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maiamore · 7 days ago

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MILE HIGH CLUB

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 3.3k

Summary: Joel has to fly out of state for the first time in his life and his nerves are frayed. Luckily, he finds a good distraction. You.

Tags: m!receiving oral, deep throating, public indecency, mention of drug use, blowjob on a plane basically, alcohol consumption, nervous old man joel

A/N: maybe i’m just into exhibitionism atp MASTERLIST

Like every other man, Joel Miller had his kryptonite.

It wasn’t the idea of never finding someone to settle with, despite countless attempts—he had his fair share of awkward dates and mind-fucking-numbingly repetitive conversations about what his favourite colour was.

And sure, it could have been having to deal with empty nest syndrome after Sarah moved out of state for college. The loneliness came as a cold wash, but he kept busy enough to avoid spiraling down the rabbit hole of a quiet home. Babysitting for Tommy or tending to work troubles was a rickety solution at best.

But no, that wasn’t enough to rattle the man.

It was the very fact that he was hours away from having to sit in a “flying death machine” as he eloquently phrased it, just so he could visit his daughter.

Joel had successfully gone forty one years of his life dodging air travel. The thought of sitting in a metal contraption, being flung through the skies made his stomach churn. He couldn’t care less about how safe it chalked up to be. A car? He could control. Walking? Reliable.

A plane? Definitely not. A paper airplane for grown-ups, that’s all it was.

The glaring fluorescent lights, nauseating sound of suitcases and tearful goodbyes wasn’t doing him any favours. Least of all the sleaze bag at the counter, who hadn’t even spared more than a couple seconds. Being seven hours early was overkill, but he’d figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Can’t let ya in yet. Come back in a few hours.”

A litany of curses left unsaid under his breath about “dumb rules” and “what’s the point of gettin’ here early if yer just gonna make me wait?”

He shuffles out of the line with the creaky luggage he had with him, finding himself a seat by the waiting lounge next to a girl reading from those gizmos he’d seen Sarah use last Thanksgiving. A scowl crept up his face.

Did they have to invent some gadget for reading, too? Wasn’t that free?

He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small black leather bound book. It was worn, the edges were scuffed and the pages slightly dog-eared—a testament to its’ use.

Licking the pad of his thumb, he flips through the pages. There in black ink, lay a list of instructions he prepared prior to coming here. Misspellings here and there—chicken scratch, really.

1) checkin n’ give bags to airport

“Already screwed that one up,” he mutters out loud, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the growing aches.

2) go to gate no. on tikket

Joel peels out the airline pass tucked into his passport and squints at the printed words. “Christ.” He clicks his pen and painstakingly copies the details into his notebook in block letters big enough to read from across the room. “Tiny ass fuckin’...printin’...”

“Don’t travel much?”

Your voice breaks through the haze of uncertainty that had been plaguing him. Joel doesn’t offer more than a quick glance at first, his grip tightening slightly around the pen in his hand.

When he does look at you. You’d made him do a double take.

Despite the sorry state of his dating life–or maybe because of it–Joel wasn’t immune to the kind of attention a pretty thing like you could command. Even if it was just your attempt to be polite. His gaze then falls in disdain to your kindle laying abandoned in your lap.

“Not really, darlin’,” he says, his voice low and rough, with just enough warmth to take the edge off his typical gruffness.

Joel wasn’t big on small-talk, so when silence settled between you both, he didn’t feel the need to fill it. He wasn’t entirely sure why your presence had eased his nerves, even just a fraction, but it had.

And then you spoke up again, your tone uncertain but laced with quiet hope.

“There’s a lounge in the back with a bar,” you begin, tipping your head towards it. “Might be more your speed.”

Joel follows the motion with his eyes, then huffs a breath that sounds almost like a laugh. “Man after my own heart,” he tucks his notebook back into his pocket.

Maybe it wasn’t all too bad that your dad dropped you off at the airport hours too early.

When you’d first seen Joel, you’d nearly dropped your kindle. The heavy thud of his boots on the polished floor caught your attention. You slowly pulled your gaze upward–from the worn blue jeans to the faded grey t-shirt that did nothing to hide his strong forearms. His dark brown curls looked like they’d been through more than their fair share of rough mornings, but god did you want to run your fingers through them.

And then there was his scruffy beard–uneven in an endearing way that somehow made him even more pleasing to the eyes. You blinked, forcing yourself to look back at your screen, but the words blurred into nothingness. The way he sat stiffly on the chairs he made seem so small, down to what seemed to be a checklist for his flight.

“I’m pretty sure more people have died on construction sites than flights, Joel.”

Joel.

Introductions came easy the second the whiskey infiltrated his system, and damn if he didn’t he love the way his name rolled off your tongue.

He drags a palm down his jaw, a dry scoff slipping past his lips. “This your idea of makin’ me feel better ’bout all this?” he counters, half-regretting that he’d let slip what he did for a living.

You weren’t wrong, of course–he’d faced far more dangerous situations on the ground than he’d ever likely encounter in the air.

Still, it didn’t help.

“I ain’t sayin’ m’gonna piss my goddamn pants,” he muttered, shifting in his seat. “Just makes me feel queasy, s’all.”

Joel sighs into the crystal glass, thumb idly tracing the rim as if the whiskey might’ve given him some courage. When he glanced your way again, you were watching him with that look–the one that made him feel exposed and oddly at ease all at once.

He shot you a faint glare, more bark than bite, and nodded toward your drink.

“Drink your goddamn kiddy juice,” he grumbled.

Your lips curled up into a slight scowl, cupping your glass of bellini defensively. Despite your show of annoyance, you did feel a tinge of empathy for him. For crying out loud, he was hunched over the goddamn bar seat, looking at his empty glass like a kicked puppy like he was about to go for a vasectomy or something.

Gesturing towards the bartender for a refill of his glass, you dragged your bar stool closer to him.

“Look. If you’re up for it. I’ve got a little pick-me-up I take to settle my nerves before a long flight,” you said, fishing a small pill container from your bag. “Works like a charm.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed, his interest piqued despite his better judgement. But the second you popped open the lid, his reaction was instant.

“Hard pass.”

“You don’t even know what it–”

“I ain’t about to get drugged up,” he cut in, folding his arms. Your eyes shamelessly trace over the way the sleeves tightened around his biceps. “And besides, I hardly know ya.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line and without missing a beat, you tipped one of the white pills into your palm and dry swallowed it like a pro. Joel’s brow furrowed deeper, his disapproval practically radiating off him. Though that notion had him adjust his jeans discreetly.

“Well, it’s your funeral,” you said with a shrug. Then realizing how that might’ve come across, you raised your hands in mock surrender. “Figuratively speaking! Not literally–”

“Gimmie that damn thing,” Joel huffed, snatching the container from you. He popped the pill into his mouth and chased it with a gulp of whiskey, muttering something under his breath about regrettin’ this already.

You leaned back in your seat, a sly grin tugging at your lips. “You didn’t even ask what it does.”

Joel fixed you with a hard glare, the kind that could silence most people. But you weren’t most people.

“It also gives you a raging erecti–”

“Sweetheart.” Joel’s warning tone cut you off, his glare piercing.

You couldn’t help it–you laughed anyway, the sound earning a reluctant lop-sided smirk from him as he shook his head.

In all his years of living, Joel never thought he’d succumb to relying on drugs.

The idea was irresponsible at best. He’d pride himself on staying clear-headed, the occasional joint in his teenage years being the closest he’d come to experimentation. But that was a lifetime ago, a glimpse of a boy who didn’t have responsibilities or a family to think about. His body was a temple now, for at least a semi-respectable contractor.

Yet here he was, in the fluorescent purgatory of a transit hall, deciding that a four hour stint in a “metal coffin” justified drastic measures.

Your vague explanation on what that little white pill of yours was didn’t help either. You both agreed you were in this together now. He had to admit that it was ironic where life took him. Misery loved company, and you, his current “drug buddy,” were far easier on the eyes than his high school crowd had ever been.

And, well, it worked.

Joel could feel the change, his mind easing from the coiled tension it had been gripping since he set foot in the airport. His inhibitions, usually locked tighter than the pentagon, were suddenly looser. Not reckless, but freer.

If you’d thought Joel wasn’t the clingy type before, that illusion was thoroughly shattered now. He shadowed your every move, from hauling your luggage onto the conveyor belt without you even asking to tapping his card at the terminal before you could pay for yourself.

And then…there were his hands.

At first, they lingered tentatively–a brush of his palm at the small of your back, a quick touch to your arm as he gestured to something in the duty-free window. Testing boundaries. Waiting for a sign.

When you looped your arm through his without hesitation, Joel took it as his green light.

After that point on, his touches became a constant presence. Steady, warm & grounding. A hand resting lightly on your hip as you wandered through the departure hall, fingers curling against your wrist as he guided you through the crowds of travellers.

Joel fully blamed the pill for his current lapse of judgment.

He spit into his palms, smearing the wetness onto the length of his cock. His other hand gripped firmly onto the granite counter. The dull slaps of him fucking his fist filled the small space. Along with his strained grunts.

“C’mon, c’mon…”

Trying damned hard to focus—he thinks of you. How your body felt under the weight of his hands. The way you’d wet your lips before giving your own witty remark to his rants about shit he found ridiculous about Delta.

And he jolts, instinctively tightening his grip around his cock when the announcement rings in the speaker above—some bullshit safety reminder.

“Shit—…shit shit.” He mutters. Willing himself to come so he’d put himself out of his self made torture.

Joel was rock fucking hard the second he seated himself by the back of the plane. Thoughts of the way you’d smiled up at him & rubbing his arm before heading to your seat up front was enough ammo for him to daydream about you for the next hour.

He did think you were joking earlier. But this could very well be the side effect of whatever you’d given him.

Nevertheless, it was pointless. The sterile bathroom was doing nothing but turning him off.

With an annoyed sigh. He’d shucked his half limp cock back into his jeans. Thoroughly scrubbing his hands clean before he heads back to his seat.

He stops short, brows quirked at the intruder.

“Howdy. How ya holding up.”

You grinned. Lowering the latest issue of Baseball Digest that Joel was occupied with from where it covered your face.

“I’m—…what are you…doin’ back here.” He manages. Cursing himself for sounding way off.

“Flight‘s pretty empty, so…Donna did me a solid.”

Joel briefly glances up at the flight attendant that you did a little finger wave to before looking back, nudging his head to the vacant seat next to you. “Scoot over.”

“Jesus. Thought you’d be happy to see me.”

Yeah. I was. And I tried to jerk off to you too, not that it worked out.

“So that I can be tormented for the next three hours?”

You frowned at his words. Flipping through the magazine loudly. “Someone’s panties are in a bunch.”

He exhales as he sinks into his rightful seat. Thankfully, the shock of seeing your face again did a number to deflate Junior Miller.

The combination of turbulence and drinking two glasses of whiskey earlier was a nasty concoction. He thumbs eases the crease between his brows before finally deciding to speak, ignoring your earlier comment.

“Bout’ the side effect you mentioned…”

That causes you to tip your head towards him. You were silent, briefly.

“What about it?”

“…How long does it…last.”

You looked to the side. “Just for a bit.” Though you sounded unsure of yourself. “Why?”

“Nothin’. Suppose I’m gettin’ one of those weird reactions to it.”

“Weird how.” You pressed. Though Joel looked less than pleased about your probing. “Don’t gotta explain it to ya. S’just weird, darlin’.”

You get the memo regardless.

“Well did you try to—“

“I did.”

“And you didn’t—“

“No.”

“You sure you were doing it correctly?”

Joel drags his hand down his face, letting out a muffled, yet pained scoff before he looks at you. He doesn’t speak yet for a couple of seconds.

“Yes, sweetheart. I know how to fuckin’ jerk off.”

Your lips pressed into a taut line. His words stirred something deep in you, fuck if it didn’t make you want to do something stupid right now.

“Obviously you don’t. Wouldn’t be sitting here all wound up if you had.”

Joel’s lips part to shoot something snarky your way.

It’s quickly floored when he feels your fingertips trace past the sides of his thighs.

You look at him. Offering him an opportunity to pull away.

He adjusts his hips to shift lower. A firm tug on your wrist ground your palm directly onto the bulge of his jeans.

A shaky exhale leaves his lips when you knead against his hard on. Tipping his head back onto the headrest. He lets out a soft grunt escaping his lips as you continued your ministrations.

“Feels…real good.” He manages. Barely being able to look at you.

Fuck. You were so warm and you smelled so good. He couldn’t remember the last time he had something that he wanted real bad.

“Told ya, not doing it right.” You leaned in close enough for your cheeks to rest against his bicep. Watching how his grip around your wrists began to falter.

Joel’s breathing became a little more ragged as he started to become more and more pent up with each rub.

With a conspicuous sniffle, you dragged the zipper of his jeans down, earning a jolt from him. He whips his head to look at you as you maneuver his stiffened cock out of his boxers.

Locking your gaze with his, you provide a calming kiss to the edge of his shoulder before you lower yourself.

“Christ. Are you crazy?”

Joel lifts his gaze to scan the surroundings. Considering it was an evening flight, the dimmed overhead lighting provided a more intimate and gentle glow.

The absence of attendants who were likely resting up front, and the emptiness of the last five rows does provide him assurance, even when it shouldn’t have.

He lets out a hiss at a wet glob of saliva trickle down his shaft, stealing his focus once more. Followed by the softness of a smaller pair of hands pumping the wetness up and down.

You feel a strong hand gather your hair up loosely, before the fingertips entangles firmly through to hold your head in place.

He tugs you to meet his gaze momentarily. Eyeing your soft features being reflected with the amber mood lighting.

“Can I?”

You bit the insides of your cheeks. Realising what he’d meant. You nod slowly, kissing the tip of his weeping cock.

“Tap me twice if it’s t’much.”

He mutters with a gentleness that had you rubbing your thighs together, the slick wetness growing in your cunt.

You take him into his mouth fully this time. Feeling his hips jump up involuntarily. The tug on your head encourages you to continue.

“Ah..fuck. Fuck.”

Joel grinds his jaw at a painful intensity. The warmth and wetness of your mouth hollowing around his cockhead was intoxicating. He had to physically control himself from thrusting into your mouth too quickly.

The noises that rumbled from his throat spurs you on. You alternate between deep sucks through your hollowed mouth and stroking his cock. Though the hand holding your head became more of a weak hold than a guide.

You caught the hesitance in his actions. Treating you so damn gently as though you would break. It frustrated you, so you abruptly lowered yourself until you practically swallowed him whole. Nose grinding against the denim.

It catches the both of you off guard.

Joel, nearly lets out a fucking groan at the warmth of your throat convulse around his cock. And you, with your thumb digging into your fists to control your gag reflex.

That was enough for Joel to snap.

His grip around your hair goes taut. “Tap me.” He reminds, before he properly fucks his cock into your throat at an almost brutal pace.

You choked for a couple of seconds, the warm tears pricking your eyes as you gripped tightly over his thigh—essentially using your mouth as his personal fleshlight.

Letting out strained grunts as he quickened his pace, you taste the salty mixture of your tears and saliva. Joel doesn’t let himself go just yet, keeping the rational part of him awake in case you couldn’t take it, which in fairness—most women couldn’t.

But you? You took it like a fuckin’ champ.

You pulled away from his cock with a pop, letting a string of saliva follow as you dragged your lips down to his balls, giving one of them a sloppy suck as much as your mouth could fit before taking his cock into your throat.

Joel shudders at the sensation, It doesn’t take long before his hips stutter, spurting his hot, thick come into your throat.

He pulls you off him with a gentle tug, catching sight of your tear stricken face, lips pouty and reddened.

Joel groans at how pretty you looked like this.

He glances towards the bathroom behind them and back at the serenity of the moonlight illuminating inside the plane as he hastily tucks himself back in.

With a firm hold, he hoists you up underneath your arms to guide you into the cramped stall with him.

“You okay, honey?” He practically whispers. Thumb swiping the strands of your hair that stuck to your sweaty cheeks, tucking them behind your ears.

“Y…eah.” You managed. Voice coming out raspy. His dark brown gaze held nothing but concern for you.

A lazy smile graces your features. You stabilise yourself with Joel’s arms. He doesn’t hesitate as he leans in to lock his lips with yours.

“We can go back. Or continue. Whatever you want.” The gentle curve of nose comes to rub against your cheeks, though you could tell by the twitch of his cock that he was far from done.

You bit down on your lips. Hands travelling lower to let the sharp sound of Joel’s buckle give you the answer he needed.

As you flip over to lean against the counter with your palms flat on the granite—your cheeks presses against your shoulder to gaze up at him through your lashes.

“By the way…that pill I gave you? Just Vitamin C.”

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel the last of us #joel x reader #pedro pascal smut #tlou smut #the last of us smut

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gunnrblze · 4 months ago

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Unaffected

Part two of my lil Kick x Hesh nonsense. Except this is 6200k+ words lol. My apologies if it gets a little repetitive, this is why I usually stick to shorter fics hehe. Part one here. MDNI, 18+

CW: blowjobs, two dudes fuck, fools in love, insecure-ish/pining Kick

Tag request for @blacktacmopsi (who’s general hc’s of Kick I’ve based some of this on, thx queen)

Kick could hardly breathe for the rest of the day. His oxygen felt depleted when it wasn't being shared with Hesh’s. When the man's breath didn't fill his space, his mouth, his nostrils, his head. As if his own was somehow lacking in substance, he wonders how he went his whole life up to this point without it.

Like a good ghost though, he persisted. Through the aching need that continued to claw its way into every nerve fiber of his body, through his own godforsaken boring paperwork, through all the hours he had to go before being alone with the younger man once more. He swore he could feel the phantom touch of Hesh’s big hands on his shoulders, heavyweights that he'd willingly let drag him down, even if for only one more fleeting moment of respite against his lips.

The day couldn’t have gone slower, he thought. Or perhaps one's brain just defies time when it's desperate for a different hour. He wondered how many glances at the clock like a jittery schoolboy it would take before the plastic started to crack with the burn in his gaze. He wondered if his heart would similarly crack now that it’d been fed something. Now that his aching, desperate need for the soldier had been tended to, if it would ever be enough to fill that little gaping hole he liked to pretend his work filled for him. He knew the answer and yet it didn't help his overthinking. It was almost unlike him, the amber eyed man much more practical than this. Yet Hesh had somehow, within the span of half an hour spent in his office, managed to level his train of thought like a city plaza. Kick could shudder with the thought of how else the man could pick him apart without even trying, what another taste of Hesh’s firm lips could do to him. Would it hurt less in the end to find out, or to avoid the inevitable like the plague? Surely this wouldn't last, whatever this was.

Kick always had a penchant for the unknown, though. He’d sink to the bottom of the mariana trench with no oxygen tank if it meant he could get even a glimpse at the bottom. So how surprised could he be when Hesh’s not so subtle “you up?” text had his boots nearly bouncing off the pavement to get to his barracks?

He did everything he could to hold onto his air of facetious nonchalance. To pretend that his pining hadn’t reached a fever pitch just from their earlier encounter alone, giving Hesh’s door two firm knocks before the following sight knocked the breath from his lungs.

A freshly showered Hesh stood in the doorway, that familiar scent of pine stronger than usual. His sweats hung lower on his waist than necessary, strung round his hips like a goddamned Calvin Klein model. Prettier than any magazine boy could ever be, though. He wondered how many seconds of him staring at the sliver of skin between said sweats and the tight compression shirt that adorned his upper body went by before the air of Hesh’s voice finally sounded.

“You alright?” the younger man's voice was lilted with amusement, arms crossing over that broad chest as his mossy green eyes similarly roamed over Kick’s body. Was he toying with Kick, or was the guy just effortlessly attractive? The thought was infuriatingly cute.

“Yeah…gonna let me in, Walker?” he tried to retort but it came across much more desperate than he wanted, maddeningly so. How could he even let himself get this way? Near begging to be let into the room of a colleague at least a decade younger than himself, with the intention of what, really? To kiss some more, maybe fulfill those cock twitchingly hot wet dreams he’d been having lately? To pretend his desire, his need stopped there? Stopped short of wanting to crawl under Hesh’s skin and take up as much room as the blood in his veins?

The man didn’t give him that much time to debate though, before stepping aside with a smile that could light up the darkness he felt on even his worst days. Kick felt an insatiable urge to get closer already. To take him by his scruff covered cheeks again and kiss his lips raw. He stepped inside and heard the door close behind him, Hesh’s presence lighting him up so much it almost felt like a fight or flight response. Not that he was nervous, no, just laughably desperate for something, anything he could sink his literal or metaphorical teeth into.

