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vaguely-concerned · 10 hours ago

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My two cents on how much of Mind!Varric is Rook’s mind trying to fill the blank space and how much is Solas actively talking through a convenient blood magic paper doll of the mind: I think it's a mix of both, a truly collaborative psychosocial horrorshow if you would, but waaaay more towards the second. It feels too directed and tactical at times to be anything else. Rook's mind is willing to go along with the denial phase as far as it can fucking carry them to not have to face the grief and regret and does its part in papering over details that don’t make any sense, the way brains will strive to create coherent meaning even out of deeply confusing input, but to my understanding it's a collaborateur in how that plays out, not the instigator or control center. Solas is using it as a path to agency and to gather insight into Rook as a person unguarded as he can't count on in his own guise. (That stoic option that leads to him being like 'oh I see you're cautiously denying me access to your inner life. well. at least you still have Varric to talk to. y'know as an outlet :)'. You absolute BITCH Solas! That alone convinced me that he HAS to have an active hand in it on some level.)

My guess is that it takes considerable effort on Solas’ part to make Mind!Varric do anything more involved or complicated than seeming to sit up in bed and give casual commentary, and that’s why he keeps having eerie five minute shallow pep talks with you before he announces he conveniently needs a nap aaanyway good luck kid you got this haha. When he’s just spouting NPC lines from his bedrest, I’m ready to believe that could be Rook’s mind being allowed to improv lines for him more freely because it’s less about Solas trying to get something out of them or working an angle and more ‘Still here! Still totally alive and fine and the mentor figure you know and love and trust :) don’t even worry about it! Thankfully there is no war in Ba Sing Sei, as we all know’ upkeep work lol. Rook’s mind is allowed to set the tone of Varric, the outlines, but not always the content.

AND, on a (beautifully fucked up) character psychology level, I feel like Solas is indulging in actually getting to be the good supportive mentor figure to Rook with one hand to assuage the guilt he feels about what he's done -- and what he's going to do -- to them with the other. Same internal logic as he uses in Trespasser about the Qun. ‘Almost everyone is going to die from the course of action I’m doggedly pursuing eventually. But at least I can make their last years happier and freer and kinder than they would have been otherwise. and that kind of makes up for it right. a little bit. doesn't it. doesn't that make it better at least. I need that to make it better)'. Did I really take your beloved mentor and friend from you if you don’t know yet that I did? Some philosophers would argue not really! So it’s probably almost ok actually. Isn’t it even a little noble that I’m taking all this grief and guilt on myself and shielding you for now. With undertones that I’m not sure he would realize himself (and might be mortified by if he did) that he is so incredibly lonely, and even a dishonest and indirect emotional connection is more than nothing when you’re that desperate. In this setup he gets idk. Both the control he craves so incredibly badly in relationships and over himself, and the scraps, the fading afterimages, of intimacy and warmth and companionship, even second hand. The one thing Solas and Rook agree on deep deep down is that they really wish Varric weren't gone. They're handshake memeing this in the saddest and most creepy way possible.

I think an important element too is that Solas needs Rook and their team to *succeed* — up to a certain point. He needs someone to hold the two other elven mean girls off until he can get out of here. Ideally, in a perfect world, even do all the hard work of killing them so he can swoop in at the end and do his thing when both sides are exhausted and out of resources to stop him, and then Bob’s your uncle! Same logic as he was using with Corypheus, and after that worked out so well, too! King of choosing to never learn from a single solitary mistake he’s ever made even though i fully believe he could have the capacity to Fen’Harel <3 The underlying idea isn’t flawed, you see, it was just unforeseen circumstances getting in the way. This time for sure it’ll all work out the way I cleverly imagined it in my head beforehand. Cue By Talos this can’t be happening etc. in the form of a statue almost crushing him like a bug.

So he's providing guidance and forging Rook into a leader from two angles: one Rook might not trust, and one they probably will. Shaping them into what he needs slowly and carefully. He’s helping you hone your team into their most effective state, as he might have done with his own agents back in the day, setting up his chess pieces even if he has to squint through two glimpsed realities to do it haha. Pincer maneuver of an insidious stealth mentor you never asked for. Also… at one point mind Varric gives you a whole little monologue about how Solas' problem is that he’s always seen his interpersonal connections as flaws and see where it’s landed him, all alone and the worst part? it hasn’t even worked. it’s all been for nothing he’s back where he began with nothing to show for it but his mistakes. Like...that has such strong 'uh okay happy to play your therapist from two rooms away here what the fuck kind of traumadump is this' energy to me, I’m not sure Rook like. Thinks that much about Solas as a private person. So much of Solas' self-loathing and futile insights into his own flaws seem to shine through in Mind!Varric's dialogue all the time — I just can't believe that there's no guiding hand behind it as it were.

Most of all. I feel like people underestimate the degree to which Solas is incredibly funny. As in, he has a very consistent and recognizable sense of humour. It’s one of my very favourite things about him. We must remember — it is crucial that we always keep in mind — Orlesian accent and wig Solas from May The Dread Wolf Take You (my beloved, the explanation for why I love this dude even with the. All of the everything else. No one does it quite like him). He is not at all above doing things or adding little flourishes for his own obscure amusement, in fact that seems to me to be one of his most consistent traits. The Randy Dowager Quarterly comment Varric has? The ‘Maybe this is the Dread Wolf’s revenge. Forcing us to house sit for him’ thing? To Me this is 100% Solas amusing himself in his boring Fade jail surrounded by the screaming hellscape of all his regrets. Source: it came to me as divine revelation through pure vibes trust me bro

If nothing else I find it much more narratively interesting personally if the connection between Rook and Solas really is that defenselessly intimate and entwined (and so unbalanced!), and the sense of violation and invasion and betrayal afterwards consequently all the more nauseatingly intense. Even if you kept him at arm’s length in the open, he’s been under your skin the whole time, looking around, gathering what he needs to destroy you, wearing the face of a friend. Regretfully, probably, but choosing to do it every step of the way anyway. (Sound familiar, Inquisitor? Solas doesn’t have that many tricks when you actually look at it, he keeps returning to old tried and true ones like a dog with a bone haha.) Maybe he even genuinely meant some of it as mercy, which only makes it so much worse. It makes his sin against his own core principles of autonomy and the freedom of all beings in mind, spirit and body so much more juicily grave if it’s something he pursues actively and consistently, rather than it half-falling into his lap as a happy accident mainly orchestrated by Rook’s own subconscious. Solas, too, is at his very lowest point, the closest to giving in and becoming his own antithesis fully that he’s ever been, and it makes the choice of whether you still reach out your hand to him one last time or not all the more impactful and difficult.

#dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #dragon age spoilers #dragon age meta #solas #varric tethras #rook #I love what weeekes has managed to do with solas in this game honestly. both kinder and harsher reads on him?#completely supported by the text and completely valid. it really does come down to how you feel individually at the end of it all #there are good arguments to be made in every direction. sing o muse about a complicated man.#and also a motherfucker (affectionate *and* derogatory)#forgiveness isn't about him it's about you ultimately. do you find it in yourself or are there things that shouldn't be forgiven? up to you #he deserves both compassion and to be slam dunked straight into hell often with equal intensity. and i think that's beautiful #face in my hands. it keeps happening to me. I black out and I've written a whole thing and feel like I've been through a meat grinder #clearly my brain needs to Process things very badly but god I wish I could maybe control a bit more when and how intensely it does it lol #obligatory disclaimer that this is only my personal opinion and read on the game and characters involved etc. YMMV

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eggsistential-breakdown · 2 days ago

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Team Tulpar!!!!!

Highly self indulgent silly Mouthwashing Superhero AU

Led by the esteemed Captain Cosmos, superhero conglomerate Pony Express's Team Tulpar's latest mission is to guard a top-secret mega-important warehouse in the deep recesses of space against raiders and ne'er-do-wells for one year, until Pony Express's client can install a more permanent solution.

Unfortunately, a mysterious accident destroys their only way home and grievously injures their captain. Team Tuplar finds themselves stranded on a faraway asteroid, with only battered pieces of their ship and their all-important super-forbidden warehouse charge to sustain them.

God is not watching.

Notes below the cut, not set in stone:

Pony Express

Known for its cheap and widely available distribution of superhero teams

Common option for emergency time-sensitive threats to capital or goods

Less common option for actual life-threatening emergencies

Superhero teams function pretty much just as security details for hire

Allows a little more individualization than canon Pony Express because of superhero branding

Hence the slightly personalized horseshoe logos and outfits (also for fun)

Going under because of the widespread adoption of automated comprehensive security systems

Dragonbreath's security system just broke down and they're hiring Team Tulpar to safeguard their wares until the Earth shipment of replacement and upgraded parts can arrive in one year

Curly

Gave him a bunch of powers that would be cool in space but ultimately useless against the crash

Edna Mode disapproves of capes for being impractical and dangerous so he's getting one

Debated briefly keeping Curly as his name because it's technically space related but I think it would be a bit too morbid to use as a space related superhero name in universe

Insists his team calls him Curly even on missions

Dissatisfied with his role as a glorified mall cop

Anya

Legally, spacefaring superhero teams need a healer

Legally, Anya cannot be classified as a healer

Pony Express was pretty much the only superhero company willing to take her

Still studying for med school

Her healing powers boil down to keeping you from getting worse and offloading stress on your body in hopes that it can heal you

As long as she's around things at least won't get worse :)

Which is how she's able to keep Curly alive after the incident

May or may not be using her powers to stall her own pregnancy

Definitely the glue holding everything together in canon so wanted to emphasize her importance in keeping everything from going to shit

I'm the iffiest on her superhero name ngl

She can call herself a doctor she deserves it

Tried to throw stripes in her design to reference her canon turtleneck

Daisuke

Useless ray of goddamn sunshine

Basically a very bright flashlight

If he focuses very hard he can create lasers

Can cast movies for entertainment but only as well as he can remember/imagine them

First in his family to have powers, parents pressured him to join a superhero team

Parents also got him a slightly fancier uniform hence the golden accents

Couldn't imagine him without the shirt so he's keeping the shirt

Incorporated a little Swansea yellow

Also wanted him to have a visor to be cool he gets a visor

Swansea

Assigned mentor to Daisuke

Registered his name back in college. Claims it's too much of a hassle to change it now

Keeps shields/helmet/armor? up for the entire time from when the crash happened to when Daisuke dies

He shows the most arm in canon so you bet your ass he's showing the most arm here as well

My friends suggested this name

Wanted him to still get to wield a big-ass axe

Jingleballs

Crashed the ship into the warehouse with Curly in it while Anya, Swansea, and Daisuke were double-checking the warehouse

Wearing a little half cape in part to mimic Curly, in part to try and give him a similar silhouette as his canon short sleeves

Powers pretty much just hurting people and taking from them

When strealing powers, can only use them at 20-40% of the capacity of the power's true owner

"Borrowed" Curly's powers a lot when they were younger under the pretense of Curly should experience gravity for uhh reasons

Had the phrase "there's something 'off' about this guy" when creating his name, also kind of a play on "first 'off'icer", also turning other powers off

Wears the mask and hood up when he wants to obscure his face. Usually happens outside of missions

Misc

Warehouse sits on an asteroid because it's cheap

The crash happens right after a raid, Jimmy accuses Curly of collaborating with raiders

A little less certain that no one will find them, but the crash destroys the location beacon of the warehouse and knocks the asteroid slightly off course

Team Tulpar's ship is a lot smaller, there's no cargo hold

It's also currently partially wedged inside the warehouse and stuck in place with sealing foam

Space is essentially split between the ship with food/medical supplies and the warehouse (mouthwash)

Less of a clear division of roles other than Anya as healer and Curly as leader

I like color coding characters

Had this rattling around in my head for five days please take this

#ive been making silly aus for stuff forever this might be my first time posting one in earnest #mouthwashing #mouthwashing au #mouthwashing fanart #curly mouthwashing #captain curly #anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #mouthwashing spoilers #mouthwashing fandom #mouthwashing superhero au #team tulpar au #mouthwashing game #my art #digital art #fan art

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dalishious · 24 hours ago

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(I can’t believe I finished this so fast… I basically blacked out and then it was done lol… Anyway, please remember that this is all just my personal opinion, and if you feel differently, that’s fine!)

