#this isn’t fair to anybody involved

[devils-little-sista]

One of the most frustrating and confusing parts of life is when I start to do something for closure and then realizing this closure may do more to harm me than heal me like I hoped it would.

[silverflqmes]

໒⦂ 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐂𝐒.

synopsis. a compilation of headcanons that showcase the dating experience of the first class SOLDIER boys — along with a certain self proclaimed one..

genre. fluff + crack

ft. sephiroth, cloud strife, zack fair, genesis rhapsodos, angeal hewley

gender neutral! reader.

➫ 𝓢𝗘𝗣𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗛 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ what’s it like dating sephiroth? it’s along the lines of sneaking around to meet at your most favorite spots, learning how to love, delicate touches and kisses, elements of forbidden romance, healing and deep conversations involving lots of reassurance.

⌗ sephiroth isn’t very familiar with physical affection, it’s something he never had the luxury of experiencing all his life.. so he would be a bit awkward with it, confused even, but he’s willing to learn cuz he wants to bond with you more! that and he’s hella touch starved.. although he won’t say🙁

⌗ love language, let’s see.. he also seems like the acts of service kinda guy, but values words of affirmation — whether towards himself or towards you. he doesn’t want his unwarranted popularity to bring you doubt of your own worth, but he also wants to hear he’s enough for you, since he, um, doesn’t view himself in the best light.. sobs.

⌗ the first date.. well, i would think you guys would have been together during the crisis core era cuz like.. after nibelheim.. kinda hard. unless you have jenova cells😭 anyways- the first date! he was not sure on where to take you, given his schedule and just him not um being sure on where to take you.. somehow, though, you ended up at a beautiful library, straight out of a fairytale setting. how he found such a hidden gem in midgar of all places stayed unknown to you, but it was such a lovely outing together<3 he seemed so carefree and at ease ( im sobbing. )

⌗ if anybody dares talk shit about sephiroth or make him feel outcasted, inhuman — whatever they have made him feel — BEAT THEM UP!! although, not actually.. because he won’t let you😐 still, he finds it sweet that despite his power and capability of ending somebody’s career — you won’t hesitate for even a second to stand up for him. likewise, if people dare to hurt you in anyway, it’s on sight.

⌗ ah, the i love you.. he would take a minute to say it because he’s still trying to understand the concept of love and process that you actually feel that way about him. but you wouldn’t say it first — he would. because you want him to say it when he feels it’s right, cuz you don’t wanna pressure him or anything..

⌗ sephiroth became a father of a very, very adorable feline friend that you surprised him with one day to keep him company. he was confused at first — but has grown fond of the cat and it’s his best friend now. they have the same eye color too and the cat has silver fur!!

➫ 𝓒𝗟𝗢𝗨𝗗 𝓢𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗙𝗘 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ what’s it like dating cloud? it’s late nights underneath the stars, comforting words and squeezes, a rollercoaster of challenges that you will have to overcome in order to be with one another.. and emotional constipation on his end for sure, but he’s trying his best!

⌗ cloud isn’t exactly the easiest with pda, he gets embarassed easily and doesn’t seem like the type to uh.. want people watching him do something outside of his norm? not really the spotlight loving type despite the wall market arc.. but he is okay with handholding and locking pinkies even too<3

⌗ his love language, hm.. i think it would be acts of service on the giving end, and for the receiving end, i think words of affirmation would suit his wants. he just wants to make sure he’s doing okay for you, every now and again he needs to hear it. otherwise i do see physical affection behind curtains.. he’s not openly expressive on it — has a hard time asking for stuff🥹

⌗ first date, uhh.. i think he would’ve gotten with you by the advent children timeline, just because he wants to do some reflection and y’know get the angst out of his system.. but anyway, the date i think would be a drive on fenrir ( his motorcycle.. ) to the outskirts of edge, somewhere the stars can be seen. it’s simple, nothing complex, just to unwind and enjoy the other’s company.

⌗ cloud tends to get nightmares a lot, i mean, bro has unresolved trauma.. and doesn’t have all his memories back because of that. so i feel he would have developed insomnia or just fears going to sleep. when this happens, i imagine later down the line when you are comfy with each other, be there for him!! company helps, always<3

⌗ for the i love you.. well, i think you’ll probably be the one to say it first — but verbatim. cloud, however, would be the one to say it first.. but without actually saying those three words.

⌗ while cloud has a very idgaf attitude and demeanor, he won’t hesitate to kick ass if someone speaks bad on you or does anything harmful towards you. bro literally used to brawl with kids back in nibelheim😭 if he hears any shit spoken on you or sees you getting pushed around, the buster is coming tf out🫡 or well, i suppose first tsurugi if it’s ac..

➫ 𝓩𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝓕𝗔𝗜𝗥 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ what’s it like dating zack fair? a total fever dream that makes you feel like a school girl in love, surprise attack hugs, being dragged to all sorts of places for dates, phone calls when you are apart and can’t sleep, convenience store trips at super odd hours and avoiding your responsibilities at shinra!

⌗ bro is so about pda, he can’t keep his hands off you!! wants to hug and hold you as much as possible, truly a puppy🥸 in public he likes to hold hands and walks with a skip in his step cuz he’s just so happy to be around you, also likes to wrap an arm around you for close proximity<3 doesn’t shy away from physical touch basically!

⌗ love language.. definitely physical affection, bro is totally the clingy type.. but i also believe he would value it a lot tbh — giving as well as receiving! then there’s acts of service, cuz i think that would also be his thing based on him telling aerith to make a list of her wishes for him.. OH, OH AND QUALITY TIME!! can’t forget that🙃

⌗ the first date was at costa del sol!! cc era too cuz um.. well.. y’know.. zack needed a break away from SOLDIER activities and hitting the beach seemed like a good way to go! catch some rays, chase those waves, maybe some volleyball, bbq and smoothies!! if you think it’s gonna be a relaxing day.. it’s probably gonna be a shit load of different activities.. but don’t worry!! you’ll get the absolute best sleep EVER afterwards. guaranteed!!

⌗ zack is a pretty emotional person, he feels very easily so if you’re hurt or upset, he aches for you. he rlly wants you to be happy, doesn’t want to see your smile taken away, ever. so he does everything in his power to ensure your happiness and if it’s people who have brought you sadness, then oh boy, they have another thing coming..

⌗ he kinda blurts the i love you out first without thinking tbh, it just comes out and he has the widest grin on his face when he says it. he fr doesn’t know what he’s doing to you, no matter how flustered or warm your chest feels, he’s so nonchalant about it😭 like why should he wait when he knows how he feels??

⌗ angeal had to give him a long ass talk about dating, honor, treating you well — you name it, your average angeal lecture🫡 but romance edition.. featuring genesis ( and sephiroth in the background smiling apologetically )

➫ 𝓖𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗜𝗦 𝓡𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗦𝗢𝗗𝗢𝗦 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ what’s it like dating genesis? it’s like being in a fairytale or movie, having poetry recited to you on the daily to further emphasize his love, getting spoiled endlessly, touches that leave you wanting more and ending up with the prince of your dreams.. kinda.

⌗ he is very much about pda! likes to display that you are his, holds you in his arms at any chance he gets, peppers you with slow, yet lingering kisses that leaves you completely touch starved😪 angeal has to scold him sometimes when he takes too long saying goodbye, especially if they have to go on missions..

⌗ love language would be a mixture between gift giving and physical affection, but i could also see him wanting words of affirmation. i mean he feels like he’s the failed attempt at being sephiroth, believes that the top hero spot should be his and all.. but otherwise, giving gifts to you would definitely be smtn he’d wanna do, especially if his missions are outside of midgar.

⌗ ah, the first date.. well, once again your best chance at being with him would have to have been during the cc timeline cuz bro dips.. but anyway!! the date.. well, strap yourself in cuz you’re going to a living showing of genesis’ favorite, loveless. yes, yes he takes you to a play. how can he not? it’s his favorite work of literature, and he wants to share that love with you too!! he’ll dress you up fancy beforehand, bought you a whole outfit😵‍💫

⌗ circling back to the reassurance thing.. despite his arrogance, he feels like he’s not good enough a lot. feels like a failed project in a sense, and views himself as less because of his degradation — it’s just a slow burn for him. but a little bit of affirmation on your end and the promise of wanting him for him helps a lot<3

⌗ who said i love you first.. hm, he seems like the type to say it without actually saying those specific words. i think he would have said it several times via poetry before you fully register that this man fr said he loved you. awkward on your end. but when the pieces finally clicked together, butterflies swarmed your stomach hella but you adored every minute of it🫶

⌗ he shows off his relationship with you at any chance he gets to sephiroth and zack, angeal kinda but not really.. but he’s just super proud to have you as his and makes sure that it’s known among his colleagues at shinra😭 clown behavior fr but you love it anyway, it’s always nice to feel wanted — even if your man is flashy about it..

➫ 𝓐𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗔𝗟 𝓗𝗘𝗪𝗟𝗘𝗬 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ what’s it like dating angeal? being treated with lots of care and gentleness, bit of a mom for a boyfriend at times cuz he wants to make sure you’re taken care of, cradling your face in his hands like you’re his everything and saving you no matter the odds, like a guardian angel.

⌗ pda won’t um.. be so much, bro is very respectful of space and has to be proper or whatever because of honor!! that and he kinda has an image to upkeep, especially with zack around — gotta show the right example of having a significant other! but when you’re alone, he likes to hold you close and just enjoy your presence tbh

⌗ the love language.. let me see, i think he would be a mixture between acts of service and quality time. he enjoys being with you and any company he can get when he isn’t called on missions or babysitting training zack. when he can’t be present, he does things for you to express his love — genesis urges him to!!

⌗ okay let’s see.. the first date, well — again, cc timeline here too since he also, um, leaves.. ANYWAY. where was the location of the first date, you might ask, well.. the museum tbh! i think he would enjoy the calmness of it and just looking at different works of art.. except his most favorite work would fr distract him from any other scenes — that being you. so plan failed on his end, but you had enjoyed yourself lots, and that made him happy to witness🫶

⌗ the amount of panic he would feel if he saw you hurt, like bro is meant to protect you — he promised that he would.. so angeal would feel like he failed you in a sense for not being there to prevent your pain, but you remind him that he’s there now and that you feel safe again, grounded in spite of the hurt you earlier felt.

⌗ i think the first i love you would come from you cuz he just.. wouldn’t know the right time or chance to say it LMAO so you end up saying it which brings this look of shock to his face, but then a warm smile would stretch across his lips, knowing you felt the same as he did<3

⌗ can’t sleep? he’s got plenty of stories to tell about his childhood and some silly events during his missions. it feels foreign to hear this lighthearted, less mature side to him, but it’s also a breath of fresh air and makes you feel special that he allows you to see this more relaxed side to him that isn’t a stoic overly responsible SOLDIER🗣️

notes. whew oh boy uhh second time writing ffvii, i hope it turned out okay :’) i kinda wrote these out of order so some might seem longer or shorter but i hope you guys enjoy!! ik it’s different from the fandoms i write for, but welp this is where my brain has been🫡

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[hotheadedhero]

In Unrequited Love - Part 3

AN: Hey, can I be sappy with y'all a moment? When I first started this story, I was admittedly pretty proud of what I came up with but I never anticipated the amount of love it would receive, so thank you everyone! <3 I also thank you for your patience, you have all been great 😋 With that said, I now bestow the conclusion to this renegade of emotion

Part 1 - Part 2

Donatello x Reader

Pathetic. That’s the one word that keeps ringing in your ears like echoes of a bug-infested cavern, the erratic scuttling serving loudly as your reminder. In no respect towards yourself, you are. All you have done since Casey escorted you back home is wallow in bed, tossing around the agonising reprieve that you are a love-strung puppy awaiting its next pat on the head. That’s why you’ve kept texting Donnie to a minimum; cut yourself off from the source and deal with the withdrawal symptoms. Doing this has you riddled with guilt but what else are you meant to do? Everybody loves somebody, right? But you don’t want to love anybody if it isn’t him. Perceivably dramatic, yes. After all, he is still a valued friend. Currently, the way you see it, it’s best to let yourself get over this puppy-dog sickness before that friendship can continue. Again, dramatic but the only logical option with April so tantalisingly strung in the picture.

Living a life of solitude hasn’t been all bad. For starters, you’ve been able to rest your ankle. Walking on it is still a fair challenge but it’s much more manageable than it was before. These past couple of days have also given you amble opportunity to reflect, as it were. It’s kind of easy to understand why one would fall for the resident bad boy in High School but a mutant turtle living in the sewers? No disrespect to Donnie, of course, but you’re just surprised. You don’t even think about all of that when you think of him. All that comes to mind is the heavenly warmth of his eyes; the soft care in them when you would help him out in the lab or when he’d be tending to one of your bumps. Euphoria’s temptress beckons you in once more in its rose-tinted glaze as you fantasise about some superfluous daydream involving him. The sweet melodies enrapture you in this cosy bubble as you curl up in bed but the sharp force of reality is swift and knocks you down before a peak is seized.

Perhaps trying to get over this infatuation isn’t quite going as planned. Groaning out into the open air, you throw a pillow into your face and continue your muffled whining. This is so unfair. Why can’t he be the one that you don’t want? You just can’t seem to escape the fact that you need him. In your state of disarray, you’ve even tried to figure out how to become the one that he thinks about. To try and curate him into being the other half of what you’ve never had. Closeness. A deeply set solitude that seemed so alien to you before you started hanging out with him. Time is slipping at this point. You swear you must be going crazy because of it. There have been a couple of nights when you swear something - someone - has been lingering outside your bedroom. Yet, when you get up to check, there’s nothing there. Part of you hopes that it’s your long-awaited love checking up on you whilst the other screams that you have indeed lost your mind. 