It seemed Hesh was just as needy, the spaces between their bodies already closing up as Kick took quick stock of the man's living space before turning back around to face him. Standard issue military barracks, but with the added lieutenants perk of no roommate. Little personal effects, save for a sleeping german shepherd in the corner and some clothes strung about. Charmingly Hesh, he decided, before being met with those green eyes again.

Suddenly he felt like he was floundering, like he didn't have years and years of flirting experience under his belt. A ship lost at sea, this wasn’t just a regular person he’d met here or there, some place where it didn't matter so much what happened in the end, because he’d never see that person again, no. These were real feelings, for a real man that he worked with everyday. The dim lights of some janky bar weren't there to give an interlude to his feelings, they were threatening to spill out everywhere like the blood of an enemy soldier.

The distance between them only shortened as Hesh stepped forward again, the man's cheeks already adorably heated, a rosy tint crawling up from under the trimmed beard along his jaw. God, he wasn't sure how much he could take. Words were lost on both men, Kick’s body scorching with too many emotions to name. He had Hesh alone. Alone, and all to himself. It would’ve been overwhelming if he were able to process it anymore, but his limbs had a mind of their own. Fingers reaching up to curl around the side of the man’s warm neck, wordlessly pulling him closer as they slid to the back, trying to drown himself in the masculine scent that engulfed the air between them.

Hesh’s own hands found Kick’s waist, a song and dance they'd played earlier in his office, nearly clammy palms sliding down to grip his strong hips, almost tentatively guiding the older man closer. Muscle memory took over as Kick pulled the blushing soldier down to crash his lips firmly against one another.

It was all consuming, both men's bodies acting on impulse all at once, autopilot taking over. Breaths mixing and stuttering in Kick’s lungs as he pulled Hesh impossibly closer, both hands returning to the man's face, cupping him by the jaw as if he were a precious, breakable thing, and not a solid wall of muscle lodged firmly up against his own body, a soldier primed to kill and maim and dominate. Not the kid he was made out to be, no. A man, so full of heat and energy it felt like Kick had been doused in kerosene and set ablaze. As if it were all they knew how to do, Hesh was backed up again against the door of his room, backside thudding against the wood with more force than Kick had intended, drawing a groan from both men's throats. Kick didn’t even need to apologize, it only seemed to spur on the man locked to his lips further. Hesh’s tongue swiped over the older man’s lips only once, and it was all he needed. Almost stupidly, Kick opened his mouth instantly, gasping in the minty taste he was met with before tongues started clashing. It was a heady dance, both men recklessly attempting to consume one another, as if salvation was a finite resource and they had both suddenly found themselves damned to hell for all eternity.

Kick’s skin was prickling with anticipation and that ardent thirst, the desire to be closer, to devour all of the man pinned between his body and the door, to merge with him until they were no longer considered separate entities. It wasn't enough, it was too much, it would suffice, he didn’t know, his brain was swimming and his heart thudding against his ribcage like a beast trying to uncage itself. There was no time to decide before Hesh was thumbing the hem of his shirt, a silent plea that Kick understood too well.

“Take it off” Kick’s voice was deeper, raspier. It wasn't quite a demand, nor a suggestion. A plea perhaps, one that had Hesh scrambling to appease the both of them. Their lips only disconnected long enough for the green eyed man to all but rip the fabric off Kick’s body, tossing it on his floor as his hands found purchase on the broad expanse of chest in front of him. Lips pressed hot against one another again, Kick’s cock responded nearly instantly to the sweaty hands smoothing over his stomach and pecs, his length hardening up as a shiver ran down his spine at the feeling, one infinitely better than any of his dreams. His hips pressed more firmly against Hesh’s, earning a groan from the younger man. Kick felt Hesh’s sweats outlined with the print of his own growing cock, exciting him almost pathetically.

In the back of his mind, he was loosely aware of the consequences this could all have, the ones that swam through his mind earlier while he was desperately awaiting this moment. Hesh was younger, a subordinate truthfully, regardless of any rank. He was fresh, at least to the Ghosts. He felt guilty in the back of his mind, where the rest of his feelings for the man didn't take over. Was he fucking something up here? This was beyond fraternization, but he was more so terrified of what nearly felt like his corruption of Hesh, involving him with a man like himself, despite the both of them coming on to one another equally. He should give the kid a chance, no? To explore something, someone, else. An option that wouldn’t end in the dumpster fire that this one easily could.

With every slow grind of the man’s hips against his own however, any other real thoughts melted out of Kick’s ears, reducing him to something almost absurdly impatient in the blink of an eye. His dexterous fingers found the band of Hesh’s sweatpants, sliding underneath the fabric just enough to feel the heated skin of the man’s waistline. And oh, if he didn’t want to bottle up and preserve the near whimper that slipped from the soldier's throat as the roughened pads of his fingers trailed around to the back, sliding down to grope at his rear, squeezing the plump muscle firmly.

“Kick…more” Hesh’s voice was breathless and so much deeper than normal it made Kick’s cock twitch in his pants, precum already slickling his tip and staining his boxers as he ground himself into the man further, using the tightening grip on his backside as leverage.

Both men panted and groaned as they ground their hardening cocks together, lips connecting in a slower, more sensual rhythm that left Kick just as breathless. Deep and all consuming, their bodies grew hotter, the change of pace allowing Kick to become more fast and loose with his dizzying thoughts.

“Jesus, Hesh…been waiting all day for you, all goddamned day” Kick’s breathing was labored as he muttered lowly against the other man's mouth, grip so tight on his ass it made Hesh unable to think clearly, his fingers digging into the back of Kick’s neck and one of his muscled shoulders. Kick felt like he’d implode at any moment, his wildest little dreams about the soldier he’d sought the attention of for months finally coming to fruition, every kiss Hesh pressed to his lips another douse of gas on the fire, pinning the man helplessly between his body and the hard door.

“Don’t wait anymore, take me” the other man would pant in response, his low honeyed voice laced with a flaring hunger that had Kick pulling away only enough to rip that tight shirt off him. Those amber eyes raked over every bit of upper body Hesh had on display. Course, dark hair littered all over his toned chest and down his stomach in whorls, lining a delicious trail that disappeared down into his sweats. A gift from whoever was up above, Kick decided as his hands lingered near the band of those sweats once more, their eyes connecting long enough to see one another's matching desires coming to a head.

Hesh’s cheeks and neck were flushed, those pouty little lips parted, making Kick dizzy with every exhale that came out of them, washing over him in waves. “Yeah? Sure this is what you want?” Kick had to ask, wouldn’t feel right with himself if they crossed the point of no return without making sure Hesh understood what this really entailed, what he was really getting himself into.

The soldier only grinned down at him, chest heaving a bit as his hand slid up the back of Kick’s neck, carding through his hair and sending a tingle down the man’s spine. Kick’s cheeks were equally pinkened, his lips ghosting over Hesh’s as he waited what felt like too long for the man’s answer, fearing the worst despite the way Hesh’s cock was throbbing against his through their clothing.

“Yeah” the soldier nodded, kissing him deeply, both hands tangling up in Kick’s cropped hair now. “You’re all I want” Hesh whispered against his reddened lips. A sigh of relief, need, and something that felt strangely like ecstasy escaped Kick, his eyes closed in bliss as he took in all of Hesh, his strong scent, the scorching heat of the man’s body against his, the very essence that made up the man. Kick, for a moment, existed on a different plane. One where he simultaneously felt unreal and more alive than he ever had. A third space, one that Hesh was carving out in his soul, slotting himself in whether Kick liked it or not. He wasn't too sure if Hesh meant he wanted him tonight or forever, and he didn't have the heart or capacity to ask just yet. Chickening out, he wanted to take what he could get. If Hesh only wanted to fool around, he’d take it. Take everything the younger man would grace him with until he ran dry, even if it meant he’d always be a little out of reach, even if it’d take all the heart the amber eyed man had left and hung it out to dry. Kick didn’t need complete reciprocation right now, he figured. He just needed Hesh.

One hand slid down the soldier's sweats, palming at his rigid shaft through the fabric of his boxers. It drew a mind numbingly lustful groan from the man, one that had Kick leaking even more into his own clothing, watching the way his pretty lips parted before he took the bottom one between his teeth, grinding into Kick’s hand.

“Tell me…tell me what you want, David” Kick’s voice was husky and torrid, his lips brushing against the younger man’s balmy neck, peppering little kisses all over the skin and up to his jaw while his fingers curled around the length of his dick, stroking easily over the fabric. Hesh’s breathing was raggedy, shamelessly groaning into Kick’s hair as he clutched onto the man’s shoulders, squeezing him like a lifeline, tethering himself to Kick like he was the only tangible thing left.

“Fuck, you, I want you, Kick…anything, please” he grunted lowly as his cock throbbed in the older man’s grip, the plea slipping from his lips as he lost himself in the touch. His breath feverish against Kick’s scalp, nuzzling himself into the man’s hair with a tenderness that didn’t go unnoticed, making Kick’s heart beat what felt almost irregularly. The plea was enough to have his lips slipping away from his neck, free hand cradling Hesh’s jaw to press a kiss to his lips.

Kick retracted his hands and took one of Hesh’s, leading the man over to his own bed like he belonged in the room himself. Sitting Hesh down on the edge, he surprised the both of them a bit as he sank to his knees, fingers curling under the band of his sweats one last time before he started sliding them down, taking the man’s boxers in the same go. Stripping him bare now, Hesh blushed even more, a smile curling on Kick’s face at the precious sight.

Those green eyes stared down at Kick as his cock sprang free, helping to remove his clothing from his long legs. The sight sent a pang of heat coursing through Kick’s lower half, his own cock throbbing near painfully as he tried to commit this moment to memory. A hand wrapped around the base of Hesh’s thick shaft, rewarding Kick with a lovely groan as their eyes met, a silent plea of permission to keep going. Licking his lips as the younger man nodded wordlessly, Hesh was already gripping the bed sheets in an attempt to restrain himself.

It was all Kick needed before he was wrapping his lips around the throbbing red head of Hesh’s cock, tongue swiping over the slit to lap up what had leaked from it. The movement ripped a low moan from the man above him, his hips twitching lightly, head being thrown back as heat began to pool in his lower stomach already. The noises Hesh tried to hold back had Kick’s free hand reaching down to palm at his own crotch as he took more of Hesh into his mouth, a groan leaving his own stretched lips as he filled his mouth up with as much of the man’s length as he could, nearly just as desperate to have him.

“Ah, fuck…Kick, t-that’s, shit-” Hesh’s voice got almost higher in pitch, hips bucking his cock into Kick’s mouth of their own volition. Kick stared up at the man, head bobbing up and down his length as his mind swam. Hesh looked so fucking pretty, his cock twitching and leaking down the hot tongue swirling around it. Like some sort of Greek god, Kick figured, as he savored the taste on his tongue.

It was a blur as Hesh’s hand found Kick’s hair, tangling in the strands, resting near the nape of his neck as Kick tightened his lips around the cock he was attempting to fit down his throat. It pulled a whorish noise from the man above him, and he swallowed every shot of cum that Hesh gave him, watching the man above him clamp a hand over his mouth to muffle his moaning.

The poor man panted as he was situated on the edge of his bed, a slight tremble racking his thick, hairy thighs as they were bracketed around Kick’s shoulders. Kick smiled at the sight, that odd swelling in his heart, the one that felt tender to the touch, was never far behind his lust for the soldier. They were interlinked, mingling like they belonged to one another, creating a heady mix that threatened to choke Kick out if he wasn’t careful.

He gave Hesh a moment to recover, sliding his hands up and down those shaky thighs, fingers curling around his hips as the man above looked down at him, a gaze set with so much reverence it made the older man’s heart stop, he was sure of it. Hesh was flushed, his tanned skin slicked with a sweaty sheen from his neck all the way down his vast chest, the warmth of the barracks in the summertime only aiding the heat the two men were creating between themselves. The younger man’s hands were loosely combing through Kick’s short locks, his cock still hard and throbbing with a need that wasn’t yet satiated.

“God…c’mere” Hesh rasped out, trying to pull Kick up for a kiss, bending down a bit to meet him halfway, before Kick stood up from the cool tile himself. His broad, shirtless body towering over the soldier as he cupped his face in his own clammy hands, lips pressing softly to one another as Hesh started to fumble with Kick’s belt buckle, thick fingers set with a slight shake as he worked the leather through the loops.

Kick smirked against the man’s red bitten lips as he gave soft, sensual kisses to Hesh, letting him taste his own spend. “Eager, huh, baby?” the amusement in his tone almost made Hesh whine, drawing an undying need out from the pit of his chest. The pet name even more so, the foreign word on his tongue releasing a soft moan right back into Kick's mouth, relaxing him almost.

“Shut up” the younger man smiled easily, his tone lacking all its defense as his fingers deftly worked Kick’s belt off his hips, letting it fall to the tile below with the rest of their shed clothes. Kick tried to keep his composure, but a part of him was almost hesitant to let the man see him in a more undressed state. He wasn’t one to be insecure of himself, no. He was well aware of all he had to offer, and he was far from ashamed. And yet Hesh was different in his mind, in his heart. He found himself hoping his body, his abilities, would keep Hesh coming back for more, in case that was all that appealed to the younger man. If he couldn’t offer the soldier a good fuck or a nice, hot mouth to return to, would he come back to him at all? He refused to worry about it at the moment, desperate to commit the scorch of Hesh’s skin and the lingering taste of the man on his tongue to memory. Desperate.

Hesh kept his mouth on Kick’s, the men breathing synchronously as the older man’s button and zipper were undone, pants being slid down the thick of his thighs, revealing the smooth, creamy skin underneath. His skin was more paled than Hesh’s, but littered with enough darker hair, and a deep scar running up the side of his knee. Kick helped shake his pants off, stepping out of them as his hands tightened on Hesh’s warm shoulders. Hesh couldn’t wait any longer to palm at the outline of Kick’s cock, a quiet groan rumbling from the man’s throat.

It felt too natural with Hesh. Too natural as he helped the man slide his boxers off as well, the pink head of his cock weeping down his length. So natural as he maneuvered Hesh up onto the bed, crawling overtop his body, chuckling deeply as their knees knocked together, nearly sending the older man off the edge of the twin bed they both struggled to fit on. “Don’t knock me off yet, Walker, just gettin started with you” The sound of Hesh’s laughter in response to the tease set Kick’s heart blazing again. The two men’s lips never unlocked. Deep, firm kisses slowly being shared as Kick’s defined body pressed against the man’s beneath him, their stiff cocks smushing together, irregulating their breaths all over again.

Sweaty bodies crowded together on the small bed, Kick didn’t mind the position at all, despite the cry from his lower back at the angle he was situated in. How could he care, anyhow? How could he ever care when he had such a godlike man beneath him? Cock grinding against his own, those sweet groans filling his mouth as he smiles against Hesh’s lips. Kick didn’t mind going at Hesh’s pace, he wasn’t sure how much experience the kid had, but all that mattered was that he made them both feel good. Hesh’s sweeter, more tender touches and grasps, his warm skin and hot breath had slowed down Kick’s sense of time. Stuck in an endless loop it seemed, his mind was molten lava, ready to pour from his ears as he grinded himself down on the man, licking his own fingers before trailing them between those thick thighs.

Hesh’s breath stuttered a bit in his throat, Kick’s warm fingertip circling his hole, prepping him. His shuddering breath made the older man smile against his lips, his touch firm but gentle enough to coax Hesh into relaxing more. “Easy, sweetheart… feels good, yeah?” Kick soothed, his little smirk never leaving as he pressed kisses to Hesh’s jawline, opening him up slowly with one long finger as gently as he could, due to the lack of any real lube available. Hesh grunted, hissing at the stretch of his tightness, his face morphing into one of bliss as Kick started to pump his finger in and out. “Y-yeah…feels fucking good” Hesh breathed out deeply, a hand clawing into the older man’s shoulder, groaning into his neck. Kick worked him open on one finger, adding more spit as he pushed another inside of the man beneath him, cooing at him softly, voice deeper as he praised Hesh for taking his fingers so well. The operators sweat slickened bodies kept one another warm, sharing each others air as Kick worked him up, fucking him with two digits, his own cock twitching and leaking onto his stomach at the sounds the younger man made. His grunts and near moans made Kick hungrier for him, mesmerized by the way his thick lashes fluttered.

“Kick, please…fuck I need more” Hesh’s rough voice pleaded with the man, green eyes gazing into his, hips bucking into the easy thrusts of Kick’s fingers. Kick smirked at him as he curled those fingers right into that sweet spot within Hesh, watching the man’s reaction, a gruff moan being ripped from the soldier's throat. The older man pressed more hot kisses to his neck, his roughened voice whispering into Hesh’s ear.

“Yeah? Ready for my cock, are ya? Go ahead baby, tell me what you want me to do with this hole…” Kick muttered, smirking as he teased Hesh just a bit, watching the man get a little more desperate under him. “Yeah…want you, want you to fuck me, please” Hesh groaned as Kick’s fingers kept finding their way in and out of him.

It was all Kick needed, unable to wait much longer himself to sink into Hesh’s warmth. He withdrew his fingers from Hesh, shamelessly licking them to gather more spit before reaching down to stroke his leaking cock. The sight made Hesh groan, his hand reaching up to brush the wisps of hair from Kick’s sweaty forehead, his touch never wavering with its gentleness. The older man positioned himself between Hesh’s long legs, one of them practically hanging off the bed to accommodate him, their bodies contorted on the small mattress without a care in the world. Kick nearly had tunnel vision as he glided his tip up and down Hesh’s puckered hole, breathing heavier as he bit his bottom lip.

“Might burn a little at first, yeah? Sure you’re ready for me?” He smirked down at Hesh, propped on an elbow with one thick bicep steadied next to the man’s head as he ignored the burn in his hamstrings, far too mesmerized by the skin on skin touch and the glitter in those green eyes he couldn’t tear his gaze from. His weeping, throbbing cock provided more lubrication, slickening Hesh’s hole further. Hesh wordlessly nodded, grinning back up at the man as his hands found Kick’s shoulders. Kick chuckled deeply, before beginning to press his hard length into the man’s body.

Hesh grunted, his breath faltering in his throat as Kick slowly pushed the head of himself inside, groaning softly as he kept his eyes trained on the younger man, watching the mixed sensations flood his body, eyes fluttering at the stretch. Kick rasped out his praise as he kept slowly sinking inside Hesh, filling him up inch by inch. The soldier grunted and moaned lowly, fingers unconsciously sinking into the firm muscle of Kick’s shoulders.

“That’s it, fuckkk” Kick grunted as he sunk his length fully into Hesh, stilling to let the man catch his breath for a moment, free hand going to wipe a drop of sweat off the man’s hairline, his cock throbbing inside the tightness of Hesh’s hole. “Jesus christ, keep going…” Hesh breathed out into the crease of Kick’s neck. He obeyed, slowly pulling out a bit just to push right back in, tearing a delicious moan from Hesh’s throat. The pace was easy at first, Kick trying to hold himself back from fucking Hesh too quickly. The moments were a blur, both men drowning in one another's bodies, the moment far more sincere than Kick’s encounters typically were. The man utterly lost in the sensation of his sweat slickened body pressing Hesh’s into the narrow mattress, the feel of his rigid cock sliding in and out of the depths of the man below. He felt as if he were being changed somehow, transformed into a different man. The intimate moment fixing up some broken part of him, as if Hesh had the ability to repair what once was, at some point in time.

Time slowed down for the pair, low grunts and groans flying from Kick’s mouth as his elbows stayed bracketed around Hesh’s head, the eye contact soft, yet intense in its connection. Neither man could speak, both hurtling towards their peak faster than they could control. The mattress hinges squeaked, and Hesh moaned deeply into Kick’s ear, flooding his brain with nothing but the sweet sound. The soldier's nails clawed into the skin of Kick’s back, leaving marks that the older man hoped branded him for life, marking him indefinitely.

══════════════════════

They laid against one another for god knows how long.

Sweaty bodies finally having caught their breath, both men too drunk on the feeling of the other to care about how loud they might’ve been, or how stuffy Hesh’s room was around them. Kick pressed a kiss to the younger man's lips, muttering of his pride in the soldier, how well he did, how fucking perfect he was. Unable to keep the reverence from his voice, he didn’t care how his tenderness for the man displayed itself, unable to be concerned with crossing any potential lines while his head was swimming with endorphins, and that sickly feeling he couldn’t quite name. Or the one he perhaps just didn’t want to name.

