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vidavalor · 3 years

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SamBucky opinions & things...

I’m not going to say who people should ship as it’s everyone’s own opinions and it’s a tv show/film series so it’s not like this is the most important thing on the planet... That said, I’ve seen a few posts from Stucky people who say they actively want to understand what SamBucky shippers see in the pairing and since I’m gone on these two, here are some thoughts...

If you take a long view-- which the MCU is having you do now because these characters are outlasting Steve Rogers in its canon-- Steve & Bucky, while fun to play with and full of a lot of really great yearning/angsty possibilities back in the day, are really just the formative chapters of Sam & Bucky’s romance. If we got more Sam flashbacks in the story-- and I really hope we do in his canon in the wake of the end of TFATWS (S1?)/CA4-- a Sam & Riley story would be the equivalent to The First Avenger, in terms of it sets up some backstory that leads to where the story is going, as opposed to is the entire story itself.

A main factor for me in liking Sam & Bucky over Bucky & Steve is that Sam is a healthy, mature choice for Bucky-- a guy who has gone through a hell of a lot here and deserves all the good things-- whereas Steve, while not a bad man, is a regressive choice. It stems from the fact that Steve was never really comfortable with Bucky’s sexuality-- at least not when it mattered-- and that’s because Steve was not comfortable with his own... or much of anything about himself. This still wouldn’t matter so much in terms of who to ship Bucky with if it weren’t also for the fact that Bucky is perfect *for Sam*, who should get all the good things, and we’ll get into that a bit more below. Have to do Steve & Bucky first because chronology and also because that’s the other ship in question here, really. (Sorry, SteveSam people like if you are asking for stuff too and anyone cares, I don’t think I have enough for a whole meta post on why it’s kinda blah, if full of cute friendship moments, but I touch on it a bit further below.)

The entire plot of The First Avenger is about how Steve is obsessed with being Mr. America 1940-- and how he gets to that point is understandable. He was born with a ton of heart, a truly good man, but he’s small and sickly and he doesn’t love himself. He lacks confidence in himself because he holds himself up to a standard of masculinity put forth by a country on the brink of war-- and then, at war-- as physically strong and very, very straight.

While Steve is desperate to change how he looks, Bucky hides behind how he looks. Steve might look at Bucky and see a lot of what he wishes he was-- the good-looking soldier with a dame on each arm-- but at some point, he becomes aware of how Bucky is playacting. He’s not as he appears to be. He’s a man trying to survive a world that does not accept him and working to pass in that society, all the while with an eye to the World of Tomorrow. Not just the technology that grips his imagination but the idea that things could improve, things could change and he’ll fight for America because he, like Steve and later, Sam, believes in it but while Steve worships it, Bucky can love it while looking at it critically. It’s not built for men like him.

Steve never fully understands this because while Bucky is trying to show him some of the World of Tomorrow, he’s off making plans to get injected with super serum to fill in the gaps of what he feels he needs to become the man he is supposed to be.

The key difference between them is that Steve will do anything to be that man-- and that includes shoving any potential feelings he has for Bucky so deep that he won’t even acknowledge them (if he has them at all). Bucky, on the other hand, even in 1940, had more strength. He wasn’t as tormented by who he was. I’m sure he had some of it at some point but by the time we meet him in the movies, he’s fine with who he is, even if the country he serves and the society in which he lives is not. He could basically give af. He doesn’t think in the ‘40s that he’s going to live to see an America that will ever really accept him and he fights for it anyway because Mr. America is really, fundamentally, more Captain America than The OG Captain America.

Steve is not a bad man by any stretch of the imagination but it’s clear that, at some point, he began to understand that Bucky liked men and while he didn’t do anything horrible about it-- like have Bucky arrested or told anyone else, both of which could have destroyed Bucky’s life at that time-- he never completely approved of it, either. Guaranteed he told Bucky more than once that if he just stopped, if he just found the right woman, etc-- he didn’t mean any harm with it but he was happy to think the way of his era, whereas Bucky was born ahead of his time. Still, Steve is probably the only person that Bucky knew then who knew his secret and that he protected it earned even more of Bucky’s loyalty and devotion.

Now, consider what happened when Steve Rogers was pulled out of the ice and found himself living in the literal World of Tomorrow. It’s imperfect, for sure. It’s overwhelming for him, especially at first, but it’s a world that he has to feel the wrong guy from the ‘40s has lived to see. How many times did Steve wish Bucky could see this world? How much was he thinking of Bucky when he met the literal son of the creator of the World of Tomorrow in Tony Stark-- a man who would challenge everything Steve thought was true about what it was to be a man? How guilty did Steve feel when he would sometimes get a little closer to being more open about himself in this world of Tony’s, when he’d think of how there had been a man who loved him in their own time, who was his best friend and gave him an unconditional love, even when Steve didn’t love himself, and how Steve just couldn’t love him like that in return?

Then, Steve’s journey results in him meeting Sam Wilson. They have some things in common-- they both know war and what it’s like to feel like like they might sink to the floor through a mattress. They both know the solitude of the floor and have not seem to have figured out a way beyond that. They both are runners-- literally and figuratively-- as they try to outrun the men from their pasts that they left behind... the fellow soldiers that didn’t make it home and died before their eyes. Sam is a good listener and Steve is Captain America-- they are able to help one another. Steve needs some counseling and Sam needs to feel a connection to the country he’s feeling has left him behind but that he loves. So, naturally, this is of course when Bucky resurfaces in the story.

The Winter Soldier’s existence breaks Steve in half because, for the first time, Bucky isn’t the strong one of the two of them. Bucky is in trouble and Steve never saved him. Have you all considered that The Howlies should have known Bucky was missing because back then, you left no man behind and they should have hiked down the hill for his body? If it wasn’t there, they should have realized he was *missing* and not *dead*? But they never did. Because, as crushed as he was by the loss of his closest friend, some dark part of Steve let Bucky be dead from that fall and couldn’t face seeing it for real because he couldn’t look at the unseeing, dead eyes of the man who loved him and accepted him, even when Steve was unable to give Bucky the latter in return. It was guilt and then that guilt pops up right as Steve is in conflict with Tony and has just met Sam not that long before-- these relationships with men in the modern era that challenge Steve to be a better version of who he was and who pops up but Steve’s living, breathing, prowling, raging guilt in human form.

And, man, is it ever causing some serious havoc...

So, why is Sam ultimately better? The guy who advised Steve that sometimes you couldn’t save them all and Bucky might be gone now and just needed to be stopped?

Steve couldn’t give up on Bucky because he felt he owed him. He had been on his own journey and realized a lot about how he used to think and act and here was Bucky again and a chance to make it up to him in some way. What’s of note, though? Steve does not act like someone who got a long-lost love back. He’s still running for Peggy the moment he has a chance. He’s still not capable of looking at Bucky as anything beyond his oldest, closest friend. What he wants for Bucky, though, is the World of Tomorrow.

Suddenly, there’s a chance to give to Bucky the thing he’s been thinking all the time since he woke up-- that this is a world for Bucky Barnes. Steve, out of his sense of loyalty and his decades-long guilt, moves heaven and earth to give Bucky that chance and is grateful when T’Challa will help to bring Bucky back. The irony of all of this is that Bucky Barnes, the man who used to hide his true self beneath an exterior identity, is now a man completely trapped beneath The Winter Soldier and when Steve sees a glimmer of that, he *has* to save Bucky.

What Sam learns along the way is that he and Steve have some things in common, sure, but he has more in common with Bucky Barnes. Sam is a man who understands what it is to have PTSD and the struggle to overcome it. He used to think he was the Steve of this story-- the one who watched his old soldier friend fall to his death-- but he has quickly realized he’s actually the Bucky... the guy who loved a man who couldn’t love him back and who was lost to him, leaving him spinning. Sam knows what it is to have to act in a different way to try to be accepted by a society that doesn’t have your back, even if you love the country with your whole heart anyway. He knows what it’s like to be a veteran who was left behind and forgotten about, discounted and forced to find his own way. For sure, Bucky has enjoyed more privileges in his day (pre-Winter Soldier) by virtue of being white than Sam has but neither of them are ever going to be what Steve Rogers wanted to be. Neither of them are that outdated ideal of 1940s blue eyed blond Star-Spangled Man with a Plan kind of masculinity.

Sam is also something Steve still really isn’t, even in the modern era, which is a man who is comfortable with the fact that he is attracted to men. In this World of Steve and Bucky’s Tomorrow that is the present, that is something that is no longer needed to be kept as hidden as it once was. It is not an era of complete change, especially in places like the military and when it comes to celebrity-- the nexus of Captain America’s world, really-- but it is an absolutely revolutionary transformation from when Bucky was last in control of his mind in the 1940s.

Sam is a quieter guy, even if he’s cheerful and amiable on the surface. He keeps a lot to himself. He’s clearly not gotten seriously involved with anybody in awhile when we met him and hadn’t between then and TFATWS, either, despite being a smart, gorgeous, kind and empathetic Avenger. The one who has caught his eye is the once-brainwashed assassin who keeps showing up to save his life (often from an annoying teenager with webbed fingers, much to their chagrin). It’s Bucky that he’s stuck with and that’s not just because he feels like Steve would want him to. Both he and Bucky think that the other might just be caring because of Steve but they prove to one another that this isn’t the case-- that their instincts that they have something that might be independent of Steve is true. They’re both afraid. They’ve both been through a lot and do not trust easily so it’s a thrill when they realize they really can trust one another-- and that they actually do *see* one another there. They don’t just see Steve’s shadow. They understand what the other needs and get better at it the longer they are together because they are fundamentally more alike and better suited than either of them are with Steve.

TFATWS has Bucky telling Sam that he and Steve talked about giving Sam the shield and since Steve’s shield in the present was broken in the battle with Thanos in Endgame, it means that Bucky knew the plan in its entirety (which goes along with how he doesn’t seem surprised by it in Endgame as well.) It means Bucky knew that Steve was going to go back to the time they were from and find Peggy after he put the stones back and have that dance. It means that Bucky standing there while Sam spoke with Steve knew he would see Old Steve that day, knew the whole thing. Steve, being the fundamentally decent man he is, had to have offered for Bucky to come with him. He probably really wished he would because he would love to have his friend back then with him for the rest of their lives. It would be a way to do it all over-- to go back to where they began and this time, Steve would try to be more supportive. You know he would have tried to be different, even if he couldn’t feel any thing different than what he did. But Bucky...?

Bucky had to see a life of more hell in that. What was the plan there for him? He goes back with Steve, they put the stones away, they find Peggy and then what? The rest of Bucky’s life is him married to some friend of Peggy’s they set him up with? Stolen moments with some man, if he was lucky enough to meet one? A family made not from love-- not the kind of love, anyway, that Bucky would like to have? What was waiting for him back then? Nothing.

Because he’s been through sheer hell but, somehow, he’s been given something he never thought was possible then: the chance to not only see what the future might be like but to live in it, as a part of it.

For sure, Endgame!Bucky, who had just gotten his mind back not that long before The Snap and just came back from dust to fight a battle and go to a funeral and that’s about it, hasn’t the first clue what the first step he should take to sort himself out enough to figure out how to live again is... but even then, even in that place of nothing but vulnerability and pain, he’s hopeful. He’s strong enough to say that’s what he wants. He wants what Steve wants, in a way-- to live in the time he belongs in and be able to find a life for himself. He wants the love and the family he never got to experience and wouldn’t in the same way in the era he was born in. Staying in the present to work though his pain and figure it out-- to have that choice-- means more to Bucky than following Steve because while Bucky believes in Steve’s goodness and would follow that to the moon and back, Steve cannot give him what he once might have wanted, which is to look at him the way that Steve looks at Peggy. Bucky wants that. Steve might not understand not wanting to live in the 1940s entirely but he wants Bucky to have whatever he wants. He feels uncomfortable not being there to see it through-- hence, that kind of awkward hug before he travels back in time. There are things that Bucky wants and needs that Steve doesn’t fully appreciate but he can appreciate him needing to make the choice to live the way he wants to live and deserving the freedom to do just that.

Consider the rush for Bucky when he realizes that Steve’s snarky friend might have just looked at him when he thought he wasn’t looking, that maybe that heat between them isn’t one-sided. That they live *now* and while it’s not free of challenges, it’s paradise compared to the 1940s. That maybe, just maybe, he lived through all this hell because he’s supposed to be here now and maybe that also means he’s supposed to be with this man who not only understands him but who is everything that Bucky couldn’t have been in his day-- openly attracted to men? If you were Bucky, there’s no way you couldn’t be entertaining fantasies about being able to take Sam for a romantic walk by the water somewhere and no one calling the police if you were to kiss him at sunset...

Not to mention that if you’re Sam? Who is going to get your PTSD and understand when you get a little quiet more than the guy you met while he fell out of the sky and tried to murder you while brainwashed? Who is so annoying because he’s dryly funny and annoyingly hot and more good than anyone who has been through that amount of hell should have a right to be? Who is enough like you to be made for you but different enough that you’ll never be bored? Who makes you feel safer than you’ve ever felt-- safe enough to give over a lot of the trust you are hesitant to give much of anyone because you know he won’t abuse it? You have to be entertaining thoughts about spending a lifetime making him feel as safe and finding new ways to make him laugh...

Sam and Bucky are the ones that will protect one another’s hearts. Steve is a great guy whose arc with Bucky is about making up for hurting him and growing as a person as a result, not about Steve’s undying romantic and/or sexual love, IMO. Among other things, Sam is the first man Bucky has been able to consider building a life with and I’d wager it actually works in reverse for Sam, despite him being born much later than Bucky-- Riley could have been Sam’s lover but there is enough pining regret there that I think he saw Sam in the way that Steve saw Bucky. There’s enough there to suggest that Sam had not met someone he saw a future with until Bucky, which would also account for the occasional nervousness. They seem like opposites but, in many ways, they’re exactly alike and in the ways that they are not, they compliment one another. Sam and Bucky are each other’s chances at happiness and peace so if you’re still saying Bucky should be sobbing in Steve’s notebook waiting for him to come back from the woman he left him for... why are you wishing such hell on this poor guy? Bucky deserves the smiles and the lightness in his step and the sister and the nephews and the community cookouts and, most of all, *Sam*...

...and Sam deserves the sun, the moon and the stars and seems content having found his way to the shield and to Bucky so let them be happy for the hot minute they will be until their movie conflict. ;) Steve’s getting his dance-- Bucky and Sam deserve theirs, too.

#sambucky #stucky #captain america #bucky barnes #sam wilson #steve rogers #the falcon #tfatws #thewintersoldier #thewhitewolf #marvel #mcu

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applsauss · 3 years

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Lightning Bugs in July | II

GUNNER AND BUG

Description: You were christened ‘Bug’ by Beth and ‘Gunner’ by your pals. Those are the names that define you.

Fandom: Band of Brothers

 Pairing:  Joseph Toye/Reader

Word Count:  5.9k+

Warning(s): Derogatory Language. Nothing you wouldn’t see in the show.

“What did they call you?”

Em’s question was so innocent.

You were called ‘Bug’ once, when you’d run barefoot through the grass, catching lightning bugs with your bare hands in the sleepy twilight.

Beth was younger, then. So were you. She would call after you from the porch: “Buggy! Come in. It’s getting late!”

You existed in a world without war for so long, why can’t you exist there once more? Why is it so hard to stand back on that beach and live in it the way it was, the way you once were?

There were lightning bugs, then, over the Potomac. They flashed like they wanted to remind you of everything good still left in the world.

“Were you a good machine gunner?”

They called you ‘Gunner’ once. You used to take pride in that name, then you learned to accept it for what it was: A fact, something that’s definition just meant you, something that was yours.

They would call after you, in a firefight, in the quiet often that followed one:

“Gunner!”

Wars seem never-ending when you’re in the middle of one.

You are shaking in a foxhole. Dirt falls over your head and shoulders the farther you press your back into the wall behind you, and your machine gun is steaming above you. These are unimportant details. Mostly, you are staring at your bloody hands.

Something drips down the side of your face like a shiver. Your chest rises and falls quickly -- so quickly -- you can't control it. Mostly, though, you are staring at the wet blood sticking between your fingers.

"Gunner!"

Where did all this blood come from? You look down at your arm and find that the red is soaking through your uniform as well. Is it yours? Panic flares, cold like dread in your chest, and you can't catch your breath, but you're breathing so quickly -- how can it feel like you're drowning? Is it the blood?

"Gunner!"

There is a loud ringing in your ears, like gnats swarming your head. Are you dying?

"Gunner!"

Someone slides into your foxhole. You suck in a sharp, rattling breath and scramble for your bayonet, but the straps of your webbing are tangled and you can't yank it free. Then a hand settles over yours -- kind in that it is unyielding -- and you realize it's just Joe Toye who's crouched beside you. "Oh, Gunny," he rasps as he sinks to his knees, the edges of him stark against the sky.

"Joe?'

You can barely make out his face in the broad daylight; your vision blurs and drops off to static around the edges. You try and force more words up and from your chest, but your jumbled mind won't let any thoughts stick. Slowly, Joe wraps his arms around you and brings you to his chest.

"Are you hurt?"

The question confuses you. You don't have an immediate answer. You turn your face into Joe's chest, nose pressed to his jacket, and beneath all the shellfire and hellfire, the air around Joe Toye tastes like Lucky strikes on your tongue.

“I don’t know.”

“Where’s Lieb?”

"I don't know." You find yourself struggling to hold down the urge to cry. You wrestle with it on the floor of your mind, bat at its hands and squeeze its neck. Joe cradles your head and begins rocking back and forth.

"It's alright. You're alright. You're looking fine, Gunner--"

"Oh, dear God--"

Someone else is at the lip of the foxhole, the familiar shadow of a friend cast over you.

"Go get the doc."

You barely recognize Eugene Roe when he slips down the wall of your foxhole. He has the pallid face of an angel, his halo, the red cross on his helmet.

Joe's voice rumbles in his chest like a beloved wave of thunder. "You're gonna be fine, huh, Gunner?"

"Huh, Gunner?

"Huh, Gunner?"

Does he know what your name means to you?

You were called 'Bug' once, when you ran barefoot through the grass chasing lightning bugs.

You never liked your first name because it was given to you by your mother, who didn’t, and still doesn’t, know you. You were christened ‘Bug’ by Beth and ‘Gunner’ by your pals. Those are the names that define you.

When you close your eyes, you urge yourself to remember that beach, that twilight, that last moment of peace you stole before you waded deeper and let the current of war sweep you under, tear you away from whatever simpler life you might have lead if you'd never joined up and shipped off, shot and been shot, dug into the earth and understood intimately the way it shivers during an artillery barrage.

This is one thing you know for certain: Your name belongs to you the same as it is you, who you are.

What did they call you?

Gunner. Because it's what you call a machine gunner. A good one.

Joe sets your helmet on your head; You forgot when you took it off in the first place. A hand appears in front of your face; Skip Muck is staring down at you grimly as he hoists you up and over the edge of the foxhole.

The sun in France is soft like velvet, and with the eclipsing of spring comes a fresh summer breeze. The air rushes over your skin, caressing your face like a lover might, and the sun kisses the apples of both your cheeks, speckled through the leaves. These are unimportant details.

Mostly you cannot tear your eyes from the field of German bodies that comes into view as soon as you clamber out of the foxhole. There are twenty, maybe thirty of them -- a whole platoon draped like dolls over each other, shredded from high-caliber rounds. It is a mass grave.

Blood soaks into the dirt. The grass it drips from sways in the summer breeze without care. Blood drains from your face, leaving behind cold dread, and you smear it on your pants when you try and wipe it from your hands.

Some memories make it past the filter of your mind. It was enfilade fire, which is a technical term meant to obscure the horror a gunner witnesses when it happens. The Krauts had been lined up so neatly, eager to catch the rest of the company off-guard to the point of deadly carelessness.

You remember feeling mostly confusion when the first couple soldiers in your sights fell, only to reveal the others stacked up behind them, pierced by the same spray of bullets. Hubs, your ammunition bearer, had shouted something along the lines of 'get those fucking Krauts, Gunny!" before loading up another belt for you to bury more dead with. You don’t remember why Liebgott wasn’t there to do it instead.

That confusion you felt -- your mind unable to process the carnage -- gave way to urgency when you were reminded of your buddies, just over the hill, their backs turned and wanting for a bullet while they take care of the line. “Don’t let anyone past,” Lip had told you and Hubs before shuffling off. “We’re all countin’ on you.”

