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zims-left-shoe · 4 years ago

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I'd about this stuff but zim x reader where reader has to introduce zim to family and its awkward and fluffy?!?! Did I do that correctly??

AAAA yes!! This prompt actually works perfectly. Ily bby!! I really need to get back on Insta and Snap so we can talk more lmao.

Romance. What even is it? You could never say for sure, and yet you had been playing the courtship expert for about a month or so. What else were you supposed to do? Not only would he not take no for an answer, it was a fine way to kill your boredom. He had zero expectations, which was what made it great. You could tell him anything and he would believe it. Boyfriends were supposed to do their s/o's homework for them? He never questioned it once. To be completely honest, he was the only reason you were passing chemistry and calculus.

That being said, at the end of the day, it was all one big game. Wasn't it? All he had asked of you was to be his 'lovepig' in a romantic experiment he was conducting. You had nothing else better to do, and hell, it wasn't like you needed to be keeping your options open. You were just as unpopular as the alien freak himself. So, why not? Wasn't it just some mutualistic dynamic? You both benefited from it. He got 'data' (the accuracy of it questionable) for his Earth infiltration, and you got to have some fun. Plus, there was the fact that you haven't touched a homework assignment in weeks.

These were all things you had told yourself. You had managed to explain away all the times you had defended him from Dib and your classmates as being all part of the experiment. If there was a deeper reason, like real feelings perhaps, you didn't want to consider it too much. This relationship was intended to be one big joke after all.

"Y/n? Hello?" A hand was waved in front of your face, ripping you from your thoughts and reflections.

"Huh? Did you say something?" You tore your gaze from the plate of uneaten food that sat before you, eyes dragging up to meet those of your father. The man next to him groaned; your other father. You loved them both, but they were both staring at you with slightly annoyed frustration. They particularly disliked when you would space out while they were talking to you, which apparently they had been.

"Yes, I did. I said, when do we get to meet the boyfriend?" The one you called Father spoke; he was your biological sire, and the one you tended to get annoyed with the most. Genetics, you supposed. You were too much alike, and thus you butted heads often.

"Zim? I dunno." Shrugging, you picked at the dinner on your plate with your fork. It was a response that you hoped would suffice, despite knowing full well you had no intentions of ever introducing the Irken soldier for obvious reasons. Having lived with you for so long, they both knew what your response meant. At first, you assumed they'd only sigh and move on, but that wouldn't be the case.

"We really want to meet him. We've given it a month, but I think it's time that we finally see him." Your father spoke again, voice firmer than the last time.

"I know you said he's...er, unique, but we promise we won't think anything of it. So long as he's good to you, it doesn't matter." The one you called Dad chimed in, a kind smile on his face. You knew he wasn't just saying that, and that he meant it. He was probably the nicest person you had ever met, and you were thankful to have him in your life.

That being said, you couldn't help but scoff at what was said, particularly the last line. Good to you? Zim was probably the most selfish person you had ever met in your life. Still, he did provide you with a source of entertainment. And if you worded things the right way, he would do anything you wanted him to. He was surprisingly easy to manipulate.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, Dad. But, no. I don't think you'll be meeting him." You expected that to be the end of it, bringing a forkful of dinner to your lips.

"Y/n M/n L/n, you will bring your boyfriend home within the next week or else you won't be seeing him ever again." Eyes widening in surprise, your fork clattered against your plate as it slipped through your fingers. You would never have predicted your father to become so agitated over this. On some level, you supposed he was just looking out for you, wanting to make sure that Zim was a decent guy and all that. But at the same time, it was annoying. Did he not trust you to handle yourself? Plus, you were almost certain they wouldn't be satisfied upon actually meeting Zim.

You remained silent. What you should have done was once again shrug your shoulders and say, 'fine'. Your relationship wasn't even supposed to be real, just some experiment that didn't matter too much to either of you. So why should you care if they forced you to break up because you wouldn't bring him home? And yet...you found yourself devastated at the mere thought of that. Was it because you enjoyed the absence of boredom? That had to be it. It couldn't possibly be because you had developed feelings for the little roach...no way.

"You either bring him home for dinner Friday night, or-" Your father pressed, and you slammed your palm on the table before he could continue.

"Fine, okay!" Glaring at your food, you were no longer hungry. You just wanted dinner to be over. "May I be excused?" You asked, voice still seething with attitude. They both waved you off, so you took your plate and covered it, putting it in the fridge for later. Storming off to your room, you supposed you shared more similarities with your 'boyfriend' than you'd like to admit. You both had quick tempers for one thing, but you both liked being in control for another. You were about to get a rude awakening soon enough; you weren't keeping your feelings and relationships in check as much as you thought.

(more under the cut)

There were several ways your peers, if asked, would describe you. Nice, however, was not particularly one of them. It wasn't that you weren't a good person deep down. You just preferred to make yourself your number one priority, even if it turned you into a little bit of a bitch in the process. It was much easier than taking the risk of offering yourself up to others. After all, who really wants to deal with untangling the mess of emotions? Ignoring everything was the safest thing to do. Considering that, it wasn't surprising that you and Zim had been drawn together. They say opposites attract, but you found it to work almost the same for those who are similar.

After all, Zim was also a big supporter of suppressing all emotions, so much so that you were sure he forgot he even had any. And maybe he didn't. You didn't think it was possible, considering he was still pretty much a person, but at the same time, you never asked about Irken psychology.

Not only that, but Zim seemed to care only for himself at all times. Even in the times he would do anything that vaguely resembled an act of love, it still had everything to do with his own personal motivations of gaining human courtship data.

With all of that on the table, plus the fact that you weren't really sure what the status of your relationship even was, you weren't expecting you would be bringing him home for dinner Friday. What you envisioned happening was for him to call this whole thing off once you gave him the ultimatum, claiming that he had enough research so you would be through.

And again, there was that small wave of anxiety that passed over you. For whatever reason, you didn't want to lose whatever it was the two of you had going on. You had grown used to having someone to talk to everyday, even if the majority of conversation was listening to him drone on about his evil plans to conquer the Earth in the name of the Irken empire. Frowning, you glanced down to whatever toxic food substance was sitting on your tray.

The surrounding cafeteria was filled with the chatter of your classmates, all rambling about mostly unimportant things. You had your popular kids laughing and running their own psychoanalysis on Dib, who in turn ignored them from across the room while his sister played video games by his side. You also had your social outcasts, sitting by themselves and discussing whatever they liked to talk about; well, Gretchen wasn't exactly talking. She chose to occupy her time by staring at Dib, who in turn ignored her too. Same shit as always.

The din of irrelevant voices and clattering plates barely did anything to mask the forceful footsteps approaching your table, ones that could only be brought about by a soldier's march. Whether it was because you had grown so used to the sound or you were so wrapped up in your mind, the noise didn't register with you until a tray was harshly dropped onto the table.

"Why do you look like that?" The alien now sitting across from you asked, with a hint of something that at first you thought was distaste, but later recognized to be Zim's version of concern. Which was strange in itself, concern for others was always an afterthought for him, sometimes not even a thought at all.

"Like what?"

"All shmoopy." You narrowed your eyes, about to give a remark of denial, but whatever words died in your throat as you instinctively straightened up from your slouch, lips straightening from downturned into a neutral expression.

Breathing out a sigh, you decided to just get straight to the point before he would go off on a tangent about whatever thing Dib said in class that offended him. "Look, Zim. You need to come over for dinner Friday night, or else our relationship, experiment, whatever the hell it is, is over." Zim opened his mouth to say something, but you continued on before he could get even a single syllable out. "I know you don't want to, and believe me, you embarrassing yourself in front of my family is the last thing I want, but my parents are demanding to meet you. And if they don't, they're forbidding me from seeing you again or whatever."

The Irken stayed quiet for a moment, thinking this over. To you, you guessed that his silence was him formulating some great break up speech in his head, so you braced for it. Why you even cared was beyond you, but it was still not what you wanted. "First of all, Zim will not embarrass himself!" You fixed him with a disbelieving look. There was no chance in any of the infinite parallel universes that he would not make a complete fool of himself. "But FINE! Zim will conquer this...interrogation."

Rolling your eyes, you attempted to fight the grin tugging at your lips. "It's not an interrogation, roach boy."

He disregarded your comment, clearly no longer listening. Instead, he hopped up onto the table, heeled soldier boots striking the tabletop, the sound echoing off the cafeteria walls. "Zim will be the best love-mate your parental units have ever laid eyes on!!" He yelled, throwing his fists in the air. Shrinking into yourself, you covered your face with your arms, face burning from the heads that were all turning in your direction to stare.

"Please don't say it like that." After a moment, Zim climbed back down and into his seat on the bench. Your classmates quickly lost interest, as these outbursts were commonplace. Eventually, you came out of your self cocoon to lay some very specific instructions on him. "Okay, cool. I need you to listen very carefully."

"Eh?" He snapped his attention back to you. Groaning, you reached across the tabled to grab his hand, your go to move to make sure he listened to you.

"Come over Friday at six. The whole time, just smile and nod. Don't say anything more than necessary. Just get by with the bare minimum, and then go home. Do you understand?" You looked to him with an intense look in your eyes. You knew that if you were not explicitly clear, the night could end in disaster. House-exploding, alien death battle kind of disaster.

"Of course I do! Don't worry your stinky head, Zim has it under control." He dropped your hand, waving you off, overconfident as always.

"Alright...I'm trusting you." You didn't trust him in the slightest. But there was really nothing you would be capable of doing. You had instructed him, very specifically you might add, and that was all you could do. And hope. You would be hoping too. With one last relenting sigh, you had no time to process the relief that came with the surprise of not being broken up with. Whatever relaxation you had briefly felt was immediately replaced by dread for Friday.

You laid sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling and drumming your fingers on your stomach. You really hoped that Zim would take your advice and behave himself over the course of the next few hours, but in the back of your mind, you knew that to be impossible. The house had been quiet, save for the clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen as your dad worked on dinner. Meanwhile, your father was just finishing tidying up the house, despite you telling him that it didn't matter. You told him that Zim wouldn't care, but the real reason it didn't matter is it probably would end up in worse shape regardless. His response had been to ignore you as he continued to wipe down surfaces you forgot existed.

Right at six o'clock on the dot, your doorbell rang. You bolted up right, scrambling to reach the door faster than your father. Unfortunately, you weren't quite quick enough to match his long-legged stride, and he threw open the door just as you had the doorway within your sights. You had to skid to a halt in order to stop yourself from slamming into your father's back.

"You must be Zim." Your father's voice was firm, but not threatening. At least not yet. You peered around him to get a good look at Zim, who, to your relief, was smiling and nodding. You stifled the laugh that was brought on at the sight of a simple black bow tie that was tied very incorrectly around his neck. It was a strange sight, considering it didn't quite fit with the standard invader uniform he always adorned.

Your father stepped aside to let him in, sticking his hand out afterwards, prompting the Irken to shake it. Zim gazed at it quizzically, apparently not understanding what to do. Just as you were about to bestow a helpful hint, his face brightened as he kicked his leg up, resting his foot in your father's hand. He still seemed to be processing the motivations behind Zim's actions, but before he could respond, you grabbed ahold of Zim's leg, yanking it back onto the ground. The invader stumbled, and before he could fall, you threw an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close and poking his cheek.

"Oh, Zim, what a jokester! Anyway, we'll be off now, call when dinner's ready-" You tried to drag your alien counterpart away before he could do anything else stupid, but unfortunately, your father had other plans.

"No, I don't think so." Although his voice was less than pleased, you knew he was just trying to put up an intimidating front. He wanted to scare Zim at least a little bit. Groaning, you turned around. "So, you think this whole thing is one big joke, huh?"

"Father, please-" You rolled your eyes, knowing that Zim was too dense to actually be pressured by your father's act.

"You do drugs? Ever been suspended?"

"I thought you said this wasn't an interrogation." Zim muttered to you, and although it was intended to only be heard by you, Zim is physically incapable of speaking under his breath, and thus your father heard it too. You thought he was more fazed by Zim being unaffected by his grill attempts than what was actually said.

"What's with the...you know?" Your father decided to ignore Zim's comment and go right for the green elephant in the room: Zim's appearance. In all honesty, it was a rude question. But, Zim was used to it by now.

"We talked about this! It's a skin condition!" You sighed in exasperation, just wanting to get through this night with your sanity intact. "Also, you can't just ask people that." There was an awkward pause between everybody, and you almost wished Zim would start screaming about something not even relevant.

Luckily, you didn't have to stew in silence for much longer. "Dinner's ready, come get it or don't!" Your dad called from the table. You gestured for Zim to follow you as you shuffled after your father, whose strides were quick and long, making it hard to keep up at a normal pace. Both parents had sat down, you following suit across from them. Zim, however, stayed standing, eyes fixated on the plate and glass of water resting on the table in front of the chair next to you. You hoped he was sensible enough to just ignore the food and sit there politely.

"You can sit down, you know." Your father eyed Zim skeptically. The invitation to take a seat seemed to snap Zim out of his trance, as he sat down so fast he bumped the table, making the silverware shake. He finally appeared to take notice of your parents, and pointed a clawed finger across the table.

"It's like my Tallest!" His grin was wide, and his contacts portrayed his excitement. Your parents, on the other hand, looked to be beyond confused. You didn't exactly blame Zim for the association, considering both were tall males, and his comment made you notice that they were coincidentally wearing hues of red and purple. "I didn't know you had your own Tallest."

