#firstly. I would like to apologize if I got any of the writing wrong but I’m. trusting Wikipedia | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thesherrinfordfacility · 7 months

Note

(1/5?)

so. the fall. both in general and crowley's specifically. i speculated about this quite a bit when i watched season 1 already and since, by and large, these speculations are still the basis for my thoughts now, that's also how i'll be structuring this. i'm going to go through the opinions/theories i formed based solely on the data available for season 1 first and then address new information from season 2 and how that's affected my conclusions.

a quick preface! i'm working off the assumption that go's god basically doesn't get involved in anything ever and the fall was consequently not her doing. nor do i think the metatron's heard anything more from her than anyone else has nor that he had even back then.

so the most frequent allegories of heaven i see are cult and abusive family and while i don't think that's wrong, my instinctive reaction was and still is dictatorship/surveillance state. heaven is literally the ultimate form of the divine right of kings. the metatron and the archangels cannot be removed from power because they were instated by god and their orders must be followed unfailingly because they are merely carrying out god's will. so angels starting to question god/the plan is threatening. immensely so, because the logical next leap is questioning the authority of the voice of the god and of the archangels. and sure enough that's exactly what happens! there's an uprising which turns into a war and the losing side are permanently exiled and branded as unforgivable traitors, pure evil, and any hint of something that could become dissent is cracked down on harder than ever because the archangels/the metatron can't risk anything like this emerging again. after all god isn't talking to them either and their power is very much not as divinely-ordained and unshakable as they would like.

now if there's one thing that season 2 did that was confirm my impression of heaven the dictatorship. the way gabriel is dealt with is deeply unsettling and looking at how isolated muriel is kept i'd wager there are no risks being taken that any angels could start sharing ideas again. before i thought there was an off-chance that the archangels assumed the fall was god's plan and that's why they did it but now i'm convinced it was purely political. (obviously they'd still think god intended it but i'm certain that was not the motive, that the motive was solely about staying in power. unsure what the metatron's view on god is. thoughts?) what's new from season 2 is the power dynamics at the top of the hierarchy. instead of the metatron and the archangels being a unified force on approximately equal footing, the metatron's more nefarious and more powerful than i assumed and is clearly the sole person at the very top, pulling all the strings and asserting himself as lone unassailable ruler and the archangels are infighting. gabriel's abusing his power michael's trying to usurp him and uriel's barely tolerating either of them. but while that makes for some interesting dynamics to play with i don't see how that changes anything about the fall.

wow 🦭 anon!!! firstly, please accept my humble apologies for the late-late answer to this!!! i got into a hyperfocus with an amv and then needed to make soooo many notes on what you've said so that i had a coherent response!!! 💃<- apology dance✨

anyway!!! by god im so excited to answer this; plot speculation is my favourite kind of analysis!!!

further asks and response under the cut!!!

okay so im basically just going to write up a train of thought without much coherency, incorporating both s1 and s2, so please do pop back if ive ignored something, or am missing something!!!

i completely agree with your assessment of god's involvement in the fall; following job, where i recently parsed out some thoughts on the conflicting interpretations of god's will where job, his family, and their suffering was concerned, im firmly of the opinion that god in GO is omniscient, but strictly amoral. whilst she might pull strings threaded through the universe (e.g. the knocking over of the candle in the bookshop fire is, to me, an example of this), she created and abides by free will. in her angels, in the fallen, and in humanity. I've gone over incarnations of this train of thought in #god is dead theory, if anyone fancies some extra reading.

but essentially, i can kinda see god's involvement in the fall being very similar to that of pontius pilate (depending on which account you read, to be fair) in the crucifixion of jesus, and leaving the fate of the angels that were 'rebelling' up to the 'people' - i'll come back to this. but i feel this could be a very fitting allegory insomuch of jesus being the scapegoat for humanity's sins, and dying for them to be absolved. the reconceptualisation of this in the context of the fallen is chilling, but apt (especially if anyone subscribes to some variant of the scapegoat theory - that being crowley, aziraphale, lucifer, or any combination of them. more in. #omelas/scapegoat theory tag).

bottom line for me on speculating about the fall, for me at the moment, is that god created angels. she created them to have free will, and free thought. this birthed angels starting to speak up about things they think could be different. some just wanted to make the stars live longer, some perhaps thought humanity were given too much importance, or god had too much power, altogether. i don't think god necessarily had an issue with any of this, because this was all according to how she wanted her creations to exist. but if she were to interfere in anything as an omniscient being, it would corrupt that very tenet - would influence free will, and render it obsolete.

so if god were to excuse herself, with very little - if anything - to say, it would stand to reason that her voice, the metatron, would take the metaphorical stage. now, i can see metatron's rationale going in two different directions (so far, and might be both or neither):

machiavellian (or dark triad) approach, in that he covets god's power and voice absolute for himself, to rule over heaven and its angels and wilfully disguise his own wants and desires as the word of god. and rebellious angels would threaten to upend his own authority in this regard

some kind of take on the divine command theory; specifically in ethics that morality is dictated by the command of god... ie. that something is good specifically because god commands it. DCT and voluntarism in general can be considered very flawed, (or so any ethics theory rooting in religion), for obvious reasons, but i could see this being what metatron genuinely believes. the absence of god renders him only with the great plan, and if the fall - because it's borne of free will - goes outside the scope of the plan, what other choice does he have but to eradicate evil from eden?

i find the second the most compelling of the two, but they're not mutually exclusive - metatron can still emulate machiavellian psychology and still think he's genuinely following the command of god, in good (?) conscience, in order to preserve a perfect heaven, without perhaps realising that his own free will could inform him otherwise. it would also, imo, bring back the conflict between the great and ineffable plans nicely - what is laid out by god, and what is entirely unknowable because it's literally dictated by every individual set apart from god?

moving onto heaven specifically... ive collected a lot of thoughts over the last 48h or so. first, mainly, that i agree with you in how to view heaven analogically; maybe it's because my experience in life has been very different to lots of others in the fandom, but my take on heaven is principally that of a police state, and what we're looking at is the institution itself. imo, there's a lot of shared characteristics between heaven and most kind of policing agencies, right down to the things that inherently open them up to corruption and resistance.

i hadn't thought to look at heaven in the view of divine right of kings, but this is very interesting. in at least one sense, yep - could view the metatron as being the defacto heavenly sovereign, and decreeing with power absolute. and given the reference to 1650 in s2 (and im personally hoping this might be a flashback in s3), this could potentially be a very powerful mirror (ie. charles I and cromwell during the english civil wars). for some reason however, this dynamic doesn't ring completely true for me - not quite sure why yet, but i'll probably come back to it.

the manner in which gabriel, and potentially muriel, have been dealt with in heaven is also unsettling. but i think personally for me, regardless of the political structure of heaven, what unnerves me is that it is potentially a facsimile of falling, but not in the way the narrative has so far posed it. hell are short-staffed - irrespective of why, we know this is an issue. but heaven seems to have a consistency in their numbers, inferred by the same problem never being mentioned in relation to angels. and then consider that gabriel at the very least is a powerful archangel; whyever would heaven allow gabriel to fall into hell, and work for them? no, it is safer to wipe his memory, and reduce him to what we can surmise is a very, very low rank of angel occupation/choir. is this the new falling? is this what happened to the fallen? i think there's something there.

now the thing is, thinking more on the fall has made me confront something. as much as their actions as thus shown to the audience so far are deplorable, the archangels are eminently empathetic in the context of the fall, and how they act afterwards. if we look at them considering that, what we consider to be, free will is in fact radical thought, is dangerous, and that acting on that will bring heaven down... well, it's actually somewhat understandable how they regard aziraphale.

let's take gabriel and how he speaks to crowley-as-aziraphale in s1: this is, to gabriel, an angel that has upset the great plan. literally stopped it in its tracks. is, to his mind, working directly against the word and will of god. a radical, gone native, and turned to rebellion. wouldn't gabriel be frightened out of his little head? of course he would! presumably he had to go through the fall too, watch as (we could hypothesise) his brothers (gn) fell to hell, and have to turn against them as traitors and dissidents. so, to watch as aziraphale presumably treads the same path must be terrifying, because of what it could precipitate. beelzebub in s1 even said it at aziraphale-as-crowley's execution, "it'll cause a riot!". and that's in hell - now imagine heaven.

we know that archangels are capable of change. we saw in job them have - if not a camaraderie - a cordial (albeit still quite condescending) relationship with aziraphale. this appears to deteriorate the longer that aziraphale is on earth, and his path diverges away from theirs. but we also see gabriel, fully as gabriel, fall in love with beelzebub. they are capable of it - and capable of free will.

all of this to say that i don't think it's conclusive at this time to implicate the archangels in what, as the hypothesis above indicates, is entirely metatron's doing. bear in mind that despite the recent trial, uriel and michael don't even recognise metatron. this could be memory wipe, or could be that despite how it's physically shown to us metatron in heaven as a floating head and metatron in human form are not recognisable... that being said, a) aziraphale doesn't recognise him either, despite seeing his head in s1, and b) metatron says, "you don't know me?!", which could either be a test, or as genuine incredulity that they don't remember the mf metatron. the whole thing, as LWA has pointed out on a couple of occasions now, reeks of the nuremberg defense ('just following orders'), and whilst it's unjustifiable, it's certainly understandable.