The Kraut platoon leader managed to get his men together a bit, and they stopped mid-charge to fire back upon your position. Vaguely, you remember an explosion, a squelch, a shout, being thrown against the wall, then jumping right back on your gun. And now you're left in the silence of a firefight. The air tastes heavy with blood.

"Gunner," Joe Toye rasps.

You shake your head and fumble with your breast pocket for a pack of gum. You set a stick of it between your teeth, bite down, and let the spearmint burn a hole through your tongue.

It feels deserved.

“Gunner.”

That’s your name. It’s what you are. A machine gunner.

Instruments of war are carefully, purposely, deadly. A well utilized machine gun can change the tide of an entire battle -- that lesson was drilled into you the moment they picked you out for a machine gunner, the moment you were christened in Toccoa by Joe Liebgott and O. Petty.

You are a machine gunner.

You attempt for a moment to hang onto that urgency you felt when Lip gave you your orders to justify the death in front of you. You’ve never seen so many bodies before. In certain spots, the Germans are two, three deep, dead and dying on top of each other. One of them wails. The sound pierces you faster than any bullet. The sound is stuck in your ears. It is there, always,whenever it is quiet.

Your mouth tastes like blood and spearmint. You hate that flavor. You squeeze your eyes shut, but no memory comes.

"Were you a good machine gunner?"

Yes. You were.

An hour later, the rest of Easy Company bustles around you. You are sitting next to your machine gun while Smokey cleans it, occasionally spitting the chewing tobacco from his mouth onto the grass.

"Joe," you ask quietly, staring down at your bandaged hands while they shake. Joe Toye grunts, and you meet his eyes then, feeling brittle and empty. "Where's Hubs?"

It isn’t until the next day you find out you’re wearing what’s left of him. Liebgott tells you this shamefully, wringing the straps of his musette bag and unable to look you in the eyes. You both feel the loss immensely.

But wars end eventually, and in October, the Virginia heat touches down once daily, in the early afternoon. Tommy sits down on the wood pile beside you and pulls out his lunch box, same as yours. You tilt your head back and enjoy the brittle heat of the day wrapping itself around you like a quilt. You let your eyes slip shut and it almost feels like just yesterday you were standing out on the gravel bank in your wrinkled uniform, throwing your medals into the Potomac, instead of three months ago. Your fingers twitch, and your thoughts are flooded with the taste of spearmint.

"Hey," Tommy grunts beside you.

You peak an eye open to find him holding out a saltwater taffy for you to take. His pockets are always full of them. You don't remember exactly when he picked the habit up, but it's been this way since you were kids.

You accept the small offering, unwrap it, then pop it in your mouth. "Thanks," you mutter, and he nods.

The afternoon is quiet. The sweat you worked up installing drywall is freezing on your back, but the toes of your boots are sweltering in the dry sun. You find yourself lingering for longer and longer in moments like these. It began in France, when Easy Company would eventually break in a relatively quiet town after going through hell.

You were always a bit greedy with food and personal property, everybody with siblings is, but you were never as greedy with anything else than a peaceful moment after your boots touched French soil for the very first time. Some days, it was as if your entire mind, body and soul wanted for nothing more than to lounge out in the sun and play a game of cards. You held on to those moments with a greed so intense that at times, it felt like nobody but General Taylor himself could order you away.

There are some things you need to learn to let go of, though.

“Where’s Ma?” you ask after a prolonged lapse in conversation. The question has been on your mind for some time now. Your mother's a tramp, but she usually shows her mousy face every couple weeks around the house, begging for table scraps, sometimes demanding them.

Tommy shrugs. “Hasn't been back nearly as much since you left. Last I heard -- you know how Beth is with her -- she went off to New Orleans or somewhere with a gentleman suitor. Hasn’t been back since March.”

You shake your head. “‘Course that’s where she went." You remember her waxing poetic about Mardi Gras and all of its sexual freedoms. You run a hand through your hair and wish quietly for the way Lieb would cut it. The conversation feels awkward and stilted when it shouldn't, because Tommy is your brother and you’ve known him since you were two and he was zero days old.

The air tastes uncomfortable, and humor is the only weapon you have to mask the flavor. "Anything else happen while I was gone?” you ask, half-joking.

Tommy shakes his head, the attempt at humor landing between his feet, a dud shell. “Not much has changed. You know Norma’s graduating this year, says she wants to be a movie star” -- you laugh good-naturedly at this -- “She’s got a plan and everythin’. L. A,” Tommy continues with a snort.

You open your mouth to respond but a quick shout interrupts you.

“Hey, Bug!” A couple of the other workers at the job site are approaching you. You smile curtly and nod your head. Tommy is silent while they poke and prod at you, try and get you to tell them a couple war stories.

“So tell us what it was like.”

“Did you shoot anyone?”

“You must be either brave or stupid to have volunteered to jump out of a perfectly good aeroplane.”

These are all things you've heard before, a part of the same, re-used script every man who didn't enlist carries in his back pocket.

“Hey, next time you’re down at Old Towne’s your drinks are on me, alright, hero?” That one's new, and something you're having difficulty getting used to. No one in town thinks much of your family, your mother's broke and half of you are abominations on your fathers' side, but a war hero is a war hero, you suppose. At least that's the case for you.

You say what you have to to get them to move on as quickly as possible. You don’t want to talk about any of it, you don't want to think about any of it -- you want to scrub Europe from your mind until it's the blurry memory of a night terror you only have early in the mornings, before you're fully awake.

“Alex is back in town.” Tommy says when the crowd of workers finally moves on.

You frown. “Since when?”

“Since Christmas. ‘Was all torn up when we broke the news that you’d gone, said that you were real brave and real foolish, waxed poetic about how you were worth the wait.”

You can't help the bitter laugh punched from your chest. “The wait?”

Tommy shakes his head in sympathy. “Norma chased her off before I could, and I had to hold Pat back from trying to maul her in town a couple times.”

You laugh and drop the conversation. Alex Lanchester is a jar of worms you don't want to reopen. She left you for a suit and the Big Apple two weeks before you finally confessed to enlisting.

It’s stupid to get caught up in someone like that, so you don’t. You just close your eyes and think of those lightning bugs on the Potomac and when Tommy lights up a cigarette, you keep your eyes closed and pretend they’re not Lucky Strikes.

In the winter there is ice along the Potomac. The gravel's crunch underfoot is sharper and the flow of the river is slowed to a crawl. This is an unusually cold year. The snow began in late November and hasn't stopped since.

You are standing at the edge of the water, where the ice is thick and uneven, and you watch the opposite bank for paranoid movement. You wander back to this beach often. It's changed, eerie like a mirror image of a place you once loved, but it is quiet and often empty.

You kick at the ice, watching it crumble beneath your feet, then your stomach lets you know it's growing impatient for lunch. You stare out across the Potomac for a moment longer, then turn on your heel and begin marching home.

You pass familiar landmarks as you go, all of them covered by a blanket of slushing, gray snow. There are boulders you'd played king of the hill on as a child, overgrown trails leading up to the manor sitting empty atop the hill, and the crooked oak Tommy once leapt out of, only to break his leg in two places. A faint smile pulls at the corners of your mouth when you remember how he blubbered while you dragged him home. He's taller now, and broad like an ox; he doesn’t often cry anymore.

You pause suddenly at a large willow draped over the river and the road. Its branches droop low, and are frozen to the shoreline. You almost don't recognize your own initials carved into it, next to an A.L. lovingly, painstakingly inscribed beside them.

You remember when you'd taken a knife to this tree, in your senior year of high school. There's no greater taste than love in your mouth, and Alex taught you that, kissed and kissed you and promised her life to you. You'd been convinced that the world would fold up in front of you like a red carpet, that you would never want to wash out the flavor of caramel popcorn and a promise for the future like starshine from your mouth.

You press your fingers to the damaged bark, trying to glean some sort of emotion from it, then pull your hand away as if burned. It's stupid to get caught up in a person like that, so you don't. You pull out a pack of Lucky Strikes you'd nicked off Tommy, and set a cigarette between your lips.

The taste is strong, stronger than anything you'd ever had before. It makes your eyes water, but you keep it unlit and resting against your tongue as you walk home, ignoring the way your heart throbs until you're once again staring up at your three-bedroom house, at the end of the shitty road, wondering what in the hell you're supposed to do with yourself now that you're no longer 'Gunner', but instead 'Bug' once more, like you used to be.

You don't feel much like 'Buggy' these days.

You just feel tired.

You're sitting in your bed facing the window. The radiator under it is rattling, and the heat rolling off the coils warms the front of your body. Out the window, Virginia is naked and pale under the early morning sun, and you watch as the gray forest shivers in the breeze. The chill drives you to a razor’s edge and pulls memories you'd long since drowned to the surface of a river edged with ice.

You see faces just under the surface of those dark waters, staring up at you. You blink the image away, then see half-buried foxholes from the Ardennes out your window, waiting in the treeline at the edge of the yard.

You see yourself huddled in one of them, behind your machine gun, and Joe Toye sitting next to you, griping about his feet and smoking like a chimney. His face, his hands, his voice were rough. You wanted to die wrapped up in the blanket of his stumbled, awful vocabulary. Everything about him was warm to the touch, sometimes like spring sunshine, sometimes like the lick of fire up the side of a pan.

But winter leaves a bad taste in your mouth, like the bite of iron in blood. You can't stand the flavor anymore, and with it comes this itching under your skin; discomfort, rage.

You turn away and pull open the top drawer of your bedside table, intent on finding the pack of Lucky Strikes you stole from Tommy. There is a stack of letters held together with a rubber band, some faded photographs full of blurry faces, taken in Europe, and those cigarettes.

The taste of blood in your mouth is unbearable. It tastes the same as a field of German bodies. You lick your teeth, stare at the pack, then decide you deserve the flavor. You shove the cigarettes back into the drawer so they're hiding under a photo of Second Platoon, then look back outside. It's begun to feather snow.

Winter and the holiday season are in full swing, now -- The kids are home on Christmas break, playing in the snow and bothering Beth at all hours of the day, and the world outside your home is quiet and cold. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth, like the bite of iron in blood. You can't think of anything there is to celebrate anymore, and the fact that people are celebrating at all is enough to make undeserved anger well up in your chest.

There is a pounding of feet up the old stairs that stops abruptly at the door behind you.

"Beth says breakfast is ready."

You look over your shoulder to find Em hanging from the doorway, poking her head into the bedroom. Her clothes are a clash of yellows and warm blues, and she flashes her teeth when she grins at you.

"Thanks, Sweet Em."

Her eyes light up at the name, then she bounds across the room and drapes herself over your back. You grunt when she squeezes you, her sharp chin poking into your shoulder, then laugh, and grab her arms where they're clasped in front of your throat so you can stand up with her.

"Noo!" she squeals and wraps her legs around your waist, but she lets you carry her all the way down to the table, where you let her off at her favorite chair, then take Lip's seat next hers. "Got any plans for this lovely winter break, Em?"

Em shrugs her shoulders and begins to eat her oats. “Dog and Tommy said they’d go sledding with us! Did you want to come, too?”

Your mind fills with images of foxholes and forgotten faces and your smile falters for a moment, but you work to ignore the dread sinking into your chest. You're interrupted by a shout.

“Hey, Bug! Did you really cut your hair like this? And who’re your buddies?” Ulysses comes thundering down the steps holding a picture over his head. You immediately know the one, it was taken the day before D-Day when you’d all been kitted out. Joe Toye was in it, so was Smokey and Liebgott.

Panic like anger blooms in your chest. He shouldn't be going through your things. You fix Ulysses with a look. "Give it back."

"Why?" He shrinks back, holding the picture to his chest. "It's just a picture."

He shouldn't be going through your things. Your eyes burn. You're beyond words. You leap up and try to snatch it, but Ulysses backs up the stairs, holding it behind his back. The fact that he's holding that piece of you, waving it around, unsettles something in your chest. Beth shouts something, but you don't hear her.

"Give it back, Ulysses!"

He can play with your uniform all he wants, take your loot out and parade it around his friends like he was the one to steal it, but that picture is personal. It's the last thing you have left of your buddies. You grab Ulysses by the belt and tug him towards you to try and snatch the picture from him, but he squirms in your hold. "Hey! Stop it! That hurts!"

"Then give it back!" you shout, increasingly desperate and mad, tugging until Ulysses falls back onto the stairs, shouting at you. Then Jim-boy appears at the top of the stairs, and descends then faster than you can react. He snatches the picture out of Ulysses' hands, gives him a withering look, then holds it out for you to take.

The silence that follows a firefight is unbearable. You remember that they used to call you 'Gunner'.

You feel four pairs of eyes on you. Ulysses is rubbing his elbow where he knocked it on the stairs. You look down at the picture.

It's of Second Platoon, the same one you'd thought it was. Joe Toye and Liebgott are on either side of you, smiling. You have both your hands on your ammunition bearer, Hubs', shoulders, leaning over him and you're grinning widely, your mohawk cut fresh on your head.

Guarnere is towards the back, caught shouting something over his shoulder. Smokey, Rogers, and McClung are next to each other, arms over each other's shoulders. Malarkey and Buck are arm-in-arm with big, cheesy grins. Petty's there too, and Ramirez. Popeye, Muck, Penkala. There is paint on your faces. Half of you are dead.

Your hand shakes the more you stare at it, anger and frustration rising in you until you're choked by it. "Fuck!" Half of you are dead. You feel as if you died with them. Maybe you wish you had.

You drop the photo on the floor and stalk out the back door, not bothering with shoes even though the ground is covered in snow. The dog barks happily, but you ignore him and the slap of the screen door as you head straight towards the gnarled apple tree, knowing you can sit behind it in peace. Your feet burn in the snow, but it's nothing you're not used to.

From the house you hear Beth’s low voice scolding Ulysses, but it’s not his fault. You’ve changed.

The days that follow are rough. Winter's maw opens up and deepens; swallows you whole. It snows heavily through the rest of the week. You spend the meat of your days working, and the lean margins down at the Potomac, staring at the river ice and the faces just beneath the surface.

Now it is well past sunset, and it is cold. The white of the snow and clouds reflect the distant city lights, creating an eerie, lilac, never-ending twilight that surrounds you, holds its breath and watches your every move.

Bastogne never had any color; it was just gray. In Virginia, the winter is steeped in purples and pinks when night falls, and during the day it is powder fresh and bluebird soft.

You're sitting on a frozen log, throwing rocks at the river ice when you hear the sharp crunch of gravel behind you. You jump violently at the sound but don’t turn to see who it is even when your instincts scream for you to. A part of you wants to wait and see if they'll give up without acknowledgement, dreading any interaction, and another part doesn't care anymore.

"It's been a while." After a prolonged silence, a familiar voice rings out in the silence of winter. It is singular and friendly. Alex dusts the snow off a bit of log next to you, and smooths her skirt as she takes a seat beside you.

You continue to stare across the river, ignoring the faces in favor of searching for Krauts now. You're not quite sure why, but you're not surprised she's here.

Beside you, Alex digs the toe of her boot into the snow covered gravel, then asks, "how long have you been back in town?"

Your mouth is dry. "Since August,” you say reluctantly.

She sighs. "You never came to see me."

Her tone rubs against you like a cat asking for its chin to be scratched, then tests its claws in your chest. You remind yourself to be mad-- "Yeah, well, you left me first--" But you're not. You're not upset with her. Maybe you were, in the beginning, but you're not anymore. You don't think you could be even if you tried. You're so far removed from that heartbreak, it seems insignificant after everything you've done and seen.

"Can't say I blame you for being angry," Alex says frankly.

You roll your stiff shoulders and heave a sigh. You're past giving a damn. You bounce another rock off the river ice, then rub your chapped hands together. It might just be the way the light bounces off the snow, but sometimes you can still feel, see, smell the blood on them. You can still taste it. They are red. You work your jaw around a phantom piece of spearmint gum, then wish for the bitter taste of Lucky Strikes.

“What happened?” Alex asks.

You stare hard at the ground. "I went to war."

"No," she laughs humorlessly, then gestures to your hands. "What happened?"

You follow her gaze down to your hand, and it takes you a moment to realize she's not talking about the blood, but your scars. They are raised, irregular and uncomfortable. You stare at your skin for a moment, then hide your hands between your knees. "Burned myself with the barrel of my machine gun." Your nails cut your palm as you first your hands, and your mouth runs before you can catch it. "Had no choice but to bare-hand it. Doc patched me up afterward, said I was lucky that it wasn't as bad as it could've been."

She is quiet, then remarks, “Sounds painful.”

You are not yourself. You feel a sudden urge to correct her. "It didn't hurt till the morning -- I didn't even notice it to begin with."

There is more, just waiting on the tip of your tongue to be spilled. You haven't so much as breathed a word of the war in the months you've been home, so why is the urge to speak so uncontrollable now?

"It happened the same day my first assistant gunner died right beside me, a direct hit with a bazooka round, had his guts sprayed all over me and everything, and I didn't know till the morning. Joe had to pull me outta the foxhole, all covered in gore and that's when this--" you hold up your arm-- "happened, or a little afterwards, you know, when we finally got into the town we'd been trying to liberate. Fucking Nazis."

You look up to find Alex watching you with pity. You turn to watch the river instead. There is movement in the dark forest across the way. You squeeze your knees and shake your head. There aren't any Krauts anymore.

“Never mind.” “It must have been hell over there.”

"It wasn't."

"What?" she asks.

"It was," you amend. You realize that you don't know how long you've been sitting out here in the cold. It must be well past dinner. You pat your knees and make to stand with a huff. “Well, I gotta go. Beth won’t like it if I’m out after dark for too long. She barely lets me outta her sight anyways.”

“I missed you, you know," Alex says suddenly, voice wobbly.

You glance over at her, then back across the river at the Krauts and Bitterness returns. “I’m sure you did. Everyone misses the war hero.”

“No,” she says, “I mean I missed you. You. Breaking it off with you was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

You close your eyes, and even though you're standing in the exact spot you once had, before you'd gone off to war, a toy soldier, you can't picture this beach the way it had once been. But you remember Joe Toye, when he'd held you in that foxhole in France, rocked you, whispered right in your ear that you'd be okay.

"You know--" you start to say, then are forced to stop when your voice shakes with emotion you didn't know you felt. You swallow thickly, and blink your wet eyes. "You know, burning my hand or even losing Hubs wasn't the worst part of that day."

Alex looks up, but you stare at your hands. There is blood on them, and now you're sure it's not just the lilac sky. "It was knowing I killed those Germans. A whole platoon. I mowed down a whole platoon of Krauts with just a single gun -- and they were just kids, you know, like Hubs -- Like Dog. Just like him!

"I got a medal for it, they fucking congratulated me, said I was real brave. Crazy thing to tell a murderer, ain't it?"

There is a brief silence, then Alex sighs.

"Merry Christmas," she says sardonically, and it confuses you for a moment until you realize that today is Christmas. December twenty-fifth. What an arbitrary date. You remember how she used to be so adamant you celebrate it with her.

"Merry Christmas," you breathe, hollow. You feel her eyes on you for a moment, then she directs her gaze back out over the Potomac, and you wonder if she's looking for Krauts too, the way Joe would.

You wish for a flare. You wish for Tommy's Lucky Strikes to burn your tongue on. You try and fight the tears, but you're just so goddamn tired. You're more Gunner than you ever were Bug now, and Gunner is so goddamn tired. Why is that?

Your weak knees force you to take a seat on the log once more, and you drop your head into your hands, aware of Alex and how she is watching you, pitying you. Joe would never look at you like that.

You heave a quiet, shaky sob at that thought. How are you ever supposed to be Bug again? Since you were Gunner when you leapt to your death in Normandy? Since you were Gunner when you killed in cold blood for your buddies? Since you were Gunner when Joe Toye would hold you and make you forget about everything but him and his goddamn lightning bug eyes? Since you were Gunner when you heard the crack of a bat, then the news that the war would be over, for good this time.

You try and stifle the way you cry into your hands, but you can't. It is like the rain in Virginia: Absolute. A firestorm. You can't control the way your body shakes with each rattling, frozen breath. Your vision blurs to nothing and you dig the heels of your palms so hard into your eyes you see spots.

You barely realize what's happening when Alex wraps an arm around your back and leans into you, holding you tight to her chest. She's warm, and not as solid as Joe, but she is a startlingly welcome comfort nonetheless. As long as she stays quiet, you can even pretend that It's Joe Toye holding you instead, in Bastogne, whispering to himself and singing that stupid Billie Holiday song he was so obsessed with.