"Who?" Your dad asked, eyes flicking between you and your uninformed alien boyfriend. You gave Zim a swift swat to his thigh under the table, intending to convey the message of 'what happened to smiling and nodding?'. He seemed to understand your intention, and answered your dad's question by cracking a smile and nodding furiously. Internally, you were smacking yourself in the face as both parents stared at you as if they were wondering whether or not Zim was higher than a fucking kite. The dinner so far was going fantastic. At least he hadn't caused any physical damage yet.

Your father cleared his throat, deciding to move on. "So, Zim...what are your plans after high school?" Thank god, a subject change. That being said, your relief only lasted about a half a second before you realized he didn't have any answers to this type of question, and he was horrible at bullshitting.

"Um...oh, you know...stuff." Zim took a fork and began to experimentally stab at the food that was on his plate. "Sciency stuff." He tacked on those words, sensing your father not being satisfied with his original answer.

"Like what, doing an internship at Membrane Labs or something?" Your father continued to ask questions, but at this point you were helpless to stop him. Zim was on his own.

"Yes!" Your father seemed to not believe Zim's confirmation, so you decided to help him out.

"Yeah, he's actually really good friends with Dib. You know, the Professor's son." You offered, albeit a stretch of the truth. The two knew each other very well, and, well, enemies after enough time are basically friends anyway.

"Yes...the Dib-worm is my best friend." Zim spoke through gritted teeth, and you prayed that your parents wouldn't pick up on the venom seeping into every syllable.

"You have any siblings?" Your dad asked, gaze less critical than the man next to him.

"No." His answer was short, almost as if he was attempting to speedrun the questions to get this dinner over with faster. Unfortunately, your parents would only fill it with more questions. Any attempt to stop them would be futile.

"Where are you from exactly?"

"Somewhere that isn't here. Eh, uh, er...it's very far. You wouldn't know it." Your father raised an eyebrow, growing tired of Zim's evasive and nonspecific responses. In a shocking turn of events, Zim was actually able to read the room for once in his life, picking up on your parents' distrust. "Wow, is this good food or what?" Before you could squeak out a single sound, Zim began to shovel the food on his plate into his mouth as fast as he could, washing it down by chugging the glass of water.

This of course sent you into a panic. You reached out an arm, to do what you weren't sure, but you never made contact. Instead, your hand hovered in the air as you gawked at Zim in bewilderment. He wasn't smoking, flailing, or screaming. In fact, he was taking it quite well. Everything seemed to be okay, and even he seemed to be surprised. His face relaxed into a smile when he realized that nothing was trying to kill him from the inside. Which, if that was what he had expected, you weren't quite sure what his plan had been in the first place, but you knew better than to question him. Questioning Zim only led to long rants that no one had the energy or the willpower to listen to.

"Thank you-" Your dad's gratitude was cut off by Zim's ear piercing shriek as he dropped to the ground, knocking aside his chair in the process. He thrashed about like a fish out of water as he clawed desperately at his throat and face. Apparently, the delayed reaction had kicked in. His ear-piercing screeches were chopped up by choking and spluttering as he continued to kick and flounder his limbs around wildly. Looking up from the Irken rolling around on the ground to your parents, you noticed that they looked absolutely petrified.

"He's fine! He'll be fine!" You waved your hands desperately, despite knowing full well they would never believe you. As if to accentuate the incorrectness of your statement, Zim howled out another cry of pain, the sound twisting your face into a cringe. At once, your parents clambered out of their seats, stumbling over each other to get to your side of the table. Your dad kneeled down next to Zim and tried to help him, completely at a loss for what was going on. Meanwhile, your father grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you off around the corner to the kitchen.

As you're being hauled away, you hear a distant "Should I call 911?" from your dad.

As soon as you were out of ear shot of your suffering boyfriend, your father whisper yelled at you. "What the hell is wrong with him?!"

Again, you felt the need to defend him. It wasn't his fault that his alien biology couldn't handle Earth food, and that he didn't understand Earth culture too well. Okay, maybe that last one was his fault considering he's been on the planet for about four years and blending in was kind of his job. But still! "Look, I promise he's a decent guy once you get to know him."

"He's strange, Y/n! Not in the good way, in a concerning way." He hissed to you, never dropping eye contact.

"He's just a little different is all!"

"A little different?! He's dying in our dining room!" Suppressing the urge to say, 'you mean our die-ning room?', you took a deep breath, preparing to explain away the probably traumatizing situation your parents were witnessing.

"He has a biological condition that makes it to where he can't a majority of foods." You thought that maybe that statement would calm him down, but it only seemed to worry him more.

"Jesus, Y/n, you couldn't have told us about the dietary restrictions before you brought him over? We almost just killed him!" Running a hand through his hair, he watched as you cast your eyes toward the ground, wringing your hands together. You knew he was right. It was something you should have thought of saying beforehand, you should have just told Zim to bring some Irken food along. But you had expected him to not even think about touching the food. And yet, you had just watched as he scarfed down almost the entire plate and a whole glass of water.

"Sorry! But...would you please just give him another chance?" You pleaded, voice sweeter than you had ever sounded in your life.

With a heavy sigh, your father nodded, waving you in the direction of the dining room. "Fine, if he doesn't need to go to the hospital, he can stay for the movie if he wants to. Just go hang out upstairs while we clean up" Your smile displayed your thanks as you made your way back to the scene of the accident. Things seemed to be alright now. If anything, your dad was more shaken up than Zim was. The Irken was standing again, pretending as if nothing happened.

"C'mon." You said nothing more as you took him by the hand, pulling him towards your room. He didn't protest, glad to be away from your dad who had been continuing to fuss over him. As you shut the door to your room behind you, the solace that came with knowing he was okay completely drained from your body. "What the hell was that?!" You smacked him lightly on the arm. He should know better than to consume food that would cause his insides to sizzle and smoke. Apparently, he seemed to still think that had been an ingenious idea.

"Zim was trying to show them that I am a good candidate for your love partner!" Your eyes widened, astonished on multiple levels. He really was a special kind of clueless, wasn't he?

"That was not the way! And why do you even care? I thought this was just some stupid experiment? Why should you care if this whole thing ends, you can just find someone else!" Throwing your hands up, your voice raised in volume, fire licking every word.

"Because Zim doesn't want someone else! Zim wants you, Stinky...Stink-worm." His voice had matched yours in loudness at first, but near the end of his words he grew quieter, arms crossed tightly against his chest, eyes averted in curt sheepishness. If Irkens could blush, you were sure he would be.

Any follow up argument you possessed had fled your brain, the only thing replacing it being the slight heat that flushed your cheeks. "Zim...are you saying that you actually...like me?" You were surprised, but pleasantly so. Now that you had to force yourself to think on it, you had realized that somewhere along the way, you began to like the roach boy more than you care to admit. It was a bit irritating to dwell on, considering this whole arrangement was, in the end, supposed to be no strings attached. He got his data, you had something to fill your time. Life has a funny way of panning things out, regardless of your intentions.

"Zim is saying nothing!" His eyes were shut tight, a sign you could interpret as confirmation to your question. Neither of you would admit it, nor ever wanted to. That was the unfortunate downside to both sides of the equation having destructively low EQs.

Even if you wanted to press him more, you were interrupted by your parents calling you for the movie. Sighing, it seemed you would have to shelve this conversation for a later date, which was fine by you. Feelings were messy and complicated anyway. "Let's go, roach boy." Zim followed without complaint, and as soon as you both came into view, your parents hit play on the film, which you instantly recognized as E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, something you had seen a million times. It had been your movie of choice as a kid. "Topical." You murmured under your breath, directing Zim to the couch.

Your parents seemed impressed to see Zim alive and well, acting as if he hadn't been borderline dying on the dining room floor less than twenty minutes ago. "We've seen this about a hundred times, we know how it ends. You two have fun." Your father smiled to the both of you. Apparently, he actually listened to you and was giving Zim the benefit of the doubt.

"But not too much fun." Your dad added helpfully, but of course the implications of his comment flew right over Zim's head.

"Anyway, if we don't see you before you leave, it was nice to meet you, Zim. Sorry for almost killing you." Your father didn't wait for a response--which he most likely wouldn't have gotten anyway--before heading to bed with your dad, most likely to watch something of their own. Your parents flicked the lights off as they exited, leaving the room dark, save for the light being thrown from the TV, as well as a soft glow coming from Zim's PAK. You had never noticed that before, but it made sense, considering this was the first time you had seen him in the dark before.

"You might like this. It's about an alien who comes to Earth. Well, more like gets stranded on Earth."

"Hmm." Zim peered at the screen with interest, but began to frantically rub at his eyes, blinking repeatedly. Before you could even ask if he was okay, he snapped a tired response. "Contacts are bothering Zim."

"Just take 'em out." He attempted to fix you with a distrusting stare, but it was broken by another stint of scratching. "They won't be coming back out, at least not before you leave. You'll be fine." You sank into the couch cushions, the darkness and familiarity of a favorite movie easing you into a contented state.

"Fine. But Zim is blaming you if you're wrong, Stink-worm." With speed and skill, he peeled the lenses from his eyes, stowing them in his PAK, which didn't seem all that sanitary. He blinked a few more times, but seemed comfortable. You directed your attention to the TV screen, but it was snapped away again at the feeling of weight settling on your thigh. Looking down, you saw Zim's head casually laid on your leg, eyes fixated on the movie. "Say anything and I'm replacing your organs with space squids." Zim grumbled, still not looking at you.

"That's not very nice." You snickered through your words. You knew his threat was empty, and you weren't exactly a stranger to outlandish warnings yourself.

The Irken groaned, still not moving. "Ugh, fine. Say anything, and I'll, eh, lick your face or something." You said nothing more, arm resting lazily on his side, hand hanging near his own. Out of his own volition, he intertwined his claws with your fingers, almost daring you to say something. You didn't.

As the movie progressed, you could tell Zim was a hundred percent into it. That being said, when it came time for the scenes of Elliot and E.T. dying and being treated by the government, you felt Zim grip you a little tighter. You were beginning to wonder if you should turn it off. You were only encouraged in that thought when you felt Zim's back tremble, and although you couldn't see his face, you believed him to be crying.

You reached out your free hand for the remote, but stopped at the sound of Zim's uncharacteristically shaky voice. "Do-don't." You drew back your free hand, the other hand being tucked closer into Zim's chest. A sigh slipped past your lips, and you lifted him up and set him on the ground while he swiped at his eyes so you could kick your legs up and across the couch, reaching out to grab him and lay him on top of you before he could even begin to protest about being moved.

"You okay?" You asked, expecting a fight about being placed in this position.

To your amazement, he didn't squirm off of you at all, instead, saying a simple "Yes." He even cuddled into you, head resting on your chest as he watched the film. This was the calmest you had ever seen the normally high-energy alien. A hand began to absentmindedly stroke his back, the texture of the fabric of his uniform unlike any you had ever felt. At first you were at a loss for what the rumbling against your chest was, but after a moment you were able to place it. Purrs were rising from Zim's throat, and although it was reminiscent of a cat, it was still a sound that was distinctly alien. It was a noise you had never heard before.

"For the record, I like you. A lot." You murmured quietly, hoping he was too enthralled by the movie to register what was said. Regrettably for you, Zim only seemed to listen when you wished him not to.

"Zim also thinks you are quite tolerable...for an Earth-worm."

"Gee, thanks. I feel so special." Despite your words, there was still a smile in your voice. At this point, the movie was past it's tearjerker moments, and the kids were all trying to get E.T. back to the forest. "So, do Irkens have a thing like E.T., where they connect with someone?" The syncing of Elliot and E.T.'s biological functions, emotions, and thoughts was a main plot point in the movie, and it got you wondering if maybe there was some accuracy, if not with Irkens, perhaps with another alien race?

"Sort of." His answer was unfocused, still drawn into the end of the film. You guessed this would be his new favorite Earth movie, which meant he would most certainly be demanding for you two to watch it together at least twice a month.

"What do you mean, ‘sort of’?"

"We mate for life." He paused while you were still processing his statement. "But I don't think that was the connection you were asking about."

"Oh brother." You mumbled, deciding to toss that information out the window. Good to know that you wouldn't be getting of the roach anytime soon...or ever.

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partnersatfazbear · 3 years ago

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Fazbear Frights: What We Found Analysis

Here’s my analysis for What We Found, the third story in Gumdrop Angel. I wrote this as I read so it may be a little different than my previous analysis where I read the story first and went back.

If you’re a Michael Afton fan I highly recommend this. Also, there’s possibly some insight into William Afton, Mrs. Afton, and Henry too, so it’s worth a skim.

Pg 144 '...a place thirty-some years forgotten' Just reconfirming FNAF 3 is 30 years past *one* of the FNAF closings, presumably FNAF 2 location.

Pg 145 "The whole building was giving him [Hudson] a headache." FIX THE VENTILATION BRUH

Pg 148 '...they were able to use salvaged derelict equiptment original to the old pizzerias.' Another confirmation of something we heard from Phone Guy.

Pg 147 "How old are you?" "Twenty-three, same as you." I think this gives us Michael's age during FNAF 3.

EDIT: This kept me awake last night. Obviously this is impossible because he has to be alive for at least 10 years before 1983, BUT maybe its just reconfirming FNAF 3′s year? 2023?

