academic journey. We get to see that in the years that passed since Narset became a student of Ojutai, she was still really, really smart. She finally felt challenged and supported in the way she needed, and she was good at so many things.

In fact, she was better than everyone else at everything.

She learned more, and faster than everyone else. She won every fight. She spoke Draconic intuitively, and Ojutai constantly praised her. At age 15, Narset became the youngest person to ever hold the rank of Master.

=========

As she looked back now, she recognized her time at the sanctuary as the best years of her life. She was happier than she had ever been; she was challenged, recognized, fulfilled. Her restlessness had ceased haunting her; she had felt a sense of peace. And while she wasn’t physically moving, she knew she was on a path, going where she was meant to go, becoming who she was meant to be. Ojutai was leading her. And not a day went by that she didn’t thank her dragon for the gift.

Narset advanced more quickly than any other student, climbing the ranks of Dragon’s Eye Sanctuary, moving upward from the lowest balconies to the highest terraces, until one day Ojutai called for her to come stand on his own private perch.

[…]

“My student, Narset, it is time. Your hunger for knowledge is your greatest strength. You have become strong, and powerful, and wise because you have never stopped seeking enlightenment.” The dragon beamed down at her. She knew what was about to come, and for one glorious moment everything felt perfect. “I now bestow upon you the title of Master, which you have assuredly earned, and with it all the honor and responsibility it brings.” Ojutai bowed his head and rested his giant paw on her shoulder.

Narset bowed her head in return and clasped her small hand over the dragon’s paw, making no attempt to wipe the hot tear that streaked down her cheek. At fifteen, she was the youngest master Ojutai had ever named. She had reached the top.

[The Great Teacher’s Student - Kimberly J. Kreines]

=========

I didn’t like how Narset’s story focused so much on autistic exceptionalism– on how Ojutai gave her special treatment because she was better than everyone else at everything.

Autistic achievement should be celebrated, and Narset’s desire for endless learning is so deeply, truly autistic. But I feel like Narset’s story and those of other autistic savants are just so extraordinary that it’s too hard to relate to them. These kinds of fictional portrayals and real-world news features attempt to endear autistic people to allistic (non-autistic) audiences by saying, “Look! Autistic people aren’t bad, they’re actually better than us!” But focusing on exceptional individuals doesn’t help to humanize autism.

It sets an unrealistic expectation for autistic people, and can be extremely alienating. Autistic people shouldn’t have to be superhuman to be respected, and the truth is that the overwhelming majority of autistic people are completely ordinary.

When I was diagnosed with autism at age 11, I obsessively searched the internet for information about autism, to learn what other autistic people experienced, and what “normal” people thought of us. I learned that geniuses were loved, and everyone else was hated. I hoped for years that I would magically develop some kind of incredible talent so I could be like the autistic geniuses in the news. I hoped someone would notice me and enroll me in college early or make me famous so I would be respected for something. It didn’t happen. It wasn’t fair to myself, but when I saw stories about savants, I didn’t feel proud to be autistic. Instead, I saw myself as a failure.

Autistic savants don’t need more representation. Most autistic people, even most of the geniuses and prodigies, will never have the kinds of opportunities that Narset and other famous savants have had. But when neurotypical people have only ever seen autistic savants, they expect you to be a genius. And when people expect you to be a genius, being ordinary just makes you a disappointment.

The Magic narrative team clearly recognized the fact that most allistic peoples’ first exposure to autism is through popular media and that it’s a major influence on the audience’s image of what autism is like. So they tried to make a good first impression by making Narset a positive portrayal, but it backfired in one key way: Narset’s writing in this story was so focused on making her as extraordinary and obviously autistic as possible that it neglected to make her a human being. She’s believable, but not compelling. Narset’s story is about an autistic character, but it’s not really about what it’s like to be autistic.

(And I hate to say it, but… there’s nothing revolutionary about making your Asian autistic character a math genius.)

What frustrates me about the way Narset was written is that I actually believe her autism was extremely under-utilized in her writing.

Autism is lifelong, but I don’t really feel like the story treats it that way. Beyond the first scene of Narset as a younger child, the story doesn’t show how Narset’s autism affected her life other than making her really smart.

Upon realizing that Ojutai had nothing left to teach her, Narset became restless and anxious again. She was desperate to learn anything new. When she was 16 years old, Narset discovered the lost history of Tarkir, and it was the possibility of new knowledge that ignited her Planeswalker spark.

Narset’s greatest challenge was that she was literally so good that she couldn’t get any better.

As a child, Narset was shown to have trouble communicating and interacting with others. After Narset became Ojutai’s student, she’s barely shown interacting with anyone other than Ojutai ever again. How did Narset’s differences affect the way she interacted with her fellow students? Did she want to try to make friends? What happened to her mother? How would she have felt about Narset’s progress? The story doesn’t explore any of this. What about her overwhelming sensory overloads? Did she still have them? If so, did her triggers change? She used to soothe herself by counting and finding patterns. When her anxiety returned later in the story, did her coping mechanisms change or stay the same? This isn’t shown, either.

At the end of The Great Teacher’s Student, Narset was still a teenager, but she’s supposed to be about 50 years old now. We know that the present Narset is an independent autistic adult, who has friends and goals and decades of life experience, and that’s beautiful– but we never get to see how she got there. How did she learn to make friends? How did she decide what she wanted to do with her life? That journey is what I want to see being written for autistic characters.

(Art: Quiet Contemplation - Magali Villeneuve)

To contrast, Narset’s story in the Khans of Tarkir timeline does address these things. In Enlightened, Narset is the narrator, and she speaks personally of her challenges as a young autistic person: her academic struggles as a daydreaming student, her feelings of alienation, being bullied, and how she threw herself into her training to cope. These experiences and feelings carried on into adulthood, and influenced the way she approached her responsibilities as the Jeskai Khan.

=========

As a young girl, I had the same “problem,” as my teachers called it. I always lived in my head, but not in the way the instructors wished. I dreamt of fantastical worlds and used the scrolls given for lessons to draw them, incurring the wrath of my elders. I found solace in my own mind and often had difficulty knowing how to talk to others. It was as though my mind was always five steps ahead of my mouth. It was so taxing interacting with others. I never knew what to say, often causing me to blunder, and I was embarrassed in front of my teachers and classmates. I then went over those failed interactions in my mind, and I found the imaginary worlds more forgiving.

Studying was a way to escape my anxiety and I eagerly embraced history and philosophy, memorizing all I could about Jeskai teachings. I impressed my teachers, but I still felt like an outsider. I did enjoy sparring with those who had taunted me, easily humiliating them in combat as they had humiliated me with their words.

[…]

Even though I am now their khan, I still felt like an outsider—like the young girl always fumbling her words—only now I don’t show it. I think this has been what gives me the strength to do what is needed, looking at the Jeskai like I am not really a part of them.

[Enlightened - Matt Knicl]

=========

Overall, I feel like Enlightened was a much more thoughtful story despite being much shorter. Sadly, Tarkir’s time travel plot means that version of Narset no longer exists. We haven’t gotten any stories featuring Narset since 2015, so the version of Narset we saw in The Great Teacher’s Student is the Narset we are stuck with.

I don’t necessarily believe that Narset is “bad” autistic representation. I still love Narset, and she means a lot to me. But Narset’s stories are focused on setting her apart, separating her from other people, and showing that she is too different to be a part of the world around her. In my opinion, Narset deserves better than that, and that is why I believe Narset is not the best autistic representation Magic has to offer.

My next article will be about the autistic representation I wanted to see in Magic. Something a little more down-to-earth. Something I could more easily relate to. And I found that in an unexpected character: Nissa.

[axel-skz]

hey hope ur having a great day!

could u possibly write an angst request with skz? (any member)

something along the lines of the reader having a terrible childhood and having to go through trauma and really dark days and maybe opening up to them about it? or maybe the member finding them unconscious due to something and then opening up about it?

ONLY IF UR COMFORTABLE PLZ

ig I'm asking for it is cause I'm not doing so good and just need to feel something lmao

A/N: AWH! I will do it, since you asked soo nicely. Hope it makes you feel better 😘 AND for everyone else. I haven’t done it in a bit so let’s do the song roulette today. Im gonna shuffle all of stray kids music and we shall see what song we get. We get… HaPpy (Han)!

It felt so common now a days to hear people joking about childhood trauma. Mental health was this big thing and people were so open about their problems.

You wished you could be that way but every time you thought to tell Minho about even a pinch of it, the sweat broke out. You would start heaving and the panic would overtake you. The dread would take control and you felt like you were in a dark cave. Left alone where no one would ever find you.

That only ever happened when you thought about telling someone though. The easy solution, never talk about it.

You had a few triggers that reminded you of the cursed day and that would usually cause you to spiral till you passed out. But it had been years since you had last dealt with it.

You had a false sense of security cloaking you. Little did you know, the veil would be lifted soon.

You were making dinner an hour before Minho was going to come home from work. You had the radio playing and it was a whole fun little dance number. The cats were running around somewhere in the living room. You were having a great time. You saw your goofy dance moves in the mirror and it made you laugh. The fact that you’re with such an exceptional dancer and you couldn’t put two good looking steps together. Funny.