But you didn't love Joe Toye. He tasted like Lucky Strikes and hellfire and the twilight lit up by flares, drifting like lightning bugs in the sky. His river was not the same as your river from memory but it's all you can seem to think about these days. That night in France, when you'd been so close to something, but afraid to grasp it. Why can't you forget that night, like the rest of the war?

This makes you cry harder.

You didn't love Joe Toye, but you loved Alex a lifetime ago. Before all of this, you'd been in love, carved your initials next to hers in a tree and promised each other the rest of your long lives.

This is one thing you know for certain: Joe Toye did not taste like love, but Alex tasted like starshine and caramel popcorn and first dates and first loves and hurt and broken promises and it turns your stomach the way your fifth candy apple does but you want it anyways.

You fucking want it anyways.

Masterlist | Posting Schedule

#bob #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x reader #joe toye #joseph toye #joe toye x reader #joseph toye x reader #joe toye imagine #joseph toye imagine

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jui-imouto-chan · 4 years

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Part 4

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Okay I haven’t gotten many more asks/comments for this but I also gained a decent number of followers after posting so I feel like that’s worth some celebration with another part!

(We’re 571 followers y’all what the HECK.)

••

Hinata’s class had a few third-year helpers, those being Asahi-senpai, Sugawara-senpai, and Daichi-senpai.

Suga-san, as he preferred to be referred to, took a great liking to Hinata, always doting on him when he’d come in and helping him with subjects he struggled in (which were all of them).

When Daichi would chew Hinata out for falling asleep during class (among other things) or when Asahi would freak out on Hinata’s behalf, Suga would always be ready to step in—whether that be by assuring Daichi that Hinata’d correct his mistakes—

(“You need to make sure you sleep better tonight. You can’t stay up, okay?” “You’re right. I’ll try to be in bed by 9:30, tonight, so I won’t be tired during class again. I’m sorry for the disturbance, Suga-san, Daichi-san.” “See, Daichi, he’s learned his lesson.”)

—or by forcing Asahi and Hinata—who’d get caught up in the big guy’s anxiety—to calm down—

(“Asahi, if you’re going to freak out, we can handle it in the hallway. We can breathe and talk through it and you’ll be fine, and so will Hinata. Hinata, come over here.” The silverette opened his arms, “You can hug me however you need and if you feel like you need to voice your worries, I’ll listen.”).

Kageyama thankfully didn’t get too upset when Suga would coddle the redhead, his surly expression unchanging beyond the mild flash of envy that would spark in his eyes whenever Hinata would stare after Suga with admiration during class.

Daichi and Asahi had their own ways of taking care of Hinata (no more than anyone else in class, no, of course not—), what with the affirmations and attentiveness Daichi gave him and the gentle way Asahi would urge him to take care of himself, so while Suga was certainly very doting, he was not alone in that regard.

There were, however, some who enjoyed putting a damper on Hinata’s day, such as Tsukishima. He sat directly in front of Hinata, so he’d lean back and ask oh-so snidely if the redhead needed him to slouch or lean to the side. He wouldn’t do so until Hinata pleaded with him to, and by the point that he did, Hianta’d have missed half the lecture and notes. Tsukishima, using Yamaguchi as a proxy, would often slip some rendition of the notes into Hinata’s notebook to make up for it, if only because he didn’t want to have Hinata’s brain explode behind him during their next test.

Yamaguchi was tolerable, if only for the fact that he didn’t express anything negative toward Hinata himself, instead just supporting Tsukishima whenever he could. Plus, Yamaguchi snuck Hinata a snack from the vending machine once, so Hinata would be very willing to ignore his bystander tendency. The class notes Hinata got from him after the first week (that somehow didn’t look like Yamaguchi’s handwriting) sealed the deal, and eventually bumped Yamaguchi up from tolerable to a Cool Dude(TM).

During lunch one day, Hinata and Kageyama stood out in the courtyard, Kageyama drawing a few shapes in the dirt using a long stick.

“What’re you drawing?” Hinata inquired. He had gotten a ball to the face during PE that hour, his nose dripping blood quickly after, and the stuffiness could be heard in the way his voice came out (—Yamaguchi had a painfully good drop kick during their soccer game, and it seems he accidentally aimed at Hinata’s face).

The two of them were told to sit the rest of class out so Kageyama could monitor Hinata. (His tendency of accidentally bleeding was something Ukai was very wary of, after all.)

“There’re a few different summoning circles. There are some that have higher chances of summoning a specific type of being. Any and all beings can be summoned by the standard one, which is how you got me and... Oikawa-san... but there are ones that will most often call a particular subset of creature.”

“Oh, so what’s this one?” Hinata bent over to look closer at it. “It has the letter from English class... uhhhh... ‘A’?”

“You remembered something from English class? How?”

“You’re not allowed to say anything like that.” Kageyama’s test scores usually sat a point or two below his, which was something Hinata lorded over his demon whenever he could. “So what’s it for?”

“Angels,” Kageyama explained. “They’re surprisingly similar to demons in how they’re made, but they’re also considered to be a little too busy to handle summoning affairs after the wars technically ended a century ago. So you’re actually more likely to get a demon through this than an angel, since they’re less likely to answer the call.”

“Huh, there were wars?”

“Did you listen to me at all last night?! I explained everything!!”

“Oops.”

Kageyama reached over to strangle his summoner, which lead to Hinata dodging and repeatedly avoiding Kageyama’s angry clasp. Hinata might’ve gotten a bit too into his evasion, as he didn’t notice when his blood slipped from his nose to drop onto the Angel-Summoning circle until the shape glimmered and hummed.

“You dumbass—” Kageyama shouted, tackling Hinata away in case a dangerous demon came out.

“Why does this always happen?” Hinata whined. He shielded his eyes, he and Kageyama unable to watch as the circle shone brighter and brighter, a portal of light enveloping the area.

Finally, the light began to dim, and they slowly and hesitantly opened their eyes.

“H-Hinata?”

Huh?

“S-S-Suga-san?” “Sugawara-san?!”

•

••Part 4 of (?)••

•• Send Asks for more! Feel free to ask about characters and send Headcanons! Or if u wanna just talk Haikyuu/ships, I’m good with that too! :) ••

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#sugahina #sugawara koushi #hinata shoyo/everyone #hinata harem #hinaharem #kageyama tobio #kagehina #daichi sawamura #azumane asahi #haikyuu!#hq #tsukihina #tsukishima kei #yamaguchi tadashi #yamahina #daihina #asahina #summoner au

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citrusella-flugpucker · 3 years

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All 68 of my SU fics, apparently

((Because @novantinuum did it and then I wanted to do it and then they said “do it” and I took it as a dare

Compiling these gave me a sense of accomplishment. And pain. In my wrist.

Multi-line summaries nearly always squashed to lessen the vertical length of this post, even if most of it is below a readmore))

Multi-chapter fics, regardless of collection status (chronological order--oldest to newest):

And He Doesn’t Wake: My first SU fic, complete; “It can't end like this. Or: Waxing realistic as we examine the events of the episode "Bubbled".” Steven suffers halfway-realistic effects from being exposed to the vacuum of space. Probably not super canon compliant given what we learned in Growing Pains but a fic that branches off at Bubbled and rejoins canon around Mindful Education (and written around that timespan).

Diamond in the Rough: Incomplete; “Connie is in the hospital with a serious disorder, and her biggest chance is an experimental treatment combining minerals with blood transfusions. Little does anyone know...” Originally crack of “Connie gets powers from PD-infused blood” but then ASPR happened and I have to figure out where it goes now (and I want to! but...).

The Results Are In: Incomplete; “Sadie gets a piece of mail from her dad. For most people that'd be pretty mundane, but it's a little more complicated considering who exactly her dad is.” Barb/Blue Diamond crack (it makes sense in context) and affectionately called “Space Maury” internally for reasons that will make sense later. Has a similar but less “it flips the ENTIRE plot” issue with ASPR. I have many idea chunks but almost no connection between them

He’s Gone: Complete (and technically a oneshot with two “bonus chapters”); “Steven asks Peridot to get the shirt Connie got for him for his birthday from his closet. He says he wants to look nice. She's confused by his request. Greg and the Maheswarans are less confused and more terrified. He keeps saying it'll be okay. They'll be okay, even though he'll be going away. It'll just be a couple of days now. Or: Steven and Pink Steven are unable to fuse after being separated on Homeworld. That's not good for Steven.” Steven dies. That’s it. That’s the whole fic. Might potentially get an extra chapter or two still. Or not. Eh.

Thanks, Padparadscha: Incomplete/open-ended oneshot collection; “Stories about the best gem.” Padparadscha oneshots.

Your No-Good, Dirty-Rotten, Gem-Shattering, Rebellion-Leading Mother: Incomplete, little desire to finish; “What if Steven had gone to Camp Green Lake instead of Stanley? Or: If Steven Universe And Holes Were The Same Universe: A Fanfiction (thanks @captainjzh) Or, as the top of my Google Doc I started back exactly a year ago (*2019-01-07) says: SU x Holes: Because the fact that Steven Universe and Stanley Yelnats are both 14 is messing with me”. Wrote this as an exercise after reading the appalling original shopped screenplay for the Holes movie which was basically a nuclear fallout enthusiasts dream world but also quite possibly the worst and most uncomfortable thing ever written and I have had to have whole pages bleached from my memory

It’s Okay to Need Help: Incomplete (three chapters total planned), the last part of the pre-SUF-finale “Steven Corruption Theory” collection; “"Everybody needs support sometimes, and you need support right now, with this. And that's okay." She takes a deep breath. "It's okay to need help, Steven." Or: (Based in corrupted Steven theory as well as taking inspiration/using characteristics from a fic by @love-killed-the-superstar) Sometime after coming back from corruption, Steven sees a therapist to try to hammer out some lingering issues.” Steven has specific lingering issues from corruption due to the way they had to mitigate it, and that affects how he communicates with his therapist some days. Just been blocked on the best way to write it

Waiting is Worse: Incomplete; “Is there anything more awful than the feeling of powerlessness?” The movie mostly ends the same, except Steven doesn’t un-rejuvenate.

Realism: Incomplete, strong desire to complete; “As much as he may want it to be, this is not a dream. He's not possessing anyone. It's not happening to someone else. It's real.” Steven has the same effects happen to him as the Watermelon Steven from Escapism--an arm and a leg are amputated.

The President Kisses Babies, and Other White House Briefs: Incomplete, open-ended oneshot collection with very little overarching plot; “Oneshot escapades of President Connie Maheswaran and her First Man, Crystal Gem and public speaker, Steven Universe.” Inspired by a Tumblr post and with more ideas in the pipeline! Love this fic even if I lost most inspiration for four years!!

Collection (series) oneshots (chronological order):

Citrusella Tries (And Succeeds!) to Write a Fic Each Day of the Bomb: A collection where I tried to write a fic each day of the HotCG (wedding) bomb. I succeeded but also kind of not? XD

Could You Imagine?: “Imagination is wish fulfillment. What are some of the things Pearl has imagined?” Now We’re Only Falling Apart

Partake In New Extraordinary And Pleasing Pizza Lover Experiences (Or: Kiki's Lament): “Kiki rarely hates her job. But she does hate pineapples.” What’s Your Problem? (Also the title spells PINEAPPLE o.o)

Acquired Taste: “Steven has a snack as he helps prepare for an important ceremony.” The Question

My Whole Life: “Some people are just born to go into certain careers.” Made of Honor

We Can Think About Hope: Incomplete multi-chapter with no hope of completion (why it’s not listed in the multi-chapters, BTW... also the “kind of not” regarding success); “What's going on? What do we do now? Can you still hear me? (Or: The end of Reunited plays out differently.) (Or or: And He Doesn't Wake: Part II: This time with weirder angst! And more not waking!)”

Citrusella's "Steven Corruption Theory" Collection: A collection of fics written on the corruption theory premise before it became canon. It’s Okay to Need Help not duplicated here but would be at the end.

Change: “Steven's come back from probably the most serious thing that's happened to him--save almost dying after his gem was ripped out--but that doesn't mean he came back unchanged. (Based on the "corrupted Steven theory".)”

My Skin: “Steven does a mental inventory of what's changed about him since his uncorruption and finds himself starting to fall into a hole of self-criticism, until a song playing downstairs sets him straight. (Based on the "corrupted Steven theory".)”

Eternity in a Moment: “It had only taken a few hours, and yet, an eternity.”

I Can't Say with Confidence: “Over an hour. He's been sitting in the tub, fully clothed, the bathroom a mess… for over an hour.It should be working! Why isn’t it working?!” Based on this art!

It’s Okay to Need Help

Happy Steven's Day!: Just after Steven discovers his mother is Pink Diamond, Mother's Day rolls around...Greg just doesn't want Steven to be in a slump about it anymore.

You Deserve All the Joy: “Because nothing is better than being surrounded by family and love. Or: Steven's once-a-year struggle with a holiday he doesn't exactly have the ability to traditionally celebrate.” It’s Mother’s Day and Steven is sad. Post-ASPR

Universe Day: “"Being your dad is the only present I really need." Or: Greg and Steven talk and realize their experiences with Mother's Day have been two sides of the same coin.” Post-SUF

Citrusella's Comfortember 2020 Fics: Fics written based on prompts for November 2020 Comfortember... not finished with it

Speed Bump: “Steven's first night on the open road isn't as smooth as he wanted it to be. Attempt to combine prompts 2-6 of Comfortember (prompt 1 just couldn't be squeezed in): "first day/night", "nightmare", anxiety", "cuddling", "afraid to sleep"”

In the After: “Steven wonders if it was corruption. Comfortember days 7-10, though only in the most tenuous, technical sense (and by that I mean all four phrases are mentioned): "blanket fort", "lashing out", "confession", "crying"”

Late Night Hot Chocolate (described in next section)

Zombie Club Chronicles: Steven endures a violent accident on Frightnight (Halloween) that changes his life forever.

Beach City Zombie Club

Prompt: [Randomly roll from list: Steven] doesn’t enjoy the Halloween season, but [Fill in: Steven] take(s) them on a well-meaning trip to an old Gem Ruin where they come to realize [Pick from list: They’ve made a terrible mistake in coming here]

On Frightnight when he is 17, Steven experiences the most serious event of his young life. Almost exactly a year later, Steven takes Steven to Lars' ship in hopes of being able to hop off at a truly secluded gem ruin to talk about something that Steven and Steven have been disagreeing on for several months. Lars has an idea, and Steven comes to a realization.

For the Cluster Spooky Writing Challenge!

Late Night Hot Chocolate (also a Comfortember fic)

"Steven? What are you doing?" He stares into the pot.

The gem half's voice comes monotone. "Making hot chocolate."

"It's three o'clock in the morning. Why on earth are you making… hot chocolate?"

The slyness on his face is one pixel away from nonexistent and yet it's practically a traffic cone to his other half, as he remarks flatly, "Because I've lost control of my life."

Or: Steven and Steven both have nightmares that threaten to take them back to... that night... One copes by making the other hot chocolate and pretending he really isn't having any problems.

Comfortember days 16-18: Protective, Flashbacks, Hot Cocoa

Standalone oneshots (reverse chronological order--newest to oldest):

Rumble Strips:

Prompt: [Randomly roll from list: Greg] notices [Fill in: Steven] is in a somber mood lately. Out of the goodness of their heart they try to cheer up the sad soul in the only way they know how: [Fill in: WHO WANTS TO GO ON A ROAD TRIP?!]

"I really thought I could handle myself on my own." He scoffed. "Even my own therapist didn't think I could do it."

"I bet she thought you could handle yourself just fine. She probably just thought you'd do better with your support system close, bud. Like, literally, I mean." His eye weaved through the thin line of gravel past the edge of the shoulder. "You started saying some pretty concerning things."

Or: Greg and Steven stop on the side of the interstate on their way to Empire City for New Year's, to have a conversation.

For the Cluster Christmas Writing Challenge!

Auto-Injector: “In an alternate timeline, Steven meets Bluebird at her welcome party but he cannot, under any circumstances, try her hors-d'oeuvres. Or: Steven ends up with allergies because why not” (I have three more ideas for chapters)

Don't Put Beans Up Your Nose: “"I know you want answers, and I wish I had some for you, really, Steven, but from what you've described… those aren't things to play around with. It's unethical to knowingly subject you to those for the sake of 'experimenting', even if you consent." Or: Steven asks Dr. Maheswaran a question she's not ethically able to answer.”

The Exor-schist:

Prompt: A series of events have led to a terrifying effect on one or more of the series’ characters. [Randomly roll from list: Mr. and Dr. Maheswaran] are now suffering from [Randomly roll from list: Spiritual Possession]. How did this happen?

"This corrupted gem, it has a powerful connection to organic matter. Ones this powerful have been known to overtake and even kill humans."

For the Cluster Spooky Writing Challenge!

It's My Party and I'll Dry If I Want To: “You would dry too, if it happened to you! Or: Steven says he wants a pool party for his eighteenth birthday in Delmarva, after over a year of traveling the country. ...But why isn't he swimming?”

Ace Up Your Sleeve: “Or in your back pocket, same diff. Or: Steven's sad about potentially not getting to go to Pride.” (oneshot and an epilogue)

Milestone: “"Okay, so like, the books aren't, like, useless, but they assume you have like the perfect baby. Maybe consider the following: kids are dorks, man." Or: Steven went to the doctor. Once. Or: Greg thinks Steven, at 15 months, is being weird and missing milestones and is worried he's a bad dad so he goes to Vidalia for help.” May eventually be part of a babby Steeb over the years collection

Full Enclosure: “What am I going to tell you? You're better off not knowing the trouble I'm in. / I don't want you to worry about what I've just seen, about where I've just been. / You don't have to be a part of this, I don't think I want you to be! / You don't need this, you don't need me... Or: Steven defines himself by his connection to others. So when they all leave, then… he's no one. (In short: Steven is crushed by his need to be needed.)”

Vice: “He could stop whenever he wanted to. He just didn't want to. Or: Steven falls into a bad habit and tries to rationalize it as okay as long as he's not completely abandoning the idea of improving his life.”

Stairwell Solitude: “Over ten years, Greg wrote just six letters to his parents. What could they have contained?” Post-Mr. Universe

Striations: “At Connie's behest, Dr. Maheswaran makes a house call to Steven's place after his un-monstering. It's different than his last appointment, but its core is the same.”

Everything Stays: “Ever so slightly, daily and nightly, in little ways, when everything stays... Steven's therapist brings up something she's noticed about him outside his PTSD.”

I Do It For Me: “"Forgiveness is the intentional and voluntary process by which a victim undergoes a change in feelings and attitude regarding an offense, and overcomes negative emotions such as resentment and vengeance." Steven asks his therapist a question. The answer may surprise him.”

A Break in the Case: “Dr. Maheswaran takes a look at Steven's results but quickly finds herself in over her head.” Mid-Growing Pains

I have a couple entries in the @connieswap omake collection (Comic Relief and Same Old Steven)--I’m not linking them

Changing Tastes: “ Steven and Connie share a conversation after watching Crying Breakfast Friends: Under the Butterknife.”

Rejuvenated Regrets: “Someone calls Steven's name from downstairs. He's not listening closely enough to know who it is. He's not sure he cares right this moment. He wants Mom—Rose—Pink—and that's the one person he knows it's not.”

Gut Feeling: “Every time, he has to push his brain off that train of thought--what if she does it again?--but for someone with super-strength, he's surprisingly not very good at pushing.”

Lapis Watches Titanic (1997) ...There’s no summary

The Cluster Halloween Exquisite Corpse 2019 (I only wrote part of this!!): “Lars tells a horror story but loses track of it, or; a bunch of fic writers do an exquisite corpse and hilarity ensues. Written by DocCairo, citrusella, E350, love-killed-the-superstar and br42.”

Drift Away: “There are timelines where Steven fell into the biopoison when the Earth cracked under his feet. Here we see three times Steven (technically) lived despite a dive into pure poison, and one time he didn't.”

The Rose Wilts: “Once upon a time, he knew Rose. But he knew he didn't know everything.Sometimes it feels like he's learned more about her after she died than he ever knew while she was alive.“ Doug and Rose used to be friends

Tying the Knot: “Steven never wears shoes with laces, because he can't tie them. When Connie finds out, he's pretty chill about it.”

