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rinixo · 1 year

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thrones and people and cities

Din Djarin/Reader | 6.9k | Rated E | afab reader, no y/n, Mand’alor!Din Djarin, smut, piv sex, resolved romantic tension, light angst, slight power imblance |

The first time you met the Mand’alor, you didn’t realize it was him. Perhaps it was because all Mandalorians tended to blur together and look the same to your inexperienced eyes, or maybe it was because you found him hiding at your workstation.

AU of the 'trying to sleep' series (non-linear oneshots featuring you, a university scholar from Naboo who is helping The Mandalorian seek out the Jedi). Can be read alone.

a/n: The character of 'reader' in this fic is the same scholar!reader, but the setting is set in an AU where Din is Mand'alor and does not know reader prior. I took many creative liberties with Mandalorian culture, but tried to stay within the realm of what is known through canon and legends. Final line is from ‘Fire and Blood’ by GRRM.

You had gotten used to seeing the armored warriors during your few short weeks on Mandalore, but rarely did they spend much time in your presence - or you theirs. So one early morning, when you rounded the corner towards your desk, a nice steaming cup of caf in your hand, you were quite surprised to see a tall figure hovering over your research.

You paused, confused. As part of a diplomatic delegation from Naboo, you had been assigned various tasks relating to your academic expertise. You had yet to have anyone other than the ambassadorial team come to check in on your research - which you did not mind, you preferred working without the uninterested glazed stares of politicians over your shoulder. Seeing a Mandalorian looking at your work was quite unusual.

Clearing your throat, you shuffled awkwardly on your feet. “Um��can I help you with something?” The armored man - was it a man? you couldn’t tell - turned slightly to face you, and while you could not see their expression you had a feeling that you had caught them off guard.

“Ah…no,” came the vocoder's reply. You raised a brow slightly and sipped on your caf.

“Ok…” you said slowly, walking towards your desk. “Well…do you mind if I sit down?” You inclined your head towards your chair in front of your workstation. “I have some charting to get done.”

The Mandalorian immediately stepped to the side to allow you to move in. “By all means,” he replied, and you passed him a small, polite smile as you slide into your seat.

You expected him to leave, but instead, the armored figure stayed near the side of your station, hovering. You tried your best to ignore him as you booted up your console, feeling awkward and not knowing if you should say anything.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” You asked again. The Mandalorian shook his head, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes as you returned to your work. You noticed that he seemed to try to act casual and lean against the wall, but his helmet would turn every so often to the doorway, keeping an eye on it. You had heard that Mando’s could be paranoid, but this felt ridiculous.

A good half hour passed, and all the while the armored man stayed at your station while you worked on your charts. Sometimes footsteps could be heard outside your workspace, and you would notice he would stiffen and slink back until he was cloaked in the shadows of the small room you were in.

“Are you hiding?” You finally asked after the Mandalorian had all but ducked behind your station as a group of different people passed outside your door. The incredulity in your tone was obvious, and he immediately put his hands on his hips, body language indicating offense.

“No,” he challenged, and you scoffed. “I’m…inspecting.” He made a show of looking around the room, to the back of your workstation, to the cobwebbed corners of the ceiling.

“Inspecting,” you repeated. “Right.” You leaned back in your chair, opening your hands in a ‘go ahead and look’ gesture to the work in front of you. To his credit, the Mandalorian shuffled over to peer down at your desk, eyeing over the data and charts.

“Everything seems to be in order,” he replied gruffly, and you smirked.

“You don’t even know what you’re looking at, do you?”

Part of you wondered if sassing a heavily armed Mandalorian was a good idea. He had kind of started it, you decided, by being so weird.

Arms crossed, the Mando fixed you with what you were sure was a pointed, helmeted glare. “Charts,” he finally decided, and this time you did roll your eyes.

—

You didn’t realize that the “inspector” was actually the Mand’alor until the second time you met. It was a few days after your odd encounter with the shiny-armored Mando, and you were in the mess hall, taking your midday meal while listening to your colleagues chat. Some of the Mandalorians were also present, a mixture of the helmet and helmet-less heads peppered amongst the different diplomatic delegations staying in the capital buildings. Mandalore had grown in population tremendously over the past year since the Mand’alor had rallied his people back to reclaim and resettle the planet, but still, there was a sense of hesitation amongst many of the armored warriors towards the visiting dignitaries.

In particular, scholars and academics like yourself were met with the most distance. The Mandalorian people seemed to favor those who practiced more combat-based skills than those whose expertise lay in other areas. It made sense, as their creed and warrior lifestyle were one of the things they were able to cling to after the great purge. By no means were they a stupid or unintelligent people, but you had much less in common with them as a whole than the military and other leaders you were with did.

As a result, all of this made you feel even more strange when a broad Mandalorian guard approached you at your table. You raised a brow, mouth full of the stew you were munching on.

“The Mand’alor requests your presence,” the guard said briskly, and you forced yourself to swallow the food in your mouth before you choked it back up out of surprise. Your colleagues around you fell silent as they watched. None of you had ever been asked to meet or even be in the presence of the leader of the Mandalorians. On the totem pole of ‘important people,’ you were seated quite comfortably near the bottom.

“Now,” the guard added, indicating that you were not going to be allowed to finish your meal. Standing awkwardly, you gave a small shrug towards the faces of your workmates, all of whom were staring in confusion. You guessed that your expression was quite similar.

You followed the guard out of the mess hall and towards the center of the building. Calling it a ‘palace’ would be a stretch, even if that is what it used to be. The building was still littered with rubble, even after a year of repairs, and the once grand fixtures and decorations that still stood were tattered and broken. Coming from the royal city of Theed on Naboo, it was a far different sight than what you were used to when you thought of the word ‘palace’.

Struggling to keep up with the guard's long-legged pace, you cleared your throat. “May I ask why the Mand’alor wants to see me?” You asked. The guard did not spare you an answer and merely quickened his stride. You sighed and hoped that your simple outfit was considered appropriate for meeting the equivalent of the king of this planet.

You were led to a set of reinforced doors, outside which two additional guards stood watch. They straightened and saluted the guard leading you as the pair of you approached.

“Enter,” was all you were told when you looked up at the Mando who had brought you here. You glanced up at the impassive guard, before steeling yourself and pushing open the door.

The room wasn’t large but had a huge vaulted ceiling peppered with holes, no doubt put there by artillery strikes and shrapnel. The midday light streamed in from above, joined by a few lamps set up in the corners. Other than that, it was empty - save for a lone and somewhat familiar man hovering over a low table covered in maps.

He looked up at the sound of the door opening and closing. His hands were braced on the table, and while the armor he wore was the same you had seen him in days ago, he was now also adorned with a thicker and more luxurious-looking fur-lined cloak. Though the room wasn’t very big, it felt like there was an endless chasm opening up between the two of you, and you were resisting the temptation to jump inside of it.

You clamped your mouth shut from where it hung open, throat dry with realization. You had sassed the king of Mandalore. The legendary bounty hunter turned leader of the Mandalorian diaspora. The man who had defeated Moff Gideon slaughtered a krayt dragon and was a personal friend of many other terrifying people, including the daimyo of Mos Espa. If all of the tales and rumors were true – and you had no reason to believe they weren’t – the man could kill you a million different ways with just the cup of caf sitting on the table near his hands.

Your mind fled back to the meeting you and your delegation had with the Naboo ambassador before your arrival on the planet. The importance of being seen and not heard was drilled into your heads, as well as the intergalactic implications of a ‘diplomatic incident’ if you offended someone. You had barely paid attention, not planning to be doing much more than your research while on Mandalore, and internally you kicked your past self for dozing off. If your ambassador were here now, you bet he would have died of shock. Either that or strangled you to death.

You were sure that you had been brought here to be reprimanded, punished, something – but to your shocked surprise, the man relaxed back on his heels, posture open and welcoming.

“Ah. Good timing” came the familiar voice. “Thanks for coming.”

Your eyes narrowed, unsure if this was a joke or not. “You’re…” you trailed off lamely.

“Not an inspector,” the Mand’alor acquiesced, tipping his head in a small show of acknowledgment. “My apologies for not introducing myself the other day. I was not expecting to be…confronted.”

You paused, thinking back to this man – this king – hiding behind your desk. It had seemed silly back then, but now it was just ludicrous. Like a fever dream. No one was ever going to believe you.

The Mand’alor gestured for you to move closer to the table, and you responded with leaden legs. “P-pardon my behavior, your highness-“ you stuttered out, pausing when he sighed and put up his hand.

“Don’t,” he said shortly, making you wince. He immediately softened his posture in response. “Please, it’s all right. You did not offend me,” you wondered if the sound of his smile was genuine or not, “And you don’t need to call me that.”

You nodded slowly. “All right.” You stood as straight as you could, hands clasped behind your back, trying to appear as proper as you could. “What can I do for you, your high- sir?”

Thankfully he ignored your clumsy slip of the tongue and gestured to the table behind him. “I need your help with something.” He shuffled some charts – physical ones, on actual paper – and pulled up a hologram of a star system.

“I’m looking for something,” he continued. “A planet, I think, or at the very least a civilization. It’s been lost for many millennia, but I was hoping you might be able to point me in the right direction.”

You nodded, interest perking up despite your recent shock. As an archeo-astronomer, you assisted many people with deciphering ancient star maps to track down treasures or chart the movement of ancient astronomic bodies. Most of the time your clients were impossibly rich with nothing better to do than spend millions of credits tracking down a family’s lost heirloom. This was the first time a head of state had ever asked for assistance.

“Do you know what it’s called?” You asked, inquisitiveness making you feel braver. You peered down at the charts as the Mand’alor pushed one gently toward you.

“I’m not sure,” he confessed. “To be quite honest, I’m not sure it even exists. But it’s important to me that I try.” The sincerity in his voice made you smile softly, and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you eagerly leaned over the table to get a better look. The Mand’alor explained that what he was looking for was for someone very important to him, and while he could not give you very many details, he was able to show you all of what he had managed to pull together so far.

“It’s not much,” he sighed. “But I’ve reached the limit of my ability to make sense of it all.” You had since pulled out your datapad and were beginning to cross-reference pieces of the data on the table with your research.

“It isn’t much,” you agree after a moment, “But it is something. I’ve managed more with less.”

There was a hum of admiration from the man at that. “Thank you. I can compensate you, of course-“

“Oh, no,” you interrupted. “That’s not necessary.” You were here on behalf of your people to assist the Mandalorians, were you not? Accepting payment felt wrong to you.

“Very well,” the Mand’alor’s voice sounded amused. “If you need access to resources, anything – please just ask.”

You passed him a small smile. “I will.”

The weeks passed by swiftly now that you had something to focus on. Before you had been doing some basic research, nothing groundbreaking, but now you felt invigorated and excited about what you were looking for. The Mand’alor had gifted you with quite the puzzle to solve.

You didn’t see him very often, but he would stop by your workstation every few days to check in on your progress. The more you discovered, the more elaborate your charting and analytics were becoming, and your work expanded to fill the small room you were in. The Mand’alor would stand quietly as you explained what you were doing and what all the numbers and coordinates meant. You appreciated that he listened, and sometimes even proffered a question or two. Thinking about how he was a king sometimes made you stumble over your words, but he would set you back on track with a gentle but firm affirmation of your work.

You learned that he had been hiding that first day when you found him at your workstation. In an attempt to escape a gaggle of advisors and dignitaries, he had ducked into the alcove you had claimed as your own. You teased him gently, finding the whole idea of the legendary Mandalorian bounty hunter hiding from powdered politicians for a brief moment of silence endearing.

The man had also told you his real name – Din – one late evening. You were running out of ways to address him, and he could tell you were struggling with not calling him by a title. With the name, your friendship then began to grow even more familiar, and you felt a little special knowing something that most others were not privy to.

This particular day, you were compiling galactic coordinates when the stoic leader showed up at your doorway. You turned to greet him but paused as you noticed a small figure at his side, holding onto his leg. It looked to be a child, with wrinkly green skin, large ears, and wide, curious eyes. It looked up and around your room in awe, gaze following the holograms of stars as they floated serenely about the space.

“I thought you might like to meet the one you’re putting all this work in for,” Din said lightly, looking down at the figure at his feet. You smiled softly as you stood, hands clasped lightly behind your back.

“Hello,” you said politely, introducing yourself. The child blinked up at you, mouth opening in a small coo.

“This is Grogu,” Din translated, and at the mention of his name, the child looked up at the armored man. “My son.”

Your eyes widened, and you coughed lightly into your fist. “Your…son,” you repeated, almost as a question. Your mind raced, trying to correlate the appearance of the baby with the armored man in front of you. You knew Mandalorians didn’t all look humanoid, though all of those that you had met so far did. You had just assumed that the Mand’alor would be the same. You also had not heard that he was a father, or married, or whatever it was that Mandalorians did in that regard. Something in you twinged with what almost felt like jealousy – towards who or what, you could not place.

“Well,” you croaked out, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. “He is…quite adorable. Does he take after his mother?” You asked hopefully. That got a real laugh out of the man, and you flushed in response. You were just curious…

“No, no,” Din explained. “He’s a foundling. Like…adoption,” he clarified.

You flushed darker with the realization. Of course. Adoption. That made much more sense.

“Ah…well, I’m glad to meet you, Grogu,” you were eager to change the subject, and continued with the conversation. “Is there anything, in particular, you’d like to see?”

Din stooped to pick up the child and held him at his side. “He doesn’t speak,” the man explained, stepping further inside the room. “But he understands. I was hoping you could show him your progress so far. I think he would like that.”

Nodding, you passed them a small grin and turned to adjust your hologram. Explaining coordinates and charts was not easy for the average adult to understand, not to mention a little child. A visual representation would be better.

The three of you stood under the moving lights of the hologram as you explained as simply as you could what you had discovered so far. When Grogu reached his hands out towards the spinning planets, you zoomed in to allow him to play with the lights, a delighted grin on his little face. You entertained him by fast-forwarding through supernovae and asteroid impacts, showering the room in bursts of light that reflected like fireworks in his dark eyes.

You finished up, now talking more to his father than him as you broke down what point you were at in your findings. You were not near any kind of solid conclusion yet, but you were further along than he had ever gotten, and you preened inwardly as he told you so.

“Thank you for showing him,” Din spoke. Grogu looked from his father’s helmeted face to yours and stretched out a little green hand.

“Of course,” you responded, extending your hand to meet the childs. He grasped your fingers and cooed again. Your body was suddenly filled with a brief but overwhelming sense of wonderment and admiration that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up, but as soon as he let go of you it faded. You gaped as the Mandalorian bid you farewell and watched as he marched out of the room, his little green child peering back at you over his father’s shoulder.

The months passed without much incident. You continued your research, sometimes joined by the Mand’alor and his son, but mostly on your own. You were absorbed in your work, finding yourself wanting a reason for the man to come and see what you had discovered. The days you had a lot to show him were the days he spent the most time with you, and so you worked hard to have something worthwhile to present.