Your mistake though, you had gotten too comfortable.

You were having a lot of fun but it all came crashing down when a song started to play on the radio that reminded you of that night. You dropped the wooden spoon you were holding and you tried to grab the counter to keep balance.

Maybe you could work through this. The blood rushing to your head, making you dizzy, losing control would somehow stop. The tunnel vision came not too long after with the inability to breathe. Before you knew it, you were out like a light.

You had no idea why your head was throbbing. The light behind your closed eyelids slowly getting brighter.

No, I’m comfy, let me go back to sleep.

The words you couldn’t get out of your mouth because it was being stubborn and wouldn’t do what you wanted. You felt paralysed until slowly you started to regain control of yourself.

First order of business, open your eyes. And you did. But then regretted it because there was a lightbulb right there and now you were having a staring competition that you definitely were in no shape to win.

You came to as the room slowly stopped spinning. Everything was blurry until it wasn’t. You could see a very concerned Minho looking down at you. He seemed so flustered and out of breath.

It took all the energy you had to try and get up, not without him trying to stop you either. But since you were so stubborn, you got up and hugged him. He hugged you back immediately.

After some time and him looking after you, you were sitting on the sofa with him. He had put the cats into the bedroom so they wouldn’t be jumping everywhere around you.

It was a little awkward but he really wanted to know what had happened so very carefully, he asked.

You weren’t sure how to answer so you quietly started to open up.

‘I was home one day with my mum. We were making food and the radio was on. We were dancing when suddenly… there was banging on our front door… she went to go check, carefully. But no amount of care could help us. I was… Terrified when I heard yelling. There was gunshots. I don’t want to get into all of it but thankfully, my mum and I survived.’

He had held you tighter and closer the more you talked. You had gotten shaky and the tunnel vision had come back a little but he was like a grounding presence.

‘I can’t believe that happened to you,’ he seemed utterly shocked.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it before. I have a very hard time talking about it,’ you felt terrible about not being able to tell him anything.

‘No! It’s alright. You never have to tell me anything. It’s completely up to you how much or how little you share.’

You couldn’t help but smile at how sweet he was.

‘Now, I think it’s probably best we take our mind of things… you wanna watch a movie and eat overly greasy food?’

You laughed, ‘how could I ever say no to that?’

He got up after kissing your forehead gently, ‘I’ll order 3 pizzas right away!’

You stopped him for. A moment by grabbing his hand, ‘I’d like to tell you more about what happened… one day… if you wanna know…’

He kneeled down in-front of you and held your hands as he looked into your eyes with adoration, ‘I will be here for anything and everything with you. Whenever you’re feeling confident enough to talk about it, I’ll be right here.’

He went and let the cats out of the room. Then he made sure to order the food. The rest of the night was spent cuddled up on the sofa with the love of your life and your fur babies.

You never quite thought about it but you loved your life now. You had all the love you could need. You had a home.

A/N: I HOPE YOU LIKED IT! Please like and reblog and share and smile and be happy or ELSE!

See you soon with our sweeet boy, Felix!

See I would make my work longer but my brain just doesn’t wanna do that 💀

So you either get too much dialogue or too much detail.

Lee know: can’t we have the best of both worlds?

I turn to look at him: um… 1, didn’t peg you for a Hannah Montana fan. 2, this is my moment… you got a whole story… go away…

He gets up, sets his chair on fire and walks away nonchalantly.

I turn back to look at you with wide eyes: I’m gonna pay for that tonight…

I chase after him frantically.

WAIT! I’LL BUY YOU ALL THE CAT TOYS YOU WANT! DON’T BURN MY HOUSE DOWN!

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Five Little Ducks

Fandom: DC Comics, Batman

Summary: Bruce finds a magically de-aged Jason.

Chapters: 10/13

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Zatanna Zatara

Additional Tags: De-Aged Jason Todd, Magic, Babysitting, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, POV Third Person, Bruce Wayne is Not Okay, Bruce Wayne Tries, Jason Todd Has Issues, Childhood Trauma, TW: Self Harm

Chapter Ten: Tucked In

Jason wandered into Bruce's ballroom, where he found a box of records. Jason dug through them until he found something he liked and climbed the steps to meet the record player at the top of the stage. The table was too high to reach, so Jason stood on his tiptoes to play the record. It was a soft jazz record, something his mother would've liked. He stepped down from the stage and pretended to dance with someone while he sang to himself in the gentlest of undertones. He nearly forgot where he was, and in his moment of comfort, he sang a bit louder. Bruce crept in as far as the doorway, listening to the sweet boyish sound of Jason's voice. Jason glanced up, noticing Bruce in the doorway, and staggered back.

"No, I'm sorry. Please don't stop on my account... You've got a lovely voice," Bruce whispered. Jason rubbed his arm as he glanced at his feet. "I can leave-."

"It's-. People say I sound like a girl... And I got beat up for joining the choir at the church... My dad says that I've gotta start toughening up. The neighborhood we live in is too rough for me to be so soft," Jason mumbled. Bruce frowned.

"Jason, I-. You can't change who you are because of where you live. You're so unique, and no one should take that from you," Bruce stated thoughtfully. "Jason... You are a beautiful soul. I feel a baffling amount of joy being around you. You're fantastic." Jason chewed his lip as tears forced their way down his cheeks. "You can hug me."

Jason wrung his hands and shook his head. Bruce sighed and crouched near Jason, wiping the boy's tears away. "You're holding it all in, and I don't like that... It's alright. I've got nothing but time for your feelings," Bruce reassured. Jason met his eyes with Bruce's, and he took a breath, almost holding it in. Bruce took Jason's hands. He embraced Jason, and Jason let out a sob. "Good... Let it out."

Bruce held Jason until the crying stopped, and when he tried to pull away, he felt Jason's weight. "Oh, you're all tuckered out," Bruce whispered. He carried the young boy upstairs and tucked him in. He swept Jason's bangs out of his face and smiled. "I'm so proud of you."

"Is this your Jason?" Dick questioned.

Bruce turned to him. "When did you get here?" Bruce asked. "And no, he's not my Jason, but we're almost there. He's ten."

"He's exhausted. What'd your ten-year-old do today?" Dick asked.

"We went on a nice drive, had a rewarding talk, and came home. He likes Minecraft. A lot. We ordered a pizza and played checkers... Then I fell asleep and woke up to him singing and dancing in the ballroom," Bruce whispered.

"I got you something," Dick whispered. He walked over and clipped a tracking device onto Jason's collar. "Don't thank me, though. That was Barbara."

"Dick, don't let this go to your head... Please give me a hug," Bruce whispered. Dick smiled and embraced Bruce. "I wish I was a better father to all of you... You kids deserved so much more than what you got from me."

"Let's go talk downstairs. He'll be okay," Dick whispered. Bruce nodded. Bruce and Dick shared the rest of the leftover pizza. "What are you gonna do when he's back to normal? Are you gonna talk to him about this?"

"What if he can't remember?" Bruce whispered. "What if it all resets, and he doesn't know how hard I've tried to fix things?"

"Did you learn anything?" Dick asked.

Jason flipped off the stair rail, and Bruce hopped over the couch to get to him. "Jason!" Bruce hollered. Dick ran up the stairs and pulled the boy up. Jason started laughing.

"Jesus Christ!" Dick chastised him. "He had a harness attached to him, Bruce."

Bruce's shoulders dropped, and he ran upstairs. He took Jason in his arms and held him close. "Why would you do that?" Bruce asked. Jason shrugged, and his face changed. "I'm not mad at you... I'm not... You scared me." Bruce set Jason down and messed up his hair. "It's okay... It's-. You're thirteen years old... Why are you thirteen? What's wrong?"

Jason furrowed his brows. "I was thirteen yesterday, too," Jason whispered. "Am I not supposed to be thirteen?" Bruce crouched and held Jason's face in his palms.

"Are you feeling alright?" Bruce asked.

Jason nodded. "Who is he?" Jason whispered as he glanced at Dick.

"That's my older son, Dick. He was Robin before you... He's your big brother," Bruce introduced gently. He nudged Jason. "Dick, this is my son, Jason. He's thirteen years old."

Jason looked up at Dick and smiled. "Do you-? Is it okay-?"

"It's nice to meet you," Dick replied, "How do you like being Robin?"

Jason smiled. "I love it," Jason replied, "You don't mind me being Robin?" Dick shook his head. "Do you wanna go on patrol with us tonight? Bruce, can he?"

Bruce thought about Jason in costume, and he froze up. "Jason, I-."

"Please," Jason whispered. Bruce wanted to say no, but he couldn't. He nodded. "Cool! I'm gonna go get dressed!"

Jason darted off, leaving Dick and Bruce alone. "Don't worry, nothing's gonna happen to him," Dick whispered, "Besides, I think I know what happened to him at this age. This one's on me, Bruce."

"What?" Bruce questioned.

"Trust me... I'll be nice," Dick whispered.

"Are you admitting that you know how to be nice?" Bruce teased.