Haploid: “You're not sure if this is what being shattered feels like. You don't know if you want to be sure.” Mid-CYM

Thestral: “"How many have you seen?" "All of them." She answered without hesitation. "Oh." Or: Pearl and Steven talk about a type of gem that corruption has given some... special characteristics.”

500 Words a Secret Santa Gift: The Gratuitous Reference: “200 words a day, every day, until Under the Knife comes back. Or Crying Breakfast Friends. We're not picky at this point. Secret Santa edition! (A Secret Santa gift for @e350tb that deliberately and gratuitously references their 100 Words a Day series.)”

Sesimorp, Sesimorp: “A Lapis Lazuli makes a beautiful work of art.”

Ship Talk: “Lars and Steven share a moment on the Sun Incinerator.”

No Way Around It: “An order is an order.”

Give It A Try!: “Steven gets a Diamond to try something new.”

Better Off: “Peedee ponders what could have been.”

Steven x A Nice Calm Life Please and Thank You™: A Case for the Realization of a Bold New Ship: “Steven deserves a happy life free of interplanetary struggle and strife. It's my OTP. So I'm going to give him that! :D”

I Don't Know: “Will this ever make sense? Will this ever feel normal?” Post-ASPR

Force of Nature: “Her diamond gave her orders no longer.”

My Gemmortal (by XXXbloodstoneshardz666XXX): “the escupaids fo steven hardlight amnesia lion universe and his freinds n crushs” (this is exactly what it sounds like)

The Picture of Steven Pink: “It took a lot out of him.” (SU but Steven takes on the injuries he heals)

Self: “In the Connie Swap AU, Steven considers his identity and place in his family, community, culture, and himself. For a kid who at least tries to be all sunshine and rainbows, this isn't exactly the most fun thing to do, but sometimes it's necessary.” (these are different than the things in the CS omake collection)

I Really AM My Mom...: “"When you're singing, you want to use enough air that you could blow a throatful of peanut butter clear across the room." The crackiest of escape-from-Homeworld plots, based on a ClickHole article and a joke headcanon.”

Left: “Of course there's shame in bailing.”

Old shames (chronological order): Stories I just kinda cringe at now

Shrinking Rose: “Steven never felt bad about his stature. Until he did.” (I just don’t love it)

A Rose for Emily: “What if Rose wanted to spend the rest of her life with someone before Greg? ...It's safe to say she has a skeleton in her closet.” (less old shame than the others on this list but was hard to shoehorn in the A Rose for Emily style writing)

Alone: “Steven won't open up about how everything that happened is affecting him. Not even to himself.” (I know I’ve written other dark stuff but this one just hits different)

You Should've Asked Me, I'm Really Good at Naming Bands (November 2019 Unfinished WIPs): “(title subject to change) I did a challenge that I had to write my WIPs in November (revised to November and December) or be forced to post them unfinished. I got some updates done, but several not done. These are those stories. Dun-dun.” (only “shame” because they were things that were never finished--I also had a Connie Swap omake I was supposed to finish or the punishment was not to post it unfinished but to write Steven and Spinel (NOTP) but I just never did that)

#steven universe #steven universe future #steven universe fanfic #steven universe fanfiction #su fanfiction #su fanfic #long post #(it should be considering there are 78 FICS IN HERE)#THIS POST IS ITSELF THE SIZE OF A FANFIC #(68 fics not 78)

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nemossubmarine · 3 years

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Warhammer 40k: Wrath & Glory RP #33

The party continues to discuss their plans. Larry remembers an old mate of his that could potentially take Ada off their hands as he has a chill place on a nearby paradise world. They also discuss sending Iris with her (obviously they have to ask her first). He sends a message to the dude via astropath. Larry also uses Brakes McGee to send a message to the eldar on the planet for a meet-up. The meet-up gets arranged later that evening. Brakes mentions that Ada’s friends are starting to get restless about not seeing Ada, and perhaps something should be done about it. Larry says he’ll have someone talk with Ada.

Ace calls Coco to check up on her and ask if she found Ranan and if everything is okay with him. Coco lies only a little bit, and Ace seems to buy it. He is heading out and asks where Coco might be going next. Coco, not sure, brings up the Paradise World. Ace mentions hearing there’s a giant statue of Dante of the Blood Angels there and how he has always wanted to see it. Coco promises to get him a postcard of the place. Ace asks Coco to be in contact if she needs him for anything, but with that he is off.

Coco talks with Larry about the conversation they had prior about Coco maybe helping Larry getting contacts with the rogue traders. She makes mention about it not being very easy at the moment, but perhaps Larry could help with that. She asks Larry to ask the eldar about a planet named Dysmonia.

Izarak talks with Ada about sending her over to Terion (the Paradise world). Ada isn’t really into this idea, as she has her vision guest etc etc. Izarak cops to the fact that Ada is an asymptomatic carrier of a disease (well, sort of) that is affecting the people she is with. He also brings up the statue of Dante on the planet, perhaps it might be related to Ada’s guest? Ada seems to buy this, and she agrees to talk with her followers about her having to leave them behind.

Larry wants to talk with Alice about Michael, saying that he started to act quite odd after they got his armor on. Since Alice is closer with Michael, maybe she could talk with him. Alice goes to look for Michael. He isn’t at the gym, so he must be in his room. She knocks on the door and hears a crashing sound inside. After a moment’s silence Michael appears to the door. He doesn’t look great. Alice asks if she may come in and Michael waves her in. On the floor there is the T’au instrument Alice had caught Michael playing, turned over, which must have been the sound Alice heard. Alice asks if everything is okay, which Michael counters by asking if anything is wrong / if he is needed for anything. Alice clarifies if everything is okay with him, with the armor and all. Michael struggles a bit and eventually manages to tell that he can’t breathe. It’s pretty obvious he’s breaking down so Alice gets him a paper bag to breathe in. Michael, after calming down somewhat, explains that he hears screaming, and he isn’t quite sure if it’s his own or someone else’s. Alice suggests that he should probably take the armor off. Michael eventually agrees and Alice helps him to get it off. (While she’s at it, she checks out that D, which is straight up natural 20 in the size department) Michael admits that being unable to wear the armor makes him feel like a coward. Alice says he shouldn’t feel bad, they’ll figure it out somehow. Michael thanks Alice for being a good friend in all this.

Alice mentions what’s up with Michael with the rest. Izarak says he wants to check out Michael’s armor to see if there’s anything that could cause such a reaction.

They decide that when they go meet the eldar that Coco should go ahead and find a spot to hide with her sniper rifle. She does so, and while she’s hiding in a bush, she spots some eldar filing out of a hole in the ground, four in total. Two disappear and two start for the meeting place. She reports this to the others, looks like they weren’t the only cautious ones.

There are two eldar waiting for them at the meet-up spot, the one they know as Lilith (real name: Lallanith) and a man Izarak recognizes to be the eldar he saved some years ago, who introduces himself as Vathac Fairsoul. They get to talking, the party lays out a plan that they’d like the eldar to partake in, hoping to lure out the Countess and kill her, using the eldar as bait. The eldar seem interested, though they warn that they can’t afford to hand out whole armies for this, as they’re quite scattered. Whatever they can provide would be nice. They also mention that the Countess is not very easy to kill, and in fact more than likely someone will pop up in her place (burning apparently does the trick), but killing her should be enough to sever her connection with Ada. Larry also asks if they’ve opinions on the Kroot or the Tau, and the answer is that the eldar don’t mind them. The question of communication is brought up and Vathac says he could get them something to contact him directly.

With that part of the conversation done, Larry in a sort of roundabout way brings up Dysmonia and what happened there. It doesn’t take long for the eldar to basically admit to having been on Dysmonia and having killed Jim and the others. Coco storms the scene from the bushes and starts screaming at the bewildered eldar that they killed her brother and demanding to know why. Larry attempts to calm Coco down, saying that they need the eldar on their good side. Coco, pissed off about the blank stares she receives from the eldar pulls out a gun and before anyone can really react shoots at Vathac. There is a faint shimmer around Vathac and though the bullet hits, he appears unharmed. The eldar get up and at the same time Alice goes to wrestle the gun away from Coco, who is taking aim. Larry approaches the eldar, pleading to them to not act rashly in this, that his friend is having a bit of a moment. Vathac asks Larry to follow him, Larry does so and together they stealth away. “Lilith” leaps into other direction, and Coco gives chase, without her gun that’s still with Alice. Izarak follows along.

Vathac takes Larry to the trapdoor leading into their hideout. Larry recommends he lock the trapdoor for the moment, just in case Coco gets ideas of revenge. He also calls Ferrus and lets him know what has happened and to keep an eye out on Coco in case she wants to go off in a rampage. Vathac laments the fact that this one killing has been so troublesome. He says he understands the upset, to which Larry says he understands why the eldar killed them. He tells Larry that the eldar are in contact with Jim’s twin Omar, so if there’s a moment, maybe Larry could mention about it to Coco. Larry says he will. Vathac offers Larry a necklace and says he can use it to contact him when needed. He also promises to contact Omar and arrange a meet-up.

Meanwhile Coco and Izarak run through the night after “Lilith”. To Izarak it starts to seem that she could very easily run away but she is clearly leading the two of them. Coco is too enraged to really notice. Izarak, deciding this has gone on too long, fakes a heart attack, which causes Coco to turn to look, and Lilith uses this to disappear. Izarak takes Coco back to the ship, where Alice is, having been unable to keep up. Ferrus appears with some booze. Coco goes to her room to decompress and Alice and Izarak and Ferrus hang around outside her door until Larry comes back and lets them know that when he said to keep an eye out, he didn’t quite mean this. The rest of the party goes to hang in the common room, except for Alice. Eventually Coco re-emerges from her room and they join the rest in the night of drinking and reminiscing about Jim. Larry lets Coco know that a meeting with Omar is in the works.

#nemo roleplays #wag rp s2 #wag rp writeup #long post #add tags later

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thekrawra · 4 years

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Ricky, Gina and Nini: CHARACTER THEMES

okay so i’ve said it before about voltron and that killed me but i’m feeling some strong emotion for high school musical the musical the series so i guess its time to pitch this theory again about a different ship.

WHEN FORMING CHARACTER RELATIONSHIPS, YOUR CHARACTER THEMES AND MOTIVES SHOULD BE COMPLIMENTARY

once more for the people in the back

FOR A GOOD STRONG RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN CHARACTERS IT HELPS GREATLY IF THE CHARACTER THEMES ALIGN

because think about it: if you are going to spend a long time developing a relationship between characters and you want them to be well received, both characters should benefit from the relationship.

if you have a character centred around building themselves up, finding their independence, being their own person: a relationship doesn’t really help that. ESPECIALLY not when it is a relationship with someone who’s arc and themes are about them finding themselves in a group -- someone who needs to be able to lean on others.

that’s not to say you can’t do it...it just is harder to execute and often works to undo amounts of character development. your character striving for independence is no longer independent, and you character looking for support from others is getting very little back. that’s just how that works.

so in hindsight, its no wonder why people have jumped ship from ricky and nini to ricky and gina.

nini for the past couple episodes has been trying to “write her own song”, trying to identify herself as who she is, not who she is when she’s with a boy. in fact its been a major point in her development to come to terms with her not needing or wanting a romantic relationship and seeing herself as enough without one.

on the other hand, ricky is in the process of losing his entire support system. he was unable to be emotionally vulnerable to nini, and it cost him her. with his parents divorcing, he’s been struggling to find that support. heck, we know he’s got his parents, big red and nini -- that’s it. so he’s in desperate need for someone who understands, who’s there, who can give him advice -- hence him chasing after nini. but as the episodes go by, he kinda stops going after nini, rather just committing to the musical, and he outright admits that the rehearsals are about more than getting nini back, its an escape, its a support, its grounding in his life.

enter gina, someone who started as very independent but we learn its because she HAS to be. she knows the musical and theatre is her support system so when nini gets the lead, she like ricky does what she can to get that support system back: in her case get the lead role. and then as she grows closer with ricky, and the rest of the cast, its not as important to have the lead because she has people as her support now.

so talking endgame ships: it just thematically makes more sense for gina and ricky to be together and nini to decide she doesn’t need anyone (romantically at least). nini has to look after herself and that doesn’t align with what ricky needs. ricky needs someone to be there, to understand, to listen, to call him out when he’s shutting down. something he is all too happy to do for someone else as well though. its why people can get behind his relationship with gina -- they understand each other in a way that ricky and nini probably won’t be able to.

so yeah, theme wise: ricky and gina just are the more satisfying pair. and sure, we can all say that ricky and nini are probably going to be endgame. but the show has done such a good job at shaping ricky and gina and moving nini to being her own individual person: it feels a little meh if ricky and nini just get together. a) because its what we expect and b) because it undoes a lot of their previous development and characterization.

TLDR// look, the only credits i have to my name are some formal education in screenwriting and narrative, but when you look at the thematic components of each character ricky and gina is just fundamentally the better ship. nini has been focused on being who she is out of a relationship, and ricky has been focused on this idea of support and found family -- similar to gina. ricky and gina are both looking for a support, a person/place to confide in, nini is looking for a way to be her own person, to chase her dreams. of course people are shipping ricky and gina: they make sense!

also i want to add no shade towards nini and ricky shipping: this is all from a thematic stand point and obviously more goes into a ship then just it...just some observations on part of what makes rina an appealing ship for some folk (like me 😂)

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fyeahjacquelinecarlyle · 4 years

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The Trouble with Ian

Warning: a Jacqueline spoiler for an upcoming episode is mentioned.

Let’s start at the very beginning - as the legend goes, a very good place to start. We only saw Ian Carlyle in a handful of episodes in the first three seasons of The Bold Type, but everything we saw indicated he was a loving, supportive and understanding husband - so understanding, in fact, that, when Jacqueline couldn’t make it to their anniversary dinner due to a work emergency, he brought the anniversary dinner to her. There were never any signs of trouble in paradise, not until season 4 rolled around, that is.

This whole mess started in the premiere episode, Legends of the Fall Issue, with a perfectly innocent game of chess in the Carlyle residence. Ian and Jacqueline appeared to be having a nice and relaxing time together, reminiscing about the day they met when he encouraged his wife to “press pause” for a while on the heels of her losing her job at Scarlet. He then followed that apparently innocuous and selfless statement, which was not well received by Jacqueline (“I’m not really the press-pause type…”) with, “I wouldn’t mind going back to work.” Jacqueline’s surprised reaction told us that was definitely the first she was hearing of it. After the briefest of hesitations, she was encouraging, telling him that he should - go back to work, that is. She had barely gotten the words out when Ian said, “Ok, I’ll put out some feelers,” got up and left the room to do just that.

Looking back, that was a red flag - this wasn’t something that had recently occurred to him, or that he had been thinking about casually. It was something that he had been wanting for a long time, as he wasn’t even willing to properly discuss the subject with his wife before taking action - hell, he wasn’t even willing to continue their game of chess. He literally got up and left to try and get a job. Judging by Jacqueline’s expressions, she was quite taken aback, either by his wish to go back to work (again, it was clearly news to her) or the very eager way he was going about it. Possibly both.

Let’s also consider something else that’s important here. Jacqueline had just lost her job of a decade. A job that meant the world to her. She might not have been crying in a corner but that’s because that’s not Jacqueline Carlyle’s way of dealing - and if anyone would know that other than the audience, it’d be her husband. She was upset enough she was day drinking with her then former employee (tbf, it’s Jane, who’s more than “an employee” to her, but I digress) earlier that day, not to mention upset enough to admit to said employee her first instinct after the news of her ousting had been to brandish a pitchfork and go burn down Safford. While that was an obvious exaggeration, and Jacqueline would never resort to such (literal or metaphorical) extreme measures, it was a clear indication that she was distressed by what had happened. And did we see Ian being there for his wife, comforting her, encouraging her? Nope. Just like we didn’t see him doing any of those things while she was struggling with Patrick’s arrival and the changes happening at Scarlet back in season 3. It took Jane (once again, Tiny Jane to the rescue!) to give Jacqueline the support and encouragement she needed to keep on keeping on at the time.

All of this to say… there’s a limit to how much credit Ian gets here. As much as their life has played out off-screen the majority of the time, we as an audience mostly respond to what we actually see, and Ian being a loving, caring, supporting husband is something that was basically left back in season 1. We acknowledge and accept he’s been home, taking care of the kids, having put his career ambitions in the back burner. He gets full credit for that. But let’s also not forget that was a decision he made in conjunction with his wife years ago, as it was probably the best thing for their family at the time. The current state of affairs wasn’t imposed on him - it was something he helped decide and required his active participation.

Ian feels differently now, as is his right. He wants to go back to work and that is fine. The problem comes when this wish is communicated, acted on and expected to come to fruition in the literal space of a few days, at most (as every fan knows, time goes by sloooowly in the Bold Type verse). To review - Jacqueline working and Ian being a full time “househusband” has been the status quo for the past ten years (and something the audience suddenly learned about this season). Jacqueline loses her job for a day, at most, during which time he tells her he "wouldn't mind" going back to work, manages to get some leads…

… and then Jacqueline gets her job back! She is left scrambling - let’s not forget she’s just been informed Scarlet is going fully digital, something totally new to her and a completely new direction for the magazine. At first, she thinks Patrick will be able to help out and share the load… but then he jumps ship and she is left all alone to tackle this new professional challenge… not to mention a new, unexpected challenge in the home front--

Yes, because what we soon learn is that Jacqueline being back at Scarlet doesn’t make Ian reassess his plans, which go full steam ahead. Jacqueline continues to support her husband and commits her most egregious offense in episode 2, #scarlet, when she (gasp!) is unable to leave the office in the middle of the day to be home for their son’s tutor - which means Ian has to rearrange a meeting about a potential job (and is angry enough about it that he hangs up without saying goodbye). He’s clearly successful in his efforts to “make it work”, however, because, after a Scarlet event, he simply announces to his wife that he not only received but already accepted an offer for a job that will take him halfway across the world… to the Ukraine.

Does Jacqueline protest? Put up a fight? Put her foot down? Nope. We see her accepting his decision and finding ways to make their home and her work life work, as best as she can. We see her arranging her schedule to fit in a bon voyage luncheon to Ian and a Scarlet photo shoot, which happen on the same day.

Throughout this whole episode, we see Ian pulling faces and making snide remarks under his breath, out of earshot of his wife, who appears none the wiser about his feelings - the one exception being when Ian arrives with the boys at the Scarlet photo shoot (they’re to leave for his luncheon after). The next words out of his mouth after “Hi” are “So… ETD?”. Jacqueline, is once again, taken by surprise, this time by her husband being so anxious to leave after he’s just arrived. Everything indicates they attend the luncheon as planned, however, which means that, that day, at least, Jacqueline is able to reconcile her home and work lives, making both RJ and Ian happy…

…or does she?

That night, as Ian is packing for Europe, still sullen faced, an uncharacteristically timid Jacqueline makes a remark about a clearly favorite shirt he’s taking with him and asks if he has plans to “go out” while he’s away… to which Ian says yes, because he’d like to, and I quote, “have fun for a change.”

This is the final straw. Jacqueline, who appears to finally put two and two together, asks Ian, point-blank, how unhappy he is with their marriage. Instead of giving a direct answer, he turns the tables on her, and says, “I think about as unhappy as you… Jacqueline.” She is, once again, taken aback, and silent for a long time. All she manages, by way of reply, is a simple “Right”, and nothing else. He leaves the room.

There’s a lot to unpack here. He got a job, which is exactly what he wanted. Meanwhile, Jacqueline is willing to hold down the fort at home so he can go back to work. Why isn’t he happy? Is it because she wasn’t perfect right out the gate, unable to “share the load” the first time she had to, and he had to shift some things around to make his brand new career plans work with his long-established responsibilities at home? Is it because we were shown how much Jacqueline cares about Scarlet, at times excitedly talking to her husband about the new challenges she was facing and other times venting to him about the issues she was encountering? Is it because she didn’t appear to be sad or upset that he was leaving or ask him to stay…

…

Ding ding ding?

One of the times we saw Ian annoyed and sulking was when Jacqueline was having a good time at the aforementioned photo shoot, demonstrating her abilities at a game of flip cup to the shock and delight of Alex and Andrew. Maybe jealousy is a factor here - jealousy of how much time and energy Jacqueline devotes to the magazine and how she seems to thrive and come alive when she’s working. Maybe Ian feels he comes second to Scarlet and just can’t deal anymore.