in any case, i think it has the potential to inform very heavily on the current inter-archangel dynamic in heaven - who trusts whom? who next will challenge god? who is hungry for power, and to bring down heaven? when you specifically consider uriel's disdain of michael assuming the post of supreme archangel, it could be jealousy or just out of pettiness, but michael doing so must suggest a degree of instability and concern too. it might not necessarily change anything about the fall retrospectively, but it does inform on how they punish angels, that step out of line, in a post-fall era.

re: the specifics of crowley's fall (and me bearing in mind the length of this answer!), i agree on pretty much every point you raised, each conclusion - ive covered similar thoughts in various tags: #AWCW spec, #the fall/the great war spec, and #scapegoat/omelas theory. one thing on whether AWCW fought in the great war; i agree, i don't think he fought. but i definitely think he was present. being fanciful, i think he might have hid, or someone 👀 attempted to help him hide, and get him out of heaven without bloodshed, or without violence ("sauntered vaguely downwards"). i don't think it succeeded, and i think potentially both were brought as traitors before heaven... and here is where i cycle back to the scapegoat/omelas theory.

and in any case - im not convinced that either of them, or indeed anyone(?) fully remembers the fall. it would make sense, from metatron's perspective, to wipe all seeds of rebellious thought (without accounting for the fact that they're born of free will, which cannot be erased) from all involved parties in heaven with a targeted memory wipe. as for the fallen - i think that's literally part of their having fallen; they can't remember specifics about their time as angels, or at least the specifics of why they fell. this would potentially be explanatory for crowley's tendency as an unreliable narrator as concerns his fall in particular. the one thing i do trust in particular as to his potential part in the fall is AWCW's line: "if i were in charge..." - take into account what ive said above, plus this kind of thinking being a very innocent but parallel to what we can assume lucifer's personal beef was, i think the origins of crowley's fall - and what his questions threatened - is relatively clear.

i know you've brought up other things too, 🦭 anon, but i wonder if this is something we can explore in further depth in another post? i feel this essay is enough to be getting on with for now, and would love to know your thoughts!!! again, really sorry for the delay, but hope this makes up for it!!!✨💕

note to self - topics left to look at! AWCW rank, and gabriel's first order archangel line, and his line as jim re: "all the morning stars..."

update: fuck it 🦭 anon, i was turning these topics over in my brain like a rotisserie chicken for most of the evening, so let's dig in anyway!!!✨

okay look, i'll admit (and as is clearly evident in my old posts), i was an advocate of the crowley is lucifer theory. obviously neil debunked this, no worries, glad to have nipped that in the bud. but i am still fairly convinced that crowley is going to own a lucifer-ish narrative as concerns his fall. if we go by hell hierarchy in GO and correlate this against influential material (scripture, and yes okay Milton), we can be fairly certain that lucifer led on the fall, fell first and became satan, beelzebub was a key part (to warrant being prince of hell), and that crowley got himself caught up with them at some point before falling himself. this is a part of crowley's recount of his fall that i do believe, but i think he massively downplays his part.

i think AWCW comes across a group of angels that do not rebuke him for having questions, and even talk to him about them, encouraging him. i think he feels safe with them, and becomes pals with them, and they end up sweeping him along in more 'dangerous', 'rebellious' thought... and right up until the moment they get caught/lucifer starts speaking out, i don't think AWCW realises the shit he's gotten himself into (or maybe he does, but it's easier to sink down rather than swim up). in any case, he's surely going to be implicated in instigated rebellion among the angels, and be punished accordingly.

now im not entirely sure on the specifics of a potential scapegoat allegory would come in here, but i do think it does (and history will potentially repeat itself in s3, given the promo images). i think perhaps lucifer and the gang start to panic, panic at the concept of falling (regardless of who is dolling out the sentence, god or metatron), and they pin the blame on AWCW. he started asking questions first, he caused all of this. i think that's potentially why metatron has such beef, and specifically refers to crowley "always asking damn-fool questions", plus throws him the Dirty Look - all of this mess, and everyone believes crowley started it, even if he didn't pull the trigger. obviously lucifer and all the fallen get similarly punished, so crowley doesn't carry the full weight of the fall, but that would potentially be a big chunk of his character core that once realised could make a lot of things about him suddenly make sense.

(as an aside, i do perhaps think that aziraphale is also implicated in here somewhere - ive explored it in the #scapegoat theory tag more - but do also equally wonder if crowley is posed as the scapegoat for the fall, and aziraphale will be posed as the scapegoat for the last judgement? interesting mirroring to hypothesise).

in terms of crowley's rank... sigh. i get the narrative and character potential of it, but... i don't think he was a Very Important Angel, however that might look. at the very least, i hope not. i got a few reasons for this, first of them being that i think it could be quite cliché, to the point of being a bit reductive. he is very obviously, in a rather on-the-nose fashion, painted as being an archangel in s2; for this reason alone, i get the feeling that this will in fact not be the case. (and im not an expert on pratchett, far from it, but my understanding is that a lot of his themes work with the concept of being "ordinary" which... this theory would arguably shoot out of the park).

we know that crowley is at least in the throne or dominion choir. the way that muriel says these ranks 'or above' suggests that they are on the same rank, not throne-above-dominion as strict christian angelology suggests. neil and terry turned this structure on its head anyway with the specific archangel structure, but i think it's far that the basic blueprint of GO!angelology follows the same outline. which suggests that crowley can only have been these ranks, or a cherub, seraph, or archangel.

i dont think he was a high archangel on the same plane as michael and uriel, let alone gabriel. i did suggest (in #AWCW spec, i think) that he might have been a lesser archangel like sandalphon or saraqael, and this still rings true for me if you cross-reference heaven hierarchy against hell hierarchy (there's obviously a lot to contradict this copy-and-paste, but im just talking in the vague sense). the other thought i have, is that i don't necessarily think that crowley's power is borne out of having been an archangel; i think it's literally borne out of having an imagination, as was intimated in s1, and i don't necessarily trust his "how did you know i didn't do it?" line to shax; we know that shax is not the sharpest of demons in this respect. as for the miracle he and aziraphale performed - i don't think the reason why it was so powerful has anything to do with either of them, and all to do with jim (#25 lazarii theory).

moving onto "first order archangel", im still not quite sure what to make of it, but... i dont think it was intimating anything beyond reasserting gabriel's rank as the top archangel. the supreme archangel position seems to be just that - a position, a role - but one that elevates already existing power (and i think that's what's indicated by the purple eyes, personally - having, to a degree, some of the power of literal god), and thus raising you to the tier (?) of first order. fundamentally, without the SA position and therefore without the FO rank, i dont think gabriel is actually any different to michael or uriel; they're all archangels, and it's just a question of promotion. in which case, i personally think gabriel was just being sarcastic and childish, and simply reinstating "hey, im the top dog here, im the only one at my level, so what i say goes'. it feels like a very gabriel thing to do and say, imo.

i'll be honest; im coming up empty on the elevator scene, but if we're talking about missing furniture - the scene before is crowley walking out of muriel's 'office' with muriel and saraqael, and then bang we're in the elevator with them all as well as michael and uriel. there's a whole, obviously interesting, conversation missing there, and i dont think that's inconsequential... potentially.

okay last bit and then i'll definitely be done!!!✨ "morning stars" - so i obviously can't say all of the above and then based on this be like 'okay yeah there were multiple lucifer-type characters' because, honestly, i think that might be a bit far-fetched. there are a lot of astronomical, mythological, and biblic references to 'morning star', and 'light/dawn-bringer' but none that, at the moment, seem to fit for me. so instead, i return to jim.

as i say in my #25 lazarii theory posts, i think when we look at jim, we're somehow looking at the shell of gabriel, but also a fragment of god. not sure how she got in there, but to me the whole fly/huge miracle/jim makes that ring true for me. so, when referencing the morning stars, i think god (who let's face it, appears to be talking at that point in ep2) is literally talking about the beginning, where on the first day, god created 'day', and specifically 'morning' and 'evening', and in wider context the heavens and the earth (genesis 1:5, KJV) - so morning stars... might just be morning stars?✨

#not proof read - pretend you do not Perceive The Errors #good omens #ask #heaven theory #metatron spec #AWCW spec #pre-fall aziraphale spec #memory wipe theory #s2 meta #s3 narrative spec #scapegoat theory #the fall/the great war spec #god is dead theory #fuck it All The Tags

19 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 1 year

Text

Work of Art

Prompts: Hi! Umm firstly I just want to say I adore your fics! Especially the sanderside and Merlin ones 💜 Secondly, I don't know if you are taking promps right now but if you are I've had a idea bouncing around my head for a hurt/comfort Roman fic for... well longer then I care to admit 😅 I was thinking one were Roman in attempt to make amends he paints/draws everyone something representing how he thinks of them? In a kinda abstract but very positive way! (Extra points if everyone has already apologized to eachother but no one has apologized to him and he thinks he doesn't deserve any) and everyone loves the paintings but sadly Roman didn't do one representing himself so they can't have a set! except he very much did and it isn't flattering. I'm thinking some form of broken/rusting crown/sword and colors of brusing or some such. Followed up with realizations of how not great Roman is doing and much comfort. Sorry if this is to much but it feels like something you'd do really well if its not your vibe no worries and I hope you have a wonderful day! - ultrageekygirl

Hello, first of all I have to say I really really love your writing even if I don't leave any comments. I've had to have read all your work about 3 times now but I haven't much counted. I was wondering if maybe you could write some hurt/comfort with Logan? Like how he can't get a word in edge wise and it's no fault of the other sides they just don't seem to notice? And slowly he just learns to stop talking and contributing. And like maybe Roman notices and they have a heart to heart late at night? U don't like have to do this if u don't want to it's just an idea I suppose. -a dutiful reader

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-esteem issues, self-doubt

Pairings: dlampr, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 5741

Out of all the things that Roman could be doing right now, he finds himself staring at the easel in the corner of his room.