"Ha. Ha. Try to keep up, old man," Dick replied as he joined Jason in the cave. Jason jumped into Bruce's arms.

Bruce wrapped his arms around Jason. "Are you coming with us?" Jason asked.

"Not tonight, but I'll make you some cocoa when you get home," Bruce whispered, "I'll be on comms if you need me... Or if you feel like talking." He set Jason down and crouched in front of him. "I love you."

Jason's smile faded. "What'd you say?" Jason asked.

"I love you... And I mean it," Bruce whispered.

"I love you too, Bruce," Jason replied, hugging Bruce and hopping into the Batmobile before they could exchange any more words.

"Drive safe," Bruce warned Dick. Dick nodded.

"I'll bring him home before three," Dick replied, "And I'll keep a close eye on him."

"Don't let him fall asleep," Bruce added, "And don't snap at him... He only wants to impress you. Try to remember that tonight."

"Alright... I gotta go-."

"I meant what I said, Dick. You deserved better," Bruce interrupted.

"I wouldn't change a thing," Dick replied, "But if I knew there were magic spells you could use to get the model-dad Bruce experience, I probably would've done it by now."

[xblackreader]

For the @12daysofattoye challenge :P @attoye

Merry Christmas, Baby 🎁 - An Attoye Hallmark crackfic

- words: 2.5k+

Summary: This is a hallmark Christmas romance between Okoye, a big city businesswoman, and Attuma, her childhood crush boy next door who owns a Christmas tree business, and his dad isn’t Santa or anything, so chill out.

I put no effort into this, it’s purely for fun

༄ ♬ ˚₊ ➳ 💙���️❤️ ➳ ♪ ❀ ༄

It was a cold, snowy day, and the laughter and shine of joy on the streets was thick in the winter air.

Snow fell on the windows, the trees, and the cars in the parking lot, a perfect white blanket over a city that seemed to glow from the inside.

Okoye stood at the window and watched it fall, snickering at all the stupid people who celebrated Christmas and believed in having fun instead of working every day all the time.

It was a week from Christmas, and she was at work. She was always at work. She didn’t remember a time when she wasn't at work, especially at Christmas.

Okoye loved work, money, and the big city, but not Christmas because of her tragic past. But we’ll get into that at a later, more convenient-to-the-plot time.

Okoye sighed, sipping the coffee cup she was holding. Her best friend and the CEO of their company, Carol Danvers, was going to throw a party, and everyone would be there, including her lesbian sister, Maria Rambeau. But who cares? That’s another very gay story.

Okoye’s associate and technology manager, Shuri, walked into the room and slammed many amounts of critical business on Okoye’s desk. “Okoye,” she said, “we have many business to attend to this holiday season.”

Okoye rolled her eyes. She couldn't stand Shuri. She was annoying and always tried to bring joy into Okoye's life, but it wasn't happening.

”We need to get all this business done before Christmas so I can spend it with my Dilf Husband, Cha’htoh, or maybe my wife, Riri.”

Okoye scoffed and placed her coffee on the table in a Grinch way. “I do not care for romance and love; keep your Dilf away from my business! I will complete this business by myself!”

“But in order to complete it, you must travel to Christmas Town! A small, poor, warm, cozy town where you were born!”

“I will go to my hometown by myself and complete this business. That is all, associate Shuri Udaku.”

Shuri sighed as Okoye sat down to start on the business, tapping at her computer. “Oh, Okoye…” she lamented, “I hope you learn the true meaning of Christmas…”

And then, with a blink of an eye and a clap of her hands, the annoying associate Shuri was gone, and the door closed with a bang behind her. She must’ve been a magical negro. But Okoye cares not for magic or negros.

Okoye got back to her business, ignoring the feelings she may have in her heart because she never felt those feelings of joyful Christmas. She packed her bag in her office somehow and left for the airport in a big limousine, sighing wistfully at all the passing Christmas-flavored families.

The airport was cold and dull like her soul. She hated Christmas but had a good time listening to the Christmas songs because they reminded her of her tragic backstory.

The plane took off and she sat there and thought about her tragic backstory.

When it landed the airport this time was smaller and more warm and cozy, the planes were in a lounge sipping on hot cocoa. That’s how cozy it was.

This was truly her hometown.

She rented a car and drove down the icy road until she reached the only inn in the village, the Wakand Inn.

It was a beautiful log cabin with a fireplace and a warm glowing light.

The old inn keeper smiled at her and grasped her hand. “It’s Christmas, honey. If you need anything, just ask.”

She went to her room and laid down, sighing as she looked out the window. It had begun to snow, and the world looked soft and cozy and warm.

A feeling bubbled up inside her and she tried to push it down. This was too Christmas, she didn’t have time to Christmas, she was a big time lawyer or something like that.

She closed the curtains, and decided to go out and do some business. She put on her long trench coat and black suit and stepped outside, the snow crunching beneath her shoes.

There was a little shop across the street that was still open, the perfect place to put a big city law firm or accountants place??? Idk

She stepped into the store and found it empty except for a tall figure in a red flannel button up with sleeves rolled up who was bent over the counter, doing some work.

He turned around and smiled at her. Oh, It was the man who made her feel things in her chest. He was hot and sexy and tall and tan and thick and just overall a Mayan god, but he was too Christmas for her to love.

“Hi.” He said, his voice smooth and deep like dark chocolate. He flipped his long wavy hair over his shoulder and wiped his for some reason dirty hands on a wash cloth. “I’m Attuma. Welcome to my Christmas Tree shop.”

“Hi…” Okoye said, looking around. “Are you the owner?”

Attuma chuckled, his eyes glinting. He had a little scruffy beard on his jaw that Okoye thought was extremely sexy. “Yes, I own and operate this store. How can I help you?”

She cleared her throat. She had no time for love and romance, she needed to complete her business. “I’m here on behalf of the Milaje Corp. and we were interested in going into business with you.” She handed him many papers.

Attuma nodded. He had a strong jaw and beautiful deep brown eyes and his arms were veiny and his muscles bulged from all his small town work. He took out the papers and began to look them over, the gears in his mind turning.

Shaking his head, he handed her back the papers. “No, thank you.”

Okoye blinked in confusion.

That had never happened before.

Never ever.

In her entire time as a business woman, this had never happened.

He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled a charming smile.

“But, Mr. Attuma-“

“Just Attuma is fine.”

Okoye narrowed her eyes at him and his smile widened a bit. “Mr. Attuma. This contract is very generous!”

“You want to tear down my Christmas shop. It’s the own shop in town. Literally, there’s no other shops in the whole town.”

“But sir, this will make you very rich!”

“I don’t care about being rich, I only care abour Christmas and love.”

Okoye groaned. This was so not sexy or cool of him.

Attuma chuckled. He leaned across the counter, his hands flat on the wood, and his eyes stared deeply into hers. “Maybe you should learn more about this town and Christmas?”

“No.”

Attuma sighed, “if I can’t convince you to love Christmas by Christmas, I’ll sell you my Christmas Tree shop. Deal?”

Okoye thought about it for a moment. She was going to win, that was guaranteed, and she would be able to do her job. But what about his feelings and what if she did end up liking Christmas??

Okoye reached out and grabbed his hand, shaking it while holding his line of sight. She had to win, she had to.

She wouldn't let herself lose.

It was on.

Attuma pulled her hand towards him and kissed the back of it.

Okoye felt her insides burn. Then she heard bells, she looked towards the window and saw children playing happily and grimaced.

“I will show you what Christmas is all about, Ms. Okoye.”

“Okay.” She said, shaking her head at the happiness outside, “Wait, I never told you my-“

When she turned back, Attuma was gone.

Okoye shrugged, and headed back to her inn.

She went to sleep, dreaming of Christmas.

She hated it and beat Santa to death in her dreams.

<<<

Okoye woke up the next day, groaning as she stretched and pulled the blankets over her face. It was still early, she had time to sleep before her first business meeting.

A loud banging at her door made her jump. She groaned and pushed herself up, rubbing her eyes.

Who the hell was knocking on her door this early in the morning? When she approached the door, fully dressed suddenly and with two scarves on, the door opened.

Okoye froze.

Attuma was standing there with a grin.

And a tray.

On the tray were many, many plates.

He handed it to her and walked into the room, pushing her aside gently. He sat down at the table by the window and crossed his legs, gesturing to the chair opposite him.

Okoye looked down at the tray, then back at him.

It was filled with all kinds of food.

Pancakes.

Waffles.

French toast.

Crepes.

Scrambled eggs.

Eggs Benedict.

And bacon and sausage and a bowl of fruit.

Was this too much for one person and even four people? Yes, but it was Christmas and nothing mattered.

“So,” Attuma started watching Okoye as she began to fake eat the hearty breakfast for eight marathon runners, “Why do you hate Christmas so much?”

Okoye sighed and swallowed a big bite of food, trying to avoid Attuma's intense stare.

She was an amazing business woman and didn't feel the need to answer his stupid question. “It’s part of my tragic backstory. But that’s none of your business.”

Attuma pouted, leaning across the table. His long hair was tied back and Okoye couldn’t help but think about how his hair would look down.