In any event, Jacqueline and Ian’s issues appear to extend beyond his employment status. Perhaps the most worrisome part is that Jacqueline appeared, for the most part, oblivious to Ian’s misery. During these first few episodes, we’d see her being very animated and affectionate towards her husband, indicating she was not the one with the problem... he was. And the depth of his anger and frustration indicates he’s been nurturing negative feelings towards his wife for a long time now. Communication clearly is a major issue here, but as the discontent party, it was up to Ian to lay the cards out on the table and let Jacqueline know how he felt. Only then would we have been able to judge her own behavior when it comes to their issues - as it is, it’s hard to put her at fault here.

As far as Ian going back to work, the most glaring issue here is time, which is something he was not willing to give Jacqueline, who was expected to learn about his desire to resume his career, process the information and then adjust her life to make it happen, practically overnight. Such a drastic change in a family’s life should come with planning - not even short-term, but medium to long-term planning. Ian and Jacqueline are such hands-on parents that, years ago, they made the decision that one of them shouldn’t hold a job so they could be there for those kids full time, despite them having more than enough money to hire nannies and tutors to take them off their hands. Now, all of a sudden, he is more than ready to leave for Europe and not even give these children the chance to adapt to their dad suddenly being away. We know Ian was working for Rolling Stone Magazine in the US when he met Jacqueline back in the ’90s. Couldn’t he have gotten his feet wet with a local job first, that would allow him to be home for dinner most nights? It’s not as though he’s looked long and hard closer to home before accepting the Ukraine gig. Not to mention, it’d only be fair to give his wife a couple of months - hell, a couple of weeks - to adjust to her new reality at work before turning her entire life upside down. The man made it a full decade without a job - surely a few more weeks/months would not have killed him.

One can’t help but wonder what is the intended play here. One of the spoilers for season 4 of The Bold Type says Jacqueline will run into someone from her past who’ll “give her clarity about what she wants out of life”. My biggest fear is that these little moments where we witnessed Jacqueline absorbed in her work and Ian unhappy are supposed to make the audience feel bad for the “supportive” and “sacrificing” husband who put his career on hold so his wife could realize her own ambitions, and, as she is about to lose him, she finally comes to the realization that she needs to devote more of her time and attention to him and their family, or be more clear about how much they mean to her. In other words, she’s a thoughtless workaholic who needs to appreciate her hubby more and just… be better, because women can and should have it all, all at once, all of the time.

I swear to God...

Ok, ok, I’m perfectly aware I’m jumping the gun here. We’re only three episodes in, and a lot of water is about to go under that metaphorical bridge. What I described above is basically my worst, nightmare scenario. The dream scenario would be Ian having an open, frank conversation with his wife where he tells her exactly what his problem is. A conversation where he accepts fault for his passive-aggressive behavior and the way he went about going back to work, not including her in his decision making process. And I’m not saying Jacqueline’s perfect here, by any means - if anything she could’ve noticed Ian’s feelings sooner (seriously, how long has he been this pissy?). The reason I’m not nearly as hard on her is that Ian’s sins are so numerous and so egregious it’s very difficult to look past them.

I hope the show explores why Jacqueline has been so oblivious… or would indifferent be a better word? Is she content with the way things are between her and her husband? Does she care more about Scarlet than she does Ian, at the end of the day? If the answer to those questions is ‘yes’, then that’s bad news for their marriage, but all I ask is that the outcome of this storyline be consistent with the behavior of both characters we’ve seen (and continue to see..) on screen. As fans, we want - we crave - consistency. At the end of the day, a story that makes sense and does justice to the characters we know and love means more than one that has a happy ending.

#the bold type #jacqueline carlyle #ian carlyle #jacqueline x ian #jacquian #my thoughts #the bold type spoilers

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minhoslut · 4 years

Text

♡ summary: Reader is traded to a band of pirates in return for the safety of her village because of her plant magic. They are not like she expected, much more like her than she could even imagine in fact. This is a journey through their relationships and the high seas they sail on.

♡ pairing: superm x fem!reader, superm x eachother

♡ chapter: 1 | 2 | ? |

♡ series warnings: blood mention, injury mention, swearing, anxiety, death mention, depression, weapons, mxm

♡ series genre: romance, smut, angst

♡ series rating: Mature

♡ word count: 2161

♡ posted on: AO3

♡ chapter one: set sail

Rough hands ripped you from your dreams as they pulled you to your feet. You tried to move away but got jerked back immediately. “Don’t struggle, whore!” One of the men spat at you, making you cringe away. “Where are we going?” You attempted to make sense of the situation as you were dragged down the street, people screaming and rushing past you. The smell of smoke invaded your nose, making you cough and your eyes water. You were only given silence in return to your questions, your anxiety bubbling in your chest as you got closer to the shoreline.

A huge black ship was docked at the harbour, men were loading various materials onto it, and the townsfolk were quivering in fear. Pirates. Fear gripped your heart as you neared the dock and you clawed at the hands that were locked tight around your arms, desperate to escape. They brought you in front of a dark-haired man with a long sword. “We’ve brought her, now please leave our island!” The man to your right cried, David, if you recalled correctly, the oldest son of the village head. The one on your left was the second oldest, Liam. “Take the ugly witch and be gone!” he said, feigning courage but you could hear the shake in his voice.

“Witch hmm? Prove it!” The unknown man demanded. “Show him, wench.” Liam said letting go of your arm and gesturing to the pirate. You shook your head, tears falling from your eyes. The air in your lungs was swiftly knocked out by David kicking you hard in the stomach. Coughing, you clutched your waist in pain and slowly put out your hand. You grew a small blue flower, a bellflower, in the palm of your hand and threw it at the feet of the pirate. Said man laughed lightly, “Alright, we’ll take the trade.” With that, he grabbed your arm, leading you towards the ship. He let out a sharp whistle that echoed through your village, calling for his crewmates you assumed, as they all followed after.

Leading you deep down into the ship, he took you around several corners until you reached a door. After opening it, he tossed you in like a rag into the laundry. Your knees hit the floor hard and you yelped in pain, making him laugh at you. “Sit tight and don’t try anything.” He said before shutting the door and locking it. The room was mostly dark, a small window way up high letting light from the lanterns that lined the hall in. You stared at the locked door for a while after he left in disbelief, you were locked in the bottom of a pirate ship. A dry laugh escaped your cracked lips. What luck you did you have to have to be cursed with this wretched magic, your parents abandoning you because of it. Then you get treated like dirt by the whole village, barely managing to scrape by enough to survive, and now to top it all off? Fucking pirates.

The world is full of cruel beings and cruel happenings. But you were still here, for whatever reason, unable to give up. It was funny really. You looked around the room, it must be some kind of storage closet, from what you could make out there were buckets and rags strewn all around. It smelled musty, old and wet from years at sea. You could hear the crew walking above and around the room you were in, it was an odd experience. Briefly, you considered attempting an escape, but you quickly disregarded that when you remembered the swords and other weapons you had seen the pirates with.

So now all you could do was sit and wait, for the first pirate or some other one to come and kill you or torture you or do some other horrible thing to you. The door opened and a man with striking dark blue hair stood in the doorway. “So, you’re the Holder hmm? How interesting…” He went down to where you sat and lifted the piece of your hair that was turquoise, an everyday reminder of your curse. You pulled away from his hand and he smirked. “Let’s go, Captain wants to meet ya~” He offered his hand and you took it, not wanting to be manhandled anymore.

He led you up the stairs and down some halls again, then up more stairs. A big door decorated with images of the sea seemed to be the destination. The blue-haired man knocked, calling out, “Captain I’ve brought her!” The door opened to reveal the black-haired pirate from earlier as well as a new one with sandy blond hair. The two of you entered the room and the man shut the door behind you. There was a desk covered in papers, a chair, and a bed. “So Holder, let me see these powers of yours.” The blond ordered. Like you had on the dock you reached out a hand and grew a small flower, orange this time, a marigold. “How intriguing…” He hummed, coming over to take the plant.

“Oh, excuse me, I have no manners, my name is Jongin and I am the captain of The Devils Storm.” The blond one introduced himself before nodding to the original black-haired pirate. “Mark, boatswain, in charge of keeping this beauty in tip-top shape.” He said patting the wooden wall of the room. “Baekhyun, quartermaster, I keep the crew in line.” The blue-haired man told you. You looked around at them and shook your head. Were they seriously doing introductions right now? They had just kidnapped you for gods sake! “What is your name?” Jongin asked, looking at you expectantly but you stayed silent. You felt cold metal against the skin of your neck. “Answer the Captain, woman!” Mark held his sword against your throat, pulling away when Jongin waved his hand. “Y/N.” You said monotonously, staring into Jongins eyes.

“Alright Y/N, we will find use for you at some point, for now, you can join the crew in the galley to prepare food. Baekhyun, take her down to Lucas.” Jongin said leaving the room, followed by Mark. Baekhyun reached for your hand again, taking you back through the halls towards the kitchen. “Lucas is in charge of weaponry but he’s also a great cook, so he’ll take care of you in here.” You scoffed. ‘Take care’ of you on the ship you were being held hostage on? Yeah, ok. “Lucas~ Captain says it’s your turn to watch the prisoner! Her name is Y/N, put her to work.”

This new pirate, Lucas, had brown hair and wide eyes and was much taller than anyone else you’d seen so far. “Alright, start peeling.” He tossed you a sack of various root vegetables and placed a knife in your hand. His voice dropped, “Don’t even think about trying anything.” He then resumed his own chopping and you turned to find Baekhyun had disappeared as well. Looking down at the knife you sighed and began to peel a potato. This whole ship was ridiculous, you had yet to meet one normal person. Were all pirates like this?

When you had finished the bag, Lucas instructed you to chop them, then add them to the huge pot sitting over the stove. You followed his instructions, careful to give the man space as he added spices and meat to the broth. Cutting up a few loaves of bread was your next task, you did so slowly, your mind drifting to your island home. The forest that you would retreat to when you weren’t working, you would miss that most, especially the tiny garden you had grown of various little flowers in all sorts of colours.

“Why aren’t you cutting?” You turned to the voice and found yourself inches from Lucas’s face. Startled you let out a gasp, stepping backward and falling on your ass. You huffed and stood up, brushing your dress off, “I’ll get back to cutting.” You turned back to your job and almost swore you heard the pirate giggle. Stupid fucking pirates. You scowled at the bread in front of you, cutting pieces fast and making quick work of it. Looking over at the man, you studied his features. He had a long straight nose, sun-kissed skin, and honey brown doe eyes. Not really the image of a ruthless pirate, but you never trusted the outer appearance of a person.

Lucas turned and you averted your eyes quickly, he reached over you and rang a big rusty metal bell, making you cover your ears. “Time to eat.” He handed you a bowl of the soup and a slice of bread and gently pushed you into the mess hall, onto the end of a bench. Grabbing his own bowl he sat across from you and began to eat as men flooded into the room, each getting a serving of their own. No one else came to your table until a pirate with dark purple hair sat down beside Lucas.

“Hey, thanks for the food man, this the girl?” He asked Lucas, gesturing to you. “Taeyong! Yeah, that’s her, Captain made me babysit.” Lucas said all but pouting as he did. “Ten, Taemin! Over here!” Taeyong shouted, catching the attention of two pirates, one with dark red hair and one with silvery-white hair. “Where else would we sit idiot!” The silver-haired one said, sitting beside Taeyong. The red-haired one sat beside you, crooning “Hello, Capture~” as he did. You ignored them all, simply staring at your food. Baekhyun and Mark also joined the table, Mark on your side and Baehyun on Lucas’.

The Captain joined last, sitting at the head of the table beside you. The seven men exchanged greetings and dug into their meals, casually talking as they ate. You watched your reflection in the soup’s surface, dipping your spoon to make it ripple. “Why are you not eating?” The man beside you asked, “Well, she did get taken by us Ten…” The silver-haired man across from you said. He must be Taemin if the red boy is Ten. Ignoring the question, you put your spoon down and stood up. “I don’t want to be here, I don’t want any of this fake assimilation. Just put me back into some room and leave me to die.” You tried to keep your voice from wavering, averting your eyes to stare at your hands.

Jongin cleared his throat. “Taemin, she will be in the bunk above yours. Take her there now and keep her there.” Taemin nodded and stood up, coming over and taking your arm to lead you away from the table. The two of you ended up in the room beside the Captains quarters. “Everyone who was at the table, minus the captain, stay in this room, and you do now too I guess!” Great. Now you shared a room with six pirates, why weren’t they putting you in a cell or something? The Captain was strange indeed. The room was empty except for 3 bunk beds and a single, clothes were thrown on random beds, some on the floor.

“This one is my bunk!” He gestures to the bunk bed in the middle. “You will be up here, you can just go to sleep if you want. The one on the right is Taeyong and Baekhyuns, on the left is Lucas and Tens. Mark sleeps on the single bed.” You attempted to find a way onto the bunk, but it was too high for you to jump, and there was no ladder. Taemin must have noticed your struggle as he offered his hands as a step up. You eyed him for a moment, but ultimately took the help and stepped up onto the bed.

It was quiet for a moment, and you felt the bed shift when Taemin laid on his own bunk. “Why are you being kind to me?” You asked quietly, your curiosity getting the better of you, plus you felt compelled to trust Taemin for some reason. “Hm? Well… That’s kind of hard to explain since I don’t know what Captain wants you to know. At the very least, although you were taken against your will, we won’t treat you like a prisoner. You are simply an addition to the crew for now.” His voice drifted up from below you. “That’s stupid. Don’t you have enough crew? Why would you need me?” He chuckled at your response. “That isn’t to be answered right now, sorry~” Taemin sing songed.

You huffed at the stonewalling, wondering if being crew was any better than your life back home. This didn’t seem like your average group of pirates, but you were staying vigilant and alert. You didn’t want to be caught unprepared, for now, you might as well just do as your told and stay quiet. Closing your eyes, you imagined walking through your garden and soon it faded into a dream.

#superm #superm x reader #lee taeyong #byun baekhyun #ten #lucas wong #kim jongin #mark lee #lee taemin #high seas

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distant-rose · 5 years

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Villains That Live in My Head (1/4)

Notes: I made a promise back in June to @effulgentcolors a story about dealing with intimacy and PTSD and I’m like two months late. Lyubi, I’m truthfully sorry for how late this is but admittedly, I’ve been struggling with this subject material because it’s not just PTSD, it’s violent PTSD episodes so we’re straddling a very thin line which could constitute as domestic violence, which naturally makes me uneasy. However, I think it’s important to stress that the violence depicted in this story is not due to any sort of maliciousness but due to a violent PTSD episode and this story is about exploring how to deal with trauma and intimacy issues and get past such issues as a couple. This is some hard, heavy and upsetting stuff, but I’m trying to be as sensitive and tentative to the material as I can. I can’t stress enough that this isn’t going to be for everyone and to approach with caution because this is a story about violent PTSD and accidentally hurting your partner, and please read at your own risk. A special thank you to @initiala and @shireness-says for helping me struggle bus through this story. Summary: The wounds made when we're young tend to linger. It’s something Killian and Emma learn a little too well when a well meaning surprise goes terribly wrong. Word Count: 3,300+ Rating: M

The truth is that Emma Swan has never had a real boyfriend, so to speak.

Sure, she was with Neal during her teenage years, but their relationship wasn’t necessarily conventional. Born out of loneliness and camaraderie, theirs was based mainly on survival, and survival doesn’t mean dinner dates in fancy restaurants or going to the movies. The most romantic thing he ever did for her was steal a family pack of pop tarts and some boxed wine when she turned sixteen and she thought it was the sweetest thing to ever happen. That had been the pinnacle of romance for her until “pick a partner who knows what he’s doing” and “ you traded your ship for me?”

She’s so out of her depth when it comes to being in a real relationship, but so far, it seems to be going great. Killian is attentive and generous with affection, which comes in a variety of forms from bringing her coffee every morning to playing with her hair. He listens to her when she de-stresses after work, plying her with alcohol and... not sympathy, necessarily, but empathy and an understanding that everyone else seems to lack. Everyone views her as the Savior, including her parents, but it’s nice to have someone who just sees her as Emma.

And then there’s the sex. Which is another story altogether.

It’s good, don’t get her wrong. He’s surprisingly sweet and very generous, with soft eyes and even softer touches. However, it’s also intimidating, because while Emma is the one-night-stand wonder, she wouldn’t call herself particularly knowledgable when it comes to sex. It’s mainly been insert Tab A into Slot B, repeat until satisfaction (and more often than not, no satisfaction - but that’s another story altogether). Such relationships didn’t necessarily lead to a lot of exploration or discovery. Quite simply, you don’t ask a complete stranger to help you discover your kinks unless you’re a serial killer or preternaturally uncomfortable in your own skin. Emma was neither of those things. So, her experience, while lengthy partner-wise, didn’t necessarily extend beyond what was considered relatively standard.

Killian, on the other hand seemed to have a fountain of knowledge and experience.

He didn’t necessarily brag about it to her per say -- aside from his rather outrageous innuendos -- but there was a certain sureness and innate knowledge that wasn’t something you could necessarily fake, and could only come from wealth of experience. While there had been some fumbling in the beginning (usually on her end), he was nowhere near as clueless as others had been on how to touch her. It had been more like watching someone relearn a path rather than discovering it for the first time. And while it’s been great to be with someone who didn’t need a road map to her clitoris, it was also a bit disconcerting to be someone who was, quite frankly, a lot more experienced than you.

And even more mortifyingly, teaching you things about sex despite getting your v-card swiped more than a decade ago.

It makes her feel like she’s being trained a bit. And honestly, she kinda hates that.

She doesn’t like the fact that he seems to be leading her around a training ring like she’s some skittish horse and he’s some absurdly patient seasoned equestrian. It makes her feel foolish and, even worse, she can’t help but feel like she’s boring him. And the last thing she wants to bore him.

(Boring means getting left behind.)

She knows it’s irrational to think so, but there’s nothing Emma is more terrified of than being left alone again. Sure, she has her family, and her boyfriend literally gave up his home and his entire way of life to be with her, but that fear runs deep. No matter how many justifications her parents, Neal, or anyone else give her, that pain doesn’t just disappear.

(In the spirit of Jake Peralta: cool motive, still abandonment.)

She isn’t sure that she’s in love with him. Considering the fact that her parents are the Olympic gold medalists of True Love, she’s more than a little gun shy when it comes to even broaching that subject. However, she knows she doesn’t want him to leave. She wants more than anything for him to stay.

And that’s how she reaches the decision to “spice” things up.

(And naturally, as it is with all situations where someone tries to perfect an already good thing, it blows up in her face. Spectacularly.)

She doesn’t remember how she settled on the idea of bondage, but it’s something she’s the most familiar with, and all kinky things considered, it seems pretty low level; exciting, but not as far out there as some of the other things she’s come across when perusing for ideas. She’s not looking to do anything Fifty Shades, but she thinks it might be fun to tie him up and make him the focal point for once. Killian always focuses on her, and it might benefit their relationship for things to be a little less one-sided when it comes to the bedroom.

Besides, Killian is a pretty adventurous guy, and a pirate to boot. She’s pretty certain he’s had more than a few nights of debauchery, featuring far more lewd acts than a little light bondage play. Hell, she wouldn’t be remotely surprised if he’s been involved in an orgy or two. He’ll probably find her plans as vanilla as everything else they’ve been doing.

(You know what they say when you assume. It makes an ass of you and me.)

She doesn’t tell him her plans, mainly because she can’t imagine he would object and also because she wants to surprise him. After letting him take the lead in this aspect of their relationship, she wants to show him that what she lacks in experience, she can make up for with a willingness to explore new things. She wants to be on his level, not someone he needs to teach.

So, she doesn’t tell him. She just brings a box of condoms, a pair of cuffs and a smile.

It starts the way it always does - with a kiss that has them both swaying side-to-side until they teeter awkwardly backwards into his room. She chucks her bag on the nightstand, only to have it smack the table lamp and send both items to the floor. She can’t bring herself to care when she has Killian splayed out on the bed below her, pupils blown wide, lips bruised and noticeable tenting in his incredibly tight pants.

(Seriously, is he capable of wearing anything else? She might have to buy him a more relaxed fit, if only to help her sanity. While he doesn’t have much of an ass, they highlight the muscles in his thighs and make her eyes jump to places that aren’t necessarily appropriate for the public.)

And then there’s the hair.