As it would turn out, you’re not as deluded as you might think yourself to be. Indeed, Donatello has tried many a time to meet you in person but to no avail. Many times he has attempted to knock on your window only for his courage to crawl back into the ground and, alas, he does the same by retreating to his home in the sewers. What is he meant to do? You hardly message him if at all these days. Considering the state of injuries you’d endure, he’s worried about you. He has every right to be worried about you. What more could happen to you whilst unsupervised? He doesn’t want to be overly protective but he has valid grounds for such concern. His only assurance that you’re alright is when he sees your shadow through your curtain at night but that isn’t enough. Of course, it isn’t enough. He wants to care for you and cater to your every need and undying whim. 

If only words could do him justice in articulating how he feels about you but he has never been so eloquently spoken unless it’s with regards to the sciences. He’s yours but you’re not his. He just wants you to be with him. If he had to - if he could - he would take the light out of the stars to help you see that. Anything for you to understand just how much he loves you. These spats of poetry are easy enough to site to himself but he knows he would tumble the moment he does as much as even consider reciting such lullabies to you.

Donnie leans over his desk, head in his hands, and sighs heavily for the umpteenth time this day, ever thankful that the streets have been quieter than usual. It’s not as though he can focus on much of anything. All surfaces of his brain have been overtaken and overruled by the thought of you. At this point, he doesn’t even care if nothing happens between the two of you. More so than anything, he just wants you back in the lair. It doesn’t matter if you’ll never be more than friends, he misses his lab partner. It isn’t as though he’s been particularly subtle in his grovelling, either. Figuring out that he had a crush on April was a no-brainer but this has been much more obvious and much more detrimental. His brothers can’t seem to get him out of this funk as much as they may try. Day in and day out, it’s the same thing: Donatello sulking in his lab, staring off into space and pretending to look busy on one of his gadgets. Desperate times call for desperate measures and if he needs a smack up the head, there’s only one person for the job. 

“Come on, Donnie, when are you gonna stop beating yourself up over this?” Raph asks, palming at the desk and resting his body weight against it. 

“Oh, yes, because I stand so much of a chance with (Y/n),” his brother remarks sarcastically. 

The shorter of the two shifts his attention elsewhere, lips turning to the side shamefully. He never wants to feel bad about poking fun or laying out the hard truths of their shared situation being mutants. The bitter contempt within his brother's voice is fair given the fits of teasing in concordance with the cold facts that mutants and humans can’t be. In hindsight, he and his brothers could have treated the situation with more care. Still, as brash as he can be, Raph hates to see a family member suffering as such. Whilst his methods aren’t all conventional, sometimes it’s necessary. 

Raphael huffs and rolls his eyes. “You know what you need?”

“For you to go away?”

“No,” he responds quickly, stifling the annoyance beneath bated breath, “what you need is to get your head out of this storm cloud. Sitting around and moping all day isn’t gonna change anything. So what if you don’t stand a chance? You won’t know until you try.”

“Thank you, Raphael, your input is valuable as always,” Donnie scorns rudely once more and exhales heavily. “I think I just want to be left alone.”

As heartbreaking as it is, such a wish can be respected, especially by the turtle that frequents isolated periods when he’s in a bad mood. Raph takes his leave and reconvenes with Casey for their night of watch duty. They sit atop an apartment roof, scathing the barren area for trouble that never seems to come. It doesn’t take more than a few minutes before the main matter at hand becomes the point of conversation. 

“He just needs to take action,” Raph claims as he smacks a fist down into his palm. “I know we haven’t exactly been supportive but it’s eating him up. The sooner he gets it over with, the sooner he can be done with the whole thing.”

Casey’s cheeks puff up into his hands and he frowns, only for a wry grin to quickly take his lips. “Or, he just needs the expert to give him a helping hand.”

“Oh? You’ve changed your tune.”

“Hey, as long as he isn’t trying it on with Red, I’m all good.” Jones shrugs and pulls out his phone. “Now, watch a pro at work.”

Just a few blocks down from our duo lies your rotting form within the confines of your bedroom. It feels as though the space has somehow gotten smaller these last few days. You’ve chosen to spread eagle on the floor seeing as the bed has suddenly become uncomfortable, too. Rolling onto your side, you grab your phone and flick through your music, every song you pass turning out to either be a love song or something somber. Thanks, fate. Turning out to be a great ally here. You scroll a little longer in search of a distraction when a notification takes your attention. 

Hockey Junkie: Hows the ankle treatin ya, everyone in the lair misses u

It hasn’t been uncommon for any of the gang to message you but Casey being somewhat sentimental isn’t inherently natural. You suppose it was only a matter of time. You have been quiet for a short while now. If this has been good for anything, at least you know your friends care about you. It’s only fair that you halt your pitiful oath of silence. 

Nerd’s Assistant: I can walk on it fine but I might give it another day or two just to be sure Hockey Junkie: Playing safe, gotcha Hockey Junkie: Forget that crap tho, get your butt down here, the guys think ur dead

You huff a laugh to yourself and rest your weary head against your folded arm as you roll onto your stomach. In truth, you could have returned to the lair a couple of days ago but that sinking sensation sullies your stomach any time you contemplate the idea. All the more reason to stick to this seclusion. Without knowing what to say, you put your phone down and sigh into the carpet. The sweet melodies from your speaker are almost all-encompassing until your phone dings again. Then, again and for a third time before you decide to take a look.

Hockey Junkie: Look lemme be real with you Hockey Junkie: Gap tooth aint doing so hot right now Hockey Junkie: Can you at least give him a visit? Do it for your favorite classmate yeh?

The last cocky comment goes amiss with the main picture here. What’s wrong with Donnie and what has it got to do with you? All you can think on the matter is that he misses having someone to vent about April to. No, that isn’t fair to him. There’s more to him than just being madly infatuated with her. He’s a beautiful person of vision, albeit a little on the awkward side but that just makes him all the more adorable. Seeing as you haven’t replied to a lot of his texts, he must be bloated with a bad conscience. That must be what Casey is getting at. It takes some effort but you convince yourself that Donatello indeed misses his friendly assistant and that it’s high time you make a move. There goes your vow of distancing yourself. Goodbye, vegetative bed rotting.

Walking to the lair after so much time would be alien was the route not learned via muscle memory. There’s still an unsettling energy that becomes all the more poignant with every step you take but you’re putting that down to your nerves. You should probably text first; let him know that you’re coming but you’ve already made it to the large doors of his laboratory. As your fingers trace over the smooth metal, you think about the day that started this all - the day that would mark a start to something so unexpected that it almost doesn’t seem real. This is real. The alarming beat in your chest is all too loud for it to be a dream. It’s now or never. Taking a deep breath, you knock and pull one of the doors to the side, revealing the beaten-down turtle surrounded by unfinished projects and forgotten inventions alike.  

He slumps further and throws a hand up loosely. “I know you’re trying to help but I already said-” He stops speaking when he turns around and sees it’s you. 

You wave awkwardly with a just as clumsy smile to greet him. He springs up to his feet and bounds towards you, going in for a hug, only to stop himself just a few steps in front of you. That’s too much too soon. Your arrival is just so unexpected but by no means is it unwelcome. Many questions. There’s a lot he wants to ask and much more that he wants to say, like how much he’s missed you, how concerned he’s been, or please, never do that again. 

Instead, he says the only thing he can rationally think to, “How is the, uh, ankle doing?”

“Much better. Some positions still hurt but…” You do a little spin on the spot to demonstrate how much you’ve healed, laughing shortly. “... I can walk now at least.”

Donnie laughs as well, glad for that much. “So, no more injuries I need to worry about?” he asks playfully with raised brows. 

“Nah~” you resound melodically, winking with a waggishness. “Sorry to disappoint, Doc.”

Not a disappointment at all. Knowing you’re in good health, at least physically, is a huge relief. Between the shared chortling and the all-together prospect of dismantling the initial awkwardness, it’s great to have you back. It’s good to be back and you’re inwardly scolding yourself for depriving yourself of pleasant company. An aching heart can make you do stupid things and you’re about to realise just how stupid going quiet was. Donatello rubs the back of his head and seems to look everywhere but at you. 

“So how come you never messaged?” he asks slowly. “I got worried.”

There’s the guilt you had expected but you didn’t realise it would be so gut-wrenching. He’s trying to mitigate how hurt he was but it’s clear as day on his face. You contemplate reaching for him as extra consolation, finger flickering towards his. Instead, hold onto your forearm and tilt your head shamefully.

“I’m sorry. I never wanted to worry anyone, especially not you. Just needed some time to myself, I think. You know, reflect on stuff.” Ah, he thinks to himself, Casey stuff no doubt. You blow off a cackle and shrug. “Without sounding like a complete pessimist, I think it’ll be easier to accept that no one could ever fall for me.”

You play it off as a joke - for the most part, that’s how you meant it - but he isn’t having that for a second. His hands jolt for your shoulders unexpectedly. Nothing follows and your wide eyes blink furiously with the abrupt action. 

“Donnie?”

Still, nothing. Gaze turned downwards, he just holds your shoulders, as though he’s thinking long and hard about something. He is. He’s thinking so very hard about this. Even the risk of making a fool of himself can’t scare him out of doing it now. There’s only so long he can carefully tread on this ice before it eventually breaks beneath him and swallows him whole. One might argue that’s not as bad as flat-out rejection but he doesn’t care anymore. It’s time to put those words to the test. 

He breathes deeply to collect himself, to avoid falling into a blubbering mess, and closes his eyes before getting straight to the point. “I know I could never stand any chance with you, as much as I like to pretend that I do, but I’d like it to be known at least. Even if you could never feel the same way, just know that you are loved - that you’re worth loving - and that… I’m in love with you. Don’t ever say stuff like that because it’s not true.”

All you can do is stare. Had he kept his eyes open, he would have witnessed your face shift into every conceivable expression whilst you tried to unpack what had just been said. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Both could be an option were you not so stunned to the point of near incapacitation. The lack of response is jarring yet still, he can’t bring himself to look at you. 

“Oh my God,” you suddenly wheeze under a whisper, afraid that if you speak any louder, you’ll surely burst into tears. “Are you for real?” Confused, he goes to answer but you continue. “Donnie,” you breathe more weakly, “I have been hopelessly in love with you for weeks and now I’m hearing that you feel the same? In all this time where I’ve been in my own head. I just thought that- with April-” You cut yourself off and step back, jerking your shoulders away from his clutch. “No. There’s no way. This isn’t funny, Donnie. Just stop.”

There’s a brief period of chronostasis - a beautiful phenomenon in which time stills and he has the space to reflect on what has just sputtered from your mouth. He almost can’t believe it and, it seems, you can’t believe his own words either. He wants to jump with joy, spring with glee, and throw it in his brothers’ faces for ever doubting such circumstances. The overconfidence can wait. At this moment, it’s just the two of you with this air of reconciliation, though dampened by doubt. Your doubt. 

He holds a hand out to you only for it to clasp into a soft fist. It would be easy to act on the defensive but that wouldn’t amount to anything. If it’s evidence you seek, so he shall provide. He walks over to his desk and retrieves a small box - the same box that you had snooped on the other week, the one containing the quaint, little bracelet that is surely meant for April. That’s what you assumed, which is why your heart clenches tightly. He carefully takes it out of its packaging and fawns over it in a moment of vulnerability. You’re awaiting words of inclination towards the redhead but he remains silent. A green thumb skips over the turtle charm and Donatello outstretches his other hand to you. Wearily, you oblige and bestow yours to him. He cups the back of your hand and turns it over so that he may place the delicate-looking jewellery in your palm, making sure the charm is turned up on its backside. You frown at his peculiar behaviour, only to realise that something is inscribed on the turtle’s underbelly: your initials. 

When it all comes to light, your head turns up to meet him again. He’s glanced away shyly but there’s an awkward smile on his lips. One would think that this shared admittance is something to be celebrated with a fantastical display but it feels much too surreal. You have this horrible vision of waking up in your room, finding this to be another one of your crazed dreams. When he finally meets your stare, those fears vanish. Wild imagination or not, you could never replicate that warm glow of those maroon eyes. Even thoughts of being embarrassed about the tears in your own couldn’t ruin this moment. You fawn over the little bracelet again and shimmy it onto your wrist. The exchange is silent but there’s an ambient comfort: an unfamiliar familiarness that paves way between the two of you and closes the gap you’ve both been aching to be rid of. Neither of you is well-equipped with your words, so this alteration best suits the moment. Everything that has come to be may have been born from unrequited feelings for your friends but the birth place doesn’t matter. Value is held in each other’s happiness and simply loving one another unconditionally.

You lean up, lifting yourself on your good foot mostly, and kiss him on the cheek. His inelegant grin drops and you’re sure the tassels of his mask would have flickered up if they obtained sentient life. A primrose hue blossoms his face - one that you become well-acquainted with when he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to your forehead. With you both soaring ever higher, he pulls you into a long-awaited embrace, holding you close as your bodies transcend orbit and go off into the stars. 

Man, he sure does love being a turtle.

[starlitvick]

Okay okay okay. Hear me out: Apollo x Telemachus.