She hated him.

And Christmas. But especially Christmas.

He shrugged and stood up smiling,

Damnit.

Attuma stood and grabbed her by the arm.

She protested and fought and squirmed, but he was a big muscly man. Who yanked trees from the ground for a living because he was a small town boy next door heartthrob but the last thing she was looking for was a man.

He pulled her out the inn, down the stairs and onto the cold, snowy street.

The children laughed and played, building snowmen and igloos and making angels in the snow. Okoye wrinkled her nose.

Attuma sighed. He had a dreamy look in his eyes as he watched the children. He really loved this town, he would get Okoye to love it again too.

“I remember when the town would gather to celebrate Christmas, singing carols and drinking cocoa, lighting the tree and dancing around the bonfire. Remember, Okoye?”

Okoye sighed and nodded her head. All she wanted was to complete her job, and the sooner, the better. But she did remember how she used to love Christmas, before…

Her thoughts trailed off. No, she had to finish her business and go back to her cold city life.

They walked in silence until they reached the town square. The Christmas tree was there, surrounded by many happy people and decorated beautifully with lights and ornaments.

Suddenly the Christmas magic became so big and beautiful and it overwhelmed Okoye with the power… of it… the magic.

“Okoye,” Attuma said, taking her hand and wiping a Christmas tear from her cheek, “I feel like I’m falling in love with you…”

“Attuma,” Okoye sniffled, “This eleven minute walk has been enlightening… I love Christmas and I love you! Let’s get married!”

“Yes! Okoye, you have taught me the true meaning of Christmas. The true meaning of Christmas is marriage.” He said, pressing a tender holiday kiss to her forehead. “But… I have a dark secret, I have to tell you…”

Okoye gasped, a look of horror crossing her face. “You’re gay?!”

“No, Okoye, not in this story. But I…”

“What is it, Attuma? Whatever it is we can get through it together!”

“My father… my Dad is Santa Claus.” Attuma said, dramatically. He fell to his knees, tears welling up in his eyes.

Okoye gasped and held him close, stroking his hair. Suddenly, above their heads, they heard a buzzing noise faintly grow closer.

An evil, evil helicopter flew in from the distance, flying low and fast, and circling the tree. Is that?… No! It can’t be!

“Ho ho ho!” Namor said, flapping his itty bitty winged feet in his little red shorts. “Merry Christmas!”

Okoye and Attuma looked at each other, then up at the flying elf, both wearing looks of confusion on their faces. Attuma stood up as Namor landed in the snow, hissing at the snow but he wasn’t no bitch so he took it.

“Dad?” Attuma said, confused, approaching his father.

Okoye gasped, “You’re Santa?!”

“The one and only! Merry-“

“But you’re elf sized.”

Namor grinned, “I’m travel size-“

“And why aren’t you wearing like… a suit?”

“Well, the shorts are more-“

“And your ears-“

“I’M SANTA, SHUT UP.” His right eye twitched and Okoye dropped it.

Namor smiled. He was very tan and very old, but a dilf about it honestly. Just a sexy little Christmas man. “Hello, son. It’s me, Santa Namor! And I need you to come with me or Christmas is over!”

“But Dad,” The larger son of Santa said, reaching behind him to grasp Okoye’s hand, “I love Okoye and I love Christmas, but I can't abandon my life here and I don’t want to abandon Okoye either. She left her gay friend in the big city for me!”

Namor nodded, looking at the two lovers. He sighed and shook his head as the bells jingled on his cute little hat. What a cutie patootie, that Christmas water elf king. “Well, the true meaning of Christmas… is love.”

Attuma and Okoye grinned at each other, they joined hands and it was suddenly their wedding and they kissed and rushed off into the carriage. Then Namor appeared again and did a little dance like the sky ballerina he is and sprinkled Christmas dust on them and they floated away into Christmas.

The End.

…

Okoye sighed and sat up.

Oh, it was just a dream. A horrible nightmare. Stretching and groaning in exhaustion, Okoye began to wake up.

Loud snoring on her left made her groan and she wrestled herself out of her big blue hunk of husband’s arms. “Attuma!” She whisper yelled. “Let me go!”

Attuma snorted and rolled over, falling asleep again.

Okoye grumbled and got out of bed, pulling a robe on and walking over to the window. The sun was rising slowly and surely, peeking over the Wakandan horizon. Okoye looked back and admired Attuma, even as he drooled and snored loud as a old rhino. Everything was perfect, exactly how she wanted it.

The door burst open and she startled, before the blur of speed in front of her turned into her son, Tadeas in her arms.

“Mommy…!” He sung sweetly, yawning but practically vibrating with joy. Tadeas smiled up at her, his big brown eyes twinkling. He had his father’s eyes, his mother’s cheeks, and a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts. Smiling softly, she grunted as she lifted him entirely into her arms. He was only six and already so heavy, just like his daddy. “Mholo ngalentsasa, Mama!”

Pressing a kiss to his forehead and then his chubby cheeks, his mother squeezed him with love. “Good morning, little rhino.”

“Big Rhino! Like Daddy!” He insisted.

Okoye laughed and set him on the bed, watching as Attuma groaned and pulled him close. He mumbled a good morning and rolled over, his eyes still closed and his hair a mess. Their daughter Xyanza rushed in after that holding a mug of room temperature tap water with a loose tea bag in it, and Okoye swooned. How thoughtful. It was wrong, but the thought was so sweet.

“Got you teatea, Mama.”

“Thank you, my sweet girl.” Okoye cooed, cupping her face with one hand.

Her daughter smiled and then rushed over to join her brother in poking Attuma until he rose from the dead.

The Wakandan sunrise was beautiful, the warm, gentle light spreading across the land and touching everything in its path. Okoye had a few reservations about celebrating this colonizer holiday with her children; the capitalization on the holidays, the price upticks, the decorating…

But seeing them now, Attuma leaning up to fight her both his children against his chest and carry them with squeals and smiles to the living room to begin opening presents… Okoye had to admit, maybe the true meaning of Christmas was love.

Or maybe it was spending money and having a good time, she wasn’t sure yet.

But she had to say, the way her family felt now, was absolutely magical.

Merry Christmas.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Hiii just found your blog and all your mothman reblogs are so REALLL i love him sm 😭😭😭 anyw I'd like to request a match up if you don't mind (it says in your pinned post that your ask box will be closed in the coming days so idk if that means it's closed now or not and if so dw abt it!) It's my first time asking for a match up so bare w me 😭

I'm a cis female with short shoulder length black hair that's either usually dyed or cut in some odd way (think layers/wolfcut/sometimes bangs sometimes not basically I like experimenting with hair) whose VERY short. (Think under 160cm). Physical traits wise I'm very skinny (not in a model way and more of a no matter how much I eat I burn it off TOO quickly it can get dangerous for my health) which means I'm also not physically very female iykwim. (As in I'm not blessed in the chest or ass category in life 😭)

I also have several scars on my thighs and hands due to a dog attack BUT I'm still so in love with animals and particularly have a VERY soft spot for the animals thought to be basic/unimportant. (Rodents and a lot of birds). I'm also very artistic and dabble in almost every form of art including performative, visual, written, and digital!

My biggest flaw would probably be my stubborness which gets in the way of a lot of things at times. I'm also slightly insecure about my looks and my height especially and that may cause jealousy/slight mistrusts unless dealth w a lot of communicatio. I can put people above me at times even when it isn't right because I'm loyal to them to a fault. But I'm very petty as well esp aft my trust is broken repeatedly.

Despite that I still think I'm pretty outgoing/adventurous when it comes to meeting new people altho I do get a lot of anxiety over it hahahahsdhhdjs.

The love language I love to give is physical touch, words of affirmations, and gifts. Whilst the ones I love to receive are words of affirmations and quality time. My mbti is Intp and I'm a Taurus! Also, I wouldn't mind any matchups from any media you write for except Castlevania cause I haven't gotten around to watching it just yet! (Altho I do have a preference for bg3 cause that's the media I know most well!)

I'm not sure if I said too much/too little but yeah! Again if your asks are closed dw abt it. I hope you have an amazing day/night. ✨️✨️✨️🤩🤩🤩

A/N: I hail Mothman, you hail Mothman, We ALL hail the Mothman!!! I just think he’s neat. Anyway, getting back on task because you didn't specify a gender preference, I picked one of each for you. For you, my Skinny Taurus Anon, I’m thinking your best Baldur’s Gate 3 matchups would be… Halsin (Male) and Karlach (Female)! 

Halsin would be a great match for you! He’s very kind and soft-spoken and shares your love of animals and nature. He’s especially touched that you’ve managed to maintain such love for animals after being attacked in your childhood. He finds your reverence for less cherished animals very honorable indeed. 

Halsin admires the ways that you express yourself by experimenting with your hair. In his case, he’s had the same look for a few hundred years or so, but that’s not to say he wouldn’t enjoy maybe changing up the way he styles his hair if you were willing to help him do it. Halsin loves all bodies and all body types, so there’s no need to feel insecure about being thin, or not having curves. Halsin does get concerned, however, when he feels you don’t eat enough nutritious food throughout the day. Silvanus knows he has a sweet tooth, but man nor elf cannot exist on honey and fruit alone. He wants to ensure you're getting a good amount of protein and greens in your diet, and he’s very capable of hunting dinner for you if you’d like. 