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Review

Objectively speaking, Dragon Age: The Veilguard is a fun game that the average player is going to enjoy, especially if that average player is coming in without any prior knowledge to the Dragon Age franchise. I believe this is a good jumping-in spot for people who are curious about the world of Thedas. But in contrast, I have seen a lot of criticism from other hard-core fans that I largely agree with. However, it just so happens that most of the criticism I have is not enough to prevent me from overall enjoying the game. That is to say, for pretty much everything I did not like, there was also something I thought was great… Unfortunately, that makes it a little difficult to give a review. So, I’m going to do my best to keep things as clear and concise as possible by splitting up the “good” and the “bad” aspects of DATV.

The Positive

The best thing to come out of DATV is the new cast of characters that make up your companions and supporting associates. While I do think that some of them could have benefitted from more development time to flesh things out further, just judging what we ended up with, is mostly great. I especially found Emmrich and Bellara to be stand-out examples of strong personalities to grasp onto, whose personal stories really touched me in an emotional way.

DATV also has fun with some returning characters. For example, now that Solas is no longer hiding his identity, we get to see a character that both believably honours his part in Inquisition, while also providing a new, refreshing side to him. There are also a number of characters introduced in Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights that appear in the game, like my personal favourites Teia and Viago, who are an absolute delight to interact with!

I think the three act structure is good, albeit with act three being quite short. There are a few sequences that are an absolutely phenomenal mixture of storytelling and engaging gameplay, like all of Weisshaupt! I also really enjoyed stepping out of the main story every once and a while, and into Solas’s backstory through the Crossroads memories – what ended up being extra special about these is how they mirror Rook’s struggle so well, by the end. They are a nice touch.

The locations are beautifully constructed with smooth interactions of climbing, zip-lining, and essentially parkouring your way around, making them fun to explore! They also came with such distinct flavours and character in themselves that influenced a sense of truly experiencing different parts of Thedas, with different cultures.

The mechanic of building up strength with the different factions, and that actually having a huge impact with the ultimate showdown in the end of the game, makes side quests feel far less inconsequential than in Dragon Age: Inquisition by comparison. That, and they number far less.

I like that the story mode actually feels like a story mode; there were only a couple instances where I really had to worry about death, and even then, I was able to just toggle off the death with the customizable gameplay mechanics and continue on.

Finally, it would be remiss not to say that the character creator for DATV is the best BioWare has ever put out. I’d go as far as saying it’s one of the best in any RPG I’ve ever personally experienced. From the flexibility in morphing a character’s head and body between custom shapes, to the little details like sclera colour, vitiligo, and top surgery scars, makes it a shining example of what RPG’s should strive for. (My only critique here is that it would have been nice to have more skin colours.)

The Neutral

I hated the combat for pretty much the entire first act of the game. I found it too hard to keep up with, and too much like Mass Effect bullshit. I can’t say that it’s completely grown on me yet, but I don’t hate it anymore. It’s fine. So, I’m giving this a special little spot before I get into what I didn’t like all the way to the end.

The Negative

As mentioned above, I do think that there is more that could be done with some of the characters to really achieve their full potential. Davrin and Lucanis—while to be clear I still really enjoy as they are—come to mind first, in terms of those who would have benefited from more development time. Most of Davrin’s screen time just revolves around Assan rather than Davrin himself, and Lucanis is so restrained that it takes a while to really crack him open. Both of these characters have intentional personalities that make them harder to get to know, I understand that, but I feel that it would have been all the more rewarding to have more time dedicated to their company after earning their trust and possibly endearment. Instead, it feels like their romance and friendship with Rook are only half-complete, and then rushed to finish.

There are some companion interactions that are just… cringe. There is no other word for it. Now, this is nothing new for BioWare games, but I feel like the “pulling a Bharv” scene for example, was hitting an entirely new low. (If someone misgendered me and then just started doing push-ups instead of just saying “hey sorry about that, I’ll try to do better” I’d be annoyed, not satisfied.) I also felt like most of the temporary rivalries between companions were artificial in nature, rather than organically part of their characters that actually served a purpose. We already knew Emmrich likes books and Harding likes nature; we did not need a whole cutscene with them bickering about camping. (The exception to this is Davrin and Lucanis, who genuinely had room to grow as people out of their multiple confrontations, not just a one-off scene.)

The music in DATV is, for the most part, forgettable and bland. There is one piece that really stands out, and that’s “Where the Dead Must Go”, which is a real banger. I am not a fan of Hans Zimmer’s OST otherwise; I think it is phoned in, just like most of his work. I deeply wish BioWare would have just stuck with Trevor Morris. The best parts musically in this game are just Morris’s work re-used from Dragon Age: Inquisition.

There are certain parts of disjointedness that separates DATV from the past games that are just… bizarre. This is especially the case when it comes to elven lore. For example, Bellara saying she is afraid that elves will be harshly judged for the Evanrus, or Harding saying that elves are “thriving”… as if modern elves are not deeply persecuted across most of Thedas. It made me question more than once if there just was not time in development to do a proper canon-compliancy check with everything, perhaps?

I want finish this part by bringing up again that the biggest flaw in DATV is that it feels very corporate. To repeat what I said in this post: It is as if a computer ran through the game’s script and got rid of anything with “too much” political substance, in an overcorrection to be “safe”. But now that the edges have been so smoothed down to make a block into a ball, it can no longer support anything.

Conclusion

It’s easy to see a lot of creativity went into the creation of this game… but it is also easy to make assumptions on how that creativity was constrained by development hell and corporate oversight. In the end though, Dragon Age: The Veilguard succeeded in being an overall good time, one that I will no doubt be putting just as many countless hours into as the previous installments in the franchise. 7/10.

#dragon age #datv #datv spoilers #dragon age the veilguard #review #datv review

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magical-reid · 3 days ago

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A Little Something Extra

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader (No use of Y/N)

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none

Word count: 1.1K

Prompt 22: “You brought me breakfast?” “Well you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I’d make sure you ate something.”

______________________________________________________________

It was another early morning in the BAU office, and the quiet buzz of activity filled the room. The coffee machine was working overtime, and the low hum of computers was accompanied by the soft shuffle of paperwork being passed around. In you usual spot near the windows, you were hunched over a stack of files, trying to make sense of the case that had been keeping you up for the last few days. There were too many details to sift through, and your brain felt like it was running on fumes.

You had told yourself that today would be different. You promised you'd take better care of yourself. You'd eat breakfast, take breaks, and not let the case consume you. But here you were, the morning slipping by, and you hadn’t had more than a few sips of cold coffee.

The sudden, unexpected sound of footsteps brought you back to the present. Looking up from your paperwork, you were met with a familiar face—Spencer Reid, looking more put-together than usual. He was carrying a tray with a bagel, fresh fruit, and a coffee cup with your name on it, balancing everything with an almost comical level of concentration.

You blinked, slightly confused. “You brought me breakfast?”

Spencer smiled sheepishly as he set the tray down on the corner of your desk. He’d already taken the time to carefully arrange everything as if he knew exactly what you liked. “Well, you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I’d make sure you ate something.”

You leaned back in your chair, surprised at the thoughtful gesture. Spencer wasn’t exactly known for being overtly expressive with his feelings, but every now and then, he'd do something that made you realize just how much he paid attention to the little things.

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow. “You remembered that?”

Spencer's smile widened a little, but there was a trace of that characteristic nervousness in his eyes. “Of course. You’ve mentioned it a few times. And, well, I know how important it is to stay fueled, especially when we're dealing with, you know... all this.” He gestured to the mountain of case files on your desk.

You stared at him for a moment, your heart doing an unexpected flip. How did he always manage to do this? The little things, the quiet ways he showed that he cared—they added up. They meant more than you could say. You took a deep breath and smiled, your voice softening. “That’s really sweet of you, Spencer. Thank you.”

He looked slightly embarrassed now, his fingers fiddling with the edges of the tray as he cleared his throat. “I just thought... maybe you’d be able to concentrate better if you ate something. You know, breakfast helps with focus and energy levels, and I—”

You cut him off with a quiet laugh, reaching for the bagel and pulling off a piece. “Spencer, I’m sure you know all the scientific reasons why breakfast is important, but honestly, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble. I’m just... kind of terrible about remembering to eat.”

He shrugged, but his expression was still warm. “It’s no trouble. I know how intense these cases can get, and sometimes you forget to take care of yourself when you’re too focused on the work. I thought this might help.”

You felt a warmth spread through you, a mixture of appreciation and affection. “It definitely helps,” you said, taking another bite of the bagel. “And I think this is exactly what I needed.”

Spencer smiled, looking slightly less nervous now as if relieved that you weren’t going to make it awkward. He adjusted his glasses and stood back, a little uncomfortable but trying his best not to show it. “Well, I’ll leave you to your paperwork. I just wanted to make sure you were eating.”

Before he could turn to go, you quickly reached for the coffee cup he’d brought and held it out toward him. “Hey, would you like to sit for a second?” you asked, your voice soft, the invitation clear. “I don’t mind the company.”

Spencer’s eyes flickered to the seat across from you, then back to you, surprised. “Oh... I mean, I’d love to, but I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

You waved him off, smiling. “I’m already behind, but a break wouldn’t hurt. Besides, you brought me breakfast. The least I can do is share a few minutes with you.”

Spencer seemed a little flustered but pleased. He pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, taking a moment to adjust his posture, as though he were preparing for some deep conversation. When he spoke again, it was in his usual, thoughtful tone.

“So... how’s the paperwork going?”

You gave a small sigh, rubbing your eyes. “It’s slow going. We have a lot of details to connect, but I’m still trying to make sense of the pattern.”

He nodded, immediately falling into his element, discussing the finer details of the case with ease. His deep knowledge and sharp mind were always a comfort, and you couldn’t help but appreciate the quiet way he always made you feel heard, understood.

As you listened, nibbling on your breakfast and sipping the coffee he’d thoughtfully brought, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Spencer was always a little awkward in his own way, but the way he cared—it was something you couldn’t ignore. The small gestures, the careful consideration, the fact that he’d remembered something as simple as your bad habit of skipping meals... It meant more than you could express.

“So, you know,” you said, breaking into his focused chatter, “I’m actually really glad you brought me breakfast. It’s like... the perfect little reminder to take care of myself.”

Spencer blinked, then paused mid-sentence, his cheeks flushing a little. “Well, you should... you deserve to be taken care of,” he said, his voice a little quieter now, but there was a sincerity in it that made your heart flutter.

You looked at him, your gaze softening. “Thank you, Spencer. You always know just what I need.”

He gave a small, almost shy smile in response, but there was something in the way he looked at you—a flicker of something more, something deeper.

You knew that, for all his brilliance, Spencer had always been a bit of a mystery when it came to feelings. But in this moment, as you shared breakfast together, you didn’t need any more words to understand. He cared. And that meant everything.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x yn #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid series #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds series #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagines #magical-Reid #requested

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m1ssunderstanding · 15 hours ago

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My thoughts on Beatles 64

Am I a terrible person or something because I’m genuinely having such a hard time wrapping my head around these people’s reactions to their president getting shot. Like I can count on one hand the people I’d give a fuck about in DC and I’m not crying if that happens. I’m angry. I’m scared. But I’m not sad.