It wasn’t love, he knew. Told himself. He was simply infatuated. Obsessed might’ve been pushing it, although the man lying underneath him, filled with his cum, certainly felt like some sort of drug frying his synapses. As much as his mind tried to prevent itself from worrying about the matter in the moment, well, Kick always had been a problem solver. That insatiable need to understand his surroundings, his problems, was nagging at him. His slick chest was pressed to Hesh’s, legs tangled as both men refused to move, both their bodies beginning to cramp up a bit on the narrow mattress.

It was Hesh that spoke first, the man’s face buried into Kick’s neck, inhaling the sweat and musk that wafted from his skin.

“Thank you…” his voice softer now, two orgasms tearing him apart and building him back up while his fingers danced over the fresh pink scratches adorning Kick’s back and shoulders. The older man sighed silently into Hesh’s neck, the warm breath sending a tingle down the soldier's spinal cord.

“Thanking me for stretching you out with no lube? You sure?” Kick muttered frivolously, smirking as he pressed a light kiss to the man’s neck. It earned him a gruff laugh from Hesh, hands smoothing up and down the expanse of Kick’s back now, unknowingly testing the man’s capacity for keeping his mouth shut at the intimacy of it all.

“Yeah, totally, a real gentleman you are…” Hesh echoed his sarcastic little tone, both men’s faces pressed into the creases of one anothers necks, effectively hiding the boyish grin neither of them seemed able to rid themselves of. “I mean, thank you for…” the younger man’s voice trailed off unwittingly, unsure of how to speak his thoughts.

“For being with me…” Hesh finished after Kick’s gracious moment of silence, his voice holding a hesitation, his hands never stopping their gentle graze along the corded muscle of the man’s back. It made Kick’s breath still for a quiet moment, his mind swirling sluggishly with a million different meanings behind the man’s gratitude. He was silent still, hoping for elaboration, if not due to the fear that upon opening his mouth, his own misinterpretation might muck everything up. His careless streak of praise and banter shut itself up momentarily, replaced by a nagging in the back of his head.

When he didn’t get anything, he figured one of them had to speak sometime or another. Although he briefly wondered if it’d be better to die than speak. If he could settle for never opening up the opportunity for David Walker to become a wound. One that he’d no doubt pick at until infection mutilated his bones.

“You’re thankful for getting laid?” Kick wanted to wince as soon as he spoke, his attempt at humor falling flat. To joke through it wasn’t helping a damn thing, he knew that much, but his heart had a thick layer of concrete built around it, the deflection usually bouncing right off.

He listened to Hesh sigh quietly underneath him, the man’s big hands never stilling their gentle caresses. Kick wasn’t sure he could stand the silence, much as he wanted to keep things as neutral, as safe, as possible. His heart clenched in his chest, constricted as he tried to decipher Hesh’s meaning, his hesitation, the fact that he was still content to be crushed into the bed by the sweaty man atop him, long after the sex was over.

“I’m thankful for you, Kick” Hesh murmured into his ear, his voice holding a tone that Kick couldn’t construe over the pang he felt stab his heart. He wondered if maybe Hesh was actually being straightforward, and he was just missing it, or if perhaps the man just spoke in a different language after fucking the colleague he had unnameable tension with, and maybe Kick was stupid for reading to much into that, too. His mouth didn’t want to respond with anything though, still fighting between honesty and evasion.

It was ridiculous, he knew above all else. That the soldier had him questioning his logical reasoning abilities. That he couldn’t snap out of it, of the knee jerk reaction to gloss over everything with a joke, to prove to somebody, anybody, that he was stronger than he felt sometimes. Unaffected, as if anybody in the history of humanity ever had been. Maybe he could be the first, if he’d just get up and leave Hesh’s quarters.

But he stayed, letting the man trace over his back while he quietly avoided himself for a bit longer, feeling the end of something near. Kick sighed, briefly wondering why Hesh would be so grateful for him. Self depreciation usually wasn’t his style these days, but the question, or rather the statement, crept up on him. He let his heart clench and unclench a couple more times, before deciding that bravery was an option. Bravery in the face of danger, something Merrick spoke to him before. Except there was no real danger here, only the green eyed man below him that instilled a sense of peace that’d become foreign.

“Yeah? I’m thankful for you too, David” Kick’s voice was quiet as he breathed into the man’s neck, feeling his heart prepare to drop despite any response he might receive. If vulnerability was a drug, he’d be fine with staying stone cold sober. But he knew more realistically, blockading himself would hurt too. Scared of both receiving and not receiving anymore affection from the younger man was dizzying, and Hesh seemed to just have that effect.

But he could feel the soldier smile against the skin of his neck, warm hands kneading at his shoulders this time. “I like this, y’know…” Hesh muttered, shifting so that he could look up into Kick’s amber eyes, still unperturbed by the large operator's body draped over his like a weighted blanket. Kick lifted his head from the man’s neck, propping himself up on an elbow for leverage as he met Hesh’s eyes, a small smile gracing his lips whether he meant it to or not.

“I like you” Hesh finished, a twin smile on his own lips. Kick stared down at him, a rush, a smack of emotions hitting him like a freight train. His grin only grew, feeling every ounce of uncertainty fall away, shedding itself like the skin off a snake. Kick’s hand came up to rake through the thick beard covering the younger man’s cheeks and jaw, mesmerized by the sight of the pretty soldier, naked and warm under his own body, professing something he’d bullied himself into believing he’d never get, something he wasn’t sure he’d deserve.

“I like you too, kid”

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piepiepiemag · 4 months ago

Text

What Glitters Isn't Mine

Golden Gear Midas (Fortnite) x Young(er)!Montague (Fortnite)

Summary: midas is worried sick about accidentally turning his not-so-obvious crush into gold the first time they share a bed. surely nothing will go wrong

Tags from AO3: Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Horror (???), Touch Starved Midas (Fortnite), Touch Starved Montague (Fortnite), Midague, Proofread (barely), Trans Male Character, Trans Montague (Fortnite), Trans Midas (Fortnite), T4T Midague Real

thank you to my duo for always showering me with plenty of ideas to write about!! <3 this one could work as a standalone story, but i recommend reading (Lighthouse) for full context!

Sleep has always been one of those commodities Midas could rarely afford. He tended to stay up late into the night and wake up around daybreak, running on 5 hours of sleep and an unhealthy amount of caffeine in his system.

It’s gotten significantly worse ever since he got a noisy roommate, who preferred to stay up even later than him, then proceed to sleep through the entire day. He couldn’t get too mad at him for it though.

Montague had it a lot more rough. His vision was healing far slower than his other wounds, and he’s been plagued with nightmares since the day he laid hands on that cursed relic. He never told Midas about it, but it was quite easy to tell.

Most nights Midas would wake up to the sound of him suffering and crying deep in his sleep, all alone on the living room couch he used as a bed. He would wake him at times like this, but it slowly got to the point that Montague would rather sleep during the day when Midas was busy elsewhere. He didn’t want to be a nuisance, he was already staying there rent free after all.

Midas could tell something was wrong even if Montague never spoke about it. He shut himself away most on days, cooking and cleaning to spend his time productively, then latching onto Midas’s Xbox for comfort.

Midas was worried, but he never asked. He didn’t ask him about that night, the night Montague came crawling to his house, bloodied up and on the brink of death. He didn’t ask about the amulet he decided to wear so close to that strange scar over his chest, the one right above his heart.

He didn’t want to bother him, thinking that he would open up with time, when he was ready.

The amulet was concerning, they knew close to nothing about its properties, besides being able to heal people fast, and turning the blood around Montague’s wounds into crystals one time. It was a complete mystery to both of them, but Montague insisted on wearing it at all times, even though he couldn’t explain the reason why.

Montague was hard to read in general, but Midas was getting better at guessing what his actions would mean if he put them into words. Cooking and cleaning probably meant something like “thank you for letting me stay here”, and so on.. This night was no different.

“It’s cold in the living room..” - montague said as he opened the door to Midas’s room. He looked exhausted, even though it was only 1 am. In his arm he was clutching his blanket, looking like a scared child who just saw a monster under the bed.

The gears were turning in Midas’s head, he could vaguely figure what this was about. He was probably just tired and didn’t want to sleep alone.

“Yeah..” - he replied, shuffling around in his bed awkwardly. A sleepover was honestly a pretty terrible idea..

With Montague around, his golden touch was near unmanageable. Pots, pans, plates, silverware, bedding, the couch, even the fridge had to be replaced by this point. He couldn’t exactly figure out why he was losing control this easily.. Well, he had a pretty close hunch, he just didn’t want to admit it outright.

Either way, he didn’t want him to stay, not in the slightest. Just the thought of it was making him queasy, his fists balled up, focusing on not turning his bedsheets gold with every fibre of his being.

“You can sleep here if you want.” - he blurted out without thinking, mentally punching himself in the face in the process.

He’s probably scared of having nightmares again. What kind of asshole would let him stay alone like this..

Montague nodded, quietly walking up to the bed and throwing his blanket down. He began undressing and Midas could feel his blood run cold.

“You haven’t been sleeping in that, have you?” - the question came out far more accusatory than he intended it to, the tone reminding him of his own mother’s. He felt disgusted.

“Ugh maybe..” - Montague said as he looked down at his binder, fiddling with his hands. Even though Midas brought him 12 new pairs as a consolation gift, he still decided to wear that silly lemon pattern hand me down all the time. The one he was given by Midas the first time they truly met.

It was kind of sweet, Midas’s heart would always skip a beat whenever he caught a glimpse of it, peeing out from under his shirt.

“You really shouldn’t you know.. it’s real bad for your health and-“ - midas was so ready to start his lecturing, telling him all about the safety precautions he needs to take and stuff, but he was interrupted.

“You want me to take it off?”

The question hit him like a brick to the face, the room suddenly felt a lot more hot than it did before, and he could feel gold spilling over from his hands, onto the blanket below.

Just how the hell did he get into this?

“I-“ - he began, stopping himself immediately. Yes, he wanted him to take it off, but not in a weird way. More-so in a “hey friend who i like a lot, please don’t destroy your ribs while you sleep” type of way. Nothing more. Nothing less. He started again. - “Y…yes?”

“..whatever..” - Montague muttered, his face visibly flushed as he began to peel the fabric off of himself. Midas looked away immediately, but not fast enough, catching a glimpse of him in nothing but his boxers and that relic around his neck.

This was bad. Real bad. So bad.

When he was done, Montague climbed into the bed, cozying up in his blanket on the other side of the bed.

Midas’s worst fears were slowly coming true as he felt more and more drops of gold spill from his hands. He wiped them off on the bedsheet not so nonchalantly. If this kept up he would run out of bedding.

He was not going to turn anything to gold. Not his sheets. Not the bed. And most definitely not his-

His blood froze the moment Montague scooted closer to him, quietly draping his arm around Midas’s torso, his face inches away from his chest. He could feel Montague’s warm breath on his skin, quickly forming goosebumps all around.

They cuddled before on the couch, at times when Montague had his nightmares, but it was never like this. Those only lasted until Montague fell asleep again, and they were all dressed up. This felt more than friendly, almost intimate. And while he wouldn’t have minded it in any other situation, right now Midas was mortified.

He took a deep breath as he folded one shaky arm over Montague, strategically placing it over his blanket. Midas could see the man’s lips curl into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and he made sure to etch it into his memory.

It was nice. He wished they could always sleep like this. The only sound he could hear were the crickets outside, and Montague’s breathing getting slower and slower by the minute, him falling asleep not soon after.

Midas’s eyes were getting blurry, sleep threatening to take over him, but he just watched as Montague clung to him, his eyelashes fluttering occasionally, his face more peaceful than he’s ever seen before.

He was stupid for feeling like this, but he was beginning to like his roommate more than what you would consider friendly. He would never admit it though, it was clear to him that Montague was not interested. At least that’s what he got from it, him being so hard to read and all.

In a moment of bravery Midas raised a hand and swept it over the man’s hair, ruffling his locks softly. It was fine. Everything was fine. He kept petting his hair with a smile on his face, almost getting lost in his beauty.

Midas was stupid, but it was fine. Just for a short while Montague was his, and that was enough for him. Admiring him like this was more than enough.

Midas’s eyelids slipped shut more and more as time passed, even as he tried to stay awake and be in control until-

Montague screamed, so loud that Midas immediately jumped, confused for only second, as he caught a glimpse of glistening gold under his fingertips, intertwined in his hair.

“Wha- Stop! It hurts!” - Montague gasped and heaved as the gold began to spread, spilling over from his hair, onto his arms and back.

“W-Wait! No! Please-“ - midas pulled and yanked on his arm but it wouldn’t budge, it was like his fingers melted into the flesh of the man next to him.

Montague cried and trashed around in horror only for a short while, within mere seconds his muscles began to freeze up, the gold seeping into his bones and rendering him near unable to move. All he could feel was an overwhelming amount of pain and terror, he felt like his body was on fire and freezing in an ice cold lake at the same time.

Midas tried with all his power to stop, to at least slow it down or reverse it somehow but nothing was working, he grabbed his arm with his other hand but it also began to weep gold, leaving him unable to movie as well. He tried to calm Montague but it was all in vain, he couldn’t even calm himself.

The room was filled with their wails of despair until the gold finally fully overtook Montague. He suddenly stopped all his sounds, staring up at Midas, his eyes full of fear and hate as gold dripped down his face.

“WHY!?”

“Please- I’m sorry I- Stop! No-“ - midas cried out as he tried to free his arms, glistening gold spilling out from them more and more with each passing second. Montague’s whole face contorted from the pain, his jaw looking almost unhinged as he screamed and screamed without stopping for a second. Then gold fully overtook him, silencing him as his expression remained frozen in absolute terror.

Midas stared at him in horror, before shutting his eyes, crying and screaming at the top of his lungs for help, any help, until he felt someone shake him by the shoulders.

Blue and brown eyes greeted him, inches away from his face.

“You kicked me in your sleep..” - montague stared down at him, his face back to normal, completely unharmed. Despite his cold words he had an awfully worried expression on his face.

It took Midas a moment to realise what just happened. He looked down at his hands, looking just like they did before.

He almost felt stupid about it, before lunging forward, hugging Montague as close as he could. He was startled for a second, but he still ended up draping his arms around Midas, pulling him even closer.

“Sorry.. I had a weird nightmare..” - midas mumbled as he buried his face in Montague’s shoulder. He never felt more relieved before in his life.

“Yeah.. i figured..” - montague replied, softly petting Midas’s hair with one hand. Guess their score was settled now.

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meyerlansky · 8 months ago

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twenty questions for fic writers!

tagged by @redbelles AND @inkpot-demigod 🖤💙🖤💙 took me eighteen years but i figured i ought to get it done before the emoji asks >_>

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

39!

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

133,253

3. what fandoms do you write for?

right now it's just masters of the air, because i really only focus on one fandom at a time but i also don't really LEAVE fandoms so much as they go dormant for a bit. in the last year i've at least TOUCHED wips for boardwalk empire and the witcher, and once bachelor route drops i will probably go back to some of my pathologic 2 fics and maybe come up with new stuff. same with HotD s2, although i don't know how much new stuff will come out of that vs finishing up things in metamorphoses.

4. top five fics by kudos

keep safe broad shoulders, warm hands keds and tube socks vestis virum facit denuo

so mostly burakhovsky smut, except for keep safe which is outsider pov nearly-gen lambden (from the witcher and specifically witcher 3) fic, and i have NO idea how it's my most-kudosed fic; and keds and tube socks, which is a long-ass (for me) steddie fic that i WILL finish at some point i am so sorry to everyone who's subbed to that fic /o\

5. do you respond to comments?

I TRY MY BEST ;___; i really like talking to people about fic, mine and others', so every comment i've left unresponded-to haunts me, but sometimes i can't get over my own anxiety enough. the only time it's deliberate is if the only content in the comment is "you have to write more of this" or anything similar and phrased EXCLUSIVELY like a demand, because It's Rude and also i have no idea how to respond to that.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

explicitly angsty is probably with my ash-stained palms or broad shoulders, warm hands because neither ryuzo or daniil get what they want in those ones, though i think bswh!daniil would get what he wants eventually. ryuzo, maybe not >_> dancing cheek to cheek (to cheek) is also probably up there, but that's more interesting because it's not angsty on the page! and i WAS planning on leaving it as is, originally! that's why it has the canon compliant tag! but now i'm 8k deep in a canon-divergent sequel so idk if it counts anymore. genuinely i was planning on answering this with "i don't write a lot of unresolved angst" but. hm.

...wait, also hot blood, deep roots. which is the dark mirror nightmare counterpart of bswh and is... definitely worse. and i have something even worse in my wips okay i guess i write more angst than i thought

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

probably vestis virum facit, since the final section is implied to be far-enough post-plague that they're Gonna Be Okay. but like the angst question, i don't really think of too many of my fics as the And They Lived Happily Ever After, The End type so much as like... they're happy In That Moment and that's what matters

8. do you get hate on fics?

i got put on the patho fandom blacklist for associating with Freaks And Criminals, and then i wrote hot blood, deep roots to cement my spot on it, so if that counts that's the extent of it afaik. i do worry about catching flak for stuff down the line, but honestly haters tend to be cowards, sooo

9. do you write smut?

LOVE WRITING SMUT. LOVE IT WHEN MY GUYS NAIL EACH OTHER. IT'S MY FAVORITE. i had like a year-long stint before stranger things s4 where i only posted genfic and i was SO disappointed with myself, even though the stuff i posted was GOOD genfic

10. craziest crossover:

don't really do crossovers! but entertaining daemon au thoughts is how i know i'm in a fandom deep enough that it's gonna stick for a bit, even though i've only posted daemon au fic for bwe thus far

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

also not to my knowledge!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

i'm not opposed to spitballing with people, and some of my best bwe work has come out of very long headcanon exchanges with @goatsandgangsters and @therestisdetail in particular, but i am not a consistent enough writer to saddle anyone else with my habits, so that's the closest i've gotten to cowriting anything.

14. all time favorite ship?

L A N S K I A N O. they are my forever boys. nothing will topple them. ever.

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

NONE OF MY WIPS ARE ABANDONED THEY ARE ALL GOING TO GET DONE EVENTUALLY DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT

16. what are your writing strengths?

snappy dialogue and the internal character work involved in a tight third person pov, which is good since a tight third is the only way i like to write

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

speed. if i don't finish something inside of a week of starting it, it will drag out for an infinity and a half and i'll have to chip away at it and hate myself for being slow the whoooooooooole time. i also... i have no idea how to explain this, but i don't consider myself an especially creative person, so i have trouble if i don't have a jumping off point to start with? most of my fics have pretty solid touchpoints in the canon and tend to be one-shots, if not single-scene. coming up with new shit for my dudes to do can be a struggle. which, tbh, adds to the speed thing, especially for stuff that tilts off into canon-divergent territory

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

alright, listen, i might have an entire buryat dictionary database downloaded onto my hard drive to spice up patho fic, but i'm in agreement with previous answers on this one: it can get dicey to write in a language you don't know, and if your readers don't know it it will interrupt the flow in a way that's not usually what i'm looking to do in a fic. that said, most of my fandoms have at LEAST one non-english language involved, if not multiple, so i do end up doing a lot of research into those languages, and i'm absolutely not opposed to pulling out single-words or phrases after either a. checking with someone who speaks those languages, if it's a real one, or b. pulling them from their usage in the canon itself and/or sometimes extrapolating out a bit, like the high valyrian i peppered into chrysalis

19. first fandom you wrote in?

boardwalk empire my beloved 🖤🖤🖤 i played around with some stuff prior to that—i think i'd noodled with what would technically be alice in wonderland fic in high school, although i don't remember what happened in it—but nothing substantial enough to count as Actual Fic, and definitely not anything i have access to anymore

20. favorite fic you've written?

MAN. HOW TO CHOOSE. it's maybe a little bit of recency bias to say dancing cheek to cheek (to cheek), but i think it's a tie between that and junkyard dogs, and both for the same reason, which is that i am really proud of the character work they do with curt and eddie, respectively. i'm not SURPRISED jd is as low on the hits/kudos/etc scale as it is since it's genfic and billy is...... divisive........... but i really think i nailed eddie in it. with dctc(tc) it was fun to get to play with curt, who's... look, i'm just gonna say it, i think he gets mischaracterized in a lot of the other fandom stuff i've seen involving him, so it was fun to get how i read him down on the page. it's also interesting to not only develop curt internally but to look at the buckies from an outsider POV, because they are UNDENIABLY the love story at the center of MotA's narrative, but they're both IN IT so they can't SEE IT. i also don't usually do scene breaks? like most of my fics are single-scene but i dragged dctc(tc) out and shockingly it WORKED? so yeah idk i'm just really proud of it.