Halsin enjoys making art himself, preferring to whittle, seated next to you as you write or create your amazing digital creations. (A technology he does not understand but is very supportive of all the same.)

Being an open-hearted polyamorous druid, you’d have to have strong communication skills for a serious long-term relationship with Halsin. The two of you will need to work out a language or routine of your own to check in with one another and make sure that no serious insecurities or jealousies take hold. Speaking respectfully from the heart will be paramount here. 

Halsin’s first love language is most definitely physical touch, with acts of service coming second. He loves the feel of you- from something as simple as your hand in his to the more sensual, romantic skin-to-skin moments you share- he always wants to have a part of you against him. He loves how you show your affection through touch, and he is always eager to receive it. He’s a very generous lover, so if you ask that he give you frequent words of affirmation, he will eagerly rise to the challenge. Although, if we’re being honest, Halsin’s already quite the verbal lover, never wasting an opportunity to call you ‘my heart’. 

As an INTP, your more logical side balances out his more emotional ENFJ one. 

The two of you bring wholeness and balance to each other’s lives. 

Karlach would also be a great fit for you! She’s fun-loving, energetic, and full of zest for life, and all of that extends to her relationship with you!

She thinks the height difference between you two is absolutely adorable, and she WILL give you all the forehead kisses because of it. Karlach also loves how you experiment with your hair color. She herself has red streaks in her hair. (Not sure if that’s natural for her or if she’s dyed it, but either way, fun hair colors are something she likes.) 

She doesn’t mind that you’re skinny either, it just gives her all the more incentive to protect you. She does worry sometimes, that your thinness makes you more prone to injury or illness, but she does her best to keep those concerns to herself. She wouldn’t want to trouble you with them, besides, so long as she’s there, no one can touch you- not with your big tiefling barbarian girlfriend there to protect you. And don’t worry about the no boobs or butt thing. Karlach’s own chest is more scar tissue than anything at this point, so she doesn’t look at bodies that way. She thinks your form is fucking gorgeous because your soul is fuckoing gorgeous to her. 

And it’s a good thing you like animals, because Karlach loves them as well. She thinks the owlbear cub is just the cutest little guy she’s ever seen, and she’s glad despite your past experience, you’re not afraid of him or any animal other people might be too afraid or freaked out by to love. Also I know this is totally random, but I could totally see Karlach being a great bird mom to a macaw or a parrot. And yes, she would teach them swear words. 

Kalarch is loyal to a fault. In the past her loyalty cost her a great deal, but she still believes in having trust in the ones you love. It may take her a little bit longer to get there, but once she trusts you, she’s very much ride or die, and she expects you to be the same. 

Karlach is obsessed with anything and everything you create. She loves it all so much. She’s constantly going round showing your art to everyone in camp, bragging about how cool and creative her partner is. She’s not super artistic, and she can’t sing to save her life, but god, she loves people who are good at the arts so much. She’s amazed at their talent and you are no exception. 

As an INTP, you’ll want to be a little more sensitive around Karlach’s ESFP, especially when it comes to her expressing her emotions. She’s a strong girl, that’s for sure, she’s survived ten years in the hells! But life has not been kind to her. The people she once trusted, betrayed her, and she needs to feel secure in her romantic relationship as a result- she can’t get the sense that you’re being insincere or just biding your time as she shares how she feels. 

I hope you enjoyed it!

Please Like, but most importantly REBLOG!

Reblogs share my work with other blogs, creating a wider audience. 

A/N 2.0: Apologies for the delay. Posting will probably happen 1x/week with how things are going.

[third-arch]

Law’s Novel-Quick Follow Up

I just thought about this so I had to write it down.

- My theory on the OPOP

- The purpose of Bacca

The point of Bacca?

You could interpret the second half of this novel as Law deciding what kind of pirate he wants to be.

Wolf-alone, independent, leader, give and take idea, detached, yet cares deep down, does what is right, seeks knowledge, nonjudgmental

Corazon-kind, truthful, just, breaks rules if necessary, fatherly, hid his emotions to be strong, even at the face of death, refused to kill, hopeful, never gave up

His family-hardworking, connected, loving, supportive, intelligent

Doflamingo-hardcore/realistic(?) like he knew that the sea would be dangerous, calculating, planning, controlling, ruthless, abusive, vengeful

Bacca-crime, power, aggression, just not good at all LOL

He’s had so many people guide him throughout his childhood, and now that he’s confronted with a real sense of danger(Bacca), it serves as a reflection of who he could have become had it not been for Corazon.

He was only a kid and he wanted the world to burn. He, going against his convictions, did take some of these ideals. The give and take one, as much as he was against it, was used a lot.

Also, I was reading another review about the novel, and I'd thought I'd add on a little to what they were saying:

My theory on how he activated the OPOP DF

Awakening, Control, Mastery, Evolution

This is a trope that we see in countless animes, superhero movies, and novels.

Some don’t need awakening, some do.

This was the case for Law. He needed an awakening.

Law needed to amass a large amount of energy or stress or something for the powers to awaken. He needed to be pushed. Yes, the powers were there, but in every timeline, there was just no way he would’ve been able to help Corazon. He had yet to learn how to harness the powers, which is why he was helpless at Corazon's side.

When he awoken his powers, he was about to die. He was in pain emotionally and physically. He screamed. He was weak. He was cold, freezing. He was alone in a cave. He was angry. He banged his fist on the ground. He was fighting a losing battle. His heart raced.

He was overwhelmed. That’s his awakening. An instinctually rude awakening.

This is how his fight or flight response kicked in. Your body limits certain functions so others can be amplified. Now that the devil fruit was part of him, it naturally awoken in the face of, no surprises here, death.

The control aspect of his power would be simply focus and using his mental energy. The better the control and focus, the better the results. Even in such a distressed state as Law was in, as well as him just then inheriting the powers, it would have been very difficult for him to assess the situation. I think it was probably a lot easier for him to save himself, considering that the circumstances were a bit different. Corazon, a loved one, his caretaker and guardian all this time, was bleeding, and Law already seemed lost as to what was wrong. He wasn't as experienced as he would be after being with Wolf. He was simply being vulnerable. He even hesitated in Wolf's surgery later on in the novel.

Basically, even if he was somehow able to use his powers, Corazon still would have died. Law would have had to completed a much more (maybe not as much with the DF, yet still) complex surgery than extracting Amber Lead from his liver. All while somehow managing to maintain his mental focus during all of it.

I don’t know who it was, but someone wrote a HC series of how OP characters would react to their s/o dying. For Law, they wrote that he would activate his room and start working, even if it was hopeless, until he collapses from exhaustion.

It sounds flowery but honestly I think he would. Compared to who he was a as a child, he’s no longer holding back from using his powers, no more later, it’s “now” he needs to have control and work. He needs to give it his all.

A great example of this is Rin Okumura from Blue exorcist. His powers became evident once he had awoken them. They were always there, just sealed. As the wikia summarizes,

“Then, as Reiji was about to burn Rin with a heated steel pole, blue flames started to appear from Rin, surprising himself.”

Both characters have a lot of similarities, believe it or not.

From then, it was about control. Law was able to manifest the dome from his body. This came with a lack of control. With focus and practice, we all know that he’s able to manifest it in his hands.

Also, idk if I missed something or this is just a really dumb idea, or like common knowledge like “Duh, Lemon. Didn’t you know?” but I’m wondering if the hand tattoos could’ve been a way to help him focus his energy and the size of his room. LIKE OKAY HEAR ME OUT like Law’s always summoning Rooms with his palm facing down. Even his hand is kinda in the shape of a dome, too. So the tattoo probably helps him. Like this:

I don’t think (I just accidentally deleted this entire paragraph I’m so angry) that it’s necessarily a matter of him learning medical terms, but rather they served to help control and activate his powers (it sounded so much better before I deleted it ugh)

Okay those are my final thoughts for real on this novel. LOL there are so many typos and grammatical errors. I just thought I’d analyze two things. I don’t think his hand tattoos are that meaningful but it’s an idea.

[garoumylove]

Just some Garou ramblings I wrote up while discussing why Garou is an anti-villain 💖💖

Garou is an anti villain. Basically the definition of it. An anti villain is defined as having "desired ends that are mostly good, but their means of getting there range from evil to undesirable"

That's all there is to it. He wanted to make a more just world but went about it in a bit of a demented way. He's a little bit fucked up, isn't he? But the ends were always good with Garou. He is a villain to the other characters in OPM minus Saitama, but to the audience he is always an anti-villain.

Garou did do a lot of malicious things, some we might even consider evil. I'm not a fan of MA arc ending so I'm mostly basing my analysis and discussion on the WC when it comes to the end of the arc but the manga for everything up to the surface fight.

Garou is definitely a bully to heroes, especially those that are weaker than him. It's very unpleasant to watch him smash Mumen Rider's face into the concrete. There's no denying that he is the antagonist and he does prevent good being done.