I know I sound mental rn but it would be REALLY funny, and honestly kinda cute. Like you cannot deny that Telemachus would be Apollo’s type. I fear local pretty young prince is exactly the kinda person Apollo would be like “yeah I’d hit” and Tel would honestly probably go from “why is this god talking to me so often?” to “wait is he flirting with me?” to “wait but I don’t like men… but like Apollo’s kinda cute… wait no!” to “okay so maybe I like men but do I wanna get involved with a god?” pipeline of self discovery era all because the god of archery and music came down and started flirting one day

Athena is VERY unimpressed with her half brother for this one of course 😔 she is in fact their biggest hater (Ody is close in second he wants Apollo AWAY from his child)

Penelope and Hermes are very supportive of the relationship though. Penelope more in a “as long as you’re happy and he doesn’t hurt you or get you hurt I’m fine with it” way. Hermes though, he actively encouraged Apollo to start flirting with Telemachus to begin with (great grandpa being a wingman to get you set up with a god? More likely than you think)

As for the rest of the Olympians? Zeus is wondering why his existence is haunted by Odysseus and his family, same with Poseidon. Artemis is entirely unsurprised her twin brother has decided to start dating a mortal prince, it’s very on brand for him. Ares couldn’t care less, same with Hephaestus. Aphrodite is actually a big fan only because she can tell that Apollo genuinely likes Telemachus. Hera is indifferent about it but I like to imagine that after God Games she’s a slightly better step mom so she’s relatively supportive of Apollo’s prince rizzing endeavors.

The relationship itself is surprisingly highly functional and really normal despite Apollo being a god. For a long time Telemachus makes an internal vow to himself not to fall in love too much because he’s aware that Apollo tends to switch up on how much he loves his lovers sometimes and doesn’t wanna get hurt but after a very long discussion and Apollo swearing he’s serious about this (like Hyacinth levels of serious about this. Bro is LOCKED IN) and after staying up literally all night thinking about it Telemachus decides to seriously give this a chance and stop acting weird and it goes extremely well actually. They hang out daily, usually in like the woods or something or down by the shore where there isn’t anybody around simply because neither of them really wanna deal with other people knowing they’re together. It isn’t because either one is ashamed of the other or anything, just simply wanting privacy and knowing they wouldn’t get that with Telemachus being prince and Apollo being a literal god so people would probably just be staring the whole time.

Apollo also gives Telemachus gifts like crazy. He’ll write him love poems and songs all the time and is always equally as excited to show him every time (Telemachus is always just as excited to hear it because he’s never had anyone love him like this before)

Now the funniest part of this whole thing: the era where Apollo is trying to woo Telemachus. He 100% used serenading but stopped after Odysseus tried to shoot him with an arrow (to be fair it was the 10th time Apollo was outside the palace singing so the attempted shooting was pretty valid. Ody wanted his sleep)

Then Apollo started bugging Athena and tagging along with her whenever she’d visit the royal family (she knew what he was trying to do but there’s no stopping Apollo once he wants to woo somebody. Not for a lack of obvious hating though. Very actively hates on his flirting. Apollo is extremely un-subtle with his flirting too which makes it even funnier because 9/10 Telemachus just runs away because he’s never been flirted with before

Then after the flirting just turns into Telemachus avoiding Apollo at all costs (Telemachus is in his questioning his romantic attraction era during this but ofc Apollo doesn’t know this) Apollo just starts leaving love poems once a week (this goes on for about a month so four poems in total).

Then yk as I said before Telemachus decides to give it a shot blah blah blah gay people real they kiss the end 🥳

So yeah there’s me explaining my crackship. It’s essentially just: “Apollo likes pretty boys and Telemachus is a (very awkward) pretty boy”

[cxlamarisalxmi]

Being Miguel’s daughter in a universe where he is your Doc Ock

[Platonic Drabble]

c/w: canon divergence and ignorance (Miguel is Doc Ock in your universe), violence, angst, fighting, she/her pronouns, fem!teen!reader

a/n: the beauty of the multiverse is that there are so many different possibilities for authors and fanfic writers to make up in their stories and this has been rotting in my brain for DAYS <3

—

[Unedited]

Life’s far from fair.

That’s something you had come to learn and accept in the years you spent isolated and alone.

You hadn’t always been alone, no.. at first it was you and your dad. And you loved him with everything you had, offering the bleeding heart in your chest to him in the palms of your hands. And before everything went wrong he had tenderly accepted your gracious vulnerability, and offered his own in turn. To him, you were the brightest and most precious blessing he had ever been given.. and to you— he.. was.. everything.

He meant more to you than anything ever had before.. or since—

“You can’t win Widow!”

—but things change.. life goes on, and only the strong can survive. That’s why you couldn’t afford to withhold any power or capability you had.

Regardless of the fact the enemy you were fighting was your own father, the father you had given everything to, the father you believed would protect you from everything until the end of time.

But.. it just didn’t seem to be written into your destiny. Like a cruel joke or slip of the pen on your life’s journey written by a wicked god— you just weren’t meant to have happiness. Maybe you believed you did for a brief moment in your life when things couldn’t have been better. But now, now you know of the cruel evils in this world, and you know now more than ever.. that people have a way of altering your perspective on the world.

People have a way of letting you down. The hurt tremendous and sharp when it comes from a person you had loved with all your heart.

“You have to stop Miguel! This isn’t right! I’m begging you— please don’t make me do this!”

When you first discovered your father’s alter-ego and the criminal activity he was involved in he had done his best to hide what he’d been doing behind your back. Done his best to protect your innocence to the vile things he’s done unto others.

It was a heartbreak like no other, one you’d never felt before and have only been feeling since. Your father, whom you admired and cherished more than anything, was evil.. and things only dramatically got worse when you were bitten by a radioactive spider and became the Neon Widow of Nueva York-12557.

Only a year later —on your seventeenth birthday— did you come face to face with your father as his much eviler side— Doc Ock.

In some of his shared stories that he always told you regarding his work —a genetics laboratory— you had heard of the possibility of psychological and physical altercation. And he had developed a serum that could mimic the attributes of a spider through splicing one’s DNA ladder and atomic makeup.

Before he could complete his tests with the finished product he was thrown out of the lab and fired, Norman Osborn finding his serum to be dangerous with life changing affects on the receiver. He didn’t want that for anybody.. much less his very best friend. So he tried to deter Miguel from the path he had intended to walk by removing him from the lab entirely.

What Osborn didn’t know was that Miguel had been developing something else on the side, mechanical arms connected directly to his brain through the spinal cord. And Norman had caused for them to fuse to his body and alter the way he thought when he had —in Miguel’s own words— betrayed him.

It was by sheer bad luck alone that you had been there to witness your father take the life of his best friend. And it was that moment in time when your own brain had altered to an entirely different path. The fear running so deeply and bitterly frosted through your veins had electrified your entire body. Like thousands of volts of electricity right through your spine.

The feeling didn’t compliment your heartbreak well, heartbreak that felt more like your heart thickening and growing weighted in your chest. Instead of the familiar twinge of betrayal and hurt there was only a sinking feeling, your heart like lead as it sunk slowly through your chest into the gaping pit in your stomach.

And every moment following had been worst than the last, as Neon Widow— the defender of Nueva York you had to swallow your ache and push your feelings aside to uphold the mantle you had taken up. The city needed you, the people needed you… all you needed— was your father. But it was not meant to be.

You’ve had a few close calls with him, every once in awhile he’ll get close to unmasking you and that risk drives every last bit of fight you had to prevent that. If he couldn’t see an end to your battle in which he’d either reveal your identity or kill you then he’d retreat.

You figured he was so intent on taking the mask off your face because you had faked your death as his daughter, and he wholeheartedly believed Neon Widow had killed her. He thought you as your hero persona murdered you as his one and only child.. the light and purpose of his entire life.

Maybe a small part of you felt remorse for his pain.. but… after you witnessed him kill a man and become something so vile and cruel you couldn’t run the risk of him finding out you were Neon Widow. His enemy.

And every time you think back to it your already broken down and tired heart aches a bit more.

You just couldn’t stand to see him be someone he was not, the young and naive little girl within still hiding behind barbed and thick defenses believes in her loving heart that her father is still in there somewhere. The more matured and grown part of you reasons that he had been part of criminal rings and the wrong side of the world since you were young. Just not with you.

And there was a part inside of you alongside that little girl that yearned for her father. That yearned and begged for love so deeply that she was blind to the many arching pathways and dark corners that abide within love.

But you were not so disadvantaged anymore. And you weren’t stupid either. So, whilst sometimes you wished to entertain that innocent little girl you knew first and foremost that your job as Neon Widow was to protect the people. Above all else.

Miguel willed a tentacle from his back to hurl a car your way, your senses tingled as you ducked backwards into a back handspring to avoid it. When you straightened and jumped back up your senses tingled again— he was right on top of you, and you weren’t quick enough to react as his tentacle gripped your throat and lifted you off the ground. He reared it back and threw you with the night of a god into a nearby cafe. The glass window shattering to pieces as you went right through it and several tables within before you tumbled to a stop against the far wall.

When your senses tingled again you jumped backwards and stuck to the wall, a car crashed into the wall you were just against with a heavy impact. The metal crushing in on itself and the windows shattering.

You show a web from your wrist to the building outside and swung back out onto the street, only to be met with another tentacle at your throat. This time he slammed your back hard against the brick wall of the building you’d just attached your web to.

And you grunted as the breath in your legs was forced out with a cough, the impact made your head jerk back and hit the brick roughly. An unfortunate consequence of the fight that made you dizzy and disoriented— enough for Miguel to peel your mask off your face.

And he froze as the mechanical claws of his added appendage tightened around your throat. You grunted with a wince, wrenching your eyes shut before you were squinting them open and staring directly into your father’s.

“[Y/Name]?” He murmured brokenly, more so when he saw the blood gushing from the lacerations on your face. Injuries that he put there unknowing you as Neon Widow were his daughter.

“Dad.” You choked back.

“I-I.. I thought you-you were dead mi vida.” You watched as his hand rose and just before it connected to your face you were suddenly free falling backwards. Strange streaks of light flying past you before you were thrown out of the dizzying array of colors and rushing lights.

You found yourself in a room as opposed to the street you had been on seconds prior, the room was wide and large. With a high ceiling and —as you stood and looked around— several panels of technology.

Your senses tingling made you spin around as the sound of some kind of whirring conveyer erupted in the otherwise silent room. And you watched as a panel above— now revealed as a platform, slowly began to lower. And as it got low enough for you to see on top of it you saw your father there. The fear and hurt in your chest burned for all of threes seconds before it was snuffed out as you noticed what he wore

Instead of the familiar black jumpsuit with a matching trench coat, this man wore a red and blue spider suit, just like yours but if the colors were inverted and slightly different.

And you quirked a brow when he looked to you with the same curious, horrified expression.

“[Y/Name]?”

“Dad?”

—

a/n: kinda hate the ending but oh well lol, it might’ve changed a touch like right in the middle and there’s also a small possibility that it doesn’t make sense how you discovered him but it’s 3 in the damn morning so it’s unedited and i’m more interested in going to sleep :p but hope you enjoyed anyway! <3

[cellarspider]

Qunlat 2/12: Canon, and its various disagreements

⭅ Previous =⦾ Index ⦾= Next ⭆

Before I can dig into the actual sound and structure of Qunlat, I have to first dig into the structure of Dragon Age itself, because… well, the sound and structure of Qunlat changes depending on when it was set down. Whatever version you like is totally up to you–I’ll be trying to document all of them, but also begin explaining how to curate the language to your desires. 

I want to preface this: anybody who prefers what goes on here is totally valid. But I am going to get into some analysis of why, from a conlang hobbyist’s perspective, a fair chunk of later Qunlat doesn’t feel like the same language we’ve previously been presented, and why certain sources should be treated as less authoritative than others.

And I will begin with a comparison: Star Wars. No, no, come back, I promise this won’t hurt!

During the reign of George Lucas, Star Wars continuity and fandom explicitly drew distinctions between levels and eras of canon: The movies were the prime source that could ignore all others. Tie-ins could expand the setting, but due to less centralized direction, they could vary wildly in depiction of everything, including “facts” of the setting. How does the Force work? Are microbes involved? Any cosmic beings or liminal spaces? Do any of them seem suspiciously influenced by Dave Filoni’s wolf obsession? Even the movies don’t always agree!

Fans and official lorekeepers also recognized the difference between when something was made, or which publisher was involved: Tie-ins from the early years were less likely to be compatible with those from later times, and different production houses had their own internal continuities. Did Han Solo fight alongside a giant carnivorous rabbit in a red onesie? Well, he didn’t mention that when interviewed by a monk from a religious order where the enlightened masters become mecha-spiders! Did an omnipotent, insane entity once kill Princess Leia by turning her heart into a diamond? Maybe we could find out, if someone decompiled the memory banks of her assassin droid double who was sent to marry and shoot a three-eyed fake heir to Palpatine’s throne! Did a trans-dimensional scaly jello cube once run a faith healing scam? It’s been banished from the continuity of most tie-ins since then, but it was published under the official Star Wars license! I haven’t made up even one of these!

Equally, fans might also freely decide to ignore earlier or later aspects of canon, because they had their own sandbox they liked to play in. Even parts of generally beloved stories may be generally ignored (hello, Luuke). And all that was common long before you even get to the Disney takeover, when much of the creative direction changed. 

Dragon Age, as a fifteen year old franchise (ow, my bones) that has attempted to be aggressively multimedia and has not maintained a single, unified creative team, is prone to these same eccentricities and inconsistencies. Sometimes things happen for no serious reason whatsoever. Remember when baby Superman landed in Ferelden? I remember that. Doctor Seuss is a dwarven Paragon, by the way.

These are meant to be jokes in the games, sure, but the rules around magic and lyrium change with every game, and on the subject of languages, we also don't have a consistent writing system for the Common Tongue.

Throughout the series, early material conflicts with later, tie-ins conflict with games, individual games may be internally inconsistent, and a sole truth fundamentally does not exist for the canon. 

This is particularly true for ancillary material, which Qunlat can be counted as. It’s a constructed language that isn’t from the main setting. Even when lead writers have been involved in its depiction, the results have sometimes been completely incompatible with the rest of its appearances. 

I am attempting to document this language in a comprehensible fashion. You can see how this might cause problems.