OKAY. WHOOF. TIME FOR TAGS. let's seeeeeeeeee i will tag @goatsandgangsters @hosseinis @chirpybirdy @sweaterkittensahoy @reiverreturns

@samuelroukin @stoportotouch @notgrungybitchin @adriennefrombrooklyn and anyone else who wants to, but no pressure as always!

#twenty questions meme #my fic #it counts. why not.#long post #forgot that tag. sorry.

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drabbles-mc · 7 months ago

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20 Questions for Fanfic Writers

thank you for the tag, @spaghettificationandpretzels! 🥰

1) How many works do you have on AO3?: i have 270 on AO3, but i know that that is wildly inaccurate because for a while i wasn't crossposting my tumblr fics on there and i haven't taken the time to rectify that 😂 someday i'll go through and count my fics on here again because i'm overdue for that lmao

2) What's your total AO3 word count?: 1,171,311 the way i'm actually floored by this. i need a moment sksks

3) What fandoms do your write for?: i'll try anything once! 😂 nah but i'd say my big Heavy Hitter fandoms are: Sons of Anarchy, Mayans MC, Narcos & Narcos Mexico, Kingsman, The Bear, Marvel, Top Gun: Maverick, Altered Carbon, Suicide Squad, Outer Banks... although i've written for a smattering of other fandoms when the mood strikes 😌

4) Top 5 fics by kudos: this is so so funny to me because my top fics on AO3 are WILDLYYY different than my top fics on tumblr. but i'll still link 'em!

Stumble (Harry Hary x Eggsy Unwin)- 1495

Lessons in Romantics (Harry Hart x Eggsy Unwin)- 532

Sweater Weather (Harry Hart x Eggsy Unwin)- 344

A Bit Too Much (Harry Hart x Eggsy Unwin)- 281

Just One Week (Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader)- 231

5) Do you respond to comments?: yes! real talk i'm much better about this on ao3 than tumblr just because it's easier on that platform. however now that i can reply from my sideblog here on tumblr i've been trying to stay more on top of replying 🫡

6) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?: i have multiple fics that end with major character death, so i would say definitely one of those 😂 if anyone is looking to get their heart broken like that, drop me a line and i'll rec them to you lmao. but i know off the top of my head i have multiple No Happy Ending Major Character Death Endings for Narcos and Mayans

7) What's a fic you wrote with the happiest ending?: oooo i know i write a lot of angst but i have a lot of fluff for all of my fandoms too. i think that one of my happiest fics is Just One Week. i feel like that's a generally fluffy fic from top to bottom with the exception of a few moments

8) Do you get hate on fics?: not really! i think it helps that these days i tend to write for smaller fandoms.

9) Do you write smut?: i do! for the longest time i didn't, or i'd try to avoid it like the plague. it's still not my strongest suit or necessarily my preference but i've gotten more comfortable writing it as time has gone on

10) Craziest crossover?: ohhhhh i gotta thank @ashlingiswriting for this one. i wrote a Narcos & Suicide Squad crossover and i think about it every day all the time. i also have some other crossovers in my head that haven't made it onto paper yet. but one day! (fic is called Family Reunion and you can find it HERE)

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?: not to my knowledge!

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?: no, but i have had people reach out and ask to. i get kinda nervous about other people posting my fics even if it's just a translation so i usually just air on the side of caution. but i do appreciate people having taken the time to ask!

13) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?: not formally, but honestly between my friends in the narcos discord, and chats with @withmyteeth and @garbinge i feel like i sort of have 😂

14) All time favorite ship?: ohhhhh maaaaaaaaaan. i. i don't know. i think i ship so many people with so many people it's hard to have a favorite 😂 i've clocked a serious number of hours thinking/writing about: Harry Hart/Eggsy Unwin, Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanoff, Rick Flag/Harley Quinn, Sydney Adamu/Richie Jerimovich.....also lets be so real if i've written an OC pairing i still think about them to this day even if i haven't written for them in a while lmfao

15) What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?: that's quitter talk!!! i don't care how long it's been since i've updated i still fully intend to add onto all of my wips and finish them lol

16) What are your writing strengths?: i think my strength has almost always been dialogue. i think the chronic rewatcher in me really lends itself to that haha

17) What are your writing weaknesses?: smut is not my strong suit. never has been. probably never will be 😂 also just to keep it a buck i feel like i don't have the mental stamina for a lot of research to go into my fics. it's super hit or miss. i'm just here to have a good time and i can't always be bothered to fact-check 😂

18) Thoughts on dialogue in another language?: i've written multiple fics that have dialogue in Spanish! it's fun and a bit of a challenge but i very much enjoy it. i have plans for an OC who also speaks in sign language along with English and Spanish. i think that's going to be more challenging as well but i look forward to it!

19) First fandom you wrote in?: back in my quizilla days (RIP to a legend) i was biiiiiig into writing bandfic. however, i'd say that once i hit got towards the end of middle school and really got into writing fanfic, my first fics were Marvel, followed by Kingsman a handful of years later!

20) Favorite fic you've ever written?: oh man. like trying to pick a favorite child! 😂 i do think that Just One Week is always going to be in my top fic rotation. Protective Detail is up there as well, along with really any of my Kingsman longfics on AO3 🥰

thank you so much for the tag!! i'm leaving this as an open tag to any of the writers who follow me and wanna participate! please feel free to tag me in it so i can read and learn things about you haha 💖

#this also has me wondering if i should cross-post my old kingsman fics onto here #i probably won't???????#but like if people wanted to read them here instead i suppose i could #survey says??????#we shall see lmao #tag game

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chacusha · 10 months ago

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Hi everyone! Time for a new sticky post. Here are some important, high-level things to note about me:

I am mostly inactive on Tumblr. I have uninstalled the Tumblr mobile app and use a siteblocker to limit how much time I spend on here. I do try to respond to personal messages and asks, but I'm pretty unreliable about everything else -- I mainly only use this blog for self-promo, sorry. See the bottom of this post for other places to find me.

Fandoms: Very many and change unpredictably. Star Trek is the main one at the moment, but I like various JRPGs (Mana, FF, KH, Bravely Default). Soulcalibur and ReBoot are some fandoms I find interesting and dabble in on Tumblr.

I am a proshipper. Not in the sense that I wade into fandom discourse (as I don't like it and so try to avoid it entirely) but that my opinions on fiction and fictional ships 100% aligns with the proshipper position and I avoid antis and people with anti opinions like the plague. More on what I mean by these terms below as there has been a lot of obfuscation (often purposeful) regarding these terms.

More detail on these under the cut.

Inactivity on Tumblr:

I have tried to make changes to make Tumblr more usable for me, but I still don't really have a healthy relationship to the site and still find it socially isolating, especially as a venue for artists who post art. I do respond to messages and asks, and I try to reply to replies and tags as well (sometimes they fall by the wayside, sorry...), and I reblog once in a blue moon, but I mainly use Tumblr for self-promo nowadays. Also, I don't really like talking about my personal life out in the open, so if you want personal updates on my life, I'm much more active on Dreamwidth, which has better privacy controls than Tumblr.

I tend to complain about Tumblr (while continuing to use the site) so much that I have a tag for it (#complaining about tumblr on tumblr). If that kind of negativity bothers you, you may want to unfollow me or filter that tag.

Some helpful links and resources related to my inactivity and frustrations with Tumblr as a platform:

Tips to new users to make Tumblr more usable

My Dreamwidth pitch (and the more readable Dreamwidth version).

Not mine, but here's a guide to using Dreamwidth for Tumblr users.

Here's also my pitch for why dA is not actually a terrible site for posting art compared to Tumblr (but Tumblr still has its advantages).

Some posts I made on why I find Tumblr socially isolating and why I don't tag dive on Tumblr, which are both largely still true.

Proship? Anti?

Most of the time, you can go through fandom without ever running into the proship/anti debate, and this has pretty much been my experience in my JRPG fandoms (Final Fantasy, the Mana series, Bravely Default, etc.). I have unfortunately not really had this experience in Star Trek fandom, sometimes being blindsided by people who seem chill in public then reveal themselves to have kind of unhinged views of fiction and immoral ships in private, so I have decided to just start proactively identifying as proship to ward those people away and will now only join Discord servers of people whom I know are not antis, or which have an explicitly proship moderation line.

Since it is often unclear what people mean by "anti" and "proship," I'll provide my own definition to make it clear what I'm talking about here.

Antis are people who oppose certain ships and the existence of certain types of fictional content because those ships/stories are immoral. While there is quite a bit of variety in where antis draw their moral lines, some common types ships/content that antis view immoral include incest, underage, rape/noncon, power differential, age gaps, etc. as well as being fans of dark (e.g. abusive, genocidal, villainous, etc.) characters, especially if this fannishness has a romantic/sexual attraction sort of element. The general anti approach to fannishness and fiction is to treat people who draw/write/consume fiction featuring these elements and themes as perpetuating harm (sometimes serious harm) through their fictional tastes. Such harm includes normalizing/endorsing/excusing abuse/rape, and grooming or normalizing/promoting pedophilia.

These are pretty weighty accusations, and needless to say, believing that (a) you can tell whether someone is an abuser/pedophile/groomer/etc. based solely on their fictional output or consumption (including what characters/ships they like), and therefore (b) your fandom is filled with literal abusers/pedophiles/groomers/etc. operating completely out in the open, led to people sending death threats, organizing campaigns to chase these "predators" out of fandom, and otherwise raising the cost of people existing in fandom while being a fan of "problematic" ships, whether through a private or public harassment campaign, by doxxing people, sending messages to their employer, etc. etc.

The proship stance/proshippers arose as a reaction to this harassing behavior of antis to basically establish an alternate approach to fandom that allows people to ship whatever relationships they like and which recognizes that fiction and reality do not map one-to-one, and which believes that treating fiction as if it is entirely equivalent to reality, treating fictional characters exactly how you would treat a real-life person, policing the immorality of fiction, etc. tends to lead to unhinged behavior like this (doxxing, harassment, etc.).

There was a very strong backlash to the anti movement and the anti approach to fandom has largely been discredited at this point by being portrayed as "fans taking fandom way too seriously," which is in some sense, accurate. But I don't think that this means that antis and their approach to fiction is entirely gone, just that they are merely more quiet/underground/cryptic about their anti positions. Also, I am a bit unusual in that I don't think that it was only the behavior that was wrong (doxxing, harassment, death threats, etc.), although it certainly was very wrong! But I also think that behavior was the natural consequence of a set of beliefs that generally equates fiction and reality; that is uncomfortable with the eroticization of the dark, immoral, and taboo; and that views the "point" or "main activity" of fandom and fannishness as being to write/consume/love "good" ships/content only. So long as people possess that particular approach to fiction, they are (in my mind) an anti at heart and their approach to fandom is probably antithetical to my own.

I take an approach to fiction that includes:

A recognition that there are plenty of reasons to want to write about certain characters having sex (even titillating, pornographic sex) that aren't "I am literally attracted to the characters and would still be attracted to the same characters if they were real."

Not harassing creators or other fans over shipping or creative output.

The view that "thoughtcrime" is not a legitimate concept.

Being against the idea that enjoyment of art can lead to moral contamination through association.

Art is not (and cannot be) the same thing to everyone. From "I couldn't enjoy this art for moral reasons," it is incorrect to conclude that, "If people enjoyed this art, that must mean they are immoral."

Just being chill about fandom, fans, and creators -- having a sense of perspective that fandom is a minor part of life and a minor part of pop culture, that fandom is a hobby filled with amateur, self-published creators who are learning their craft as they go, and often using fiction and art to explore their own sexuality.

I find this write-up to be a good outlining of the anti vs. proship debate and how antis tend to behave in fandom. People often also classify the anti phenomenon and approach to fiction as a kind of "purity culture" derived from an evangelical Christian upbringing (which views bad media to have a corrupting influence and the goal of reading/fictional consumption is to read "good" things only), but with the Christian social mores rejected and swapped out for non-Christian secular social justice values (consent, diversity and humanizing/"good" representation, etc.), and this seems to me a plausible theory and is largely how I understand the anti phenomenon as well.

Also, very tenuously related to anti/proship stuff, but I am generally someone with low tolerance for character/ship bashing, and for "I ship this problematic ship in the RIGHT way while other people ship it WRONG" type posting, and generally for making snide comments about other people's fic/art in public. Don't get me wrong -- I love a good rant about fandom, even a good public rant if it's not my fandom and I can eat some popcorn as I read. I have ships I can't stand and am happy to rant about them at the drop of a feather. But sometimes you have to pick the right audience for a rant, y'know?

Anyway, I generally try not to wade into fandom discourse (this is a self-imposed ban as I know if I let myself post about it, it will consume my brain), but I don't want my overall silence on this topic to be taken as neutrality or indifference in the whole anti/proship debate.

Oh yes, and if it wasn't apparent already, I am a very tl;dr person.

Where to find me:

Art Tumblr: https://denahi.tumblr.com/

Dreamwidth: https://chacusha.dreamwidth.org/

DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/chacusha

Discord: chacusha

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chacusha/profile

Communities I run:

Trials of Mana / Seiken Densetsu 3 fan community on Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/communities/trials-of-mana

Quodo discussion/fan community on Dreamwidth: https://quodo.dreamwidth.org/

Quodo fanart archive on DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/quark-x-odo/

My Discord for Quodo (18+ with a proship moderation line): https://discord.gg/VaCnMYvKu6

My Discord for the Mana series (all ages, also technically with a proship moderation line but the issue just never comes up in this fandom ¯\_(ツ)_/¯): https://discord.gg/6wFWwnRvJr

#about me #sticky post #proship #where to find me

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365runesoftheamalgamations · 1 year ago

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WIP Name Game [ 01 ]

hello and how are you?

Dipping our hand in the Tag Games Hoard once again and here we all with yet another one that we are probably ages late in answering but no one is keeping track, right!?

Thank you to the wonderful @inkspellangel for tagging us! You can find her response right here! :D

Rules: share the titles of WIP docs, whether they’re serious or simply placeholders, so that people can send an ask regarding a title that most interests them, and then share either a snippet of that WIP or something regarding it. Tag as many people as you have WIPs

Tagging with no pressure [ and ignoring the amount of people we have to bc that is WAY TOO MANY DEAR SIRS ]: @saintedseraph | @galactic-mystics-writes | @void-botanist and leaving this as a curious open tag, of course! c:

We have A LOT of Works at the moment - the plot bunnies are horrendous and we tend to definitely write more than necessary so that they can be happy and fed - and so we will include our list of Original Works! If you want our Fanfics or anything else, then tag us again or something, we don't know. ( ◞･౪･)

And all of these are in Alphabetical Order! :D

A Knight's Honor [ Outlined with Random Writes Attached ]

A Magician and A Curse [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

A Siren of a Mermaid [ An Outline and Vibes ]

A System of Corruption [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

An Unfortunate Destiny [ An Outline and Vibes ]

Bentley's Resolve [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

Borders of Eradication [ Outlined to the Infinities ]

Cityscape of Dragons [ A Work, not yet breached ]

Constellations By Orion [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

Elden's Fight for Ebathara [ A Work, not yet breached ]

Eyes of Salvation [ Outlined with Random Writes Attached ]

Garden of Wonder [ Tis A Concept ]

Grayland's Shadow [ The OG Work, here's the tag! ]

Marathon Runners [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

Mitch's Journals [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

The Pacifist's Champion [ Tis a Concept ]

The Plague Begins With Me [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

The Queen & The Heir [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

The Rapunzel Witch [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

The Villain's Hero [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

The Witch's Mage [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

Those Among Us [ A Work, not yet breached ]

To Fall Without Angel Wings [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

Tomfoolery Concept [ Tis A Concept ]

Vagabond Child [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

When Nature Is Left Behind [ A Work, here's the tag! ]

If ya wanna do something and ask us about any of the works, you can send an ask and also something simple to ask! Anything like, "random snippet, plot point, character, worldbuilding point, vibes" and we will answer it! Make it easy for y'all! (*⌒▽⌒+)θ～♪

☕ Natsume Rune, the Natsume Rune System

#rune ⊹ tag games #tag game ⊹ wip name game

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greyfix · 1 year ago

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Children

Title: Children

Ship: Keith Kogane/Lance McClain

Summary: Keith and Lance are children with the weight of the world on their shoulders. At only 16 and 17 years old these children were made Paladins of Voltron, Blades of Marmora, Saviors of the Universe. Those weren’t titles meant for children.

Word Count:6.1k

Requested By: n/a

Warnings/Tags: Angst, Fluff, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Pining Lance, Lance is a mess, Insecure lance, Galra Keith, Keith is bad at feelings, Keith is a mess, Blade of Marmora Keith, Blade of Marmora, Naxzela, pining keith.

Author’s Note: listen, i know i never write anymore. But, shit happens you know?

I’m taking requests and commissions again though so hopefully that will change, i have menus posted on my linktree. You can Instagram message me ( @greyfixx ) or email me ([email protected]) and i’d be happy to write your stories. Thanks guys!

Ao3, Tumblr

Lance wanders the castleship often now. He spends much more time walking around aimlessly than doing anything productive that’s for sure. Hunk and Pidge seemed as though they were always making some revolutionary advances. Always inventing something or tweaking something. Lance could never keep up.

Allura seems as though she always has some diplomatic stuff to tend to with Shiro. If you asked Lance, he’d tell you that’s just an excuse so they can do whatever they do when they're alone. Plus, hanging out with Shiro is like, well it is, hanging out with your commanding officer. It’s hard for me to be comfortable. He would hang out with Coran sometimes, helping with some of the castle maintenance. It almost reminded him of being back home doing the chores. He never thought chores would be something he missed.

Still, when the lonely day was done, he had to return to the cold sterile room. It was so lifeless. Despite the trinkets he’d collected from his travels strewn around the room, the lived in clutter, it still didn’t feel like his room, no matter how hard he tried. Pictures weren’t as prominent in space, he’d noticed, at least not hard copies or for decoration in general. I guess they went completely digital a long time ago. So it wasn’t common for one to have photos of their family hung up around their homes. He wonders if people keep photos of their families outside of earth, or if it isn’t something people generally care about? For Lance, who’d spent his whole life surrounded by his siblings, it was so terribly lonely. Almost like living in a hospital room that never had a visitor.

So he slept in his cold white bed with his thin sheets and flat pillows. He wore his thin pajamas and the unreasonably comfy castle bathrobe. This was his new normal. His new home. He’s always been so grateful for his family, the original one, and the new ones he had created along the way. That’s what made him so sad, that he had a whole family here and he still felt alone.

It wasn’t always like this. Lance suspected that they didn’t really have enough time to worry about it as things changed. Now, between battles, there is silence. What does the silence hold for the soldiers in the war? These are the thoughts that plagued Lance as he fell asleep.. There weren’t many sweet dreams on the other side of the unconscious curtain waiting for him.

This is how he had felt since Keith had left. On the outside they seemed to be all bitter arguments, competitive bravado, and rivalry. They both knew though, that on the inside, they were closer than anyone else on the team. And that was their business. Their banter was just that, banter. It only takes a little bit of care to see the flirting smiles and friendly wrestling through the veil. When the fighting is done and it’s time for the brains behind the scenes, Keith and Lance learned to stay out of the way. They weren’t geniuses, or commanders, or Royalty. This wasn’t their job.

Each evening he spends longing for the company he wishes he had. He wishes for just one night things could be back the way they were. He wishes that if he does have to be lonely, he shouldn’t have to be the only one. . He considers it. He also considers the embarrassment of it. Calling the Blade of Marmora Headquarters to talk to his friend because he misses him? They’ll laugh and hang up. Probably give Keith shit for it, and i don’t want to mess things up for him. We’re soldiers. We’re supposed to be doing more with our time than talking to our friends on secure military lines.

He accepts his fate.

Though it may be silent between battles, for those who are much more than soldiers it was time to make a lot of noise.. Building a good public image. Recruiting to the cause. Diplomacy, gaining allies. Creating a Coalition.. Coran had them traveling to a new planet each and every day putting on shows and meeting people. Selling Voltron.