Pg 149 "Hudsan's dad died and his mom married Lewis, a ridiculous balding man who wore plaid vests and smoked a pipe" Did... Did this book just seriously imply Mrs. Afton left William for Henry? Really? (Yes, there's differences; the husband is dead and the man wears plaid 'vests' but it seems very odd to include that detail. This could just have been the writer's own imagination, though.) I have seen this as a fan theory and 100% explains the jealousy aspect of William, but I can't help but kinda hate it. I think this is very important, though, and probably Scott's intention. "This horrible little man [Lewis]... would make Hudson's next ten years a living Hell" This REALLY intrigues me given the context I just went over. The text implies Lewis was fairly neglectful to our main character / Michael stand-in Hudson. Maybe I'm wrong and for some reason Mrs. Emily left and went to William? XD Haha, I'm reading too much into this page. Maybe I'll come back to this later. I figure it's more of Scott possibly including double-details (contradicting stuff with the same character that really applies to two, which has been something I heavily pointed out in previous anaylsis on this blog) Having said that, I'm going w/the former because I can't imagine Henry being abusive (neglectful yes, abusive no) and he's never been portrayed that way in official works like William has in the novels.

Pg 150 "Hudson began to screw up in class...a product of spending the night in fear that his stepfather [Lewis]... [would] beat him just for the fun of it." Ooof. Big confirm on William actually being abusive. Unless we stick with the Henry theory for Lewis (combined with Midnight Motorist Henry theory / alcoholic). "...near-daily beatings..." "his mom started taking pills to get through the day..." So, whoever Mrs. Afton is, she was definetly not paying attention. But then, most people married to serial killers either don't notice because of denial (like this) or because the killer is so manipulative / careful they can't notice.

"Barry, who had red hair and freckles..." Yo?! Is that a description of Fritz?! These friends in the story could be the other kids Michael knew's stand-in's, aka the two gravestones with names he used (Fritz and Jeremy), as shown in the checks for the games and FNAF 6. I've long figured Michael was probably friends with the victims--it makes them easier, although riskier, targets [for William]. The two friends are male, too, like Fritz and Jeremy. If you're curious about Duane's description (our stand in for Jeremy), it's "tight black shirt... muscles... black hair long enough for a glossy ponytail..." I'm not sure if this matches anything found in the novels or contradicts them, though. (The novels = TSE trilogy)

"And so it went... until the night of the fire." For context, this is before FF burns down. We're learning of Hudson's life from his close friends in childhood, his father's death, his mother remarrying, to his abusive stepfather, to his grades slipping to this line. This would be a new fire not seen/mentioned in the games...

Pg 151 "...go to Charlie's for a sundae..." Really. Really Scott. Just gonna use this name again. OK. I'm not even gonna discuss this because it's probably irrelevant. *This is confirmed on pg 158 to be an ice cream shop. No lore relevance aside the annoying name coincidences Scott loves to troll with.

"This is not... an advance into enemy territory, a fight with demons, or a descent into Hell..." Uh, what? What is Hudson talking about? XD I'm only noting it because it seems so out of place. He's probably talking about video games or something.

Another note, although I don't have a specific reference since it is mentioned off-hand many times, is that Hudson keeps referring to his "history" which is implied to have kept him from getting a well-paying job and a girl he's crushing on doesn't know this "history" which is good for him. Seems good old "Michael Stand-In" has done some jail time or something. Edit: On pg 154/155 the girl asks Hudson, "Did you do it?" Seems he may have killed his stepfather or been involved with something else just as bad. Edit 2: No, I was thinking too deep into it. This probably refers to Evan's death at Fredbear's. DUH.

Pg 156 describes an actual "prize corner" in FF! What am I even reading? IIRC this is in FNAF 3, too. So they just hand out these scary gift boxes to people that complete the attraction? (Hudson says he *would* have fun handing out the scary toys to kids when this location opens--kind of a bully thing to do, eh?)

"[Hudson] avoid[ed] glancing in any of the mirrors..." I'm only pointing this out because it could be reference to one of two things. 1) We know because of one of UCN's music tracks, William has a fear of his reflection. Michael probably shares this trait, especially since 2) after Ennard and all... and later on pg 157 it also says, "he never wanted to face: himself" Sounds like guilt, my guy.

Pg 157 "blonde hair... blue eyes..." Hudson shares an eye color with Michael. It's possible Michael had blonde hair as a child and it changed to brown (it's common, something I personally went through being technically blonde/ blue eyed myself)

"He [Hudson] knew from personal experience that toys could turn from fun...to torture ina heart-beat" Fairly self explanatory. Either Hudson's worked at a creepy location before or he doesn't like remembering Fredbear's.

*checks how much is left.* There's still 35 pages (not counting back/front) left of this... This is gonna be a lot of notes.

Pg 158 Hudson doesn't have a car. Poor Mike, probably having to walk everywhere. Especially as a corpse.

Pg 160 This page describes many physical issues Hudson has that prevents him from entering the Navy, all from the abuse of Lewis. Obvious paralell to Michael becoming an undead [because his father sent him to CBPR indirectly causing his condition]

Pg 161 "How's your granny, Hud?... ...Is she still alive?" "I don't think she can die." Does anyone in the Afton family really 'die'? XD

Pg 162 These few pages discuss Hudson's grandmother. She's described as "a seer who claimed to know the future... ...wore big men's plaid flannel shirts with baggy jeans" Um, more plaid / flannel? AGH. STAHP. Lowkey, I would totally headcanon my Aunt Jen like this, though.

Pg 163 "Hudson's mom... the way she was before Hudson's dad had died... never... particularly warm and fuzzy... but... effiencient and responsible..." More about Mrs. Afton, so that's kinda neat.

"Hudson's dad was fun and attentive." There's a good Dad in this series?

"Unfortunetly, he also struggled with mental illness." "invisible low points" (Pg 164) Kinda reminds me of how Henry is described after Charlotte's death in the books.

Pg 164 "When Steven got himself into a bad deal that cost him his small business... he'd taken his life." Oh, it is Henry! SMH. Way to use confusing paralells. So, from our understanding thus far, Hudson's real father, Steven, is our Henry stand-in. His step-father despite being described similar to Henry, is actually our William stand-in. Fair game, Scott.

Pg 164 "...he [Hudson] was locked into a supply closet..." Oh shit, you guys. So, let me go on a tangent here, because this IS important! I just watched a retrospective on Sister Location and FNAF 6 earlier and one theory for Midnight Motorist was the person in the chair was the mother and the kid was Michael. I think this little line may confirm that. In fact, the story may be the key to figuring things out. Obviously, the line is a paralell to FNAF 4's scene in which Crying Child was locked in the supply closet of Fredbear's. I know some people, including Matpat, believe[d] CC was Michael, and in this book's context, it sort of works. This does contradict Step Closer and 1000 other things that make Michael the older brother, but maybe it's hinting at MM? Abusive stepdad (possibly Henry... maybe William is gone at this point), checked out Mom (hey, grey couch lady with Foxybro's font). IDK, but its definetly something to think about.

Pg 165 Lewis is mentioned as calling Hudson "nothing" and saying "you're nothing" on several occasions on this page. Just more abuse, for those accurate fanfic writers like me. Also I kinda wanna watch Morel Orel again. Yall know my fav character is Clay. Yall know.

"You're smoke." <-- Lewis / The text later reads, "...there was some irony, given what eventually happened." BRUH. Why did your stepdad die in a fire? :V TELL ME.

"When his family's house burned down at the end of his senior year..." Huh. Is there a fire we don't know about in the game-verse? Could this explain what happened to the FNAF 4 house before MM house?!

"...it purged Hudson of Lewis and his mother." MRS. AFTON BURNED ALIVE, TOO? Bruh. I can't with this story.

The text later describes the fire is concluded to be man-made and Hudson was blamed for it. Can't say if this ties to Michael, but it IS interesting... TBF, there is a small paralell to draw between Henry in FNAF 6 and his history of suicide in the books, too.

Pg 166 "...this place's [FF] busted thermostat.." I just find this line funny.

Pg 167 "...after three weeks of keeping an eye on the place" Some more timeline context for FNAF 3. We know that Michael worked there a little while before we start playing the game thanks to one of the phone calls, IIRC, so this makes sense. If Michael was accused of [something] and also wanting to hunt down his father, then it makes perfect sense why he's working a dead end job at Freddy's over and over and over. Fun fun fun.

Pg 169 "He hated to think about a functional character [Foxy]" This line is in regards to Hudson not liking the set up of Pirate's Cove and Foxy's hook to scare people. Sounds familiar, don't it? (For Michael anyway.)

Pg 173 "Some big find is arriving tomorrow." SPRINGY BOI! COME ON BOOK, get on with the show?

Pg 176 "Granny was wearing a red-and-green plaid shirt and her baggy jeans." Nothing special, but it was specifically brought up twice. I'm kind of racking my brain trying to understand what the point of this character is outside of "woooo everything is haunted don't you know that" kind of character.

Pg 180 "...dropped the crate on the linoleum with a resounding thud." HEY. Poor Springtrap, just gettin' tossed around like the trash he is.

Pg 186 "If you weren't so stupid, I'd tell you more about it." Springtrap bringing the burn. =:)

"A voice with a burr-like rasp...hint of a Southern accent" I'm going to assume this is because it's Lewis probably in the suit in this story and not our old British lad.

"It's was Mr. Atkin's voice." THE MATH TEACHER? *goes back to check* 'The algebra teacher'. Okay...

Pg 190 Okay, so Hudson hear's Lewis' voice this time. Okay, I get it now. Springtrap in this kind of imbodies all of Hudson's old bullies, including the teacher. He also has PTSD, just FYI. IDK if anyone finds that important, but it's fairly obvious by the line "He wasn't in his bedroom. Lewis didn't just slam his head into a desk; his head had been slammed into the [arcade] game."

"Why did he hallucinate a scene from his childhood?" Oh, it's not PTSD, then. It's just the VENTILATION ERROR. lol Okay.

Just a note, as I'm reading through the more action-based stuff, I kind of feel bad for Michael if he had flashbacks like this guy. They're intense.

So, Lewis' voice finally comes out of Springtrap on Pg 213. There's that.

Pg 220 "You can just stay there [in his room]" Kind of a paralell to Midnight Motorist. Lewis is saying it to Hudson. I really feel like the kid in the MM game is Michael because of this story...

Pg 223 "Heat purges. Fire heals." I'm sure that's Henry's life motto.

The ending was stupid, but most in these stories are. Hudson is hallucinating and is implied to have burned himself alive in FF's oven. Meh? The first half of this one is A TRIP and a little insight into what I 100% believe is Michael's childhood. I think the saddest part of it all is that we never got Springtrap speaking to Michael in FNAF 3--and if it's ever remade I hope we get more of them interacting.

#fazbear frights #fnaf spoilers #spoilers #what we found #michael afton #springtrap #fnaf theories #fnaf theory #fnaf 3 #midnight motorist #mrs. afton #henry emily

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soopersara · 3 years ago

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Heya! I've been off the discord and haven't been into fandom too much the last year because covid and work have been kicking my ass, but what's all this I've been seeing about overt racism in the zutara fandom? Hope you're doing well, and loving a tale of ice and smoke :)

Oh boy. I honestly haven’t been able to keep up with everything either (ZKBB has eaten my brain, and it likely won’t return for 6–8 more weeks), but extremely long story short, Zutara fans who are BIPOC have recently been discussing issues of racism in the fandom. Off the top of my head, I remember seeing discussions about Katara’s portrayal in some fanworks being too mammy-like, about some fic tropes (capture fic, slave fic, etc.), about fans prioritizing Zuko over Katara, and some more general issues of racism, like using food-related color descriptors for skin tones. There’s probably more that I missed (and if I’ve missed or misinterpreted anything, please let me know and I’d be more than happy to adjust this post), but valuable points were being made, and I (and others too, I hope) were trying to follow along and self-evaluate as more issues were brought up. But of course, this being Tumblr, some of the people who were bringing up these issues started receiving racist anon asks.

Then… a day or two ago? -ish? Shit kind of hit the fan more than usual and the whole conversation got sidetracked after one post that mostly made good points and included a small tangent about NSFW content. It was fairly obvious who that tangent was in reference to, so that person defended themself on that one specific issue, sides were taken, assumptions were made, names were called, communication broke down completely, and many block buttons were pushed. And naturally, the anons got worse and more vocal. (For the record, the main people involved on the NSFW issue both agreed that it wasn’t what they should have been focused on, and neither “side” was defending the horrific anon asks, but… no direct communication actually happened between the people involved, so the one person making a post that they later admitted was poorly worded and the other person who understandably wanted to defend against that one poorly worded accusation turned into a bunch of other people screaming about smut and equating smut to racism.) As far as I’m aware 🤞 enough people have realized that the NSFW thing was irrelevant that it’s no longer the focus of the conversation (please, please, people, if you need to have that discussion, which is understandable, keep it separate from the conversation about racism. Tying the two together helped no one), and we’re back to trying to address the fact that there are these horribly racist anons targeting BIPOC in the fandom as well as the issues with fan portrayals of characters and relationships.

So. That’s been a thing that’s been happening. I sincerely hope that enough people block the racist anons to completely deprive them of their platform and drive them from the fandom (or to force them off anon so that they can be held accountable), and in the meantime, we have people talking about the issue of fandom racism and how fans can do better. And I’m glad that we seem to be at least approaching a more productive point in the conversation again. God knows that as much as I've tried to educate myself, I still have a lot to learn, and I’d much rather see people able to talk about the issues that actually affect them so that I can reevaluate and improve my own behavior rather than watch people scream back and forth about nothing.

I hope you're doing well too! Aside from the fact that my brain has turned to 90% tapioca pudding after the Big Bang, I'm good, and I'm really glad you're enjoying I&S!