So I am going to try and draw some distinctions. This should be particularly useful for anyone trying to reconstruct things from the wiki’s dictionary and phrasebook, which does cite sources, and includes everything, regardless of linguistic and stylistic incompatibility.

Dragon Age: Origins and Dragon Age II have a relatively high level of internal consistency in their spoken Qunlat. Things Sten says seem mutually intelligible with what we hear from the Arishok. There are exceptions–a couple rogue words in DAO and Warden’s Keep that indicate some level of uncertainty about the overall shape of the language, and Mark of the Assassin has a few eccentricities, but is largely in line with the two. A large portion of our dialog in DA2 and its DLC has never had a translation provided, but the sound of the language remains consistent. Mary Kirby (formerly of BioWare) was Sten’s writer for DAO, so we can guess that she was the primary source for these games.

Grammar-wise, more complexity might exist in some of the Arishok’s untranslated lines, but my best attempts to analyze them indicate they may be on shaky ground, detail-wise. Words slide around each other in strange ways, though they all sound like the same language.

The one major exception to that unity: DA2’s Qunari armor and weapons. These include some extremely strange additions that are not reflected in the spoken language. New sounds and letters enter the language that were never there before. I’d hazard a guess that either a different writer got involved with naming these, and/or the documentation available was not well-organized or transmitted. When finally defined for certain in World of Thedas Vol. 2 some years later, many of the equipment terms have mistaken etymologies.

Dragon Age: Inquisition continues that trend. There’s more words that have spurious etymologies. Some words have inconsistent spellings. Some sentences accidentally a word. The wiki’s does not help matters, with some statements from the Iron Bull taken as definitions when it doesn’t seem like they’re supposed to be.

During this period, Mary Kirby and Trick Weekes started answering questions about the language on twitter. For our Qunari-focused purposes, Kirby started out the series as Sten’s writer, and Weekes was Iron Bull’s writer, and so we may see differences in authorship between the two. Kirby answers most of the questions about vocabulary, and the answers mostly fall in line with previous Qunlat.

The same goes for Tresspasser. While its new Qunlat vocabulary is unfortunately minimal, the contents largely have the same linguistic feel as the rest of the language, grammar is consistent, and new words make etymological sense. A convert practices their conjugation tables, much to my delight. The language does strain against the relatively limited grammar it contains, though, with Viddasala’s lines in particular feeling like they’re missing connective tissue.

Secondary material far less consistent. Web series and comics like Redemption, Those Who Speak, and the currently-releasing Vows and Vengeance podcast* all are produced with less direct oversight or restrictions of medium and resource availability, tend to be highly divergent in general, and that definitely includes their Qunlat. Tie-in books like Tevinter Nights are only slightly more consistent, but are still of variable quality.

And then there is The World of Thedas.

That's not great.

While the two volumes of WoT scratch the itch for Delicious Lore, Volume 2’s unique additions to Qunlat are contain some glaring incompatibilities with the rest of the series. Volume 1 has a bit of in-universe disclaimer near the start of it, that all sources are biased and imperfect. Volume 2 includes errata from the previous book, including a walking back of ideas like “The Antaam stages duels to the death for promotions”, replaced with “actually the Orlesians made that up during the Exalted Marches to scare their kids”. So, we can see that real-world creative decisions were changed between the two books. That’s understandable.

Unfortunately for our purposes, Volume 2 also includes the largest corpus of grammatically complex Qunlat sentences in the entire series, and they appear to be deliberately sloppy.

I now have to introduce you to my nemesis, Philliam, a Bard!.

This poxy little creature is a character credited in The World of Thedas, Volume 2 as transcribing and “loosely translating” phrases spoken by Qunari soldiers at rest. These sentences are of variable quality, featuring misspellings of pre-existing words, absolutely bizarre sentence structure, and words that previous Qunlat simply can’t support. It’s like reading English and then suddenly you appear to have stumbled into a rogue word in Sḵwx̱wú7mesh.

I focus (saltily) on this for two reasons: First, Philliam, a Bard! is treated explicitly as an unreliable source. I have seen some folks reference his vocabulary in other contexts before, and it shows up in several dictionaries, including taking cues from his pronunciation guide. Do not trust anything found exclusively in his excerpts to fit with the rest of the language: he is intended to be a foreigner who may not fully understand the language, and may, in fact, just be making shit up.

Second, and I may be reaching a little here: as a constructed language hobbyist, I know how things go sometimes. You’ve come up with some sentences you want to translate into your conlang, but you realize you’re lacking vocabulary for it, or worse, you don’t have enough grammatical complexity to even structure the concepts you want to convey. …But you’re really tired, or only have a few minutes to poke at it, so you just fling down some new words and grammar that conceivably look like a translation, though you’re not quite sure how. This is especially common for new conlangers.

These sentences feel like that kind of thing was going on there. I’ll get into the details of why much later, but for now: If something you like in Qunlat contradicts Philliam, a Bard!, don’t feel wedded to stuff from him. He is, both in and out of continuity, an unreliable source.

But if you like Philliam, a Bard!? Go for it! My grumbling is entirely immaterial, DAI and WoT2 add in a bunch of vocabulary that people may want to draw from. Hopefully this post has provided some pointers on how to tailor Qunlat to your own interests. For those who may be interested in further tweaking Qunlat, I’ll give advice later, when we dig into some changes I personally made while trying to expand the language.

The one piece of advice I’ll give now: Beware the wiki’s dictionary. It’s a heroic work to source as many words as they did, but I’ve noticed some typos in their Qunlat (ex. Aqaam written as “Aquaam”), some definitions include irrelevant and misleading information (maraas-lok is the name of a strong alcohol that literally means “no(thing)-thought(s)”, and does not seem to be a verb for “drink”. Bull is just drunk and trying to get you to drink.), some words are fully unsourced, some are missing (placenames especially), and the citations are not comprehensive and do not necessarily list the first time a word appears in canon.

So I have made my own dictionary. It’s mostly based off of theirs, and retains the wiki’s definitions for those who want those. But it also features an accounting of which words show up in which sources, as well as my own notes, which include further definitions based off of verifiable context, etymologies of compound words, corrections for wiki or canon errors, and my suffering through the works of Philliam, a Bard!. I’ve gone through all of DAO and DA2’s subtitles, and World of Thedas Volumes 1 and 2 to verify the vocabulary they include, and at some point I will probably do the same for DAI and Trespasser. Tie-ins are lower down the list, for the reasons I explained above.  

Qunlat’s phonaesthetics will be covered this time, as this is what drew me in first, and laying them out will help readers create names or new words that sound Qunlat.

⭅ Previous =⦾ Index ⦾= Next ⭆

Footnotes

* I haven’t been following Vows and Vengeance, but the only Qunlat in the transcripts is all stuff we’ve heard before, the rest is simply glossed over as stage directions of people chanting or yelling a “FOREIGN TONGUE”. Someone in the YouTube comments identified Taash's chanting as the prayer we hear Sten recite in Origins, so that's almost all of it accounted for. I may listen and see if I can make any sense of the rest of it later, but I have a questionable ear for transcribing languages, so if it's new content, my results may not be 100% accurate.

[rubykgrant]

(I'm still re-writing and editing the whole chapter, but I liked how this part turned out; a conversation between Jon and Martin while they're hiding out in Scotland, about love and their lives~)

If Martin didn’t know any better, he’d think they were just two regular people, out on a regular date.

“We could have been doing this for years. Just sitting together. Enjoying each other,” Jon murmurs, head resting on Martin’s chest.

“I would have liked that,” Martin says. He imagines himself and Jon before, how they were both awkward in different ways, how they each may have tried to help the other move past it, how it could have felt the first time Jon held him close, or how it could have felt when he realized he felt safe with Jon. Wanting to keep somebody, and also wanting to be kept, not being afraid to let it happen.

“We also could have had ANY other job…” Jon continues.

“One that, perhaps, wasn’t so hazardous to our health?” Martin finishes.

“Mmm, yes. Did you know- I nearly dropped out of university?”

“What, NO? Really? You?” Martin tries to picture Jon quitting, just leaving something behind, even something that was just causing him distress, and he can’t. Jon was more likely to “sunk-cost fallacy” himself to death.

“I was… struggling with a few classes, near the end. That wasn’t why I almost left, though. The university wanted me to see a counselor, just so I could have, as they put it, a ‘mental health refresher’. I, er- got a touch offended. And I decided for myself, I would either double-down and pass everything with top-grades, OR drop out. Because surely that would teach everybody a lesson,” Jon sighs, as if frustrated with his previous thought process. “If I had actually left, I probably wouldn’t have gone to work for the Magnus Institute. Who knows if we would have even met…”

“Wait, third option. What if you actually went for that mental health refresher?” Martin asks, and his voice quivers with a sudden attack of giggles. “B-because, Jon, I- I almost applied for a job as a receptionist at a counselor’s office!”

“Are you serious?” Jon is laughing a bit now, too.

“Yes! I wouldn’t have needed to lie on the CV or anything, either. The only reason I didn’t go for it- the job didn’t pay quite enough to afford everything I needed at the time,”

“So you’re telling me, we could have had an entirely DIFFERENT awkward encounter? With a whole other conflict of an inappropriate work relationship? Oh, if only, in another life…” Jon says in an overly dramatic, wistful tone.

“Hey, why would it be awkward? Or inappropriate?”

“Because, I would have walked into that office all- all pissed-off about everything, feeling insulted that anybody would even suggest I wasn’t absolutely FINE. If you thought I was insufferable before, you should have seen me while I was at university, especially near the end. I can promise you- charming I was NOT. I also couldn’t stop picking at the spots on my face,” Jon grimaces, thinking about himself.

“Fine, you were horrible. But so am I… if we did date back then, I would have been one of those people who always wants to get your acne spots for you. Now, what about the inappropriate part?”

“Well, maybe not entirely inappropriate, but… I’m sure it is at least frowned upon for employees of a counselor’s office to date the patients,” Jon isn’t sure what the rules would be (he’s certain the actual counselors can’t be involved with people they see professionally). “And even if that job would be less stressful for you, would you want to risk it for an awful little shit with a bad attitude?”

“Hmm, fair. Maybe I’d wait and see if the mental health refresher actually WORKED, and once you you stopped being a patient, I’d give you my number…”

“Making the first move, in this scenario?” Jon’s voice implies an attempt at sarcasm, but his face looks much more eager and intrigued.

“You’d be surprised how confident I am when I don’t have to worry about creepy-crawlies trying to eat me, or lying about my age and work experience on a daily basis!” Martin chuckles, and his laughter makes Jon bounce against him.

“Wouldn’t that have been a dream. I get a mental health refresher, you have a pleasant job as a receptionist, we go on a few fun dates, and start a happy relationship together, and you can indulge your pimple-popping fetish-”

“It is NOT a fetish!” Martin’s hug tightens around Jon, trying to squeeze the air out of him. For a moment, Martin sternly refuses to look at Jon, instead staring straight ahead (if he sees Jon’s face right now, he might laugh himself off the bench).

“Do you want me to stop washing my face?” Jon wheezes out.

“You’re the one who made a whole kink-list!” Martin reminds him. “And did I add anything like that? No, no I didn’t!”

“Darling… don’t be afraid… to be yourself… I’ll accept you…” Jon is gasping now, but it is less from Martin’s powerful hug, and more from his own laughter.

“I HATE you,” Martin informs him.

“I think we’ve come to the conclusion… that you actually LOVE me…” Jon snorts, like that was so clever or something, and that breaks Martin’s concentration. The attempt to hug Jon into silence ends, all the muscles in Martin’s arms loosen, and Jon melts into him as they both give in to the giggles that have been building.

Jon forces himself to take a big, deep breath, and once his chest stops hitching, he tilts his head up to give Martin a kiss. Around them, people pass, not even noticing, but anybody who had been thinking about sitting at that bench feels like they’d rather find a different spot. Jon and Martin aren’t unseen phantoms, repelling people from their space. Nothing as alarming as that; they’re just uninteresting shapes, on a bench that isn’t very appealing, for no special reason.

This allows them plenty of time to linger, and kiss lasts as long as they want.

In the back of his mind, Jon has decided that no matter what kind of life they could have had, if he still met Martin somehow, falling in love would just be an eventuality. How could he resist any version of Martin? How did he resist THIS version of Martin for so long? Jon is so deeply in love, it is hard to even remember NOT feeling this way. Despite his protests, mostly in reference to himself having such a bad habit of being a wanker, Jon is secretly a hopeless romantic. He’d die, over and over again, for Martin’s sake.

Martin, on the other hand, has different thoughts he’s keeping to himself. Them having a chance to be free of the Magnus Institute and still be drawn together is very nice… but even though he argued in favor of dating the “un-charming” Jon in another reality, Martin doubts it could actually happen that way. Maybe he’s being realistic, maybe he’s actually just a pessimist underneath all his optimistic layers. However, the fact that he actually HAS this with Jon now, against the odds and through all the crushing pain they’ve suffered, makes Martin treasure it even more. His rotten luck wouldn’t give him another chance like this. He’d fight for it, he’d break for it.

They don’t share these thoughts, so they never know how different yet similar they really are. Instead, Jon kisses the man he’ll always love, and Martin kisses the Jon he has, and both are happy enough to know that much.

When they begin their walk back, Jon comfortably links his arm with Martin’s again, sort of leading the way this time. Still a guard-cat, still protective and alert, but considerably more calm. Martin is pleased with himself indeed; he’s the center of Jon’s concerns, but that doesn’t need to be something strained or stressful. It can also be fulfilling.

[gingerylangylang1979]

Black women who ship Carmy x Sydney, please take care of yourselves

This is written from a place of love, not condescension or trying to spank or belittle anybody. 