The weather began to grow colder, and the Mandalorians began to prepare for some kind of celebration. It was based on a tradition of old, something to do with saying farewell to the warm autumn months and welcoming in the bitter bite of winter. It was the first time the nomadic people would have the chance to celebrate in a central location before the purge, and so the palace was alight with preparation and excitement.

You yawned, leaning back in your chair and looking up at the ceiling. The celebration itself culminated in a grand feast later that night, to be held in the throne room. All the foreign delegations were invited as well, and you were more than happy to mingle quietly while eating all of the delicious food you had smelled being prepared for the last couple of days.

Rubbing your eyes, you stood. A break from your work would do you good, you decided. A nice evening, a few drinks, and then you could start again the next day feeling refreshed.

A few hours later, you found yourself in the grand central throne room, surrounded by many other excited, chatting people. Dressed simply in traditional Naboo formalwear, you sipped on a pleasantly sweet cocktail and munched on the plentiful hors d’ouevres. The feast was set to begin shortly with the arrival of the Mand’alor and his retinue, so you began to make your way toward the long table reserved for the Naboo delegation.

A soft touch on your shoulder made you turn, and you saw the same guard that had escorted you to Din months earlier. “My lady,” the guard said quietly, and you blinked at the honorific. “The Mand’alor wishes to invite you to his table for the feast, in a show of thanks for your assistance.” You blinked again, not sure what to say in response. You glanced up at the main table in the front of the room, where it was set up on the dais. It was very central, you noticed. Your heart fluttered anxiously.

“I…would be delighted,” you squeaked out, and the guard nodded. He stepped aside and gestured for you to move towards the dais as the sound of horns signaled the rest of the guests to make their way to their seats.

Ahead of you, the Din and his advisors – and Grogu, you saw – were settling in at the royal table. Din was dressed more resplendently than you had ever seen him before. His armor shone, and his clothing underneath was dyed a rich series of earthy browns, reds, and greens. His helmet was adorned by what looked like a crown of beskar, shaped like the horns of some great beast. A heavy cloak sat on his shoulders, lined with plush, cream fur. All in all, it was stunning and took your breath away. In comparison, you felt severely underdressed, especially now that you would be joining him in front of the hundreds of others in attendance.

Expecting to be seated at the very end of the long table, your head swam as you were instead led directly to the center of the table where Din was sitting. A chair to his left was open, and the guard pulled it out for you, clearly indicating that you were to sit there.

You sat stiffly, avoiding the looks of your delegation below – especially the icy gaze of the head ambassador. Instead, you focused on the table, looking at the impressive spread of delicacies laid out before you.

“Are you all right?” A low voice asked from your side. You glanced over at Din, who sat more relaxed in his lavish wear. On his other side, Grogu babbled and reached his hands out toward the steaming dishes in front of him.

Clearing your throat, you nodded shortly. “Yes,” you ventured. “I was just not expecting to sit here. In the middle. With you.”

Din reached a hand over subtly and laid it over your own. “It’s the least I can do, to repay you for everything you’ve done so far,” he explained. “And it’s my table. I can sit next to whomever I want.”

You let out a small laugh at the sarcastic tone in his voice. During your time on Mandalore, you had come to understand the mysterious leader and the events that led to him being here a bit more. He was the very definition of a reluctant leader, uncomfortable with titles and more concerned with helping others than putting himself above them. He had a reputation for being firm, but kind. Strong, yet gentle where it mattered. His actions had endeared many to his service, pledging their bodies and weapons to his cause, and he took that very seriously. You got the feeling that deep down he was just as uncomfortable as you, sitting there as the center of attention, and that made you feel marginally better.

The feast began with a short tale from a Mandalorian elder, detailing the history behind the festivities. You tried to listen but found yourself distracted by Din’s hand remaining on your own. The warm, heavy weight of his hand dwarfed yours, and your appetite was forgotten as his thumb brushed gently against your skin.

As the evening went on, you sipped slowly from your glass and made small conversations with those around you. The Mand’alor greeted the various guests who came up to the table to introduce themselves and share their gratitude for the invitation. Grogu had moved from his seat to his father’s lap, and you watched in amusement and amazement at how much food he managed to consume.

Soon it was the Naboo’s turn to approach the table, and you avoided looking directly at the ambassador as he swished up towards the dais. He made some grand, pompous statements about how the Naboo valued their relationship with Mandalore before he turned awkwardly towards you.

“You honor us by inviting one of our delegation to your table, your highness,” the ambassador bit out. “I hope the girl is representing our people appropriately.” You frowned into your drink as you swallowed. The man was obviously put off by the fact that it was you at the Mand’alor’s side, and not one of the ambassadorial staff. His gaze felt like it was probing every inch of your skin, commanding you to explain yourself. Who did you think you were?

“The honor is mine,” Din replied smoothly, “to have the privilege of working with such an intelligent and determined woman. Her contributions to a personal project of mine cannot be overstated.” He turned so that his helmet faced you, and you looked back at him as your heart swelled. “The Naboo are blessed to have someone such as her to represent them.”

To have the leader of Mandalore drop the kindest words anyone had ever said about you so firmly in front of the now-flustered ambassador made feelings you didn’t have names for blossom from your head to your toes. You had no words and just looked back at the man who had still not removed his hand from yours. You hoped your gaze said what your voice could not.

The ambassador said a polite but curt farewell, and you blinked back tears as the feast continued.

As the festivities died down, you looked around the slowly emptying room. Most of the guests had begun to leave, either to go sleep off the copious amounts of food and liquor they had consumed or to continue the celebrations elsewhere with even more food and liquor. You were contemplating getting up and heading to your sleeping quarters when Din turned towards you.

“I should get him to bed,” he said softly, and you looked down to his lap where Grogu was curled up in his arms. “Will you walk with me?”

You nodded, rising as he did, following at his side as the two of you left the throne room. The hallways were fairly quiet and lit by shining lunar light that filtered in through great windows and open arches. The cool air was refreshing after the time spent in the throne room, and you found yourself thinking that the palace was becoming a beautiful place after all.

“Thank you,” you said as you walked. Din inclined his head towards you, his arms cradling his softly snoring son. “Those were the kindest things anyone has ever said about me.”

“I meant them,” came his reply, and you felt your cheeks warm. You wondered if you should compliment him in turn, spill out all the lovely things about him that made you feel dizzy and grounded all at once. All of it got caught in your throat all at once, and you settled for comfortable silence as you continued towards his chambers.

The journey ended all too soon, an abrupt stop outside heavy doors. You stood back as Din pushed the door open slowly, trying not to jostle the child too much. He turned to look back at you, silhouetted by warm lamplight from inside his chambers.

You suddenly felt incredibly overwhelmed by all the events leading up to this very moment. You thought back to the ambassador’s icy stare. Who did you think you were? You were a scholar from Naboo. No one special. Not part of any aristocratic or royal family. You were only added to the delegation because no one else in your department was willing to go. Who were you, to work with the leader of Mandalore? To sit next to him in front of his entire court, to have him touch your hand so softly?

Who were you to hope that he’d invite you inside his rooms?

“Let me put him down, and I can escort you back-“

“No need,” you interrupted him. “I’ll make it back all right. Thank you for offering, though.”

He paused like he wanted to argue it with you, but you were already backing away. “All right,” he said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight!” Your replied voice pitched too high in an attempt to drown out the other emotions threatening to bubble up and out of your chest. You quickly turned and trotted away, trying to ignore how long it took to hear the sound of his door closing.

Din gently set Grogu down in his cradle, tucking him into the soft blankets. All of the excitement from the evening had done a good job of tiring him out, and he let out a soft snore as he snuggled into the bedding. Pulling off his helmet, Din placed it on his bed, rubbing a hand over his tired face. He sat next to it, slouched over, hands clasped in front of him.

He thought about you.

The way the corner of your mouth would lift a nanosecond before you broke out into a full smile. The way your eyes crinkled with humor at his dry wit. The way you’d focus on your work, chewing on your lip as you unraveled whatever problem currently blocking your way forward.

Sighing, Din pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling foolish. Had he embarrassed you? He had been caught up in the evening, seeing you step hesitantly up the dais to sit next to him, and he had felt his pulse in his throat. Everything he said about you was true, and he’d say it over and over just to see you look at him like you had earlier – but had it been fair to all but force you to sit there next to him? Your idiotic ambassador had made his displeasure all too clear, and he wondered if it would only make things worse if he were to ensure you would not face repercussions for his inability to hide his affection for you.

He had almost invited you into his chambers. It was on the tip of his tongue, and then he had seen the hesitancy in your expression. Had he just imagined the way you had been looking at him recently? The thinly veiled desire? Perhaps he was just seeing the reflection of his thoughts in your eyes. His heart felt like lead.

I am a fool, Din chastised himself. He had become too complacent, too comfortable with structure, with domesticity. Who was he to imagine – to hope, even – that you’d come to feel the same desire he held for you?

You did not see Din for several days after the feast. Partly because you had taken a day to sleep off a heartbreak-fueled hangover, and partly because you were avoiding an uncomfortable confrontation.

After another night of laying restlessly in your bed, you decided to do something to try to clear your head. You had set up a small observatory on the shattered roof of one of the outer buildings, far enough away from the lights of the palace that you could use your telescope. It wasn’t very powerful, but it was light enough for you to pack with you, and looking up at the stars always made you feel better.

Bundling up in a cloak and scarf, you made your way outside. The night air was crisp, the snap of winter on its way. The skies were clear, and the moon was not too bright. Ideal conditions for some light stargazing.

There, he found you, bent over the eyepiece of your telescope. You heard him approaching, the crunch of rubble under his heavy boots. He could move silently if he wished, so you knew he was warning you of his arrival through the soft noise.

He came to stand at your side, hovering, just like the first time you had met him. Not hiding this time, though.

You focused your scope on a nearby planet, looking at its moon. Just one, tidally locked, eternally orbiting for the next however many billions of years until it drifted off or crashed into the surface of the body it was bound to.

The two of you stayed like that, the silence only broken by the occasional sound of a soft breeze. You wondered if you should say something, or if this was the mark of a reset to whatever your fragile relationship was. You could continue to orbit around this, around him, until you drifted away – or you could crash straight into it.

“The galaxy is full of patterns,” you finally broke, and the words started to pour out of you. Din stayed silent, listening intently.

“Doesn’t matter the scale. If you know where to look, and how to look for it, eventually you’ll see the patterns start to emerge. You can track them.” You straightened and looked up towards the sky. Din followed your gaze, the two of you looking up at the twinkling lights in the darkness.

“That’s what I do,” you continued. “It’s like following a trail backward. You start where something is and figure out where it used to be. And the patterns stay. They don’t just appear out of nowhere.”

Tearing your gaze away from the sky, you looked up at Din. He, in turn, looked down at you. Even in the low light, his armor shone like a beacon.

“That sounds comforting,” Din spoke after a moment. “Knowing that some things stay the same.”

“I like the eventuality of it,” you agreed. “It makes life feel less…chaotic. It makes some things feel more meaningful.”

“What kinds of things?” He asked quietly. You gave him a sad, soft smile.

“Discovering new places. Meeting new people,” you explained. “Going to a new market and trying a different version of a meal you grew up eating. The feeling of the different flavors and textures mingling with those you are familiar with reminds you that maybe we’re all not as different as we think we are. That in the end, we all come from the same primordial dust, and it’s back to that dust we’ll eventually return.”

“You should have been a poet instead of an astronomer,” Din breathed out, and you could hear the smile in the way he spoke. You smiled in return.

“Some philosophers believe that mathematical relationships have tones of energy,” you mused. “All connected by patterns of proportions. Music that isn’t audible, but that you feel in your soul.”

“So the galaxy is singing,” Din finished, and you let out a small laugh.

“Now who’s the poet?” You teased.

Din huffed in amusement and reached out a gloved hand. You placed your own in his, the weight of it familiar.

“I am sorry for the other night,” he said quietly, stroking the skin gently near your thumb. You accepted the apology with a soft gaze, not knowing how to respond, and afraid of what he might say next.

“But…I’m also not sorry,” he continued. You felt him squeeze your hand.

“I’m not sorry for thinking you’re beautiful,” he pulled you closer, taking your other hand in his, and cupping them against your two bodies. “Or for wanting to kiss you.”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. The space between the two of you was narrowing by the second. Instead of drifting off, you were dangerously close to colliding with the king of Mandalore, orbits intertwining.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, sounding as breathless as you felt.

“Please,” you choked out. A flash of silver, as his helmet was lifted off his head, and you barely caught a glimpse of tanned skin and deep, brown eyes before his lips were on yours.

It was gentle at first, almost chaste, but he quickly deepened it with his hand softly cupping your chin. His other arm went to wrap around your waist, pulling you up and into him, and you sighed into it.

The two of you broke apart just enough for your eyes to finally meet. Deep, soulful eyes drank you in, and you brought a hand up to cup his cheek and gently run your thumb over his plush lower lip.

“Wh-what else aren’t you sorry for?” You asked, and his lips turned up into a smile. He took your hand, placing a soft kiss against your palm.

“Let me show you.”

His chambers were warm, his bed even more so. His skin, bare against yours, was practically fire.

The two of you fell into each other easily, pushing and pulling like the tides. His hands cupped your face and then moved down to spread open your thighs so he can taste you between them.

You grasp his hair in your hands – soft, brown curls – and shudder at the feeling of his scruff on the inside of your thigh. If you were more coherent, you’d laugh at knowing it was the Mand’alor you had between your legs, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

He took there and then over, and then did it again until you were limp-legged and breathless. Slinking his way back up your body, Din pressed his torso to yours and captured your mouth in another desperate kiss.

“You are so beautiful,” he muttered lowly, and you gazed up at him, vision blurry in your ecstasy. You cup his face, steadying his breath against you.

“I need you in me,” you plead, and Din closes his eyes with a groan.

“Maker,” he breathes. “The things you do to me.” You feel him take himself in his fist, lining up with your soaked cunt. You arch your back as he pushes in, keening at the stretch. He had prepared you well, but the size of him still took some effort to take.

Hunched over your body, he rolls his hips up into you, hands braced on either side of your head. You hook your legs over his hips, trying to keep him as close as you can, all the way to the base. His pace is steady but unforgiving, demanding what you were all too willing to give.

The feeling of his cock filling you so sweetly has you coming undone again, writhing underneath his broad torso. He rides you through it, eyes fixed on your mouth, your breasts, and down to where your bodies are combined.

“So fucking wet,” Din growls, pace quickening as he chases his own release. You clench around him at those words, and he lets out a wrecked groan. “I knew you’d take me so fucking well, beautiful girl-“

“So good,” you gasp out, and his forehead comes down to rest on yours.