It’s just gone sunset and everyone’s split up after dinner to wind down for the evening. Dinner hadn’t been anything spectacularly good or bad, not really. No one got into a fight, no one was celebrating anything, it was the perfect small-talk-and-eat meal.

He tries not to feel too disappointed and then not to hate himself for feeling disappointment.

Deciding that there are far too many thoughts buzzing about his head for him to even think about going to sleep, he gets up and goes over to the easel, unfolding it and setting it up in the middle of his room. He snaps his fingers to get out of his prince costume and reaches for the paints and brushes on a nearby shelf.

As he sets them up, the buzzing begins to solidify.

Everyone has been—well, not quite walking on eggshells but wary around each other. As though the smallest thing could set off another argument that would lead to a massive disagreement that could shatter whatever tenuous peace they’ve achieved. He knows it’s making Virgil antsy as hell and it probably isn’t too much of a stretch to believe that it’s wearing on everyone else too. Patton, at least, who can very much tell that something’s up with Thomas and so something’s probably up with the Sides too. And Logan, who’s never been one to hold his tongue if he truly believes something is wrong. Janus…Janus probably knows too. He can hear every lie in the Mindscape and Roman knows that there have been a damn sight more flying around lately. And Remus…well, Remus thrives in chaos.

Chaos abounds.

He looks back at the easel, chewing on his lip.

What if…what if he helped?

Not in any obvious way, not in any proactive way, not anything that would actually do that much, he’s learned his lesson when it comes to making big swings, but…maybe just to let them know he doesn’t have any hard feelings about anything that’s happened? That he still loves them?

A white canvas appears on the easel and Roman reaches for a brush.

———

He finishes Patton’s first, maybe just because Patton and feelings go closely together, maybe because he found himself reaching for a light blue color first, or maybe just by chance.

“Um, hey, Patton?”

Patton looks up from a book in the living room, smile coming a little slowly to his face but no less genuinely. “Oh, hey, kiddo! What’s going on?”

“Can I show you something?”

A flicker of surprise crosses his face and he stands up quickly. “Yeah! Yeah, kiddo, you can show me anything. Is it in the Imagination? Where are we going today?”

Roman blinks, slightly taken aback by the sudden enthusiasm. He must pause for a second too long because Patton’s looking at him in concern.

“Roman? You—you okay?”

Snap out of it. “Yes, yes, sorry, I just—“ he scratches the back of his head— “I guess it’s been a while, huh?”

“Since you wanted to show me stuff? Yeah, kiddo, it’s been a while, but that’s why I’m so excited! I want to see what you made!”

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth and he bows, gesturing elegantly up the stairs. “Right this way, then.”

Patton beams and they make their way upstairs. He almost reaches for the door to the Imagination before Roman reaches out and shakes his head, tangling Patton’s fingers in his and leading him further down the hall.

“It’s in my room.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Are you…disappointed?”

“No! No, no, I still really want to see what you’ve made, I…” He shuffles a bit as they come to a stop. “Okay, maybe I’m a little disappointed.”

Something twitches in Roman’s chest. Has he really been so stingy with Imagination time? “After I show you, we could still go in the Imagination, there’s a, um, there’s a new forest that I think you’d like.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure.” He smiles and pushes open the door. “Come in, it’s right over here.”

Patton walks in and stops, his eyes glued to the canvas. His mouth drops open and he grabs Roman’s arm. “Roman—oh, kiddo, did you do this?”

“Yeah,” he says a bit sheepishly, scratching the back of his head again, “it’s, um…it’s you.”

His eyes widen even further. “It’s me?”

Roman gestures to the canvas, upon which an almost anatomically correct heart has been painted in soft blues, yellows, and purples. Surrounded by paint splatters that look almost like shadows, the heart seems to pulse in a mysterious blue aether when it catches the light just right.

“Yeah, Padre, that’s…well, I guess it’s kinda how I see you.”

Patton turns to look at him, his eyes reluctant to leave the canvas, staring up at Roman. Roman swallows.

“You…you’re—“ god, this is so much harder out loud— “you do a lot of work that goes unnoticed sometimes. Like just keeping us understanding that we’re having feelings and emotions but we’re not our feelings and emotions and—I don’t know, you just—you feel like a constant to me, you know?”

Silence follows his comments—that were not said to Patton’s face directly, he’s not brave enough for that—and Roman winces, worried he’s said something wrong or not said enough or maybe the colors are just wrong.

“I mean maybe it’s a bit too literal with the whole heart thing, so—“

A sniffle and a tight grip on his arm and Patton shakes his head wildly. “No, no, kiddo, it’s—it’s beautiful.”

“…you like it?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I love it!” Patton claps his hands and reaches out to squeeze Roman’s shoulder again. “It’s—it’s—well, gosh, I don’t have the words to describe it!”

The heaviness flickers as Roman smiles in relief, sagging a bit into Patton’s touch. “I’m happy you like it.”

“How could I not? Oh, kiddo, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“If you want help moving it, I can—“

“Moving it?” Patton looks up sharply. “What do you mean, moving it?”

“Well, it’s yours. You can put it wherever you want it.”

“Can we hang it in my room?”

“Yeah, Padre,” Roman says, trying to hide how giddy he is that Patton likes it so much he wants to hang it in his room, “we can put it in your room.”

Patton squeals excitedly and snaps on a pair of gloves as Roman carefully covers it with a sheet. They pick it up and walk it down to Patton’s room, carefully propping it against the bed as Patton looks around for where to hang it.

“Can I put it right above my bed?”

“Sure. Hold that side?”

“Here?”

“Yes. Let’s just—is that height right?”

“Looks good, yes.”

“Alright, and then let’s just…okay, there. That should be in the right spot.”

They step back to look at it and Patton throws his arms around Roman. “Oh, kiddo, I really do love it.”

Roman chuckles. “Still want to go to the Imagination?”

“Can I stand here and look at it for a little longer?”

“Sure, Padre.”

———

He finishes Logan’s next, probably because he was too lazy to wash all the blue off of one of his brushes and the buzzing decided it liked how it looked. He takes a bit longer with this one just because keeping his brushstrokes so even was much more time-consuming than he’d anticipated, but it’s worth it when he steps back to see the result.

He knocks on Logan’s door.

“Come in?”

Roman swallows and opens the door, smiling a bit when he sees Logan glancing over from his computer. “Hey, Specs. Can I borrow you for just a moment? Won’t be more than ten minutes, promise.”

“Ah, Roman, hello.” Logan glances at a clock. “Yes, I suppose I can spare ten minutes. What is it you need?”

“I want to show you something.”

Logan covers it well, but he falters a little as he gets up, quickly adjusting his tie. “Is this in the Imagination?”

“No, no, just in my room. Promise.”

“Alright.”

He tries not to fidget too obviously with his hands as he leads Logan back to his room, opening the door and gesturing for him to go through first. Logan accepts with a nod and goes in, glancing around before his eyes land on the easel.

“That’s it,” Roman says quietly as he shuts the door, “that’s what I wanted to show you. It’s for you.”

Logan doesn’t say anything, still looking at the canvas. A still body of water surrounded by mountains of galaxy, a single drop falling from some unknown height to make ripples that look as if they were molded from the fabric of the universe itself. Roman comes up hesitantly behind him, trying to get a glimpse of his face.

“It’s, um…it’s how I see you.”

Still nothing. Shit. Maybe he needs to explain more?

“You’re—you’re really clever, Logan, and not just in that you’re smart and you know a lot of things, but you—you get a bunch of stuff that goes way over my head and you always seem to know how it, like, fits? Like into the whole universe, you can just find the right place for a piece of information to go like you’re solving a puzzle and you make it look so—so—so natural.” He fiddles with his hands. “And I remembered that thing we were talking about with drops of water and how if you add another drop it’s still just one drop.”

Nice going, dunce. How are you connecting that to what you just said?

“A-and I know I’ve been—we’ve been—well, really, I’ve been pushing you more and more to the side and I know that’s not fair of me and I wanted you to know that I don’t just see you as there to provide the footnotes for a conversation or be just an encyclopedia or anything s-so I—“

Logan swallows.