I guess I’m just growing concerned about many black women in this fandom feeling bad about this ship in a number of ways and some trends I see that aren’t healthy and uplifting. What I say may make some people angry. Some people may feel I’m dismissing legit concerns or lived experiences. I’m sure I’ll get blocked by some. Oh well. I'm gonna speak my truth. All I’m trying to do is give much needed perspective and say the quiet parts out loud.

When I see black women repeatedly literally letting this shit make them upset and enraged at every turn, daily, it’s a bit alarming to me. If one's happiness is so swayed by the whims of perception of a ship it’s a bit unsettling. Why let this shit have so much power over your mood and enjoyment? It’s just a show. But I think for many it’s way deeper than that and that’s not being kind to oneself or fair to the creators and performers. 

I’ll say this, I know there is misogynoir, and both conscious and unconscious bias involved in a lot of the reactions we are seeing about this ship. I’ve spoken to it. But I think a lot of us are failing to see the nuance of the whole picture and are making everything literally black & white and a cause for outrage and panic. Where I see misogynoir is most at play is in how fans view Ayo/Syd and as an extension Carmy x Sydney. Where I don’t see it particularly in play is how the cast and crew speak about the ship. 

Every time an article comes out denying the ship the knee jerk reaction is hating on Storer and Calo like they don’t want the ship to happen because Syd is black. I just don’t see any evidence of that or need to assume bad intentions. If you trust what you are seeing and think it’s endgame that contradicts Storer and Calo not wanting the ship for racist reasons.

I know what has happened with other BW/WM ships but I just don’t see that here. The romantic undercurrents are just too heavy and they greatly respect Syd as a stand alone character and Ayo as an actress and creator in her own right. Are they going to get everything you want right? No. But they are trying. Does that mean we will get everything we want with her/them? Not necessarily. The same can be said for any of these characters. Just trust what you're seeing, the intentionality is there even if it isn’t validated in media about the show. 

But because she is a black woman we are more invested and more focused on her treatment. That’s fine, let’s uplift her, and protect her. But what I see is a somewhat unhealthy attachment to viewing her as somehow being wronged at every turn. I get it. But I also think it’s not beneficial to be almost looking for her to be wronged in places where it isn’t true. If the ship isn’t being validated in the media and Carmy isn’t kissing her and declaring his love next season it's not sidelining, it’s storytelling, and it’s a slow burn. Some of the same people talking about they want a slow burn I guarantee will be up n arms if Carmy x Sydney are further apart next season, which I think will happen. That's what happens in these romances. But the first thing people will jump to is the writers don't want them together because she is black and the first article denying the ship will have people ready to ride at dawn.

I think it’s just difficult for some to come to terms with how this is going to play our over time and what that really means because she is a black woman character and we want the most for her. They will have ups and downs. Yes, Carmy dated someone else. There is pressure to validate her in so many ways that just aren’t necessarily going to be satisfied on all levels and I think some are making it way personal to a degree that isn’t necessarily warranted. 

Whatever happens with Syd isn’t going to correct the history of the black woman's experience in the media or real life. It will be a monumental event if they go canon, for sure, but I think some people are getting way too emotional and angry if every little thing doesn’t go how they want with her and Carmy. I also see a bit of trying to make other elements validate Syd as a black woman and by extension validate oneself. 

The insistence from some that Ayo and Jeremy have something going on or Jeremy’s performance is rooted in feelings for Ayo is so strange to me. Why? I think some people need to feel like Jeremy has feelings for her because he’s the hot white lead to validate her as a black woman. As excellent as Jeremy is as an actor do people really think he has to actually be in love with Ayo to get the performance we are seeing? He’s just extremely good at his job. I don’t think he has to do that with any other emotions he is portraying so why this need to have him be in love to make the performance resonate? 

I’ve also seen people trying to make a connection with the fact that he’s been seen with a biracial black woman as somehow meaning the next step is he should be with a monoracial black woman and connecting that with him and Sydney. Why? I saw a post that was questioning why this woman isn’t dark skinned with kinky hair as if he’s obligated to date someone that looks “black enough” to validate the attractiveness of dark skinned black women. This post also seemed to be super invested in that because that’s what they look like and want to feel Jeremy should be attracted to them. It’s not the first time I’ve seen this and it always makes me cringe and feel deeply sorry for that person.

I think it’s cool he’s dating a WOC but I have no entitlement or expectation that he go darker and nappier to prove anything to me or the public. And it has no bearing on if he would find someone who looks like me attractive in a sexual way or the same for his character. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. What does it matter? If he is told to kiss Ayo onscreen, he will, because he’s a professional. Why are people making it so personal who he chooses in his real life? It just seems extremely insecure and projecting. If he dates someone else who is white white or another race that’s not black, is that going to hurt feelings? He doesn’t like “belong” to black women now. Jokes about it are funny but internalizing it as validation is dangerous. 

I also see this in an intense desire to have another white character be in the love triangle. If you just want someone else in the picture, fine. But I feel like there is this big desire to have it be another white man when Marcus has been there the whole time. I don’t ship her with Marcus (well, I did for a minute when I was enraged with Carmy) but it’s because I don’t think it’s where her heart is. But I also don’t see Marcus as a non-viable option. But since he’s not the white boy of the month, it’s not as appealing or viewed as big of a win for some if she’s with him or he’s the only suitor. People have mentioned Connor as a potential. Ok, yeah, I can see it based on the evidence presented, but I hope it isn’t viewed as a like let’s boot Marcus so this white boy who sorta superficially looks like Carmy is the rival. Maybe it can be a love square and three men fight for Syd, but I don’t want to discredit Marcus just because another curly haired white boy with blue eyes shows up. 

And lastly, if your emotional well being is so super effected about what happens to Sydney and it’s so entangled with feelings of being marginalized to the point that it’s distressing and your hyperfocused on every detail as a win or lose, I think you need to consider why and understand her being with Carmy isn’t going to heal anything. A lot of fans project personal issues onto characters and it’s just never going to fill an emotional hole or be a substitute for racial justice.

I saw someone post recently that this ship is a coping mechanism. And honestly it shouldn’t be. Just like Claire can’t fix Carmy, shipping Carmy x Sydney and hoping they are canon isn’t going to fix anything. If this is a fun outlet for you and a way to spend free time, great. But I wouldn’t link being in the fandom and shipping with self care. It’s too volatile to be tethering your emotional well being to. That’s like putting your healing in the hands of writers, media, and fandom when you should be in control of your journey. I think it’s cool to relate to the characters and be invested in their story but it can get kind of messy and parasocial if you put too much personal weight on outcomes regarding the show.  

So, I just want us to be more positive and focus on the wins with this character and Ayo. And also focus on the future. That doesn’t mean ignore the shenanigans. But I think so much attention is focused on the negative that not enough credit is being given to the bravery of having a dark skinned black woman as the co-lead, having her be her own person with her own struggles and nuances, having her most likely also be an unconventional romantic lead, having Ayo be the breakout star she is, having her get EP credits and directing next season, how she is a cover star, how she is multi-talented, how she is praised by everyone who works with her, how she is the IT girl. And I think this story will do her justice in the end.

[vagabondfandoms]

Falls on Me

Day Two: Afternoon

Rating: Teen (For this Chapter)

Previous Chapters:

Day One: Night 2. Day Two: Morning

Characters: Gale Dekarios, F!Tav: Copper, Karlach and Astarion appear at the end, and Lae'zel, Wyll Ravengard, and Shadowheart are mentioned.

Warnings: N/A, Gale POV, Mentions of chronic pain

Gale asks for the Sword of Justice and ends up with a debate.

---

The pings of pain that usually exist in his body at all times since he got cursed with the orb were increasing in intensity. 

“Soon.” Gale thinks, “He’ll need to absorb a magical item soon.”

At first, Gale was apprehensive about acquiring magical items for his condition. He couldn't predict what kind of people he was traveling with. Were they kind souls who would give up a rare magical item for an ailing wizard? Or ones that hoard their treasures like dragons in a deserted dwarf stronghold on top of a lonely mountain?

In general people on the Material Plane are very… well, materialistic. Gale couldn't really blame them. This world is harsh and you have to have some sort of gumption to get anything in it. Or be lucky enough to be born with it. 

Gale considers himself one of the lucky ones. His father was a well-off shipping mogul in Waterdeep. While Gale was an illegitimate child, his father didn't balk at his duties to take care of his blood at least financially. 

And to be fair, his father could have adored his youngest son but Gale just can't remember. His dad died when he was 10 years old and Gale only has hazy recollections of the man. Most of those memories involved his dad stopping over at his mother's house bearing gifts. Being a little kid he can only remember the joy of receiving the gift and not the reaction from the giver. 

Gale was hoping somebody in his new party was a giver and after spending a day with his new “friends” he had a pretty good guess on who. 

Copper, the Ilmateri monk was both physically strong and tactically minded but also a firm devotee to her god’s tenets of compassion, respect, and willingness to go without. 

While all of Gale's other companions (including himself) picked over the camping supplies to make their personal tents as cozy as possible. The monk just threw together a makeshift tarp held up with sticks and called it good.

Gale was 90% sure that Copper would be willing to go without a magical item in her sack if he asked. He just needs to find the right time between battling goblins, spiders, and people posing as Paladins of Tyr. 

---

They just finished dispatching a small band of goblins dragging a terrified owlbear cub to their outpost in an old temple of Selûne when Gale saw his chance to ask Copper for a magical item.

Everybody else was either busy examining the owlbear cub they just saved or looting the corpses for items when Gale casually made his way over to Copper who was rummaging through her pack.

“Tiring business, isn’t it?” Gale starts. “All this traveling and adventuring.”

Copper looks up at him in surprise, apparently not expecting anybody to talk to her. “Are you tired already?” She stands up, guzzling some water, looking over at him from around the bottle.

“Well, maybe a little,” Gale says half truthfully. “But I was hoping for the chance to talk to you about something, well, rather important.”

Copper’s eyes narrow by a fraction and if Gale wasn’t so invested in starting this conversation he might have missed it. His nerves start to flutter in his stomach. “What if she says no?”

“Consider this a break.” Copper shrugs and tosses Gale her water bottle. “Drink some water, it’s hot out here, and tell me what’s ailing you.”

“Ailing me, ha. If she only knew.” Gale thinks as he unexpectedly catches the glass container coming towards his chest. It was aimed in a way that it would be impossible to drop unless you didn’t even attempt to catch it. Gale muscles the cork out and takes a swig of the cool water. 

“She must have filled it at the stream earlier today.” He considers, the cold water feeling good in his parched throat.

Copper sits down on a fallen log, waiting for Gale to finish. He takes one last gulp, downing the rest of the liquid before tossing the empty bottle back to its owner.

“Soooo, we’ve been on the road together for a while now, haven’t we?” Gale says, trying to make his words sound cheerful. Not desperate or needy. “Survived some perils, overcame some obstacles.”

The monk just raises an eyebrow at him but stays quiet allowing him to speak.

“Anyway, ever since you were kind enough to pull me from that stone, I’ve seen you demonstrate remarkable guile and courage.” Gale continues, half speaking the truth and half buttering the woman up so he could get the magic item in her bag. 

“The way you diffused the tension between Zevlor and Aradin. The way you prevented not one but two murders in the Druid’s Grove…”

“Gale.” Copper cuts in. “Those are things any Ilmateri monk would do for others. I did nothing special.”

“Wellll, I don’t know about that.” Gale playfully argues. “Most of the Ilmateri I’ve met are, well, weepy.”

Copper gives him a chuckle and bows her head, conceding to his point. Even though she follows the Crying God, most of his followers take that epithet too seriously. 

“Back to my point, I’ve grown to trust you enough to tell you something I’ve yet to tell another living soul, except for my cat,” Gale says seriously. “I need your help.  I have this…condition that requires me to consume powerful magical items.” 

To Copper’s credit, she doesn’t even look surprised when Gale tells her this. She just calmly assesses the man. Looking him over for any injuries. “You hide it well.” Copper finally says. “It must be serious if you have to consume powerful artifacts.”

“Yes, it can be deadly serious if I don't acquire the items I need,” Gale says gravely. “That is why I am turning to you. I need your help to find magical items to consume. It is vital. Dare I say it, critical.”

“Where do we find these items?” Copper asks calmly.

“We’ve already done the finding. In fact, you have one in your possession already.” The man says lightheartedly. Pleased this conversation wasn't being rejected outright.

“Soooo… you want me to give you the Sword of Justice?” Copper says, connecting the dots to what Gale wants quickly.  But a scowl appears as a new thought enters her mind. “Karlach doesn't want to use it right now but Lae’zel might.”

“Please, I know that sword was difficult to acquire but it's imperative that I absorb the Weave in that item!” Gale argues, his nerves jumping wildly in his stomach. “It will do far more good turning into a rusted piece of metal after I am done with it than waiting in your pack for somebody to decide to use it.”

Copper looks conflicted. She must hear the desperation in Gale's voice. But to sacrifice such a powerful magical weapon for…what?

“This magical item isn't mine to give.” The monk shakes her head, a sad look on her face. “Can you tell me more about your condition? Maybe I can try and heal it instead of destroying the sword?” Copper tries to reason. 

There's hope in her eyes that she can fix the dilemma without disappointing anybody. But Gale feels disappointed all the same.

“This condition is not a kind to be healed by any old healing spell.” Gale chastises, annoyance and vulnerability mixing together. “Some of the greatest magical minds came together to find this treatment.”

“You mean you and your cat?” Copper deadpans.

“Well, mainly Tara.” Gale deflates, not wanting to go into detail about his year-long depressive state after Mystra’s rejection.

“You mentioned healing spells won't work. Have you thought of Ki restoration?” Copper supplies helpfully.

“What! Try some quack Eastern Medicine?” Gale laughs, shaking his head. “No, what I need is the Weave.”