“I know,” he rambles, feeding you the thick of him, all the way to the root. A few purposeful thrusts later, you feel him throb inside of you seconds before he groans out your name into your neck as he cums.

His hips are locked to yours, and he ruts up into you – not pulling out, but pushing his seed up against the seal of your womb. Your hands come down to grasp at his waist, nails leaving small crescent moons at the skin there. He shudders against you, overstimulated, chest heaving from exertion. Looking up from your neck, Din, slots his mouth messily over yours once more, finally allowing his full weight to fall between your thighs.

You stay like that for uncounted breathless moments, both of your bodies recovering from the experience of finally, finally joining together. Eventually, your bodies settle so that Din is on his back, and your head rests on his shoulder.

“He’s going to be so mad,” you joke quietly, and Din hums in response.

“Who?”

“The ambassador,” you laugh, and he groans.

“Please don’t talk about him while you’re in my bed,” Din pleads, and you laugh again.

“Who knows how many treaties and policies I’ve broken,” you murmur, lips pressed against his warm skin. You dart your tongue out to taste the salt of him, and he shivers.

“Well,” he says, pulling you up so that he can place sweet, soft kisses on the side of your lips. “As Mand’alor, I can think of how you can fix them.”

You smile against his mouth. “What does the king ask of me?”

He tightens his grip on your waist.

“All I ask is all of you, forever.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian #din djarin #mando x reader #reader insert

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beezusvreeland · 5 months

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dear reader - chapter 8

summary: Miguel took the reader’s love and friendship for granted. Something he learns reading her column, when it’s too late…Or is it?

ship: miguel o'hara x f!reader // matt murdock x reader

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 8

Miguel tried to make as little noise as possible while he moved through the kitchen trying to figure out what to cook for dinner. You were asleep on the couch, mouth slightly opened and body curled to the side. Before getting up from the floor, Miguel spent a few minutes observing your sleepy figure breathing in and out. He was mesmerized by how relaxed you looked. It was so rare to see you like this. Always the one taking care of everything and everyone, including him. How was Miguel realizing that just now? The two of you had been friends for so long.

In fact, your restlessness had been something Miguel and the boys regularly used to tease and poke fun at you. “Just relax, darling”, Hobie would say, and they would go on insinuating that having a more active sex life could make things better for you. You would roll your eyes at them and say: “I’m not taking advice from a bunch of manwhores. Except you, Pav, you are a gentleman”.

Sometimes Miguel would keep at it, just to see how far he could go, what it would take for you to break. He didn’t mean any harm by it, he just got a kick out of watching you, always so proper and poised, losing your composure. Your cheeks turning red, lips pouting and your speech getting faster and confusing the more bothered you felt. It was funny then.

But things have changed since Miguel started reading your column. Or rather, his perception of you. There was so much more to you. It was fascinating to learn more about the way you saw the world, with so many nuances and big feelings and the way you were able to express it through your writing. How could one be so sensitive and articulate at the same time? If the therapy sessions with doctor Octavius taught him anything, it was the fact that discussing feelings and analyzing his own memories and actions was extremely hard. Probably one of the hardest things Miguel has ever done.

In his science and objectivity brain, he thought therapy would be like any other doctor’s appointment: get in, talk about what’s wrong, get a prescription and get out. Doctor Octavius very patiently explained that his practice worked with a different approach.

“Our process isn’t fast or linear. I can’t tell you how long it will take, it’s different for each patient. Some people come in for a few sessions and feel like that’s enough, others have been in therapy for their entire lives”, the doctor explained. “What I can tell you with certainty is that this is a safe space for you to express yourself. It’s an hour of the week all to yourself, without phones, notifications or other people’s demands. And you are free to leave and never come back if you feel that this method doesn’t make sense to you. But I hope you at least give our dynamic a chance.”

He did. There were only a handful of people in his life that he actually liked and doctor Octavius was becoming one of them. Also, Miguel didn’t have any more energy to try and find someone new. That’s why Lyla would work with him for the rest of his life, if it was up to him. She just got it. And he really appreciated that.

For the first time in his life, he was revisiting his childhood. Miguel and his younger brother, Gabriel, were raised by a single mother who overworked herself to get food on the table. There wasn’t time to discuss emotions, anything other than survival felt trivial. She did the best she could, he knew that now. But when he won his first science fair, in second grade, the young boy became addicted to the attention and praise he got from classmates and adults. Over the years, Miguel realized that if he kept focused on school, winning scholarship after scholarship, things would be better, there were so many other opportunities out there.

And he got them, while distancing himself from his origins, reinventing himself. Now that he achieved the things he wanted the most, like the cars, the house in an expensive neighborhood and the big office with a leather couch, it all just felt…empty.

“Miguel?”

You enter the kitchen with a yawn, scratching your eyes. The power was still out and the house was poorly lit by the moon and a big flashlight Miguel found in his basement.

“Gosh, that was one hell of a nap”, you stretched your arms up. “It might enter my top 3 list of best naps I’ve ever had.”

“I can tell by the drool on your mouth.”

Your hand immediately went to your mouth. There was nothing there.

“Ha-ha.”

“That was too easy”, Miguel grinned, pleased with how rested you looked and that this interaction felt more like the ones the two of you used to have. It was familiar, comforting even. Like the scent of the vanilla soap his mom used to wear or the two friendly slaps Hobie would give his back every time they met.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile.

“What are we having for dinner?”

“Cheese, bread and olives”, he said. “Don’t look at me like that, without electricity the options were very limited.”

“I’m honestly shocked that you actually eat bread and cheese. Doesn’t that offend your gym diet or whatever?”

“We all have guilty pleasures, cariño, mine happen to be carbs and Gossip Girl.”

Your lack of response alerted Miguel of what he had just said. Nobody knew about his recent obsession with the show beyond Lyla. What if you somehow connected the dots that he started watching it after reading your column? What if you actually found out he read your column? He wasn’t supposed to know that you were the one behind “Dear reader”.

“Wait, what?”, a smile took over your face. “Did I just hear it right?”

His body relaxed with your amusement. Maybe it would be better for him just to admit and run with it.

“I hate Serena van der Woodsen”, Miguel declared.

“I don’t even know how to react to this revelation”, you leaned on the counter for support, expression still stunned and amused. “How did this even happen?”

“She slept with her best friend’s boyfriend, disappeared, then came back like nothing happened, always runs away from conflict and every single time she speaks like talking to other people was exhausting and…”

“Okay, obviously there is a lot to unpack here”, you grabbed the cheeseboard on top of the counter and gave it to Miguel, who started to cut the cheese. “How do you even know what Gossip Girl is?”

He freezed for a second.

“Did Lyla put you to it?”, you chuckled. “What can’t she do?”

“Sí…it was Lyla. I lost a bet”, it was the best he could come up with at that moment.

You nodded, smirking.

“So you hate Serena, huh? Who else do you hate?”

Miguel put the knife on the sink and turned to you.

“Who don’t I hate? They’re terrible, all of them, Chuck, Dan, Vanessa, the parents…”

You laughed, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“That’s what makes them so entertaining, isn’t it?”

“Mmm, you got a point, cariño”, he stopped for a moment and added: “I do like Dorota, though”.

“Blair’s maid?”

“She is not just a maid, she is basically a mother figure for Blair.”

“Dorota is also in most of Blair’s schemes…”

“Nuh-uh, cariño. Most times she tries to put some sense in that girl’s head.”

You frowned your brows, smiling.

“I can’t believe this is a conversation we’re actually having. When did you go soft, mr. O’Hara?”

“I’m not soft.”

“Uh, yes you are. You’re a big soft softie, defending characters of a TV show made for teens that ended a decade ago”, you mocked.

Miguel gave you a serious look. “Don’t you dare tell anyone.”

“Your secret is safe with me, my friend”, you pretended to lock your mouth with an imaginary key.

Opening it again with the same imaginary key, you added: “But in case I’m ever offered a lot of money to sell any of your secrets to a corporate spy, this is the one I’m going to choose”.

“I forgot you started hallucinating when you get hungry, cariño.”

“Just think about it, they’ll think they’re stealing sensitive data from your research at Alchemax, but it’s actually just a sheet ranking the Gossip Girl characters you hate from most to least hated.”

“Why can’t you just be angry when hungry like most people?”

“It’s a brilliant plan, you’ll be thanking me someday. Hopefully at the IgNobel ceremony. You’ll have to take me to that, by the way.”

“You know it’s the Nobel prize, right?”

“Yes yes, I’m not stupid, I’m just hungry”, you give his shoulder a playful slap. “The IgNobel is another science award, but for more…unusual findings. Studies about the brain chemistry of people who see Jesus on toasts or a theory that humans developed beards to protect themselves from getting punched on the face?

“Cariño, Jesus…”

“Do you see him on toast too?”

“Enough weird science, let’s eat.”

“I’ll send you the link, it happens every year and it’s actually really funny. I’m sure Alchemax could send some stuff for consideration.”

Miguel actually laughs at that. He pretended to hate your energy bursts, but he loved it. You were a sweet drunk and a funny hungry person.

“You know what? I might actually look into it.”

Miguel brought the cheeseboard to the living room and opened a red wine that, judging by the label, was probably very expensive. You sat on the floor and toasted, then started eating.

It felt nice. Just to be there eating good food with you and enjoying a comfortable silence. And you looked so pretty with your new haircut and eyes closed while savoring the meal…

A loud sound made the two of you jump. An electronic song started playing from somewhere in the room.

“Shit, it’s my phone”, you got up to find it in your purse.

When you did, you looked at the screen and smiled.

“I have to take this, I’ll be right back”, you said, going to the next room.

The little bubble you lived in for a few hours burst. Miguel thought it was a little weird, you had a tendency to forget your phone completely while spending quality time with your friends. Maybe it was a work thing or your family checking in with you after the storm.

It had been a few minutes since you left when he started to feel uneasy. He got his phone from his pocket. A few texts in the friends’ group chat and one from Lyla:

ARE YOU ALIVE??????!

Sí, he answered, knowing that she hated monosyllabic answers.

But it had been ten minutes then and he had reorganized the cheese on the board, drank more wine and stretched his body and you still hadn’t come back.

I’m at my place with y/n.

I KNEW IT, SHE IS THE ONE YOU’VE BEEN PINING FOR!!! AAAA

No, just friends

OH, PLEASE, MIGUEL, IF I WERE STUPID YOU WOULDN’T HAVE HIRED ME

Qué

UGH REALLY?

PENDEJO

Don’t use my language against me

OH I WILL IF THAT’S WHAT MAKES YOU LISTEN TO REASON

…

YOU CAN’T JUST THROW THE INFO THAT YOU’RE TOGETHER AND LEAVE ME HERE

Just friends

UGH

IS SHE NEXT TO YOU RIGHT NOW?

No, she’s been on the phone

It’s been almost 15 minutes now

SHIT

What’s that supposed to mean?

???

Lyla???

????????

Damn it, Lyla!!!!

SHE PROBABLY HAS A BOYFRIEND AND I’M GUESSING IT ISN’T YOU

Nonsense

FOR THE FIRST TIME YOU’LL HAVE TO WORK FOR IT

IN THE DATING DEPARTMENT

…

KEEP ME INFORMED

***

Dear reader,

Intimacy can mean different things for each person. It’s something that, as women, we start building with one another since childhood. We all remember our very best friends, who we shared moments and secrets that we remember to this day. Or that one girl in middle school that we were friends with for only a few months that might as well have been years, because it caused a huge impact on us. They taught me how to be vulnerable and resilient. In many ways, those friendships were my first loves.

Recently, my editor sent me an infographic with data about you, dear readers. Nothing creepy, just things like age range and general location, you know, information every website collects. I must say, I was surprised to find that 30% of you identify as male. It didn't occur to me that this space would be of interest to you, but I’m glad it is.

Talking about intimacy reminds me of this one guy I was friendly with in college. We met in a class we had together and started talking, which evolved to texting. Our conversations revolved around homework and a sitcom we both watched. To me, it wasn’t something too deep. But to him, it was. He would bring that show up all the time, as if by itself, our one shared interest made us closer than we actually were. Like that was enough for me to fall for him, when he was actually being sort of annoying and creeping me out.

It never occurred to him to ask questions about me or my other interests. It was all about him and his perception, which was more of a fantasy than anything. No wonder so many women are frustrated in their relationships with men: they can’t match the intimacy we’ve built with each other.

However, things have been changing and women are no longer accepting to be alone in their relationships. I know I’m not. So male readers, if you take anything from this column, I hope it is this: open yourselves up, look beyond yourselves and catch up. We’ve been doing the hard work for a very long time.

That’s it for today. Next week, I’ll be answering a few of your questions, make sure to write to me in the box below. The authors shall remain anonymous and, the hate mail, ignored.

Until then, never take advice from someone who’s falling apart.

Love,

The writer

***

You came back to the living room to find Miguel playing a game on his phone. He didn’t look up to you.

“Sorry I took so long, I lost track of time”, you said sitting back on the floor and taking a sip of your glass of wine.

“It’s alright”, Miguel put his phone away. “Was it work?”

“No”, you giggled. “It was Matt, he was checking if was okay after the storm.”

“Matt?”

Miguel had a confused expression on his face, which, by experience, you knew to be fake. He had been there when Foggy talked about your first date with Matt. Why he was pretending like he didn’t know, you had no idea.

“This guy I’m seeing. You know, Foggy’s friend? The lawyer?”

“Ah, right.”

“Things have been going really well.”

Miguel didn’t say a thing, filling his mouth with cheese instead.

“He asked me to go to this fancy auction gala with him as his date. I’m excited for it.”

“Sounds like a swell guy.”

“He is.”

“A lawyer, huh? Which firm does he work in?”

“He has his own, actually.”

“Mmm.”

“Mig, what’s going on?”

“What? Nothing, I’m just eating.”

“You looked less than impressed with what I just told you.”

“How was I supposed to react, cariño?”, he sounded annoyed. As much as you told yourself that you were over him, his tone took you back to the worst days of your infatuation with him, when no matter how much you tried to impress him, he would always end up taking somebody else home.

But the thing is, you were no longer that girl. No matter how hurt you were or how much you liked Miguel, you weren’t taking shit from anyone anymore.

“You were supposed to be happy for me.”

Your delivery was calm and serious, which you could see threw Miguel off. “I have an actual shot at love and someone great who’s willing to give it to me. This never happened to me before. I never felt worthy of it”, you took a deep breath. “Why can’t you root for me like I’ve always rooted for you?”

Looking at Miguel, you didn’t find the big hot shot scientist, but rather just a guy who had no idea of what he was doing.

You got up and went to the bathroom, well aware that you couldn’t be there with him anymore. You couldn’t go backwards and fall apart when Miguel didn’t think highly of you. No matter how much you tried, it just wasn’t going to happen.

You washed your face and threw some water on your neck to relieve some of the tension. When you opened the door, Miguel was waiting for you.