“I—I mean—“

He cuts off when Logan turns to face him slowly with the softest expression he’s ever seen.

“…Specs?”

“Roman,” Logan says quietly, “this is magnificent.”

He swallows. “You…you like it?”

Logan just nods, looking back at the painting. “It’s extraordinary. The way you’ve used color and shadow to draw the focus to the center of the ripples, the way your scale has come together…”

Roman smiles helplessly as Logan begins to explain all the things he finds technically fascinating about the painting. He glances at the clock by his computer.

“Logan? I’m sorry, I don’t want to interrupt, but I did promise I wouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”

Logan just pauses and looks at him with a smile. “I think I can extend to fifteen.”

He really has missed getting to listen to Logan talk. He really needs to be better about that.

———

Virgil’s up next and Roman decides he’s never going to look at purple paint again unless he’s throwing it at a wall. He shakes his head and glances at all the tiny brushes and sponges and spends a good half an hour in the bathroom trying to get them all clean.

He texts Virgil when he’s done.

Me: hey are you really busy?

shadowling: no what do u want

Me: can i show you something?

shadowling: sure where

Me: my room

shadowling: k be rite there

Roman lets out a breath and glances at the painting one last time. This’ll be fine. This will be fine.

God, he hopes this is going to be fine.

A knock at the door. “Open up, Princey.”

“Coming!”

Virgil jerks his head at him. “Hey. What’d you want to show me?”

“Um…”

“Do not tell me you asked me here for no reason.”

“No, no, I just—oh, just come in.”

Virgil raises an eyebrow but does, stepping through. “I swear, Roman, if you just go the out of my room so Remus can put shit in there again, I’m gonna…”

His eyes land on the painting and his words trail off into silence. That’s…that’s probably a good sign, right?

Roman glances over again to see the massive spider in the middle of an expansive web dried just right, crouched in the middle of a shadowscape that seems to extend past the boundaries of the canvas. Silver glints off of some of the strands of the web, glitter packed carefully in tight little lines to catch the light just right.

“It’s for you.”

“Shut up.”

Roman slams his mouth shut. Okay. Maybe this isn’t a good thing. Is the spider too literal? Maybe he should’ve gone with something else.

“Shut up,” Virgil repeats, even though Roman hasn’t said anything, “shut up, Princey, you did not—you did not—“

He smacks Roman’s shoulder.

“You made this for me?”

“Y-yeah, it’s, um…” Fuck it. “It’s how I see you.”

“How you what?”

“You—you always talk about spiders being at the center of their webs so they can feel everything and I guess it just reminded me of you. Of how you, you know, you keep an eye on literally everything so you can warn us if there’s danger. I thought it was cool so I…”

Virgil mutters a curse under his breath. “Damn you, Princey, we were even.”

“We were what?”

“We were even.” Virgil smacks his shoulder again. “You go and do something this fucking incredible now? This—you made a fucking masterpiece for me and now I gotta deal with this? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Do you like it or not,” Roman asks weakly, “Virgil, I don’t—I don’t understand.”

“Of course I fucking like it, it’s fucking amazing.”

“Then why are you mad at me?”

“Oh, shit, Princey, I’m not—I’m not actually mad.” He knocks their elbows together. “I’m just—you know I’m bad with…stuff like this.”

“Like accepting things people give you?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit, I forgot about that. I’m sorry, I—“

“Don’t you fucking dare. This is great, I’m keeping it, you’re incredible, and now I’m gonna figure out some way to pay you back because I want to and you deserve it.”

Roman has absolutely no idea what’s going on anymore but Virgil seems to be happy with it so he’ll take it as a win.

“Do you want help moving it to your room?”

“Absolutely I do.”

———

Janus is up next and Roman is seriously considering getting one of those voice-activated light systems so he doesn’t have to keep getting up to turn the lights on and off.

He goes to knock on Janus’s door and fully startles when the door swings open unprompted.

“Roman,” Janus says smoothy, raising an eyebrow when he stumbles back, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He takes a moment to catch his breath and looks back up. “I wanted to see if you were free.”

“Perhaps I am, what is it you wanted?”

“I wanted to show you something.”

The eyebrow just ticks higher.

“In my room.”

Now both eyebrows are raised.

“Not like that, Janus, I just—please?”

“Oh, alright,” he sighs, shutting the door and looking way too much like some aristocrat who’s been terribly put out, “but this better be worth it.”

I hope so too.

He opens the door to let Janus in and hovers by it, watching anxiously as Janus’s eyes land on the painting.

“…Roman, just you do this?”

He nods, then realizes Janus is currently facing away from him and so can’t see. “Yes. Yeah, I…I did it. It’s for you.”

“For me, you say?”

“Yeah, um…hold on.”

He flicks off the lights and Janus doesn’t have time to stifle his gasp.

What had once been a simple pair of hands reaching out into the vastness of an abstract cityscape now has glowing lines leading from each finger down to various corners of the canvas. Glistening knots tie around each finger and behind them all, lurking off in the shadows, is a single yellow eye with a slit pupil.

“I tried to pick out the paint so it would glow but it wouldn’t be too bright in the dark,” Roman explains, “and I tried to make it so it looks good in the dark or the light.”

Janus turns to look at him, barely visible in the dim light. Just by the intensity of it, Roman can tell he’s narrowed his eyes. “What do you want, Roman?”

“Wh-what?”

“You heard me,” Janus says, voice firm, “what is it that you want from me?”

“Nothing, I—ah!”

For Janus had reached out and taken his chin in the dark, jerking his head up, the grip startling him terribly as he fumbles for the light switch again. He turns it back on to see Janus staring hard at him.

“I don’t want anything,” he mumbles around the hand, “I just wanted to give it to you.”

“Why?”

“Because I—it’s how I see you, you should have it.”

“Some puppet master, pulling strings behind the scenes?”

“No!” Fuck, this went really badly. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “I—you can see through things in ways that I can’t and you want—you want what you want and you know how to get it and I think that’s really cool and so I—Janus, I can’t breathe—“

He gasps as the hand leaves his chin, rubbing his neck a bit as Janus turns back to the painting. He’s quiet.

“…I think you’re cool,” he mumbles lamely, “so I…made it.”

“And this is…for me?”

“Yes.”

“No strings attached?”

“No, no strings.”

Janus turns to him again, hand raised to brush his chin and Roman does his best to stifle the flinch. He doesn’t grab him this time, just lifts it slightly so they can look each other in the eye.

“Thank you, Roman,” Janus says after what feels like ages, “I like it.”

“Can you just say that next time?”

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

———

Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus.

There’s really only one thing he can do.

When he’s finished, he doesn’t bother to clean the paint from himself or snap himself back into his prince costume. He just sinks out to Remus’s room and tackles his brother to the bed.

“What—Ro!” Remus shrieks in delight and tries to roll on top of him. “Ro-bro!”

“Hey, Re.” Roman doesn’t let him roll them, burying his head in Remus’s neck to make him laugh. “Got something to show you.”

“Imagination?”

“Nope. My room.”

“Ooh!”

Remus doesn’t bother to get up, just sinks them both back to Roman’s bed, almost crushing Roman into the mattress before he scrabbles up to hit him with a pillow.

“Whoa, hey, hey, careful! You’ll knock it over!”

“Knock what—oh.”

Remus goes still. Roman pushes himself up carefully to see Remus staring in shock at the painting.

A black and white landscape that looks like it’s black lines on paper, only for there to be a figure in the center with its hands dug into it. Out of the points of contact, wild colors spill out with reckless abandon, flooding the nearby whiteness until it almost hurts to look at.

“R-ro?”

“Yeah?”

“’S that—that me?”

Roman smiles and sits up, hugging his brother as Remus clings to him. “Yeah, Re. That’s you. That’s how I see you.”

“‘M not just a mess?”

“You’re a mess and it’s glorious.” Roman glances back at the painting. “I think I just missed you.”

“Aw, Ro, I missed you too!”

Roman laughs as Remus tackles him back to the bed. “So you like it?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes! If I could eat it, I would!”

“That’s the best compliment I could ever ask for.” He tries to move but Remus growls. “So you’re staying for a while, huh?”

“Yep. Put on a movie, we’re not going anywhere. My Ro-bro.”

Roman smiles and waves his hand to start a movie on his computer. Being Creativity with his brother is something he’ll never get tired of.

———

“I must say,” Logan remarks as he steps back, “they all look as though they fit.”

“Yeah, right?” Virgil leans against the couch. “I’m never doubting Princey again, jeez.”

“They do look really good.” Patton shakes his head and takes a drink of water. “Do you think he planned it that way?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“I dunno, he said he did them kinda one after the other. Maybe he just sees us in a way that fits.”

They turn as Janus and Remus appear, each carrying their own paintings. Janus pauses as he lays his down to be hung up next.

“…magnificent,” Logan murmurs, “aren’t they?”

Janus hums, eyes still roving over the paintings. “Why isn’t Thomas a painter if Roman can do this?”

“I presume it’s easier in the Mindscape than it would be to translate to Thomas’s hands.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Holy shit, J, that’s cool as fuck.”