Who is this covering all my loving? It’s pretty.

I will forever love Paul and George’s big and little brother dynamic. Deep, cloudy scouse: they’re in perfect synchronization. Bright, squeaky scouse: Are they? Like, where is George’s little chimney sweep costume?!

And Paul’s sharp tone calling John’s name. I don’t know, I could obsess over any little scrap of footage of them. I just love picking apart details that reveal dynamics.

George’s insecure, curious, “Are you filming now?” Compared to his over-it, sardonic, “Are you recording our conversation?” He aged about twenty years between 64 and 69.

John’s reaction to his own voice in his ears is always a straight shot of joy.

I like that they’re showing all the boys. You know, because if only girls like them, then they’re just a silly pop group, but if boys like them too, well. That’s something else, isn’t it?

One of my favorite moments. No wonder Paul took so well to shepherding. His blood pressure spiking if John gets out of arm's reach. And John is of course so happy to be pulled back in.

Their hair really was so fluffy!

John spreads his legs when he’s playing because he’s an anxious attachment. Paul keeps his legs closed because he’s avoidant. In this essay I will.

This mix of She Loves You is really highlighting Ringo’s drumming for me. He’s so talented and attractive.

This is why Paul’s my favorite, genuinely. Because he goes from the most polite, people-pleasing, tender-heart to an absolute mean girl cunty bitch in the span of less than a second.

Ringo is the quickest wit, I’m telling you, and if anyone says otherwise, I’m cancelling you for classism.

Why is it always Paul these middle aged creeps feel the need to touch? I mean, I know why. But it makes me sick. That kind of thing is reserved for the mutuals. Definitely not cops.

It’s literally sooooo funny for me seeing this guy choke up about She Loves You. Like I’m genuinely happy for him, but I was literally just over at my husband’s grandparents double-wide and they Still go on about how stupid the Beatles haircuts were and how they remember the days before the Beatles when there was ‘real’ rock and roll on the radio.

So, Paul’s been telling the story of Jim critiquing She Loves You for literally sixty years now, and originally it was with mix-ins from John and George and without a lot of artificial sweeteners. Here’s the sixty-year-old version:

Back home in Liverpool, we used to sing over some of our songs to relatives—I did to my Dad and my aunties,” he recalled. “My Dad would look at me looking disappointed. ‘I don’t know young Paul,’ he’d say. ‘I try to get you to speak properly, and you drop your aitches. Why sing ‘Yeah, Yeah’ when you mean ‘Yes, Yes?’ I tried to explain this was the whole point of the song,” Paul continued. John broke in: “Anyone ever heard someone from Liverpool singing ‘Yes’? It’s YEAH.” Paul continued: “Well, we just laughed. My Dad gave us some of the worst advice ever. He said this music thing will never last. It’s all right on the side, he’d say, BUT PAUL IT WILL NEVER LAST!” “Remember,” said George, “he always wanted us to sing ‘Stairway to Paradise’?” – Ray Coleman article 1964

What a cutie. Shouldn't be allowed.

“That wasn’t really the case.” (that America was the land of the free). He always almost gets to his political views. You know? Microdosing? Left-bating? Maybe both. Whatever.

I LOVE their funny little accents with all my heart. John does posh scarily well.

Ringoooooooo!

“Go on! Defy convention!” Quotes that define the speaker. He should sell t-shirts with that slogan.

This girl’s Brooklyn accent and her confidence are so beautiful!

Why did they buy John an ID I’m actually dying! Oh! They don’t mean, they mean like Paul’s and Ringo’s bracelets. Got it. Okay. I was like ‘are you trying to help him ten years in advance with his immigration struggle?’

The juilliard girl is phenomenal.

I want the nylons and I want the shoes.

“Would you do me a tremendous favor?” “I’m not gonna kiss you like Elisabeth Taylor.” See? Ringo is the funny one. Ringo is so fucking sharp and nobody gives him the credit he’s due.

Ronnie Spector you deserved better, Queen! I love her. She’s so gorgeous, she’s so cool, she’s so young and energetic!

Two excellent Lennonisms right in a row. “Have you been watching the newsies?” and “I don’t care,” I say as I care caringly. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, he has the most sunshiny smile in the Beatles.

Ringoooooo!

Not the picture of JohnandPaul singing together as “with lovers and friends” plays.

Love Paul offering Ringo a candy. In yet another accent. People need to make them talk in goofy accents more in fic because it’s incessant. But I just love them offering each other food. It’ll always get me.

See, this is what I love about John. “People have been tryna stamp out rock and roll since it started.” “Why do you think that is? What are they afraid of?” “I always thought it was cause it came from black music.” He’s not ‘honest to a fault’ or whatever the boomer men love to say. But he’s very, very blunt, and he’s not going to try and skirt anything. You know?

Literally the most embarrassing thing a person can ever be is white.

“I thought it was very weak. You know what I think, I call a spade a spade. I thought it was weaker than weak.” Cook him! And then the mimicking! I love him so much! Holy shit, that would’ve been so enraging.

And then the quiet sass of the guy being interviewed right after. “Well, the versatility, the originality. I like anything that’s original.” I love some clever tumblr web-weaving in my documentaries.

In my husband’s grandparent’s defense, the “real rock and roll” they loved before the Beatles was literally only black artists.

I love this picture for ever. Look at how tight he’s holding on to John with one hand and the other hand raised in joyous triumph, engagement bracelet visible. This is Paul in heaven.

“The whole assumption of male vs female is not prominent. They’re sort of in-between.” Yes. Love. Keep going.

Ringo’s got all the quips, again. “Ringo, look over here!” Puts his hands up. “Don’t shoot!”

I didn’t know Smokey Robinson and the Miracles went to the Cavern, that’s cool! And here I was thinking I wouldn’t learn anything new from this doc. His whole interview is very lovely and generous.

I always think “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me” probably spoke to John in terms of his relationship with Paul, but I go there so easily. Anyway, Smokey Robinson had every right to be pissed that they released a cover of his song without even asking. Like that would be illegal nowadays, right? And yet he’s so kind about it.

We talk about how scary Beatlemania was and we should because it was, but it really puts it in perspective for me personally hearing Smokey say he was shot at for trying to use the bathroom.

Oh I love that we have footage of Paul taking Ringo’s picture! Makes me think of “eye of the storm” obviously, but also the way he’s mocking the photographer's jargon of the time as he’s doing it. The fact that he ended up marrying a photographer who made a point to depict him as not just “some doe eyed sex object” in her pictures, and also of his song “pretty boys” and his quotes about the sexualization of “male models”. Definitely not about anything he himself experienced. Anyway, thoughts. Strings. Pins. Etc.

Also Ringo turning to the camera still filming him, “what do you think I am, a monkey?” Remember that part in this footage where Ringo says something like, “are we ever going to have a break from all these cameras?” And he’s exhausted. It really seems like, from the footage selected by this doc at least, that Paul and Ringo were doing the bulk of the lifting at this time just with cooperating with the show biz stuff. And isn’t that (interesting? Sad? Poetic? Good?) that they’re the ones still cooperating sixty years later.

How dare they cut out “but we ain’t written no poetry!”

As John’s panicking, “how are we gonna – have you seen the kids? How are we gonna get in, then?” Paul’s just calmly going, “Hi girls!” With a patient smile and a cute little wave. “I’ll just go in and speak to the people first, okay?” I love Paul “calming-down-other-people’s-hysteria-is-my-calling-in-life” McCartney.

Cute, George introducing a song he’ll do a viral backflip to in twenty years.

I wonder what that letter is. John’s being very tender with it.

“You’re fired!” “It’s Love Me Do, whacker!” With the sweetest most innocent smile. I love when John is John, you know?

“To me they’re all obviously low or middle class, highly illiterate, unintelligent wild kids seeking a little fun and pleasure . . . I think there’s something very strange about it at the same time, something very sick. . . . I’m sure that sexual reasons have something to do with it. They find the Beatles sexually attractive and they’ve made some kind of psychological tie with them. I think the whole thing’s a little bit frightening and quite sick.” Where’s that old meme with Trump describing the democrats in the most hateful terms he can think of and people being like “yep that’s me”?

Paul stopping to say goodbye by name to each of the people who've been in their hotel room one by one. It’s giving *Opra voice* “and you please don’t hate us and you please dont hate us and you please don’t hate us”

Ringo coming back because he went the wrong way is the most me-core thing.

Paul will come in with the random shouts and yelling in the middle of a song he’s singing lead on all the way from the very beginning and all the way to the very very end, huh.

I just get filled with so much rage at this image of the Bernstein family, especially after the footage of the Gonzalezes. Like, I know I need therapy. I know. But it costs money. Anyway, all rich people can go straight to hell. “I was allowed to wheel the TV set down from the library, down the corridor and into the dining room.” Oh, were you! Well, you must be very special, then.

I wonder if Paul’s title of his exhibition has anything to do with this quote from John about “It was like being in the eye of a hurricane.”

The girl hanging on Ringo like a jungle-gym is me. I love the way he flirts, it’s so smooth, physical, casual.

Classic John moment and he doesn’t even open his mouth.

My dearest wish is that these two are happily married now, holding hands in the theater watching this.

The voice of the woman asking Paul “what do you think of the American TV” sounded extremely like Linda’s. I sort of panicked for a second. Linda’s voice is lower, but the accent and cadence and the sort of wealthy slouch is the same.

I love them picking up on the dystopian beginnings of America’s version of late-stage capitalism and broadcasting the ridiculousness of it all to a public that didn’t know any different. “The situation in China is very bad. Have you ever wondered, when you’re eating at home?”

The guys setting up wearing Beatles wigs? Ew. Why?

Ringo’s so funny! “Watch any band. If anything goes wrong, they go – Blame the drummer.” And he’s so endearing and sweet. “I just always wanted to be IN the band, not like ‘oh, I’m over here.’” Reminds me of his quote about being lonely as an only child and ending up with three brothers. What a tenderheart.

Huh. Always thought some idiots just set up his rostrum backwards. The rest of the stage spinning around it makes much more sense.

That little smile between the two of them.

George in tears! Poor baby! I really do think, with the way this affected him on another level than it affected the others, and with the way he talked about his experiences at the Inny compared to Paul (not that you can trust Paul to say anything actually gets to him) that George maybe was more sensitive to classism than the others.

I hope Paul said something to that affect to George after. “They’re working at an embassy. We’re on the road, rocking. I don’t give a flying fuck.” You know? I could see it.

Another thing I love about John. You need that guy on your team, whatever it is you’re trying to accomplish. That when people are being bitchy, you tell them to fuck off and you leave. I bet Paul, George, and Ringo were so relieved that John did that for them.

After Ringo talked about not wanting to be back behind and separate from the band, I’ve noticed all three of them stepping back sometimes to stand more in line with him when they’re not singing. I don’t know if it was conscious or natural, but either way, I love that they did that and I’m sure Ringo did too.

The looks and smiles

I usually maintain that Paul is only sexy from 60-61 and from 68-98 and from 18-now. But. This is just objectively hot, I don’t care who you are.

It’s so sweet to see George being such a ham, getting John to do silly bits with him, putting on a waiter’s uniform and passing out drinks, climbing up in the luggage compartment. I wish they could’ve somehow kept it at a pace that was manageable for him so he could’ve kept on being so happy with his life, you know? I mean it’s not like it just disappears completely. There’s some of it in Get Back and even in Anthology, but it’s just not the same.

This is what happens when you’re a slut, Paul. You get paternity suits that ruin your mood. Shame, shame.

Interesting that Paul points out Brian’s “defying convention” by having them play their scandalous rock and roll shows in all these “hallowed halls”. I’d never thought about it as Brian’s conscious decision but obviously it must’ve been, and that’s very clever and snarky of him.