“Miguel…”

“I know, I know, cariño, please, just listen to me?”, he asked and you rolled your eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry. Of course I’m rooting for you…I guess I’m just protective of you and you haven’t had many boyfriends, so we never really had to go through this…What I’m saying is, I don’t know the guy, so I was suspicious and I shouldn’t be.”

“I’m a big girl, Miguel. I can handle myself”, sensing he was going to interrupt, you continue. “I appreciate your concern, but you can’t use that tone with me ever again. Do you understand?”

“Sí, cariño, lo siento”, he nodded.

[yes, honey, I’m sorry]

“And if not knowing Matt bothers you so much, I’ll bring him to the bar one of these days and introduce you two.”

“Of course.”

You were emotionally drained. It was like having to explain very basic notions regarding people’s feelings to a big man child. In spite of it, you were proud of yourself for standing your ground and demanding the level of care and respect you deserved. A few months ago that would’ve been impossible.

“Cariño”, Miguel called, his big brown eyes filled with regret. “I just wanted to tell you I…”

He was interrupted by a loud noise, followed by people cheering on the street. The lights were back on.

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<< chapter 7

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#dear reader #dear reader fanfic #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #spiderverse #gwen stacy #peter b. parker #friends to lovers #oscar isaac fic #Spotify

75 notes · View notes

physalian · 8 days

Text

Villain Power Scaling (It's over 9000!)

@sarah-sandwich ask and you shall receive

Quick! We wrote an insanely, unexpectedly successful one-off fantasy series! How do we top the villain?

A bigger, badder giant space laser

The villain’s secret jealous sister

The same power, but purple now

The True Mastermind you’ve never heard of

JK, they’re not actually dead!

When you choose to continue on a series and have already committed to possibly destroying the legacy of the characters who fought and died to save the world once by undoing it for money, you had better have a damn good story to tell.

So if you decide your new threat is any of the above, you have quite the uphill battle ahead of you, my friend.

What is Power Scaling?

Power scaling is the nature of the ability of the heroes and the villains to grow more competent over the course of the story via new skills, new powers, or more training. Protagonist’s first fight (that they win, at least) will generally be against a baby, tier-one mook and not up against the main antagonist (*cough* Force Awakens *cough*)

As the story progresses, the mook that was so scary and so hard to beat oh so very long ago will become unnamed cannon fodder in the climax of the story. Generally speaking, this is a linear event and the hero and the villain are constantly one-upping each other until they come head to head in the unavoidable final fight.

Sometimes, things run askew. Maybe the hero’s super special power that saved them last time was a fluke, possible only in those specific circumstances, or one-time use.

Maybe they have amnesia, or the being that gave them that power revoked it, or using it cost them too much. Maybe they got seriously injured in the last fight using it and can no longer go near it if they want to not get hospitalized. Maybe the super power was another character that won the final fight for them last time, but died in the process.

It doesn’t have to be linear, but if you’re going to regress your character without creating a “why didn’t you do what you did last time” plot hole, you will need an ironclad excuse.

So, feast your eyes while I summon the Supernatural fandom back from the dead.

What not to do, as told by Supernatural

This show was originally written to last five seasons and five seasons only. No matter how die hard a fan you are or were, you cannot escape this fact, and neither could the writers.

Season one villain: A demon and her demonic minions

Season two villain: Psychic demon children and Papa Demon Yellow-Eyes

Season three villain: OG Demon Lilith, and Dean’s ticking demon-deal clock

Season four villain: OG Demon Lilith and preventing the rise of Satan

Season five villain: Satan and some douchebag Angels

Then you have Ten. More. Seasons. trying to do better than Satan and the douchebag angels to… varying levels of success and stupidity.

The problem: Supernatural tried to be linear with their power scaling, focusing on ramping up the threat level to nonsensical ends while undermining the threat level of all who came before.

The other problem: Sam, Dean, and Cas never stayed dead long enough for any of these threats to matter.

What I mean is this: In making the threat of the season so impossibly strong, by threatening the world over and over again no matter how many times they save it, by never committing to killing your three most important characters, by never letting the world go a little unsaved in the end, you’re left with a story that *says* it’s bigger, badder, bolder, but is really just a rinse and repeat that goes blander and blander each time.

Coming off Satan and the Douchebag Angels to… Cas and Crowley conspiring over the souls of Purgatory and the unseen war in Heaven because they didn’t have the budget for that, without any of the thematic weight of *why* it was angels and demons? Talk about a loss of momentum.

I rewatch a grand total of one episode of season six, “The French Mistake”. I have lost all context for the plot surrounding this episode and it’s virtually independent of the rest of the season because Sam and Dean get transported into the Real World as Jensen and Jared and poke fun at each other for 52 minutes. This episode is timeless.

The show wasn’t a complete disappointment for the remaining ten seasons or it wouldn’t have lasted that long. It had good beats, but they shot their load in Season Five. After five whole years of buildup to this main event it never recovered.

Alternatives to Linear Power Scaling

Anyone who has or even hasn’t seen Dragon Ball should know that series is famous for infinite power scaling. There’s always someone stronger, always some new secret powerup to unlock with the power of Screaming, always some new Super Sayan color that we promise is more powerful this time, for realsies.

That show is so dedicated to the bit that it’s gone full circle to being loved, not despite it, but because it’s so ridiculous.

You did not write Dragon Ball. Do not do this.

Instead of the infamous clashing multicolored power beams, what other ways can you up the ante of this new threat after your heroes have conquered all they thought stood in their way?

Give a damn good reason why this villain, who is no different than the last schmuck, is unbeatable by the macguffin this time.

As stated above, there’s no need to make the villain More Powerful* if your heroes have lost the world-saving abilities that helped them last time.

Exploit the hero’s other weaknesses

More Powerful* is never as exciting as you think it is. Often times, especially in superhero sequels, the villain isn’t necessarily stronger, but the niche power that they do have finds the chink in the hero’s armor that they didn’t have to worry about last time.

Make the hero’s niche skillset completely irrelevant

This time, the threat might not be something they can punch or shoot or smack with a hammer. This time, it’s their reputation at stake, or the villain is un-punchable because they’re simply unreachable, causing havoc the hero is helpless to stop.

Make the issue not the villain at all, but the hero or their team

Maybe the villain is just a schmuck that would be beatable on any other day, but team infighting means that they make utter asses of themselves and the villain doesn’t have to lift a finger to win because they’ve taken themselves out.

This can get very dramatic like in Captain America: Civil War or the Teen Titans epside "Divide and Conquer". Or, to comedic effect in the Spongebob Episode "Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy V" (the one with the International Justice League of Super Acquaintances).

Some would argue that the above options aren’t power scaling at all if it’s not linear, and that’s fair. You’re telling a story though—is your story going to be about the superpowers and how cool they are, or the people who wield them?

3. It’s not actually power scaling, it’s about stakes

Supernatural began to feel so stale because even though we were told the villain this time was bigger, badder, bolder, the stakes were always the same. OSP has talked about this, how threatening to end the world has a foregone conclusion of “never actually gonna happen” because what author is crazy enough to let the world get blown up and all their characters murdered?

Raising the stakes, too, is not linear. Last time it was the world, this time, it’s the life of the love interest, it’s someone’s sanity, it’s a ticking clock on a secret that’s about to go public.

That’s why the first five seasons of Supernatural were so engaging. Were Demons the problem every time? Yes. The Demons were causing the problem, but they were causing five different problems. It was finding and saving their missing dad, then it was uncovering the sinister plan of the psychic demon children, then it was trying to escape Dean’s deal, then it was trying to stop the rise of Satan, then it was trying to stop the apocalypse. It was not five seasons of demons trying to destroy the world.

The more personal the stakes, the more likely your audience will believe the hero could actually lose this time. That’s what will keep them engaged. Dean died at the end of season 3! They lost! There was no escaping that deal. Sure he came back in the pilot of season 4, but the entire 4th and 5th seasons are haunted by Dean’s PTSD and new pessimism about the world given what he’s seen and done in Hell.

4. Threatening the world without destroying a legacy

Covered in this post about timeskips and this post about sequels but it’s too important to not keep repeating.

So. The Star Wars sequels. Rain down your wrath like snow on a hot desert—these movies were a giant mess. The audience sat through six entire movies following the rise, fall, and redemption of one man who died to save his son and the galaxy.

Then, what, twenty years later, absolutely none of it mattered? New space Nazis are out for blood with the same equipment, same weapons, same soldiers, same reach, same motives. Within the theatrical release (because I am not paying money to buy content to do homework to understand a movie made for a layman audience) these movies undermined the legacy of the six that came before it.

It didn’t have to be a new galaxy-ending regime and the same rebels still rebelling for the same reasons—how the heck did they let another empire rise so fast?—it could have started small, inconsequential, and then the actions of the new cast then undermined everything Anakin worked for.

I feel like Mr. Incredible wondering why the world can’t just stay saved for ten minutes.

All of this is salvageable. End the world again if you want. There will always be bad actors out to do bad things, you can’t expect a utopia to last forever. But that bleak reality is for the real world, not fantasy. In fantasy, the sacrifice of beloved characters must matter. Otherwise, what’s the point of their story?

How do you do this?

Make the utopia the old characters died for last up until the new inciting incident, and make sure it’s the new characters’ fault, not just due to the passage of time

Make the villain threaten something other than their legacy

Make that legacy the banner behind which the new cast rallies, determined to make sure it wasn’t in vain

5. Or, burn the world down this time

Some of the best middle beats of a story feature a “did we just lose” moment a la Infinity War. The villain has won, fan favorites are dead, their home is in ashes, and now they’re not only starting from the bottom, they’re doing it with righteous vengeance.

Then the loss of the original character’s legacy *is* the tragedy, instead of a side effect. Then, in a way, they’re still part of the story, a ghost on the sidelines cheering on their successors, and we, the audience, are right beside them.

—

I have a shiny, fresh-off-the-press Insta @chloe_barnes_books now for this blog and my upcoming novel. Go check it out!

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #fantasy #sci fi #heroes and villains #power scaling

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homuraakemis · 2 months

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Watching Dark reactions on Youtube really exemplifies why the characters in the show kept believing they could change things. The show keeps hammering again and again that everything is a loop, that everything is determined, that doing things in the past is not gonna change the future, because for the future to happen the way it did, those things had to have happened in the past. That in order for you to be in a position to go back in time to try changing this, the past had to have happened as it already has, because otherwise you wouldn't have gone back in time to try and change things in the first place. That even when you think you are outsmarting things, that you are doing things differently, it's always going to be what always happened. The show keeps telling us that time is not linear, that past, present and future happen all at the same time and are all fixed, that it's all a chain of cause and effect.

And yet the viewers in the reactions I'm watching, very much like the characters, keep believing that things are going to change, and keep getting confused when they don't change. Every time a character goes back in time, they keep worrying that there's going to be a butterfly effect, that the characters are changing things and when they return the future will be different, that the characters are going to start to disappear in the future, etc. They keep wondering why the characters don't just act in a different way, without realizing that their desires and motivations drive them to act that way, and that even if they acted in a different way, then that way would have been the way that it was always meant to happen. They keep thinking that this thing or that thing we are seeing are happening for the first time, that something "changed", that it wasn't like that "last time", or that maybe this character tried this before and didn't work so this cycle they are trying something different, not realizing that this is not how the loop works.

People keep mocking the characters in Dark for being stupid and not getting how the time travel works, but what I've been seeing from the reactions I'm watching is that most people really don't get it, the notions presented in the show are counterintuitive for a lot of them, especially if they are used to other time travel stories where things change when you do something in the past. If viewers who are constantly being given all this information (sometimes presented as very obvious exposition monologues) still manage not to get it, I really can't blame the characters for not realizing that everything is a loop, that they are just doing the same thing they've always done, especially considering that they don't have half the information that the viewers have, and the viewers still manage to get it wrong.

#dark netflix #my meta #my post.

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makethosenarratorsfight · 10 months

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UNRELIABLE NARRATORS; SIDE A

Lemony Snicket Propaganda:

(I would like to preface this by saying that Lemony Snicket is the author's pen name, not a real person, and he exists as a character in-universe as well as being the one in-universe who writes the books!) I'd say he's unreliable because he spent time collecting information about the Baudelaire kids and then... wrote books about it. He has no idea what any of their dialogue actually was, what they were thinking, or even the whole plot, he's just doing research into the incidents and then filling in the gaps to make it a story. What ACTUALLY happened to the Baudelaires? Nobody really knows for sure

While the Baudelaire siblings are in potentially life threatening danger, he will randomly start talking about his own life and just leave the siblings hanging. For example, once Count Olaf was threatening to kill Violet, and then Lemony randomly began talking about how he met the love of his life at a costume party. This man CANNOT stay on topic. Usually when a new character is introduced, Lemony tells us right at the start that they’re either going to die or that the Baudelaire siblings will never see them again. Foreshadowing is not subtle in these books. CONSTANTLY emphasizes how miserable he feels while writing these books. At one point he admits that he had to put his pencil down and go cry for a while because of how sad it made him. Once he filled an entire page with nothing but the word “ever” to emphasize how dangerous it is to put forks in electrical outlets. He also repeated a paragraph about deja vu later on in the book to give the reader deja vu.

Kuruto Ryuki Propaganda:

Okay this is HUGE spoilers for the game like HUGE HUGE spoilers so beware. Like, the whole game will be ruined for you kind of spoilers. He is one of 2 (technically 3 (again, spoilers)) narrators in the game. Not only are certain important events left out if his side of the narration, but also (again huge spoilers) events are not told in the correct order. Each day in the game alternates between things that happen before the timeskip, and things that happen after the 6 year timeskip. (The other narrator(s) also have this same thing but I’m submitting Ryuki specifically) playing the game in the order it’s presented to you and playing the game with the events in chronological order are practically 2 different experiences

Ryuki is an extremely mentally ill man, whose issues are front and center as the player's first point of view character. The main twist of the game relies upon exactly his unreliability as a narrator, given that what we assumed was a series of linear events were actually scenes plucked from the past and the present, six years from what we had originally been led to assume was current time, and the only reason we hadn't realized it before is because his mental issues make him slip into a delusional state in which he believes himself to be in the past, or rather, that the past is the present.

Frequently has hallucinations of the world glitching out, often causing him to lose long periods of time and obscuring what really happens from the player. These get worse over time, causing a key suspect to be unrecognizable, and the return of a supposedly dead character to look fake. The game's twist involves seemingly linear events actually happening out of order--his warped sense of time contributes to hiding this. Events he thinks happened yesterday may have been years ago.

Don't want to be too spoiler-y but he can't tell what time period he is in sometimes, making the audience think he is in one time period, when in actuality he is in another one. Either way his narration makes the narrative like 10x more confusing.