It wasn’t a big deal in the beginning. Just a script reading here and there, and Lance always loved Drama as a kid, so he was more than happy to comply. It felt like filming a cheesy TV commercial, and it was fun. Over time, as the audience got larger and larger, Coran got more intense. Their characters became perverted versions of themselves. Lance was now “Loverboy Lance.” He was nothing but a good looking airhead. There wasn’t anything more to him than his ability to get laid everywhere he goes. Because that’s all it takes to be a Paladin of Voltron, apparently.

Coran had become increasingly erratic. He’s talking differently, and twitches everywhere he goes. He’s taking dangerous risks, not only with diplomacy but with their safety.

Lance was starting to believe that that’s who he was. Maybe he is the only one who hasn’t noticed yet. He isn’t anything but who they believe he is. Loverboy. What is a loverboy without love? Just a boy. Just a boy in a play. Just a boy with the weight of the world in his universe. Just a boy. Alone. In a hospital room.

When Lance realized that the pressure of being a part of this war drove Coran to believe he needed a brain worm to do the right thing or to be good enough. Coran, the purest being on this ship, resorted to drugs to be as good as everyone else. Lance knew he was lonely too. He wanted it to stop, because though he didn’t care too much about himself, he certainly cared about his family.

So Lance grew angry. He was so angry all the time that his family was diminished into nothing but comic book characters. His best friend is depicted as nothing other than comedic flatulence. Pidge rendered a fraud who uses fake words. They aren’t recognized as the amazing scientists they truly are. They should be. Keith. He made Keith all angry and lonely. Can’t he see, that’s not who Keith is.

Keith has raw power and talent. He’s the potential to do something amazing for the world. He’s an anomaly and he is so important. There is no one more important than him.

Lance is the one filled with anger and sadness and loneliness.

Keith is hopeful.

And things keep piling on. He is lonely. He is sad. He is angry. And Hope is gone.

Laying on his gurney in his cold hospital room, in his magical alien castle, Lance picked up his space tablet and dialed the space number for the secret space soldiers.

DIAL

Lance called the Blade of Marmora’s direct communications line.

“State your Business.” Spoke a dark gravelly voice.

“I’m Lance, Blue Paladin of Voltron. I’m calling to speak to Keith Kogane? The red Paladin of Voltron?” He was shaking. This is pathetic. How could he be doing this right now, there’s no way Keith would want to talk to him. He’s probably got a bunch of new muscle-y galra friends.

“Should I provide you with his direct communications line?”

Lance froze for a moment. Why wouldn’t he be able to call Keith? Why would the Blade stop him from communicating with his Paladins? That would be ridiculous. “Um yeah, yes please, that would be great, um, yeah.” He stammered out in rapid succession.

He rattles off a bunch of numbers and symbols that Lance makes sure to write down before speaking again. “Will that be all?”

“Um yes, thank you so–”

Beep.

He hung up on me!!

Once he got over the scandal that was the rudeness of what could only be referred to as the ‘galra receptionist,’ he sat in silence for a while. He stared at the string of numbers and symbols. “Keith’s Direct Communications line.” He doesn’t really know what stopped him from getting it before.

It wasn’t long before he typed the number into his tablet.

!0070/01812/12-12! → DIAL

He hit the flashing dial button before he could talk himself out of it.. Inter-Galaxy phone calls didn’t have a dial tone like on earth. There’s a loading screen. If the person you’re calling hasn’t answered by the time the circle is filled, the signal will be canceled and the call will drop. Messages can be sent as well but it wasn’t customary to have your tablet on you at all times, as it would be with a phone on earth. It’s more like having an I-Pad instead of a phone. If you really wanted a response it was best to call.

The circle is barely filled in when the screen explodes in color. It was Keith. His brows furrowed and lips pursed for a moment, until his eyes widened and his teeth showed. He smiled. That wasn’t at all what Lance was expecting.

“Hey, Keith. It’s been a minute.” His voice wavers as he speaks.

“No shit! Is everything okay? You’ve never called before-” he started to look concerned again.

“No! No not at all…” He trailed off. He knew if he said this he would never hear the end of it, but he didn’t want to start the call on such a negative note. He went with what can be interpreted positively.. “I missed you man. It’s lonely around here when you’re gone.”

Keith laughed. When he caught Lance’s eyes and realized that he wasn’t smiling with him, his face dropped. “You don’t mean that?”

“Of course I do. Everyone here is so much smarter and more important than me. I hang around on my own most of the time.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the lone wolf. You’re usually a social butterfly.”

“Everyone’s so busy I don't want to bother them.”

“Well I haven't changed from my lonely ways, so you must annoy me like the butterfly you are.”

“...What?” Lance held back his laughter.

“Shut up.”

“The butterfly I am.” The smile seeped through and before he knew it the both of them had dissolved into hysterics.

“Shut up. I missed you too. I don’t exactly fit in here.”

Before Keith could get another ‘shut up’ out Lance teased,“Are you sure it isn’t just because you aren’t purple?”

“I’m pretty sure that was a little bit space racist.”

Lance gasped.

They talked for hours upon hours. They smiled and laughed until they felt their cheeks go raw and their abs get sore. They talked until their faces turned stoick and they had run out of good things to talk about. They talk until things get serious, and then they keep talking.

Keith tells Lance how he feels worthless because he has always been a prodigy at the things the BoM excel at. The things that Earth doesn’t hold as honor the way the Galra do. Now, he’s nothing special.

Lance tells Keith how he feels like he’s been deluding himself into thinking he belongs. He tells him how he doesn’t believe he’s a true Paladin, and that he’s probably just a placeholder for him or Allura. That the persona that the public has for him as ‘Loverboy’ is so entirely impossible because the only person he loves is so far away that he can’t even tell him that every day.

They talk about how lonely they are. And they promise each other that though things can never be perfect, they will always keep each other company.

However, as many hours as they wish they could spend together, everything comes to an end. Keith has private training early in the mornings and the Castleship will be landing in a different timezone. So for Lance, first thing in the morning is about 4 in the afternoon (If you think about earth time, measurements are fine and dandy in altean, but dates are hell.) and he has to go straight to a diplomatic dinner party.

They say their goodbyes, and part with smiles on their faces.

When Lance turns over on his bed, his pillow is wet until the morning. Or 4 O’Clock in the alien planet’s evening He wakes up sore from his hiccupping breaths and dry from the salt on his skin.

Keith on the other hand forces himself to fall asleep immediately. When he wakes up he throws himself into training. He doesn’t apologize to himself or anyone else for the extra bruises he cost that morning. Anyone who spoke to him was met with a scathing comment about their mother. Most stood clear of him that day.

That night was too good to be true.

They spend months in this circle of suffering. Each day they would spend in anticipation of the joy they would feel when they saw each other. By the time they are able to get on the phone, they can’t stop smiling.

The joy lasts for a while. For a few hours. But every night the call has to end. Every night they have to say goodbye again. Every night they come crashing down from their high. They are hit with the weight of the various crises and the pressure only increases with the added emotions. At the end of the call, they have to say goodbye. Every night.

And I can't even say I Love You.

For Lance, the worst part is that no one noticed. He spent his days finally in a better mood, and his friends weren’t phased. It was such a dramatic change, how could a friend not notice the smiles that had grown so scarce. How could they not notice the bags under his eyes were gone, and he was no longer covered in bruises from his early morning training bot sessions. He felt so much better yet to his friends it was as though nothing had changed. Or they didn’t care to notice.

The Blade of Marmora was absolutely baffled by Keith’s change. Though Keith was much better at hiding it, he had learned in his months spent with the Blade that Galra rely on their sense of smell for this kind of thing much more than they would rely on their interpretation of body language. Pheromones change and there is nothing you can do about it. The Galra use it to communicate, though generally in passing the smell is like hearing the hum of conversation in a large crowd.

He didn't notice it at first. He thought he was imagining the stares he could feel grazing the back of his neck. It took one of the other people in his training group giving him shit to realize it.

“You need to learn how to keep your scent under control..”

“... What?”

“You’re scent. We can all tell you’re excited or anticipating, or whatever, you don’t need to broadcast it, have a little control.”

“What do you mean by my scent? You’re sniffing me??”

“Dude what?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Ha ha very funny. Just keep it to yourself man.””

“Seriously, I have no clue what you’re talking about. I’m a little bit concerned because on earth we don’t exactly make a habit of smelling each other.””

“Earth?”

“Yeah? Haven’t you noticed I'm not exactly purple?”

“I mean, yeah, but I didn't realize you were from the middle of nowhere. I’ve never even heard of that country.”

“It’s a planet.”

Keith could tell that he is holding back his laughter now.

“The Empire hasn’t gotten as far as my planet yet, so I didn't know I was part galra until very recently.

“I don’t know if i’m the person to explain it to you, i don’t have the greatest understanding of it myself either.”

“Just tell me before someone else does.”

“I think it’s like pheromones? We can smell the hormones and the smell changes with your emotions.”

Keith sighed, before stalking back off to his room. This was the first time he contacted Lance during the day.

Keith: I just found out galra can sense pheromones.

Lance: You wut?

Keith: Apparently depending on our emotions we smell different.

Lance: Can you? Smell emotions?

Keith: I never thought about it. I definitely smell a lot more than humans can. One of the Blades told me that most galra learn to control it. Maybe humans don’t emit strong enough pheromones for me to smell.

Lance: Is it like, rude to have emotions?

Keith: I wouldn’t be surprised. Galra never seemed like a race of emotionally sensitive people.

There were invisible boundaries. To keep them from having too much hope, too much happiness. At first the boundary was just speaking to each other in general, because of course they couldn’t be happy together if they weren’t together.

Lance, evidently, broke that one. Keith wished it were never there in the first place.

Keith was the one to break the next boundary and Lance was overjoyed. He kept his tablet on him at all times, though he was careful not to let anyone see. He wanted to keep this to himself. Just for now.

Each time he got a message from Keith, he had to force himself to not smile. It was becoming a problem. At least for a while.

Soon, not only were the nights terrible, but the days became just as painful. The light drains out of the both of them as they no longer spend their days in excitement to speak to each other but in increasing agony over their distance. Their feelings for eachother grow larger and stronger. So strong that every moment they aren’t allowed to feel it hurts more.

They lose the time to talk. The war is becoming back to back battles once again. Manpower is needed more than ever so not only is Voltron busy, but so is the Blade. The Coalition is a lot, but there is only so much. It’s difficult to organize universe wide diplomatic meetings, even for Allura.

The lows that follow leaving each other bleed into the days when no time can be found to speak. They bleed into the days where all that can be spoken of us ugly. The days of war. Of death. Of sacrifice. The days where the fight for freedom goes on and the soldiers grow weary.

Still the same problems prevailed. Lance’s turmoil continued to go unnoticed. He continued to be invisible in his own home amongst his own family.

Keith longed for his family. For Lance. He wished he could be with them. He wished so hard that it was very apparent to anyone who had a sense of smell worth their salt knew. He was now considered a flight risk. This he scoffed at. As if I’d leave all of you to die just to go home. That’s the catch. His love for his family and his refusal to allow lives to be lost to an empire as vial as Zarkons. He won’t abandon the war, not even for his own happiness.

Then the day comes. There is a planet called Naxzela. It’s primarily a military outpost for the empire. If the Coalition is able to take and free Naxzela from Empire control, they will have gained control of a third of the Galran Empire.

The entire Coalition is gathered, doing their best to stop the Empire, around a planet called Naxzela. They fight with everything they have. Every second, someone dies. Every second a ship falls from the sky, not only on their side, but on the Coalition's side as well.

Voltron is on that planet. Keith’s family is on that planet. Lance is on that planet. Keith fights harder. Another ship drops from the sky. Another. Another. Another. Another.

Voltron returns. Alive. That’s the good news though, an when it comes to war, it never outweighs the bad. They come back with information. They say the planet had been habitable only because of Altean terraforming technology. Haggar had tapped into this technology and turned the planet into a bomb. The battleship is the detonator. Both the planet and the ship are protected by shields.

The whole Coalition opens fire.

Not a scratch.

“Maybe not with our weapons.”

Keith takes off, dodging the lasers he soars directly towards the battleship. If our weapons can’t take down the shields, we need something more. The full force of a Blade of Marmora fighter ship just might work.

If i don’t succeed we will all die. At least this way only one of us is gone. At least this way the pain will go away.

He didn’t close his eyes as he approached his death. He wasn’t afraid. He knew this was the right thing to do. He chose this, he would not shy away from it. So he looked right at the thin purple glow that would be the end of him. He stared and confronted his death. The veil blinked out of existence.

He jerked the ship away and went sailing just by the edge of the ship. He had stopped listening to the commotion on his audio comm. It was time to tune back in.

Lotor.

Lotor had saved his life.

After the battle, Keith finally was able to return to the Castleship. To return home. Immediately when he steps off his ship a force knocks into him and he nearly topples him over. It’s so warm. He can smell him. He really is home.

“You fucking idiot!” Anyone could tell that Lance is screaming, despite the fact that he’s muffled by Keith’s shoulder. “How dare you.”

Keith doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know which words to choose. He is so happy and so sad. So he is quiet.

He is quiet and so is Lance as they walk to the infirmary. They ignore the aftermath of the battle. They ignore the Paladins, the rebels, the Blades. They ignore anyone trying to get their attention. Hand in hand, they are the silence between the battles. Lance's eyes are soft when the pod closes. Keith is glad that is the last thing he sees before falling into a deep sleep.

It is three days before he leaves the pod. Lance waits there in the infirmary the whole time. Coran says that most of his injuries weren’t from the battle. There were minor bruises, sprains, even some fractures from weeks past littered across his body.

Lance waits for three days and he doesn’t say a word to anyone besides Coran when he’s questioning after Keith’s progress. Even then his speech is limited. This is when his family finally notices they’ve missed something.

Over these three days Lance practically moves in. One of the gurneys is claimed as his. The white floors are littered with the tissues he hasn’t bothered to pick up. The bowls and spoons he used for the occasional food goo have created a pile in the corner. There are five blankets. Two on Lance’s gurney (he’d always thought they were too thin) and three laying on the floor just by Keith’s pod. One to lay on, two to keep him warm when he sleeps on the cold white metal.

He spent a lot of time thinking, while he waited. He thought about a lot of things. Mainly how he almost lost Keith. He almost lost Keith before he was even able to tell him how he truly feels. He spent a lot of this time regretting. He regretted not telling him the most. They both knew. They knew their lives were on the line and they made that their reason to live in fear. They chose that as their reason to not take responsibility for themselves, their reason to run from their own feelings, their reason to punish themselves.

This is war. Lance realized. This is war, and I am brave enough to be fighting it. I should be allowed to love before I die.. Especially if I'm risking my life for theirs. To make sure they don’t have to. If I die out here I don't want to die in regret, never having lived my truth.

The fourth morning he laid awake on his blankets staring up at Keith. He didn’t look ill at all anymore. He must be almost completely healed by now, he looked just like the Keith that had left. Almost. He had grown taller, his hair had gotten longer. He joked about it being a mullet before, but now it was more than long enough to be braided. He wished he could, it was something he did for his sisters back home.

His thoughts are interrupted when he hears the electronic schwooop of the pod-shield lowering. He doesn’t have time to get up on his feet before Keith is toppling down.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Lance says immediately, when Keith falls into his arms. He holds him tightly. It isn’t long before Keith does the same. They both know that Coran and Allura would have been alerted to Keith’s discharge from the pod and would be heading down to check on him. They took the time they had alone to hold onto each other.

“Is this real?” Keith asks, his voice is so meek. So thin and quiet.

“Yes, my love. This is real. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Keith melts into Lance's arms. “I’m home?”

“You’re home.”

They hear footsteps outside the infirmary door before they see anyone. They aren’t surprised to see the whole team walk in. They would all want to see Keith when he was better. Lance wasn’t the only one who had missed him. He was family.It would be wrong if they didn’t want to see him after the stunt he’d pulled either.

Shiro is the first to stalk into the room, with his big muscular body and his big powerful steps. “What the hell is going on here Lance? You’ve been uncollaborative and disrespectful for long enough. It ends now.” He shouts in his best commanding officer voice.

Keith flinches. Lance squeezes him for a moment, before standing up. “You lost your right to give me orders. If i’ve been ‘uncollaborative and disrespectful’ then it’s obviously been a long time since you’ve looked in a mirror. Especially when your reaction to seeing your brother for the first time in months fall out of a pod because he nearly killed himself.”

Shiro opens his mouth to speak only to be cut off. This time it is Coran.

“I think he’s right, Shiro.” His voice is tense and serious. This never happens. “Let the boy speak.”

Lance almost smiled. It seemed, recently, that Coran was the only one who truly cared. At the very least, he understood.

“Keith almost dies, and your reaction when he comes out of a pod, three days later probably still coming down from an adrenaline high not only from his near death experience but from the drugs that pod pumped him full of. Your brother comes home from zero contact and your reaction is to storm in and make demands?” Lance speaks to his family. He speaks to his family in a situation other than battle for the first time in weeks. Months. “You really think you’re the one who deserves answers?”

Lance kneels next to Keith once again. “You need food, water, and to relax.” His voice was soft now. “Do you want to go back to the bedrooms and wait for me there?”

Keith stands up. “I’m going to stay here. With you.” Same old Keith he sounds like. Only Lance could hear the slight quiver in his voice.

“Lance?” Hunk spoke, concerned, “Buddy, what’s going on? What are we missing?”

Lance almost laughed. It was a surprise to him. He hadn’t smiled without Keith in a long time. This wasn’t the context he wanted that to happen under. “What have I been doing?” He said decidedly.

Hunk looked confused.

“What do you mean by that?” Pidge.

“These last few months. What. Have. I Been. Doing>”

“The same as the rest of us.” Pidge spoke in that matter of fact way of hers.

“Yeah, you helped with the performances. You're loverboy Lance!”

“Exactly. I was Loverboy Lance. That explains so much.” Lance decides that they won’t ever realize on their own. He must open their eyes himself. He must be the one to hurt them. “When have you ever seen me do more than flirt with someone? When was the last time I went home with one, or brought one here? Hell, when was the last time I went on a date?”

Silence.

“I flirt. I sign autographs, I joke, and I tease. I have never been a player. I’ve never been Loverboy Lance, not in the way we showed the public. That’s not who I am. Just the same as any of you. Hunk, you are so much more than comedic flatulence, Pidge you aren’t a fraud you’re a genius and you know enough words to fill the script with that the audience will go home knowing how to turn their garbage disposal into a roomba. Allura, you’re your own Paladin, not Keith and there are so many amazing things about you that would make you just as interesting as Keith.

“Keith isn’t the Lone Wolf. He’s just lonely, he always has been. None of us ever pur in the effort to change that, so why would he in return?” Lance turned to Hunk. “You were my best friend, Hunk, and this hurts so much. It hurts so much to know that you can’t see me for who I really am. I look at all of you and see my family and then I wonder, where did you go?”

“I spent these last few months in Silence. I knew I wasn't good enough to keep up with you Pidge, Hunk. So I stayed away. I knew I would never live up to your expectations, Shiro, so I didn't bother with you either. I knew you didn’t want me around Allura, so I didn't stick around. I knew i would be left behind.

“Eventually I stopped speaking.”

Lance stopped then. He took a deep breath. “None of you noticed. My own family had made me feel as though I didn't belong, and so I stopped belonging. Of course you guys were so caught up in being amazing that you didn’t notice. That much I don't care about. This is what is important.

“How old are you, Pidge?”

“I’m fifteen, you know that.”

“Hunk?”

“17.”

“Back on earth, none of us would be considered an adult. We wouldn’t be allowed to go through the airport alone. We wouldn’t be allowed to buy alcohol. We wouldn’t be allowed to have an input in our government. We would be children.

“Here, on this ship, far away from our planet. We are war heros. We live in a castle that doubles as a spaceship, or a spaceship that doubles as a castle, and we are Paladins. We fight in battles on a larger scale than any one of our ancestors have ever fought in. We are soldiers.”

Lance could feel the tears streaming down his face. “More importantly though, we are children.”

Lance stalked out of the room.

Keith followed. Even when he’d caught up, Lance didn’t slow down. He was sobbing now. Just like he had each night when they ended their calls. This time, however, Keith was there. This time he could intertwine their fingers. “Lance.”

When they finally arrived at Lance's bedroom, hospital room, whichever you prefer it’s all the same to him,they both sat up on the bed. Keith held Lance as he cried. He cried and cried and cried and cried. They didn’t know how long they’d been there, but it didn’t truly matter. What did matter was that they were together. Between the sobs Keith could hear Lance mumble something just clearly enough to respond.

“I love you too.”