However, despite wanting to be a monster and rule over everyone and walking around with big dick energy and being a sexy cocky bastard, Garou also views himself as a victim which he also is. He's not a victim of the heroes he wants to destroy but he is a victim of bullying and discrimination himself. When he beats up heroes and wants to destroy them, it's to create a better world, in his head, for loser kids like Tareo and like he himself was.

This is why I love Garou and find him so fascinating because he's a complicated mix of victim and villain and it's all so enmeshed and entangled that it's hard to pull the threads apart a lot of the time.

I am angry at him for choosing such a twisted and violent path to achieve his noble if deluded goal but I love him because I can also see the very hurt and angry and insecure lonely young man underneath.

Even Psykos/Gyoro Gyoro says he has a pure heart, he absolutely struggles to give up his humanity. It feels with Garou that this violent path was almost chosen for him, inevitable with the amount of bullying and mockery he himself received.

Him lashing out, constantly wanting to throw hands and defeat 'heroes' which he sees as the embodiment of his childhood torment are his defense and coping mechanisms. He was a boy who never, until he met Bang, had anyone in his corner. He has no adults to protect him or stand up for him or love and nurture him. You have to understand he was a child that was left alone and ganged upon most of his childhood. It's not a surprise he chooses such extreme défenses.

He says to Tareo that no one will be there to save him. He has to get stronger by himself. Garou has never had anyone he could count on. The only way he feels he can survive in the world is by literally becoming the strongest. He can only count on himself and so he will make himself into something unbeatable.

I believe he demonstrates, unwittingly, a lot of kindness and empathy when he discusses how he's doing this to erase injustice in society, to erase bullying and prejudice. He wants kids like Tareo and kids like he once was to have a fair chance at life, something he doesn't feel he was given in my opinion.

Garou is full of anger, but to him it is righteous anger. He acts like a complete cunt towards the heroes, but in his head it's to better society for the downtrodden. He sees the heroes as the real villains and refuses to be their victim any longer like he was in primary school.

It's not clear cut and the complexity of his motivations, terrible methods and naturally empathetic personality make for a very messed up but also kind character.

Garou declares himself a villain to the heroes and inadvertently as a hero to the underdogs of society like Tareo. He just isn't quite aware of the second part even though the audience is.

Garou really is a victim of a self-fulfilling prophecy. He was told when he was a kid by everyone around him that he was bad in one way or another and that's what he ended up becoming. It's quite common for kids to internalise the image others have of them and that's very much what happened here.

I do kind of agree with that he imposed his ideals on the heroes, but at the end of the day it's because he had a noble idea of what a good hero should be and to him none of the existing heroes lived up to that knight in shining armour ideal and he didn't have enough confidence to embody it himself so that was really the only path left for him.

It's interesting because he's so fiercely independent and a lone wolf but he's also such a victim of circumstances...the juxtaposition is fascinating!

[sapphicdib]

r u willing to give us some info abt the streamer au? You’ve mentioned it before but I’m just curious abt it tbh :D

oh I AM MORE THAN WILLING. PREPARE URSELF

so: what happens when you put the physical manifestation of ADHD into an apartment with 3 different flavors of autism, give her a successful twitch career, and blast all of them with Beam Of Insufferably Horny?

the streamer au LMFAO (putting this under a cut bc it got. INSANELY long omfg)

normally i dont rlly like human aus (they’re just not my thing) but this stupid au wormed it’s way into my heart and now i cherish it lmfao. there’s no real set plot, there’s just Situations these lil guys get into. some are soft and adorable (ie. pebbles’ first kiss with sig) or hilarious (sig’s ridiculous amount of flirting with his own chat) or just fuckin stupid (their halloween stream where they do a whole production where chat has to figure out who “killed” sig and it’s just chaos). tbh ive found myself accidentally focusing on the ragequit aspect of the au despite the entire polycule being a thing (lilypad, sunstone, traffic light, ragequit, and hurricane all happen)

i think the Main Things that sum up the au are:

Sig punched Pebbles’ transphobic (now ex) boyfriend in the face and spent a night in jail bc of it LMFAO

Pebbles and Suns meet after Sig drags Pebbles to a party at the college he attends (and Sig attended for a single semester before the whole streamer thing took off). Suns went to catholic school and is incredibly repressed and hesitant with Pebbles and Sig ends up having to instigate a lot of shit to prevent them from just fuckin. never going past hand holding.

Speaking of, Pebbs is an art major and drew all of Sig’s custom emotes. He also loves drawing everyone in the apartment, though usually keeps those drawings hidden from everyone in his sketchbooks

Wind and Sig being childhood best friends who are each others ride or die, they were each others first like, everything. The funniest one being where Wind is having a crisis bc he thinks he might be gay and Sig is just like “hm well I’m kinda a guy maybe kiss me and see if you like it?” And well. Wind has been kissing this fool for 7 years now and does not plan on stopping.

Moon is usually a moderator but does make appearances occasionally and chat loves her. Suns will not go on camera without a face mask. Pebbles was originally camerashy but ends up being in pretty much every stream after a while.

Sig refuses to tell chat his gender and thinks it’s funny watching everyone guess. If you ask/ask for pronouns he just replies with “whatever’s funniest” or “whatever makes this gay”, or if someone’s being rude about it, “whatever pisses you off most”

Sig is like. Insanely good at FPS games and holds multiple top rankings in competitive esports. Yui (Unparalleled Innocence) is one of her main rivals. It’s cute tho. They’re like. rivals who kiss.

Pebbles is Moon’s adopted brother, and has some pretty bad weakness in his hands/legs bc he had cancer as a child. They all support him a lot (Pebbles is rlly stubborn about “being okay”) and Sig does a lot of charity streams for things like forgiving medical debt and cancer research. Sig and Moon bought a huge thing of stickers to help decorate Pebbles’ crutches so he’d like them more.

Pebbles’ name is Pebbles because Moon came up with it as a nickname when they were kids, and when Pebbles came out he chose that as his name. Moon cried about it. Also I just like the whole “transmasc w a silly name” thing bc I feel like it fits him.

Sig helps Pebbles dye his hair (emo mf) but requires that if he helps she gets to put streaks of color in his bangs. It’s usually pink but sometimes she chooses a different color. Sig has the underside of his hair dyed purple. Pebbles’ natural hair color is a pretty light brown.

They all have their cats ofc!! Messenger, Hunter, Arti, and Ruffles!! They were all either strays they found or adopted from a shelter.

That’s all I can think of rn! I wanna draw their designs eventually (and I have but I don’t rlly like them anymore bc OUGHHH I haven’t drawn people in for-goddamn-ever) but yeah!! Damn this got long LMFAO

[wielderofmysteries]

(We Need to Talk About Narset)

[Left: Narset, Enlightened Master - Livia Prima. Right, clockwise from top left: Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory, Dr. Shaun Murphy from The Good Doctor, Sam Gardner from Atypical, Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds.]

(This article is intended to be a primer for my larger upcoming article on autistic representation in Magic.)

I found out about Narset in 2018, when I had just started learning about Magic's lore for the first time. I was overjoyed to see that Magic's first official autistic character seemed to be the complete opposite of the stereotypical depictions of autism I'd seen in other media. Instead of a nerdy brown-haired white boy, Narset was a 50 year old Asian woman and a badass martial artist. As an Asian autistic kid, I often felt invisible and underrepresented in the media I consumed, so Narset really meant a lot to me.

However, when I actually read Narset's lore, I was disappointed to find that she wasn't nearly as revolutionary as I'd thought. (Word count: ~2800)

When the Dragons of Tarkir stories were being published in 2015, Doug Beyer, a writer and designer for Magic, confirmed in a Tumblr post that Narset was intentionally created to be an autistic character.

=========

maudlingoblin asked:

hi doug!! reading the new uncharted realms, i felt an enormous amount of sympathy for narset, specifically with reference to the beginning sequence with her as a kid. the restlessness, the sensory overload, the self-distraction with counting and observation - these, to me, heavily code narset as being autistic. i am autistic myself and it would mean the absolute world to me to know that a character in a game i care deeply about is like me, and many other folks. is this something you can confirm?

dougbeyermtg answered:

That was the intent, yes. The most important part of Narset’s character is her amazing mind, which is central to her potential as a powerful Planeswalker and as a pursuer of knowledge — but it happens that she processes information and input differently than a lot of other people. Tarkir denizens might not have a term for the autism spectrum or being neurodivergent or neuro-atypical, but those terms would correctly describe her. In this timeline she is not khan of the Jeskai, but no matter the circumstances, she hasn’t let go of her commitment to seeking her own path to wisdom and truth. Kudos to Creative Team member Kimberly Kreines for exploring this aspect of Narset in her story “The Great Teacher’s Student.”

[https://dougbeyermtg.tumblr.com/post/112727174244/hi-doug-reading-the-new-uncharted-realms-i-felt]

=========

(Art: Dragonlord Ojutai - Chase Stone)

The Great Teacher's Student tells the story of Narset's childhood under the rule of Dragonlord Ojutai. At eight years old, Narset was a pretty typical autistic child, having many traits that I shared. She fidgeted restlessly, had sensory overloads, and her mother found it difficult to take her out to public spaces. Naret's brain was extremely pattern-oriented, one of the most defining traits of autism. She saw numbers everywhere, and counted to soothe herself.