#lemon snicket #asoue #a series of unfortunate events #kuruto ryuki #ai the somnium files #ai nirvana initiative #ai the somniun files nirvana initiative #aitsf #aini #changed up his photo for formatting reasons #side a #unreliable narrator battle #unreliable narrators #polls

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gay-otlc · 8 months

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Not to jump on the discourse train but I've seen the "pathologizing vs humanizing your behavior" post, and takes about that post, a few too many times and now I have thoughts.

I'm aware that this is the hating nuance website, but please try to remember that nuance is a thing that exists. We don't only have the two options of "telling people you have symptom/disorder to avoid responsibility for your actions" or "never acknowledging your symptoms and pretending you function exactly the same as someone without your symptoms/disorder."

Saying "I have this symptom/disorder" isn't the same as believing your symptom or disorder is a free pass to act however you want. It means giving the people in your life a better understanding of the context for the way you act, and the way certain things are more difficult for you than they are for most people. It means you can work on managing your symptoms, but that's not an easy or linear process, so you're letting the people in your life know that you're trying and telling them how they can help support you.

The examples given in the original post are "Hey sorry I yelled at you. I have this ADHD symptom called RSD that makes me really sensitive," versus "Hey, I’m sorry that I blew up like that earlier. In the moment I felt really attacked and overwhelmed and I reacted badly, but I know you didn’t mean to offend me with what you said, so that behavior is on me."

And those things aren't at all mutually exclusive! It is, in fact, possible to say ""Hey, sorry I yelled at you. I have this ADHD symptom called RSD that makes me feel very attacked and overwhelmed sometimes, but I know you didn't mean to offend me with what you said and it was unfair for me to blow up at you."

You can humanize yourself and still acknowledge that you have a disorder, because disorders are part of the human reality.

#pathologizing vs humanizing #disk horse

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wttcsms · 2 months

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based off of this concept! this fic will feature (besides the obvious romance + smut all my ghost fics feature) a plot centered on dealing with grief, ptsd, his reluctant return to civilian life, a look into his friendship/bond with soap + more! a lot of deeper content and more plot heavy and ghost-centric than any of my other projects, but i am very happy to start working on this <3 the fic will span from his first meeting with you all the way to him starting a family with you, and how he still deals with his trauma and baggage from his time in the army + the effects it has. this fic is all about the healing journey & how it's not a linear progress; there will be days where you feel yourself getting better, and there will be incredibly hard days.

please enjoy this sneak peek of the opening scene & let me know your thoughts 🤍 very excited to give my cod girlies some content

“Tell me a joke,”

His words come out in pants — anxious, soft, desperate. There’s something in our brains that tells our bodies to hold on ‘til the end of the line. Ghost doesn’t want to tell him a joke. He wants to say keep holding on.

“C’mon, mate.” He’s trying to crack a smile, but his breathing is getting more erratic. Ghost looks into his eyes, sees that he’s pleading with him. Ghost’s hand is pressed against Soap’s, but there’s so much blood — just a gunshot, just a flesh wound, still too much fucking blood — that it’s hard to hang on. His hand almost slips a few times, but Ghost is nothing if not stubborn.

It’s important to keep pressure on the wound. He told this to Soap, ignoring the severity of the situation when the pack of gauze he pressed against Soap’s abdomen immediately turned red and damp with his comrade’s — his friend’s — blood.

Now, he repeats it like a mantra. At this rate, Soap’s not going to have any more blood to try to keep inside of him.

“Now's not the time for jokes.” Ghost mutters, but he pauses when Soap takes his other hand and puts it over his.

“No more army humor for a friend? Don’t be selfish.”

“You’ll get your damn joke when we get out of this bloody mess.”

Soap laughs, but immediately stops, wincing in pain. “‘Bloody’, I see what you did there.”

“We need to get you out of here—”

“You know I can’t move.”

“I’ll carry you.” Ghost pretends like they didn’t already attempt this, like moving Soap didn’t put him in an excruciating amount of pain.

There’s something in our brains that tells our heart we have to keep attempting to achieve the impossible. We won’t be able to move on otherwise.

Soap doesn’t remind him what a failure that idea was. Soap doesn’t tell him to just leave him behind, because he’s already tried that, and the look of disgust that flashed through Ghost’s eyes told him enough. No fucking way.

“I’m glad we got to be on the same team—”

“Don’t get sentimental. Save that shit for someone else.” Ghost continues to apply pressure to his wound, but his brain — worthless piece of shit, it is — tells him that it’ll be all for naught. He’s lost too much blood already. It’s not a trick of the light when Ghost realizes that Soap’s skin is turning a sickly pallor. Ghost thinks he tastes blood in his mouth, and he releases the grip his teeth has on his tongue. What he should have told Soap was I’m glad we got to be on the same team, too.

“Didn’t quite get a chance to grow better than you, did I, Lt.?”

Simon wakes up, breathing heavily, eyes adjusting easily to the darkness of his bedroom. The bed’s too soft, his pillow’s too soft, the cotton feels foreign underneath his sweaty skin. He shuts his eyes once more, willing the dream to come back to his mind before it slips away from his consciousness, like most dreams have a tendency to do. Even if this dream features a dying Soap, it’s still a chance to see his friend’s face again.

The dream doesn’t come back to him; he’s slipped from his grasp once again.

The dream will come back to him, like it always does. Sometimes the dream shifts; the scenery is different, or the words Ghost wants to say get caught up in his throat, or sometimes, he does manage to spit it out. It’s getting to the point where he can’t determine what’s memory and what’s wishful thinking. All he’s certain of is that he lets his mask slip; lets the last thing his friend sees be the face of the man who’s with him ‘til the end of the line.

You’re the best of us all, Johnny.

#obviously some creative liberties were taken with soap's death #pay attention to the changes between 'ghost' and 'simon' and his reluctance to call him johnny unless it's a v sentimental moment <3 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #oooh I'm genuinely so excited for this

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leohtttbriar · 3 months

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i think the biggest mistake an audience can make (i.e. me) with a time-paradox story is to try to make sense of it. like there's the surface-level logic here that sisko can be a "chosen one" of sorts because, well, he always was. if you can look down on the fourth dimension of time and see it all laid out in the same way we can look down a two-dimensional square, then everything always is and verb-tenses mean nothing and the layout of What Is is. but that's just so so abstract. (!)

what ends up being implied by the idea of extra-dimensional beings like the prophets is determinism. which doesn't. like. make sense. not from our perspective at least. the universe is just too much for us to be able to see a character like sisko able to interpret the space between what the prophets say and what he should then decide. the prophet above is saying "you need to rest now" and the prophets said that sisko has a path he is "meant" to walk--so was he always going to decide to both marry kasidy and "learn" among the prophets in the wormhole? if his decision-making has no power, why would the prophets tell him what to do to begin with? he says he's already done all the things he is going to do, sort of, so what is his relationship with spacetime? how can someone exist in between non-linear beings and linear time? what makes sisko special--is it his decision-making or his determined life?

i get the feeling this ending for the character was supposed to provoke these sorts of questions but i can't get past how it makes very little sense to me. which i guess is my own reaction to time-paradox stories: arrival and interstellar and even the "children of time" episode of ds9, none successfully convince me of the know-ability of time. even kasidy asking in the prophet vision "is anyone here?" makes my brain hurt, because, like, yeah is anyone there? where do these creatures exist? where and when and how? and in what ways can they contribute to the fabric of a mutable and constantly morphing or expanding and evolving universe?

obviously, it's not like a few sci-fi writers are going to do what only theoretical physicists can only imagine, but something about the tone of this episode, the design and the dialogue, suggests something answer-able. "meant to" and "alone" and "rest" and "ben? is that you?" are temporal and, in the logic of this story, are determined? there are ways to suggest more ambiguity, to lean into the logic of paradoxes--using color and music to imply that nothing here is figured out, that sisko is just a man invited into a perspective that we haven't yet been able to understand. a star trek-y "how mysterious, how weird" sort of answer that emphasizes that tying-up loose ends isn't the best narrative resolution sometimes.

this conclusion for sisko is a bit ambiguous but also not. and i sort of wish kasidy had gone with him. what does pregnancy look like where everything already was and is and yet to come? what is a romance undefined by the progressive beats of relationships and intimacy? what would their relationship say about the ongoing-ness of love?

#ds9 #star trek #i mean. maybe i was also just feeling like kasidy could have been in way more episodes and now deserves a spin-off series #thirty years later lol #'my husband became an extra-dimensional alien that lives in a wormhole. these are the adventures in the weirdest sort of motherhood.'#sisko #kasidy yates

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levmada · 1 year

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idk how else to phrase this so i'm just gonna ask it as it is: how do you think reader could help to rebuild/boost canon levi's self image and self worth in a way which makes him not solely reduce his self worth to how strong he is/how good of a fighter he is? i don't mean in a sexual way. but maybe more so through acts then words of affirmation? i just think poor guy shouldn't be so hard on himself :( like post-war levi's self worth must be so low now that he's (mostly) physically debilitated

//internalized ableism, self-hatred

This is really sad... but consider Levi has thought of himself more or less as a weapon or tool to be used the same way for the vast majority of his life. He has been abandoned so many times.

And then, basically his cause for living is achieved. His job is done. He can live for himself now... but after a whole life of reducing himself and self-neglect, there are some things he can never accept or believe. Even consciously, using logic, it's one of the hardest things in the world to change your entire belief system, in this case that Levi has worth as a person and not just as a tool used to fight. To gain self-worth. The guilt.

No matter what, the last thing he wants is to be a burden or need someone take care of him. He was so strong and independent for so long :( which is why it’d probably offend him to have you do things for him that in the past he could do himself. Like just. Pour tea. Turn the pages of a book. Deal with his bad knee when he has to navigate stairs or the shower. And you know he’s going to refuse the wheelchair every chance he gets.

And yet he doesn’t accept a glass eye, any treatment for tinnitus or headaches from the explosion, or prosthetic fingers. Part of it is his stubborn pride, but he doesn’t feel like wearing aesthetics to mask what’s already broken.

He feels broken. Like he’s done his duty and all that’s left is his scars, his disabilities, and an unspeakable amount of grief. Mirrors remind him. The cleft in his lip when he eats, drinks, kisses you, remind him. The bad dreams. The one thing he doesn't dread about it all is the fact that he carries on the memories of his comrades. He takes their hearts with him wherever he goes, so to speak.

Needless to say, it’s really fuxking difficult for him :( And healing isn’t linear. I think he’d prefer it if you didn’t acknowledge when he needs help with something, and you just do it. He hates himself for needing help, so it takes time, with a gentle smile on your face reassuring him that it has to be no trouble to you. Staring at him fondly, and kissing his scars so he can accept your love easier with the knowledge that he’s not hideous like he thinks of himself.

You don’t ask him to talk about it. Sometimes, you converse about the good memories. Levi gets nostalgic for the past, and it helps if you were beside him for all that time. You tell him it keeps their memory alive, but he struggles to find the words. So he starts writing.

Memories and moments he refuses to forget. Random nothing-details that he finds most important; like the way Hange would wear their goggles shoved up on their forehead and their crooked glasses slipped halfway down their nose; the times he would drop a bib on Sasha’s head for obvious reasons; the time he picked up a coin in the street, and that day being when Levi learned Erwin kept a coin collection of all things.

You get Jean to mail some drawings of people whose faces were important to Levi, and he pastes those drawings in. Just everything.

It’s cathartic and becomes a comfort to him, but sometimes a dreadful thing when he’s having a bad day and feels the need to write anyway, because it’s become routine. He’s going to become emotional and sometimes overwhelmed, and stare into space without really thinking or feeling anything. It’s always a good thing never to leave Levi alone unless he explicitly asks for it.

He would probably refuse physical therapy, let alone seeing a regular therapist or psychiatrist. He doesn’t want to deal with the effects of medications or become reliant on them… and he’s not about to open up to someone paid to get him to do just that. He’s stubborn on that. If you really went about suggesting it, maybe you’d work together on the physical therapy thing. He’d be in less pain, and it’d feel like he’s achieving something.

It takes time, and being gentle. Soft compliments which he learns to accept, even if some are impossible for him to believe. Stroking the flesh where his fingers used to be when the phantom sensations of tingling or pain appear.

Most importantly, giving him opportunities to do things for you so that he feels capable, and less of a burden (even though in your eyes he could never be).

It’d be nice to take innocent baths together where you can relax, and be exposed about his body which can’t move like it used to, where softness and scar tissue has replaced the old muscle and skin. The indentions from the ODM slowly fading away. It makes him uncomfortable, and then sick with love when you show affection to the ugliest parts of him. It feels better when he can do it for you.

For an example.

Some things Levi can never open up about again, even to himself. If you made yourself vulnerable a little more often, it’d be easier for him to follow suit. Quietly, in private, within the clutches of comfortable silence. For him to work through things that happened… and maybe even accept that now that it’s all over, it’s okay to have regrets. The past can’t be changed, but it doesn’t always have to hurt.

#i teared up writing this goodbye #levi ackerman x reader #levi hurt/comfort #levi ackerman x you #hurt/comfort #aot headcanons #levi fluff #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman drabble #levi.thoughts

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7ndipity · 7 months

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Fae Jimin AU Headcanons

Fae!Jimin x Reader

Summary: Catching you before you fall away, he decides that you could help him with his work as an overviewer of the Sidh, helping make sure that the balance between worlds stays even, falling for your humanity as he tries to show the wonder in your own world.

Warnings: Swearing, lil angst, supernatural elements, only partially proofread

A/N: This is an idea I’ve been obsessed with for a while(cause I’m a folklore nerd), but could never figure out an overarching plot to make it into a series, so I present for your consideration: Jimin, the emotional support Fae roommate lol.

(reminder that if there’s any points you want to be made into further HCs, blurbs, etc, send me an ask!)

Masterlist Non-Linear m.list

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

How you met:

He stopped you from falling into a fairy ring in the woods. You’d happened across it while on a walk to clear your head while upset about something and ending up standing there studying it for several minutes, contemplating how nice it must be to just be able to fall into a different world where no one knew you and you could start over. Shaking out of your revere, you had turned to leave, only for your damn ankle to twist and send you off balance.

“Careful!” A pair of gentle hands came out of nowhere, grabbing your wrists and pulling you into him. You looked up and were met with his soft eyes on you.

“You should be careful.” He warned. “You know what they say if you step in those, you might end up in the fairy realm and not get to come back.” “What if that’s what I want?” You replied. He looked back at you, suddenly serious. “You don’t want that, trust me.”

After that, you keep running into him everywhere(partially due to his newfound fascination with you), eventually figuring out what he is.

He explains that he’s a type of Fae called the Sidh(pronounced shee) which are basically a type of overviewer of the Fae, their role being to keep balance and make sure that the others don’t cause too much trouble.

“There’s a lot of different doorways to and from this world, and not all of them are nice.” He explains to you, visibly tense. “Sometimes just going through the wrong door can kill you.”