#have I oversimplified things?#most likely #but I genuinely don't think I'd have been able to figure out how the hell this thing got so badly sidetracked #even if I'd been there to watch EVERY SINGLE POST #bottom line is that the conversations about racism in fandom are valuable #the anons can choke #and I think that the majority of us want to hear what the BIPOC in the fandom have to say so that we can do better #or I hope that the majority do

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mbti-and-academia · 4 years ago

Text

INTJ vs INTP cognitive mechanics - an analysis based on an observation

With study of the cognitive functions I'm finally starting to recognize what INTJness actually feels like.

The other day, I was going through a programming tutorial as part of a larger book on the functional programming style. I was modifying the example slightly to produce a different output, and suffice it to say it wasn't working. I called on my INTP, who is doing the same tutorial, to see if they could figure it out.

Basically, my approach was trying to "tap into" my Ni, looking over the script from a zoomed-out perspective and getting a feel for where the problem might be. I get the general feeling that the second half of a certain function isn't working. I test this assumption, I was right - so now I try to narrow down in my mind where it "seems off", and come to a vague conclusion that it's probably the order of execution. I test this assumption. It works. The example is now working as expected. I don't have a clear, 100% understanding of why exactly the order of the statements was causing the particular bug, but I move on, because I realize that this kind of error is more of a general silly-mistake in how I wrote the algorithm, and isn't something instrumental to the greater goal - which is understanding the mechanics of the functional style.

My INTP friend, in contrast, looks at the script not from a zoomed-out perspective, but goes through the logic, one step at a time, analyzing exactly what each statement does and the effects it has - and how the result should look at each point in time, and why, until they figure out exactly what was wrong and why. They didn't just get a vague intuitive understanding of how to fix it and move on, they understood in detail how every single component interplays with every other, why the statement execution must be in this order for the algorithm to work, and all the other ways changing the order of the statements would affect the output. They have understood all the mechanics of the algorithm through pure logic, and it took them much longer to move on than it did for me - but unlike me, who was doing the problem for its general purpose within the goal of understanding functional programming, they felt that understanding the algorithm (which on its own is not related to functional programming at all, and is just a modified sort algorithm), was something they wanted to understand all the components of, regardless of whether it is meaningful to the purpose of the assignment.

This felt like a very illustrative moment in understanding the differences between how INTP and INTJ approach problem-solving. Of course, as INTJ I am also compelled to learn the mechanics of all sorts of things, even those irrelevant to the overarching goal of whatever the book or the tutorial or class or the thing I am studying is right now - but I would tend to note them and set them aside for later to learn, as something separate from the process. I went back over the sort algorithm with a more Ti approach myself later, after I had grasped the concepts in the chapter I was working on, and was ready to take a break. The first "goal" was gaining an understanding of the concepts in that chapter of the tutorial, and I did not allow myself to be distracted from this purpose - but when it was done I went back to the algorithm I got wrong and Ti-ed my way through the logic, step by step. But this happened in a separate process from doing the tutorial, and a separate timeline - I didn't allow the "working on this chapter" timeline to fork into the subprocess of working out this unrelated algorithm error for any longer than it absolutely needed to.

For my INTP friend, however, following this unrelated tangent - right then and there, in the middle of the process of understanding the chapter and in the same timeline - was something perfectly natural. It was natural for them to make many "deep forks" in the path to understanding the chapter, almost so much so that they may not even make it through to the end of the chapter, and instead get lost in the study of the forks and tangents along the way. As an INTJ I just could not do this - I would feel very mentally unsettled about this.

I feel the INTP approach with Ti/Ne is very thorough but incremental and undirected in its understanding; the Ni/Te approach of the INTJ is a lot less thorough, and more "overarching" - focused more on setting up the "skeleton" or the inner structure of the framework first, and then filling it out with details - and being always painfully conscious of the shape of the path one is following. Almost as if there is always this voice nagging you that this item may be irrelevant right now, come back to it later. It is like an architect trying to capture the overallness, or a writer trying to synthesize the outline of the entire story out of thin air first, and then refining all the generalities and fleshing them out. The coherent whole comes first, and is always there and always something one is deeply conscious of, and driven by. It is like the INTJ is going through every process with a general (usually not very detailed) map or compass that they follow, always internally tugging them back to North, whereas INTP is wandering through all the nooks and crannies of the landscape without a map or a compass, and seeing what kind of fascinating mental discoveries they have on the way. They may have a purpose in mind, but it can be diverted away from indefinitely and come back to later, if there are more interesting paths to explore on the way - whereas for the INTJ the interesting paths will be noted and come back to later, as it would feel "wrong" in a fundamental way to divert away from the purpose.

I still have a difficult time figuring out how Ni worked the way it did - I suppose part of it is that I already have a decent amount of programming experience, and was able to subconsciously extract a deep pattern from what I had experienced before, without knowing where exactly I had seen this before or what it was based on. My intuition was like a synthesis of patterns I had extracted before - like a deep-learning algorithm "figuring things out" from intermediate representations. This may be why it required a lot of Se input and Ti-type analysis in the very start of my programming study before I could begin to "grasp" it, as it served to "feed" my Ni with raw materials and structures to synthesize patterns and meta-patterns from, and later synthesize hunches like this. So now I can often "feel" the way to solve something, without explicitly working through the logic.

Naturally everyone who gains proficiency or experience in some field finds themselves doing this - as humans we are equipped with all the cognitive functions, after all - but as an INTJ it is my first instinct to do this to everything, and is my most visceral response to a problem - and the impulse to analyze with Ti usually comes later, as a conscious decision. As far as I understand it, for my INTP friend it was the opposite - the first response to a new concept or a problem is to analyze it and all its components and understand every small piece of the mechanics - even if they get an Ni "hunch" about what is wrong, they tend to not trust it as much, and the impulse to analyze is first and foremost.

Just some rambling observations on Ti and Ni mechanics.

#mbti #intj #intp #intj things #cognitive functions #jungian functions #introverted intuition #introverted thinking #psychoanalysis

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bigskydreaming · 4 years ago

Note

That post about "I'll keep reading a fic that mischaracterizes Dick even if it angers me because the plot is interesting" but with Scott McCall. I'll come across genuinely interesting concepts and plots and power through for that even when Scott is portrayed negatively in the story, he's there at least and it's either that or wading through 99% of fic which centers Stiles/Sterek and the most common Scott tag being "Scott's a bad friend" ya know?

Honestly, what is it about Scott McCall and Dick Grayson that gets them (mis)treated so similarly by their respective fandoms?

Oh yeah, definitely. Tbh, part of why I’m so loud and obnoxious in Batfandom is because in TW fandom it eventually got to the point where I just had to stop reading fic completely, because I wasn’t finding anything that was Scott-friendly outside of the handful of writers I was already friends with and I just got fed up. And I’m too stubborn to do the same thing twice in two separate fandoms so I just....refuse to give up on DG fic by way of a rousing morning “Not today Satan” pep talk. fhslakhfkal

But honestly, the parallels, there are more than a few:

1) Obviously I do think the racism element has plenty to do with it. Especially in the way “is Scott really even Latino on the show though, I mean did they ever actually SAY it” arguments could be swapped out almost word for word with the “is Dick really even Romani in the comics though, I mean it was just a retcon” arguments. With the primary aim of arguments against this being a factor focusing on just invalidating the idea that either are characters of color in the first place, rather than examining the way people engage with these characters for signs of racism. Instead of trying to refute that there’s anything wrong with certain ways people interact with these characters, people jump right into “well there can’t be racism if the character in question isn’t even REALLY a character of color, y’know not like, a board-certified one with proper accreditation and everything.”

But its definitely interesting when you look at how Dick Grayson’s been perceived by fandom overall, like, in terms of looking back over the years. As someone who’s been in and out of DC fandoms to various degrees since the late 90s, as in before Dick was retconned as being Romani in the first place, and as I’ve said before, he used to be a LOT more popular and forgiven for stuff in the past in fandom.....like, I maintain that if you look back at the early 2000s-2010, aka when that retcon was not just written, but gradually and more fully spread into the fandom’s overall awareness and perception of the character....you can almost like, SEE the empathy gap suddenly click into place once he was more fully solidified as a character of color in a lot of fans’ minds. Even if they won’t admit it because that would require admitting to the racism that then began to seep into how they interacted with this character now, compared to how they’d interacted with this character in the past.

And I think the empathy gap - and the complete refusal to admit that’s even a thing, because its not like these are REALLY characters of color so why would it even apply - like, I think that goes a long way to explaining the way both Scott and Dick consistently have their traumas invalidated and ignored by large parts of their fandoms, with the focus always being shifted to how bad things that happen to them are really MORE bad for how they affect the people around them, etc.

2) It also I think has a lot to do with their personalities and the archetypes they both embody as empathetic caregiver types. I think I described it pretty well here in my BUABS fic:

“What do you know about Impostor Syndrome?"

"It's a term sometimes used to describe over-achievers who have trouble internalizing their accomplishments. Perfectionists who think they're frauds because they don't know how to take credit for their own achievements and say its because of luck or timing or something other people did," Dick frowned, puzzling through both the question and the aim of it. He raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't sound like something that applies to someone as arrogant as me."

"Don't be a little shit, Dick," Dinah said with small smirk. "And you're right, I don't think any of that applies to you. However, it's also used in another capacity, to describe trauma survivors who are unable to internalize their own trauma. Who deflect from it, or mitigate it, treat it as less than it is on the basis that it wasn't as bad as what's happened to someone else. It's especially common in trauma survivors who are noted for being especially empathetic or who have caregiver personality types. People who are so used to self-identifying as someone whose role or purpose is in helping others, that they find themselves unable to identify as traumatized because it might shift the focus to themselves instead of people they feel need it more. Does that behavior sound a little more familiar?"

(For the record, that fic is set in the YJ universe, not the comics, and I go with the approach that Dick and Bruce have a much better relationship there than they do in the comics, and thus overall Dick’s mental health and self-esteem are better than in the comics, generally speaking. I only mention this as a tangent, but like....I think Impostor Syndrome as an issue for perfectionists and over-achievers with low self-esteem DOES pertain to comic book Dick Grayson as well as its trauma interpretation. But anyway).

But point is, I think that describes both Dick and Scott, and their respective approaches to dealing (or not dealing) with their personal traumas. This isn’t a problem in and of itself, as its a valid survivor reaction and issue plenty of people deal with....the problem lies in the willingness of fans to capitalize on the OPPORTUNITIES this presents, as fans of other characters, to keep the focus trained on the characters around these two, and THEIR issues, even at the expense of these two.

Basically, its not in either of their natures to ASK for help and forcefully DRAG focus and awareness to themselves and their issues, for a number of reasons including the fact that I don’t think either character feels they ‘deserve’ that focus or need that help more than other people need theirs.

And because these characters are the empathetic caregiver archetypes in their respective ensembles, ie the ones who usually take the lead in reaching out to even characters who don’t normally ask for help themselves....there’s often no one else immediately popping up in reader awareness as like, a likely candidate to extend that same awareness and offer of aid to Dick and Scott even without them actually asking for it.

(Which, is a large part of my commitment to the theme “Stop assembling your ensembles with just ONE of each archetype, mix and match more, or like....use more hybrid archetypes so you don’t HAVE this problem, and also, stop limiting characters to JUST their archetypes, three-dimensional people aren’t confined to only acting upon a limited menu of actions and impulses, and neither should three-dimensional characters be.”)

And then of course there’s the additional component, linked to point #1, that a lot of people refuse to write other characters seeing their need for help or support or offering it even when they do see it, simply because like....they don’t WANT these characters to HAVE help or support.

3) The Intelligence Factor - as in, do they really have it? Both Scott McCall and Dick Grayson are repeatedly and consistently established in their respective canons as being extremely intelligent, and no, not JUST in emotional intelligence. I don’t like sounding like I’m undervaluing that particular form of intelligence, I’m just really irritated by the way people go about saying “oh I do admit they have very high emotional intelligence” like they’re throwing them some kind of a bone. LMAO. No. They both have high emotional intelligence, true, but they’re also extremely intelligent across the board in all other ways. Both are excellent strategists, quick-thinking and repeatedly out-maneuvering even other noted strategists, both display a quick grasp of new information and an ability to see how and where and when to PUT that information to use in practical applications, etc. These are not dumb characters, at ALL.

But fandoms have this weird committment to the idea that only the Smartest Person In The Room REALLY matters, and like, there can only be one of those per room, or like, at most two, so that they can be a matched pair and make kissing noises and then very smart babies, or like, they can be the doting (smart) father and his adored (smartest) son, all others can go home now.

Like, no, that’s not how that works. A room full of geniuses does not suddenly become a room full of ONE genius and a bunch of random and irrelevant cuz they’re dumb non-geniuses the second someone deemed King of the Smarties enters the room. That’s not a thing. Stop acting like that’s a thing, fandoms. Nobody’s intelligence is actually threatened by the presence of more than one character with notable intelligence. Also fuck off with the adoration of notable intelligence like people have more value the more decimal points of pi they can recite off the top of their head. That’s not a more evolved human being, that’s just a nerd. Nerds have value but no more than people who like, chose other life pursuits aside from nerddom.

(Not actually intended as a slight against nerds, just for the record. I say that as both a self-described nerd and also a self-loathing nerd and also lol I’m not a nerd. Look, I’m a very nuanced person okay. I put the complex in complex organism).

But the point here is not just that people are weird about there only being one true genius allowed per ensemble, its that people are WEIRD about how in order to ACTUALLY be smart, you need to like.....accurately match the factory specs for “this is how a smart person looks and behaves.”