=========

The cries of the merchants, the bold colors of the wares, and the too-sweet aromas of the produce were like walls that made the marketplace feel too tight, too close, too much. The muscles of Narset's legs twitched and her lungs felt cramped. She tugged at her robe; it was strangling her. Her mother must have cinched it too tightly.

"Stand still," her mother scolded from above. "You'll knock something over." She was poring over the apples at the top of a tall mound too high for Narset to see.

Narset tried to stand still, but she couldn't. The restlessness inside her wanted her to move. Sometimes when she felt that way she distracted herself. She would count things, or search for patterns, or study people's expressions. But she knew the marketplace too well; she knew its numbers and she knew its patrons. She had already taken inventory. The man with the cane was limping less that day, putting more weight on his bad leg; Narset supposed the balm he had purchased from the herbalist the week before had worked to ease the pain. There were, as usual, three dozen meat slabs hanging at the butcher's stand with an average of eighteen striations per slab; the average number of striations hardly ever changed, although sometimes there was greater variance. The merchant at the squash stand had uneven stains on his sleeves and three stray threads hanging from his robe; he must have gotten it caught in his cart and had to pull himself free. And there were sixty-eight apples in the mound in front of Narset; that was accounting for the volume inside the mound, which she couldn't see but could predict well enough. There would be sixty-seven apples if her mother would ever just choose one.

Her mother hemmed and hawed, her fingers alighting first on one apple and then another, fluttering over the choices, but never settling.

She's never going to pick one, Narset thought. We're never going to leave. Panic set in. Her vision blurred, her ears rang, and her forehead began to sweat. She frantically searched for something else to distract her, but there was nothing else she could see. At eight, Narset wasn't tall enough to see over any of the stands or any of the bodies. It was like she was in a never-ending maze of tall sweaty, smelly people-trees.

She was trapped.

[The Great Teacher's Student - Kimberly J. Kreines]

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Narset was a believably written autistic character in this story, but that doesn't automatically mean it was good, or that it was what autistic people wanted to see. To be clear, this story was neither unrealistic nor offensive to me. Writing Narset as an autistic character was something the creative team genuinely cared about and tried to do well. But I was still disappointed because Narset in this story is just another example of the "autistic savant" trope that the media can't seem to let go of.

Fictional or real, almost every autistic person you will see in the media will be a savant; some kind of socially-inept genius whose intelligence or skill far surpasses their peers. This person may be a mathematician, a surgeon, a child prodigy who attends college but can't tie their shoes– the list goes on and on. You've probably seen many stories like this before.

As a child, Narset had an extraordinary memory and a gift for mental math. She was able to calculate the volume of a pile of apples, find the exact trajectory of a falling apple to catch it in mid-air, and memorize things like the pattern of a river's flow; all at a glance.

In The Great Teacher's Student, Narset accidentally knocks over a pile of apples at the market, upsetting the merchant and prompting her mother to send her outside. Dragonlord Ojutai noticed Narset's talent and desire for knowledge as she explored the field outside, and wanted to encourage her. He tutored her from a distance for several years before officially deciding to train her as a student when she was 11 years old.

After this moment, the story shifts its focus almost entirely to Narset's academic journey. We get to see that in the years that passed since Narset became a student of Ojutai, she was still really, really smart. She finally felt challenged and supported in the way she needed, and she was good at so many things.

In fact, she was better than everyone else at everything.

She learned more, and faster than everyone else. She won every fight. She spoke Draconic intuitively, and Ojutai constantly praised her. At age 15, Narset became the youngest person to ever hold the rank of Master.

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As she looked back now, she recognized her time at the sanctuary as the best years of her life. She was happier than she had ever been; she was challenged, recognized, fulfilled. Her restlessness had ceased haunting her; she had felt a sense of peace. And while she wasn't physically moving, she knew she was on a path, going where she was meant to go, becoming who she was meant to be. Ojutai was leading her. And not a day went by that she didn't thank her dragon for the gift.

Narset advanced more quickly than any other student, climbing the ranks of Dragon's Eye Sanctuary, moving upward from the lowest balconies to the highest terraces, until one day Ojutai called for her to come stand on his own private perch.

[...]

"My student, Narset, it is time. Your hunger for knowledge is your greatest strength. You have become strong, and powerful, and wise because you have never stopped seeking enlightenment." The dragon beamed down at her. She knew what was about to come, and for one glorious moment everything felt perfect. "I now bestow upon you the title of Master, which you have assuredly earned, and with it all the honor and responsibility it brings." Ojutai bowed his head and rested his giant paw on her shoulder.

Narset bowed her head in return and clasped her small hand over the dragon's paw, making no attempt to wipe the hot tear that streaked down her cheek. At fifteen, she was the youngest master Ojutai had ever named. She had reached the top.

[The Great Teacher's Student - Kimberly J. Kreines]

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I didn't like how Narset's story focused so much on autistic exceptionalism– on how Ojutai gave her special treatment because she was better than everyone else at everything.

Autistic achievement should be celebrated, and Narset's desire for endless learning is so deeply, truly autistic. But I feel like Narset's story and those of other autistic savants are just so extraordinary that it's too hard to relate to them. These kinds of fictional portrayals and real-world news features attempt to endear autistic people to allistic (non-autistic) audiences by saying, "Look! Autistic people aren't bad, they're actually better than us!" But focusing on exceptional individuals doesn't help to humanize autism.

It sets an unrealistic expectation for autistic people, and can be extremely alienating. Autistic people shouldn't have to be superhuman to be respected, and the truth is that the overwhelming majority of autistic people are completely ordinary.

When I was diagnosed with autism at age 11, I obsessively searched the internet for information about autism, to learn what other autistic people experienced, and what "normal" people thought of us. I learned that geniuses were loved, and everyone else was hated. I hoped for years that I would magically develop some kind of incredible talent so I could be like the autistic geniuses in the news. I hoped someone would notice me and enroll me in college early or make me famous so I would be respected for something. It didn't happen.  It wasn't fair to myself, but when I saw stories about savants, I didn't feel proud to be autistic. Instead, I saw myself as a failure.

Autistic savants don't need more representation. Most autistic people, even most of the geniuses and prodigies, will never have the kinds of opportunities that Narset and other famous savants have had. But when neurotypical people have only ever seen autistic savants, they expect you to be a genius. And when people expect you to be a genius, being ordinary just makes you a disappointment.

The Magic narrative team clearly recognized the fact that most allistic peoples' first exposure to autism is through popular media and that it's a major influence on the audience's image of what autism is like. So they tried to make a good first impression by making Narset a positive portrayal, but it backfired in one key way: Narset's writing in this story was so focused on making her as extraordinary and obviously autistic as possible that it neglected to make her a human being. She's believable, but not compelling. Narset's story is about an autistic character, but it's not really about what it's like to be autistic.

(And I hate to say it, but... there’s nothing revolutionary about making your Asian autistic character a math genius.)

What frustrates me about the way Narset was written is that I actually believe her autism was extremely under-utilized in her writing.

Autism is lifelong, but I don't really feel like the story treats it that way. Beyond the first scene of Narset as a younger child, the story doesn't show how Narset's autism affected her life other than making her really smart.

Upon realizing that Ojutai had nothing left to teach her, Narset became restless and anxious again. She was desperate to learn anything new. When she was 16 years old, Narset discovered the lost history of Tarkir, and it was the possibility of new knowledge that ignited her Planeswalker spark.

Narset's greatest challenge was that she was literally so good that she couldn't get any better.

As a child, Narset was shown to have trouble communicating and interacting with others. After Narset became Ojutai's student, she's barely shown interacting with anyone other than Ojutai ever again. How did Narset's differences affect the way she interacted with her fellow students? Did she want to try to make friends? What happened to her mother? How would she have felt about Narset's progress? The story doesn't explore any of this. What about her overwhelming sensory overloads? Did she still have them? If so, did her triggers change? She used to soothe herself by counting and finding patterns. When her anxiety returned later in the story, did her coping mechanisms change or stay the same? This isn't shown, either.

At the end of The Great Teacher's Student, Narset was still a teenager, but she's supposed to be about 50 years old now. We know that the present Narset is an independent autistic adult, who has friends and goals and decades of life experience, and that's beautiful– but we never get to see how she got there. How did she learn to make friends? How did she decide what she wanted to do with her life? That journey is what I want to see being written for autistic characters.

(Art: Quiet Contemplation - Magali Villeneuve)

To contrast, Narset's story in the Khans of Tarkir timeline does address these things. In Enlightened, Narset is the narrator, and she speaks personally of her challenges as a young autistic person: her academic struggles as a daydreaming student, her feelings of alienation, being bullied, and how she threw herself into her training to cope. These experiences and feelings carried on into adulthood, and influenced the way she approached her responsibilities as the Jeskai Khan.