Teaches you how to spot Fae.

Points out a couple walking along on the other side of the road. “See them?” He asked, leaning close as he whispers to you.

“One of them is a Sidh?”

He shakes his head, motioning to the child you hadn’t noticed trailing behind them, bouncing about, overly hyper.

“The kid?!” You exclaim, turning to him, suddenly realizing how close he was to you.

“Wait.” He leaned in, gently placing his hands over your eyes for a moment, a tingling sensation washing over your skin before pulling away. “Now look.”

You blinked, slightly dazed before you turned back, letting out a gasp as your eyes found the family again.

While the couple were the same, the child’s appearance had shifted drastically; limbs slightly too long and thin, large, glassy black eyes, their skin now a pale, almost grayish color, they almost looked like an alien.

“What the-?”

“A changeling.” He said lowly.

Teaches you about some of his magic, but warns that some of it can have ‘adverse’ effects on humans

“Wait! What about my eyes then?!” You asked suddenly.

He looked back at you slyly. “Don’t worry, it’s only temporary, this time. It should wear off in a few hours.”

He turned to walk away. “See you at home!”

Winds up just moving in with you in your little house on the edge of town that runs along the woods at the back.

“You’re a Witch!” He realized loudly as he surveyed your house, taking in the crystals and new-age items littered around(he’s not exactly right about this, but you’ll explain that to him later). You can’t tell if he’s excited or upset by this discovery at first.

(it’s both because, as he explains, his ‘charms’ don’t work as well on other magical beings, hence the constant bickering between the two of you. The fact that he can’t just ‘make’ you agree with him irritates him to no end)

Ends up revealing(probably during a fight) that he might be stuck in this world.

“I can’t go back!” “Can’t or won’t?!” “Both!” He yells. “I don’t know if I can, and if I could, I don’t want to! I like it here, with you.” His voice falters, shaking with emotions. “I want to stay with you.”

About him:

His eyes change color; sometimes they’re gray, sometimes blue, one time you could’ve sworn they were purple, but most of the time, they’re a varying shade of brown.

Fangs(you’d be surprised how often fae have them in old stories): His are small and rather feline looking, but he only shows them if he’s really angry or frightened.

Age: Not entirely sure. He says he’s been around awhile, but time moves differently for them. They still age similar to humans, just slower. They might live for longer too, but you can’t tell if he was joking or not about that one.

The biggest sweet tooth, holy shit. You once caught him in the middle of the night eating nothing but pure sugar with a spoon, he literally can’t get enough of the stuff.

The first time you gave him cotton candy, his eyes got so big, you’re pretty sure he ascended to another plane.

As well as a sweet tooth, he loves alcohol and has a very high tolerance. He can get drunk, but it takes A LOT.

Surprisingly good at lying for a Fae.

He? Perches? Everywhere?

Like, he can’t just sit on the couch? Nope, he’s on your desk, the kitchen table, the bathroom counter. It’s like living with a giant cat.

Which reminds me, he has ABSOLUTELY NO CONCEPT OF PERSONAL SPACE.

You’re trying to cook? He’s there. Going to bed? He’s there. Open the curtain to get out of the shower and yep, he’s there, just chilling.

Literally the “Hey, I was- why are you screaming? Anyway, are we out of oreos?” meme.

Walks super close to you, intentionally bumping your shoulders.(can’t tell if this is him being affectionate or annoying)

Very noseyinquisitive. Goes through all your shit, asking questions and throwing judgy looks at you, but for the oddest, most random things, like the color of your toothbrush.

Trying to explain ‘human things’ to him and how people normally act and behave. “But you’re not like that?” He commented curiously, watching you. “That’s because I’m… weird.” You said, without looking up. “I like weird.” He mumbles.

Some nights when it’s quiet, you find him out in the back garden, just sitting, sometimes with his eyes closed, almost as if he’s meditating, other times just staring off into the trees. You’ve wondered about what he’s thinking of when he’s out there, but he doesn’t tell you much.

The first time you got sick with him there, he was an absolute wreck, hardly leaving your side for more than a moment, even watching over you when you slept. Did everything he could think of to make you feel better, even considered magic, but you shut that one quick, so he just suffices with loads of tea and soup.

Likes to believe he can be somewhat intimidating or scary, but to you he's a literal ball of marshmallow fluff.

“You think I can’t be scary?” He asked in a low voice, looming over you with a dark glint in his eyes.

“Nope.” You boop him on the nose, making him pout.

“You didn’t even let me try!” He whined loudly.

“There’s no point, you don’t scare me!” You laughed.

“I should though! I am an ominous, fearsome creature from the otherworld!” He proclaimed dramatically, making you laugh harder. “I will drain your lifeforce for my own power!”

“That’s for vampires!” You giggled.

“Vampires are a type of Sidh.”

“Wait really?!” You perked up in interest, making him roll his eyes and walk away. “Are they really? Jimin?!”

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exilethegame · 1 year

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Writing Update (11/28/22)

Hello everyone!

Unfortunately on Friday I had the wonderful pleasure of catching the flu. On one hand, I've been stuck shivering and coughing all day. On the other hand, my fever-induced psychoses gave me wonderful material to write with in the future.

Because of that, I wasn't able to get much done this week, though I was able to get a jump on some scenes before I got sick!

This past few weeks I've managed to write 5k words making Chapter 5, pt. 2 51k words long!

As of now I'm working on Sabir + Nikke's scenes simultaneously so I can bounce back and forth between them whenever I get bored. The scenes are "simple" enough when compared to Vethna + Amilia's that it's easy for me to do and usually allows me to write a bit quicker since I won't be able to run into writer's block this way!

Ideally, I'll be able to finish both of their scenes by the midpoint of December, but we'll see. I also then need to revisit Amilia + Vethna's scenes to add in extra dialogue + flavor text based on things MC might've done if they went to speak to Sabir/Nikke first, since I find it enjoyable when all the characters acknowledge one another.

Once I get this check-in scene finished, I'll then be able to move onto chronological + companion scenes, which should be pretty smooth sailing. I put on the tumblr's actual website (it might only be visible on a computer) an estimated release for Part 2 which is Quarter 1 of next year-- so anywhere from January - March 2023. I feel confident about that window and will likely shrink it down to more specific dates the more work I get done.

That's all the main stuff! I also included some vocabulary down below for what I personally mean when I'm referring to the "check-in" scenes and such for those of you that are interested. Otherwise, that's all, and thanks for reading! :)

Chapter 5 (Part 2) Progress Scene 1: Linear Scene 2: Hobbies (Finished -- 10/10 Branches) Scene 3: Hobbies Scene 4: Check-in (50% -- 1/3 Branches) Scene 5: Chronological (75% Done) Scene 6: Chronological Scene 7: Companion Scene 8: Companion

Check-in: A check-in scene is when MC is given the choice to speak to the characters "one-on-one." MC can always choose what order to speak to the characters in, but otherwise it breaks down into two more subtypes.

A Check-in 1, which hasn't been seen in-game yet but will be in Part Two, requires MC to speak to every NPC before the scene can go forward. There may also be certain dialogue choices with each character that must be picked in order for the scene to go forward. In scenes like this, main-plot information will be included as every MC will be forced to see it regardless of their relationships or personality.

A Check-in 2 allows MC to choose who they speak to, sometimes under a condition where MC must choose a limited amount of characters to speak to. This means sometimes MC will be able to talk to everyone with ease, and other times (Like in the War Room) MC will be forced to choose who to speak to out of 2 or 3 characters. These type of check-ins will be more common, and they'll also contain information important for side-quests. They'll allow MC to built up trust/respect with characters even if MC + them don't get along, which will then get them to tell MC more about themselves... which, chances are, will open up some unique storylines in the future. The "side-quests" will open up additional scenes for MC in the future where MC can influence how they end, and the ending of these side-quests will then influence the main story (usually). They're not required-- and sometimes MC not getting involved can even be better-- but they're there!

Companion Scene: A companion scene is when a single scene can include any given character in it-- meaning in some playthroughs the scene will have Vethna in it, in others it will have Amilia. So essentially I'm rewriting the same moment of time several times over again for every companion who could be in it. The character who will be in the scene can sometimes be chosen by the player directly-- other times it will be a matter of what MC's relationships are. Sometimes a scene is limited to being with MC's romantic partner or best friend, other times a scene can be played with anyone who MC is amicable with, other times a scene can only be played with whoever MC has the lowest affinity with, etc. It's the closest in style to a classic sort of IF structure-- "You're tired and lonely, only one person comes to your mind to spend time with. That person is..." type of beat.

Hobbies Scene: A hobby scene is a scene that changes depending on what MC's hobby is set as. For example, an MC whose hobby is cooking might have a scene where they're helping make dinner for the group at night while another MC whose hobby is exploring might be sneaking out and climbing things they probably shouldn't be climbing... Sometimes these events will be done with companions as well! Not always, of course... otherwise I would have to be writing 60 variations of scenes which is... not possible <3

Chronological Scene: I just use this to reference a normal span of writing where the scene doesn't vary based on relationships but on choices. So I'm only writing variations for the choices you make as MC-- not for the stats that are behind the scenes! These types of scenes are significantly easier to write than the ones above. Even though I'm needing to write the multiple ways a scene can play out, it's not quite as repetitive as the check-in scenes are, nor do they take as long to finish as the Companion + Hobbies scenes.

Linear Scene: I don't write much of these in comparison to the others, but it's exactly what it sounds like. These tends to be scenes from other character's POV where there are no choices-- and, if there are choices (Like the Freedom removal scene in Chapter 5 pt. 1) then they don't have any actual affect on the scene and how it plays out. These are incredibly easy to write, and usually I'm able to finish them in a single sitting!

That's all for this week. Thanks for reading! :)

#writing update

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thesherrinfordfacility · 5 months

Note

i was rewatching s1 yesterday and i had a thought that is bothering me a bit.

thing is, as much as i love the flashbacks (i dare say sometimes they are my fav part of the episodes), i think they are messing up a bit with the storyline. i love that they show us how their relationship developed over time, but i think sometimes they’re going a bit too far considering the point we find them in different points of history.

you’re gonna tell me that the same aziraphale that went through everything they went through in the land of uz then could bot possibly think of helping crowley with the arrangement? that the same aziraphale that looked like that at crowley in 1941 then was like “heaven will win and it’ll all be rather lovely” when talking about the final war between heaven and hell?

if you think of the events in chronological order, they just, don’t make much sense.

oooooh anon i like where your head's at!!!✨

now, below the cut is a disgustingly long spiel going through each flashback and minisode, that tbh was just simply self-indulgent - a lot of it leans into philosophy and ethics (for which i also apologise but it's a Special Interest) and i realise that that may not have been - at all - what you were looking for in a response.

so, to give a tl;dr - i personally think the way that aziraphale parries back and forth in his character development makes perfect sense. it does seem very much like one step forward, two steps back, at times - that i grant you - but i don't think it was ever meant to be strictly linear as time has gone on. more that it's a delve into how and why aziraphale makes the decisions that he does, what factors might be influencing him to make those decisions/behave the way he does, and what this says to us about his reluctance behind the apocalypse and the events of s2.

pre-fall:

so to my mind, we immediately learn some crucial things about aziraphale, right from the get-go. he's polite, and kind - even without having really gotten a formative impression of the angel who crowley was (AWCW). but once he does (and develops his little crush), he becomes astutely interested in what AWCW's doing, asking questions about his work and its purpose. he shares information about his own work, not realising ahead of time that a) AWCW wouldn't have known the plan for his creation, b) how upset he would be once learning it. he's very cautious when AWCW starts getting lairy about it, intimating that he's prepared to challenge god (however innocuously he meant it) on her plan, and evidently feels - expresses - some kind of fear that it would lead to reprisal.

garden of eden (4004BC):

this is an aziraphale that seems very much to be proven right, when you take the above pre-fall context into account. the fall has happened, and aziraphale now is even more aware of the consequences of stepping out of line. but aziraphale is naturally someone who dances that line, when you consider that he gave away his sword - which he suspects to have been the wrong thing to do. so when confronted with crawly, this person that he used to know as an angel, it only hammers home that aziraphale has to behave, and be in fear of the worst possible outcome, which has now been actualised. the punishment - arguably the worst punishment possible for an angel - has happened, it's irrefutable, and there's nothing to say it can't happen again.

so aziraphale valiantly tries to remain the devout, loyal, upstanding angel - and at this point genuinely believes heaven to be the side of good and light, even if he panics when he acts in a way that shows his own true colours... ones that are arguably not very angelic at all (grey). he counters crawley with heavenly rhetoric when it's clear that he at least thinks crawly has a good point, he even laughs with him over a joke that could literally mean his own ruin, and abruptly catches himself, stops laughing. to me, he's scared and, by all accounts, has good reason to be.

mesopotamia (3004BC):

so here we come to aziraphale in the thick of attempting to be a true agent for heaven; we immediately open with him acting somewhat with unease at the proceedings, even before crawly appears (hands, shifting on his feet). once he has to explain to crawly what's going on, he shares the rumour (rumour, because the line is "from what i hear, god's a bit tetchy...") that god is wiping out the local population. crawly is obviously aghast, especially when aziraphale confirms the children too - but aziraphale is equally, albeit more taciturnly, repulsed by it. his meek, bracing, tight-lipped '...mhm!' pays testament to that.

but aziraphale, once again, cannot speak out against god and heaven - he simply can't, the risk is too great. plus... well, he has to have faith in god, that she is good and just, and this is all the right thing to do; what could it possibly mean if god is awful? aziraphale isn't awful, we know he's (by large) a naturally kind and gentle person - so if god is not that, and aziraphale loses faith, what does that mean for aziraphale? doesn't that make him bad? evil? so no, he has to rationalise for god, and heaven, and ultimately himself that this is all for a greater purpose - god isnt wiping out all the locals! she's going to put up a rainbow! promise not to do it again!

uz (2500BC):

okay big section (op note: first of many to come, as it turns out) here. for ease, im going to be writing the following with the below metas in mind:

that god doesn't actually intend/want to hurt the children, but to honour free will will not get involved (X)

an oddly poetic ditty on the lies in job, and seeing through them (X)

slightly unrelated but i think worth bearing in mind: i personally think the s2 minisodes are recounted from crowley's pov (X)

so aziraphale seems to have arrived in order to stop crawly getting up to some mischief, and is countered that crawly (on behalf of satan) has essentially been granted some kind of diplomatic immunity to carry out the destruction, namely, of job's goats, and his children. obviously crawly is going to do no such thing, but places the blame for the whole thing squarely on god. aziraphale, however, does not think that that is in fact what god wants (and tbh, re: the first linked meta, i think he's half-right). so, whilst still thinking that crawly is there to actually do harm, he tries to cajole crawly into doing the right thing. they then work out that, for all intents and purposes, they are actually on the same side by nature of sharing a common agenda. crawly tests him again in the mansion, but aziraphale has seen through him, and they remain united.