“That man, who is strong enough to be gentle, that is a new man.” Betty Friedan is pro-beatle. We love to see it!

Watching Paul try to behave like a human being on stage with all of his early twenties energy is honestly painful. It’s like Kurt Vonnegut’s Harrison Bergeron, you know? Like I can just see him aching to let himself free, but there are weights put in place for a reason. I know Brian was right to calm them down, and this documentary is proof that if he hadn’t done his taming, either they never would’ve made it or there would’ve been all-out class warfare or something, but it breaks my heart, it really does.

Ronald Isley, again, just like Smokey Robinson, being so so charitable here, and managing to do so without playing down the fact that things were absolutely rigged against him and his group at the time. “We should be on the Ed Sullivan show doing . . .” Yes. Yes.

I looked it up, and this quote is genuine. “If it wasn’t for the isley brothers, we would still be in Liverpool.” – Paul McCartney. That’s one thing I love about him. He’s always giving – very much due – credit to his black contemporaries. People ask him about Elvis and he always says, “yes, and Little Richard.” People say he was the most innovative bass player of his time and he says, “yes, and Fred Thomas.”

Ringo literally gets me every time. George: I don’t remember Wales. Ringo: It was before you joined the group.

The way Paul talks about George living “the good life” is very much in the tone of an older brother who’s helped his little brother do well for himself, you know? It’s adorable.

Of course Paul’s out feeding seagulls.

Not even going to comment on the “i love you” thing. Nope.

Okay I do have to say, the end of this guy’s story about going to liverpool and getting deported is incredibly sweet. I was kind of ignoring him, and then when he said he met John during Imagine, I sort of braced myself. But it turned out absolutely adorable. I love John’s little antenna miming and that he promoted this guy just for having made the front page of the Liverpool Echo. It’s all very John, very endearing.

I hope Paul and this weepy old guy had a talk about healing yourself from abuse through music. There’s like a 1/100 chance, but I still hope they did.

John loves a good boat analogy, doesn’t he? “There was a ship going to discover the new world. And the beatles were in the crows nest on the same ship [as everyone else] and we just said ‘land ho!’

Love the use of “Roll Over Beethoven” as the final song.

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #george harrison #ringo starr #brian epstein #beatles 64

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wolvietxt · 1 day ago

Text

𝓒HAPTER 𝓞NE !

series masterlist taglist form pairing : logan howlett x reader warnings : injury detail, heavy angst, trauma, reader has a flawed regeneration mutation, arguments, reader has lots of scars (mentioned throughout), a lot of time shifts wc : 5.3k 😈 a/n : chapter one! hope you guys enjoy, will try and get chapter two out before the end of the week, fill in my taglist form (liked above) to be tagged in the rest of the series :3

the scars never really faded, no matter how much time passed. your regeneration didn’t work like the flawless kind you’d read about in comic books - clean, seamless, leaving no trace behind. instead, your body mended itself in a patchwork of silvered lines and raised ridges, crisscrossing your skin like a roadmap of every mistake, every fight, every loss.

people stared. even when they didn’t mean to, their eyes would flicker over your arms or collarbone before quickly darting away. you could feel it in the way they shifted uncomfortably, their gazes tinged with pity or fear.

you didn’t blame them, not really. you had grown used to it, the way your appearance seemed to speak for you before you ever opened your mouth. it was easier to keep your head down, let people think whatever they wanted, than to explain everything.

your mutation first showed itself when you were thirteen. it was a normal school day, one you barely remember apart from the incident that changed everything.

gym class had always been your least favourite. the whistles, the shouting, the echoing clang of equipment - it was overwhelming, a chaotic mess that you dreaded every week. that day, the teacher had insisted you try the balance beam.

you climbed up reluctantly, your sneakers squeaking against the polished wood. your arms wobbled as you stretched them out for balance, your breath shaky with concentration. step by step, you made it across, relief flooding your chest as you stepped down.

you never saw the edge of the metal bench sticking out.

your foot caught, sending you sideways. the fall was fast, the sharp edge of the bench catching your side before you hit the ground hard.

at first, all you could feel was shock.

then the pain hit.

it was searing, white-hot and sharp enough to knock the air from your lungs. your hand flew to your side instinctively, and when you pulled it away, your palm was slick with blood.

the gym teacher’s whistle blew sharply, followed by the high-pitched shrieks of your classmates. someone screamed your name, but the sound barely registered. the world felt muffled, far away.

you tried to speak, to say something, but all that came out was a soft, panicked wheeze.

then it happened.

at first, the pain dulled - not completely gone, but less overwhelming. a strange warmth spread through your side, accompanied by a tingling sensation that made your skin crawl.

you looked down, and your stomach flipped.

your skin was shifting, the torn edges pulling themselves together in jerky, uneven motions. the bleeding slowed, the exposed muscle knitting itself back in place.

it wasn’t clean or seamless. the new skin was raw, red, and puckered, the kind of scar that looked like it belonged to a battlefield, not a middle school gym.

“oh my god,” someone whispered.

the gym teacher rushed over, her face pale as she knelt beside you. “stay still,” she said, her voice trembling. “help is on the way.”

the ambulance ride was a blur, your parents' faces even blurrier when you saw them in the hospital waiting room.

your mom hugged you tightly, her arms trembling, while your dad stood stiffly in the background.

you thought the worst was over. you were wrong.

later that night, sitting at the kitchen table, you tried to explain what happened.

“it wasn’t me,” you said quietly, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of a napkin. “it just… happened.”

your mother didn’t respond right away. she looked at you for a long time, her expression somewhere between disbelief and fear.

“you’re one of them,” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible.

the words hit like a slap. your father didn’t say anything. his jaw was tight, his hands gripping the back of his chair so hard his knuckles turned white.

“we’ll figure this out,” your mom said eventually, though her tone was more for herself than for you.

but they didn’t.

at school, the whispers started almost immediately. someone must have told.

“mutant,” a boy sneered as you passed in the hallway, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

the word clung to you, sticking like glue no matter how hard you tried to shake it off.

your classmates avoided you like the plague. even your closest friends began to drift away, their excuses flimsy and half-hearted.

“my mom says i shouldn’t - ” one girl began, then stopped, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

you stopped asking after that. stopped trying.

instead, you withdrew.

your parents weren’t much help, either.

your mom tried, in her own way. she asked how school was, offered to drive you to and from classes, but there was always a tension beneath her kindness, a stiffness in her voice that hadn’t been there before.

your dad barely spoke to you at all.

he would sit at the dinner table, reading the paper, his face hidden behind the rustling pages. when you tried to make conversation, he would grunt in response, his answers clipped and distant.

you knew it wasn’t anger. it was fear.

the scars kept coming.

every time you tripped, every scrape and bruise, every accident - they all left their mark.

your body healed itself instantly, sure, but not without a price.

you stopped wearing short sleeves altogether, the constant stares too much to bear.

you spent most of your time alone after that. books became your solace, a way to escape into worlds where people like you were heroes instead of freaks.

fantasy novels, mostly. you devoured stories of knights and sorcerers, of battles and triumphs.

but no matter how many books you read, you couldn’t escape the weight of your own reality.

some nights, when the house was quiet and the walls felt like they were closing in, you would cry softly into your pillow, the ache in your chest too much to hold back.

you learned to hide your emotions, too.

the last time you’d cried in front of your dad, he’d winced, like the sight of your tears was physically painful.

“you have to be stronger than this,” he’d said gruffly, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “people like you don’t get to be weak.”

it wasn’t fair, but you listened.

by the time you were eighteen, you’d learned two important lessons.

first, people would always see the scars before they saw you.

and second, no matter how much you tried to hide them, the world would never let you forget what you were.

🌀 a few years later…

you never understood why they did it. your parents - the people who were supposed to protect you, to love you unconditionally - were the very ones who handed you over.

it happened when you were still too young to grasp the full weight of what was happening, too naive to know the horror you were about to face. they’d told you that it was for your own good, that it was necessary. they said the facility would make you better - make you stronger. they promised you’d be safe there, that they’d be right outside the door if you needed them.

but when you reached the gates of the compound, you saw their faces - familiar but distant - before the heavy steel doors slammed shut behind you. they didn’t even try to fight it. they didn’t look back.

you were a child, small, innocent, and vulnerable. you couldn’t have known what was coming.

they called it the program. they never told you exactly what it was - never explained the tests, the injections, or the experiments. but you could feel it all. every sharp prick of the needle, every invasive procedure that left you raw and trembling. it was all about control, about making you something they could manipulate, bend to their will.

they trained you like an animal. they broke you down piece by piece, until you barely recognized the person who looked back at you in the mirror. the pain of the experiments became a constant hum in your body. your mind, too, slowly dulled as they erased the parts of you that once made you human.

they kept you in a cage, a box that was your world. your only companions were the cold walls and the sterile air, the only sounds the occasional voices of the guards, their footsteps echoing down the hallways.

in those dark moments, you questioned everything. who were you, really? what were you becoming? you couldn’t remember your life before the compound, couldn’t recall a time when you weren’t a part of their twisted plan.

then, one day, something changed.

you’d been in that sterile room for weeks, if not longer. and when you heard the familiar click of the door unlocking, you thought it was just another round of tests - another round of pain. but when the door swung open, it wasn’t a scientist or a guard standing there.

it was a man - tall, broad-shouldered, with a harsh, unreadable face. he wasn’t one of them. he was different.

he was here to take you.

he told you his name, though it didn’t mean anything to you. he said they were going to break you out, that you were free now, that they had no more hold over you. but nothing was ever that simple. nothing was ever as easy as it sounded.

he led you down cold, metal hallways, past security, and through doors that felt like they might be your last. every footstep echoed in the silence, and with each one, you thought maybe it was a trap. maybe they were going to drag you back to that cage.

but it never came. instead, the man pushed you further into the complex, until you found yourself standing in front of an exit - a set of heavy doors, marked with nothing more than a simple code on the screen.

this was the moment, he told you. this was your chance to run.

you ran.

your legs burned, your lungs ached, but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t stop. the feeling of freedom was overwhelming, and it was all you could do to keep your mind from drifting back to what you’d been through. you pushed it away - the fear, the anxiety, the voices in your head telling you that you were still a prisoner in your own skin.

but when you reached the gates of the facility, there was no escape. no one was there to help you.

just when you thought you were free, the men in black uniforms emerged from the shadows, surrounding you in a circle, blocking every exit. you knew then that this was never going to be over. they weren’t going to let you go.

and in the middle of it all, your mind flickered back to your parents. why? you wondered. why did they do this to me?

their faces were cold in your memory now, distant like they had been the moment they handed you over to the program. you weren’t their child anymore. you were just a project.

but you didn’t have time to think about that now. the fight wasn’t over.

you’d escape this, too. you had to.

the compound was chaos - loud, frantic, and disorienting. alarms blared in every corner of the facility, the sound nearly overwhelming your senses. everything felt too bright, too sharp, the noises too jarring. you had learned to block out most of it over the years, but in this moment, it all rushed back, drowning you.

you barely had time to process what was happening. everything had gone sideways far too fast. guards ran in every direction, chasing after people - some fleeing, others doing what they could to stop the chaos. the entire building felt like it was falling apart.

you knew you couldn’t stay here. you had to move.

you had to finish what you started.

you stumbled through the hallways, barely able to keep your feet beneath you. the pain from the wounds you’d sustained was a constant companion, but it wasn’t the physical ache that was distracting you. it was the memories - the flashes of everything you’d been through - the tests, the injections, the cages.

but now wasn’t the time for weakness. now wasn’t the time to look back.

when you reached the lab, you couldn’t believe it. everything was laid out in front of you - files, plans, even test results. everything you needed to finish your mission. but before you could move toward them, something shifted.

the door slammed open with a deafening crash. instinctively, you dropped to the floor, fingers scraping against the cold tiles as you slid behind a metal table.

shadows danced in the doorway.

the x-men.

you’d heard of them - everyone in the mutant world had - but never in person. and now they were here, a group of strangers entering your nightmare, bringing their own kind of chaos with them.

you peeked cautiously from behind the table, watching as they quickly overpowered the facility’s security. each member of the team moved with precision - beast’s large form barreling through walls, cyclops’s visor flaring with every blast, and storm summoning lightning with a mere flick of her wrist. the room seemed to come alive with their power.