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As a young girl, I had the same "problem," as my teachers called it. I always lived in my head, but not in the way the instructors wished. I dreamt of fantastical worlds and used the scrolls given for lessons to draw them, incurring the wrath of my elders. I found solace in my own mind and often had difficulty knowing how to talk to others. It was as though my mind was always five steps ahead of my mouth. It was so taxing interacting with others. I never knew what to say, often causing me to blunder, and I was embarrassed in front of my teachers and classmates. I then went over those failed interactions in my mind, and I found the imaginary worlds more forgiving.

Studying was a way to escape my anxiety and I eagerly embraced history and philosophy, memorizing all I could about Jeskai teachings. I impressed my teachers, but I still felt like an outsider. I did enjoy sparring with those who had taunted me, easily humiliating them in combat as they had humiliated me with their words.

[...]

Even though I am now their khan, I still felt like an outsider—like the young girl always fumbling her words—only now I don't show it. I think this has been what gives me the strength to do what is needed, looking at the Jeskai like I am not really a part of them.

[Enlightened - Matt Knicl]

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Overall, I feel like Enlightened was a much more thoughtful story despite being much shorter. Sadly, Tarkir's time travel plot means that version of Narset no longer exists. We haven't gotten any stories featuring Narset since 2015, so the version of Narset we saw in The Great Teacher's Student is the Narset we are stuck with.

I don't necessarily believe that Narset is "bad" autistic representation. I still love Narset, and she means a lot to me. But Narset's stories are focused on setting her apart, separating her from other people, and showing that she is too different to be a part of the world around her. In my opinion, Narset deserves better than that, and that is why I believe Narset is not the best autistic representation Magic has to offer.

My next article will be about the autistic representation I wanted to see in Magic. Something a little more down-to-earth. Something I could more easily relate to. And I found that in an unexpected character: Nissa.

[skinks]

I got tagged by @rockcandyshrike to do a wee music meme post and I’m gonna follow her example and do my top 10 most RECENT repeated songs because that’s more interesting than just my top 10 repeated songs. gives it a lil summer snapshot. I find that I mostly listen to metal and prog in the winter whereas as soon as the sun is actually warm I remember funk and classical exists lmao

1. Breakwater - Release the Beast

However hard you might imagine this song goes, you’re not ready for it!!! Heard this for the first time before the Coheed show the other night, immediately recognised a part of it being the origin sample for the entire daft punk song “robot rock”. This is so insanely good, and my discovery of it coinciding with actual summer weather means I’ve been blasting it while driving around with my windows down nonstop lmao. You’re welcome fellow citizens. The beast is fucking released

2. Bilmuri - BOUTTA CASHEW

Just because it’s summer doesn’t mean I stop listening to metal and post-hxc… Bilmuri have never failed me except for the fact that they never tour the UK. The danciest tongue-in-cheek bangers this side of dance gavin dance

3. Halogen - U Got That

SPEAKING OF DANCE!! Who among us can resist a house drop when it’s this chonky. I heard this on a tiktok meme shared to tumblr that I had to do like 3 levels of googling to understand because I’m an old woman. But this song makes me actually want to go to a club for the second time ever in my crone life

4. Caroline Polachek - Caroline Shut Up

I had heard a snippet of one of her songs ages ago and it didn’t wow me, but I gave her new album a try and holy moly!! Really interesting acrobatic vocals plus lush dense intricate dramatic varied production… im in love. Even though this is actually from her first album, it’s the best example of what I like about her stuff. She’s like a mix of Bjork and 90s Madonna and Enya and Imogen Heap. And brother I’m nothing if not a Heaphead. Caroline pls come to Scotland

5. Maria Callas - O Mio Babbino Caro

I got this song stuck in my head and of course it’s so hard to sing along to a soprano aria, but I specifically love this Callas version because the way she really takes her time with the phrasing emphasises the longing of it and it makes me cry

6. bel canto - A Shoulder to the Wheel

Recently discovered there’s a name for an artistic aesthetic I have VIVID memory and nostalgia for from the mid-late 90s - the name of the aesthetic is Global Village Coffeehouse. I found a 50 hour gvc playlist on spotify and have been finding banging new music one of which is this song!! I love the propulsive synths and drums and the DRAMA… let it wash over u

7. Chris Rea - On The Beach

It’s got to be this specific single version not the slower album one! My whole life I only knew Rea as the singer of a pretty great xmas song until this April when my beloved pal added this to our Highland roadtrip playlist. If this doesn’t get you feeling like a neon-soaked sweaty lounge-lizard having a hallucinatory tango under a palm tree with a sexy extra from Miami Vice idk what will

8. Aviations - Coma

Is it really a joe skinks music post if there’s not a 10 minute prog metal song………….

I’m hoping their last two singles this year mean we have an imminent album incoming and it’s gonna SLAP as hard as the rest of their output! Aviations embody everything I love most and seek out in my prog metal; super agile clean AND harsh vocals interacting with the extreme amount of syncopation and intricacy in the instrumental arrangements. Aviations use piano in their compositions better than any other prog band I enjoy. I mean listen to this shit it’s beautiful

9. Stereophonics - Pick A Part That’s New

I had a really fun time making a playlist of songs I remember my parents always playing in my childhood, it’s full of a lot of 90s soul and electronic music and also this… whiny britpop. But it surprised me how much fantastic whiny britpop there is

10. Sumerlands - Force of a Storm

My brother introduced me to this album and it truly fucks how much they sound like an old-school Heavy Metal band while being fully contemporary. Like they truly sound like Sabbath or Iron Maiden but with modern production sensibilities. I LOVE the strength of this guy’s voice. Like if this doesn’t make you feel like a barbarian riding a winged steed and brandishing a massive sword against a dragon drawn by Frank Frazetta idk what will. Can u tell fantasising is how I process music

I will tag @shrikestrike @acuzena @lungtile @kitsune-sam @wordssometimesfail @kelsey-arts @erebones and whomstever else wants to… of course nobody has to if they don’t want

[dennisboobs]

What needs the most attention on the wiki right now? I'm up for helping, I like having a little project :)

oh boy, uh. pretty much everything, honestly; right now i'm trying to figure out formatting for each type of page, like what section headings should be called and how to format episode recaps and the like. it's hard to explain, because i'm struggling with how to go about it all myself, and the prospect of recapping 15 past seasons per-character as i would typically do on my other wikis is daunting, especially with how disconnected sunny is, you can't really recap a season's plot without going into specifics per-episode, (unless it's like. dennis' arc in season 12 which is pretty consistent throughout with him exploring fatherhood & coming to terms with his childhood trauma which pushes him to take responsibility with his own kid) so i would say main character pages are a priority because that is the most overwhelming part to me right now, but with no template established i don't expect anyone to be able to do that when i can't even manage it myself yet.

i'd say... if you find yourself skimming a page and you catch something that's clearly wrong, biased, or subjecive, a quick edit or just straight up deleting a sentence or two would be super helpful. the sheer amount of text to skim makes it difficult for me to tackle lesser known pages, but if you guys keep an eye out for me it would be a lot easier for me to focus on the big stuff.

an example from frank's page of what to look out for, (and you see this a LOT with the "trivia"/"notes" sections at the bottom of pages

ive colour coded to make it easier:

purple: just straight up unnecessary point. you see this most often on pages where people will use a quote as an excuse to quote slurs or funny lines. this isn't trivia.

orange: a statement that is bound to require updating at some point. listing any occurences of a trope, running gag, etc that can't be easily tracked or requires a shitload of additional context (eg. on mac's page there was a list of every time he was seen wearing shoes other than his s2 combat boots, and it had a bunch of exceptions and required updating when it could easily be fit into an "attire" section instead that just mentions that he is most often seen wearing the same boots & blue dickies) i see this frequently with episode pages as well, where it lists shit like "this is the fourth episode in which the f-word is said". useless trivia and way too much upkeep

green: and here you see the additional qualifiers ("after being established as a main character"). any lists like this are just generally useless, and instead of actually mentioning the episode on a page like this (not in this case, but in the body of the text, trivia can be a little different), it should ideally be written like... an in-universe wikipedia page (with some exceptions ofc). you can cite episodes with the template {{ep}}, like {{ep|5x2}} instead of saying something like "In [[Mac's Banging the Waitress]], Charlie gets really drunk." you can instead say "Charlie gets really drunk."{{ep|4x4}} (which will appear as a superscript [4x4]) here's an example from den's page; instead of saying "In [[The Gang Buys a Roller Rink]]" you just state it like an actual irl wikipedia page.

also trying to update character pages so they use years instead of saying which "season" something happens, it reads way better to say "In 2006, x did y" rather than "In Season 3, x did y".

blue: THEORIES. GET THAT SHIT OUT OF HERE. no one should be drawing any damn conclusions. just state facts and leave the wiki readers to determine how that should be taken.

SO LIKE. if you can keep your eyes peeled and get rid of shit like this, it would be... a huge help. filling out minor recurring character pages with their involvement would be great too, rex's page is pretty light on content, i think bill ponderosa's is too, ive worked a little on both of their pages so i believe they might be a good example but they're still rough.