And Scott and Dick do not look and behave that way. The sheer number of times - and similar ways - people try to completely discredit the idea they have more than one brain cell by pointing to times they’re being INTENTIONALLY goofy and being like “oh yeah, would a smart person do THAT, hmmmm”.....

Its like...yes? LOL. There is no law that says that a smart person can not be a goofball, or that they are no longer smart if they fulfill a certain quota of actions deemed ‘dopey’ by the official arbiters of smartness.

Similarly the way people like to point at stuff like “my mom buys the groceries” when the writers BEHIND the characters were intentionally trying to play up a comedic moment rather than make a sealed declaration of IQ, and be like, “see, would a smart person be THAT dumb, hmmm?”

First of all, yes, even going off the same canon people try and cite as proof Scott and Dick are too dumb to actually be smart.....you can literally find similarly ‘dumb’ moments for every other TW character....the Sheriff expressed incredulity that Stiles didn’t know what a pendant was, and Lydia was like wtf how are you this dumb at Stiles when he asked if she read the movie the Little Mermaid because he didn’t know there was also a book.....Allison made the same mistake about bestiary as Scott did because the writers were so impressed by that joke they literally had to do it twice....and do not get me STARTED on the number of moments I can point to in comics AND movies AND cartoons where everyone from Bruce to Tim to Jason to Damian and more, like, make utter bonehead moves or utter completely bonehead sentences.

Despite what rumors of my being an ancient eldritch being might have some believe, I did not actually know Albert Einstein personally, but I can still with complete confidence say I GUARANTEE that at more than one point in his life, even he did things that might have been pointed at by time-travelers on vacay as evidence that geez, old-timey smart people were really dumb, huh.

And I think we would all agree that Albert Einstein was actually a very smart man.

But yeah, point is, both Scott and Dick are very smart characters who for a lot of reasons - including personal choice, as in, they don’t really see the appeal in conforming to standards of what a smart person is SUPPOSED to be like (especially when those standards have a weird amount in common with tendencies often described as elitist or condescending or like, having or pertaining to the qualities of an asshole) - like, they just don’t typically behave or conduct themselves in ways that match up with a lot of the assumptions people have for what ‘makes’ a genius or what that’s supposed to look or sound like.

And because they don’t SEEM like they’re that smart, a lot of effort then gets put into insisting that they’re definitely not, and they can’t be, because see look how dumb here and here and here.....which then leeches over into other aspects of the characters and their stories and dynamics, and then combines with the issues resulting from Point 1 and Point 2 and probably two more I’m not thinking of at the moment but are definitely there so that by their powers combined.....fandom summons Captain Dumbass to take over most interactions with these particular characters. And thus repeatedly and insistently engages with these two and their stories only in very dumb, very limited, and VERY annoying ways.

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sincerelyreidburke · 4 years ago

Note

Hey again! So like, you are under no obligation, and I send you too many asks anyway but... if you're down for writing Spencer's reaction to A FROSH GETTING EVAN THE AUDACITY I would be so pleased :) lol

First of all: you don’t send me too many asks. I believe the phrase you’re looking for is “I enable you to write fun things often”. Which is highly encouraged, in this establishment.

Second: yes. And for those who aren’t Via, let me enlighten you. Spencer is a Kiersey College drama club OC, part of the group of characters I created to enhance Quinn’s college drama club experience (and to have more fun on “Quinn Theatre Hours” Monday nights). You can read a comprehensive introduction to the drama club cast in this fic, which tells the story of the week leading up to Quinn’s casting in Dear Evan Hansen his freshman year.

Spencer is... hm, how shall we say. A giant asshole. He’s a junior theatre kid who fully expects that the role of Evan will land neatly in his lap. This ficlet depicts as much. It takes place pretty much simultaneously with the casting fic I linked to above.

This is also a precursor of sorts to a longer drama club fic, which I’m working on, that Via has also asked after. Stay tuned for that, because there is where you’ll see some serious, well... drama.

Until then: Spencer can choke. I’m entertained by the fact that I’m now being asked to write things from the point of view of the bully. Here’s what you asked for!

Today is going to be an amazing day.

And here’s why. Spencer has been waiting— all week, certainly, but also for months, even since the school year began, to see something he finally gets to see today. During all three of his years at Kiersey, the spring musical has been something to look forward to, but especially this year, with so much riding on it. Today, the cast list goes up for the biggest show of his life. Today, he confirms his place in a role he’s been dreaming of playing for months. Today, he starts to lead this year’s cast.

He knows that the show was chosen for him. Dr. C is notorious for it— she’s not shy about choosing shows based on who she has available for casting. It’s resourceful, Spencer has told her time and again; after all, you have to work with what you have. It’s like how she chose Book of Mormon last year for him— well, and for Reid, he guesses, but mostly for him. And how the director at his and Kelsie’s high school chose Thoroughly Modern Millie for the two of them their senior year.

He planted the seed for Dear Evan Hansen in Dr. C’s head last spring, an offhanded mention in a conversation, right around the time Book of Mormon was closing. He forwarded her a few articles over the summer, just to jog her interest, and he and Kelsie even went to New York to see the show in June, so he typed up a review and sent it her way. When he arrived on campus this past fall, he was thrilled to hear she’d taken his advice. It would be their spring 2018 show.

His audition went just as expected, and he read for Evan during his callback. So this morning, when he rolls out of bed at five-thirty sharp, it’s the first thing on his mind, without a doubt in it. Today is the day he starts being Evan Hansen.

He deserves this.

To start his great day, he grabs a morning workout, like always. In the gym, he sees one of the freshmen who auditioned, using an elliptical and wearing pink leggings. She has curly, golden blond hair piled into a high ponytail, full lips, and tan skin. Her name is… Maddie? Mallory? He isn’t sure, but what does it matter anyway. She was in callbacks with him last night, and she wasn’t projecting well.

So he doesn’t say hello, and doesn’t even think she’ll notice him until he passes her as he’s leaving. She’s refilling a water bottle with stickers all over it, and she waves. “Hey, Spencer.”

“Oh!” He pretends to be surprised. “Hi, Maddie.”

“Uh.” She chuckles a little, and shakes her head. “It’s— Maggie, actually.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.” He stops in front of her, and bends down— she’s a little short— to deliver a word for the wise. “Hey, by the way… don’t take it too hard if you aren’t cast in a bigger role today.” She arches an eyebrow, and he continues, because she ought to know. “There just aren’t a lot of roles that would fit… you, y’know?”

It doesn’t look like Maggie understands what he means, but she shrugs and folds her arms, all standoffish. “Well, good luck to you, too.”

“Thank you!” He flashes a smile. “It’s always great to see beginners joining the musical.”

Maggie purses her lips and scowls as he turns to go. Huh. What a bitch. He was only telling her what she needed to hear.

Well, it’s her loss. Freshmen rarely ever get speaking roles. And it’s not like Zoe is going to anybody besides Kelsie.

He texts his girlfriend on the way out of the gym. Kelsie is an early riser, too, but she doesn’t work out in the morning like he does. By now, in her morning routine, she’ll be through with her shower and doing her hair.

They meet for breakfast every morning, but this morning, it’ll be a quick affair. The cast list goes up at 9:00 sharp in the Beckett Performing Arts Center lobby, and they have every intention to be the first ones there.

So Spencer showers and gets dressed, donning a blue shirt for the occasion. He meets up with Kelsie in the lobby of their dorm, and they walk to the dining hall hand-in-hand, leaving right around 8:00. It’s sunny out today, but still freezing cold.

“So,” she asks him, as they stroll down the sidewalk. “Any bold predictions?” She pauses to grin and bump against his hip, as she adds, “Besides the obvious.”

Spencer beams. He loves their relationship for so many reasons, but especially because they support each other so well. “Well,” he begins, pulling his stocking cap down on his head. “I think Reid is a dead ringer for Jared.” Which will be easy, because although Reid is unfunny at best, Spencer is used to working with him; he got well accustomed to it on Book of Mormon.

“Oh, absolutely.” Kelsie nods. “And I think… Claire, as Heidi? I can’t be sure, but—” She pauses for an exaggerated eyeroll, which is absolutely warranted, because Claire is such a goody two-shoes it’s insufferable. “I know Dr. C likes giving her principal roles.”

“Which I, for one, do not understand,” he quips.

“Tell me about it.” Kelsie sighs, then shakes her head. “But I could see Claire going that way.”

“I could, as well.” He pauses, racks his brain of the names on the audition list. He checked it religiously, to see who was trying to get involved, even after he had secured his spot as first on the list. “And… hm… alright, I’m not saying I’d like to see Danny Cho as Larry, but given they didn’t run his part in callbacks at all last night…”

“Mm,” Kelsie hums. “I think you’re right. That’s a shame. His singing is suspect at best.”

“And his acting…” He sighs. “I hope he can pull it off.”

“Maybe he can.” Kelsie swings his hand a little, and they sidestep for a rushing student who must be late to their eight-AM class. When they regain sidewalk space, she looks to him, smoothing her bangs, and asks, “And Connor?...”

“Hm.” Spencer’s mind lands on someone, but it’s an underwhelming thought. “Cole?”

“Oh.” Kelsie pauses, like she forgot he existed. Which is easy to do, because Cole, the sophomore he’s thinking of, is quiet and irrelevant. Spencer was surprised to see him audition; he played guitar in the pit for Book of Mormon, and from there he always assumed he was a fly-under-the-radar type. But he read all of Connor’s parts in callbacks. “Well, he has the look.”

“It’s a typecast,” he agrees. “He seems… sketchy?”

“Right? Kind of a weirdo,” Kelsie says. She raises an eyebrow at him, and asks, “Do you think you could work with him?”

“Well, it isn’t like I’ll have much of a choice,” he remarks. “But who knows? Maybe someone else will get Connor.”

“Maybe.” Kelsie pauses, then smiles and says, “You can do it.”

He kisses her cheek, as they walk along. “Thank you.”

From there, they move onto a rehearsal schedule tangent. It’s not until they’re almost at the dining hall that casting gets brought up again. “What about that kid?” Kelsie asks, suddenly, almost laughing. “The really short one, the freshman? Could he beat out Cole or Danny?”

“Oh…” Spencer thinks he knows who she means. “Scarf kid?” When she nods, he laughs out loud. “I highly doubt he’ll be seeing the cast list. I mean, Kels, he’s a freshman.”

“That’s true.” She shrugs. “You did get Anthony freshman year, though…”

He straightens a little as he walks, because it still makes him proud to think about Sweeney Todd freshman year. “I reserve myself as a small exception to the rule.”

Kelsie grins. “You’re gonna be great, babe,” she says, and even though he knows he will be, it still feels nice to hear it.

Breakfast is very nice. He has scrambled eggs and sausage patties from the grill, and she has a fruit salad with unsweetened tea, in accordance with her New Year’s weight-loss diet. They have a breakfast table in the corner, by tradition, and they even see Reid when they’re in there. He’s eating with his girlfriend, and flashes jazz hands at the both of them, with a grin. “Happy casting day!”

Spencer wonders, just slightly, if Reid has seen the cast list yet. He may be a student, but he’s drama club president all the same, and maybe he has pre-existing knowledge. But on second thought, Spencer doesn’t think Dr. C would do that. She doesn’t even give him advance knowledge of casting, and he would venture to call himself her favorite student.

So he just waves to Reid, because he and Kelsie are on their way out. “Morning, Reid.” There’s something like a shit-eating grin on Reid’s face, so he can’t resist asking. “Have you seen the list yet?”

“Oh, yeah, dude!” Reid kicks back in his chair. “Didn’t you hear the good news? I’m Evan!”

Spencer’s soul leaves his body. “You— I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m so excited.” Reid smooths out his hair before he dusts off his graphic tee. “Tell me— do you think I’ll look good in striped blue?”

This is not real life. “You can’t be serious.”

“No, tell him, Bri!” Still grinning, Reid looks to his girlfriend, this chubby art student who always has ceramic work on display in the admissions lobby. “Weren’t we just discussing how lovely my angelic voice will sound on Words Fail?”

Bri nods, with her chin in her hands. “Oh, for sure.”

Reid throws his hands up, all smiles. “See?”

Kelsie steps forward, like she’s about to say something. And just as Spencer’s heart is set to beat out of his chest, Reid doubles over and bursts out laughing. “Jesus, Spencer,” he says, smacking the table. “I’m just fucking with you, dude. Could you not tell I was joking?”

“Well, he’s a little on edge,” Kelsie cuts in. “We both are.”

Reid shrugs, putting his hands behind his head like his dining hall chair is actually a lounge chair on the beach. “Well,” he remarks. “I have seen the list, but it’s not up for another…” He glances at the big clock on the wall in the dining room. “Fourteen minutes, so you won’t hear any leaks from me.”

“Wait, really?” he asks. “Have you actually seen it.”

Reid shrugs, making a face like he’s just been instructed to ‘do a silly one’ in a family portrait.

Spencer hates Reid Burke. He’s never really been sure about this fact until today. It’s partly the fact that Reid is still kind of grinning, like this is some big joke— Reid treats everything like a big joke— and partly the fact that he knows, even if he resorted to groveling (which he will not), that he truly won’t get any leaks out of him. Even with fifteen minutes left until he’ll see it himself, it’s tantalizing to know that Reid is sitting right here with full knowledge of the cast, and won’t say a word.

And by the way, what the hell, Dr. C? Since when does she leak the cast list to students?

But standing here being mad at Reid isn’t going to make the list go up faster, so he rolls his eyes, as Reid zips his lips, and says, “Well, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” Kelsie adds, like she is less than enthused that she wasted three minutes of her life on this useless conversation. Which is exactly how Spencer feels.