where it gets tricky is the ox-rib scene. aziraphale doesn't initially recognise the free will that crawly is acting upon; he's not on hell's side, so ergo he must be on heaven's side. the concept of being on your own side evidently is shocking to aziraphale - above all, it just sounds lonely. aziraphale asserts specifically that he is on god's side (which i think, tbh, is a pretty telling thing in and of itself - he doesn't say 'heaven'). and still believes he is acting by god's true will; however, crawly counters that he's talking about the god that wants him to hurt the children. aziraphale hesitantly agreed that yes, that is the same god he's talking about... "but-".

now, idk how aziraphale was going to end that sentence, but id like to think that he still disagrees with crawly's conclusion - to agree would void everything that he said before, right? everything he said with tentative conviction. so, at best, aziraphale would have argued back that crawly is wrong, and that's not what god wants... but i do think aziraphale sees god's lack of intervention as troubling, at the very least... because if god didn't want it to happen, why didn't she stop the storm above them destroying the house? i think he's now put back in a position of being very uncertain as to what god wants... in which case, how can he possibly argue against crawly's assessment? he can't, because he's literally just borne witness that god hasnt intervened on any of it. ultimately, aziraphale still doesn't quite understand the concept of free will, and how he's just as capable of it as anyone else - in helping to save the children, he wasn't acting in accordance with what he thought god's will was, but instead based on what he himself considers to be the right thing to do.

and then we come to the last couple of job scenes; he helps crawly in the trick to bring back the children to job and sitis, and, on the cusp of their subterfuge being revealed, lies to the archangels under immense pressure, under the weight of the knowledge, even in that moment, that he will fall for it. his fear, stemming all the way back from eden (and arguably before, even if only a fear of consequence), has been brought to its reckoning. at the rock, he is adamant that he's going to fall - he "lied, to thwart the will of god" - and has resigned himself to it. crawly obviously states he's not going to deliver aziraphale to hell (and presumably the fall has some physicality to it; ie. aziraphale doesn't feel like he's fallen anyway). but then crawly reveals that aziraphale might just - just - be more on his own (their? not yet?) side than he previously thought. and frankly, i think that scares the fuck out of aziraphale; he's not crawly, he's not confident/headstrong/convicted enough to do that, and besides - hell seems to be fine with crawly doing his own thing as long as his work is done ("i go along with hell as far as i can")... heaven presumably wouldn't at all let that slide. aziraphale can't afford his own side; there's too much to lose.

golgotha (33AD)

immediately we're confronted with not only a more cynical crowley, but almost - i think - a more cynical aziraphale, and the way they act definitely makes sense to me in a post-job context. crowley immediately jabs at aziraphale, thinking that aziraphale would act righteous in seeing jesus on the cross - and yet, aziraphale counters that he's "not consulted on policy decisions"... which begs the question of what aziraphale would have said or done, if he were. we know he tried arguing back in job against gabriel and michael about what the plan was for job, and i don't think this would have been any different... if he had been given the chance.

this exchange though, i think, is one of the best bits of dialogue in all of s1, and potentially gives really interesting insight into where aziraphale stands at this point:

because... well, jesus is not only the son; he was a good and kind person, attempting to teach others to do the same. isn't that what god and heaven stands for? but no - the policy decision, god's plan - is that her son must die... brutally, and in tremendous pain and suffering. that surely can't be something aziraphale can reconcile easily - and yet, with job in mind, he absolutely can. i think he knows its wrong, that it's not right, but it is - this time - absolutely god's plan. and what happened the last time that he intervened? that fear still lives in aziraphale here, i think; and plays a major part in not only aziraphale having to quash what he thinks is the right thing to do, but also forces him to accept that what god is doing must be right and good. it must be for a reason, that god is allowing this one, and aziraphale is still in a place where he fears acting against god could have dire consequences.

rome (41AD):

tbh i don't think there's too much to say on this; it's clearly a more personal scene than the heavier ones that have come before it. i do think that aziraphale being keen on seeing crowley again does speak to crawly's line about how having your own side can be lonely, and aziraphale is readily seeking companionship from the person who knows how that feels? maybe? to add to that, the callback to tempting crowley into the oysters - all feels very acutely like the events in the job minisode might have been on his mind. we know from the script book that aziraphale is there on a heavenly assignment too (tutoring nero), which might play into the loneliness even more. so whilst aziraphale may not be entirely comfortable with having his own side, i'd like to think this scene certainly indicates he's made some personal reflection on the concept.

wessex (537AD):

another (we presume) heavenly assignment of fomenting peace - and i don't think aziraphale and crowley have seen much of each other since rome (going by aziraphale's slip, yet again, in his name). but what transpires is the realisation that their respective head offices essentially have them cancelling out the other's actions, resulting in crowley putting forward the idea of the arrangement. aziraphale isn't immediately opposed to it, not outwardly - but he does poke holes in the viability of it. he initially baulks at the prospect of lying to his superiors (given job, it's fair that he'd be pretty reluctant to chance doing that again), and then finds out that the surveillance that heaven seems to keep on him is not a risk that crowley feels from hell; "...as long as they get the paperwork."

so immediately, we're shown that the chance of discovery is higher with aziraphale, and the associated risk of that will again drum into him that he needs to toe the line very carefully. i don't think the arrangement necessarily offends him on a personal level - im sure that the logic appeals to him, as well as the chance to slack off - but that crowley would... almost tempt him into it? or at least try to talk around his concerns, and still try to push him? at the very least, it scares him off. though, frankly, i think it did work; not only by 1601 does it transpire that they have in fact done favours for each other since this scene, but even the dialogue... the below screams to me somewhat 'lady doth protest too much':

globe (1601):

a few things are apparent in this; that aziraphale is pleased to see crowley again, that they are meant to be meeting in clandestine/crowded settings to avoid detection, and the arrangement has been in effect - in all but name - for some time. the latter is interesting; aziraphale clearly doesn't have an issue personally with the premise of doing favours for each other, but he draws the line at making it an official thing. if heaven ever asked why aziraphale was doing what he was, he presumably knew he could at least attempt to talk his way out of it, retain some semblance of plausible deniability, but if it were acknowledged that he and crowley have a formal arrangement, that increases the risk.

but it's no longer just the risk associated with heaven; it's the risk associated with hell. compared to 537AD when aziraphale indicates that his reluctance is complete to do with the potential repercussions from heaven, this time he seems more preoccupied with the repercussions crowley could face from hell. now, it could be that aziraphale is using it as an excuse - a cover for his true concerns that lie with his own safety - but i don't think so; over a millennium has passed since wessex, and they've clearly met "dozens of times" since then. i think aziraphale's concern does shift over to what would happen to crowley should they be found out. again, he looks happy to see him, and it's crowley that first remarks that the globe was meant to be busy. if crowley presumably is the one more worried about detection, aziraphale would understandably take that to be a reason for concern (despite what crowley says, "[they] don't actually care how things get done, they just want to know they can cross it off the list"), but nonetheless he agrees to the arrangement.

paris (1793):

this time, we learn that aziraphale is actually being monitored relatively closely; heaven is keeping an eye on his miracle usage, claiming that a sufficient number of them are frivolous to warrant a strongly-worded note from the supreme archangel himself. it therefore stands to reason that whilst he still absolutely could miracle himself out of this situation, he attempts to talk his way out of it first. but it also, once again, reinstates that discovery of the arrangement, and their affiliation, is very possible.

crowley turns up, freezes the guard, and 'rescues' aziraphale, who then learns that crowley is taking advantage of humanity coming up with their own atrocities, and claiming credit for it (and initially - and mistakenly - taking that to mean that the reign of terror must be crowley's doing) - but when that's been cleared up, and he thanks crowley for the 'rescue', crowley counters that expressing that specific thing out loud could lead to consequences from his bosses (ie the arrangement doesn't matter because the job gets done, but actively helping the opposition on a personal level? big no-no... which makes me wonder how crowley is possibly able to separate the two... by doing blessings etc., surely he is helping the opposition?). both of them vocalise very clearly that they're aware of the risks - both expressed and subtext - of them interacting with each other closely, but equally they both have no intentions of stopping it, or holding off until things have died down. they're both under scrutiny, and yet still proceed to play with fire by going to lunch.

in terms of what this means for aziraphale's own character development, i personally think it indicates how his feelings for crowley have been emerging since around 1601; the threat of discovery is real, but the friendship, companionship, and the feeling of being understood and known is more and more compelling. but aziraphale isn't stupid, he still knows that there is danger involved with the two of them associating so closely, but i think at times he loses a grasp on how very real that danger is, because of the feeling that crowley gives to him instead (maybe not love, on either part, just yet - but certainly a sense that crowley is very important to him).

edinburgh (1827):

i'll readily admit that i found this minisode a really difficult conundrum when trying to reconcile its events with aziraphale's character development so far, but i think ive at least gotten part of the way there? maybe? (and a small reminder of my... hesitancy... in whether or not this minisode is from aziraphale's perspective).

so aziraphale seems to still be very much set in the black-and-white perspective, right? more than that, he's stating that angels and demons do not have the free will to choose to be anything other than what they're meant to be - good and evil respectively - whereas humanity gets to choose. and stating the obvious, but aziraphale doesn't understand that the reality of being human (poverty, in this case) means that morality doesn't always have a place in survival, and therefore free will gets slightly skewed in that you end choosing to do something you perhaps wouldn't otherwise do, if you felt you had a true choice.

you could argue that this is a regression from the previous history that we've already looked at - and initially i would agree... but i think we have to consider that throughout all of this, aziraphale considers himself - and tbh, he is - a good person. so far, his actions have proven that, bearing in mind the overarching 'threat' (however far you want to extend the scope of that) of heaven, and he extends his empathy to those that are also good on their own merit (including crowley!). but what aziraphale is now having to contend with is what happens when circumstances mean you don't have much room to be a good person; does that condemn them? does that make them worthy of punishment? how can it, when everyone just doing their best with what they have?

when we get to the conversation with dalrymple, the surgeon explains the reason why the bodies are needed in the first place. what i think is also interesting about aziraphale's rationalisation of this whole quandary is the following:

because aziraphale has a point. he's understanding where dalrymple is coming from, acknowledges it, but it's the exploitation angle here that he's now unable to reconcile. sure, fine, you need the bodies for medical advancement, but you're using people who will do anything to earn money to survive, encouraging them to put themselves at risk - both physically and spiritually (from aziraphale's unique perspective) - to do so? that's wrong! ...but dalrymple also has a point; wouldnt it distract him, a surgeon, from the greater good? bodysnatching is at best quasi-legal, and faces sentences up to and meeting execution; why would he risk getting himself so directly involved? and by-the-by; isn't this something that aziraphale, in his own situation with heaven, could empathise with?

aziraphale then learns why the bodies are the in-demand commodity that they are - he's confronted with the consequence of insufficient medical education, and that actually the work may be, whilst through immoral action, working towards a greater good. before, it was just simply for the purpose of better understanding the human anatomy, but the tumour puts in perspective the bigger picture; that a series of objectively immoral actions leads to arguably the greatest moral achievement possible: eradication of preventable and needless suffering. i think that this is where it starts to really resonate that morality is not absolute, and that right and wrong are intrinsically linked by nature of the context* and consequence upon which you judge them. (something something about stepping away from the deontological and instead towards the more consequentialist - perhaps even utilitarianism?*).

***

slight tangent but: if we look at this very thing*, for a moment, with two other scenarios in mind, we know that aziraphale still struggles with separating morality in terms of action and consequence... or is it just simply very intricate? he did struggle in job; he felt he was condemned to fall because he sinned in lying to the archangels - an immoral action - but ended up choosing to lie because it would mean preventing three needless murders, of children no less - ie. a moral consequence. at surface level, a very consequentialist decision.

then, in 2019 with the antichrist; crowley tries to persuade aziraphale into killing warlock in order to stop the apocalypse; in this instance, *the action poses a significantly more serious and graver moral dilemma, even if the end result would be to save the entirety of humanity - the context is very different. in this, aziraphale doesn't budge, and consistently rebuffs crowley's attempts to get him to do it, even when he acknowledges the greater good killing the child could bring. this is more deontological. now, it could be a question of whether aziraphale is reluctant because it would disobey heaven's orders, or because of his own personal moral code, or perhaps even both - but regardless, aziraphale strives instead to find a way around avoiding killing warlock/adam, and come up with a different solution that would bring about the same outcome.

***

but back to the resurrectionists; aziraphale then arrives at rather a misguided conclusion - when he returns to elspeth and morag to offer his assistance, he says:

suffice to say, that is absolutely not what elspeth's angle is here - so again, aziraphale seems to fumble the point entirely. i have toyed with the contrary idea that aziraphale in fact does now understand elspeth's motivation, and does now understand what crowley was saying to him earlier, but has to 'pretend' somewhat that the only reason he wants to help is because of the 'alleviating human suffering' thing (so that essentially if heaven asked why he was encouraging immorality, he could explain it away as being for the greater good), but idk how far i see that... it's possible, but when they move to the graveyard, and crowley points out the advantage that those with money and privilege have in preventing the interrment of their bodies (and the poor "just have to lump it"), he asks aziraphale pointedly if he's alright with this. aziraphale evidently isn't, his face says that enough, but he doesn't voice it.

but then morag gets blasted; she's not even meant to be there, but is just so they can get the job done easier and quicker, and out of love for elspeth - because elspeth asked her to. aziraphale's penultimate moral quandary lies in whether he saves her or not; by his own admission, it's against 'the rules', so to speak, but he can't stand to see something so preventable happen because he chose to follow those rules - not to act. harking back to immoral action leading to moral consequence, that dilemma is put in a very personal context to aziraphale; sure, disobeying the rules might be wrong, but if the consequence of the obedience is far worse? i won't confidently say that he fully learns from the experience, but i do think it sticks with him.

what i feel is worth noting about aziraphale, when they come back to the mausoleum, is that it seems that aziraphale is the first to spot the laudanum on the tomb. not only that, but he can't barely keep his eyes off of it. (*suicide tw*) the interaction that follows immediately feels that aziraphale enters the role of negotiator; his tone is level and calm, he positions himself very warmly and openly, but slowly edges closer to her, and keeps her talking. crowley similarly edges around the room, trusting aziraphale to keep her distracted, so he can swipe the laudanum for himself. obviously crowley then controls the rest of the scene, and used a more dramatic approach in deterring elspeth from taking her own life.

part of that however is by getting aziraphale to give elspeth the contents of his wallet, so she can immediately find herself in a better position in order to make better choices; had she been turned back out onto the streets, and without morag, it probably would result - as crowley said - in her continue to risk her life to earn money, or killing herself before she even gets that far. (*end suicide tw*) aziraphale looks suitably chastened at carrying a substantial amount of money all this time, i think in part recognising the privileged position that must place him in in elspeth's eyes, and shakily hesitates about giving it to her. i do think he knows that the argument he gave at the beginning of the minisode has crumbled somewhat (now that he has seen the full consequences of being in that position), and he looks to crowley in askance to reinstate the holes in that logic as crowley previously said them - and he doesn't argue any further.

elspeth promises to do good, and aziraphale hands it over. it harks back to one of my beginning points; having the free will to choose to do good is only really possible when there isn't an external factor that prevents you from doing so. alleviate, or remove, that hardship - as the 90 guineas did - and there's no reason to think that elspeth won't, in fact, choose to do the good and right thing. before, she was considerably compelled to do bad things - but now she truly is in a position where she can choose. ultimately, aziraphale and crowley have no guarantee on her promise, there's no threat of repercussions if she lied or ends up going back on her word, but ultimately that is free will; the best they can do is put her in a position where she is able to make a choice. that is the right thing to do.