“I know,” Janus preens, “it glows in the dark too.”

“Wait, for real? Lemme see!”

Patton flicks the light off and they all coo over the way Janus’s changes in the dark.

“Oh my god, that’s so cool.”

“Thank you.”

“Can it go next to mine? Spiders, strings, all that.”

“I don’t see why not.”

They quickly hoist Janus’s into place next to Virgil’s. Remus motions to the empty space next to Logan’s. “Can we put mine there?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Wait, let’s put it in between mine and yours, Logan,” Patton says, “the colors—“

“Yes, the colors.” Logan quickly shifts the two around. “Alright, Remus, let’s just—there.”

“These look so cool!” Patton claps his hands. “So, so, so cool!”

“What does?”

They all turn to look at Roman as he comes down the stairs, beaming and gesturing to their wall of paintings. Roman’s eyes widen as he sees all of their paintings hung up next to each other along one of the walls in the living room.

“…whoa.”

“Be proud of yourself,” Logan says softly, “you did an incredible job.”

“They look great together,” Virgil agrees, “you’re a wizard.”

“Now all we need is yours,” Patton says as he throws an arm around Roman’s shoulders, “and we’ll be all done?”

Something in Roman’s chest grows cold. “…mine?”

“Well, yeah, you silly, how else are we going to have a complete set?”

“O-oh.” Roman shifts out from under his arm. “You don’t…you don’t want mine up there.”

Janus frowns. “Why not?”

“It’s, um, it doesn’t go.”

“Wait, you did one for yourself already?” Virgil perks up. “Can we see it?”

“It won’t go with the rest of them, it’s okay, I’ll just keep that one in my room—“

“Roman,” Logan interrupts gently, “can we see it?”

“I, um—“ he looks around to see everyone staring at him hopefully— “yeah, yeah, you can see it.”

He isn’t expecting all of them to hop up and gather like a gaggle of ducklings, but he turns and trudges wearily back up the stairs to his room.

Don’t, a voice inside warns, don’t do this. You’ll ruin it. You’ll just ruin it. You said you weren’t going to do anything big and this is big. It’s selfish. Don’t make them look at it. Just lie and say you were wrong, say something, just don’t let them see.

But he’s already at his door and Janus is looking at him strangely.

“…what?”

“You were thinking about lying.”

“No, I wasn’t! Besides, you can’t hear that anyway.”

“No, I can’t, but you did just lie about not thinking about it.”

Fuck. Roman bites his lip and turns away, shame at being caught and tricked flushing his cheeks. He pushes open the door slightly harder than necessary and winces as it bangs against the wall.

“Roman,” Patton says slowly, “if you really don’t want to show us—“

“No, no, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just—“

“Well, just because it seems like you—“

“He’s being vulnerable,” Remus growls suddenly, “give him a second to figure out what that means.”

Roman closes his eyes and thanks every single hope and dream he’s ever had for Remus.

When he’s gathered himself a bit more, he crosses the room to a canvas covered with a sheet and rests his hand on it. The fabric rubs against his fingers and he debates leaving it covered. He could say no. He could make something up. He could do a lot of things that aren’t showing them this painting.

Aren’t showing them him.

But then he looks back over to see all their expectant faces and he takes a deep breath.

The sheet swishes as he pulls it free.

———

A white canvas appears with an easel and Roman reaches for a brush.

Because really, what has he done lately? He just causes problems. He shuts Logan out so he can’t say a damn thing when he’s the closest hope they have to actually getting somewhere. He pokes at Virgil just to make him snap back so he has an excuse for ebbing as sassy as he wants. He shores Patton up like he’s some great paragon of virtue and then throws a tantrum when he scolds him for doing so. He’s like a child throwing a hissy fit with Janus, always jumping and climbing the walls to try and get away from him like he doesn’t deserve the scorn and ridicule.

And he treats Remus like he’s the worst thing to ever exist.

The brush flies across the canvas and he splatters paint across himself.

Why is he doing this, anyway? Is he doing this because he cares about them or only to make himself feel better? If he’s doing it for the latter, he might as well not do it at all.

He reaches for another brush and red drips off the bristles.

He shouldn’t be doing this, then, he should be doing something less selfish. Something better. Something that isn’t him. Or something that is him but is…better.

Maybe he just needs to get it out. Get all the him out so that there won’t be anything left when he goes to paint the others.

So he does.

He paints and he paints and he paints.

And when he steps back to see what he’s done, he falls to his knees and buries his face in his hands.

———

Roman turns away as soon as the painting is unveiled, folding the sheet to be put back in its place as the others let out little noises.

He knows what they’re looking at.

A crown, broken and mangled next to a rusted and bloodied blade. A hand lying limply next to it, fingertips rubbed red and raw, scratched and bruised with calluses split open. Fingers that reach toward the objects because they don’t know how to do anything else. Unlike the others, which veer much closer to abstract shapes and fantastical colors, this one is rendered faithfully to the grim tones of the possible.

He doesn’t want them to see him and yet he’s never been more exposed.

“Roman,” Logan says, softly, softly, too softly, “may I give you a hug?”

May he…what?

“Me too,” Patton says and oh, no, it sounds like he’s crying, “oh, sweetheart…”

“Come here, Roman,” Janus is bidding now and he feels himself begin to move before he stops and curls his arms closer to himself, “Roman, come here.”

“You’re scaring him, J,” comes Virgil’s voice, “you gotta let him have a second.”

Roman squeezes his eyes shut.

“Ro,” Remus says from much closer, “I’m gonna put my arms around you now.”

Remus leans against him, warm and solid, and his arms wrap around his waist. He rests his forehead against the back of Roman’s neck and breathes in deeply.

“Ro,” he mumbles, “you gotta…you gotta let me hug you more often.”

No. No, he doesn’t.

“Don’t lie, sweetie,” Janus murmurs and he’s closer now too, “don’t lie and say you don’t need it. Let us hug you, please?”

Selfish. Selfish and stupid and needy.

“You’re not,” he says, voice growing sharper, “you are not selfish for wanting to be comforted.”

“Oh, sweetheart—“ no, he’s made Patton upset— “come—come here, sweetheart, come here.”

“Don’t overwhelm him,” Virgil mumbles and oh, he’s closer too, “Princey, can you open your eyes?”

He shakes his head.

“Okay. Can you listen to me?”

He nods.

“You’re panicking. Let Remus just hold you, okay? We’re not going anywhere, we’re not gonna hurt you, but you gotta calm down.”

Remus is holding him. Remus is right here. Remus isn’t leaving. Remus squeezes him around the waist and tugs him down to the bed. Remus is here. Remus isn’t mad.

Janus takes his hands in his gloved ones and starts to squeeze gently. Janus isn’t hurting him. Janus doesn’t seem mad either. Janus is here.

Virgil is helping him breathe. Virgil told him to calm down. Virgil said they aren’t leaving. Virgil doesn’t seem to be mad.

Logan has a hand on his back. Logan is warm. Logan isn’t mad either. Logan is talking softly to him and calling him dear one. Logan doesn’t do that when he’s mad.

Patton must have turned off the lights. Patton cups his face and wipes away his tears. Patton is calling him sweetheart and Patton can’t be mad at him. Patton’s here.

Roman opens his eyes slowly and realizes oh, I am panicking.

Of course, as soon as he realizes it, he starts to hyperventilate in Patton’s hold and Remus quickly rolls them over so he can lean his whole weight on Roman’s chest. The deep pressure cuts through the worst of the haze until he can breathe again, gasping out that he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to be so dramatic, he really didn’t mean to—

“None of that, now,” Logan chides gently, “you’re upset and that’s alright. Take your time.”

Roman swallows painfully and Remus rubs his chest.

“You’re going great, Ro-bro, you really are.”

“I’m—I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t realize you’d—that you’d want to see and I—I—“

“Hey, Princey, it’s okay.” Virgil runs a hand through his hair. “You’re just kinda fragile right now and that’s okay.”

“B-but you don’t like me fragile, I’m not supposed to be—“

“We like you,” Janus interrupts, squeezing his hand again, “and that means you get to be a bit of a mess about it.”

“Janus,” Patton scolds, “be nice.”

“That is him being nice, unfortunately.”

Remus just hunkers down so Roman can breathe easier again. “You’re doing great. You don’t have to figure everything out right now.”

“We can figure everything out with the paintings later,” Logan agrees, “for now, let us be here for you.”

Roman has no idea what’s going on anymore but Remus is warm and solid and heavy and Logan is being nice and soft and Janus is still holding his hands and Virgil is telling him how to breathe and Patton is drawing the curtains so some of the soft light of the sunset comes in and maybe—

Maybe this is okay for right now.

———

(Later, Remus will quietly ask if that’s really how he sees himself. Roman might say nothing, but he might say yes.)

(Remus might politely call him a fucking idiot and tell him he looks like an explosion right when it’s happening and all you can see is light and feel the rush of energy through your body.)

(Logan might say that Roman is the whirl of electricity when you understand something for the first time and how it feels to see the dots connect in front of you.)