She loves his hair and the way it’s starting to get a little longer and curl over his ears. She loves tugging on it and the noises he makes when she does. She leans forward, unable to resist threading her fingers through the dark strands as she tilts his head up for another kiss. He accepts it enthusiastically, a low pleased grumble emitting from the back of his throat as she gives his hair a playful tug. He pulls her into his lap, hips rolling upwards with impatience.

Clothes are shed gracelessly. It takes more than a few tries for her to unbutton his vest, cursing him for choosing such finicky clothing. It’s just so typical for him to pick style over functionality. He laughs at her impatience, eyes twinkling with amusement. She wants to rip the bloody thing off.

(Holy fuck, she’s starting to sound like him.)

“Why so impatient, love? We have all night,” he asks, chuckling as she finally manages to undo his buttons.

She doesn’t respond immediately, more focused removing his hook from its brace and placing it on the nightstand. More articles of clothing have fallen victim to that hook than she cares to count, and she has such a limited wardrobe as is.

“Maybe I have plans,” she responds with what she hopes is a coy smile.

Both of his eyebrows rise at this, a smirk spreading across his lips as he settles back on his elbows.

“Plans?”

“Yes,” she says, running her fingers along the length of his collarbone. “Plans. Fun plans. And if you’re good, you might even find out what they are.”

“I’m not sure I’m capable of being good,” he responds, leaning up and placing all too brief kisses along her jaw and neck. “But I promise you, you’ll certainly like it when I’m bad.”

“We’ll have to see about that.”

She pulls him into another fierce kiss, using it to distract him as she reaches back to riffle through her bag for her cuffs. It gets a bit awkward, the angle not quite right, but Killian does his best to make it work. When she finally gets her prize, she makes a noise of triumph against his lips before pushing him back against the bed and reaching for his wrists.

“Swan!”

Killian’s eyes go wide with shock, growing even larger as he catches sight of the handcuffs. Emma expects it, but it doesn’t last long. His face contorts into a new expression, one that’s far from the enthusiasm.

She doesn’t get much time to process it, however because the world turns suddenly on its axis.

One minute she’s straddling his thighs, trying to handcuff him, and the next thing she knows, she’s on her back with Killian looming above her with his only hand pressed to her throat, and not in a way that’s remotely friendly. His fingers dig painfully as they press into her windpipe, cutting off her oxygen. Every muscle in his body is tensed and his chest keeps heaving as if he’s struggling to breathe. His eyes aren’t shocked; they’re panicked.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, Emma still stunned by the turn of events while Killian looks more like a frightened animal than a person. Her lungs burn painfully and she chokes a bit as she tries to breathe. He jumps at the sound, his face changing from frightened to horrified. He pushes himself away from her forcefully, propelling his body until he’s precariously close to falling off the bed. He pulls himself into a sitting position and turns his back to her, fingers gripping the side of the bed as if holding on for dear life. Emma lays there, mind reeling, still stunned by the sudden turn of events. Her fingers move to touch where she can still feel the hard press of his palm.

A million questions buzz in her head, each too fleeting for her to truly grasp but each more panicked and disturbed than the next. She doesn’t know what the hell just happened, but her pulse is thundering loudly in her ears and she has the same feeling of ice water in her veins that she did in the Clocktower when Gold was about to crush his heart.

Killian still has his back to her and while she can’t see his face, his shoulders are shaking, and she can still hear the harshness of his breath even over the chaotic orchestra her insides are playing.

“I…” The vowel sounds hoarse leaving his mouth. “I…I’m sorry…I…”

He reaches for his clothes, pulling Emma away from the hornet’s nest in her head. She sits up, on instinct reaching out to him. He flinches and inches further away from her hand, which somehow hurts more than when he tried to choke her. A wounded noise emits from the back of her throat. He doesn’t acknowledge it. He picks up his shirt and pulls it over his head one-handed. It’s on backwards but he doesn’t seem to care.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I need to go,” he says shortly, not looking at her.

She opens her mouth to speak, but her words fall short. Emma doesn’t know what she wants to say. She knows she should say something, but what exactly, she doesn’t know. She still hasn’t processed what exactly happened.

Emma can still feel his hand on her throat.

(What the hell just happened?)

She’s still trying to answer that question, while Killian’s haphazardly pulling on his boots. She raises her hand again, but pulls it back. She wants to touch him, to do something, but she doesn’t know what to do and she can’t bear the sight of him pulling away from her again, like she’s something vile.

Before she can even come to a course of action, the door slams shut. And she’s alone.

(Again.

She’s alone again.)

The thought leaves her feeling frozen, like she’s back in the ice prison again except this time she’s not surrounded by ice. It’s inside of her spreading over each and every one of her organs. She wraps her arms around herself in attempt at...warmth? Comfort? She isn’t sure anymore.

She isn’t sure of anything.

(What the hell just happened?)

One minute they were fine and about to have a good time, and the next thing he’s attacking her and then suddenly he can’t even look at her. All of it happened so fast that she’s still not quite sure what caused all of it. What the hell did she do?

She gets up, pins and needles shooting through her legs. They’re completely unhappy with her after sitting on the bed for so long. She doesn’t know how much time has passed, but she knows she needs to do something. Walking into the ensuite and turns on the light, she winces at the harsh intensity of the fluorescent bulb; sucking in a breath when she catches sight of herself in the mirror.

There’s an angry red ring around her throat.

She touches it again, this time more tentatively. The flesh is tender and a small hiss leaves her without her permission. Killian is long gone, but the phantom pain of his hand is still there. It had only been a few seconds but the feeling and the fear refuses to leave.

Fear.

The realization hits her like whiplash. She had been afraid of him. He could have hurt her.

He did hurt her.

(Why?)

She doesn’t have any answers. She doesn’t know what she did for Killian to act like this, but he’s left her and she’s pretty certain he isn’t coming back.

She hates the fact that hurts her more than the potential bruises.

Angry tears form at the corner of her eyes and she splashes water on her face to keep herself from seeing them. She glances at the clock, not necessarily because she’s interested in the time so much as she doesn’t want to see herself reflected in the mirror.

2:00.

Fuck.

She should leave. She hadn’t been planning on going back to the loft, but she knows she can’t stay here even if Killian doesn’t plan on coming back. She needs to get out of here and sleep somewhere else, where the imprint of his hand can’t follow her.

She pulls her hair into a messy, half-assed ponytail, not bothering it to smooth out the awkward bumps. Her limbs feel as heavy as lead as she puts on her clothes. She wants nothing more than to sleep, but she can’t. Not here.

The streets of Storybrooke are deathly silent as she walks back to the loft. It’s a cool night and the chill highlights the unnatural warmth pulsating from her neck. She pulls her jacket tighter around her. It has always been her shield from the world, but it’s protection was futile. What she needed protecting from had already gotten past her walls.

She can’t stop thinking about it, her brain like an old scratched DVD, playing the same scene over and over again in her mind. She can’t help but relive that moment when he was above her and she couldn’t breathe. She still remembers the look on his face; eyes wide, nostrils flaring and cheeks white. It hadn’t been anger on his face.

It had been fear.

What the hell did he have to be afraid of? He wasn’t the one with the hand on his throat.

Why did he do that?

Why did he leave?

The questions swirl around in her mind as she attempts to unlock the front door of their building. It takes her an embarrassing three tries to open it, but when she finally did, a sense of relief came over her. She’s home and she can sleep.

She’s so tired.

The door to the loft groans as she opens it, sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night. The noise wakes the baby, his wails as ear-piercing as thunder. She can hear her parents waking up behind their curtain.

She can’t face them.

Not right now.

Not after everything that happened with Killian.

She races across the room instead, making her way up the stairs. Her hands tremble as she clings to the bannister like it’s a life line, each ascending step feeling heavier and more precarious than the last.

It’s a relief when she finally reaches her bed and crawls underneath her covers, pulling them over her head in an attempt to cocoon herself away from the world. She wants to escape, to find some peace and quiet. Unfortunately, Little Neal doesn’t seem to want adhere that desire. His screams keep getting louder and louder.

“That’s a mood if I ever heard one,” she mumbles, burying her face in her pillow.

Her mother’s soothing voice sounds throughout the apartment as she attempts to lull Neal back to sleep. Slowly, the cries quiet down and the growing silence echoes inside of her. It’s then that the anger gives away to immeasurable sadness, tears dribbling at the corners of her eyes and leaking down her cheeks.

Once again, she’s alone and no one wants her. Not her parents. Not her brother. And especially not her pirate boyfriend, if he’s even her boyfriend anymore. She’s not so sure.

(What the hell happened?)

It’s frustrating to be in this position again, hurt and confused as to why. She should have known it wasn’t going to work. She’s never been in a healthy and real relationship before and it was silly of her to think otherwise. She should have known it would blow up in her face.

(But why?)

(Why?)

It’s the question on her mind keeps playing over and over in her mind as she falls into a fitful slumber, hoping against hope that sleep will bring some clarity.

It doesn’t.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #cs fic #tw: ptsd #tw: violence #tw: violent ptsd #tw: choking #the villains that live in my head #my fic #my shit #please read at own risk

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ettadunham · 4 years

Text

A Buffy rewatch 7x05 Selfless

aka be careful what you... you know the drill

We did it, guys! We made it to the last season! Also, hello if you’re new, and stumbled upon this without context. As usual, these impromptu text posts are the product of my fevered mind as I rant about the episode I just watched for an hour (okay, sometimes perhaps two). Anything goes!

And in today’s episode, it’s Anya time!

Selfless as a title is a word play on the two different Anya’s we meet at the beginning and the end of the episode. Anya or Aud in her old life was a bit of a misfit, but she was also selfless in her earnestness. And the Anya of today is struggling to find not just her place in the world but her entire identity. Her sense of self.

I know that some people dislike and find Anya’s background to be a bit of a retcon. Like how she apparently was always considered a weird person, and her behavior wasn’t just the product of her being a vengeance demon for a 1000 years. And I think those criticisms were in my head during the earlier flashbacks, and maybe that’s why I find those to be the weakest parts of an otherwise excellent episode.

But as the story went on, and we met Anya at different points in her life, I realized, that that won’t be my take here. No, I like that Aud was somewhat of a well-intentioned outcast. It explains why Anya didn’t bother to get familiar with human social norms – she never quite fit them in the first place, and she was even less interested once she became a vengeance demon.

Also, I’m putting this out there without much more elaboration because I don’t have the knowledge to expand upon it, but Anya may be on the autistic spectrum. So her character always having some of her socially non-conforming traits feels in line with that.

This backstory and Anya’s route to vengeance also fills in some interesting parts of her character. Anya was angry with Olaf, but it wasn’t some fiery rage that took her over. And it wasn’t just Olaf she was angry with. Anya felt slighted by the world, not just alone, but rejected by society. She didn’t have anyone or anything to turn to.

There’s also a pattern here of Anya hyperfocusing on something or someone in her life. First it was Olaf – it didn’t matter that the town didn’t accept her, because she had Olaf to build her life around. And when he betrayed her, she had vengeance. Halfrek even remarks upon how Anya wouldn’t enjoy life around her and was all work no play, but Anya didn’t even understand what she meant by that. She had vengeance. Vengeance was her life. And that was enough.

And then, when she didn’t have that, there was Xander. In season 4 especially you can see this singular focus Anya has for Xander. It’s only by season 5 that she even starts to integrate and connect with the rest of the Scoobies – which I think is part of why returning to vengeance proves such a difficult task for her.

Losing Xander made Anya want to return to her old patterns, but she was unable to put all her focus back into vengeance, because she didn’t lose her old connections. Not to the Scoobies, and not even Xander.

Anya’s stuck between worlds. And what’s even more painful, is the fact that she didn’t use to feel that way when she was a vengeance demon. While in the human world she was constantly looked down on and rejected, she fit right in with D’Hoffryn’s family. But now, she’s criticized for not committing to vengeance enough.

And make no mistake, she never felt quite accepted by the Scoobies either. Not all the way. But it was still more than she was used to, and it allowed her to make some real human connections. The first in millennia.

It was enough to keep her grounded to the world and humanity. Enough so that she could find no enjoyment in inflicting pain.

It actually hurt her.

But she felt trapped. If she couldn’t commit to vengeance she had no place with D’Hoffryn anymore, and she had nowhere else to go. So she tried, even if it made her feel horrible, maybe hoping that if she went too far, it’d numb her to the pain. Or that if she passed the point of no return, she could finally focus back on vengeance.

And there’s someone who definitely gets that. Willow.

So, following my big lightbulb moment about how Willow and Anya would actually work perfectly as a season 7 ship, Selfless just proved to be even more fodder to that idea. But you don’t even need to ship it to appreciate the dynamic of what’s happening here.

When Willow meets Anya on campus, and realizes that something’s off when she sees the blood on her hands, she doesn’t confront Anya about it. She knows better than that.

Instead she enters the frat house (it’s always a frat house, isn’t it), already expecting the outcome. She also has a weird moment of Dark Willow as she’s doing a protection spell against the spider monster, which… I wanna talk about that?

So, I distinctly remember interpreting Dark Willow as separate from regular Willow during my first time with the show, someone who emerges when Willow uses magic. Which is a dull take that I don’t really like these days, but I can also see teen-me coming to the conclusion from this scene, seeing the abrupt change in Willow’s personality.

But in reality, that outburst is Willow lashing out at the girl who made the wish that killed all those boys in the frat house. It’s not even just the trauma of seeing all those bodies; it’s the realization of what it means for Anya, and the inevitable confrontation with Buffy.

So instead Willow keeps those details to herself for the time being. She only tells Buffy that there’s a spider demon out for blood, while she goes to talk to Anya herself.

WILLOW: “Anya, listen to me. You're in trouble. You know it. I'm here to help you.” ANYA: “You're here to— Well, that's great, Willow. Flayed anybody lately, have you? How quickly they forget!” WILLOW: “I haven't forgotten one second of it.” ANYA: “What do you want?” WILLOW: “I want to help you.”

Anya’s broken repetition of “they got what they deserved”? God. This scene is so good.

Still, when she doesn’t manage to convince Anya, Willow knows what she has to do. She tells Buffy.

Now, I’ll circle back to this scene, because we’ll also need to talk about Buffy, but for our purposes now, I want to highlight how the Scoobies see the situation. Buffy knows that as soon as Anya becomes a real threat, she has to deal with her accordingly. Xander meanwhile refuses to even engage with the idea that they might need to kill Anya to stop her.

And Willow? Willow’s right there in-between. She understands fully the threat Anya poses, but also the inner conflict present. She doesn’t argue or fight Buffy on killing Anya, but she also refuses to help. She doesn’t go with her to support or stop her. She can’t.

When Xander and Buffy argue, they bring up Willow’s case, but Buffy says that it was different, because Willow’s human. However, you get the sense that Willow herself isn’t making that distinction. She’d expect Buffy to try and stop her by all means necessary if it came down to it once again.

But when Buffy tells Xander to help her find another way, it ends up inspiring Willow. So she uses the amulet D’Hoffryn gave her back in season 4 to summon him, and to offer Anya something that nobody else bothered.

A choice.

So, essentially, Willow is the one that saved Anya in this episode. Not by any life-saving grand gesture, but by giving her a chance to decide for herself. Even if it meant for Anya to choose her own death over those she caused recently.

But D’Hoffryn of course had to go and twist that choice, where he instead killed Halfrek to make Anya suffer. This is the most overtly malicious and threatening D’Hoffryn ever gets, living up to his vengeance demon patriarch title. We’ve seen him prey upon these women in their moments of weakness, and here, he finally shows his real colors openly.

Anya’s devastated. This was her oldest, and for centuries, only friend. And she died in her stead. It’s cruel.

But Anya now Is also free. And not just from vengeance, but from her dependence from it. Or Xander. She’s free and she’s lost, but now she has the opportunity to find herself yet again.

And then there’s Buffy, who knows exactly who she is.

(On a sidenote, how delightful is it when Buffy just throws the axe up to the trees to catch the spider demon? I love her so much, you guys don’t even know.)

During the majority of the show, Buffy struggled with her identity, with who she is, what it means, what she’d have to do, what her purpose is… But by season 7, she’s mostly settled into her role, embracing all that came with it.

But that in itself will lead to her struggle this season. Buffy has the power to fight evil, and protect the rest of the world, so she feels responsible to do so. And she knows that she can’t expect someone else to make the hard choices, because there’s no one else. She can’t make someone else wear her burdens, and she can’t trust them to make her own choices for her. No one has the answers. In the end, we’re all just human.

Still, you may ask, isn’t Buffy human too? Doesn’t she make mistakes all the same? And the answer is yes. She can mess up, and if she does, it can affect the lives of everyone around her. That’s why it’s not the final end to Buffy’s arc.

When Faith told Buffy in season 3 that they were the law, she rejected it. But now, she echoes it. Of course, back then, Faith was trying to deflect responsibility, while Buffy emphasizes her own responsibility using the same words. Both roads lead to a sense of superiority nevertheless, it’s just one is an empty façade, masking an inner struggle, while the other is an acceptance of the power and responsibility that was already thrust upon it.

I don’t think Buffy’s approach of taking this all upon herself is the right answer ultimately, and neither does she by the end. But much like with Anya, she doesn’t see another way, and it’s an understandable response to how everyone’s been relying on her to make these decisions for many seasons now.

That’s what stings about Xander’s attitude here. They’ve been all expecting Buffy to deal with things, whether it’s her own trauma or the apocalypse, to take responsibility and make the hard choices for them; and then turn around and judge her for it. It’s also what makes the scene so cathartic, as Buffy calls out Xander on his own hypocrisy.

XANDER: “You think we haven't seen all this before? The part where you just cut us all out. Just step away from everything human and act like you're the law. If you knew what I felt—“ BUFFY: “I killed Angel! Do you even remember that? I would have given up everything I had to be with— I loved him more than I will ever love anything in this life. And I put a sword through his heart because I had to.” […] XANDER: “This is different.” BUFFY: “It is always different! It's always complicated. And at some point, someone has to draw the line, and that is always going to be me. You get down on me for cutting myself off, but in the end the slayer is always cut off. There's no mystical guidebook. No all-knowing council. Human rules don't apply. There's only me. I am the law.”

Still, Xander has a point in arguing too of course. Someone has to argue for Anya’s humanity and challenge Buffy’s authority on life and death.

It’s also worth mentioning though that by the end, Buffy also closes with the aforementioned “then please find another way”.

Buffy isn’t necessarily shutting Willow and Xander out in the way she’d used to. She just assumed authority, made the call and asked for their help.

Oh yeah, and also, we finally get a resolution to Xander’s lie at the end of season 2. Kind of. It gets kind of brushed past, but it’s out in the open now. After 4 and a half seasons.

I just love this show and its stupid brilliant long character arcs.

#buffy rewatch 2k19 #btvs talk #btvs

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Fifty-One: Turtle ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Healing Waters and Scorching Flames ] [ AO3 Link ]

She’ll admit...it’s a little strange coming back here now. Hinata’s first visit to the capital of the Fire Nation had been during the Day of Black Sun - the solar eclipse that had been the allies’ hope to finally bring an end to the Hundred Year War. A day when, without the sun, the firebenders were to be completely powerless. But the plan went horribly awry thanks to leaked information...and the Avatar’s group was forced to flee and leave the rest of the invasion behind.

The only successes had been the freedom of Omashu, and the final straw in the change of heart within Sasuke.

Her second (and until now, final) visit to the city had been during the passing of Madara’s Comet. While Naruto faced the Fire Lord, Sasuke went to try and finally bring reason to his older brother. Though there had been the beginnings of a duel, Sasuke’s own revelation had been enough to overcome the last shreds of Itachi’s doubt...and they’d reached a peaceful resolution. With Naruto’s defeat of Fugaku, there had been an end to the war at last.

And from there? Years and years of diplomatic reparations, finding balance, and keeping every member of Team Avatar busy enough that visits between them have been few and far between.

Hinata herself has been using the time since the end of the war attempting to undo the damage done by the Fire Nation against the Southern Water tribes. The scattered remnants had been united, and the stolen waterbenders returned to the south. Reuniting them with family hadn’t been easy...and comforting both sides had taken its toll. Both prisoners and those who remained had to face losses: captives that had died during the war, and vice versa. Many no longer had homes to return to once it was all over.

The port where the prior prisoners were released turned into a makeshift refugee camp in their own territory. Shelters were built, resources stockpiled, and displaced tribesmen kept until new paths could be made. At first unintended, it turned into a hub that eventually grew into a city. Though many tribes, once steady, returned to their various homes...some, especially those without family or homes to return to, remained and helped the new city thrive.