“Idiot,” he mutters, as they walk away, and doesn’t even care if he’s in earshot. “He almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Spence,” Kelsie says, taking his hand to squeeze it. “You know you have nothing to worry about.”

“I know,” he replies, because she’s right, “but what’s up with Dr. C letting Reid see the list early? How does that work? I practically picked the show—”

“It’s bullshit,” she replies, as they bust their breakfast trays. “You should say something to her, later.”

“I think I will,” he says. He’s already planning what he’ll say, as they leave the dining hall and head at a brisk pace in the direction of Beckett. It’s a quick walk, fueled by both of their adrenaline, and when they reach the double doors, Spencer takes one last breath of crisp winter air before walking inside.

Dr. C is in the lobby, crossing from the direction of Beck 1C, where the board is, back toward her office. She’s in a multicolored knit sweater, and she holds her head high, a surefire sign she just did something important. “Good morning, Dr. C,” he says, with a chipper wave. “Is the list up? We wanted to be the first ones to see it.”

“Yes.” Dr. C nods, adjusting her glasses as she stops a moment to talk to them. “It was definitely difficult to cast, and… some people may not be happy, but it’s the best fitting for the programme, as we say.”

Her wording is cryptic, but it always is. Two and a half years in her inner circle, and he knows her well. “Ah, I’m sure you picked the right people,” he says, with a wink.

Dr. C looks between him and Kelsie, then nods. “I’m confident I did,” she says, and it gives him an extra thrill of excitement. A quick glance to Kelsie and she’s smiling like she won the lottery. “Have a nice morning, you two!” Dr. C says, as she starts for her office again.

Kelsie blows her a kiss, and Spencer waves. When they meet eyes again, he takes her hand, and looks to the corner where the bulletin board is.

“Ready?” she asks him.

It’s time.

“Never more ready,” he replies, and together, they walk to the board with its promised sheet of paper.

The anticipation is adrenaline enough. Spencer knows what he’ll find on the list, but is still eager to get to it, to see his name at the top. They round the corner, and there’s the list, fresh white against the board’s maroon paper base. It’s only a few more steps.

When they get there, Kelsie sees it first. She leans forward, then recoils, like she’s been burned. “What?!” she cries, loud enough to be heard inside the actual auditorium.

“Kels? What’s wrong?” He wonders if Claire beat her out for Zoe. He consults the list to investigate, and— and— oh.

Right around then is when the world stops turning.

“Quinn Cooper?” Kelsie is staring at the list, her arms crossed over her chest, a permanent scowl etched on her perfect face. “The scarf freshman? Are they kidding?”

Spencer feels frozen. He stares at the list in disbelief, reads it up and down again and again. He feels like he’s been standing here for twenty minutes, but it’s probably only been two or three.

DEAR EVAN HANSEN

Cast & Crew List

Evan Hansen: Quinn Cooper

Connor Murphy: Cole Kolinsky

Zoe Murphy: Claire Deshaies

Heidi Hansen: Allison Halterman

Larry Murphy: Daniel Cho

Jared Kleinman: Reid Burke

Cynthia Murphy: Kelsie Wilkes

Alana Beck: Maggie Atkins

U/S Evan: Spencer Bergen

It’s fake. One of Reid’s practical jokes. They’re all out to play a big junior-year prank on him. Everyone is in on it. Including the scarf freshman.

There’s. No. Way.

“This is—” Kelsie sputters, then shakes her head. “I can’t believe this.”

“I won’t believe this,” he says, speaking for the first time since he saw the list. “There has to be some kind of mistake.”

“Um, I would sure hope so,” she says, popping the p in ‘hope’. “This is— this is a joke.”

Quinn Cooper. The freshman the size of a hobbit. Who wears scarves to every drama club meeting. Who’s barely been at Kiersey for half a year. Who just stole the role of his dreams right out from under him.

Spencer absolutely cannot believe this. “I have to talk to Dr. C,” he says, and it’s more an out-loud realization than anything, but he turns on his heel and marches straight for her office as soon as the words are out. “Like. Right now.”

But talking to Dr. C is a useless affair. “I work with what I’m given, Spencer,” she says, sitting behind her desk like some kind of supervillain, more closed-off to him than he’s ever seen her. “The cast may not look exactly how you imagined it, but some of the newer students showed real promise this year.”

“But Dr. C—” He paces in front of her desk. “I suggested the show. I practiced all summer. I thought for sure—”

“Spencer, I chose the show on my own accord,” she says, evenly. “It’s true I take input from students, but that has no bearing on my casting decisions.”

He throws his hands in the air. “But you have to see how this is unfair to me—”

“I think,” she cuts in, in this icy tone that’s usually reserved for people who fuck up majorly, and never for him, not in his entire time at Kiersey, “that once you see how the cast falls together, you’ll respect the casting decisions I made as your director.”

He sputters and rants, but he doesn’t dare disrespect her, no matter how much she’s betrayed him.

And so it goes. He’s lost out on his role, in his spring musical, to some no-name freshman who probably can’t even belt.

And just in case there needed to be a cherry on top, he’s his understudy. Of all things. How humiliating.

Spencer’s life is over.

It’s not until much later that day, when he’s sulking in Kelsie’s dorm room, mourning his lost musical season, that the idea for a solution crosses his mind.

It’s sort of her idea, but sort of his. She, at least, brings it up. “Spence,” she says, nudging his arm. He’s been scrolling mindlessly through Twitter for who knows how long, while she flips through her newly acquired script. “Y’know… you’re his understudy.”

“Well, jeez, Kels, I hadn’t noticed,” he snaps, dropping his phone onto the bed. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“That wasn’t my point,” she replies, scowling. “What I meant was… you’re his understudy.”

He knows she isn’t stupid enough to say the same thing twice over, so he tries to read her meaning. She’s gesturing, like she wants him to get it, and on top of the day he’s had, he doesn’t appreciate being made to feel like an idiot. He’s about to tell her as much when something dawns on him.

Something in the form of very, very useful knowledge. “And that means…” he says. “I perform if he can’t.”

A wise smile crosses Kelsie’s face. “Exactly.”

“So all we have to do is…” He nods. It’s taking shape in his head now. His spring musical season may not be completely lost.

Kelsie’s fingernails dance over his knee. “You’re getting it.”

“Figure out a way to inhibit his ability to perform,” he finishes. He loves her so much. “Kels. You’re right.”

“I’m right?” Her smile goes innocent. “What are you talking about, babe? That was all your idea.”

For the first time since before the saw the list, he smiles, too. He wonders if he looks as conniving as he feels. “I might be able to figure this out,” he says.

“That you might,” she replies, with a nod. “All we have to do is figure out what that looks like.”

To save his musical, Spencer is very much willing to figure that out.

#ficlet #quinn theatre hours #mini quinny #by extension #fuck spencer's rights!#kiersey drama club #drama club drama #the insanely cool reid burke #kiersey college #mel writes

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queenitn · 4 years ago

Text

So...I just found something that I'd written one night at like 4am a month into lockdown.

It's pretty much a very unnecessarily angry rant.

I can probably contradict half the stuff I say in it myself. It's just...kinda rude in places and when I'm thinking straight there's some parts I don't really agree with myself. It's not aimed at anybody and I'm definitely a hypocrite but I'm gonna post it anyways so go wild I guess.

So I recently took a stroll through Stucky fanfiction on ao3. For a while there I'd been avoiding it, and I'd nearly convinced myself that my mind was exaggerating the whole bottom!Bucky/top!Steve thing but yeah, I'm not.

Normally, I'd say who tops or bottoms doesn't matter. It's pretty irrelevant. But... since the majority of the fanfictions clearly prefer to write bottom!Bucky, obviously, there is some significance. Wouldn't the proportion be more equal if it truly was irrelevant?

Besides being annoying as fuck, it's also pretty interesting I guess. I have nothing else to do so I'm going to be ranting about a lot of stuff.

So, I mostly try to look for bottom!Steve, right? Because that's what I like. I read a bottom!Steve fic, then I say, "Hmm, this author seems to like bottom!Steve, maybe they've written more?" I go check, and I find...mostly bottom!Bucky, with maybe one or two more bottom!Steve.

It's fine the first few times, but after a while it's honestly weird. Clearly, a lot of very good authors have no problem writing bottom!Steve. They just happen to write more bottom!Bucky. As far as I can tell, that's pretty much the common trend. But why? What exactly does one think while starting a new fic, going all, "Hmm...I think...this time.... we're gonna have bottom!Bucky again." Again and again and again until it's most times.

Why is bottom!Steve so fetishized? I don't mean the fics that actually have a dom/sub element. I mean just pure bottom!Steve itself. Why does it have to be some sort of rarity?

As far as I know, there's...really nothing in canon indicating who would likely top or bottom. (I mean yeah, I do believe that canon Bucky is more likely to want to dom than canon Steve, but that's different.)

So, what is it?

Sure, Steve is taller, has a deeper voice, more muscle, a beard....but those are just physical things. They don't actually have anything to do with taking or giving.

Besides, he used to be small before. Is that what this is about? Previously tiny man likes to be in control? Likes to...what? Prove he's a manlier man? Bullshit. Besides the fact that it's bullshit, it also doesn't seem to fit with canon Steve.

The "Sometimes I think you like getting punched" and the "And you've got nothing to prove" make me think that his proving himself had less to do with showing his dominance and more to do with showing his endurance. I'd say bottoming is exactly what he'd want to do.

Besides, wasn't that exactly what made his relationship with Bucky special? The fact that he didn't have to "prove himself" in any way? Bucky already knew his worth.

Is it because Steve likes to give orders? Some sort of "Oh, this guy was always meant to be the leader"? Well, there's a huge difference between being a leader, giving orders in a battlefield...and giving orders in the bedroom. And I'm pretty sure top/bottom preferences would be completely unrelated to who's the boss at work.

But nevermind that, as far as I can tell, sure Steve gives orders, but he also looks to the people he trusts for guidance. The best example is Nat. The thing that makes their friendship so goddamm precious is partly in the way he always glances at her for confirmation before making a decision. Isn't Bucky sort of like an Ultimate Nat with sex benefits?

Nevermind that too. Steve bossing people around is great, but that's not the point, is it? The point is does he enjoy it? I think, the only movie where he did look like he relished his power was TFA. I'm pretty confident that's because of the novelty of his new strength partially, and partially also because of the rush caused by his back to back successes. Why? Because he never seems to take that kind of enjoyment again. As opposed to...maybe Sam? The guy who gets his literal wings back after (presumably) years and lets out a whoop after being chased by the missile thingies. Sam's joy doesn't wear off. Steve's does.

Is it just me, or has this skew towards bottom!Bucky actually increased over the years? Why? I can say a few things on this.

First, maybe people need to remember a bit more that Sebastian Stan is not Bucky Barnes. Chris Evans is not Steve Rogers. And Steve Rogers is not Captain America.

No matter what you think about the actors, the characters they play are separate. Please.

Second, there is a very interesting theory that exists which says that the reason why Bucky is so popular in the fandom is because his character arc is relatable to women and the queer community in the fact that it's about him regaining his stolen agency. Which is true.

Does this have anything to do with him bottoming though? I mean, I don't know. Fanfictions are important because they allow us to explore ourselves, whether it's our sexuality or our trauma that we're trying to figure out. In that way, it makes sense that maybe we will tend to write Bucky as a bottom more often. Except no.

Partly because, having had bad experiences at a young age myself, and being queer myself, I do not relate to Bucky. And hypothetically speaking, I would totally bottom for Peggy or Bucky, but I would rail the absolute shit out of Steve. I canNOT be the only one.

Partly also because yeah, a lot of fanfiction is projection, which is good for the soul, both yours and mine, but not to the point where we create a fanon version of the character completely different from the canon one. Yeah, you could say that canon doesn't really give us much of a character, but clearly they give us something and we have to build up on that right? It's true for both Bucky and Steve. Bucky barely has lines, but his actions speak enough. There's an absolutely breathtaking character waiting for you in canon if you really want to look. As for Steve, let me just say, sass and the tiniest little hints of PTSD do not make a whole character. Marvel fucked it up, but this goes for the fandom too (this is keeping in mind that Steve technically has three movies dedicated to him and Bucky doesn't)

Stop treating Steve like your personal punching bag, Stucky fandom.

It does happen, if we project our bad experiences on Bucky, Steve often naturally fills the role of the clueless/mildly asshole-ish love interest. Not too much of an asshole though, clearly you love him.

That's fine. Fanfiction is about self expression, but should we lose sight of the canon characters that we loved so much in the first place? And isn't fanfiction just as much about exploring those characters, as objectively as we possibly can?

Another thing related to that...why do we only have to identify with one character? I don't know how to put this, but there's a thing called halo effect and I think that's kind of what happens (I'm not a psychologist).

You see something in Bucky. And then you start to attribute more and more things to him that may or may not actually exist. Like yeah, he's fullfilling the traditional love interest role in Steve's movies, but that doesn't automatically mean he's a bottom. The two things are... actually entirely unrelated. They're only related in your mind. And similar to that, when we see one thing in a character that we identify with, we kind of want to see even more things in them we identify with, but it doesn't have to be like that. That's not how any person works, and it's not how any fully developed character works. You can relate to both the characters in different ways, no need to dump it all in one.

Ok, another thing, that I don't like to think about but it's occured to me and I don't like it. So, Steve is generally coded as a bisexual, right? And Bucky is coded as gay. Look yourself in the eye in the mirror and think about whether you're unconsciously assuming that the bi guy isn't going to want to bottom. I'm a bisexual woman, I will top Steve. I kind of resent this.