(Janus might say that Roman is the way you know your bed is going to be soft and warm at the end of a long cold day and you can’t wait to crawl into it.)

(Virgil might say that Roman is the buzz and bubble of excitement when you do something you thought you couldn’t for the first time.)

(Patton might say that Roman is the safety you feel when you’re out in a new place you don’t know and you find one friend that hovers by you the whole time in case you want someone to hug.)

(Roman might cry. Again.)

(And maybe he’ll be able to paint something that does finish the set with the others.)

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

#sanders sides #dragonbabbles #fic #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #janus sanders

79 notes · View notes

acatalystrising · 11 months

Note

hi tysm for replying to my request i honestly wasn't expecting it but i just wanted to add a couple things if you're hitting some writers block or need some inspo if writing about your own experiences is too emotionally exhausting.

/tw for dv (don’t have to read if it’s too much)

in tdou the dad is guilt tripping the daughter about the mom's death, i'd like to read about a mom guilt tripping the reader about a grandmother's death as that’s unfortunately what’s happening to me.

basically my mom & my grandmother abused each other during quarantine & the weeks before my grandmother died but she only claims it happened bc i didn’t “help out enough” (but she doesn’t work at all like the father in tdou)

i love that the reader in tdou was trying to do everything she could but it just drained her emotionally & physically

i related to that a lot as i had to basically play mediator whenever they would argue but sometimes i just couldn’t do it bc my moms yelling voice is triggering to me. she isn’t as physically abusive anymore but now she just chips away at my self worth whenever she has a bad day or sometimes before i go to work

i already carried a lot of guilt before my grandmother died bc i dropped out of college & wasn’t working at the time & now my mom just knows how to make it worse.

i recently got her to apologize & recognize what she did was wrong but it just feels like she resents me now bc i called her out. the reader’s sense of inadequacy/powerlessness in tdou was highly relatable lol

sorry if this was too personal & that this ask is so long but if it's too triggering/personal you can totally not include it.

i really liked how scarily similar the readers situation in tdou was to mine & seeing how much ppl liked it made me feel less alone so maybe if you base this prompt off of my situation someone else can feel less alone too. If not it’s ok bc all of this is pretty heavy.

but i really love how honest your work is otherwise. i have support in my life but like you said family trauma can be difficult to heal from so again sorry i don’t make a habit trauma dumping on ppl lol

but thanks so much for your writing. boba really is a comfort character for me

tysm for being understanding pls keep writing <3

Hey lovely anon! Firstly, I am SO sorry it’s taken so long for me to answer this. Life has been nuts and I really, really wanted to take my time writing something for you. Trauma is awful and I am so truly sorry you’ve had to deal with so much. You deserve all the hugs in the world!

I’m so touched you enjoy my writing - I write Boba stories to process my own trauma, and they have majorly helped. I’m happy to hear that they help others, too. You aren’t trauma dumping at all, and I’m touched you made this request! So without further ado, here is what I came up with! I hope you enjoy it, and that if in any small way, it can help you feel a little less alone.

Trigger Warnings: Given the subject, I wanted to make sure everyone knows this contains potentially triggering content including: abusive mother, language, gaslighting, verbal abuse (both mentions of past and present), and physical abuse. This is a bit darker then some of my normal stuff, so please be aware! No smut, but lots of angst, fluff, pining, hurt comfort, and Boba being the protective gem we all love and adore.

I’ll Carry You

Daimyo Boba Fett x f!artist reader

Boba Fett, the Daimyo of Tatooine, was one of the broadest people you’d ever seen.

Strong, built like a warrior capable of crushing his foes, an unstoppable force. He was smart, too, boasting a cunning that spoke of his years as a merciless bounty hunter. He donned mandalorian armor that struck fear in hearts across the Galaxy…

And yet, you wondered if he would hold you gently.

Was there more depth to the man who was living legend? Clearly so, given that he’d saved your city from the Pyke’s destruction. You squinted, peering at the lovely shades of green, wondering how a color could be so calming and exciting all at once. Did he know that such a thing were possible? That his beskar was also beautiful, and not merely a symbol of terror?

A shout echoed down the dusty street and you flinched, concentration broken. Gone were the brilliant hues of green and red from your focus, replaced with the clay, beige tones of sand, stone, and earth.

You blinked, staring at your painting with a frown. Boba Fett, of course, wasn’t really here. Your image needed work before it was finished, but you hoped you’d be able to do a decent job. The Daimyo deserved it, you wagered, even if he never saw it.

Stars, of course he wouldn’t see it. He was far too busy to spend the time ogling street art.

Of himself.

Kriff, this was a stupid idea.

Another shout rang through the air and you grimaced, hating that you had to leave your work unfinished for all to see, unable to be anything more than a random piece by an anonymous painter.

You dreamed of a day where you could proudly display your work for all to see, but as long as your mother had a say, you feared that they, like you, would never get the chance.

“Off daydreaming again,” your mother’s accusatory tone made you flinch. “I don’t know where I went wrong with you. I’ve been generous, gracious even. And how do you repay me?”

She paused, dark brows lowering over narrowed eyes.

“Are you even paying attention?”

“Yes, mom.” You looked up from the sewing machine, forcing your expression to remain neutral.

“No. More. Distractions.” She jerked a thumb at the pile of dishes beside her that seemed to grow on its own. “Do I make myself clear?”

You merely nodded.

Like you always did. As fate dictated you must. The last thing you needed was for her to go on another tangent again. Or for there to be another fight.

But life, as you’ve discovered, wasn’t that kind.

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

Kriff. As if your terrible day couldn’t get any worse.

You winced the moment you heard booted footsteps announcing someone’s entry. They were heavy, breaking the silence of the oddly quiet kaff shop - one that often bustled with customers trying to escape the heat of the mid-afternoon suns. But not today.

Too tired to muster more social energy, you kept your back turned, strands of hair falling in front of your eyes as you swept the shattered glass into your dustpan. The last thing you needed was another reason to get yelled at.

“Welcome to the Twin Suns, I’ll be with you in a moment,” you didn’t bother trying to sound overly polite. Not when your mother had made your day a living hell.

The footsteps neared, accented by a metallic clinking you could only assume were spurs. Now who the hell would bother to wear…

“I’m not here for a drink.” A deep, rumbling voice broke the silence, sending a cold chill down your spine. You barely suppressed a flinch as those booted footsteps stopped right behind you. “I have some questions.”

You turned much quicker than you would have liked - but that voice carried a commanding tone that made you act without thinking. There was only one person you could think of that would sound like…

Maker above, you were fucked.

Your own wide-eyed expression stared back at you, trapped in the unseen gaze of a black, t-visored helm. Even then, as you struggled to breathe, recognition flooded through you with the force of a punch. The owner took another booted step forward, so close you could touch him if you had a death wish.

Oh kriff, kriff, kriff.

It was Boba kriffing Fett. The Boba Fett. And now…your Daimyo.

You tried your best to suppress a blush. As if you hadn’t just been daydreaming about him earlier while you’d been painting him. Good kriffing maker, you had to get it together.

You’d seen him once or twice before, when he was out patrolling the city, but only from a safe distance. Now that he was here, in front of you, every fiber in your body screamed to run. The power the man exuded made your head spin. He was a living weapon, back from the dead - the most feared bounty hunter in the Galaxy.

And you were now trapped in his gaze.

“Heard someone caused a problem here,” Boba Fett’s iconic helmet slowly turned, taking in his surroundings before snapping back to you. “What’s their name?”

You blinked. Why the hell would the Daimyo care about a small shop’s domestic outburst? Surely he had better things to do. He surely wouldn’t be interested in the affairs of someone like you.

“Oh, it’s nothing…” you spoke timidly, far smaller than you intended, but you couldn’t help it, being in his presence. “It wasn’t a customer, or anything. I’m sorry.”

You hoped he’d let it go. Move on to more important things. The last thing you needed was to lose this job, or give your mother another reason to make your life worse.

Fett regarded you silently, arms crossed over a deadly blaster rifle, gloved fingers tapping a slow, steady cadence. Sweat beaded on your forehead and trickled down your temple. Would he shoot you for not answering his question?

He lifted a gloved hand and you flinched, but blinked in confusion when he gently wiped a tear from your cheek. When he spoke again, his voice was so oddly soft you were inclined to believe it didn’t belong to the same person.

“Not gonna hurt you. No one should be afraid in my city. Especially a pretty little thing like you…” his tone rolled through you, and you shivered, an altogether new feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. “Who did this to you?”

You could only swallow, throat dry, heart beating a million times a minute as you leaned the broom against the counter and shakily took a breath. You were so nervous you nearly tripped over your own foot as you looked back at the visor, more tears threatening to burst to the surface.

Damn it, keep it together. Don’t fall apart just because a stranger said something nice…

“It wasn’t anything you need to worry about.” You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to speak. “My mom just-”

A familiar voice suddenly cut over your own, hollering your name as if it were a curse. You flinched, turning in time to see your mother emerge from the back of the store, several big bags of kaff beans in her arms.

“Still wasting time or are you going to be useful?” She clearly didn’t see their guest, too focused on her destination. “I need your help, if I’m not asking too much.”