Lance looked up, those deep blue eyes so sad and so afraid, yet so full of hope. He looked intensely at Keith. “We are just children, I did mean what I said back there. We could die at any moment. I don’t want to let that stop us anymore.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I love you Keith, and I don't want to live my life in fear of losing you. I want to use the time we have. This war would last the rest of our lives, whether they end early or decades from now. Why should we waste it?”

Keith had never thought of it that way. He had let the thought of losing Lance consume him so deeply that he’d never thought of how it might feel to have him fully. “You’re right.”

“I want to be with you. At this point I think it’s hurting us more to stay apart than it would to be together. Well I guess it’s hurting me, I can't really speak for you – Wait what did you say?”

��I said you’re right. We should take advantage of the time we have.”

Lance was speechless.

“If you leave your mouth open any longer you might catch flies. I told you you were right, don’t get used to it.”

Lance had been a man of words all night. He was sick of it. He grabbed onto Keith’s jawline and pulled his lips toward his own. He was so warm, like fire against his skin as they kissed. They’d been playing this game for so long. The kiss was the greatest thing Lance had ever experienced, or at least it felt like it in that moment. They kissed for a long time. Longer than they should.

It was Keith that finally broke the kiss. He only broke away for a moment, before burying his face in Lance’s shoulder.

“We have to talk about it, you know.”

“Not now. You make me so happy. I just want to be happy right now. It’s been so long since I've been happy.”

“That’s okay. You’re allowed to be happy. That’s our mission from now on. Happiness.”

They spent the night in Lance's room. They took their last opportunity to relax. After everything that has happened, not only over the course of the last few hours, but over the course of the last few days, weeks, months. They deserve peace, even if only for a moment.

The next morning they walked out to breakfast hand in hand. They had a calm conversation with their team. With their family. They spoke about how they felt so alone. They spoke about how they’ve spent so long being too afraid of death to love each other. They spoke about how they are so scared all the time, but never scared for themselves. They would all die for the cause at a moment’s notice, but they still feared the death of their friends and family.

Everyone shared how they felt, not only Lance and Keith. Pidge shared how scared she was. She was so young. Hunk shared how he felt so guilty for being the cowardly one, and wishes he could be brave like the rest of the Paladins. Allura tells them how she believes that she is only a Paladin because of her father, as though it was some sort of obligation. Shiro expressed that he was so afraid he wasn’t qualified to be the leather of a universal revolution. Coran worries he isn’t useful.

They all feel so alone. So isolated that they couldn’t find comfort in their own family.

They came to an understanding. Allura and Shiro, and Coran realized they were wrong for putting so much pressure on a bunch of teenagers that didn’t know what they were getting into. Keith, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge all realized that they didn’t have to pretend to be braver than they were.

Especially because they were the bravest in the universe.

Even war heroes are allowed to have a weakness.

Especially if they’re children.

#fanfiction #fanfic #angst #fluff #voltron #unresolved emotional tension #pining lance #lance is a mess #insecure lance #galra keith #keith is bad at feelings #keith is a mess #blade of marmora keith #blade of marmora #naxzela #pining keith #keith x lance #voltron: legendary defender

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voidendron · 1 year ago

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Ten Facts: Synnda V'ehsz

Tagged by @swtorpadawan - thank you! 💚💜

Open tag, tag me if u steal it so I can see >:D

Fact 1: Ood Bnar Connections

Synnda took strong interest in Master Ood Bnar from a young age. A scholar, as well as a Master who could study the dark side without ever falling to it, and highly respected by the Jedi of his time? Little youngling Synnda wanted to be like him.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise when he felt a pull to Ossus, and finally went there after dealing with Vivicar's plague - it was there that he was drawn to the location of none other than Ood Bnar's lightsaber crystal, though he hadn't known that'swhat he was seeking out until he found it. It resonated strongly with him, and he felt that his lightsaber was finally complete as he placed it within.

Fact 2: Dark Side Corruption

While he wouldn't fall to the dark side, dealing with the dark side plague left its mark on him. It marred his face in a way not unlike a Sith, leaving his irises too-bright and with a vivid orange creeping from his pupils, a slight glow in the dark, and the skin and veins around his eyes to darken. It caused him a great deal of anxiety when he first noticed it, as well as raised questions from the Jedi Council - but he proved time and again that he hadn't fallen, and it was just an unfortunate side effect of the shielding technique.

Even so, he took to wearing a mask over his lower face, as he found it seemed to soften his eyes and make him, in his own words, "less frightening."

Fact 3: Limited Expressions & Inflections

A contributor to his usage of masks, Synnda is well aware that his expressions and voice tend to be very flat and hard to read. At least with a mask hiding his mouth, others can read him a little easier with just his eyes, showing that he's not actually annoyed or indifferent.

He's trained himself some to fake a smile and more chipper voice for when he has to deal with particularly difficult people for negotiations and such, but he prefers to be more himself.

Fact 4: Prison on Zakuul

Shortly into Zakuul's invasion of the galaxy, Synnda acted as an escort for those fleeing to Ossus - however, as he lured Fleet ships away from the ship Nadia and some others were in, he was quickly surrounded. He and Felix were the only ones aboard the Serenity, and both were captured. They were separated shortly after, and Synnda would have no idea whee Felix ended up until they're reunited years later.

He spent four years in a Zakuulan prison, remaining by choice when he realized some of his guards had loose tongues and he could learn a lot from them. It was only when he learned the location of the "Outlander" that he broke himself out.

He'd lost a fair bit of weight due to Zakuulans not really being familiar with Zabrak diets, and his prosthetics were both in poor shape, but he escaped from right under the Knights' noses. There was only a single casualty: His guard for that day, a very young and inexperienced Knight who let his guard down. Synnda took no joy in killing him, but knew it was necessary.

Fact 5: One With the Shadows

He finds comfort in the feeling of a Force shroud, and is so adept with it that even an extremely skilled and powerful Force-user can have a hard time sensing him while he's shrouded.

He can also extend the shroud to another, though it weakens when he does this and both he and his companion have to step carefully.

Fact 6: Sacking of Coruscant

He witnessed the Sacking firsthand as a young Padawan. He and his first Master were on a speeder, attempting to reach an emergency medical tent so they could lend a hand, when their engine was shot.

They got into a bad crash when she lost control; Master Kila didn't survive, while Synnda was left needing his left arm, leg, and heart to be replaced with cybernetics. He wasn't expected to survive even after receiving the prosthetics, and didn't wake until a few days after the Treaty was signed.

Fact 7: The Barsen'thor's Students

After the Paladins of Odessen were founded, with Synnda becoming one of its heads of leadership, he began keeping an eye on Paladin recruits in an attempt to find some to take as his own students. He wanted some he could trust with the shielding technique, as he had a bad feeling it would eventually be needed again after he was gone, so he needed to pass on his knowledge.

The first to join him was an old acquaintance from Coruscant; he was surprised but not displeased to see Attros Finn among the wannabe Paladins. The two spoke for a while, caught up on the many years they hadn't seen each other, and Synnda extended the offer to personally train Attros to be a Paladin.

Next was Parrakh Djal, who the Alliance had taken in after he led a rebellion against his slave masters. Synnda noticed his interest in healing, and kept an eye on his trials before deciding to take him as a student.

Third was the far younger Hera, a young Pantorran girl Nox's team had discovered hiding out in a tomb. Synnda and Nox more or less ended up raising her, and she was eager to become one of his students.

The three of them, along with Nadia and Lina, learn his healing, shrouding, and shielding techniques so they may continue aiding the Alliance after he's gone. Albeit, Nadia and Lina more so help him with the training of his students, while also picking up on whatever training they didn't know before.

Fact 8: Dark Side Studies

As Ood Bnar before him, Synnda took interest in studying the Sith and dark side of the force. It was a concern of the Council's for a long time, and - as mentioned before - the visible corruption that the shielding technique caused made them worried, especially paired with his studies.

However, he's always carefully walked the line and never been at risk of even using the dark side, let alone falling to it. Instead, it serves as a point of knowledge that not even many Jedi had, allowing him to more accurately judge their enemy, enter Sith tombs without casualty, and even draw a number of Sith to the light.

He tapped into the dark only once: On the Alderaan Star Fortress. Darth Nox doesn't speak of what happened to Exarch Draya (watching someone get crushed half to death then dropped into a sun reactor was horrifying even by what he was used to seeing, after all), while Synnda tries to avoid the subject; his guilt for what happened aboard the Fortress still surfaces when Draya is brought up.

Fact 9: Commander AU Wardrobe Overhaul

In his Commander AU, he abandons his usual white robes and mask for something more practical of a military leader. His outfit takes more inspiration from a Jedi on the frontlines rather than one who focuses on diplomacy: Durable pants, protective armor, a flame-resistent robe.

He also knew white as a military leader....wasn't particularly optimal, so settled with darker colors despite his dislike for wearing them.

The goggles were an addition he settled on later; Valkorian's presense in his mind made his existing dark side corruption have a strong reaction, turning his eyes red-orange and significantly darkening the veins around them.

Fact 10: Role Reversal's Silent Assassin

In the Role Reversal AU, where Synnda swaps places with Qizulth to be the Sith Inquisitor, he begins his "career" as a Sith's personal slave and assassin.

He undergoes a number of "enhancements" as direct results of his aggressiveness toward his master, including the loss of both hands for attempting their murder, and later his tongue for speaking out of turn despite multiple warnings.

It's highly suspected he did eventually murder his former master so he could go to Korriban (as he did his best to hide Synnda's Force-sensitivity so he could keep him), though no proof could be found at the scene that he was involved.

Surprisingly, he mellows out considerably after the fact - though Harkun quickly finds himself on Synnda's short list of people who would lose their head when he got the chance.

#swtor #jedi consular #sith inquisitor #zabrak #tales from the void #voids ocs #oc: synnda v'ehsz #inquisitor!synnda #outlander synnda au #10 facts meme #long post #this was hard to do on mobile sorry it took so long lakskdkd

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bookwyrminspiration · 2 years ago

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Reading your response to my last few asks has left me with more questions than answers

1. Why was Emmet in the egg outfit anyway? Are those actually eggs?

2. In what circumstances would Jacob believe that being naked and shifting in front of Charlie (the dad of the girl he was presumably trying to woo) be a good idea?? Also, as a side note, do werewolves actually need to be naked in order to shift or is they just something the one fanfic that I read got wrong?

3. Can you like give me a summary of all of Edward’s family? Cause like I feel like there’s something going on with that. Also, did Edward’s parents actually die in a plague that led to him being adopted or am I missing something here?

I apologize for my lack of twilight knowledge again. I have plans to go read it, but that might be another 2 years, so for now I’m bugging you about it.

⚙️

That's how it always goes with twilight, dw. Every response opens a whole new can of worms. I'll do my best to answer!

Why was Emmett in the egg outfit? No clue! (and yes they're actually eggs, they're hardboiled). That's just what the costume department dressed him in for that brief scene when filming--also, just so we're clear, the "egg outfit" is this outfit. It's not the outfit Roisin created related to eggs in her twilight drawing. I call it the egg outfit because it's what he was wearing while carrying the eggs and matches in color. As for why the actor was carrying a bag of eggs, it's because the director saw the actor actually doing that irl and was like this is so ridiculous we have to add that to the movie.

Why did Jacob get naked and shift in front of Charlie? It's because he was forcing the Cullens' hands pretty much. This was after Renesmee was born and he was no longer infatuated with Bella; Bella was a vampire now, and the whole family intended to uproot and move on from the area for a few reasons. One, so Bella wouldn't be around humans and be tempted to kill them while learning self control (newborn vampires are supposed to be full of bloodlust, but Bella's disappointingly well adjusted). Two, so that people wouldn't realize they weren't aging or changing at all--especially Bella, because she had active connections to people like her father. They could only keep it from him for so long, and it'd be easier to do from far away. Also wouldn't hurt to get away from the werewolves, as wolves and vampires don't really get along.

However, Jacob is tied to his pack and Forks, and if the Cullens left he'd have to make a choice between them. And he'd choose Nessie, but he didn't want to have to chose--and he wasn't sure the Cullens would let him tag along. He wanted to insure they'd stay. So with the crux of it being everyone worrying about how Charlie would handle it and deciding the solution is to not tell him and leave, Jacob went hey what it I tell him and prove to you he can handle it. And boom now Charlie knows so you don't have to keep secrets and run away, you can all stay here! It did create a tense situation where Charlie rushed over, and it was the first time Bella had been up close near a human and everyone was worried she'd lose control, but she didn't, so that solved the other problem. Bella wasn't at risk of losing control and killing a bunch of humans, so they could stay. That's why Jacob did it

And wolves don't have to get naked to shift, they just tend to because otherwise their clothes get shredded by their expanding bodies and when they shift back they don't have anything to wear and go through clothes really fast. So they wear minimal clothing (that's why they're just wearing shorts and sometimes shoes in the movies), and have a pouch on their ankle they put their shorts in when they shift so they don't have to carry their pants in their mouths.

And now a family summary! There are 7 Cullens (8 if you count Bella marrying in). And I'm trying to encompass everything important while not taking up too much space--considering there's four books I think it's rather condensed

Tw for: violence, death, abuse (including sexual), suicide, illness

Carlise Cullen is the father figure, the oldest of them all (a few centuries, turned age 23ish), and works as a doctor. He's known for his compassion and has legendary self control (only rivaled by Edward post meeting Bella), and has never drank human blood before. His father was a witch-hunter of sorts, and after he took over (though Carlisle was much more cautious about it), he ran into a vampire and was killed/transformed in the 1600s. He was horrified and tried to destroy himself, but couldn't, until he realized he could feed off animals and didn't have to kill people. He roamed the earth very lonely for centuries before he finally caved and created a companion for himself, Edward.

Esme Cullen is the mother figure, the third to join the family, and is known for being very sweet and loving; she's a little over a century old and was turned age 26 in 1921. She was in an abusive marriage and lost a baby in her human life, prompting her to take her own life, where she was then transformed by Carlisle. They are now mates.

Edward Cullen was Carlisle's first family member, transformed age 17 in 1918 because he was dying of influenza. Both his parents had already died from it, and his mother requested Carlisle save his life in a way only he could. He has the special ability to read the thoughts of those around him as though they were broadcast, sans Bella's. he had a phase early in his vampire life where he abandoned Carlisle and Esme and used his ability to hunt evil people, feeding on abusers and villains and the like, but he grew tired of the death and felt immoral, so he returned to Carlisle and Esme. He's very melacholic and generally displeased until he meets Bella and his world is turned around

Rosalie Hale was the 4th family member, transformed age 18 in 1933. She's known for her beauty and being self-centered. She was the picture perfect daughter of a wealthy family during the great depression, happy to be desired and admired, and was going to be married to another well-off family. Her greatest desire was to be loved and start a family of her own. Unfortunately for her, her fiance was actually a piece of shit, and his true colors were revealed when he and his friends got drunk one night, assaulting and killing her. Carlisle found and transformed her, and afterwards Rosalie went back and killed every one of them while wearing her wedding dress. She's also known for being quite jealous, liking cars, and wishing desperately she could start her own family

Emmett Cullen was the 5th family member, transformed age 20 in 1935. He was part of a wild crowd, but also hunted for his family for game. During one unlucky hunting session, he ran across a bear and was mauled to death. Rosalie found and saved him, taking him to Carlisle to be transformed. He's pretty much the only one of them who is happy to be a vampire and has no complaints. He's known for being boisterous, very strong and muscly, loving competition and fighting, and being absolutely in love with Rosalie, his mate. He's a himbo.

Alice Cullen joined the family at the same time as Jasper, but was transformed in 1920 at age 19 before that by someone else. She has the special ability to see the future, but only as the possibilities will play out based on current decisions. If someone changes their mind on what they're going to do, what she sees changes as the future changes. Vampires with special traits generally have hints of them in their human lives, but Alice's was incredibly strong, landing her in an asylum for her premonitions--this is why her hair is so short and spiky, as it was shaved there. She was also being hunted by a vampire tracker, James, because she had appealing blood. To save her from him, an older vampire working at the asylum transformed her, but was killed by James. Alice has no memories of her human life (compared to the vague and fuzzy few others may have) because of her time in the asylum. Once she was out, her visions guided her to Jasper (her mate) and the Cullens so they could join the family.

Jasper Hale was an aspiring military leader in the Confederate Army (yep, he was really a genuine confederate) and incredibly charismatic. He lied about his age when joining and was the youngest general in the army. At the same time, there was a secret vampire war going on in the area, and because of his charisma, he was scouted out by a vampire because she thought his charm would turn into a special ability once he was turned (by Maria in 1863 at age 19)--and it did. He can read and influence the emotions of others. So he served in Maria's army for a while. But he grew depressed from feeling the emotions of the people he was always killing, and his creator was thinking of getting rid of him because of it. A friend offered another way of life and he ran away. A while later, Alice found him (very planned out and intentional), and while she was acting strange (because of her knowledge of the future) he could feel the complete love coming from her. So with Alice they found the Cullens and joined the family. Though Jasper has the hardest time with the vegetarian diet, and while he does love the others, his primary concern is Alice. He has numerous scars and is very formidable in battle.

No one is officially adopted through legal means, all their documents and such are fake. The reason they all have the Cullen last name is part of the ruse--except for Jasper and Rosalie, who go by Hale because people assume them to be siblings and they think its better to let humans make assumptions and follow along. Though they are still adopted siblings with the others in the whole ruse.

I've given you a lot to mull over so I'll stop there, but I hope that helps! If you do read twilight I hope you have fun, but also no pressure to!

#the twilight saga #the twilight renaissance #quil's queries #⚙️ nonsie #my favorites are emmett and alice #though edward's melancholy in midnight sun is top tier he's so silly #but yeah! that's his family #the summaries were longer than I intended them to be #but there's a lot. so even though some are hefty paragraphs I tried to be concise

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chaoskirin · 5 days ago

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The FULL Writeup for Deepcrawlers!

So you all have seen me make a few posts about the Deepcrawler species in the Bestiary Trilogy, but here is the FULL, IN-DEPTH HIT PIECE. Everything you want to know about these underground gremlins but were afraid to ask.

You want lore? You want worldbuilding? Well here's 4,730 words of absolute awesome nonsense FOR YOUR EYEBALLS.

Inside you'll find:

A whole aromatic species!

Eggs? NO. ROCKS.

Two Four Six sexes!

Hive cooperation!

Caste system!

Have you ever wondered what a gridge is? FIND OUT.

Look at these critters:

-- "Grar," probably.

You want more? Oh, I GOT more.

Deepcrawlers are one of the most unique life forms on Erit, and most live underground in elaborate hives run by queens.

Their sight and hearing is very advanced and attuned for living in dark environments. Additionally, deepcrawlers have four pits on their faces, just around their nose, which detect heat and chemical pheromones.

Their hands have three fingers in the middle, with two thumbs on the outsides. Each foot is extremely flexible and padlike, with ten toes on each foot which are suited for gripping and climbing. Most deepcrawlers, as their name suggests, crawl on their hands and feet, as the sensory input from the ground is just as important to them as sight, hearing, and smell.

Within the hive they possess a caste system. Their caste is generally denoted by an ear tag.

Their reproduction process is also extremely complicated, with six sexes: XX, XE, CC, CE, OO, and IO. Culturally, deepcrawlers compete with duarrow for the best underground real estate, and most hives do not have good relationships with duarrow cities. Some live in harmony with their underground neighbors, though, in an almost symbiotic arrangement which benefits both species.

Some hives are extremely talented with plague magic. Unlike other species, they are favored by Xax, and the deity's mark is extremely slow to overtake them. Some plaguecasters might go most of their life without feeling the destructive affect of Xax's mark. Even so, plague magic is holy to the deepcrawlers; if used without Xax's blessing, a deepcrawler may simply be struck dead by the wrath of the deity rather than slowly succumbing to disease over the course of many aurs.

Known uses of plague magic do include some applications which other species may not approve of. Most surface dwellers consider the deepcrawler hives which cull the weak as a form of eugenics. While their are few hives that still perform this application, the stigma still remains, and surface dwellers tend to associate this stereotype with all deepcrawlers.

However, deepcrawlers are also responsible for the ebb and flow of life and death from disease. Their belief system involves a strict tenet that life cannot truly thrive if there is not disease to overcome. This applies not only to sentient creatures, but to animals, plants, bacteria, fungus, and single-celled organisms. Deepcrawlers talented with plague magic are blessed by Xax to create disease, or take it away once it's run its course.