Going off on another tangent, I have also delved into Stony on my quest for bottom!Steve. Pretty sure there's even less of that there. Why??? That's crazy.

Normally, I'm pretty sure Tony would be coded as the top. He's much older, richer. He clearly has control issues. That's one of his defining features. Control. (I don't mean that in a bad way.) So....what exactly do Bucky and Tony have in common besides dark hair and short hight? The only thing I could come up with was thotiness. They're both shown as Thots. Is that it? The Thot Bottoms? Ok.

Is it the whole energy thing? "Bucky has bottom energy"? Does he? Can you argue with me if I say that TFA Steve has bratty bottom energy? That TFA Bucky goes from service top energy to mean top energy? Pretty sure that's subjective. But what exactly are we seeing differently here? I'm honestly asking.

Bucky's character is ridiculously strong, stronger than Steve in some ways (besides probably physically). Specifically, it's because of his ability to not only survive, but heal. Can we acknowledge how crazy that is? He's just fucking buying plums, but that's still more than we've ever seen Steve do. You can say his trauma is greater, but it looks like his coping ability is greater too. So is that what this is? Steve doesn't cope. Instead he focuses on external things like being Cap, Hydra, Bucky. I wouldn't call that a healthy way of living...but it's romantic, right? Neglecting to take care of yourself? No, actually avoiding taking care of yourself by focusing entirely on another person? Is that it? We're romanticizing unhealthy behaviour?

Is it because you feel more for Bucky, wearing his hurt on his sleave, versus Steve who wears it hidden under his skin?

Am I allowed to believe that Steve's ultimate shield isn't the vibranium one, but Captain America himself?

That's just me getting off track and mildly pissy but the point stands. We like seeing Steve in control. He wears it well. He's good at it. But that's just not that relevant. You don't just boss poeple around in the bedroom because you're good at it, you have to want it too. Would he want it? Is a commanding voice really an indicator of a person's desire to command? Can we really say because he's usually the one giving orders (because that's his actual job), that he likes it too? Does he look like he especially likes it? No.

I've been around fandoms long enough to know that all fandoms always have a preference regarding who ultimately tops or bottoms. This isn't the first time it's bugged me, but it feels more this time because I just don't see it. And it makes me angry because it contradicts what I feel, are the best parts of the characters. No, Bucky bottoming isn't the contradiction..but all this that I wrote, the connotations of this kind of coding, the underlying thoughts.... some of it is just not nice, but some of it opposes the little things that humanize these characters. It wouldn't matter, except that it wouldn't have happened at all if it didn't matter.

It's not just what happens to them in canon that matters so much. It's also what they choose to do for themselves when they have the chance. It feels like they made their choices and half the fandom ignored it. "Nah man, you'll look better at the bottom. Look at that hair."

Because ultimately, that's what it feels like to me. A mixture of not thinking too much about it (though I know this post probably counts as overthinking), some wierd internalised heteronormativity, and I don't know what just kind of fucks with all of us. All I know is that I hate it. I hate it.

It's not the bottom!Bucky I hate, it's the underlying, unthinking assumptions. The way it's a foregone conclusion. It's not. I really just want to be able to read the goddamn fanfictions again without wanting to tear my skin off.

( You can help by giving reccs)

#steve rogers #captain america #bucky barnes #stucky

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starker-stories · 5 years ago

Text

The Cold, Chapter 3 - The Messages Series

This chapter on AO3

By @thestarkerisobvious and @starker-stories

New chapters in the series post every Thursday.

All links are to AO3. You don’t need to be a creator to have an AO3 account. You can have one solely as a reader. But to read anything at all in this series, you can just be an anonymous reader and/or commenter.

The best way to keep up with The Cold is to subscribe to the story on AO3. And the best way to keep up with the Messages Series is also to subscribe. Click on the ‘subscribe’ button on each of the above links.

Tags: Tony Stark Feels, Peter Parker Feels, College Student Peter Parker, Established Relationship, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Tony Stark Still Has Arc Reactor, Arc Reactor Kink, Peter Parker is a Mess, Spider-Man powers, Communication, They Finally Communicate!, And Fuck Of Course Look at Who It’s Written By Of Course They Fuck, Avengers Compound

The entire Messages Series. All links are to AO3.

Messages Unsent (complete & posted)

Nothing More Than A Machine (complete & posted)

Tomorrow (complete & posted)

My Virgin (Revisited) (completely & posted)

The Cold (completely written) posts every Thursday

Untitled Book 6 ( in progress )

Untitled Book 7 ( in progress )

Chapter 3: Cat-4 Hurricane

“You haven’t hurt me,” Tony said. You’ve always been skittish about it. I’ve always been a hundred percent certain that you won’t because, on some subconscious level, even when you’re far gone, you know it’s me and you won’t hurt me.

“But, if you’re capable of dropping off the side of the tower like that? Pete, I wasn’t just scared because I love you and, yeah, it’s scary. It’s… I’d say impossible, but you did it.”

Peter shrugged.

They were approaching the berm they had been headed to. Tony could see a white concrete wall had been built into it — the beginning of a structure that had been abandoned post-snap. They were only a few dozen meters shy of it when Peter veered left, walking toward some abandoned building materials that had been left in the field. Large wooden poles about ten meters long lay stacked beside several planks, probably pieces of a future obstacle course. Peter casually hopped on top of the short pile and walked across it.

“The reason actual spiders can fall from the top of the tower and be fine is because of their surface area… Sorry. Tangent. That’s not the point.” Tony stopped himself from heading off on an irrelevant lecture.

“A human-sized body can’t. Not even a spider-bitten one should be able to. But you did.”

Peter gave Tony a sideways glance and another shrug.

“So… I’m not going to argue the point with you. Something’s changed. It’s a problem. It can be worked. You’ll be okay. I know you will. I absolutely know you will,” Tony said, his first worry, as always, being about Peter.

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” Peter said casually. He bent down and picked up a large wooden pole with his right hand and bounced it in his grip until he was holding it dead center. “I’m not worried about me.

“But I’m not sure what Fury’s going to do when he finds out I can do this…”

Casually, he hurled it, javelin-style, at the berm. The pole hit the concrete dead on, on its center. As accurate as one of Clint’s darts and as easily thrown. It hit with such force that the meter-diameter post flowered out along its length, the harder center core holding just long enough for the outer to spread back along it, until the entire thing, all ten meters long of it, fell to the ground in a pile of splinters.

Tony’s eyes widened. When he took structural engineering, they demonstrated the strength of materials under the stresses of extreme weather. From the way it shattered, Peter threw the pole with the force of a cat-4 hurricane. As easily as if he’d tossed a pencil. Tony looked at Peter in disbelief. Peter shrugged as if he’d done it a million times before and knew exactly what would happen.

His idea that what Peter had to say about his abilities should remain secret, grew resolute. There was no way he wanted anyone to know about what Peter had just done.

“Nick Fury can bite my ass.” Tony took out his phone. He keyed in for FRIDAY to turn off the compound’s surveillance where they were walking. And to erase the existing footage of what just happened. “He doesn’t need to know anything you don’t want to tell him.”

“There is a lot neither he nor the Avengers know about what my tech can do.” Tony paused. “I don’t trust him to use the knowledge in the way it should be used. Fury hasn’t done so in the past. He doesn’t have the excuse of HYDRA being in the midst of SHIELD for most of the things I found out. So if you want my advice, not that you have to take it, keep things to yourself until you’re a hundred percent certain it’s safe to reveal them.”

“Can’t. I’m tired of guessing, Tony. I need to know.” He picked up a second pole, tossing it into the air and catching it with his left hand, where he balanced it and aimed carefully. ”It’s not like Old-Cap is around to challenge to arm-wrestle.”

He threw the pole with more force the second time. He seemed to be aiming for the top of the berm but the tip did not clear it. The post caught the top of the hill and spun up into the air spectacularly. Peter cursed and tried again.

“I need data. I need the training ground. I need numbers. Objective numbers. Things are changing. My body is changing.” He picked up the third pole in his left hand and tossed it without much effort. It cleared the top of the berm by several feet and disappeared from their sight. “That’s why I need to talk to Dr. Cho. I need to know if it’s ever going to stop.”

Tony thought about it for a moment. “It’s okay to talk to her about all this. She can’t tell anyone what she knows or finds out about your abilities.” He looked up at Peter. “Doctor-Patient confidentiality. It’s why, when I need to see someone, she’s the one I go to. I’m not enhanced, but there are things… she needs to know things about the arc and my body that no one — well, no one but you — can know. So yeah, you should talk to her. It’s safe.”

Peter hopped down effortlessly from the pile.

“That’s good. Because… there’s a lot of things. I’m worried. You said on the roof that the suit was too high-powered for my ‘neighborhood Spider-Man’ thing. But I’m worried that any of the suits would be too high powered now. Not that I hit people anymore. Tony I’m afraid to. You built the… all of the Avenger tech is about kicking the big guys ass. I need to talk about tech that slaps the car thief upside the head and doesn’t let Spider-Man accidentally kill him.”

“I said the IronSpider was overpowered because you were determined to give it back. I wanted to make sure that what you replaced it with would protect you. But the suit will do whatever you tell it to. It’s designed for alien-fighting and not neighborhood-ing, but that doesn’t mean it can’t do both. If you learn how to control it. Alien-fighting’s just the default setting. There are other settings. You just have to think them.”

“Think? That’s what scares me. And I know what you’re about to say,” he countered before Tony could speak. He lifted one hand to fend off the argument. “You’re about to say you trust me but I don’t trust me. The nanotech is answering to my brain and… Jesus Tony... my brain has been going to some crazy shit lately.”

“My brain does crazy shit all the time and the nanotech knows the difference. There’s a simple Functional MRI down in Bruce’s old lab,” Tony explained, reaching out for Peter’s hand. “It can crudely show your brain lighting up when you think of different things. But better than that, I have Killian’s brain scan tools that he used to develop Extremis. Kinda plundered his lab for the goodies before I let the authorities in.

“It’ll show definitively that Intrusive thoughts are processed in different parts of the brain from the thoughts that control the nanotech.”

Peter’s shoulders sagged in relief and they started to walk again. His head dropped back and he looked up at the wide open sky as Tony talked tech. He squeezed Tony’s hand and listened as Tony described the way the IronSpider used different kinds of thought — focused, directed, and automatic — to control its abilities. How all Peter had to do was be inside the owner’s manual, see the beta and my development notes. Then while he was learning how to control the suit, cut back on his patrolling until he’d mastered the suit’s capabilities, both large scale and small.

He was suddenly overwhelmed with the beauty of the day. His lungs filled with blissful, healing air. It was as if he had been holding his breath for a long time. (Well, really since the day he had told Tony they needed to come to the compound to talk. Since then.) Suddenly he was overwhelmed with the amount of air available — but of course a field of green would be full of oxygen! Peter felt high, and a little giddy and a little foolish. Why had he been so afraid to ask Tony for answers? Of course the genius he was in love with would never fail him when it came to the tech.

“The turmoil in your brain?” Tony continued, unaware of Peter’s sudden re-discovery of the joys of breathing. “Of wanting to hurt the guy more than you actually do? That’s l'appel du vide. Those aren’t real desires, even though they feel real. There’s not a person in the world who doesn’t get those.

“But there’s also part of human nature that has negative thoughts which aren’t intrusive ones. Everyone has a dark side. You learn to control it. That 3D-real-time brain scan of Killian’s also works for biofeedback. That’s the sort of thing that helped Bruce get a handle on his aggression. If that doesn’t work for you, I know a guy… I saw him for a fixed-time solution to my anxiety. There are coping mechanisms for anger, the same as there are for anxiety. It’s a skill like any other. You learn it. You don’t just go — grrr… argh… angry! — and expect the issue to go away.”

“And we can test that right? The nanotech’s reaction to my new Cold-brain? It can be tested in the lab. Where it’s safe, right? In case we have to work on adjustments. Some ‘Peter might really be turning into an asshole’ adjustments.”

“Yes. You know I hate to give anyone credit for the cool shit, but for all of the crazy mad scientist that Killian was, this? The brain scan device? Seriously cool shit.”

“Yeah. I’m still glad he’s dead.”

“Nice thing? He was so secretive about his super-villain evil plan that he never patented the thing. Look for Stark to be able to keep you in diamonds for the rest of your life when it comes out next year,” Tony grinned.

“You can’t now?”

Peter stopped suddenly and turned Tony to face him, cutting off his next quip.

“Wait, before you buy me anything else…”

He took both Tony’s hands in his, and tried to speak.

“So the suit… scared me. A lot. But there’s more. I need to…”

He lost his nerve immediately and looked down at the ground. A sizable wooden splinter caught his attention and he picked it up. They started to walk again.

He crushed the wood in his hand as he tried to speak. He found another splinter, even larger, and picked it up as well.

“So I guess I have to apolog… I’m going to say that ‘s’ word you don’t like now. I’m sorry for what I said on the roof. About the suit. No, wait, don’t say anything yet.”

He threw the wood towards the berm, but didn’t follow it’s progress. He looked at the ground. Absently he wiped the sawdust off his hands on the leg of his jeans.

“Look… I… I said I meant everything I said up on the roof. And I did. But I didn’t take into account that I’m also really stupid. I guess… oh god.” He rubbed his face with one hand, then firmly put his hands back into his pockets. He couldn’t hide behind them now. “I know. I know that when I considered breaking up with you, and I had been considering that very seriously, I thought… you might, you know. Want the suit back. And I had to make my peace with that.”