You glanced at the Daimyo apologetically, instinctively shifting to answer your mother’s request.

“She was speaking with me.” Boba Fett’s voice was nearly a growl when he spoke, taking a booted step forward.

A step, you noted, that placed him between you and your mother.

Who finally looked up. And promptly dropped her armful of product onto the floor with a curse. You flinched. Kaff beans rolled all over the wooden planks you’d just swept. Damn, this was going to be a long night.

“D-Daimyo Fett? Oh, oh. My goodness. Whatever can I do for you?” Her demeanor Instantly changed, shifting from accusation to groveling. “Apologies for the mess, we, we…”

“Perhaps you should apologize to your daughter.” Fett’s voice was nearly a growl, his words rolling with a lovely accent you couldn’t place. “She’s upset. Yelling won’t fix that.”

Your jaw dropped. Your mother smothered a glare. Oh, this was not going to end well.

“I, well, I…” she dipped her head, red flaring in her cheeks, but you knew it was anger. When she spoke again, it was the icy professionalism you also knew well. “Apologizes, Lord Fett. Can I get you anything? It’s such a long walk from the palace.”

But Boba Fett didn’t answer. The conversation was clearly over. Instead, he turned to face you, helmet tilted slightly to the side as he walked toward the door.

“I was just leaving, but,” he paused beside you, looking down from that impassive helmet, once again ensnaring you in his unseen gaze. “If you’re ever in need of employment, little one, come to my palace.”

Little one.

Somehow those two words made heat coil in your belly faster than any flirtatious word ever could.

You nodded, swallowing hard, only able to emit a squeak as he brushed against you as he walked by, long enough for you to catch a whiff of his scent - leather, metal, and residual blaster smoke. Stars, why was it so attractive? You’d never even seen his face.

You couldn’t deny there was something about the Daimyo that was…electrifying. But you weren’t given the chance to ponder it for long.

Boba Fett walked out of the shop’s door, and your nightmare started anew.

“I don’t know why I let you work here.” Your mother’s back was turned, but you could feel her glare cutting into you like daggers to your chest. “You embarrassed me in front of the Daimyo. What were you thinking? Was that a way to get back at me? Why do you have to be so childish?”

“I didn’t know he was coming either, mom.”

You stood with crossed arms, hovering as close to the door as you could, heart pounding even faster. “My shift is over. I need to go home. At least he wasn’t upset.”

“Well I am, but not that it matters. You’ve always been a disappointment.” Your mother raised a critical brow, lips twisting in a frown. “If you grandmother were still alive, she’d agree with me. But oh, wait, she can’t.”

Your day could, in fact, get worse.

“You never listen. Her death wasn’t my fault.” You sighed, an age old weariness settling in your shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. Never does.”

Your vision sparked as her fist connected with your face, shoving you backward into the glass door. It rattled violently, and you winced as your hand flew to the injury, fingers wet with blood. Damn. Not again.

“Entitled brat,” your mother shook her head and had the audacity to cry. It broke your heart, seeing her like this - but it was a ploy. You knew it. And it worked every single time. “What did I ever do so wrong? How did you turn out like this? I raised you better, I did.”

“Maybe you’re asking the wrong question,” you winced, turning your back on her as you opened the door. “What did I ever do so wrong to deserve this?”

Cheek stinging, heart breaking, you twisted and bolted out of the door before she could see your welling tears.

The moment you stepped out into the cool night air, you knew you weren’t alone.

You could feel it, the prickle of eyes on your back, and lowered your hand to the blaster at your hip. You’d already had a terrible day, but the last thing you needed was more trouble.

“That’s not necessary.” A familiar gravelly tone broke the silence. “Saw what happened.”

You turned, peering into the dark alley beside the kaff shop. At first you didn’t see anyone, but then the armored figure stepped from the shadows, beskar glinting in the moonlight. You reflexively took a step back, and he held his gloved hands up, empty.

“Meant what I said,” his voice was calm, steady, as if trying to calm her. “Not going to hurt you. You’ve been hurt enough already, from the looks of it.”

Oh.

“It’s…it’s fine,” you gingerly touched your brushing cheek with a soft wince. “I’ve dealt with worse. Please don’t hurt her. She’s…mourning. It’s a long story.”

Not that you figured he would really care. Most didn’t.

“There’s never a reason to hurt your own child.” Fett’s tone was soft, even as he took another step forward. “Will you come back here tomorrow?”

“I…don’t know.” You stiffed your hands in your pockets with a sigh. “It’s all I’ve got. I can’t just abandon her.”

He nodded, helmet tilting down toward her as if in thought. You found yourself staring up at him, transfixed by the deep red and green hues of his armor, even as he removed the helmet.

Dark amber eyes met yours, expression much softer than you had expected from a man of his profession. He was scarred, whirls of scar tissue branding his tan skin - but maker, he was gorgeous. Your jaw almost dropped, caught in his gaze, heart pounding like a drum as he closed the distance between you, a gloved hand softly cupping your chin.

“Don’t live your life for someone else’s grief, even if it’s shared.” His fingers gently stroked your jaw, and you found yourself leaning into his touch. Damn, he was dangerous - just not in the way you’d initially expected. “Why don’t you come back to the palace with me? Would be a change of scenery - I’ll pay you well.”

“To do what?” You’re frowned, too frustrated to be worried that you were being too bold. “Unless you don’t already have someone who can make coffee in that fancy palace of yours, I’m afraid I’ll be of no use to you.”

He lifted a dark brow, and you swallowed hard, suddenly remembering his hand was still on your chin, dangerously close to your throat. But when he spoke, there was no darkness - only a playful mirth.

“Perhaps you could finish that lovely painting you started, hmm?” Boba Fett, of all people, had the audacity to wink at you.

Your jaw dropped, stunned, even as he removed his fingers from your chin.

Wait a second.

He’d…actually seen it? And knew it was you? Kriff, had he been watching? Heat flooded your cheeks.

“Oh…oh, umm,” you ran a nervous hand through your hair, “you saw that? I didn’t mean to…”

He tutted, a soft click of his tongue, and dared to brush a loose piece of hair behind your ear with practiced ease.

“None of that, princess,” his tone was lower, rumbling through you. “I am honored you’d want to do something so kind with your talent. My palace could use more color. Something to lessen the drab and make it something new. What do you think?”

Stars, was this happening?

Not only was he interested in your work, but the Daimyo was very clearly interested in you.

You knew your mother who disagree. She’d be angry, too. But you’d spent too many years of your life trying to please her, knowing that would never happen. And now, Boba Fett of all people, wanted to set you free.

And so you nodded, unable to stop a smile from spreading on lips that were so often twisted in a frown, as the words you’d never imagined you’d be able to say tumbled from you mouth.

“Okay, I’ll come with you,” you nodded, meeting his gaze. “That would be…amazing.”

Boba Fett smiled, took your hand in his, and led you to the palace. To your future. Into a life you’d never thought were possible - one where for the first time ever, you were truly free.

Where you were loved.

#ask answered #acatalystrising writes #boba fett x reader #boba fett x fem!reader #boba fett x female reader #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x you #boba fett fanfic #boba fett fan fiction #boba fett #the book of boba fett #tbobf #book of boba fett #star wars

18 notes · View notes

casualhedonists · 2 months

Note

firstly i apologize for how long this is going to be 😭

i was so emotional as i read attention cuz i just KNEW that there would be an ending eventually, and ofc, i never wanted attention to end. but you wrapped it up SOOOO beautifully! i feel so bad that i can't capture HOW amazing of a read that was in words!! trust me, attention means so so much to me. whenever i thought "i can't wait until chapter 6 comes out!" my anxiety kicked in because i knew that when chapter 6 came out.... it would be over. and that day is here

reading this was like eating your favorite chocolate. every single bite being enjoyable... something you'd think back on days later and crave for more. never getting tired of it.

honestly, its amazing how there is SO much creativity and wonderful fanfics on tumblr... for free? ITS INSANE. as i was reading it i kept saying "this is crazy!" i mean, i couldn't believe?? the plot twist?? the dialogue?? the pacing?? the list could go ON! forever. also you are SO sweet and kind 🫶🫶

i honestly thought she would be furious about what happened to greene... like my jaw dropped as SOON as her mom told her that he was sent to be a peacekeeper. at that moment i KNEW it was all snows fault. i seriously felt like it was over for them... like a whole fight scene was about to take place and she would move out, leading to snow being destroyed, alone, teary eyed and begging her to stay... that wouldve crushed me. i'm so glad she felt the complete opposite.

it's was SO interesting to think back on and see her progress. at first she was desperate, trying to win snow over by playing his games, trying to turn the tables and make snow become weak for her. but eventually she got the idea, and now SHE dominates HIM. it was neat seeing things come full circle!! now he's getting a taste of his own medicine (pun intended?)!!

also medicine is like... god i mean, do i even??? one of my top harry songs. SO GOOD!!!! do you also listen to him?? if so i can recommend other (more unknown) songs of his that give the same vibe if you'd like!

i am REALLY excited for your future works!!!! i admire your writing style and how talented you are. tbh you're the reason i'm inspired to start my own fanfic. but honestly, i'm scared because it is SO difficult thinking of a good storyline and plot... my brain is blank. i feel like every thing i think of sounds generic and cliche which puts me in a writers block. (do you have any tips?)

thank you so much for taking the time to read this!! i hope you have an amazing day!!