Only now that things have begun to settle has Hinata found any time to leave the south. Given her connections with the Avatar, and the personal growth she obtained during her months fighting, it was she without question who was looked to - and is still looked to - for guidance in the south. But...she’s earned a much-deserved break, and has agreed to meet a few of the others in the Fire Nation to just...see one another.

Kiba decides to remain to handle the mantle in her place. The one nonbender of the group, he now leads the Southern Water tribe army. There’s no one else Hinata would entrust their progress to in her absence. He’ll be missed during their get-together, but he insists she deserves the break more than he. Hinata had been unable to argue otherwise, and so, rides on a ship to the island country alone.

Passing the gates that guard the bay, Hinata can’t help but look to them somberly. Much has changed these past few years...herself among them. And given how little she’s seen of her friends since the war’s end, she can only assume their metamorphoses will be just as apparent.

As the ship docks and she makes her way topside to disembark, Hinata can’t help a pause. Rather than a small escort to take her to the palace, the second prince is here himself to greet her.

Sasuke, flanked only by two guards, looks so...different.

Having been previously weighed by his father’s expectations, his own duality, and the struggles he faced, he now looks so much...lighter. Gone is the constant furrow to his brow, or the shadows in his eyes. True, some linger under them from exhaustion, but none of them are afforded much time to rest, even now. He just seems...more relaxed. Calm.

Happier.

In fact, he affords her a genuine - albeit tired - smile as she makes her way down to the dock. “Hinata,” he greets with a small bow. “It’s good to see you. Were the seas calm for your voyage…?”

Still a bit taken aback, Hinata blinks before smiling in turn. “They were. It was a pleasant trip. But I’m glad to be back on land for the time being.”

“And here I thought a waterbender could never tire of water.”

That earns a light laugh. “Water, no...bobbing and dipping in a ship, maybe. Has anyone else arrived yet…?”

“No, not yet. And Kiba isn’t with you, right?”

“No, he’s keeping an eye on things while I’m gone. Developments in the south are still very...ongoing.”

Sasuke nods, expression tingeing a bit gravely for a moment. “I understand...I’ve heard bits and pieces about what’s been going on down there. You’re doing amazing work.”

Her head ducks, humble at the praise. “It’s what needs to be done. And I’m happy to do it. Seeing my people come back from the hardships they suffered gives me hope. We’ve always been a tough people, but this has been our g-greatest test.”

For a moment, something passes over Sasuke’s face. But before she can question it, he gestures. “Well, for now, I suppose we’ll make our way up to the palace. You haven’t seen it since the repairs, have you?”

“No...this is my first trip back since the end of the war, and Itachi’s coronation.”

Surprise pulls at his features. “...has it really been that long?”

“It has,” she replies with a weary smile. “Time sure has flown, hasn’t it?”

“...yeah. Guess being so caught up will do that to you. One moment you’re just starting a new month...the next, you turn around and three have passed. There’s hardly been a dull moment since the war ended.”

A nod. “All I can hope is that it slows a bit soon. It would be nice to enjoy the labor we’ve been giving for so long. Just for a bit.”

“It would.” With her agreement, Sasuke leads Hinata toward the palace. “I can’t wait to see everyone...Naruto’s efforts in the Earth Kingdom were the last time I saw him, trying to sort out the Fire Nation occupants.”

“Was that ever resolved…?”

“Yes...and we’re working on plans to make it even better. But we can talk about that when he’s here to chime in. I think he’s got a better handle on it than I do, honestly. I’ve been more focused on aiding Itachi here as of late.”

Light small talk fills the air during their trek to the central building, and Hinata can’t help but wonder at the sheer size of it. It and the Earth Palace always make her feel so small. Nothing has ever compared to her little southern village.

“We can wait in the gardens for a while - I’ll have some tea brought out.”

Snapped from her reverie as Sasuke speaks, Hinata reflexively smiles. “That sounds great. I haven’t seen the gardens yet.”

“It’s honestly my favorite part of the entire palace. My mother and I spent a lot of time here before she...left.”

The pause earns a glance, but Hinata doesn’t press the subject.

They pass through only a few hallways before making their way into the gardens...and Hinata can’t help but stare. It’s...beautiful! Green, lush, and filled with ponds and fountains. After a lifetime in the snow and ice, plantlife and even grass still fill her with excitement. “They’re amazing…!”

“Let me show you the best part.” Approaching a pond, Sasuke takes a knee, seeming to...look for something.

Unsure what his intent is, Hinata does the same.

“...there!” Pointing, he gestures to a patch of reeds along the other end. From them...emerge several little creatures Hinata has never seen before.

Her eyes go wide. “They’re so cute…! What are they?”

“Turtleducks.”

“Turtle…?”

“Ducks. See, they have a shell, like the great lion turtles,” Sasuke explains. “Just...a lot smaller, and a lot fluffier.”

“I love them already…” Hinata murmurs, watching as they swim their way a bit closer, quacking softly. A few turtleducklings make their way to the bank, and she gently brushes a finger over one’s head.

Beside her, watching from the corner of his eye, Sasuke can’t help a hint of a smile.

“I wish we had these back home...but I think it’s likely far too cold.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. But I guess that gives you a reason to visit, huh?”

Looking up, Hinata simply replies, “I already have a reason.”

Sasuke can’t help a blink of surprise, the bridge of his nose alighting a soft pink just as a courier steps into garden with a bow.

“Prince Sasuke, the Avatar and the earthbender will be here soon - word has been sent ahead with a...lemur of sorts.”

Moment broken, the pair glance up. “Thank you,” the Uchiha replies. “We’ll get ready to meet them.”

“Well, there goes the peace and quiet,” Hinata observes with a light laugh behind a hand.

“True...but it’ll be good to see them.”

“Mhm. But...maybe we’ll avoid showing them the turtleducks. I’m not sure the little things will appreciate the noise.”

Sasuke can’t help a humorous scoff. “...you have a point. We’ll visit them again later, when the others are busy.”

Just the two of us.

.oOo.

Hi so this is technically yesterday's entry...I'm sorry it's late but I was gone LITERALLY all day and was pooped when I got home real late, so...this is me finally getting it done ;w; Sorry about the wait, loves~ But anyway! Back to the AtLA crossover...which I'm still not 100% satisfied with. Sasuke just makes so much more sense to fit Azula's role, but...I want him to be Zuko. And Itachi just does NOT fit her role AT ALL, so...hence me not being 100% sure what to do with the epic sibling battle. Whoops, lol - but that's not the focus! Turtleducks are by far (imo) the cutest AtLA fusion animal. Just...I love them. And now Hinata does too. Anywho, I still need to do today's prompt - that'll be later! For now I've gotta run and get other stuff done, but thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #healing waters and scorching flames [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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the-fresh-air-of-tyria · 5 years

Text

What Are You...?

I find myself alone, often. Even among the Pact and its numerous bodies of flesh, fur, muscle and foliage, those with half a mind to do so will avoid me. I could not say this upsets me; after all, with so many decades of solitude under my skin, it can be difficult to desire anything else. Perhaps they find me frightening... I certainly couldn’t blame them; they unearthed me from this place, after all. That would frighten anyone.

There are times I am approached, however. Times where a member of the Pact, be they initiate or a master of the battlefield, becomes curious of my presence here. Really, though, can anyone find fault in that? I don’t dress like these people, nor do I speak as they speak. I was found in an odd place, and now, I follow their orders. Curiosity must burn within the ranks of them, yet fear holds their tongues in as tight a grasp as their desire to approach.

However, there are times the apprehension simply cannot win. The fascination and determination undermines it. And sometimes, I get a visitor.

This young man looks much too youthful to be in a war against dragons. Small and thin, with hair wavy like seaweed, skin dark, dusted with some of the pale, salt-infused soil of Orr. His eyes hide behind glasses with rims too thick to be accidentally broken, dark like pools of oil. His armor appears to have been cobbled together with a misguided prayer, a bit of metal plating here, some chainmail under some leather there. His weapon, a longsword borrowed from the Vigil.

Here, atop the overlook of Malchor’s Leap, where the ill-fated sculptor met Grenth by his own hand, this outmatched little human approaches me. He isn’t aware I know this, at first; his approach is from behind as I peer over the edge. I hear him, however. I hear the way his feet faintly scrape their leather soles against the loose earth, marred and mixed with dead coral. The way it grinds under his weight, and his breath, exhaling in a tremulous wheeze as he approaches. When, at last, he comes to a halt at my side, I note his distance from me. Two full arm’s lengths.

For a while, I say nothing. Normally they speak first. The Asura are especially forward, even if they’re just as wary in their approach. The human, on the other hand, says nothing, and keeps glancing toward me as I stand to the left of him. I certainly thought I was an eerie one, but the incessant staring does eventually get to me.

“Can I help you?” It’s a rasp, perhaps. My voice has been ravaged entirely, from sea salt. Yet it remains strong, deep and forceful. It sends a visually impressive shudder through the young man, whose hair is like seaweed, and whose eyes are like pools of oil. He turns, however, instead of excusing himself, and finally trains his gaze upon my own.

“Where do you come from?”

That pitiful little voice. It’s small. It’s weak and gentle. It breathes out like a soft summer breeze’s sigh. Like the feather of a hummingbird slipping past one’s ear, certain that it’s been felt, yet leaving no trace. It speaks with little conviction, uncertainty and fear embedded to the roots like a poison.

However, I’m caught off guard, somewhat. The question makes me turn toward the young man, who seems to steel himself as though I intend to attack.

“Where do I... come from?” The young man nods his head, gently forcing his body to relax a bit. Still, I can see in the way his legs place themselves that he’s ready to bolt at any given moment. The question, on the other hand, still rings odd to me, as enigmatic as a sun-bleached series of puzzle pieces. “That’s a bold question for someone like you.”

“The rest just... speculate. Wild rumors keep flying about with no reason to them. I need to know. I need to know.”

“You don’t need to know. Nobody would believe such storied tales.”

“I’m sure we would. You’re not like the Sylvari. The... other Sylvari, at least. You smell like ocean water and wood rot. We found you in Arah, in a place none of us had explored yet... you were buried under rubble and didn’t know any of us. Dressed oddly.”

I can feel the pull of a smile on my lips, the most rare motion my face could make, indeed. This must have frightened the human, who looked more wary and leaned backward. “Alright. I knew someone would ask eventually. No---I do not come from these Sylvari’s tree. I come from another, deep within the jungle. I found myself wandering, exploring, a very long time ago.”

“There... is another tree?”

“Was. It died long ago. It could not survive where it was seeded, and the jungle is a ravenous beast. One only survives if they are strong... and it was not as strong as it could have been. It bore few fruit.”

“So there... there’s more of you?”

“I’m not sure. I saw one, not long after I set out. A purple one. His name escapes me.”

“Why did you leave the jungle?”

I study the young man’s gaze, now boring intensely into my own. The fear seems to have gone, replaced by a hungry fascination. He’d make a good Priory scholar, I think.

“It had nothing for me there. I disliked having to struggle daily to survive. While the jungle provides what one needs, it isn’t willing to give it freely, nor easily. And I became... lonely, I suppose. I found myself among strange beings I learned quickly to be human.”

“They didn’t find you odd?”

Another smile, and this time I feel a strange... sensation in my throat. I realize it’s a chuckle. Rough, sandy. “Quite the contrary, in fact. They... considered me a deity of their nature god. An aspect. I was given offerings often, food and clothing, small shiny trinkets. I felt that trying to explain what I truly was might... dampen their spirits.”

I turn away from the young man, who exhaled softly. “You stole from them.”

“They gave me everything I took. I did not lead them astray---they assumed, and I was grateful to accept their beliefs.”

“You---that doesn’t mean you didn’t steal from those people. They thought they were honoring Melandru, and you took those offerings!” A soft shrillness accompanied the man’s voice, and I turned my head quickly to look at him. His sudden burst of confidence quelled as swiftly as a small campfire in a torrential rain.

“I did not ask to be their aspect. I did not know their god. I still know nothing of their Melandru. The statues here to their gods are nothing to me but laughing shadows, memories that were never washed away. Their gods did not save them from the Charr, did they? Quite the contrary---they left Arah. They left their worshipers behind. Are you saying I fully contributed to that? Or was it simply the selfishness of these apparently all-kind, all-seeing deities? Does my taking small material things insult these gods so very much?”

“They didn’t leave... forever. They watch from beyond the veil. They watch us, hear our prayers and our... voices. Our requests.”

“Then request to your gods that I be further punished.”

The young man blanches, and he turns toward Malchor’s Leap. Such a befitting name for this outcropping of stone. Then he looks back at me, pushing his dark hair back, exhaling once more. “What did you do to... survive so long since then? How did you make it through the years of Orr... below the waves?”

This time, my smile becomes more of a distant, disgusted smirk. I feel my nose wrinkle with the motion, and I can smell a breath of my own stench---that of a ship’s waterlogged, rotting wood and cold seasalt. “I came to Orr. I heard that its lands were saturated with magic, with belief, with... their gods’ presence. I thought I might live well there.”

“You were wrong.” The young man is half accusatory. The rest seems... morbidly curious.

“I was, yes. They... knew I wasn’t an aspect of their Melandru. Something---someone---told them. Their god, I assume, before they departed. I was caught, as they came for me, trying to steal from a noble family. I was put on trial.”

“You were... convicted? What crimes?”

“Quite a few. Most of them I forget. But the one that bound me here, I remember very well. Passing myself off as an aspect of their deity was the worst of the offenses. Such a despicable act that they felt I would be an eternal lesson. Forbidden magic was secretly used upon me, binding my spirit to my vessel. Forcing me to live for eternity, but never free.”

The young man’s brows have furrowed. “We... found you in a collapsed building with bars rotted away. There were some bones here and there, white as paper---”

“I wasn’t alone in that prison. Other prisoners... of course they didn’t survive the sinking. But I did.”

“You...?” His mouth opens softly, a gentle gape. “You survived going down so far---?”

“I survived the sinking of Orr. The feeling that the world was being ripped from under my feet, the way the interior walls and bars... crushed like twigs and wood. The total blackness, being so far beneath the waves, trapped in a prison with so many bodies pressed against the ceiling and unable to escape.”

“But you lived...”

Unfortunately. That was a stipulation of my curse. I live through everything done to me. I lived for countless years beneath the waves, in frigid water, breathing it in and expelling it, smelling and hearing but never seeing. Feeling the viscera of rotting bodies surround me, then sweep away in the currents that reminded me that there are exits... many exits. But the stone was too heavy for me to move. The holes were too small to get even a hand out of them.”

“Was it... painful to come back up?” Awe is written upon the young man’s face. Like a child hearing his mother tell him a bedtime story. It’s almost endearing. It might have been, were the memories not clutching at my chest. Reminding me that my every breath now feels like inhaling sand and pushing it back out.

“It felt... strange. The crushing pressure was lifted so quickly that my body struggled to accept it. I felt myself reform, yet I have no idea what I might have begun to look like so far below the waves. My sight returned, but the pinpricks of sunlight felt like hammers. The water faded, and the heat of dry air seemed to ravage my skin like the heart of Mount Maelstrom itself. I can still... feel the claws of dry air rend into me. The bones within me creak like the deck of an old ship. My eyes find it difficult to adjust to the moonlight, despite its gentle touch. Tracks of memory. This entire wretched existence... because the Orrians...”

He shakes his head. I glance at him, raising a brow. “They... punished you for what they felt was the highest crime.”

“I have been punished beyond reason.” I feel my voice darken. The rasp from the saltwater worsens. “I have seen my death come and go so many times I no longer have a grasp on the count. Creatures tore at me in the depths! Yet my skin reformed with each bite until they were satisfied, and left me be. My lungs exploded in my chest, coming back together with every few breaths. My body atrophied, writhed and shrank, and when I came back up within this world, I was torn asunder, forced back. Is that a fitting punishment for one who took mortal trinkets from your supposedly benevolent deities?”

“Crimes... must be paid for, Eir---”

“I would rather you did not speak my name.” My voice is cold now. It makes the human shiver. “My crime would have been paid for in full had they taken the trinkets back. Had they forced me to work in Melandru’s temples. Had I simply been imprisoned. But they wished to torture me. Beyond any reasonable measure, they wished to know I would never know peace.”

The young man lowers his head, swallowing gently. “I... I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m sure Melandru would not have wanted to see you suffer so much.”

“Had she shown mercy, rather than abandoning this world, perhaps I would agree with you.”

He nods faintly. “Ah... I’m sorry---”

“At least, now, you know where I come from.”

“I do.”

He clasps his hands, shakily pacing back toward the temple we are meant to be guarding. Silence, once more. I exhale, and I feel my lungs crack and creak as though a salt shell breaks and contracts with each motion.

Perhaps, if I were Malchor, I might jump from this ledge as well. I know true insanity, the likes of which drove him to his final descent... I just hide it well.

What a pity the swim back to shore wouldn’t be worth this deadly leap.

#Guild Wars 2 #guild wars 2 screenshot #GW2 #Scenery #GW2 fanfiction #Writing #Storytelling #guild wars 2 sylvari #guild wars 2 thief #backstory

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canyouhearthelight · 6 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 9

Newest chapter is up! We finally encounter other people on the ship, and I have a chance to show that Sophia is not perfect. Also, this is a fluffy chapter, no warnings.

Please feel free to send me any constructive feedback or questions you have regarding any chapters of this story. I love to answer questions. All I ask is, if you identify a problem with something, please also suggest a solution to said problem. I am always willing to correct myself provided I know how.

I spent the next several weeks getting used to the routines on the ship. For the first few days, I was still getting a substantial amount of my mobility back; just because I had been given new body parts in perfect condition did not mean they held the same flexibility and endurance as the muscles I had lost. The Miys had insisted that the muscles should be in correct working order, and struggled to understand that some traits of human motion are not held in genetics, but rather in how we use the muscles to strengthen them and stretch the connective tissues. In the end, I had to demonstrate my lack of range of motion by trying to do yoga with Tyche. The fact that I could barely even do half of the poses hurt my ego more than it hurt my body.

“Enhancer,” the Miys buzzed in a questioning tone. “You and Tyche genetically possess both ligamentous laxity and hypermobile joints, causing a greater base range of motion than the Terran average. Please explain why you wish to be more flexible beyond what you are already capable of?”

I rubbed my stiff spine before answering. “Humans are like that. If there is something unique about us, sometimes it feels good physically to cultivate that. For example, I had a friend growing up who was able to both perceive and vocally produce sounds with perfect accuracy. In English, we call this perfect pitch. Rather than just be happy with that, he learned to play every Terran instrument he possibly could, so that he could make music not just by singing, but by playing instruments. He found it challenging: he could already make perfect music through singing, and had a substantial range. But that did not extend to instruments, so he had to actually teach himself to play these instruments with very high precision.”

“I would have very much liked to find someone with perfect pitch,” it hummed wistfully. “However, of those who survived the condition of your planet, none with perfect pitch were found. I certainly tried. The concept was very exciting, both for me and for my home world. What would they look like?”

Now, I was kind of bummed about it, too. What would Ronnie have looked like to a species who saw through sound? Despite the fact that his face had blurred in my memories after so many years, I do remember how kind he was, and that alone always compelled me to remember him as beautiful and vibrant. Maybe he would have been beautiful and vibrant to the Miys, too, in their equivalent of crystal clarity and surround sound. The idea lifted my heart a bit.

In addition to working on returning to my previous peak physical condition (pre-End, before malnutrition was as common as breathing), I focused on familiarizing myself with the ship. After a rowing argument with my food console when I tried to order Shepherd’s Pie, I stomped to one of the communal eating areas and decided to socialize. I had struggled with the console from the first time I tried it on my own. Most international food worked okay, but comfort food was just not cooperating. The Miys already confirmed that there was no restriction on my console, as I had no dietary restrictions from a medical standpoint. It was unable to explain why the console had difficulty with certain dishes, however, as the consoles were specially installed for the Terran cargo. The Miys just ate its standard rations to sustain its several bodies, and apparently that was all they ate, even on their home planet. I was curious enough to tag that for further interrogation later. Right now, I wanted one thing and one thing only.