1862:

and so we're back to another dilemma, this time of the more personal kind; crowley asks aziraphale for holy water. ive entertained multiple theories on whether crowley has been in hell since 1827, whether he's been pulled into hell on multiple occasions since 1827, or something entirely different has happened, but all have the same result - crowley is paranoid, he's standoffish, and he's asking for something that he says won't be used to destroy himself, but instead as 'insurance' (which tbh, despite what he said, reads very much like it could be used against other demons or himself). furthermore, aziraphale is cold and distant; marking that something potentially has happened between the two of them, or that aziraphale is aware that they are very much out in the open, and he has to watch how familiar he is with crowley.

the holy water seems to be very much a line that aziraphale is unwilling to cross; and his first reason to not do so is because of the risk it poses to crowley. i don't think it can be denied at this point that even if it's not romantic love - not completely, anyhow - they definitely care for each other. aziraphale is positively vehement that he won't be responsible for crowley's destruction, deliberate or otherwise, and i think a lot of his reaction comes from the fact that crowley would even ask this of him in the first place (and this is of course presuming that aziraphale knows nothing of what prompts crowley to ask for it in the first place).

when crowley retorts that that's not his plan for it, aziraphale is still resistant, and instead adds the further risk that it poses to him personally - that if heaven got wind of it, their arrangement and relationship (of whatever nature it is) would be discovered. it is, doubtless, a substantial risk to aziraphale, but given that he manages to get his hands on it in 1967 without much trouble (at least, that's the impression given), i think that the first reason he gives - that concerning crowley's safety - is probably the truest one.

regardless, it's definitely a line that aziraphale is unwilling to cross, so much so that it descends into them throwing words that evidently hurt the other, and seem to lead them to not even speaking to each other for nearly 80 years. and this time it's not even because the action itself is immoral - aziraphale doesn't indicate that gaining holy water itself is forbidden or difficult - after all, you can visit your local church and odds are that you can nab some pretty easily - but because the potential consequence would be losing crowley forever.

i don't know how far i take this particular interaction to be one deeply concerned with aziraphale's general ethics or sense of morality; more that he just simply cares for crowley a great deal. maybe that informs on his moral alignment more than im giving credit for, idk. we could look at it that aziraphale should absolutely trust crowley - trust his word that he isn't intending to use it on himself - and that perhaps is true, but the sheer fact that aziraphale would be giving crowley something so inherently dangerous to his own person is a very valid reason not to do it, morally or sentimentally - especially as it appears to be a very sudden request without much explanation behind it, to make aziraphale understand why it would be necessary.

1941:

starting with the s1 snippet of 1941, we learn that aziraphale is double-crossing the nazi operatives. to give a rundown of the events that i think likely led to the church scene, aziraphale would have initially denied (or stalled) the nazis' request to find and deliver the books, despite the offer of quite a lot of money (which, let's face it, we know is frankly inconsequential to aziraphale; even without the element of being a celestial being that can miracle up money, we know he's a landlord of some tasty real estate in soho - he's hardly strapped for cash); aziraphale is not stupid, nazis are the bad guys. but because he denied/stalled them, they send in greta posing as a british MI agent to encourage aziraphale to do as the nazis asked - as she likely put it to aziraphale - so that 'british authorities' could take it as an opportunity to apprehend them.

i don't think the above is a stretch - why else would greta have been involved, posing as a home agent, if aziraphale wasn't initially reluctant? - and gives a clear situation in which aziraphale would simply not do something that could help the axis effort. he's not avaricious, and certainly doesn't need wealth, so money holds no sway for him in this; but regardless, he likely stands personally, morally, opposed to the nazis entirely, without hesitation. furthermore, to aziraphale's mind, they are the antithesis of everything that heaven also stands for; he lives in the heart of london, and (as s2 shows quite literally) is surrounded by the destruction caused by the blitz campaign.

moving on to when crowley arrives in the church, i know it's a point of contention that aziraphale assumes that crowley must be involved with the nazis' set up, and that's a fair point. i too find it hard to reconcile, especially given the parallel assumption during 1793 was shot down immediately. however, if we presume that aziraphale and crowley haven't seen each other since 1862, it could be aziraphale still reacting very personally as a result of their argument (i daresay that, for these two, 80 years isn't really that long a time to hold a petty grudge)... but to be honest? crowley still takes assignments from hell, and if there is anything - to aziraphale - that seems like a hellish creation, it's the nazis. as hell's earthly representative, it's not an illogical conclusion to arrive at. but, of course, as crowley rightly says - some of the worst things are purely humanity; free will is a double-edged sword, and humanity has capacity for great evil as well as great good. and aziraphale does know crowley; if crowley had confirmed that he was involved, i think aziraphale's reaction would have been that much more visceral.

then we get the Epiphany that is aziraphale realising he's in love with crowley, and - i'll say it repeatedly - i think he possibly realises that crowley feels something for him too... which sets the whole tone for the continuation of 1941 in s2. i don't think (my brain is like soup at this point, so im sure anyone reading will correct me here) we get much more in 1941 that speaks to aziraphale's moral code until we get to the end, when they're back in the bookshop:

because it's a culmination of everything that they've been through so far, right? that doing the right thing and doing the wrong thing, that good and bad, are interwoven with each other, that one can sometimes define, necessitate, and validate the other, and that everyone - including them - are capable of doing both good and bad things. looking back over their history to date, it's one of their main commonalities - their respective non-conformity to the assumed attributes of their respective sides - and one that binds them together. obviously the irony lies with heaven itself hardly being 'the good place', even if it's meant to be, in the first place - but these are two beings that are unique in their experiences on earth, among humanity, which have led them to developing very complex moral codes that recognises (to varying degrees) that good and bad are not absolutes.

which ultimately leaves us a little confused when we get to 2008, right? as you said, anon - how do we reconcile this aziraphale with the one that is hesitant to stop the apocalypse? well, i think it's almost certain that we've got a missing scene here, one that will be answered in s3; but even looking at s2 - aziraphale's assessment of hell being the bad guys has been cemented in 1941. not only are they in cahoots with the nazis (as far as aziraphale sees it), but they have posed a danger to crowley personally. aziraphale saves the day, but all his concerns about the arrangement have been supported by this one event in the dressing room.

so whilst the black-and-white conversation seems to leave 1941 off on a happy note, take into account any possible imaginings of what happened afterwards, and we'll probably end up with not only the reason why aziraphale chooses to acquiesce to crowley's request for holy water... but also why it appears that they have somewhat cooled off in their association with each other right up until 2008. the risk - originally completely hypothetical - of being caught out in the arrangement has now been made manifest by hell, and there is likely a remaining associated risk with heaven also catching wind. as such, it's not inconceivable that aziraphale retreats back to being incredibly hesitant to cross the company line, hesitant to once again get caught up in this little bliss that has started to emerge (ahhh, love), and instead puts his stock back in at least acting like he is a scrupulous angel of heaven.

1967:

tbh, ive kind of covered that above; there has to be something that develops out of s2-1941 that would cause the tonal shift from the candlelit bookshop, to the alienation in 1967. aziraphale is curt, and short, with crowley - after hearing that crowley has chosen to source holy water by some other means - but is convinced enough to get it for him, and prevent any accidents in crowley acquiring it himself. personal theories aside, i think something must happen that hammers home to aziraphale that having a weapon with which to defend himself, even if there's the further risk to crowley by possessing it, is more important than allowing the risk of crowley being dragged to hell by demons to await whatever Bad Thing/s happened whilst he was there (either in 1827, or at some other point between then and 1967).

so against his clearly-set boundary, aziraphale gives it to crowley. he has to trust that crowley isn't going to use it on himself, or be reckless with it - even going so far as to hand him a flask in his own goddamn tartan pattern* - and still firmly draws the line that whilst maybe one day in the future they'll be able to interact with each other, be together (however romantically-intended or not you want to read that), they can't right now. at the moment, the main reasons that im reading into 'you go too fast for me' is a combination of aziraphale being concerned for crowley's wellbeing (and the risk their association places on that, if we consider 1941), but also because aziraphale himself isn't ready to fully step away from heaven. bear in mind that a lot aziraphale's identity is wrapped around being an angel, and being good - if he were to shirk all of that off, stick it to heaven... where does that leave him? what does that make him? what consequences would that have? in this respect, amongst others, aziraphale is still very much trapped in that same fear as he had in job - but now there's the added context that he's actually in love with crowley, only serving to raise the stakes of all that he has to lose.

*i cannot for the life of me remember where i saw the meta; but someone made the connection that giving someone your tartan, or dressing them in it, is essentially to say that they are your family/clan - uniting in a side - and that they are important to you. it's particularly eye-opening when you take into consideration that aziraphale starts wearing the tartan - as far as we see - after 1827, and when you look at instances of when aziraphale further bestows the tartan on crowley (the bike rack, the jacket collar). perhaps it wasn't ever intended to have that connotation, and it's purely hc, but as a way of aziraphale, potentially, wordlessly telling crowley that he recognises that they are on their side, that devotion and care is still there, even if they now can't risk being seen together? magnificent

modern day (2008-2023):

i promise im getting near the end of this

so the end of 1967 brings us up to present-ish day, and whilst im sure crowley and aziraphale have met up since 1967, i honestly don't think it's been incredibly often, not judging by their first interactions with each other in 2008 as we're introduced to them. but the first major issue - as you pointed out, anon - is that aziraphale is reluctant to stop the apocalypse happening. he hangs on to it being god's plan, and that he can't interfere with it. it does seem, on the surface, to be a regression of his character development, but tbh i don't see it that way at all.

aziraphale is still dancing a very thin line where he has to not only go along with heaven as far as he can, but also has cling to the idea that heaven represents good and light. he hasn't broken away from this yet, and honestly - how could he? what would it mean for him, what could he stand to lose, if he accepted that god and heaven may not be wholly good? what does that make him? it's a safety blanket that, sure, we can observe is one he should have abandoned long ago, so what is stopping him? imo, it's a combination of his self-identity being wrapped up in his being an angel, but also i think a good helping of fear of what could happen if he walked away (nod to omelas); the fear of the unknown is often more frightening than the known.

aziraphale might suspect that the archangels are the corrosive influence in heaven, but he still clings to belief that heaven in the first place was always intended to be good and right. but was it? heaven was once just... heaven. it wasn't good, it wasn't bad, it wasn't really anything - the creation of the fallen, and their descent into their domain (conjecture here; we still don't know what actually happened in the fall), was the element that defines that divide... the fallen challenged/abandoned god, and continue to corrupt her creation, and so they must be the Bad Guys. doesn't that therefore make... heaven the good? it's easy to see where aziraphale arrives at this conclusion - how all of the host arrives at this conclusion, frankly - but angels, i don't think, were ever good in the first place, nor was/is god. they just... are. but produce the concept of an opposite, in every way conceivable, and naturally it becomes a split between good and evil, too. aziraphale is an angel; he is good. crowley is a demon; he is bad. aziraphale is an angel who is just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing. crowley is a demon who is, at heart - just a little bit - a good person. to aziraphale, they may subvert the expectations that their kind would indicate, but it is still who they are at their core.

but back to 2008; aziraphale starts off asserting that heaven - "we" - will win, and it'll all be "rather lovely". i don't think aziraphale has any choice but to believe this, even if he knows what he stands to lose if it happens; crowley waxes on about everything that aziraphale enjoys and will disappear with the apocalypse, but it doesn't convince him. (there's a split second where he seems to have a Moment at the mention of the bookshop, which - yeah, he loves the bookshop and his books, but also everything that the bookshop has represented? hm.) crowley continues on as they approach the bentley, and aziraphale is clearly dithering, almost like it's wearing him down (bc, of course, crowley is right) and making him considerably uncomfortable (and fearful?), to the point that he snaps at crowley to stop.

once they're in the bookshop, aziraphale's guard comes down, and you can tell that he's lamentable about losing aspects of earth/what he can expect from eternity in heaven as crowley points them out. aziraphale becomes a little more candid; "even if i wanted to help, i couldn't. i can't interfere with the 'divine plan'." now look, read into the first bit that aziraphale doesn't actually want to stop armageddon, but... on a personal level, he absolutely does? he doesn't want to lose everything that crowley is pointing out to him, and certainly doesn't want to be subjected to the sound of music on repeat for all eternity - aziraphale absolutely does want armageddon to not-happen, but equally wants to keep his nose clean where heaven and god are concerned. and frankly, when crowley gives him a plausible excuse of chalking aziraphale's efforts to prevent the apocalypse up to it being a ruse to thwart The Demon Crowley... aziraphale practically crumbles like a wet paper bag.

im going to stop at 2008 because honestly this response is obscenely long as it is, and i think how his character develops through s1 and s2 is a lot more apparent (i also think ive talked about it in other asks somewhere, too). but ultimately my personal assessment of aziraphale through the flashbacks/minisodes is that whilst he hasn't had a huge overhaul of his character, his ethical and moral identity has developed and deepened, and remains very complex. there are also, imo, a lot of extenuating factors that influence what he considers to be right and wrong: the threat of heaven, and of hell, the fear of falling and/or losing the identity that he has (and fearing what would happen if he adios'd that entirely), his faith in god, his evolving sentiment and love for crowley, and his fondness of humanity. he may not have made great leaps and strides, resulting in becoming a completely different person, but i don't think that the moral dilemmas posed in the flashbacks wee necessarily meant to do that? more that they are an exploration of the intricate moral code that aziraphale possesses, and how each of these experiences inform on how he chooses to act - or not act - in others as time goes on.

#i hate this response sm it was so unnecessary (again really sorry for the length anon) but i got halfway through and had to Carry On #so yeah enjoy the essay that you didnt ask for and has so many holes in it - unpicking aziraphale would take a dissertation #and a more herculean effort than i have the strength for #good omens #ask #aziraphale meta #flashback meta #1941 spec #sorry forgot the tw!!!!#tw: suicide

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