Copper huffs, clearly annoyed. “Ki restoration has been around for thousands of years! Instead of using outside magic to heal an injury. Ki restoration uses life force, either your own or another’s, to help strengthen the body from within so it can restore itself to a healthier state.” 

The monk crosses her arms and looks directly at Gale. Almost challenging the man to refute her. “Ki is a highly regarded field of learning just like the Arcane Arts of the Weave.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t called it a quack medicine.” Gale quickly corrects himself seeing he got his companion worked up with his quick choice of words. “Waterdeep has one of the largest collections of knowledge in the Realms and the libraries do have a small section about Ki. So I have read up on this… energy before. It seems like an adequate way to trick oneself to relax or slightly enhance one’s abilities. But it’s still a lowly form of magic not even regulated by Mystra.”

“Ki is not the Weave. It doesn’t have to be governed by a god since it is an uncontrollable life energy that we can only harness a small fraction of.” Copper counters.

“Mystra...the Weave is everything. They make up ALL creation….”

“Ki is everything too!” Copper blurts out, uncustomed to sharing her thoughts with another person. “It's the life force in ALL living things.”

“Ki is regulated to the body,” Gale says calmly, overlooking the lack of decorum the monk is following for this discussion. Gale did throw out the first insult so he’ll let a little impatience slide. “Like I said, the Weave makes up everything. It’s the air we breathe, the ground we lay our feet on, the sun and stars. The fabric that makes up the entire universe!”

“Untrue.” Copper argues. “The Weave is one part of a whole that makes up the Universe. It's not everything. When the Weave was gone during the Spellplague, life was still created. People and animals were still born! Ki, the life force was still there. We didn’t just keel over and die without the Weave’s presence. How else do humans live when anti-magic fields are up?”

Gale feels tension forming in his jaw but it wasn’t from annoyance. He was getting excited even energized by this argument. He hasn’t had a good debate since he subbed at Black Staff Academy and had to argue with a teacher that they were teaching their class on Illusionary magic wrong. 

Looking down at the young monk, Gale realizes he needs to get down on her level so they can properly debate this. He was just about to kneel down to say his rebuttal when a couple of the party members came over to check on the two humans.

“Copper!!! Come see this little guy we rescued!” Karlach rushes over, full of excitement over the owlbear cub. Then she stops in her tracks, sensing the tension in the air. “Whatcha guys doing?”

“Urgh, they were just discussing something in-tel-lec-tual.” Astarion drags out the syllables in the last word like it is something rotten that needs to be thrown away. “So~ absolutely nothing exciting at all. Unlike this cool new dagger I found on that goblin corpse!!”

“Really, Astarion!” Gale says exasperated. “There’s nothing wrong about wanting to expand one’s mind beyond the material things of this world.”

The elf pops one hip to the side and examines his new treasure. “The only smarts I like are street smarts. At least they are useful to survival.”

“Come on now! I’ve seen you read in your tent at night.” Gale says, partially annoyed at Astarion's retort and partially because he couldn’t continue his conversation with Copper. He had so much he could say about the Weave and the Universe.

“Purely to pass away the hours of boredom,” Astarion says lazily, sliding his new dagger into his belt loop. 

Gale throws the elf a glare. He does not care for this blasé attitude Astarion always has around him.

“Well, I think break time is over.” Copper says as she gets up and brushes bark and moss off her butt. Karlach was already tugging at her sleeves, trying to lead the monk over to the owlbear cub, who was being watched over by Shadowheart, Wyll, and a reluctant Lae’zel.

Before she is fully swept off by the fiery tiefling, Copper catches Gale’s eye. “The sword is not solely mine to give. But don’t be afraid to ask the group if you really need it. They’re more willing to help than you think.”

Contemplating the monk's words, Gale watches his companions pack up their gear. They will be heading out soon to their new destination. Hopeful finding a way to cure the mind-flayer tadpoles in their heads. Gale can't help the small smile that forms on his lips as he watches the group happily give the scared owlbear cub food and affection. 

Maybe there are more givers in his group than he thought.

Author Note:

I like the fact in early access we had to give Gale a powerful magical item like the Sword of Justice for his condition. It gives his struggles more weight since the cost is so great. I'll try to sprinkle in more tidbits from early access as the story continues.

[avirael]

FFxivWrite 2024

Day 18 - Hackneyed

With a curious expression A’viloh looked up to the giant statue of some saint in the middle of the plaza. It was beautifully crafted from a block of white stone and depitected a knight wearing cloak and armour. His face was hidden by a helmet.

“Don’t you think they all look the same somehow?”

“A bit. I assume this whole heroically fighting against the dragons story can get a little overused and repetitive in 1000 years…”, Rael offered and turned their attention to the statue in front of them too.

The Miqo’te furrowed his brows.

“But don’t you think each of them must have been a lot more individual than that with their own dreams and hopes? It doesn’t seem fair that they all look the same, their faces hidden by a mask…”

Somehow the idea of having all their stories reduced to almost identical, grey, expressionless faces of stone was a sad one. But Rael assumed that this was what time did to memories sometimes, once no one was left to remember their faces or how things had actuall happened.

“Maybe if our plan works, they one day built one of these for you or me too. The ears should be recognisable at least…”, Rael joked in an attempt to brighten the mood. “Saint A’viloh - he bravely fought against the dragon brood on the Steps of Faith and brought peace to Ishgard…”

But imagining that seemed to make A’viloh even more thoughtful. “I’m not sure I want to fight against the dragons. Vishap was already terrifying, can you imagine how horrible the great wyrms must be? Besides, don’t all saints die some horrible and painful death?”

“True…”, Rael mused. “But even though Iceheart may have a point, I don’t think this conflict can just be ended as easily as everybody seems to hope right now…”

“But aren’t they all tired of fighting by now? Isn’t all this talk of holy wars and heresy getting old?”, A’viloh asked and looked distressed, like he himself was already tired of it.

The Viera sighed and remembered their kins hatred for the Garleans. The conflict for Golmore was by far not that old yet as this war but had already produced so much bloodshed too.

“It’s not that easy, A’vi. A thousand years are a long time. One cruelty avenged by another and another and another. The Ishgardians? They were born and raised in this war, it’s everything they know. And the dragons? You heard Midgardsormr. They live long enough to remember all of this bloody war… It doesn’t matter anymore who was right in the first place. Neither of them are just going to give up and admit they were wrong. Both sides feel justified in their hate and this will make it difficult to find a peaceful solution…”

For a moment A’viloh was quiet, silently contemplating what Rael had said.

“But what can we do about this at all?”

“I don’t know. But you heard what Thordan said. And if the Ascians are involved behind the scenes, we can’t just ignore this. I have no perfect answer for solving this conflict but neither does Iceheart or Aymeric or anybody else… But we have to try anyway. Maybe together we can find a solution…”

[nova--spark]

Okay so I’m about to ramble about Jack a bit because I started thinking (a rare occurrence)

So Jack had to grow up a really fast. Not just because he got involved in a war. But at home it’s just him and his mom, either Mr. Darby is dead or he left (I don’t really remember if they said what happened to him). So Jack likely had to pick up a lot of responsibilities at home.

Then he met the autobots and out of the three kids he seems to be the only one to fully understand that this war isn’t a fun game. So he takes it upon himself to look after the other two kids so they don’t get killed.

Then Optimus goes and thrusts a MASSIVE responsibility on him and I don’t really think anybody states how absolutely fucked up that was. He sent a child onto a desolate planet to go retrieve his memories and if Jack failed the whole world was essentially doomed. That’s a ton of pressure to put on a child. There’s no reason he couldn’t have given it to one of the autobots.

Also in season 2 when the Decepticons have the kids held captive and are bargaining for the omega lock keys notice how quick the kids are to say they’d lay down their lives for the autobots. Like HOLY SHIT, these children are 16, 15, and 12 respectively!

So imagine when Jack is turned into a sparkling I can imagine he’d have some major pushback to being told to act like a sparkling. And at this point I don’t think he’d really know how to act like a child anymore. He was expected to act like an adult for so long, take on so many responsibilities and now he’s told he’s a child and he’s supposed to act like it?! It simply wasn’t fair!

I imagine a few heated arguments between Optimus and Jack about Jack wanting to be treated like an adult. Eventually it would all end in a heart to heart where Op would apologize for thrusting so much responsibility on Jack (maybe even sharing how he felt when he was suddenly given the matrix and tasked with leading a war)

THIS!!!

ALL OF THE THIS!!

IT IS WHAT I THINK OF EVERY TIME I WRITE FOR JACK.

BECAUSE HE GREW UP SO FAST IN COMPARISON TO EVERYONE ELSE!!

And so being able to be a kid again, he is unsure what it's even like anymore. It's like he no longer remembers, because when his father left, he was left all alone with June and now...now he has a chance to relive something he lost, but it's hard.

He is literally healing his inner child again, in being a child again now.

[darlingletshurttonight]

a long rant that’s apparently controversial

there was this indian dark academia blog i followed here, and respected that person despite not agreeing on some of their views on certain things. i got into a disagreement with them on tumblr about ncert scrapping off chunks of mughal history from textbooks. they mocked that the board would be teaching us about ‘rig veda and nalanda’. i replied with a comment that there’s more to indic civilisation than the vedas. we should be knowing about a lot of our dynasties and some exceptional rulers before the mughals invaded. it is a fair deal to scrap a bit of sucking up to mughal imperialism and talk about those who made india the candy that it was for invaders, why it was such a hotbed for trade that made it the one of the richest countries to exist in the medieval era. these things are not widely known and they should be known. what kind of history only talks about invaders and not the ones who lived here. why can’t we have both in appropriate measures.

they straight up blocked me lol. they replied to my comment after blocking me, so i couldn’t explain my point to anyone else tagging me and making fun of what i said, which they misinterpreted in the first place. they dug up all my older posts, specifically the hindublr tag and mocked the fact that i think hinduphobia is a real thing.

i’m not mad that these people ridiculed me. i don’t care for their wilful ignorance either. they removed any chance of discourse and want to live in their own bubble of ignorance, fine. there can be people who still disagree with me and that’s okay. i wish people would stop resorting to blind hostility and actually try to read what someone is trying to convey.

it bothers me how they think they’re inclusive at the expense of another community. they (them and their followers) pride themselves on their education and liberalism but don’t seem to know the concept of critical thinking, or conversing with someone they disagree with. how do you villify a person for having an opinion different than yours. an opinion that doesn’t oppress anybody or any community. nothing i said was erasing a community or history.

it concerns me that they’re hell bent on thinking india can be a better place by downplaying the role and significance of hinduism and redact its attempted erasure, when it was literally called hindustan. this isn’t a ‘left vs right’ or ‘religion vs. religion’ or ‘govt vs people’ thing. why is it so hard to believe that religious clashes can go both ways. why is it so hard to go beyond ncert textbooks and agenda-driven historians to actually read about our ancient civilisation. you don’t have to be religious for that.

it was appalling that they they would dig up my older posts on this certain topic to have their followers hate on me. i guess i held them at a higher standard.

my only point was that we shouldn’t always ask “how did mughals rule in this country?”

we should also ask “why was india so sought after by other kingdoms and emperors?”

“who all were involved in making this land so prosperous that it attracted people from all over the world?”

“why should we be proud of our ancestors and not consider this a defeatist nation?”

[knight-princess]

Not sure if people talked on that yet but in ep 5, when they all eat the truth plums, I do think they didn’t have that much of effects on Kit. While everyone one in the series has lied about their past or even motivations, or hidden things, Kit is always brutally honest. She’s rash but she’s honest. She is would have confessed to Jade with the plums I think?

Kit to me is that person that thinks she keeps things close to her chest, but her face is an open book for anybody to read if they care to. And it can sometimes be hard to separate “brutally honest” from just being a bit of an asshole, but that kinda fits Kit. Sometimes she is honest, and sometimes she’s just a bit mean. Especially in the early episodes, especially to Elora, with a lot of it stemming from her insecurities and abandonment issues. The truth plums help her and Elora confront that. I don’t think Kit and Elora would have had that frank and open conversation without the plums. But I do think that she probably would have told Jade she loves her without the truth plums eventually (she had already kissed her, that confesses a few things), it just might have taken her longer. For me though, the truth that she reveals isn’t that she loves Jade, which was pretty evident to everybody involved, but that she sees her, and she’s willing to commit to her, and she acknowledges Jade’s needs as well as her own. She’s been pretty self centred so far, though you can see her growing across the show. But she’s been watching Jade with the Bonereavers, seeing how happy she is to have a family again, and realised it isn’t fair to expect Jade to always be the one giving. Love is a two way street. In offering to come back here to stay, she tells Jade she sees how much this means to her. In telling her she doesn’t want any adventures unless they’re with her, she tells her just how much she means to her. And I think in some ways that’s a far harder and braver thing

[cloveroctobers]

DECEMBER DRABBLES — 3. Ez Reyes 🌨️

A|N: Although it’s looking like a rough start for my winter prompts this year…I’m still at it and I have to be if I’m inspired to before the energy runs out! Anyways…this may count as a drabble? I love writing fluff for EZ although that man is clearly on a dark path in this point in time. Regardless I instantly saw this one on the prompt list that I’m following and thought, “Ezekiel MFKIN Reyes!”

S/N: + GIF belongs to its rightful owner, I couldn’t exactly pinpoint who created it on google 💚 + touching on the problem of hair in the black community.

PROMPT: #17. “Have you seen my gloves? Seriously? Take them off the dog.”

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You were not off to a good start this morning.

This could be blamed on many aspects that occurred last night…the main one being binge-watching Abbott Elementary (and Sweet Life) was part of it but if anybody asked you, you’d deny it.

It was easy for you to sleep through your ten alarms but having a husband like Ezekiel Lorenzo Reyes, who enjoyed being up at the crack of ass! wouldn’t let you sleep through the fifth alarm.