As I navigated into more populated areas, I paused to compose myself: Stand tall, head up, shoulders back, smile on my face. After all, the Miys expected me to help lead in some capacity; I knew from previous experience on Earth that humans generally prefer to be led by someone who seem confident, but approachable and somewhat likable. Essentially, this was my public debut to the rest of the ship, so I needed it to be a good impression, whether the rest of the ship knew that or not. Being frustrated and hangry was no excuse.

Once I entered the common area, I immediately saw that it was roughly the size of an Ikea food court: large enough to be left alone, but small enough to be social if you chose to be. Very considerate. A quick scan of the room showed several freshly prepared options to one side, and a bank of food consoles on the other. My brows furrowed at the consoles before I made my way over to scan the freshly prepared food. To my chagrin, the fresh food was rather boring but hearty fare. It looked good, but it wasn’t what I had a craving for. Miys did not understand the concept of cravings, so this was another struggle I would have to explain at a later date.

In defeat, I shuffled over to the food synthesizers, praying to whatever deity would listen that one of the damned things would produce what I wanted. Three synthesized (and subsequently recycled) meals later, I still could not get my meal. While considering defeat, I held my arms at my side, fingers splayed, tipped my head back, and took a deep breath to calm myself so that I would not start screaming like a madwoman in the middle of a crowd. After a slow count of twenty – ten had stopped working at the previous synthesizer – I was about to just order something else when someone walked up behind me. With survival instincts required by someone who survived nearly a decade in an apocalypse, I whirled to confront what my lizard-brain had dubbed ‘attacker’.

A dark-skinned woman backed up at my aggressive stance, hands in the air, showing they were empty. “I just want to assist you. I know the look of someone who is trying to find food from home and cannot obtain it from the console.”

I shriveled on the inside as I relaxed on the outside. “Is it that obvious?”

She chuckled before extending her hand. “Only because we have all experienced it. I am Arantxa. For me, it was bacalao al pil pil. The console continued to give me battered and fried cod! So angering! Finally, the console was reprogrammed when I was able to find someone who knew how to make it.”

I took her hand as I melted in relief. “I will gladly try that tomorrow if you can find me someone who can get this thing to give me Shepherd’s Pie. I love trying new food, but right now….” I trailed off.

She gave me a curious look, “Yes, nothing else will do. I see the problem, however. When you name that dish, I only hear ‘language conflict’ in my translator. Do you know what nation the dish comes from?”

“Wait,” I held up a hand in front of me. “What do you mean ‘language conflict’?”

Arantxa tilted her head before responding, “The implants translate any language you are hearing into your native language. Did they not explain that?”

“Not like that, no,” I confessed. “I thought it just translated their language into English.”

She immediately seemed to understand, because she gave a short nod before continuing. “We have people from many nations here, and we would never be able to establish a colony if we did not understand each other. So, the implant does not just translate their language, it translates any language spoken by a person with such an implant into your native tongue.” Arantxa gestured to herself, “I am Basque. My language is a dying one, so I am particularly glad of this. But I do not speak even a little English, as I was so young when Terra died. So, my implant and your implant are trying to find a common name for the food you are asking for, but there is no exact reference in my language and several references in other languages. This causes a conflict until the database is updated to include your term and its reference.”

I nodded before responding to her previous question. “It’s Irish as far as I know, but anyone from the former UK or Ireland can probably recognize it.”

She looked satisfied as she nodded. She turned and walked over to a particular person before bringing him to me. “Conor,” she said decisively, “this is…?”

“Sophia,” I supplied.

“Sophia,” Arantxa continued. “She is struggling to get the dish she would like, and I think you can help her.” With that, Arantxa waved at us both before returning to her meal.

As I turned to Conor, I held out my hand. “Sophia, from America.”

“Conor, from Ireland,” he shook my hand with a slight smile. “What is it you’re craving?”

I blew out a breath of relief. “Shepherd’s Pie. Please. I’ve tried several different synthesizers, and I....nothing comes out right.”

Conor simply nodded before addressing the console. “Two servings of Shepherd’s Pie, please. And to drink…” he glanced at me.

“Sauvignon Blanc?” I asked hopefully.

He dutifully ordered my drink. Surprisingly, the synthesizer produced two beautiful, mouth-watering portions of my heart’s desire, along with a glass of wine. To my surprise, Conor picked up my tray and gestured with his head for me to follow him back to his table. He had previously been sitting alone, so I was confused as to why he wanted me to join him.

After setting my tray down and chuckling at the groan of satisfaction I made when I took the first bite, the reason became apparent. “The replicators are finicky,” he chuckled. “And they particularly don’t like English. Between the Queen’s English and that hodge-podge you speak, it gets confused a lot.”

“So,” I asked around a forkful before swallowing. “How do I get it to make this for me?”

He grinned and shrugged, “the Miys update the database fairly frequently, so they can simply add ‘Shepherd’s Pie’ to the terms for the dish.”

“And how did you convince the synthesizer to give up the goods?”

“I asked nicely?”

I arched a brow at that, gazing silently.

“I asked in Irish,” he relented with a laugh. Either I was very funny, or Conor was very cheerful.

“So what is the Irish term for this?” I gestured at the serving left after I shoveled the first serving down.

Rather than replying verbally, Conor pulled a tablet out of his pocket and started typing. When he turned the tablet to me, I realized the dilemma.

Pióg an aoire

I nearly choked on my wine. “I don’t think I can pronounce that, honestly,” I admitted. “And I’m willing to bet that you can’t teach me either, can you?”

Conor confirmed my suspicions with a shake of his head. “Nope. It will just translate into American if I try.”

“And how long does it take the database to update.”

“Oh, just a week.”

I could live with a week. However, I thought of another dish that I enjoyed that may need to be added. “Conor, do they already have coney pie in the database?” Despite living on the stuff for several years, I really did enjoy it.

“Rabbit pie is, yes,” he confirmed before leaning forward with furrowed brows. “How likely are you to know the term for something in a different language?”

Slightly confused, I answered, “Well, I really loved to cook and eat before the world went to shit, so there is a lot of food I know the correct term for, or the term in another language. Why?”

He flashed another grin before sitting back and stretching. “You and I,” he ticked an index finger between us, “are going to get along great. I’ve been dying for what Americans call French toast, and all I can get is toasted baguette. None of the French speakers seem to hear the right term for it, all they hear is ‘toast’ apparently. I’ve managed eggie in a basket, but if you can get me that, we are square, and you may be my favorite person.”

I suppressed a chuckle before I asked, “You haven’t happened to have met a much smaller person who looks like me, named Tyche, have you?” I knew for a fact my sister spoke nearly flawless French and could have accomplished this for him before I ever woke up.

Conor simply shook his head. “Only been on board a few weeks. Why?”

“No reason,” I smirked. “When do you want your French toast?”

His eyebrows flew up at that. “Now, preferably. I’ve had a craving ever since I woke up. It’s my favorite breakfast.”

I finished my wine and dropped the glass in a recycler before walking to the console.

“Pain perdu and a glass of sauvignon blanc, please,” I announced triumphantly.

Leading had to start somewhere. Breakfast is a good place, I thought in amusement.

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#humans are weird #humans are space orcs #earth is space australia #my writing #original #writing prompt #the miys #science fiction #scifi #aliens #apocalypse #languages

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poorunfortunate-huma · 5 years

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Jane and Mal ship?

Mal and Jane is one of my fave rare pairs anon!

So Jane has struggled with the concept of her sexuality because boys are sweet and all but there is something about girls that makes her heart jump.

When she was younger and Audrey started to flirt with Ben, she became Jealous of Audrey because she liked Ben herself.

Or so she thought

It wasn’t until she was ranting to Lonnie about Ben and Audrey and said “What makes him so special?” That she realised that she actually likes Audrey

This then lead to Jane having a big ass bi crush on Audrey. She would do stolen glances across the table and each time she started staring Lonnie would nudge her like the supportive BFF she is.

Things only started getting worse when she joined the cheer squad.

Eventually Ben found out and being the sweetheart he is, he promised her that he would keep it a secret and “No he does not hate her.”

Jane is still wracked with anxiety that someone will out her or be homophobic to her.

She is very worried about Chad finding out after all they are childhood best friends and even though she has seen a side of him that no one else has she is still worried

her crush on Audrey fizzles out and she becomes more calm.

that is until the VKs arrive

She first meets Evie and the boys in a corridor and has to admit Evie is stunning

however she is nothing compared to Mal. Jane first saw Mal in the goodness 101 lesson and she swear she forgot how to breathe

When Mal cornered her in the bathroom all she could do was think about how beautiful the purple haired VK is.

She gets a sinking feeling as this is exactly how she fell for Audrey.

Jane doesn’t see Mal for a while after and she thinks its for the best as she doesn’t want to develop an unobtainable crush.

one night Jane is walking the corridors unable to sleep (she knows she is breaking the rules but Ben knows she does this to clear her mind before she has an anxiety attack, so he gives her a special pass). She sees the light for the girls bathroom open and hears sobbing. She slowly goes in and sees a pale leg sticking keeping a cubical door from opening. Jane slowly approaches the girl who is crying and freezes when she sees a shock of purple hair. Jane goes to leave but she sees red rimmed green eyes staring back at her. Jane notices Mal’s breathing is fast and her pupils are dilated and her hands are visibly shaking. Jane crouches down next to Mal at safe distance and asks if she can come closer. Jane sees a slight nod from Mal and creeps forward. Jane tells Mal to breathe and she can see Mal struggling and suddenly Mal lurches forward clinging onto Jane. Jane starts to breathe with Mal and soon Mal is just crying in Janes arms. Mal eventually calms down and explains to Jane that she is struggling with Auradon expectations. Jane confides in Mal saying that she struggles with aura don expectations as well

their friendship blossoms often due to midnight meet ups, such as Jane walking out of her door at midnight to find Mal leaning against her door. They go on walks around the school avoiding the occasional guard for Mal’s sake

One night they are in a classroom talking when Jane confesses she is Bi. She immediately regrets It because now Mal will hate her and find her disgusting and she voices these concerns in a anxious ramble because she thinks she has now ruined this friendship. When Mal gets up off of the table and grabs Jane and kisses her. They break apart and Mal rests her forehead on Janes and says “you really don’t know how to shut up”

Mal walks Jane back to her room and before Jane goes in Mal asks her if she will be her girlfriend.

Jane says yes

The next day Jane is all bubbly from the kiss and messaging Mal all last night. The messages consist of stories from when they were young (Jane told Mal about a time where Chad slipped over and fell into a an enchanted pond causing his curls to grow wild). However Jane also expresses her concerns to Mal about how she is still in the closet so can they keep it on the down low. Mal understands this and through out the day stolen glances are shared, slight brushes of the hands and even one sneak peck on the cheek in the toilets.

later that day in Jane and Audrey’s room Audrey is suspicious of Jane being really bubbly and seemingly confident and questions her. This causes Jane to get flustered before she sighs and admits to Audrey she is Bi.

Audrey hugs Jane and says “I’m glad you finally figured it out.” Jane is shocked and can’t form any words. Audrey laughs and holds Jane’s hands and say “you aren’t subtle when you crush on someone you know.” and she winks at Jane before going to have a bath.

Over the next few months Jane becomes more comfortable with Mal, often going into each others dorm rooms and cuddling under blankets or picnic dates.

Everything is fine until Chad approaches Jane and Audrey one day. Chad walks straight up to Jane in the corridor and pulls her into a class room closing the door on Audrey who bangs on the door. Chad looks at Jane who is highly confused and she sees the frustration on his face when he says “You’re Bi.” Jane pales and swallows before nodding. (she can’t lie to chad he is like a brother to her). Jane watches as Chads face morphs from frustration to relief, into a smile and says “Me too.” Jane drops her books from her hands as Chad grips her in a big hug spinning her around like he used to do when they were young.

That was a bit of a narrative Hc now these are some random ones

Jane wears Mal’s shirts and because she is shorter than Mal they are like t-shirt dresses and Mal goes to goo when she sees Jane wearing them

on valentines day Jane gets Mal roses that she has enchanted to be purple and green, she also gets Mal spray paints and enchants them so they never run out. Mal becomes overwhelmed and cries. Not that anyone knows that apart from Jane. And Audrey (she has her ways)

When the other VKs come to Auradon Jane lets slip that Uma is very pretty. This means jealous and protective Mal is activated. Whenever Uma is around Jane Mal will physically put herself between Uma and Jane, almost as protecting Jane from Uma (even though Jane knows that Uma only has eyes for her first mate)

Chad and Ben meet up in Audrey and Jane’s room regularly. And one night Chad confesses to Audrey and Ben he is Bi, he then squirms when Audrey grills him on the fact he likes someone, which causes Ben to put Chad out of his misery by telling Audrey that Chad likes Gil

Mal loves to shower Jane with kisses when Jane is feeling anxious or upset and holds onto Jane stroking her hair, whispering encouraging words.

Here you go anon! I hope you like.

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jadewing-realms · 5 years

Text

Voltron S8 Thoughts

warning: there will be spoilers ahead

So, I wanted to give myself some time to ponder this before I threw my thoughts out... I don’t want to just say more of what’s already been said, and I don’t really have the brain capacity for a super long rant right now anyway, but... there are a few things I feel like I want to contribute if I can.

I’ve seen some people claiming that those of us who are upset about this conclusion to the show are only upset because “our ships didn’t happen.” Others seem to defend the “tragedy” of this ending as a positive element from an artistic vantage point. Those are the things I want to address mostly, I guess.

On the matter of ships: I’m a writer myself. I’ve been studying the art of story for 10 years now, so that’s usually the lens through which I view most shows and movies. And while I’m sure some might be upset over ships alone, from what I’ve seen, most have cited most of their problems with this season/the latter half of S7 as being from a story point of view. Which I have to echo.

For example: I don’t hate Allurance. Really, I don’t. It’s not my cup of tea, but I wouldn’t have had a problem with it if it felt... genuine/not rushed/not a rebound/not flat by comparison to the previous canon-confirmed ship that was Lotura. The problem with how Allurance panned out, to me, depends entirely on the context.

Like, one of the major problems with the ship that I’ve seen is that Lance is a human boy from Earth, who loves Earth and his family there, and he’s never expressed interest in being a diplomat. Which isn’t a bad thing.

On the other hand, Allura was the princess of a lost race, the last remaining relic of a culture that existed 10k years ago. She had dedicated her life to being a diplomat who would rebuild the universe. Once everything was said and done, she shouldn’t have been expected to abandon that role (this is, for the moment, ignoring the fact that the show did more than have her do just that). Ideally, she would have had to stick with it, lead New Altea, continue to seek peace as any good leader does.

If the Allurance subplot could’ve addressed some of these themes and complexities, I would’ve found that interesting, even if it’s not my ship. It would’ve been intriguing to see how a couple might face those kinds of challenges together. I can get behind any character relationship if it’s done well, has depth, and makes sense.

For me personally, the execution of Allurance (and then of course, Shiro and his unnamed SO that seemed to get tossed in as an afterthought) had none of these things. My distaste for these is not due to the fact that my chosen ships weren’t endgame; in the end, that’s not what it comes down to for me. It’s more about the characters and what feels right for them in context of the show as a whole, and their pre-established character arcs.

The way it was actually manifested, Allurance felt shallow and rushed to me, Shiro seemed tacked on to the season as a whole, and all in all, I was left with a feeling like the characters themselves were not done proper justice (regardless of who they ended up with). That their potential had been let down hard.

Then in regards to the tragedy element, I’ll start by saying that I LOVE a good tragedy. I live off dark themes, it’s what I love to write myself. One of my favorite shows is Attack on Titan. All in all, I don’t mind seeing things ending horribly for characters, okay?

But it has to be executed properly, or else tragedy just ends up feeling like blatant manipulation. Like a bid to make the viewers feel something in an otherwise shallow emotional context.

Viewers of Attack on Titan could never complain about the brutality of that show because it establishes itself as brutal from Episode 1. It sets the tone to tell viewers ‘this is gonna get ugly, don’t get comfortable’. It prepares viewers for a rough ride, so that when we see characters die in horrible, gruesome ways, it’s not as jarring as it might’ve been had we had no warning.

Season 8 of VLD seemed to fish this tragic element out of left field. The show was not built to be a tragedy; up until the end of Season 7, there was no indication that that’s the direction we were going to take. If there HAD been evidence of it, the subtle laying of the foundations of darker elements, it would’ve been fine. But because there was no precedent for how horribly things went, it had all the emotional tact of a freight train barreling down a city street with no tracks (Inception reference, anyone?).

Lotor and Allura both became critical victims of this (though the entire main cast suffered from this ultimately). They both deserved better, and I don’t mean from their universe. I’m talking from a story point of view, as characters, they deserved better from their writers. Even if they both still ended up dying, they were both well-done characters who deserved for their arcs to reach satisfying conclusions. Especially as representative characters.

Lotor specifically spoke to me on a more personal level, as a victim of paternal abuse/neglect myself, as someone who’s constantly checking myself and my flaws because I share that fear of becoming the person who hurt me so deeply. It’s always felt like there’s no way anybody could truly understand what it was like growing up in the environment I did. Like I have to bear it alone.

So to have a character presented with hints of these same struggles was really validating, especially when it seemed like these things were going to be called out. Addressed. Dealt with. Other characters would find out the truth about the depth of Lotor’s suffering and he would find peace and solace in newfound friendships. Such an ending is idealistic, yes. But it’s a nice thought that even if I struggle to find that kind of peace in my own life, it happened to this character. And maybe some day, it could happen to me.

Instead, Lotor is betrayed so wholly and completely by those newfound friends, based solely on circumstantial evidence, that his fragile state of mind can’t take it. Guilty or not isn’t relevant; the Voltron team stuck him in the Rift and FREAKING LEFT HIM THERE TO DIE and that was never once addressed as a problem. The Voltron team was painted as The Good Guys who totally did the right thing, until the very end when Allura (who incidentally was the one previously shown to be the most incensed/angry/bitter over what Lotor did) conveniently acknowledges that Lotor was just trying to do what was right and that he deserved better--which just fell flat coming from her, who up to that point, had not been shown to feel any sort of guilt over what she and her team did to him. Even that acknowledgement was not any sort of admission of fault on her part; only an admittance that Lotor thought he was doing the right thing.

All in all, this does not paint a hopeful picture for me as a victim. It creates a theme of inescapable pain... the idea that my trauma might haunt me so thoroughly, only death brings an escape. Heck, even if Lotor still had to die unfairly (if they had to show us those flashbacks, confirm what a horrific life he’d led, and then show us his melted corpse), the least they could’ve done is dealt with the ramifications of that... show the Voltron team realizing how wrong they were, feeling guilt and shame for their drastic, cruel actions, and THEN admit that even if Lotor had done some horrible things, nobody deserved the fate they dealt to him.

Instead, the message presented is the idea that Lotor, the manifestation of the pain Zarkon caused over the course of ten thousand years, was unable to endure his suffering. That there was no hope for him. He was unable to defeat his upbringing, and was then sentenced to a torturous death for the resulting crimes. And the people who were both betrayers and executioners felt absolutely no remorse for it. And yet I’m supposed to think of them as the Heroes.

I don’t know... maybe all of this is just circumstantial. Maybe I’m biased due to my chosen field of study and my own personal background. But I don’t see how this season was in any way satisfying on a plot or character level... and I certainly can’t bring myself to see any beauty in the injustice of my own childhood, so it stands to reason I can’t see value in the needless tragedy of Lotor’s suffering. Or even Allura’s death (the necessity of which is debatable, btw; there was literally no explanation for WHY she absolutely HAD to die).

I can’t speak for everyone, but the thing that originally kept me watching this show was the characters. Not the plot, not the space battles or giant robots or weird aliens. I watched for the people--for Lance, Pidge, Hunk, Keith, Shiro, Allura, Coran, Lotor, etc, etc--and how they interacted, how they got to know each other and understand each other and help each other. How they made each other better. Because that’s really all any of us can hope to get out of life, isn’t it? To be known, to be validated, to be understood, to love and be loved. This is what I read/watch fiction for, because if I have a hard time finding those things in real life, then at least I can watch it happen to characters I care about.

In the end, though, this season left me in the depressing state of wondering what the point of it all was, which is probably the last place any content creator should want to leave their audience. What was I supposed to take away from this, if not the idea that this show, which obviously fell in love with itself somewhere along the line, pretended to represent many varied facets of the human condition, only to conclude those facets with pat answers, hasty romance, cheap monologues, and shallow tragedies?

I’m not angry. I am simply disappointed.

#voltron #vld s8 #vld spoilers #a rant #lotor #lotura #allurance

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