“she’s the one,” one of them called out, his voice cutting through the noise. “take her down.”

you held your breath, eyes widening as they closed in on you. they weren’t just here for the facility. they were here for you.

but you weren’t some damsel in distress.

you’d spent years training, escaping from countless situations far worse than this. you couldn’t allow yourself to be weak. so, you moved.

swiftly, you darted from your hiding spot, catching the man off guard. you weren’t sure who he was - just another one of their team - but the shock in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. you’d caught him off guard.

but that split-second advantage wasn’t enough. before you could get another strike in, a powerful force slammed into your side, sending you crashing into the floor. you winced at the impact, your vision blurring as you tried to push yourself up. someone was kneeling next to you now - someone strong and familiar - but everything felt hazy.

“hold still,” a gruff voice ordered. “you’ve been through enough.”

you wanted to snap at him - wanted to tell him that he didn’t know anything about you - but the words wouldn’t come. and as you fought against the darkness creeping in, you realised that you couldn’t fight anymore. the exhaustion from days of running, fighting, hiding, it all caught up to you.

you didn’t even remember when you lost consciousness.

when you awoke, everything felt wrong. there was an unfamiliar weight in the air, a soft, sterile smell that clung to your senses. you tried to push yourself up, but a sharp pain shot through your head, forcing you to stop.

you were in a bed.

the bed was unfamiliar. it wasn’t like the hard floors you had grown used to, or the metal cots they’d kept you on. no, this was soft - comfortable, almost too much so.

you blinked, your vision clearing as your senses slowly returned. you were no longer in that hellhole. no longer in the compound where they kept you.

but where were you now?

the room was quiet, the dim light from a single lamp casting shadows on the walls. the bed beneath you felt like a luxury. everything about this place was different. warmer. safer, almost.

your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open. a figure stepped inside - someone you didn’t recognize at first, but then, as he moved closer, you could see him more clearly. tall, with dark hair and a rough, scruffy face. his eyes were intense - calculating, like he was studying you from the moment he walked in.

you didn’t trust him. you didn’t trust anyone.

“you’re awake,” he said, his voice low, rough. “good. you’re safe for now.”

you tried to speak, but your throat felt raw, as if you hadn’t used it in days. you coughed lightly, but still, the words wouldn’t come.

he reached for something beside you - a glass of water - and held it out to you. “drink. slowly.”

you didn’t want to take it. didn’t want to trust him. but you were parched, and the dry feeling in your throat was unbearable. so, you reached out and took the glass, drinking slowly, careful not to spill. the water was refreshing, but it did nothing to ease the dread building in your chest.

“where am i?” you finally croaked, your voice hoarse and weak.

“the x-mansion,” the man answered, not missing a beat. “this is where we bring people who need help. you’re safe here.”

you didn’t believe him. you didn’t know how to trust anyone anymore.

but before you could respond, the door opened again, and another figure stepped in. this one was more familiar - his posture rigid, his presence commanding. a man who seemed to radiate an aura of danger.

“logan,” the first man said, a note of caution in his voice. “she’s awake.”

logan’s gaze flicked to you, sharp and unyielding, as though he could see right through you.

“how long?” logan asked, his voice tight.

“a couple hours. she’s stable.”

logan didn’t respond. he just kept staring at you, his eyes narrowing. there was something about him - something dangerous and cold. and yet, beneath that, there was a flicker of something else.

you couldn’t place it, but it made your heart race.

“you,” logan said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. “we don’t know what you’ve been through. we don’t know if you’re a threat.”

his words sent a chill down your spine. it wasn’t the first time you’d heard that. and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“we’re not going to let anything happen to you,” the other man said quickly, his tone gentle but firm. “but you need to understand. this is just as dangerous for us as it is for you.”

you wanted to argue - to tell him that you weren’t the one to be scared of, that you weren’t the one who was dangerous.

but you couldn’t find the words. instead, you sank back into the bed, your thoughts spinning, your body heavy with exhaustion. you couldn’t escape this life. not now. not yet.

but maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to survive it.

as the hours stretched on, your body ached, but it wasn’t just from the physical injuries. the weight of your past pressed down on you with every breath you took, and you couldn’t escape it.

you closed your eyes again, letting the darkness take over.

for now, at least, you were safe.

but you had no illusions about your future. nothing was ever truly safe.

and logan? he wasn’t about to let you forget that.

you could hear the slow, steady rhythm of your own breath, the steady rise and fall of your chest as the darkness pressed in on you. the world outside felt so distant now - no longer the chaos of the compound, no longer the sound of explosions and gunfire. here, in the safety of the mansion, you almost felt like you could relax.

almost.

your limbs were heavy, your body aching in places you didn’t even know existed, but it was the exhaustion that wore at you most. it wasn’t just the physical toll, though. the ghosts of your past were still there, just out of reach but always lurking in the back of your mind.

you had done things. horrible, unspeakable things. and it didn’t matter where you were now - whether you were in the mansion with strangers who couldn’t possibly understand or back at the lab where they had made you into something else - it didn’t matter. you were still that person. the monster. the killer.

and yet, here you were. safe. for now.

but there was no such thing as true safety. not for someone like you. not for someone who had been broken and remade by those who had no mercy.

you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered, like a bruise that wouldn’t heal.

a knock at the door.

you stiffened, the muscles in your back tensing instinctively. it was probably one of the x-men, maybe hank or scott, checking on you. but a part of you - the part you didn’t want to acknowledge - hoped it was logan.

you didn’t know why. maybe because he was the closest thing you had to an anchor in this strange new world. maybe because, despite the bitterness and the anger in his eyes, he was the one person who seemed to understand the weight you carried. not because he wanted to understand, but because he knew pain. he knew darkness.

but you couldn’t trust him.

you couldn’t trust anyone.

“come in,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

the door creaked open, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flash of surprise in logan’s eyes when he stepped into the room. it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with the usual guarded expression that always made you wonder what he was thinking behind that hard exterior.

he didn’t speak right away. instead, he stood there in the doorway, his posture tense. it was almost like he didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, you wondered if he had come to check on you because it was what was expected of him, not because he actually cared.

it was probably the latter.

you sat up slowly, bracing yourself against the headboard. “what do you want?” the question came out harsher than you intended, but it was too late to take it back now.

logan stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “just checking,” he muttered, his voice low, rough around the edges. it almost sounded like an afterthought, like he wasn’t sure why he was here. but the way his eyes kept flicking to your face made it clear he was still trying to figure you out. maybe you didn’t make sense to him.

“checking on what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

he hesitated for a second, looking away. when his gaze returned to you, it was guarded again, the walls firmly in place. “you’re not dead yet.”

you snorted despite yourself, the bitterness bubbling up in your chest. “what, you think i’m going to fall apart just because i’m here?”

he shrugged, the movement quick and dismissive. “didn’t say that.” he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still studying you. “but you don’t exactly look like you’re in one piece.”

“and you’re not here to help with that,” you said, your voice sharp. “so what do you want?”

logan’s eyes flashed for a brief moment - something unreadable, something buried beneath the layers of his hardened exterior. you could almost see the frustration behind his eyes, though he hid it quickly, masking it with the usual indifference. “look,” he muttered, “i didn’t come here to babysit you. but if you wanna go out there again, you better be able to hold your own. i’m not gonna coddle you. i’m not here to make you feel better.”

his words stung more than you expected. was that what you wanted from him? no. you didn’t need anyone to “coddle” you. but something about his tone - cold, dismissive - made the weight of everything feel heavier.

"i can handle myself," you said quietly, looking away from him, hiding the sting in your eyes.

logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “you should’ve said that to yourself when they were doing this to you,” he muttered under his breath. but it was loud enough for you to hear. it felt like an accusation, like a slap to your face.

you flinched, but tried to cover it. "don’t pretend you care,” you shot back, your voice breaking just a little.

logan didn’t flinch. in fact, he didn’t even react at first. but you saw the tension in his body, the way his fists clenched by his sides. he opened his mouth as if to say something else, then closed it, brow furrowed.

“i don’t give a damn about what you think about me,” he finally said, voice quieter now, almost like a whisper. “but i can’t stand seeing people throw themselves away without a fight. you can fight. but you gotta decide whether or not you wanna keep doing it.”

he turned on his heel, heading for the door. "we’ve got a long way to go before this is over. don’t think you’re gonna get out of it that easily."

and with that, he left, leaving you alone once more in the still silence of the room. the door shut with a soft click, but you could still hear the echoes of his words rattling around in your head. the weight of them sat heavy on your chest.

he didn’t care about you. not in the way you wished he would. but he cared about one thing: survival.

you hadn't expected much from logan. you never did. but you still couldn't shake the bitter taste his words had left behind. they gnawed at you, even though you told yourself it didn’t matter. you'd been through worse. you could handle it.

but there was something about the way he'd spoken to you that made your stomach twist. it wasn’t just what he’d said - it was the way he said it. like you were nothing but a problem to be solved, a task to be managed. his words were cold, sharp, like they were meant to cut deeper than they did.

he didn’t care. he never would.

you were sitting at the kitchen table, the bright, sterile lights of the mansion making everything feel even emptier than it already did. it was one of those rare moments where the mansion felt... silent. as if it, too, were waiting for something. maybe it was waiting for you to break.

you hadn't seen logan since he’d left your room earlier that day. a part of you was glad for it, even if you hated the reason why. the truth was, you didn’t know if you could look at him again without that biting edge creeping back into your voice.

a voice - someone's voice - cut through the silence.

"you alright?"

you flinched, startled. you turned to see scott standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed in concern. of all people, scott. you didn't want to talk to anyone, but you knew you couldn’t hide forever. he was trying to be kind, but it felt too... loud.

"yeah," you said, your tone flat. you pushed the empty mug in front of you away, suddenly too aware of the quiet surrounding you. "just... tired."

scott didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press it. instead, he took a seat across from you, looking like he had something else on his mind. it wasn’t a long time before the door opened again, and the last person you wanted to see walked in.

logan.

you didn’t even look up. the instant you heard his boots on the floor, you felt the walls come up, higher than before. you didn’t trust yourself not to say something you’d regret. you knew he’d seen your face, the way your mood had shifted earlier, but he didn’t care. nothing you felt mattered.

logan didn’t even acknowledge scott as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. he looked disinterested, almost bored, like he was doing this out of obligation.

you focused on the mug in front of you, trying to ignore him. you tried to tell yourself you didn’t care, but the words he had said still hung in the air, suffocating you. maybe you were being dramatic, but you couldn’t help it. he’d made you feel small.

"what’s up with you?" logan’s voice was rough, breaking the uncomfortable silence. he was looking at you now, and the gaze sent a shiver through your spine, though not in a way that felt good. it felt like an accusation.

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t.

instead, you picked at the edge of your sleeve, the fabric worn thin, your mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. why did you care?

"you’ve been acting off since we got back," logan continued, his voice a little more insistent. “you’re not some porcelain doll. quit pretending like you are.”

you couldn’t hide the flicker of annoyance in your eyes. the way he always saw you as fragile - it made your blood boil, and you hated how much it stung when he said things like that. porcelain doll? you weren’t some fragile thing that needed protection. you weren’t weak. but the more you tried to convince yourself, the more the truth settled on you like a heavy weight.