He was the morning person in the marriage and you were the late-morning person, which is why you slightly thought about changing your hours. You had a successful hair salon business that you shared with your god-brother about half a hour outside of Santo Padre. The work was time-consuming but you enjoyed the idea of perfecting people’s crowns.

You happened to be one of the few accommodating hair stylists out there, having a gentle approach to the tender headed, coming in early and staying late for certain clients if needed. Being pretty fair you did not over-charge for hairstyles like these new hair stylists on the scene often did and took the time to perfect your craft. Doing hair started young for you; the love for hair and tending to your own was the beginning of a eye-opening journey once many salons made you feel demeaned  about your texture.

From begging your mom to not drag you to the salons at the age of six to learning what best works for your texture at ten was a whole new awakening for you. Your mother couldn’t do a thing with your hair and wanted it to be relaxed (just like her own) since she wouldn’t take the time or knew how to best manage it. The moment she relaxed your hair, your grandfather let her have it, shockingly. Normally most men stayed out of women’s business (if they knew what was good for them) especially when it came to hair. Your grandfather became a single father having to raise your mother all on his own, after your grandmother passed with kidney disease when your mother was fifteen.

You learned that your grandfather knew how to tend to your mother’s hair—this was something your mother did not want to share. He told you that he tried his best to encourage your mother to love what grew from her scalp just like his wife did. You’ve seen many pictures of your grandmother who always sported a gorgeous fro in every photo.

The photo you adored the most was a picture of her in her wedding dress, looking over her shoulder, light in her eyes, and a forget me not tucked into her fro.

It was beautiful how carefree she seemed, a smile always on her lips and a twinkle in her eye. That’s how you wanted to be, not only in life but with the hair on your head as well.

There were many times that you wished you got the chance to meet your grandmother. Both of your grandparents were also involved in the civil rights movement and your grandfather seemed to be the only person that didn’t mind sharing his story. You were thankful since it seemed like any conversation that you wanted to have was deemed as you talking back—words by your mother, which was a issue.

It was evident that there were deep-rooted problems with your mother that she wasn’t ready to address yet. You tried your hardest to be empathetic but also realized, thanks to your therapist, that it isn’t only your job to connect with your mother. You were healing from your own childhood trauma that she was part of and you didn’t hate her but distance was needed. Love shouldn’t be heavy, especially when it came to the woman that once held you in her womb.

And so you dealt with her verbal abuse as a kid until spending summers in Georgia with your grandfather gave you purpose. You had the idea with your grandfather at just eleven years old to cut your damaged hair off. Your grandfather did the honors of buzzing the rest off for you in the pink tile bathroom and the twinkle that appeared in your eye afterwards…matched his late wife’s.

That moment was kept a secret during your two month stay and you actually did some heads for the very first time for kids on the cul- de-sac. Your grandfather witnessed this with pride and even took you to a salon where you met a woman named Carlotta. She was welcoming and encouraging after learning that you worked on two kid’s heads that came to see her occasionally. Carlotta even let you work in the shop twice a week during your stay and once you started working on a few adults heads (a choice you did on your own after she was dealing with her own personal issues) at eleven years old? She told you had a gift and you knew your purpose.

Now you were running late to the shop, knowing you were pushing it by the time you were fumbling with your hair in the bathroom. The change in weather was making your hair dry and it was time that you did a hair mask soon. You knew your god-brother would give you a mouth-full if you didn’t take care of it before he did your first wig-install in two weeks.

Adding the right amount of oil to your hair and scalp, you combed, brushed, and decided to slick your hair into a Sade braid for the day, adding some elastics to sections of the braid to make it more fun. Once satisfied, you checked the time again as you got back into the bedroom, thankful that EZ made the bed for you and scrambled to grab your earmuffs and bag.

Your first appointment was at 8:45am and you already knew you were going to be somewhat late. Thankfully this appointment was a simple rod-set and wouldn’t take too much time to get your client done. Thudding down the steps of your bungalow, you heard your stomach rumbling and figured you’d just have to UberEATS breakfast to the shop.

Sitting on the bench, you shoved your feet into your trainers then reached for your black trench coat to place over your clothes for the workday.

“Hey. I know you’re not leaving without this.” Ez called out to you, most likely from the dining room.

Sending out a text to your god-brother, you slipped your bag onto your shoulder slightly jogging back to the dining room where your husband sat comfortably at the head of the table. Of course he looked amazing so early in the morning, snug long sleeve white-thermal shirt on, decorated with his tags and grey sweats on and his skin? We loved a moisturized king! He most likely got his pre-workout done already if he was having tea and oatmeal. Usually he only sat down for breakfast if he worked out already and didn’t need to be at the club until later that morning.

EZ looked up from his phone, his hand already held out your YETI which was filled with orange juice. “No coffee and heavy breakfast while you’re on the road. We both know how that doesn’t agree with your system. I already slipped a protein bar into your bag while you were in the shower and the real breakfast should be there by the time you get to the shop.”

“You’re a good man,” you cooed gripping Ez’s chin, his facial hair pricking your fingertips as you connected your lips.

Ez laughed into the kiss after a couple of pecks, “eh, depends who you ask mi amor.”

“I’m not asking anybody anything,” you replied with a shrug of your shoulders, “I know my man.”

“Period, uh.” Ez slipped his hands beneath your trench coat to give your backside in your cozy sweats a nice squeeze.

Pointing at the man you said, “don’t ever do that again.”

Ez smiled up at you, “i promise I won’t. Have a good day sweetheart, let me know when you get there.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You kissed his lips again which made him lick his own.

“Mm, is that a brown sugar chapstick?”

“I have no idea. I just snatched whatever was in the night stand.” You breathed, stepping back from the man who simply nodded his head in understanding, “you heading to the club soon?”

“‘Round eleven or after. Gonna take Sally for a walk, nap and then head out,” EZ answered as he picked up his mug, “it’s your late day right?”

“Yes,” you sighed, “last client is coming in at five. Pray for me.”

“Always do.” Ez grinned, “I love when you do the braid by the way, allows me to see that prettiness in full.”

Having a good gulp of OJ you held out your hand to EZ, your wedding ring glistening in the dining room, which made him smile with fulfillment as he awaited your feedback, “keep treating me well and I might mess around and get pregnant with a real baby instead of a fur baby by new year’s.”

“Please tempt me with a good time.” Ez mentioned, sending a wink your way, making you groan and throw your head back.

Stomping out you yelled, “Bye, Ezekiel!”

“See you later!” Ez chuckled to himself, turning his attention back to his phone once you were out of his sight.

Thankful to have not only a loving husband and a automatic starter, that you forgot to start before Ez called you into the dining room, you flinched as your hands rested on the steering wheel. Immediately your hands went to mess with the knobs to crank the heat up, shaking your head at the brawny man for messing with the temperature in the car.

He was warm blooded and you were always cold. It was a whole debate inside of the house but in the car, you did not comprise despite the increase of gas prices. You couldn’t stand being cold and EZ knew that.

Checking the time again on the dashboard, you searched your glove department for your gloves, then the console, the backseat pockets, and the side holders in the doors but couldn’t find them. Sighing you threw the driver’s side door open again, allowing the winter air to bite at your cheeks as you jogged around your car and back to your home.

You just knew your gloves had to be on the bench and you previously overlooked them. Unlocking the door, which took a little bit of a tussle thanks to the cold, you made a mental note (that you would probably forget during the day) that you or EZ needed to use the WD-40 so neither of you didn’t experience a broken key again this winter.

Zoning in on the bench in the entry way, your eyes scanned the object and then you crouched down to the cubbies, feeling around for the gloves just to not locate them.

“Ez,” you called out, “have you seen my gloves? The Prada ones?”

Lifting your head, you spotted EZ standing down the hallway, your eyes shifting to Sally, your pitbull who had her paws resting up on his thighs, “Seriously? Take them off Sally.”

EZ smiled sheepishly at you as Sally peered over at you in annoyance. It was evident that your girl was sick of his mess too. He was a typical dog dad, taking the girl everywhere he could when he had the car, if you weren’t in the passenger seat you can only guess who was and forcing her into costumes when it was clear she didn’t care to be dressed up. He simply liked bothering your teenage fur baby, that’s all.

“I thought you’d be gone already and wouldn’t mind letting Sally borrow them on our walk,” Ez told you, while you stepped forward and held out your hands for the item.

Sighing Ez took them off Sally’s paws, who dropped them back to the wood floor and sat, watching the exchange.

“You got lucky this time, girl.” Ez pointed at Sally who just blinked and looked over at you.

“I know, he’s a real pain in the ass and if I had the time, I’d beat him up for you.” You told Sally who wagged her tail in response.

Ez huffed as he leaned over, slapping the gloves into your outstretched hands, “I just wanted to have a trial run with her since,” He whispered to you, “I got her some mitts for Christmas to protect her paws for our daily jogs and walks.”

“She’s not gonna wear them,” you shoved your hands into the gloves, “you know Sally trots to her own drum. She might even think they’re chew toys; you saw what she did to those Halloween costumes two months ago.”

Ez stretched at his brow, “have a little faith please. Maybe her favorite holiday is Christmas and she’ll be on her best behavior. We haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Her favorite holiday is sleeping and chewing shit up, then acting like she didn’t do it. It requires minimum effort on her part.”

Sally growled a bit before barking.

“I think you struck a nerve,” Ez joked, “and you might want to keep those gloves in the car if you know what’s good for you.”

Fanning your gloved hands at the two you spun on your heels, “On that note, I’m outta here. love you two, be good.”

“We love you too but…no promises.” Ez murmured as he smiled at your retreating form that began closing the front door, now putting a leash on Sally and giving her a good pet.

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Continue along with my December anthology prompts here.

[gazs-blue-hat]

Fair Winds and Following Seas Chapter 1: Pilot

My first attempt at a fic. I have crossposted this to AO3 so check it out on there! It’s an X Reader so I hope that’s alright!

Reader’s Callsign is “Tempest”

Series Masterlist Chapter 2

Summary: While a mission to find Hassan goes south, Ghost finds a particularly interesting photograph. In the mean time, we meet Tempest, who has a new assignment and a new team.

Chapter Warnings: Military Terms, Selective Mute! Reader. I don’t think there’s anything else...

Failure, that's how Captain John Price felt at the moment. Once again, the terrorist Hassan has managed to slip out of their fingers and hide away from their gaze. He didn't know what to do at this point. Laswell had run through all of the information she could and they were at a dead end. Even Farah had no leads. John was stumped and when he was stumped, he sat outside the base smoking a particularly pungent cigar. He sat alone for a long while, pondering what they had found at the last safehouse where Hassan had been hiding out.

*2 weeks earlier*

The team had heard word of a safehouse where Hassan could have been found. They spent weeks making sure that this was indeed the correct location and that there was movement at said safehouse. It was decided that Ghost and Soap would go to the safehouse and clear it from the inside while Price and Gaz worked on the outskirts to provide cover for the two going in. The mission was going smoothly until Graves decided he was going to 'help' by sending a few of his shadows in with the team. Usually 141 didn't have any issues working with the Shadows, but the compound was small and a large force would have sent the entire place into high alert.

Unfortunately for 141, Graves isn't the kind of man who likes to 'sit on his ass and watch the Brits play'. He decided to send in his Shadows anyway and messed up the whole operation. even with Graves' involvement, the mission would have gone alright if not for the hidden pressure plates that lined the whole damn place. As soon as a soldier stepped on one of those plates, a loud siren split the night and lights started to power on around the base. "I told you he would send someone, you owe me drinks after this." Soap said while ducking behind a parked car to get some cover. Ghost rolled his eyes and huffed into the mic attached to his throat. Of course Graves would disregard something Price had said to him, and of course he would get no flack for it. The benefit of being a PMC he guessed. Bullets whizzed overhead and he peeked around the corner of the large container he was crouched behind. The original plan had been to sneak through the skylights in the compound and send in tear gas to get all of the AQ out of the building. Gaz and Price would then shoot the stragglers and provide cover while Soap and ghost got the intel. Since that was no longer a possibility...

Ghost reached behind him and unclipped a canister from his belt. He hefted the grenade in his hand and removed the pin, tossing the explosive over his shoulder. There were shouts behind them as the explosion rocked the ground. Ghost and Soap moved towards the safehouse and quickly cleared the first floor, checking for any hidden traps or escape routes. In their ears, the coms buzzed. "You have anything in there boys?" Price asked over the headset as he looked through the scope of his rifle. "Negative Captain. Nothin' here but dead AQs and a bunch of papers." Soap said softly, whispering so anybody left inside the house wouldn't hear him. In the other room, Ghost peered down a rather long hallway that was covered in shadow. As he made his way down, he noticed blood stains on the walls as well as a few dead AQ agents. Who had done this? Soap and himself were only using their guns this go around, but these people had been stabbed or sliced.