Some deepcrawlers may be found aboveground in hospitals and healer establishments to control disease. However, these healers are rare, as they eventually succumb to Xax's mark even if it is over the course of many aurs, and most deepcrawlers would not choose to live aboveground in the first place. Oftentimes, those with disease which wish to be healed must travel underground to seek these healers out.

Very, very occasionally, a rogue deepcrawler will kidnap surface dwellers and infect them with plagues. As this is not favorable in Xax's eyes, they often do not survive very long. However, this possibility does contribute to surface dweller fears.

Appearance

Deepcrawlers are varying shades of grey or brown. Their skin is leathery, and is often marked with darker grey, brown, or black striping. They are about the size of a large housecat and weigh between 20 and 30 lbs. The larger blan can weigh up to 50 lbs and are naturally larger.

Their heads are humanoid with a more pronounced jaw. Eyes are generally yellow, red, or orange, though a black mutation has been noted. They have short noses, with two pits on either side which sense heat and pheromones. Their mouths are wide and filled with sharp teeth. Ears are long and ratlike. Most ears are pierced with a tag indicating caste and hive.

Their posture is hunched, and most tend to crawl on all fours, though it is possible for them to walk upright for a little while.

They have four digits on each hand; the outer two are thumbs.

Their feet are perhaps the most interesting of any species on Erit. The soles are round and padlike, and are half-encircled by ten flexible toes on each. The entire foot can curl around nearly anything, and is made up of ligaments, fat, and cartilage rather than any bone. This makes them expert climbers.

Almost all deepcrawlers have some combination of spines, ossicones, tubercles, or other such protuberances on their necks and backs. These are often decorated with jewelry or other indications of caste or status.

Sexes Gridge (XX genotype) ~45% (She/Her)

Gridge are the most numerous sex in deepcrawler society. Depending on genetic predisposition, the gridge may be skilled or adept at either plague or earth magic, or may have incredible physical strength.

Most gridge are amicable to queen commands or suggestions within their hive, as long as they believe it is for the common good of the hive. A queen who is kind to the gridge will find the society works much more smoothly than a queen who makes demands or asserts control. Although the queen is fully capable of doing this, revolution will often start with the gridge if they are unhappy.

Non-deepcrawlers often refer to the gridge as "female," as they are the sole sex out of the six which are able to create eggs. However, this process is unlike the process in every other species, and assigning "female" to the gridge is a simplistic view of the process.

When a gridge is ready to reproduce, she will start by finding a suitable rock, which is then placed in a specialized pouch. Over the course of two to three months, the rock becomes hollow and the interior is replaced with the necessary amniotic environment to support the formation of life, plus the gridge's genetic material.

The egg also expands at this point—more for softer rocks, and less for harder rocks, like gems. The softest rocks will often produce four to five young, although the record is ten! While harder rocks will often support a single offspring. (Notably, gem-type eggs carried by royar are known to produce twins and triplets regularly. More on that in a bit.)

The egg types that a gridge is allowed to produce varies by caste. A lower caste will only use softer rocks, like soft sandstones, while the highest caste could carry diamonds.

The genetic material supplied by the gridge for reproduction is the rock egg. A gridge only requires genetic material from two other sexes to reproduce: a blan and a honet. (This is unlike a royar, who requires genetic material from a gridge, a blan, a honet, and a royarnii.)

Less than one percent of the time, a gridge egg will produce a royar, also known as a queenmaker. This has always been thought to be random, but there are certain things a gridge can do to improve the chances—slightly—of hatching a royar. This is still an area of study in deepcrawler society. Currently, is is thought that a gridge acquiring genetic material from a rare purple-striped blan might increase these chances.

Lastly, a gridge will never directly produce a queen. The only sex which can create a queen is the royar.

Royar (XE genotype) <1% (Shee/Herr)

Royar are also known as Queenmakers. They reproduce much less frequently than gridge—usually about half a dozen times throughout their lives—and their offspring are always queens.

As such, they are immediately placed into the Tahsv caste at birth, and will remain there their whole lives. They are the one sex which is actually biologically compelled to reproduce and to seek out members of the other sexes to do so. Although some royar are capable of resisting this compulsion, it is extremely rare.

More royar are born to gridge when there is a shortage of queens in the hive.

Royar do have other interests outside of reproducing, of course. They are treated well by society are are permitted to pursue any interest or career they wish, as long as it does not put them in direct danger. A royar will generally not be permitted to work in construction, for example.

In order to produce a queen, a royar must acquire a rock-egg which has been prepared by a gridge, then must also supply castol from a blan and spermati from a honet. Notably, the egg pouch of a royar is quite small, and can only maintain the smallest, hardest eggs, which will not increase in size during incubation. These are usually gems, such as sapphire and diamond.

After acquiring a genetic pearl from the royarnii sex, the royar will supply herr own genetic material, which is called aminios, and replaces about half of the amniotic environment inside the egg.

Royar are usually incapable of casting any magic.

Queens (OO genotype) ~4% (Rei/Reir)

Queens cannot reproduce and do not supply genetic material. They have a range of characteristics from all other sexes, but will universally lack an egg pouch.

The defining characteristic of queens is that they have the ability to control or influence the other sexes, except for other queens and royarnii. Blan and honet are the most pliable or fanatic to a queen's will, although gridge and royar also generally obey the whims of the queen. Cases of gridge breaking free from an abusive queen's control are not uncommon, and only the most psychically talented queen can bring these rebels back under control.

Some queens are extremely adept at control but are hesitant to use it. Others choose to run their hives like a machine, leaving little individualism among the members. In some rare hives, each member is simply an extension of the queen reirself, speaking with reir voice and committing only reir will.

It is in these hives that a gridge might spontaneously become royarnii, which cannot be controlled by the queen. A gridge that breaks free in this way will become locked in a berserk rage and begin killing other members of the hive. This is referred to as hive collapse, and is a cascading effect which will affect many gridge until the hive is destroyed.

Therefore, a wise queen will not exert more control than rei has to. A queen without a hive is not truly a queen.

Additionally, many all-controlling queens are assassinated by other queens. Queens who perform these assassinations take over the hive by right, but face an uphill battle as they deprogram their hive.

Notably, many queens might work together as directors of a single hive. While most will leave, taking some of the lower castes to begin a new hive elsewhere, it is advantageous for queens to work together, dividing tasks among themselves. The largest deepcrawler city has one hundred and sixteen queens working in harmony with each other.

Queens may be adept at any sort of magic, even beyond plague or earth magic, but most tend not to use it.

Blan (CC genotype) 25% (He/Him)

Blan are extremely physically powerful, and are the largest sex. Although most blan are in the ignit caste, many go on to become vhar, and have a wonderful aptitude for strategy. By no means are blan limited to lower castes, though.

They are also known to have streaks of color on their skin—most often red and orange, although more rarely blue and purple. Color striping does not seem to be genetic, nor is it based on an individual's intelligence, physical strength, or status. It is likely a manifestation of deepcrawler innate magic, which expresses itself in the otherwise rather plain coloring of the species.

Besides their streaks of color, blan are also able to carry ten to twelve times their own weight, or apply force many times their own weight. While a physically powerful gridge might be able to carry twice or three times their weight, a blan is a powerhouse specialist, and the heaviest jobs are saved for them in particular. Those who can carry more, or who are able to apply more force that normal, may find themselves admired enough to belong to the very highest caste.

Blan in lower castes may also make their living in competitions of power, such as weight lifting or fighting. Some may even practice a deepcrawler-specific form of martial arts called kinhest.

The blan genetic material is called castol, which is a thin oil secreted from a gland under their eyes. Blan enter their breeding season three times per aur, though this is staggered for all members of the sex. It is easy to tell a blan who is able to reproduce from the dark, shiny patches around their eyes.

Royar must acquire castol from a blue or purple-striped blan in order to produce a queen. Without the proper genetic material, the egg will die.

Rarely, a blan will have white streaks on their skin. These do not produce any genetic material, but neither do most have any desire to reproduce. Some have been known to adopt and care for young.

Blan generally cannot cast magic, although some have been known to have a little skill with either plague or earth magic.

Honet (CE genotype) 24% (Xe/Xir)

Honet are physically weaker than both blan and gridge (even magic-casting gridge), yet they make up for this by being the most powerfully magical beings in deepcrawler society. Nearly all plaguecasters are honet, for example, though honet can be equally talented with earth magic. Among the species, honet are the only sex in which one individual can cast BOTH plague and earth magics.

The queen will often keep three to five honet close to her within her court. They are referred to as her consorts, although queens do not reproduce. Honet who serve the queens in this way are free to reproduce with gridge or royar.

Honet often find themselves in supervisory roles when it comes to building out the hive. All crews will have several at their disposal; a wise construction operation will have many. Such operations have a lower mortality rate due to tunnel collapse or other such risks.

However, honet are not limited to these two roles. Magic competitions do exist in deepcrawler society, and some honet are incredibly talented sculptors. Many find themselves in the Vhint caste or higher.

Their genetic material is called spermati and is generally collected as the final step before an egg can become viable. This is because it must be injected directly into the egg pouch of a gridge or royar, which ties the honet together with xir partner for several hours. Notably, the honet are the only sex with visible genitalia.

Royarnii (IO genotype) 1% (It/Its)

Royarnii appear to be physically gridge-like, but are unable to create eggs.

It is common for Royarnii to be extremely mercurial or temperamental, and most are prone to fits of berserker rage that they later cannot recall. While some learn to temper these rages, most do not wish to do so, as they claim it brings them closer to the deity, Xax. Royarnii occasionally speak of experiencing a mere fraction of a second of a vision from Xax at the end of their rages, just as they return to conscious thought.

Roynarii cannot be controlled by queens, nor can they be compelled to reveal their thoughts, which makes them distrusted by queens. For this reason, they often live on the outskirts of hive society. They are generally not adversarial to other deepcrawlers unless cornered, and queens would not dare have them killed, as they would almost certainly lose control of much of the gridge and royar populations.

Despite tales told to the young, Royarnii are not mindless, and many are extremely intelligent. They are not part of the traditional caste system, as they are automatically assigned to the reighnnii caste by virtue of their very existence. However, many still pursue personal interests.

While 90% of Royarnii are hatched directly from eggs, any reproducing sex can become Royarnii. This is generally accomplished by strong-willed individuals who reject the genetic programming of hive society. Any deepcrawler who is able to resist the will of the queen is already on the path to becoming Royarnii. This is usually a gridge, but can also be royar, and rarely, blan and honet.

A Royar must acquire genetic material from a Royarnii in order to produce a queen egg. Royarnii produce a deep onyx pearl within a modified egg-pouch four to six times during their lives. Given the rarity, they are generally reluctant to party with it, and once they have, they describe a feeling of incompleteness or emptiness. It is thought that the pearl is what gives a queen the power to control the other castes, and may be a piece of the royarnii's soul.

Requesting a Royarnii's pearl is sometimes enough to send them into a rage, so it is advised to approach them with several other deepcrawlers in a small entourage. This can ensure the safety of the royar requesting to reproduce.

Some Royar have attempted to keep Royarnii captive in the past for easy access to genetic material, however, a captive Royarnii will soon die. No one is certain why, although deepcrawler scholars have spent huge amounts of resources trying to figure it out. Neither can Royarnii genetic material be harvested and kept, as it is extremely volatile.

Outside of the pouch, the pearl lasts about a span. It cannot be preserved.

Deepcrawler Castes

The caste system puts individual deepcrawlers into tiers within their hives. The caste into which you are born is fairly easy to change. Displaying aptitude will generally move you up to a higher class, while displaying incompetence or disdain for your work will move you down. These are not official promotions. Instead, other deepcrawlers will naturally begin to view you in a higher or lower status, and the chance to your caste is extremely democratic and based on some weak telepathic or pheromonal cues.

Caste list, lowest to highest:

Ignit (IG-nit): Assigned the color white. The lowest caste. Ignit are expected to spend most of their lives digging and expanding the tunnels of their hives or hunting underground fauna for food. The Ignit also find suitable rocks for reproducing members of the species to lay eggs. In general, it is the Ignit class which reproduces, as their duty involves "resupplying" the hive.

Ignit may be capable of minor earth magic, which assists in their tasks. Some are also drawn to plague magic, however, plague mages are, in general, immediately moved to the Rxe cast.

In some traditional hives, the Ignit caste is expected to "resupply" themselves. The taxing nature of their generally difficult work may lead to shorter lives, and in hives where Ignit are exclusively set to digging from an early age, inexperience can lead to early death. The average lifespan is much lower, with young dying as early as ten aurs.

However, in more modernized society, the Ignit might be seen as associates in markets, laborers in sanitation or water treatment, assistants in record keeping or collections, or other such endeavors. In these societies, the queens permit the Ignit caste to carry harder eggs, leading to fewer offspring. Offspring from more modern deepcrawler society tend to live much longer, fuller lives.

Permitted egg type examples: gypsum, amber, silver, cryolite, gold, wulfenite, howlite. Permitted egg types in modern hives include the same types of rocks from the Angh caste.

Angh (AHNG): Assigned the color orange. A step above the Ignit are the Angh. Those who show particular aptitude in their duties are moved up to this caste and take on a supervisory or more skilled role. Though not necessarily in charge of others, the Ignit look to them for advice or decision making.

Those who display aptitude for the arts will also find themselves in the Angh caste, whether it be visual or writing-based. Although there are not many art-oriented deepcrawlers, there are a few, and the best become well-revered enough to move up to the Vhint caste, or even to Tahsv. Artists are considered to have a special boon from their deity, Xax, who is said to treasure all kinds of arts. Art-oriented deepcrawlers are not expected to keep other professions.

Deepcrawlers who display high aptitude with earth magic may also be moved up to this caste. Their magic comes in handy in digging operations, where whole crews have been saved due to a talented mage.

Notably, the offspring of Angh will start in the same caste, but it is quite usual for the young to move down into the Ignit caste for a time, as proficiency in Angh duties is not genetic.

Permitted egg type examples: rhodochrosite, dioptase, scheelite, turquoise, wolframite

Vhint (VINT): Assigned the color blue. The Vhint caste are intellectuals and are a mix of Vhint by birth, and Ignit and Angh which have shown aptitude. They are record-keepers, researchers, diplomats, or simply utilized for their ability to keep and maintain information in their memory. Vhint and Vhar castes are considered the same level.

Sometimes this caste is recruited to make things more efficient for the hive, which occasionally means finding ways for the other castes to have an easier time with their duties. Some of the best artists also exist in this caste, and their works often decorate the structures within the hive.

Occasionally, even builders who display a particular flare for architecture find themselves in this caste. Visitors to hives with an art-talented architect speak of the beauty of the city, and how they barely realized they were under the earth at all.

Permitted egg type examples: cobaltite, sugilite, pyrite, nephrite, peridot, jasper

Vhar (VAR): Assigned the color red. The Vhar show aptitude in military strategy, fighting, and defense. They are physically capable, extremely powerful, and serve to protect their hives. Vhar in one hive will often spar or even go to war with the Vhar of other hives, completely separate from the whims of their queens. Like the Vhint, Vhar are mostly born into their caste, as their severe physical strength is quite genetic. However, it is not unheard of for Ignit or Angh to move to this caste.

There are some professional sports leagues among the deepcrawlers, and all members are considered to be in the Vhar caste. These leagues satisfy the natural inclination for the Vhar to battle other hives, which leads to fewer injuries and deaths. This has done wonders for the public relations between hives, as there are rarely situations where one hive demands compensation for the needless destruction of its members.

Vhar also comprise the highest tiers of construction professions, as they are able to carry many times their own weight with ease.

Permitted egg type examples: cobaltite, sugilite, pyrite, nephrite, peridot, jasper

Tahsv (TASS-vee): Assigned the color black. Also called the Highcaste. Generally this caste is made up of the best of the best from the Vhint and the Vhar. Occasionally, Angh are recognized directly to this caste, although Ignit are never welcome directly into it. All Royar who are born, even if it is to the lowest Ignit, are immediately recognized in this caste. Royar born to Ignit generally improve the lives of their Ignit parents, who will often find themselves promoted into the Igon caste by the respect of those around them.

This caste includes trusted advisers of the queens. In more modern hives where the queen is willing to designate work to others, the Tahsv caste will include officials who carry out orders.

Highly esteemed poets and artists will also find themselves elevated to this caste.

Very importantly, a deepcrawler cannot buy their way into this caste. They must be recognized as deserving by pheromone consensus of other deepcrawlers, just like any other caste. However, some extremely controlling queens may cause lower castes to recognize favored individuals as Tahsv.

Permitted egg type examples: topaz, ruby, sapphire, diamond

Igon (EYE-gahn): Assigned the color white. The Igon caste is exclusively reserved for parents of the rare Royar sex. Deepcrawlers remain in this caste until their young Royar is old enough to take care of herrself—generally 15-16 aurs. Ignit recognized into this caste are not expected to perform their usual duties, but are instead expected to dedicate all of their time to ensuring their Royar offspring reaches adulthood. An Ignit recognized to the Igon caste will sometimes be placed into a higher caste than the one in which they started, after they raise their child.

If a gridge in the Igon caste chooses to breed again, she may select any stone she wishes.

Rxe (err-SHAY): Never wear ear tags, but would be assigned the color scarlet. The Rxe caste is extremely talented with the holy plague magic of their deity, Xax. They are slightly shorter-lived than other deepcrawlers; although they still suffer the mark of Xax, it takes much, much longer to incapacitate them than it would other species. In fact, some Rxe never see the effects of the mark at all, especially those who follow Xax's will to the letter.

It is their duty to distribute disease—or take it away—in accordance with the doctrine of their most revered deity. This earns them a healthy fear among surface dwellers, although Rxe are only rarely directed to distribute disease to the sapient species of Erit. Some are even quite talented with healing.

Of course, there are some hives which use disease defensively or aggressively. A surface dweller visiting a deepcrawler hive should be very sure they are welcome, as these sorts of diseases are incurable (except by the Rxe), incommunicable, extremely painful, and slow to kill.

This caste has no "level" among the other castes. Those adept at plague magic simply become Rxe by their very ability, and some serve as priests in the temples of Xax, even on the surface. They are generally respected by other deepcrawlers, and are considered blessed by Xax.

Rxe generally do not breed, as their nearness to the deity will almost always kill the egg. However, as they have a better chance of carrying the egg to term the harder it is, members of this caste will almost exclusively carry diamonds.

Nzet (n-ZET): Children of all castes. Do not wear eartags or have an assigned color.

Reignnii (Rane-EE): Assigned the color purple, but are not expected to wear eartags. Some do, to promote and display their status. Reignii are queens and royarnii.

Hggo (h'GO): Casteless. Must wear a grey eartag and lose many rights in the hive. Becoming casteless is generally considered a punishment for individuals who refuse to contribute and do not become Royarnii. Hggo are permitted to beg for food and shelter, and most other castes will provide for them. Hggo who attempt to reproduce are immediately put to death.

The Hggo status was extremely common in the past, but is generally now only found in more conservative/traditional hives. In most hives, individuals who do not contribute are still seen and assigned as Ignit and have the right to buy/sell, have a home, have healthcare, and have children.

Deepcrawler Age

Gridge, Blan, and Honet live, on average, 70 aurs. Royar and Royarnii live, on average, 150 aurs. Queens have been recorded to live up to 300 aurs.

Deepcrawler Relationships

Deepcrawlers are extremely gregarious and most have an incredibly deep and limitless memory for friends, other hive members, and enemies. They are extremely good at facial recognition and remembrance of names, even among other species. If you meet a deepcrawler even once for a few minutes, it is likely that deepcrawler will remember you, even aurs later.

However, it is extremely rare for a deepcrawler to be in any sort of romantic relationship. Some do form preferred reproductive groups, but in general, they do not have a sense of romantic ties with one, or even a few, individuals. As their memory and ability to form strong bonds with many different individuals is so powerful, one might even consider a whole hive to be one large romantic relationship.

Deepcrawlers who choose to live on the surface are more likely to understand romance, but are not likely to remain in an exclusive relationship for very long. This is not due to a problem with commitment, but simply because a deepcrawler is prone to strong feelings to many people all at the same time. A surface deepcrawler will even refer to their close friend group as their hive.

#fantasy #speculative fiction #fantasy races #fantasy species #gremlins #goblins #modern fantasy #shadecursed #the bestiary trilogy #shadowbind

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happy-tori-friends · 9 months ago

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As promised, here are our four main mascots! Is the art good? Absolutely not, I don't know how to anatomy. Is it better than my average art? Maybe, because I didn't rage quit. As for the bunny's name, not counting my own vote but counting a vote from a twitter poll, Buttercup is the winner.