"i’m not pretending," you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. your hand clenched into a fist, and you gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to stay calm. you didn’t want to get into it with him. not now.

but logan wasn’t letting it go. his eyes locked onto yours, and it felt like he was searching for something. it didn’t feel like concern; it felt like judgement.

“you sure about that?” he asked, voice low, almost mocking. “because from where i’m standing, you look like a damn mess.”

you sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the way your heart seemed to sink with each word. a damn mess.

it was like a slap across the face. you could feel it in the pit of your stomach, a deep, gnawing sensation that told you to shut down, to stop caring. but the words, those words, kept echoing in your mind, getting louder with every breath.

you look like a damn mess.

you couldn’t respond. couldn’t defend yourself because it felt like there was no defence to it. what could you possibly say to that? the worst part was, you were starting to believe him. maybe you were a mess.

but in that moment, the anger bubbled up - anger you didn’t even know you had - and you didn’t care about anything else except getting him to stop. to stop seeing you like that.

"maybe you should just keep your opinions to yourself," you muttered under your breath, but the words were brittle.

logan didn’t back down. “you’re not fooling anyone, kid. if you can’t even keep yourself together long enough to pull your own weight, you don’t belong here.”

the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, harsh and unforgiving. it felt like a punch in the gut, and you couldn’t stop the sting that followed.

you looked up at him then, your eyes burning with the anger and hurt that had been building up. “you don’t know anything about me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of it.

but logan wasn’t done. he never was.

"you're damn right, i don't," he said, his voice still biting. "and i'm not interested in learning. all i know is, you’re a liability. and i don’t need one of those around."

the room seemed to tilt, and for a moment, everything around you blurred. a liability. that’s what you were to him. that’s what you’d always be.

you stood up abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor. it was as if your body had made the decision for you, your legs shaking with the force of the emotions swirling inside you.

"i’m done," you muttered, turning on your heel. you didn’t care if he was still watching you. you didn’t care about anything anymore.

you just needed to get away.

the door slammed shut behind you, leaving nothing but silence and the distant echoes of the words that had broken you.

liability. a mess.

and somewhere deep down, you knew this wasn’t the end. it was only the beginning of something much worse.

🌀 logan howlett : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @bbittenapples, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

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firelightfics · 3 days ago

Text

Work your magic.

Scar x Mage! Healer! Gn! Reader

From this message (CAUSE I FORGOT TO TURN THE ASKS THING ON BEFORE AND REALISED SO LATE 😭)

Warnings: mentions of illness, violence and drug use [not Reader], should be mostly fluff though, banished mage reader, okay.. I kinda gave Reader an adoptive daughter I can't help it I'm sorry.

Extra: The person requested for the reader to be strong, so I went with the route of them being able to create and manipulate detailed and realistic illusions, and their strength is in that sort of field rather than battle strength. So they have a more mental strength and can manipulate dreams although its not really a main point.

DID I NAME SCARS BABY? YES. I NAMED HER RIRI OKAY? ITS CUTE. SHE'S CUTE.

Summary: Y/n, a mage, who has wandered too far from home finds themself under the care of the firelights. Or perhaps the firelights have found themselves in their care. A particular chirean takes interest in their less than typical methods of calming people.

Masterlist.

Ko-fi

---

Its been too long since I have seen my family. I come from a place far from here, so far I'm not even sure it is of the same plane of existence. My home feels foreign to me now. Years have passed since I was there. Banishment does tend to keep a person away I suppose.

Since I have wandered to a new home, a place I stumbled upon by chance. No, even that isn't right. I stumbled upon the person running this place is more accurate, he was shielding a small injured girl from harsh weather and clearly manic due to the fear of losing the child in the even harsher city of Zaun. I offered them help as I was nearby enough with a place to stay. I couldn't be more glad that Ekko accepted my help that day, as stubborn as he can be.

Its only been a couple of weeks since such an event, but Flora has healed quickly with my help and has been helping introduce me to the Firelights. She's a sweet girl who now seems rather attatched to me and tends to stick around the medical area that I have taken residence in. Ekko, the leader, has helped me get more comfortable here and I couldn't be happier. Or maybe, I could be happier. I've never tried to be more than just content, its all my family allowed until I tried something new and got myself banished.

In the past few weeks, many people have come to me for assistance. Plenty injured from time out on the streets, a few scraped and scratched children and returning firelights after their dangerous missions. It worries me how many shimmer affected patients I've recieved, this drug is a foreign concept to me still but calming those affected with illusions of things they enjoy seems to solve their aggression for a time until the drug wears out. Healing can only help so much when the wounds are not visible. I find much more difficultly with these patients, but if I weren't up to the challenge I would have left.

Flora had just settled in for the night, a small loft area for her to use as she pleases. Although she doesn't have a proper room, I plan to change one of the unused rooms into a proper space for her if she wishes. For particularly gruesome patients, I always ask her to return to her normal room and she does. What a sweetheart. I hum a tune as I pack away balms and bandages to use another day. The quiet is nice with the shadowy atmosphere, few things would dare disturb such a calm. Few, but never zero.

The door is quickly flung on its hinges as Scar, Ekko's seemingly stern right-hand man, bursts into the room, startling me and Flora, who was very nearly drifting off. His eyes are wide with a certain kind of distress only a worried father can display. In his arms is his screaming baby girl, the poor dear clearly unwell. Not a word is said as I take her from his arms and usher her to the nearest and softest place to lay her. Scar seems to shake with terror. He must be almost as frightened as her.

I gently feel her forehead to vaguely check my suspicions of a fever and am pleased to have guessed correctly. I swirl my hands with a dark blue starry mist forming into shapes and animals, floating and playing with one another as a distraction for the poor baby. Her cries seem to dull, if only for a moment. Her concentration taken from what I could only assume to be a headache and placed on a starry fox prancing amongst a now fully formed forest scene. With the distraction working, I quickly gather a child friendly medication for her. Its a sweeter flavour than most but she surely won't mind or care as she is too enraptured by the friendly forest creatures of my hometown.

She doesn't fight or fuss over the medication, simply grumblles a little, and turns back to her little show. However, I'm reminded of another presence when the silence is broken by his ragged breathing. I assume Flora is asleep after the littlest was calmed. I pick her up and move towards where Scar is sat. The larger man looks utterly horrified, his normally steady stance shattered at the thought of his daughter being deathly ill. Luckily, it seems to be not much more than a fever and headache.

"Rough day?" I ask simply as I bounce her lightly in my arms before handing her back to Scar. He sighs as he carefully grips her small form, his lip twitches up in a quick huff of air and smirk paired as one.

"Something like that. Is she going to be okay?" He quickly switches topics to avoid the obvious worry I have forming for him.

"Of course, it doesn't seem like anything serious. No real magic had to be used aside from my little 'puppet show' for her." I gently tickle under her chin, causing her to giggle at the attention. Scar's eyes bounce up to meet mine, and he smiles. Staring into his eyes, I see the clear tiredness of a struggling parent.

"We shou-"

"You should stay." I catch him before he tries to flee. Why is he so against taking a break? If not for his own sake, why not her sake? "I have a cot she can use, and we have spare room for you both it really wouldn't trouble us. To be able to look after her, you need to be able to look after yourself."

He looks down and grimaces but nods and follows while I guide him to one of the spare rooms that are likely to keep longer-term patients, but I've never had that, so they're empty. I bring him to a room with items for caring for babies and a bed big enough for him to sleep nearby. He lays her down so gently that it makes me honestly question what I even know about the man.

"Thank you." Is the last thing spoken between us as I leave for the night.

This is the first of a few of our encounters, seemingly becoming more frequent. His eyes always a sharp contrast to their normal rough shape and instead becoming soft around me and little Riri. Maybe a small bit of progress, but it is progress nonetheless.

She quickly recovered and yet Scar was adamant on staying and asking me to care for her when I could, which was admittedly most of the time since the only patient I seem to ever recieve is the vastayan himself. As though he was allowing only himself to take the rougher hits to get treated by me.

The door to the clinic gently clicks open and Scar appears in the room, Flora and Riri are playing in the far corner and I'm reading a worn down book on the counter.

"Pick up time already? My, how the time flies. I-"

"Actually I'd like to stay tonight, if thats okay?"

My face contorts to one of confusion, but I won't lie and say it isn't a pleasant surprise. I simply nod, thinking he'd leave to the room he's basically claimed as his and Riri's. However as he stops he nods me over.

Curious, I follow without any debate. Flora will look out for Riri and knows what she's doing by now. He sighs as he drops to sit on the bed and pats a spot next to him.

"I, I have had trouble sleeping." He grimaces and puts his back against the wall. "I was wondering if you could use those illusions of yours to help me?"

My eyebrows raise, and my mouth falls open slightly. He's asking me to use my magic on him? I was convinced he hated it as he only ever cautiously stared when I'd used it. I thought he was afraid. His brows are pulled together, and he can't meet my eyes, hands placed on his lap in front of him.

"Why would I ever turn down my second best patient?" I grin at him and he looks up confused.

"How am I second?" Almost offended, a fake snarl on his lips but a slight upturn that is barely hiding a smirk.

"Oh poor dear," my hand gingerly raises to meet his cheek, "are you jealous?"

He quickly breaks and chuckles, fake snarl failing completely, instead changing to a weak smile. Oh, so we are like that, I suppose. The grin on my face turns to a full smile that I hope properly conveys the joy that comes with the accidental confession of sorts.

"How could you possibly be jealous of your own daughter? The little thing has been such an angel, why wouldn't she be my number one." I tease knowing it will irk him slightly.

Before I can revel in my slight victory, he gets in close and grabs a hold of my jaw. Eyes meeting mine in an intense stare before quickly pressing his lips to mine. Simple. Yet so impactful. He pulls back and his eyes droop, the tiredness still there yet he seems far more awake somehow.

"Shut up and work your magic, mage. The quicker your done, the quicker we can sleep."

"We? Whoever said I was going to sleep too?"

"Me."

---

OKAY I THINK I LOST THE PLOT OF WHAT I ORIGINALLY WANTED TO DO WITH THIS PROMPT BUT I can't lie, they're cuties still 🤭

I'll be getting through each request one at a time and will post when I open them up again, sorry this took so long (im still reeling from Act 3 ngl but also life is catching up to me so it might be a sec)

#arcane #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #firelights #arcane season 2 #arcane x reader #arcane scar #arcane scar x reader #scar arcane #scar x reader #scar

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roseyswords · 2 days ago

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An analysis of Mastermind (the Song)

Now this is gonna focus primarily on Stolas's perspective throughout this whole song. Not that I think Blitzø or Satan's parts are less interesting they're just more straightforward than the rest of it and I don't think I can expound on them that much.

So first we have Stolas using societies already baked in prejudices against imps to immediately square away the idea that Blitzø could be to blame for the whole thing. And you'll notice that when he's doing this he's putting on the same persona that he used in Circus when he got Blitzø out of trouble with his security guards. The act of a haughty Prince that is taking responsibility for an imp. It's a bit of a go to for him.

Then he starts building up the idea of a Mastermind whose actually behind it all that just using Blitzø for nefarious purposes. I also want to point out the look on Ozzie's face here because it is expressing exactly what I was thinking when I first watched this which was " what the fuck are you going on about Stolas?"

But if you notice something that I'll talk about a bit more later he's not saying he's the Mastermind at this point. He's just talking about a vague Boogeyman esque mastermind here.

Then he goes on to detail what killing Blitzø like this would mean in Hell. First he's doubling down on how lowly he is, meaning he couldn't possibly have done it and that he is clearly just a scapegoat. Basically telling them that doing so won't solve anything. But then next he says that it would "light a fire in the hearts of his race" which as we see afterwards, it did. This whole song stoked massive support for Blitzø and if we remember resulted in the first time in history where an imp sentenced with death got away and survived.