He rounded the corner and nudged his way into the room, pushing aside a body that was blocking the door. He recognized this one as one of Hassan's core commanders. He wasn't supposed to be here, but there was something else that caught his attention. A small folder sat on the desk that another body was sitting at. The folder was a simple manila folder with a large red stamp on the front that read 'Confidential' on it. "Negative on Hassan, but I have found something rather interesting." He said as he put his weapon away and picked up the folder. Unfortunately for him, the folder was connected to an incendiary device and instantly caught fire as soon as it was picked up. Cursing, he tried to extinguish the fire before too much of the document burned. Soap rounded the corner when Ghost had finished putting the fire out. "What's that you got there L.T?" Soap asked, holstering his weapon and approaching Ghost. Ghost handed him the folder silently before looking around the room for anything else that might have information on Hassan. Soap opened it and blew some of the ashes out of the charred folder. "Nothing much here, only a bunch of redacted information and a blurry photo of a pane." He mumbled before tossing the folder back on the desk. Ghost grunted and rolled his shoulders back, deeming the room clear of any more information. "Lemme see that photo Soap." He said while extending his hand for the folder. Soap nodded and handed him the photograph. The image was blurry but it was clear enough that he could make out a few distinguishing factors. "I'm no expert on aircraft, but I'd say that's one fast bird. Look here," He said, showing Soap a subtle ring around the body of the aircraft. Soap blew out a low whistle. "Sound barrier. Only a few planes I know of that can do that." he said softly looking up at Ghost. "Do you think Hassan has his hands on one of those?" he asked, a hint of anxiety in his voice. Ghost said nothing as he looked back down at the photo, examining it further. "Possibly. Look, an American insignia. We know he has missiles, it's possible he's got a bird as well." He said while pointing at a small flag printed on the back of the plane. Soap nodded once more and looked about the room. "I think it's time to speak to Laswell again, she and Shepherd will want to hear about this." He said while exiting the room. Ghost followed behind, but his mind was elsewhere. Something about that plane and the faint words scribbled underneath bothered him.

He looked down at the photograph again, trying to find anything else. The writing he had missed before read 'TG vs SB.' What on earth could that have meant? The other information in the file wasn't really important to him personally. It mostly talked about that aircraft and the impressive feat the pilot had accomplished in it. The pilot was never named, callsign or otherwise. They just referred to them as "TG" or "the Pilot". After searching the rest of the compound with the Shadows, team 141 pulled out of the safehouse with no more information and a whole lot more questions.

*Present Day*

Price sighed deeply and exhaled a cloud of smoke. In one hand he held the picture of the aircraft from the folder Ghost had found. He examined it over and over again, finding nothing interesting or new about it or the contents therein. A shadow soon loomed over him and Philip Graves sat next to him, putting his hands on his knees. The sun was starting to set and soon it would be time for the team to head back to their base of operations in the UK.

"Look...I didn't mean to undermine your operation, I only wanted to help." Graves mumbled while looking at the setting sun. Price simply hummed and took another drag of his cigar. Graves rubbed the back of his head and leaned back. "I had no idea there would be pressure plates, I was only doing what Shepherd ordered me to. No hard feelings?" He said while looking over at Price. The Captain said nothing to the American at his side, simply humming in agreement and exhaling. Graves looked at the photo in the Captain's hand. "May I see that picture?" he asks, his back suddenly straight and his face one of concern. Price raised an eyebrow but handed the image over. Graves took the piece of paper and squinted at it. " It can't be...that's..." He suddenly cursed loudly and threw the picture on the ground. "Those sons of bitches! They're going after...I can't believe this, I'm calling Shepherd."  He exclaimed while standing up quickly and storming off. Price looked down at the photo on the ground and picked it up gingerly. Apparently Graves knew who this person was and he also was personally invested in their safety or well being.

As the sun set on the base, team 141 fell gently off to sleep while their ally Philip Graves made a series of phone calls.

*Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean* "Regan to Tempest, come in Tempest" The radio in her helmet crackled to life after hours of silence. She pressed a button on my console to signal that she was listening. The air above the Pacific ocean was rather rough tonight and was starting to get worse. She listened to the commands issued from the carrier below and shook her head in frustration. What was the point in designing a special plane if it couldn't handle a little bit of turbulence? She sighed softly to herself and started her gradual decent back down to the ship below.

"I bet you're pretty pissed you don't get to fly through a typhoon again." A secondary voice said in her ear. She rolled her eyes and started to press a button on the back of her joystick. She sent the Morse code blips to the aircraft beside her. Her best friend and constant companion Chris "Sparks" Larson, was in a simple fighter jet next to her. His jet was simple, and streamlined. The black paint reflecting the clouds below. 'Of course I'm pissed. They don't call me tempest for nothing you know' she sent. She heard Sparks laugh and  saw him toss his head back with laugher. "Yeah yeah, whatever. You just want the skies to yourself." He replied as they broke through the barrier of clouds to see the vast ocean beneath them. A single ship was floating about 5 miles outside the borders of Japan's ocean space. The USS Ronald Regan was her home at the moment, an aircraft carrier where she was stationed. She and her jet that is. Her plane was one of a kind, one she had designed herself and commissioned for military use. Unfortunately, she and the plane were a package deal. She was the only one who could pilot the plane and the only one who knew how it worked inside and out. As the pair landed on the tarmac, she hopped out of the cockpit and removed her helmet, letting the cool salty air hit her face. She wore her navy uniform, as was standard. Her gaiter on the other hand, was not. The simple black piece of fabric enclosed her neck and lower half of her face perfectly, leaving only her eyes and forehead to show. She tucked her helmet under her arm and watched as the mechanics wheeled her plane into a hangar. She rolled her eyes and waved to gain their attention. Sparks jogged up next to her, his blond hair flopping as he did so. "Hold up boys. Tempest has some notes for you." he said to the two mechanics. They nodded and looked over at Tempest who began to sign with her hands. Nobody on the ship had ever heard her voice. She only used Morse code or American Sign Language to communicate. Luckily, Sparks was fluent in ASL and was able to interpret for her. Unfortunately, most people never looked at her when she 'spoke' only to her interpreter. While that might have been a bother to some, it only served to make her more invisible to the regular soldiers she worked with. 'The engine jumped a little when I took off, perhaps one of this pistons isn't firing correctly. Also, there was too much drag on the tail for sound barrier breakage. If you want a top tier aircraft, you've gotta treat her like one.' She signed to the men, irritated at their lack of respect for her machine. Sparks relayed this message and the mechanics said they would get right to work on the issues addressed. She nodded and punched Sparks on the shoulder who scowled at her. "What was that for?!" He shouted while rubbing his sore arm. Tempest crossed her arms and scowled. 'You didn't match the tone! You didn't tell them how upset I was!' She signed aggressively. He rolled his eyes and flicked her on the forehead. "We can't all be super scary when we talk. Those guys are the same rank as me! I can't just go bossing them around all the time!" he retorted, huffing and looking at her. Before he could say anything else a loud speaker went off next to the entrance of the ship. "Commander Tempest to Coms. Commander Tempest to Coms." She rolled her eyes and signed her apologies to Sparks who waved her off and said he would wait for her in the galley. As she made her way to the communication deck, soldiers nodded to her as she passed, her boots making little sound as she walked across the metal floors. Once she opened the door to the coms station, she was ushered into a seat and given a headset and a keyboard. The screen before her flickered to life and a middle-aged man in Army fatigues saluted her with respect. "Commander Graves. It is a pleasure to see your face again." General Shepherd said with a smile. Tempest did all she could to not roll her eyes. 'Please, call me Tempest' she typed out, the message scrawling along the bottom of the general's screen. The man nodded and looked at her. "I forgot you like to be called by your callsign. My apologies. I assume you've been enjoying your time in the Pacific?" He said, a lazy grin on his face. She frowned and typed her response. 'General, with all due respect, Please tell me what you're really calling for.'

Shepherd leaned back in his seat nodding. "Yes, he did say you liked to get right to the point. Very well. Are you familiar with this man?" He said while lifting a photo to the camera lens. I examined the man's face and thought for a moment. He looked...familiar yes, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. 'I've seen him before, but I don't know his name or why he is important.' She typed. Shepherd nodded and put the picture down. "His name is Hassan Zyani. He's a known terrorist who somehow managed to snag a couple of our missiles." He explained. Tempest frowned and turned her head to the side. The missiles were often kept in hidden silos and when they had to be moved, there were large envoys of soldiers there to protect them. Missiles don't just disappear or go missing. Someone dropped the ball on a transport mission or....there was someone working on the inside. She made no response and Shepherd continued. "Now, we've had a task force hunting for Hassan for a while now but there has been no luck in finding him. We had some intel that said he could have been in a safehouse but after raiding it we only found this..." He paused and held up a charred folder with a confidential stamp on it. Shepherd opened the folder and showed her the picture of the plane. "Recognize it? We fear that Hassan has gotten his hand on one of your...toys" Tempest felt her heart jump in her chest as her hands began to shake. That mission was supposed to have been wiped from all record. She had been promised-no, guaranteed that the details of said mission would never be recorded. Instead of allowing Shepherd to note how this news effected her, she typed a simple message. 'All prototypes in that mission were scrapped. There should be no evidence that that mission was ever carried out.' Shepherd frowned at this comment and shook his head. "My intel tells me of one prototype that survived the mission. Now, I have been given permission from the Admiral that you can and will help us not only retrieve this prototype but also recover the stolen missiles." as she remained Silent, he continued. "You will be working as part of task force 141. I assume your cousin has told you about them?" he said with a quirked eyebrow. Tempest nodded. Phillip had indeed told her about 141. Mostly he complained about how annoying they were and how they all had 'massive sticks up their asses'. Shepherd sent over four pictures of the members of this task force. She recognized Captain price easily with his signature facial hair and hat. Another she recognized as a Scotsman called "Soap" this is the one member of 141 that Phillip seemed to have the most in common with. Then there was Gaz, the quiet man with the ball cap and... She looked at the fourth photo. A man wearing a black balaclava with a skull mask sewn on the front glared at her from her screen.

'That's a bit edgy'  she thought as she fiddled with her own face covering. She wondered if he wore it for similar reasons to her, perhaps he was just a man trying too hard. Who knows his reasons for wearing one? It really didn't matter to her. 'I assume I have no choice in the matter?' She asked. The general shook his head. "Negative Commander. This comes directly from your CO." he said. Tempest nodded and sat up a bit straighter. 'I also assume I will be given a translator? Or a means to communicate with the team?' she typed. The general snorted and shook his head. "No translator, you're on your own for this one. Sparks can't always come along you know. Sometimes you gotta leave your pets at home." At this sentence, she balled her hands into fists and her breathing quickened. She nodded anyway. 'Understood. Am I to fly myself out or will I receive an escort?' Shepherd smiled, leaning back once more. "You're gonna be delivered with some supplies to their base. Not jet for you, she stays on the Regan. You'll be flying from Japan to the Czech Republic tomorrow. from there, a helo will take you to their outpost. I have faith in you Commander, don't let me down." he said before signing off. Tempest sighed deeply and removed her headset. The thanked the officer for providing her the keyboard and the woman nodded, understanding the needs of her friend. Tempest made her way back to the galley where Sparks was waiting for her. "So? What was the super important call about? Phillip bitching about his shadows again?" he asked. Tempest shook her head and started to explain things to Sparks. She left out the details about her mission that should have been wiped from record but she mentioned catching a terrorist and some stolen missiles. at the mention of said missiles, he went quiet and thought for a moment. "Missiles don't just go missing. Someone had to lose them or get them in enemy hands for some reason. I dunno (Y/n) this sounds like a crazy chase when there is something deeper that should be looked at." He said while looking at her. She fiddled with a ring on her right hand, a little spinning ring with the Shadow squadron's insignia on it. 'I know, but I have my orders. Can I ask you to keep your eyes and ears open for anything that might be...fishy?' she asked. Sparks nodded and took her hand in his. "For you (Y/N) anything." he said softly, his smile bright and genuine. Sparks and Tempest were as close as close could be. They had completed basic training together and even worked on a special force of their own before moving to engineering. Their past was riddled with pain and blood, but they stuck through it by clinging onto one another.

Sparks shook her hand and stood up slowly. Before bidding her farewell, he gave her a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead. She smiled and hugged him back. After they left the galley she headed to her quarters to pack her things and move to her new home in Prauge.

early the next morning, before the sun crested the horizon, Sparks was standing on the deck of the USS Ronald Regan watching his best friend fly away. He gripped a necklace around his neck tightly, whispering prayers into the tiny lightning bolt that hung there. Tempest was leaving him and he had no idea when she would be back. Or if she would ever be back.

[dhaaruni]

i feel like “white feminist” and terf are just being thrown around to describe any feminist thought these days. like it’s at the point where woc are called white feminists and trans women are called terfs. like pointing out that abortion bans are based in misogyny doesn’t make someone a terf or mean that they think all women can get pregnant/only women can get pregnant.

Yeah, I'm sorry but like given 99.99% of the people who get pregnant are cis women, I'm not going to waste my time and energy self-flagellating about how abortion bans are actually not about misogyny.

Dilan is right on the money here.

Abortion is one of the simplest issues in terms of who it impacts: it impacts cis women of childbearing age. [...] Further, it impacts cis women of childbearing age of any race, any immigration status, and whether or not they have disabilities. Rich women have abortions as do poor women. And, while this probably shouldn’t need to be said, abortion is actually not a big issue in what we now call the "LGBTQ community” and used to call gays, lesbians, and trans people. Abortion is a product of heterosexual intercourse. Yes, gays and lesbians do procreate, but their procreation decisions usually involve a great deal of planning and contracts; they don’t tend to have the sort of voluntary unplanned heterosexual intercourse with no intention of conception that result in the bulk of abortions. (To be clear, abortion rights are still important for lesbians because they can be sexually assaulted by men. But as a percentage of the abortion total, this accounts for a small number of abortions. It’s fair to say that abortion is far more of a cis heterosexual woman’s concern.)

I'm completely over this shit like I also said it in this piece, and like I predicted, I got called a TERF.

I sometimes think I’m being dramatic for despising bimbofication and the whole “being deceptively dumb and hot” thing as much as I do, but it’s not solely about bimbofication, the TikTok trend. It’s about demonizing women who take pride in their work as evil capitalist #girlbosses (to say nothing about the men who are ambitious), the leftist cool girls who crow about how “math is for boys,” how any woman that even mentions the existence of sex-based oppression is automatically a TERF and therefore has nothing to say of value, which is incidentally how you get stuff about “abortion is identity politics” since it doesn’t affect anybody who isn’t female. See where I’m going with this? 

Words just literally do not mean anything anymore!