After this my current to do list is to reblog platonic / familial prompts, do some tag organization and add a link to the tags list to my pinned post, do the prompt in the inbox (and anymore prompts/asks that may come before I finish it), finish the next part of Backyard Bonds, another check of the inbox if anything is there, and then get to work on one more aspect of magical warrior AU, whether it be transformation trinkets, transformed names, or like an actual plot (I thiiink I've decided on them being in high school, though with Disco and Pop being older family friends that Flippy confides in a lot + he babysits Cub. This is tentative. Do not bank on this). This may take me two days. It may take me a month. My priorities might even change. But for now, let's get into our mascots.

Lucky

Lifty and Shifty's mascot, a fox fairy. A fairly laid back genius who can be very sneaky and sly at times. His motivation for finding heroes was mostly because he thought he could get something out of it, though saving the world is a pretty good bonus too. Lucky is willing to bribe and trick people, and prefers to laze around all day. He also likes shiny things, and has a tendency to pull things out of thin air, as well as taking things he likes. He tries to hide his true feelings behind a cool and collected mask, especially when he actively tries to help others, but he can be quite obvious when hiding things so he often gets caught.

(Don't ask about the logic of a medallion on his scarf. I don't know why I did that. Also the clovers in his eyes suck.)

Sky

Splendid's mascot, a dog fairy. A high-energy and loyal companion who is enamored by the very concept of being a hero. This love for heroics was what spurred her to take on the duty of finding people to help defeat the monsters plaguing the world. Sky is very excitable, and can be a bit of a blabbermouth. She is very affectionate, though she has troubles with boundaries at times, getting caught by her own excitement. She enjoys cheering others on and being encouraging. Sky can also be a bit of an airhead at times, and when she has free time, she loves to play.

(NOOOO THERES AN UNCOLORED PIXEL THAT I CAN'T FIX *DIES*)

Ember

Splendont's mascot, a cat fairy. A stoic and cold type that usually moves with calculated and graceful movements. His motivation for finding heroes is simply because he wanted to help in some way. Behind his cold exterior, he has a warm heart and cares greatly for those around him. Ember isn't very confident in himself, and struggles with expressing himself. He harbors a lot of self-doubt, and is very pessimistic, worrying that the battles will never end. Despite everything, Ember is a caring companion and, even with his struggles, a sharp mind that can help to come up with a gameplan.

Buttercup

Flippy/Fliqpy's mascot, a rabbit fairy. A gentle and caring sweetheart, she can be absolutely vicious when it comes to getting revenge, especially when a friend is hurt. Her motivation for taking on the duty of finding heroes was the death of her friend at the hands of the mastermind behind the evil plaguing the world. Buttercup is usually sweet and kind, always checking up on others and maling sure they're okay, but she tends to hold grudges for a long time. She is also willing to protect and defend others with everything she has, and will stop at nothing to get revenge when she or her friends are hurt or wronged.

#tori talks #magical warrior au #tori art #the eyes kinda bug me a lil but thats okay #im gonna go reblog some prompts and then play video games for a bit yippee #i will do tags after dinner #this is scheduled btw #uh. so the uh. prompt reblogs are already done #lucky 🍀#sky ⭐️#ember ♦️#buttercup 💛

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evilvillainapologist · 1 year ago

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So I've finished Book Three of 2ha and I have thoughts...

They're going to be negative, so I won't tag this, so it won't show up in the 2ha tag. I'm also putting it under a read more. (It's not about the rape.)

So they're back at that situation. Rip in the fabric of thingie, evil ghosts coming into the world, somebody is getting shanked. Chu Wanning lets Mo Ran bleed out, fixes the rift. Up to here, all good.

And then.

This fucking book.

Ruins everything.

Suddenly, we learn that Mo Ran misunderstood something.

Chu Wanning wanted to save Shi Mei, wanted to save Mo Ran, but he had to stay away for their safety, so it was never his fault. He never did anything wrong!

What kind of lazy, sorry-ass excuse for a plot twist is that, ffs!

CWN was never wrong in the first place! Of course he would have chosen to protect the rest of the world, including everyone from the sect, even at the cost of one of his disciples!

That was the whole beauty of it! That he had to make this incredibly hard decision and he made it and now he has to live with the consequences.

The whole issue between him and Mo Ran has never been a misunderstanding, it has been that they never fucking communicated, never bothered to understand each other, that Mo Ran took that one moment of pain in his life and used it as an excuse to be the biggest fucking piece of shit you can imagine and never even considered that maybe what he did was worse, so, so much worse than what CWN had done.

And now he has the chance to go back and do it better. But he is still stuck in that same fucking mindset, right up until that point he realises it was a misunderstanding.

What were those first two books even for??? What were those two years in which they grew closer to each other, learned to be by each other's side peacefully, that could have served as Mo Ran's character growth, if not a huge slap in the face the moment we learn it was all just a misunderstanding.

No need for character growth then. No need for Mo Ran to learn anything.

It could have been his chance to realise, he did not have to go down that same path again. Maybe have him be in a similar situation. I mean, he was, already, watching Chu Xun sacrifice his own son to save the rest of the people. It could have been his chance to start an actual emotional connection with CWN and outgrow his hatred, not because it was a misunderstanding, but because he learned to forgive. Maybe could have learned that CWN hated himself for that decision, was plagued by it, yet still had to stand by it. Learned to make different decisions, learned to actually talk to that person he had by his side for ten years.

But hey, no need for any of that. After all, it was only a misunderstanding.

Everything, every single little thing they learn about each other in those three books, they learn either while one side is not aware of it (Xia Sini) or from another person (Xue Meng). They never learn to actually communicate with each other; Mo Ran simply holds on to his irrational hatred all this time, without ever questioning it.

And that hatred?

What is the author trying to tell us about how justified that hatred is by turning CWN's decision into a misunderstanding? That it was actually justified? That Mo Ran was right to hate CWN the way he did, if only it hadn't been a misunderstanding?

CWN had to be perfect, flawless, not make a single wrong decision, he had to sacrifice himself and die for Mo Ran, unblemished, for the author to consider him worthy of Mo Ran's love.

What kind of fucked up, lazy writing is this???

There were a lot of parts of that story I still liked. A lot of the scenes were still quite nice, even though the author is clearly not experienced enough to make the story stand on its own without the CP, and even though she tends to overexplain things to the point that they grow tedious. A lot of the NPC dialogue could have been cut. But still, it was a fun read.

But that plot twist? Made me lose all trust that she could bring this story to a satisfying end.

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ruanbaijie · 1 year ago

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Hello Hanyi how are you? Hope that everything is okay and that your days are happy 🩷 You are a huge inspiration to me and I admire you so much. I wanted to ask for your advice or maybe for you to just read this, i need to tell this. How do you find inspiration for a new project (gifset)? Where do you usually find it and what things motivate you? I'm feeling really sad and unmotivated because my sets have less notes every time 😿 the last few reblogs on my sets are self reblogs. I know not everybody has to like what I do, and that I should do it for myself. But one of the main reasons I do gifs is to share, and for the other people to enjoy too. But my last three sets haven't reach 200 notes, the last ones not even 100. It's been weeks since someone reblogged from me, i'm just so sad, gifs is the way i found to express myself and I don't wanna lose that.

hello! I'm doing okay! questioning my life and what I'm doing with it, but what's new (ノ= ⩊ = )ノ

I don't know what to say besides thank you; I'm hardly the most encouraging or talented or patient person around here, and I'd never think I'd be a source of inspiration or admiration for anyone. it really made my day when I saw that!

a lot of (if not most of) the time, I get inspired by other creations I see here! I tag things that inspire me in different ways (layout, concept, typography, quote, etc.), and sometimes when I know I want (or need) to make something but have no idea what to do, I just go back to those tags and trawl around and pray something hits me ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_ a lot of people here are unbelievably talented and I'd kill for even an ounce of that (tbvh it's kind of embarrassing the extent to which I learn from and get inspired by other people, really most of the stuff I make aren't original original)

please, please don't get discouraged! I definitely feel that tumblr in recent days has gotten a lot more... disheartening, in terms of response. when I first started making gifsets a couple of years back in the thick of the plague, it was so much easier to get a really good response and a high note count even though the quality of my stuff back then was absolute trash. these days, getting even over 100 seems like a miracle, let alone 200. it's all the tougher since I rarely do scene-only gifsets as shows air (it bores and stresses me out at the same time), and it's painful and disheartening that complicated edits tend to do worse than scene-only sets, even though they take a lot more time and effort to do.

and you're right! at this point, despite this, I'm doing it mostly for myself too, and I've learned to brush it off and not check back at the notes at all. these days, it kinda feels like I'm tossing my posts into the wide world and after I schedule my self-reblogs, they're just out there fending for themselves (ノ°∀°)ノ⌒･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me, because it did, and sometimes, it still does. but I try to focus more on the few people who appreciate and enjoy the things I make, no matter how few they are in number, and it really, really makes my day when they leave nice comments in the tags, no matter how few notes that set gets ( ´ ꒳ ` )

I don't regret learning how to make and edit gifs, because it has been an outlet for me to express myself as well and I've met a lot of new people through it. but as much as I'd love to encourage you to continue pushing yourself and learning new skills, it's good to also take a break for a little while if the responses gets too disheartening; I'm trying to slow down as well (I haven't been getting much response these days either anyway) and take the chance to spend some of my life outside tumblr and photoshop. maybe, it would help and be a little breather, instead of abandoning this hobby completely just because of the poor response you're getting, which I really hope you wouldn't do especially if it's something that you enjoy and find meaning in

I'm not sure if this will help in any way, but I hope it does give you some solace that what you're experiencing is not something that's happening to you alone; I've seen so many posts by content creators here (gifmakers and editors alike) about how response is getting more and more lacklustre despite all their effort, and the general lack of motivation >_< as disheartening as it is, it makes me all the more appreciative of the things that the people who remain do and the communities that we've fostered here.

if anything, please feel free to tag me in the things you make and I'll be happy to help reblog them (though it might take a while because I run on a queue and it usually takes ~10 days to show), and hopefully that might help give a little boost to your sets └(＾＾)┐ press on! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

#*replies

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lautity · 14 days ago

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response to ur tags abt grace getting over her purity issues. this got so long. im so sorry you don't have to read it all LOL. obvious cw for homophobia/internalized homophobia/religious guilt stuff

sometimes. i think i don't understand grace as a character at all. sometimes i think nobody does, including the langs. sometimes i think maybe this is because she's a character with a lot of complex motivations from a comedy series. so this is how i write her and how i choose to interpret her motivations. i would not say it's canon compliant so much as vaguely influenced by canon and a choice reading of her as a super autistic lesbian w/ Problems. she's just like me fr

best place to start is probably w/ the fundamental basis of how evangelicalism keeps people in line, which is fear. grace acts the way she does because she's afraid of going to hell, and she tries to enforce that on everyone around her 'for their own good' so they don't go to hell. she justifies everything she does by blaming other people or finding a way to rationalize it as 'good', because she is scared. everything starts w/ that

i'm not convinced that she knows why she believes what she believes. she pushes back against attempts to confront her faith + refuses to consider them, deflects and moralizes but cannot actually argue her side because she doesn't know why sins are sins, just that they are, and that makes them bad.

she is so repressed. repression concentrated. she behaves as she does in a zealous attempt to bury herself and her desires and the sin she was born with under meticulous layers of Good and Godly acts. it doesn't matter if people don't like her, as long as she follows the rules. easy, simple guidelines that prevent her from becoming a monster, from acting on base urges, from dooming herself. i don't know if her strict adherence is so much a love and trust in god as it is a mortifying fear of what would happen if she stopped holding those standards as the primary guide for her life.

this is... basically idolatry, because she holds her purity/chastity above all else. preserving her virtues is the most important thing, her ticket into heaven, her key to god's good graces, what makes her so ideal. she worships the concept of being good more than the deity who wills her to be. she wants to be perfect. she has to be perfect. god wouldn't choose anyone less than that for her task. she's special, she's chosen, she's god's personal elect to save the souls of hatchetfield.

she needs to believe that she is special. if god loves her then everything shes ever done, her loneliness and her fear and all the hate she's put into the world, those are all justified by a greater purpose. she isn't just an unlikable person. her horrible thoughts are a test, and she's passing, and any day now god will whisk them away and she'll be free to live the life laid out for her. she's always been praised for her obedience and her servitude, for resisting her vices, for sacrificing her agency and her privacy and companionship and her self-worth to be clean. she's so tired of losing pieces of herself. she doesn't feel any better. she doesn't feel like someone cares about her. but she has to keep trying.

as she gets older i think she gets worse. as mental illness and weird lesbian thoughts tend to. resultingly she gets More Intense about her proselytizing, simultaneously w/ her peers getting More Judgmental, and it's just this miserable feedback loop for her. she tries harder and they bully her more and she has to rely further on her only comfort. everything sucks, and everyone hates her except god, and all she can do is the same thing as ever in the hopes that, eventually, repenting will work and the plague of sin she's enduring will finally end. she's scared that it never will. she's scared that she's stuck like this forever. obviously in her mind so much as kissing a girl would be a grievous act of assault, so the bar is super low even before she starts dealing with more intrusive thoughts and unwanted desires.* and it isn't even necessarily an empathy thing, not wanting someone else to feel pain, as much as it's a fear of what it says about grace if she's capable of inflicting it. if she does it once she can do it again, if she does it again she'll never stop, and then she'll go to hell. the only way to stay good is to never let herself get even close to what she wants

*and she often can't tell the difference. sometimes there is no difference. she wants things, but she has no way to rationalize it or justify it, no framework to place it in. so it just torments her.

so. what do we have. girl who is haunted by her own thoughts and desperately pouring herself into her religion to try and counter them. using her faith as a way to purify her soul over and over until the stain is gone. girl with no friends and no prospects and no community outside of her church. steadily getting worse. doubting if the things she reassures herself with are true.

fundamentally, i think there are two scenarios that will cause her to "sin" (on purpose/voluntarily)

A) a realization that she's been lied to or mislead, spotting the dissonance between the actual teachings of the bible and how she's been taught to treat people, or generally pulling at a thread that unravels what she's been indoctrinated into

B) something convinces her that she's already irreversibly damned

these don't necessarily lead to her deconstructing her purity culture mindset, but they do lead her to do things she would initially have refused on the grounds of her faith.

jerries in AC resemble situation A; they cause her to doubt the people she had placed on a pedestal as Good and Faithful and Pure. they're hypocrites. her conclusion here is that she can only trust herself not to sin; she's clearly the only one capable of resisting. reaffirms that she's special to god and that she's been singled out, maybe lets her think that she personally has more leeway in terms of sin because she's doing it "for the betterment of the collective".

but. right. we aren't making her kill (or threaten to kill) people, we're making her a dyke. i think A is generally the preferable direction to go in for most holyphone stuff. getting over her Issues particularly w/ being gay likely only happens after she's out of hatchetfield/away from her family. when i pitch it happening in a npmd-y timeframe/during highschool, i usually throw out:

classic 'befriending queer people and realizing they're not monsters'. genuinely meeting ppl who have been demonized and realizing they're Just People is so vital to deprogramming

other classic 'having a conversation w/ another religious queer person who tells her things she's desperately needed to hear'; particularly if she's already done something and is regretting it

religious figure/someone she trusts deeply being outed as a sinner (i.e. the jerries) + shaking her faith in the people who raised and taught her

doing something comphet-y and being like holy fuck i can never do that again, abort plan, mission 'just try to ride it out' failed, need to consider other options

traumatic event or tragedy makes her realize she is not actually special or protected and that she's basically just been lucky her entire life and she is still very much mortal (near death experience? losing a loved one? something she thinks god shouldn't allow happens? idk)

encountering some sort of magic in hatchetfield that she cannot attribute to the christian god (i think she's already inclined to believe stuff like this based on what she says in the waylon house)

having any sort of queer mentor (girl jeri miss holloway. maybe alice woodward could work. the lib would be funny. you can kill for us but you will not do it with homophobia in your heart.)

she's never really had any actual reason behind it other than 'god says', so i think once she's actively questioning her beliefs/if what she was raised with is truly god's will, one of the first things to crumble is the idea that being gay is a choice (it certainly doesn't seem to be for her, because god knows she's tried to choose otherwise) and that it's inherently sinful. it becomes "being gay is wrong [only when grace does it]", which is a marginal improvement.

she sort of views herself in an 'abhorrent admirer' type frame; she's been told that lesbians are not only dangerous, but also universally ugly and desperate and just can't get men. even if it isn't a sin, it's still something to be ashamed of. even once she starts doing like. gay things. she's still constantly constantly fighting the "this is gross and i'm disgusting for doing/liking it" response. the "i'm actually hurting this person, and also i'm responsible for the sin they're doing rn" hits sometimes as well. she has to go really slow and she needs a Lot of reassurance. steph can fix her. trust

i'm not usually a canon timeline guy but i do think quite a few people have written pretty compelling stuff for post-npmd/lib-influenced grace ending up w/ steph. its awesome when they kill men together and we need more of this always

the situation i pitch post-burnerphone lautity in is scenario B (grace is convinced that she's already damned) compounded by major depression. my insanely ooc wip beloved.

conclusion i truly don't know why it's harder to justify this character kissing a girl than actually killing people. that doesn't seem right. especially because she really wants to kiss girls and doesn't particularly want to kill people. sigh.

i cant believe we havent talked abt lautity at all....they're like my thing...... i offer you my insane obscure post burnerphone dynamic for them ↓

i have thoughts abt steph being like. can i ever be satisfied with this normal extremely vanilla life. grace is sweet, and steph likes her, but also the total whiplash from her last long term relationship being this fucked awful thing makes it hard to. relax. girl who has forgotten how to be normal. and grace obviously doesnt know what healthy dating is like so there's the constant overarching what if i'm accidentally overstepping + being super fucked up to this girl who has 0 basis to recognize a toxic relationship. again w the ruined for other people, doesn't even know what functional looks like, doesn't know if she'll ever be capable of it again. thanks, lex!

also worried abt eventually having to explain the scars and the rehab and the lex situation in general. it's like. grace is clearly too nervous to do it early on, but one day she Will ask. and once she knows she'll obviously think it's all gross and scary and leave. steph is sort of trying to ride it out. the 'do nothing and hope it never comes up' approach. but she's worried abt it + feels like the end of their relationship is inevitable because of this secret she's keeping + generally just feels really gross about it all. chat does she know (grace is having a completely separate solo crisis over sadistic thoughts she doesn't understand) (girl who has not so much as imagined the concept of bdsm) (0 idea why she's suddenly attracted to scars) (they are extremely compatible but deeply unaware of it/convinced the other is going to think they're a freak)

^ both of them lol. ok. sorry. ive written So Much about this it's actually embarassing. apologies if its wildly ooc. im just a little silly abt them hopefully you can see the vision. totally understandable if not. sighhh

can i be so honest with you i wasn't. Super big on lautity before this. i mean i LOVED them in theory & definitely do think grace has feelings for steph in every possible universe, especially in ac dear god, however. i never really thought grace would be able to let go of her puritan ideals & actually let herself love steph. but fuckkkk holy fuck. Okay

the whole. both of them thinking "oh god she can Never find out i'm a freak or else she'll leave me" is soo delicious. also SADIST grace i'm SORRY yes please. hello. fucking dies???????

lex having "ruined" steph & then this sadistic churchgirl with pigtails & clips in her hair comes along like ohkay this is an entirely new LEVEL of fucked up. jesus

i think steph just needs a little bit of order. not peace. just structure, and honesty. and god can grace help her with that.

#1.7k and i had to cut a further thousand words that were just me trying desperately to sell depressed grace. jfc #+ my drafts for this post are over 5k all put together. awesome #a lot of that content was total nonsense tho. and im not sure that this post is any better.#i fully can't tell if i am making reasonable points about her or if i'm just making shit up sometimes #this post is rly embarrassing if its wildly ooc and im exposing myself as having -10 media comprehension. sorry chat #she's just an enigma. so hard to read because everything she does is so overblown and her feelings r so contradictory #yes she's one of my favorite characters yes i fundamentally fail on every level to understand her or write her. we exist.#i hope my vision is at least legible. sorry if this is useless to you and if theres any crazy non-sequiturs #im really bad at proofing my own stuff for coherency. heart. going to bed now happy 3am gnn #holyphone #scraps #suggestive #<- mostly for stuff in the original ask #idk. ask to tag i guess

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