Fuck it! I am the Mastermind. There is the briefest moment here where Stolas closes his eyes and thinks. Right before he says Fuck It. I don't think Stolas had fully cemented on the idea of taking the blame himself until this point. I think this is the point where he realized he can't back down from this, he can't just make up a Mastermind he has to be the Mastermind. I think he has this sort of as the plan the whole time but that he was also giving himself a bit of an out before by being vague. He could have said he was the Mastermind the entire song but this was the moment he started taking full ownership of the title.

I have no regrets/ I have regrets. Publically Stolas is saying that he has no regrets about the whole scheme that he used Blitzø for. But then we immediately go into private mode where Stolas is having some regrets and second thoughts about doing this. He says " why am I throwing my life away for this idiot?" He doesn't like doing this but he's going to anyway.

And he decides to do it because the alternative is Blitzø dying. And that is too horrible of a fate for him to bear. Stolas probably also feels actual responsibility for the whole situation because he made the deal to let Blitzø use the book knowing it was illegal. So if he can do anything to let Blitzø live, this is it and he's gotta do it. So then we get to

I am the Mastermind, the master of my faith. No looking back, we're doubling down. Full on. So much of Stolas arc as a character is culminating in this moment. For so long he has just been a puppet in other peoples plans. He has never been in charge of his own life but now he is the master behind his own decisions and steering his own fate. Even if it's at his own detriment. He sings about how much he loves Blitzø and death itself is the only thing that can break them. He is resolved to this fate and he's taking it head on.

There are so many fucking layers to this episode, it's a gift that keeps on giving. It's my favorite episode containing my favorite Helluva Boss song. I hope you enjoyed this attempt at a breakdown I did.

#helluva boss #helluva boss spoilers #stolitz #blitzø #stolas #Mastermind #mastermind spoilers #song analysis

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astra-ryuusei · 2 days ago

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"Awakening the Sleeping Giant" p2

people seemed to like the first post so have a little more :)

might put it on ao3 later or something

-----------------------

The language barrier is a problem, Ulchtar finally decides once they touch down, and his new friend seems to agree.

He’d hit a snag in trying to describe where to go when he realized the Giant had been asleep for longer than English had existed as a language. Thankfully, gestures seemed to be more-or-less universal, so he was able to get across the idea of where to go eventually. They’re currently nestled in a cave somewhere in the Scandinavian mountains. It’s a remote place, especially after the alien attacks in the area a few years back. But he knows that this isn’t a permanent solution.

They need to learn to communicate before the inability to do so gets them both killed.

Which is why they’re now taking turns scratching out a massive diagram on the cave floor with sticks…Well, a stick and a small tree. They’d been trading words back and forth for a good two hours now. As best as he could tell, the Giant’s language was actually quite simple—consisting mainly of nouns, verbs, descriptors, and modifiers to those two things. It wasn’t particularly elegant, but it was versatile enough.

They’d started with things that were easily drawn-out or mimed: things like “person,” “me,” “you.” There was sort of a pronoun system, and the Giant…seemed to be a “he,” or an equivalent. Then they’d tried to build from there—he’d figured out some of the verbs, and how to phrase things as a question, and from there the two of them had hit it off. Now he was trying to get the guy up to speed, because everything would be a whole lot easier if they knew what was going on.

“So…[me-category-] human.” He points to the crude little figure of a human he’s drawn, and the Giant nods along.

How to explain the war…? “Humans [-planet-creation-positive-] Earth.” He points to the rough map of the world they’ve drawn out, then to the Giant’s rather detailed drawing of a kaiju. “[Planet-creation-negative-] Earth.”

They lean down a little closer to the drawing. “Quintesson,” he says with what sounds like outright distaste. Ulchtar’s a little taken aback by that.

“[Question.] Quintesson [-them. Name?]”

“[Name-positive.] Quintessons [negative-negative-negative.]” They confirm. Okay, triple negatives, so this guy hated the damned things just as much as anyone else. Maybe it wasn’t just Earth under siege…?

“Quintessons [motion-inside] Earth…[creation-negative] humans.” He’s painfully aware of his limited vocabulary, hoping it’s enough to get the point across. The Giant seems to pick up on the intent, tensing up just a little.

He continues. “Humans…[Eyes-positive-you. Humans-creation-negative, desire-negative.] So... [negative-brain-do-positive-you. Creations-do-similar.]” We found you. We didn’t want to die. We studied you. Tried to make things like you.

The Giant whirls towards him at that, picking him up to hold him at eye level. The grip is just tight enough to hurt, just enough to feel like a threat. “[You…complete-negative-me?]”

Ulchtar waves his hands in front of his face frantically, mortified. Oh, he’s really fucked up this time. He didn’t realize the Giant remembered getting taken apart like that. “[M-me-do-negative! Complete-positive-repeat!]” He sputtered. I put you back together!

It wasn’t technically a lie. He hadn’t exactly done it out of the kindness of his heart, but it wasn’t a lie.

The glare softens just a bit, the grip relaxing. He's not in immediate risk of death anymore.

They keep talking for a few hours, until it gets too dark to really see what he's doing anymore.

He hmms, trying to think of the right words…

“Uh…” He points up at the sliver of sky above them. “[Sky. Light-negative. Me-vision-negative.]”

“[…Recharge-you? Eyes-positive-me.]” He was offering to keep watch while Ulchtar slept, he mentally translated.

He nodded, fumbling mentally to figure out how to respond to that. “[…Gratitude-positive.]”

Then, another thought occurred to him. “[You. Name. Question?]”

The Giant paused for a second at that, wings drooping just a little bit. “[…name-knowledge-negative. Memory-negative-negative.]”

…oh.

Ulchtar can’t help but feel a little bad for asking now. He tries to shift the topic a bit, pointing to himself. “[Me. Name.] Ulchtar.”

That gets a tilt of the head. “[You. Name. Sound-similar…Star-sound-positive-positive-pitch-positive?]” In this language, the name and the phrase do sound kind of alike, actually. He laughs at that.

“Star…scream? [Desire-name. Name-sound-positive-positive-positive.]” He adds three positives for emphasis, because it does sound way more badass than “Ulchtar.”

The ground shakes just slightly, and he realizes the Giant is laughing.

Don't get too attached, he reminds himself. They could betray you any second. He's just as dangerous as these Quintessons if he wants to be.

“Oh, knock it off…” He curls up on a relatively comfy-looking patch of cave moss, bundling himself up in some extra clothes in lieu of anything warmer. The cave’s warmer than outside, but still a bit chilly even with the ambient heat from the Giant’s engines heating it up.

It doesn’t stop him from eventually slipping into sleep.

-----------------------

The mech with no name shifts his weight just a little, trying to get comfortable in his hiding spot among the mountains. It’s not much—just a little nook in the rocks where it’s tough to spot him—but it’s better than being out in the open, as badly as he wants to stretch out his wings and fly again.

He doesn’t want to put the human—Starscream—Ulchtar—in danger.

Ulchtar’s the only companion he has in this world right now, after all.

So he’s probably going to stick with him for a bit—in no small part because he really doesn’t know where else he’d go. Most of his memory is long since corrupted, throwing him all kinds of errors whenever he tries to think back to before.

He knows, in broad strokes, what he is. He knows he’s a mechanical lifeform. He knows he’s a shapeshifter of some sort. He knows he can fly, and is probably designed to explore space. He knows what the parts inside of him are—what a spark is and that he needs to drink energon to survive. He knows the Quintessons want him dead.

But he doesn’t know who he is. His name. Where he came from. What his own species is called…

Does he have a species?

This whole world was filled with organic life, and nothing else—it was clear that the other machines he’d seen in that laboratory weren’t alive, but rather artificial constructs. They resembled him, but only superficially. He can’t feel their sparks, let alone any sort of EM field—something even the organics of this world have, albeit very faint ones.

Which leaves him with a very frightening question.

Am I alone?

His internal clock is telling him he’s been on this planet for six million years, trapped in stasis.

Surely someone must’ve looked for him, right? One of his kind, maybe? Surely six million years would’ve been long enough for a search party to find him.

If nobody had ever come looking for him, then…then either there was nobody left to send, or he’d mattered so little that nobody had ever bothered to remember him.

He wasn’t sure which hurt more: being alone, or being nobody.

Something wet drips onto his face.

Terrible time for rain, he thinks to himself.

But when he looks up, there’s not a cloud in the sky.

How odd…

He brushes it away, trying not to think about the question hanging over his head.

The night after that is largely uneventful, up until he notices a strange blue-green light on the horizon.

He pokes his head through the entrance. Was dawn supposed to come this early? Was it usually that color?

-----------------------

When he’s exhausted, Ulchtar is a pretty heavy sleeper.

That said, the fact that the Giant doesn’t wake him up when he moves away is still damned impressive. No, he only wakes up when it starts getting cold again. Still groggy, it takes him a few seconds to realize his vanished from his spot—something that makes him snap awake instantly in a panic.

He looked up towards the surface. Had he been abandoned? Was the Giant going back to—

Oh.

He sees his companion’s winged silhouette just beyond the mouth of the cave, illuminated in blue and green and violet.

He’s staring at something.

Ulchtar creeps closer, and quickly understands why. There’s an aurora snaking across the sky in full force above the mountains, and the Giant watches in wonder.

His wings twitch when Ulchtar draws near, as if sensing him somehow. “Starscream [recharge-positive?]” He asks. It seems like the nickname is sticking.

“[Recharge-positive],” he agrees. It’s another half-truth; he was sleeping fine until he got cold.

The Giant points up at the aurora, looking very confused. “[Occurrence. Name. Question?]”

“Aurora borealis.”

“[Common-positive? Threat-positive? Question?]”

“[Common-negative. Threat-negative.]” Ulchtar assures him.

He seems to relax a bit at that. “[Eye-similar…sky-heat-positive-light-positive.]”

“Yeah, kinda…” He really does not have the vocabulary to explain how the hell an aurora works. "The sky set itself on fire" is as good an explanation as any.

They nod along. “[Vision…positive-positive-positive.]”

That’s a lot of words to say “it’s pretty,” Ulchtar thinks to himself with a little smile, but jolts when his friend’s wings suddenly flatten against his back, an expression of…something like recognition on his face.

“[Name. Me. Memory-negative-now-positive. Sky-heat-positive-light-positive!]” He puts his hands together and looks to Ulchtar almost expectantly, as if he wants him to try translating this name too.

"...Skyfire," he decides after a few seconds.

The look "Skyfire" gives him at that...He's trying his best not to get attached, to do his best impression of a chessmaster moving his pawns around, but by God, if push came to shove he would kill for that smile.

#tf mecha universe #skystar #starscream #skyfire #jetfire #transformers #maccadam

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wonder-farm-hc · 2 days ago

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Shane Headcanons!! 🐔💜

Just some general hcs for Shane, because I think he's very...silly...

No explicit content!

Reminder that requests are open!

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

💜 He tells the player he “never had much of a family”, well, I interpret that as him being in the foster system and passing through different families. His parents simply weren't ready for a kid, and gave him up for adoption

💜 In the end, he got tired of it all and rented a room in Marnie’s ranch

💜 Shane has identified as bisexual ever since he was 15. The realization wasn't anything dramatic, he just thought that he didn't like just girls, but other genders too. Since he didn’t ever have much of a family, he didn’t bother telling his foster parents. He doesn't really talk about it with people, but that's because he doesn't really talk about his personal life.