“I made it for you. Only for you. There are two nanotech suits in the world. Not for lack of Fury and New-Cap trying. But… It’s something that I gave to you.” Tony hesitated. “A piece of myself.”

“Yeah, I should have known that. And you said that on the roof. And I heard you, I really did. I just didn’t process it at the time.

“But when I got home that night, Tony, when I was in bed, I did. I processed it all. And I want to tell you…” He reached out and touched Tony’s elbow briefly. “It means the world to me, Tony. Whatever else we are, outside of everything we are now, it means so much to me that you think of me as an Avenger like Clint and Nat. It means everything.

“So when you said I could… “ He stuffed his hands into his pockets, hiding them. The urge to reach out for Tony was even harder to fight.

“When you said I could make my own suit, without you involved, well, that meant a lot to me too. But that was…” He choked on the word. He couldn’t make himself say ‘immature’, but it was immature, like a child running away from home and planning his budget based on his weekly allowance. So he tried again.

“…But that was not-smart. I mean I do want to play with the web formula, because I always want to play with the web formula, but I can’t make a suit without you. Everything you said was right. I am Spider-Man. The world expects me to be bulletproof.”

“Well you can play with the web formula without the nanotech,” Tony said with a quick smile. “But it’ll be cooler with it. Because… you’ve really got something there, Pete. I wanna let you at the microscope — I put a second one in my lab at home — and get it down to where you understand it inside and out. And yeah…” He seriously didn’t play well with others. “That’s gotta be done with me, at least in part.

“But you’ve got to be bulletproof, baby.” Tony turned and faced Peter, taking his hand and holding it tight. “I can’t lose you.”

Peter nodded. Then he nodded again. Then he spoke, and his voice was a lot smaller than he had intended. “So, do you forgive me? For what I said?”

Tony sighed. He hadn’t meant to. He meant to simply say ‘yes’. Because of course he forgave Peter. He’d always forgive Peter. It just took him a moment to answer. To ‘process’, like Peter had said.

“Yes. I don’t think there’s much that I wouldn’t forgive you for, Pete. I know I hurt you. You had every reason…” He hesitated again. “But that? I’m not gonna lie. It was rough. You weren’t just rejecting the suit…”

“I was trying to push you away as far as possible. That night I was feeling really… bought. Because I felt so lonely. And feeling lonely meant I really started thinking how many things I can do for myself, already did for myself. And trying to pretend I could just keep on going without you. But I can’t. Even if the suit blew up tomorrow, I can’t go on without you.”

“I know I did a hell of a lot to deserve it. But the feelings were complicated.” He gave Peter’s hand a squeeze. “A lot less complicated now.”

“Okay. So, I said I’m sorry. And here’s what I’m going to do. Uh… damn. I have to tell you something else.”

#starker #Messages Series #Messages Cold #Von Writes Stuff #Thewitchway Writes Stuff

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weeping-petals · 5 years ago

Text

Alone but Found

Word Count 2,085

On a visit to the Prime Kindergarten, Garnet makes an improbable discovery

Periodically, the Red Eyes entered the atmosphere and scanned across the surface of the globe, scouting for survivors following the Gem Song. They were easy to avoid, but their presence was unnerving and at times appeared when it was inconvenient. Even for someone who could anticipate where the vessels would descend to.

Garnet wondered if they could recognize the corrupted gems as gem-kind. There was a scenario yet where one of the scout vessels encountered and scanned one of the feral gem creatures. The closest she’d envisioned was a Red Eye coming too near a massive gem creature, the irate beast swatted down the vessel and pummeled it into nonexistence.

This scenario did come to pass, but nothing of Home World’s reaction came of it. No more and no less of the searching vessels piloted across the globe, collecting information on the state of rebel camps, abandoned weapon forges, and deserted temples. Vessels remotely controlled, on a scripted course to gather intel on decimation. It was evidence of how little Home World viewed the state of the planet, but there was comfort in this projected indifference.

The prime kindergarten was a husk of life, drained entirely of minerals and vitality. Garnet was only there to check if the injectors remained dormant and take stock of subterranean facilities. The Red Eye drifted down from the stratosphere – this she predicted. For the barest of moments, she fretted it was present to reactive injectors, though pointless that would be. Home World was not above creating incomplete gems to meet production goals, if the Beta Kindergarten was a fallback example of Home Worlds priorities.

She didn’t need future vision to see how she could evade the vessel. Its actions were choreographed, easy to follow. The craft was in the way, however, and made mobility constrained. Attracted to movement, it would seek out spirals of dust or rocks crumbling from the parched cliff face. She remained perched on the injectors bulb, several meters above the canyon floor, far out of range.

It does see something, though. Some action or deliberate interaction caused it to divert course. And activate. What does it see? That she cannot tell. It couldn’t be Spinel, the gem was off escorting Rose Quartz today. This change in rail-scouting was baffling, and alarming.

Garnet leapt off the injector and used the holes in the cliff side to give pursuit, with caution on the wind. The Red Eye was doing its own thing, distracted by clusters of boulders and the splint pieces of an injector embedded under debris.

Movement flashed below, not more than a meter off from the Red Eye. Movement. Not a stray breeze, not rocks tumbling. Something detached from the eroded scenery shuffled towards the rotating vessel.

Oh! Oh….

Soundlessly, Garnet skidded down the cliff and bolted across open ground. A blur of lilac scuttled among the choppy terrain, entranced by the bright hull of the vessel. Garnet leapt outward and caught the figure before the Red Eye could spin to it and initiate a scan.

“Shh!” She hissed, once they ceased rolling. The creature, or gem, in her arms squirmed and whined. “Hold still!” Garnet stuffed her shoulders back into a narrow crevice, indifferent to the gem gnawing on her knuckles.

The Red Eye swept by, scanning the rocks and dust kicked up by the intervention. It would deem the evidence irrelevant and move on. This Garnet predicted.

She did not predict getting an elbow square to her shades and the gem scampering away. “Wait! Come back!”

Thankfully, the gem squeezed between tight fissures that the Red Eye took no interest in. Unfortunately, Garnet was forced to creep above the ground, barely tracking the bright color of the gems complexion weaving among narrow fractures. She had to avert her attention to assure the Red Eye remained oblivious to the activity, while ducking and rolling behind ruins. Taking chance with the slimmest of scenarios, Garnet snatched up a sizable boulder and chucked beside the revolving craft.

The Red Eye locked onto the location of impact caused by the projectile, and swept over to examine shattered pieces.

Once she caught up with the gem, she called, “It’s too dangerous to be out here alone.”

The gem paid no mind. She escaped the fissures and tore across the winding passages of the kindergarten. At least she was disinterested in a violent confrontation. “I’m a friend! Where are you going?”

“Where are you going?” echoed back.

That retort nearly made her stop and ponder, but the Ruby in her insisted she not stall. She divided her attention through the coursing pathways of possibility, and maintaining sight of the bright flashes of the gems hair against the drab terrain. Overtaking the gem would be simple enough, but she was interested in where the eventual was leading them. Now was not the time to be rash, this was the time to be cautious and patient. She maintained distance, feigning inability to catch up.

The race eventually led into a deep canyon, along where several deep breaks dotted the cliff face. At the base of the vertical wall, the gem dove into an opening.

Garnet eased out of the sprint and closed in on the silhouette. There was only one way the gem could get out.

“Hello?” she called. “Are you in there?”

A pause. Then the voice echoed back. “Are you in there?”

She stayed back from the opening. The gem was not about to bolt again. “You don’t need to be frightened. I won’t hurt you.” No reply. “How long have you been here? Are there others with you?”

“Are there others with you.”

“Do you know who… you are?”

“Who you are.” The gem would not emerge.

Maybe it was because she was a fusion, and didn’t know how to respond to this. Garnet was burning with questions and curiosity, but every scenario she pursued for answers led to more of the echoing. This was peculiar.

“You’re an Amethyst,” she replied. The voice within the cuvee retained silence. “But all of the Amethyst from this kindergarten were evacuated long ago.” A bit of rustling flittered around inside the hole. “And….” She let her words drain away.

“There are others like me,” she offered, instead. “There are not many of us left, but we’re holding together. You can come with me, if you like?”

“Come with me.” The round face peered out of the entrance, but the gem dared go no further. She gazed at the Garnet, eyes large.

“You’re all alone,” Garnet hummed. “Waiting for someone. For orders, that never reached you. I want you to come with me. You should meet the others.”

“Orders. Amethyst. Alone.” The face ducked back into the hole.

Garnet stood and averted her eyes, scanning where the Red Eye was last hovering. Its scripted movement worried her in no way. The vessel was already ascending towards the crestline of the canyon walls, fading into the haze of silt spiraling on stray gusts.

“If you’re not ready.” Garnet moved back from the hole and crouched beside a larger, more impressive cutout. “Then we can wait. Together. You shouldn’t be alone. No one should ever emerge alone. I’m sorry it’s taken this long, for someone to find you. It shouldn’t have been this way.”

A year and a day later.

An intense storm swept through the region, torrents of water flooded the prime kindergarten. The soil robbed of nutrients, was stony and dense like amber.

Garnet was coated in clay and wet, but she had not budged an inch since she took post outside the small exit point of the Amethyst. Though quiet and patient, not a sound rang from the cuvee, no indication that the Amethyst was still within. But Garnet knew she was there.

Then at long last, the same face peered out at her. Water sloshed around the stout gems limbs as she edged into the downpour, eyes glistening with wonderment.

“Amethyst. Alone.” She restated.

“Not anymore,” Garnet assured. “You’ll be with others. We’re all different, but we’re all good. You won’t be alone.”

The Amethyst frowned and tilted her head. “You won’t… be alone.”

When they arrived at the Crystal Temple, it looked like an argument was in full steam. Not one of them noticed the light beam travel to the platform and deposit their forms, amidst echoes and mocking barks. Rose Quart’s stood off beside a glittering wall, shaking her head. Spinel was deflated on the floor, pigtails drooped, while Pearl rattled through a tangent about communication arrays and tampering with equipment, or something.

Garnet sighed loudly, effectively catching the attention of each. Varied expressions of shock flashed through the gems.

“I’ve had this Amethyst for a year and two days,” she began. “And I’ve decided, if anything were to happen to her, I’d crack everyone in this room. And then myself.”

The Amethyst beamed and waved. “Hey’all!”

“Oh my stars!” Pearl gasped.

Spinel poofed in a flash of pink.

“An Amethyst? A miniature Amethyst! She’s so compact and adorable!” Rose rushed to Garnet and knelt to view the gem held in Garnet’s arms. “Where have you been? Where did you come from?”

“Have you! Where come!”

“Her communication skills… are different.” Garnet explained. She let Rose take the gem from her arms, and hold Amethyst at arm’s length. The Amethyst swayed her feet.

“We’re goin’ to the Crystal Temple Gems!”

“How can we be sure she’s not a spy sent from Home World?” Pearl posed. She plucked Spinel’s gem off the floor and moved closer, to inspect the Amethyst. “Not to question your abilities, Garnet. But…” Her eyes traced their way to the Spinel on her palm.

“Poofed!” crowed Amethyst. She waved her arms out midair, while Rose spun around and around.

“That?” Garnet questioned. “She was at the prime kindergarten, trying to antagonize a Red Eye.” Pearl nearly dropped Spinel. “Well, not really trying. She doesn’t know what they are.”

Rose swept Amethyst to the ground and set her down. “I’m a Rose Quartz,” she stated, to the beholding stare of the small gem. “Do you know what you are?”

“Amethyst!”

“Why were you waiting in the kindergarten?”

Amethyst shot her shoulders up. “Dunno.”

“How did she survive the attack?” Pearl posed. She set Spinel on a jut of rock, pinned by crystals. “Even on the polar side of the planet’s globe, gem creatures have begun appearing.”

“Unless, she had not formed yet,” Rose poised. The amethyst tugged at her dress end, then began fanning it. “Is that a possibility?”

“That is an astronomically small possibility. It’s the only one I can see.” Garnet moved over and tugged up the Amethyst, before she could crawl under Rose’s dress. “In other words, not a spy.” The Amethyst thrashed in her grip.

“Small possibility! Survive! What is this place?”

“This makes no sense.” Pearl cupped her chin and followed Garnet as she rocked the unruly gem in her arms. “She should know where she is. Her purpose. Why does she keep repeating what we say?” She bolted upright when the gem slapped her. “The nerve!”

“Can’t really say,” Garnet replied. She dropped the Amethyst, the gem not expecting this hit the hard floor and tumbled to her backside. “Go run off now. Explore.”

“WHOOOO!” Amethyst ran off towards the opening of the cavern and the beach outside.

“The corruption song,” Rose murmured. “Maybe she didn’t survive the effects.”

“Or,” Garnet posed, “if she emerged late, as you suspect, there was a problem with the injection. Either way, it doesn’t matter to speculate. I don’t imagine Home World would have much use for an Amethyst of her stature. Ah, and she has an intriguing aptitude for shape shifting.”

The Amethyst was running by along the seashore, and Garnet called out for her. “Show them your thing!”

As requested, the Amethyst leapt high and reformed her shape. In a flash, she was a roaming vessel glaring into the cave. For a brief spell, Pearl and Rose Quartz became alarmed, springing into a formation for defense. The shape was convincing, even if the color was all wrong. And Red Eye’s didn’t have two large eyeballs adorning their slopping sides. This one, too, could not stay airborne for more than a second before it crashed into the sand. The Amethyst resumed her normal shape, and spat out a wad of sand.

“That was amazing, Little Amethyst!” Rose rushed down the steps. “Can you do gems? Do Pearl!”

“Why me?”

“How about humans?”

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