💜 Him, Marnie and Jas have movie nights at the farm, once a week (and when picking the movie, Shane and Marnie usually can’t resist Jas’ requests) (this is how Shane knows the entirety of “Rapunzel” by memory)

💜 Jas regularly says out of pocket stuff, especially to Shane

💜 Shane loves to pick up Jas and carry her on his shoulder, even if he doesn’t admit it when she asks

💜 After he gives up alcohol (with the encouragement of the farmer) he finds out he likes to keep in shape, actually: he often goes for walks around the forest, near the river, and on the beach

💜 He baby talks to the chickens and has a nickname for each of them. Even Marnie doesn't know how he tells them apart

💜 He has…deep self-esteem issues (duh) and after what went on with the farmer, he feels guilty about it

💜 He’s actually friends with Harvey (after the whole getting-recovered thing, they got to know each other).

💜 He got to know Elliott little by little, especially after getting better, when he became a bit friendlier with people. They surprisingly get along well: although Shane can't always understand Elliott's tastes (and viceversa), they have lots of fun! Plus, Elliott is fond of Jas, and often sees her in the library. Anyone who gets close to Jas is bound to hear something about Shane, as well

💜 After a while Shane, Elliott and Harvey start having "guy nights" at Harvey's place (as Elliott's cabin is too small). The nights usually consists of drinking some beer, wine or cider, and putting on a cheap movie that Shane fishes out of Joja's dvd discount bin. Usually it's something so bad that Shane ends up screaming at the tv while Elliott and Harvey discuss the writing in much more detail (but still take the time to agree with Shane's less...academic way of criticizing)

💜 He would never admit this, but it's actually so fun and nice to have some guy friends in town that are closer to his age

💜 He’s always been friends with Emily as well: it may not look like it, but they have similar music taste and sense of humor, so it was easy for them to become friends

💜 At first, he truly despised Sam, as he started to work after Shane, and he wasn’t that patient with him. But little by little they grew closer, and became friends (even if Shane hardly admits it). Now, they like to irritate Morris together

💜 Since it's canon that Shane play videogames in the saloon after he quits drinking, I imagine he sometimes gets invited/challenged by Sam, on Friday nights where Sam, Abigail and Sebastian hang out at the saloon. Abigail and Sebastian still think he's a bit too grumpy for their liking, but they respect his skills at the game

💜 Speaking of, he's the best gamer in town. He has a console in his room, and has loved video games since he was in elementary school

#stardew valley #lgbtqia+#sdv #sdv headcanons #sdv shane #starde valley shane #shane

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sturnswrites · 4 hours ago

Text

terms and conditions - pt.5

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

⤳ you move in with the triplets after losing your apartment prompting a "roommate agreement". after having a tricky relationship with matt, some of the rules begin to blur.

⤳ angst, smut, p in v, etc.

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The days after the party felt heavier than they should have. The air in the house was tense, each room carrying the weight of unsaid words and stolen glances. You avoided Matt as best you could, keeping your interactions limited to Nick and Chris. They, thankfully, didn’t press you for details, but even Nick had started throwing out some knowing looks.

Matt, on the other hand, didn’t seem to know how to handle the situation either. You caught him glaring at you a few times in the kitchen, but he never said anything. It was almost worse than fighting—it was like you were both waiting for the other to make the first move, and neither of you were willing to take that step.

One night, the house was unusually quiet. Chris and Nick were out doing God knows what, and you had the living room to yourself. Wrapped in a blanket, you picked a sad, sappy movie to match your mood. Your mind kept drifting back to the party, to Matt’s words, his expression, the way he looked at you like you were something he couldn’t have but desperately wanted.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear him come out from his room.

“You always watch stuff like this when you’re upset?” Matt’s voice startled you. You glanced toward the door and found him standing there, hands shoved into his sweatpants pockets, his hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your tone sharper than you intended.

He shrugged. “Chris and Nick aren’t home. I figured I’d see what you were up to.”

“Well, you’ve seen,” you said, turning back to the screen.

“Can I sit?” he asked hesitantly, nodding toward the couch.

You sighed, not having the energy to fight him off. “Do whatever you want.”

Matt settled on the opposite end of the couch, leaving a good amount of space between the two of you. But even then, you could feel him there, his presence an irritating mix of familiarity and tension. You both sat in silence for a while, the sounds of the movie filling the room.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“You don’t get to act like nothing happened,” you said, your voice low but sharp.

He stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you said, shifting to face him. “The way you treated me at the party. The things you said. You can’t just… ignore that.”

“I’m not ignoring it,” he said defensively, his brows furrowing. “I was pissed, okay?”

“Yeah, you made that very clear,” you shot back. “But you didn’t have the right to be. You don’t get to act like you care and then turn around and treat me like crap.”

“I do care,” he snapped, his voice rising.

“Then why do you act like you don’t?” you demanded.

Matt ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do, Y/N! I’ve been trying to keep my distance, to follow the stupid rules, but it’s impossible when you’re around all the time.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before agreeing to let me move in,” you said bitterly.

“Don’t do that,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “Don’t act like I don’t want you here. That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about, Matt?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly. “Because I don’t get it. One minute you’re ignoring me, and the next you’re jealous and possessive. You can’t keep messing with my head like this.”

“I’m not trying to mess with you,” he said, leaning closer. His eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath hitch. “I’m trying to keep myself from falling apart.”

“What are you talking about?” you whispered, your heart pounding.

“I’m talking about how I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice raw. “How every time I see you with someone else, it makes me crazy. How I’ve been falling for you since the day you moved in, but I’ve been too scared to say anything because I didn’t want to ruin this.”

Your breath caught, his words hitting you like a tidal wave. “Matt…”

“I know,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I know it’s not fair. I know I’ve been an asshole, and I’m sorry. But I can’t pretend anymore.”

You looked away, your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “You think this has been easy for me?” you asked, your voice trembling. “You think I haven’t been struggling with my feelings for you too? But I didn’t want to break the rules and lose my place here—or lose you.”

He reached out, his hand hesitating for a moment before gently cupping your cheek. “You’re not going to lose me,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your skin.

You looked up at him, your faces inches apart. The air between you two felt electric, the tension building to a breaking point.

“Matt…” you whispered again, but this time, you didn’t know what you were going to say.

Before you could think, he closed the distance, his lips crashing into yours. The kiss was desperate, full of all the emotions you’d been holding back for weeks.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands finding their way to his chest as he pulled you closer. His hands slid to your waist, gripping you like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You broke apart only long enough to catch your breath, and then he was kissing you again, deeper this time, his hands exploring your body with a hunger that left you dizzy.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and breathless.

“Just shut up and kiss me,” you replied, tugging him back to you.

After some time went by being tangled in each other's embrace, you finally pulled back to catch your breath.

"Matt, you're driving me fucking crazy," you moan, pulling him closer to you on the couch. Your hands are buried in Matt’s hair, tugging gently at his roots. You can feel his hardness pressed against your thigh, and you grind against it, desperate for friction.

Matt groans, his mouth finding yours in a searing kiss. His hands are everywhere, skimming your waist, cupping your breasts, tracing the curve of your ass. You can feel the heat building between you two, the tension snapping and crackling in the air.

"Fuck, y/n," Matt muttesr against your lips. "I've wanted you for so long."

You gasp as Matt lifts you off the couch, his arms encircling your waist. You wrap your legs around his hips, your core pressed against his erection. You can feel how wet you are, how ready you are for him. "Take me to your room," you breathe, nipping at your bottom lip.

He nodded, carrying you down the hallway and into his bedroom. He lays you down on his bed, his body hovering over yours. His eyes rake over your body, taking in every inch of you.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the line of your collarbone.

You blush, your heart pounding in your chest. You reach up, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "Take this off," you demand, your voice husky with desire.

Matt complies, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. You can't help but stare, your eyes taking in the defined muscles of his chest and abs. You reach up, running your fingers over his skin.

"Your turn," he growled, his eyes dark with desire.

You sit up, pulling your own shirt over your head. You toss it aside, feeling exposed and vulnerable under Matt’s gaze. But there's no judgment in his eyes, only desire.

"Perfect," he murmured, his fingers tracing the curves of you.

You shiver, your nipples hardening under his touch. He leans down, taking one in his mouth and sucking gently. You gasp, your back arching off the bed.

"Matt," you moan, your hands fisting in his hair.

He switched to the other breast, lavishing it with attention. You can feel the heat building between your legs, your core aching for release.

He trails his fingers down your stomach, tracing the waistband of your pants. You lift your hips, helping him pull them down. He tosses them aside, his eyes taking in the sight of you in just my panties.

"Fuck, y/n," he mutters, his eyes dark with desire. "You're so fucking wet."

You blush, your core clenching at his words. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. You shiver, your hips bucking towards his mouth.

"Please," you beg, your voice hoarse with desire.

Matt doesn’t make you wait, his tongue flicking out to taste you. You cry out, your back arching off the bed. He groans, his tongue delving deeper. He teases and torments you, his tongue flicking and swirling until you’re a writhing, trembling mess.

"Matt, please," you beg, your fingers fisting in the sheets.

His fingers sliding inside of you, you cry out, your hips bucking towards your hand. He curls his fingers, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. You moan, your eyes rolling back in your head.

"Oh god, yes," you gasp, your orgasm barreling towards you like a freight train.

Matt doesn’t let up, his fingers and tongue working in tandem until you’re crying out his name, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. You shudder, your body trembling with the aftershocks.

Matt pulls back, his fingers sliding out of you. You whimper, already missing the feeling of fullness. But then he’s pulling off his pants, his erection springing free. You can't help but stare, your eyes taking in the sight of him.

"Fuck, y/n," Matt muttered, his eyes dark with desire. "I need to be inside of you."

You nod, your legs spreading wide in invitation. Matt doesn't leave much time to wait, his tip pressing against your entrance. You gasp, your back arching off the bed.

"Matt," you moan, your eyes locked with his.

He slides inside of you, inch by inch, until you're fully seated. Matt moans, his hips meeting yours in a primal rhythm. He groans, his fingers digging into your hips.

"Fuck, y/n," he says, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. "You feel so fucking good."

You can feel another orgasm building, your core clenching around you. "Matt, I'm close," you gasp.

The knot inside of you breaks, slowly sending Matt, chasing his own release as he finishes inside of you. You both are left, almost breathless at what had just happened.

The minutes following your intimate time together were quiet, saved for the sound of your heavy breathing as you lay tangled together on Matt's bed. Your head rested against Matt’s chest, his arm wrapped securely around you like he was afraid you’d slip away. The warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest, the faint scent of him—it all felt so intoxicating, yet somehow comforting.

After a long moment, you broke the silence. “So much for the roommate agreement,” you murmured, your voice tinged with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

Matt let out a soft chuckle, the vibrations rumbling through you. “Yeah… guess we kinda blew that out of the water, huh?”

You tilted your head to look up at him, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his chest. “What happens now?” you asked, your tone quieter, more uncertain.

His expression softened as his hand moved to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Now?” he echoed, his voice steady. “Now, we figure it out. Together.”

You gave him a small, hesitant smile, still unsure but comforted by his sincerity. “You think this is a good idea?”

“I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time,” he said, his lips quirking into a smirk. Then, after a pause, he added more seriously, “I’m not letting this mess everything up between us, Y/N. Not now, not ever. I care about you too much.”

His words made your heart swell, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned up to press a kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. “Me too, Matt,” you whispered against his mouth.

He smiled down at you, his eyes shining with something you hadn’t seen before—certainty, determination. “Good,” he said, his voice low. “Because I’m not going anywhere. And for the record… I’m not sharing those snacks anymore. They’re all yours now.”

You laughed, playfully smacking his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he replied smugly, pulling you back into his arms.

And in that moment, as you let yourself relax against him, you realized he was right. Whatever this was, whatever it would become, you wanted it too. Rules be damned.

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The long awaited part 5!!!! There is still gonna be a little more after this! I hope you all like it :)

⭒ margot

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@mattsdillon @hesvoid3434 @admeliora94

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fandom #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo smut

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