-💐

flower nonnie you. can have my whole heart here *carves it out walks it to fedex and mails it to you w next day delivery*

i read this first thing yesterday and it MADE MY WHOLE DAY i swear. like im so happy you enjoyed the fic so much, this is so much more than i could ever hope for as a response and it means the world to me that you’d set aside time to type out such a sweet message. it’s bittersweet to say goodbye to attention bc it is The Fic that brought me into this fandom (and out of my fic writing block) and it means so much to me bc it’s been so fun and it makes me so happy to know people feel that way when reading it. i had the final line written since (chapter 3?? i think) so i always knew that’s how i’d close it off and it was SO satisfying getting to type that last line in.

also it was sooo much fun to write her little mastermind by taylor swift moment (what if i told you none of it was accidental etc etc) and also yes omg i love harry (mostly his unreleased songs tbh!! like baby honey, medicine, talk, complicated freak) and ofc the usual suspects like kiwi and sign of the times and harry’s house. i am so so open to more song recs!! esp unreleased or lesser known ones!

in terms of writing tips, i wrote down a little thing a while back here but my main thing is to write what you want to read. that’s all i’ve ever done in fic and personal writing projects/poetry of mine. if you write for only yourself you can never go wrong imo, everything else is just topping. so start there, doesn’t matter if it’s been done before, so long as it makes you happy!! (one day i should tell the story of my first fic that actually got read by people online it was a whole journey that started with me assuming nobody would ever see it but me)

okay this is getting long i’ll close out now but thank you sweet anon for the kind words, i can’t even tell you how much they mean to me!! you are truly too kind!! 🤍🤍🤍

#asks 💌#attention #💐#treasure box 💫

3 notes · View notes

blissfulalchemist · 3 months

Text

Hi there! @ossya123 I am answering this here as this is the origin blog of my Chance and for all I know you may really not be the only one curious, but you were the first person to speak up. Firstly I would like to thank you for your kind words! I have been literally just been thinking how to respond to this that wasn't a mess because this is the first time I've had anyone really ask about my boy in god like almost 3 years!

To answer you though, I cannot say for certain on if there would be anything more. I have things written and started don't get me wrong but it has been hard finding the motivation and creativity to finish them. However, I don't want to get your hopes up in that there will be something new for you to read beyond an ask or two here and there because in all honesty while Chance, Cat, Lance, and Liz have been popping up in my brain in the last few months and I do miss them and have the urge to write them once again doesn't mean I'll be able to follow through. Which is a non-answer I know, and probably not what you wanted to hear. Because you asked though I did go through my wips and found at least 2 pieces that I wanted to finish and were pretty far along, not long enough unfortunately to post as is sadly.

The searching though did make me remember what joy I had writing him and the creation of his story and how it connects to the rest of the world that I built, which admittedly I don't know if it would fit in the current fc5 fandom if it ever did to begin with haha. That revelation and reminder, though, goes a long way into showing me how far away the feelings that made me stop from writing and interaction with the media and my ocs to begin with are. There were a multitude of reasons I put fc5 on a shelf and turned to other media, but my love for them never went away, and if I manage to finish one of those old pieces it would be thanks to you!

We shall see if I manage to write something for him and maybe finish the one piece I wanted to so badly before all the things that led up to me no longer writing for them. I got a little bit written that was new and did do a re-read editing here and there today because man has my writing come a ways since that time I think. In the mean time I hope you are content with what's on Ao3 and in the masterlist (general masterlist) which had some other little bits that were never posted to Ao3 only on tumblr!

Once again from the bottom of my heart thank you for caring about him and giving a little poke because it sparked something within me. I apologize there has not been anything in so long and that I cannot guarantee an outcome. And to anyone else out there that reads this, I thank you for also caring about him or any of my fc5 kids. They were the start of a great many things and it truly warms my heart to see them mean something to someone else.

#also if you are the same commenter from ao3 know that it made me cry for days seeing that #like there were no words to describe how that made me feel seeing that #anyway i'm sorry i don't have a concrete answer because I really jut don't know but know that I will try for you!#I will try and at least write for Chance once again if only to finish out the two pieces I have and then maybe some kind of ending #something in case I truly never go back to fc5 and the characters #chance ruicknar oc

4 notes · View notes

bubblemoon66 · 1 year

Photo

The gifts for the 2022 Skulduggery Pleasant Fic Exchange are here!

I think this year has been a tough one for most of us, but we got there in the end!

Firstly, a massive thank you goes out to @lilithphantasterei who filled in as a pinch hitter at the last moment. I couldn’t have done it without them.

Congratulations to everyone who manged to get something written this year. Definitely, check them out. And if you find something you like, don’t forget to leave the author a comment and kudos.

A Christmas Ball by FangirlForever18

Skulduggery sneaks into Mevolent's Christmas Ball. What's the worse that can happen?

A Very Peaceful Evening by LilithPhantasterei

'I knew it was going to be like this!' Valkyrie seethed, wondering whether she'd be faster if she'd ditch her heels. She dashed around a corner, Skulduggery hot on her trail. 'We should have stayed,' he sounded remorseful, 'I didn't even get dessert.' 'You don't have a stomach, you couldn't even digest dessert.' 'I theoretically don't have ears but I still heard you complaining all evening.'

Autumn leaves by SquigleysSnake11

“But here Valkyrie was, walking through the empty park with Militsa, hand in hand, ring in pocket, Xena between them on a leash. Everything was perfect, Valkyrie had it planned out to a T, there was no way that anything could possibly go wrong. Knock on wood.”

Aka: Valkyrie proposes to Militsa but everything goes wrong.

Caught in a Loop by bubblemoon66

Valkyrie and Skulduggery travel to Northern Ireland to investigate a burglary. Tracking down the culprit proves easy enough; until Valkyrie wakes up the next day to find out they have to do it all over again. And again. And again... That right, it's a time loop.

Dead Poets Squad by Vipertooth

All soldiers are asked to record their missions in writing. Larrikin thinks this is boring and decides the Dead Men will write their reports as poems to make it more fun.

Or: Hopeless gets mocked because their poem doesn’t rhyme, Saracen has a bad boy phase, Dexter denies his screams were loud, and you might start wondering why the Dead Men are venerated as heroes when so many of their missions go wrong.

High Standards by TheWiseCrow

Scapegrace smiled at him. Stupid, stupid Thrasher…

Meeting by armakin_9

Skulduggery is a junior police officer, and has to interview China for a case. He has no idea about her unique charms.

Militsa and Valkyrie’s day with Alice by ieatbooks1

“I’ve already apologized,” Valkyrie shot a glance at Militsa, “But I have to do it again. I’m so sorry” Militsa shook her head, “Again, it’s okay. It was just a mistake.”

my girlfriend is a full six feet of Don't Touch Her On Your Life - and that's how I like it by carloabay

There could not possibly be a good enough reason for you to even entertain the notion of holding Valkyrie Cain's girlfriend ransom. You are going to die.

Tea by CupOTeaHatter

Training and Tea

That tiny sliver of relief by Alexander_Writes

"The alleyway outside what had once been Ghastly’s shop has not improved with age. Skulduggery does not know how Ghastly’s shop looks now."

Or, Skulduggery reminisces briefly on his life before the war.

The Opposite of Hate by AboveAlone

"The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference; the opposite of feeling can only be the absence of feeling" is a concept China should've known all too well, having to deal with insufferable lovestruck fools all day, every day.

But never had she applied it to herself.

troubles shared (are troubles halved) by LassieLowrider

Now he couldn’t breathe, smoke, fear and heat choking the very life out of him, and all he wished for was to live another day, and see another sunrise (and another after that). He knew he wouldn’t, so all he could hope for as he gasped for air that wouldn’t come was that he would suffocate before the flames licking at his feet rose any higher.

As things went dark, Skulduggery shot upright in bed, eyes wide open and staring into nothingness. He pulled his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around them and broke into tears, great heaving sobs ripping out of him. It took everything in him to not throw up everything he had eaten since he regained a body - it hadn’t been long, but he knew that throwing up was something he wanted to avoid, even if it had been a century since he last did it.

or: three times skulduggery wakes up from nightmare

Velvet by KristianCross

Ghastly wanted a private night.

When Dead Men Die by xXvintage_goose_incognitoXx

When Dead Men die, things happen. They’re not necessarily bad things. They’re not necessarily good things. Sometimes, they can impact the entire course of history. Sometimes, they only impact oneself. After all, when one's life is multiple centuries long, one experiences a lot. - - A fic exploring the multiple canon deaths of the Dead Men.

Work Call by trainwhistlesatnight

Larrikin has to go to a meeting out of country for the remaining teleporters to discuss what-have-you. Anton, missing his love, decides to call him with a sexy surprise after a few nights of Larrikin being away.

#skulduggery pleasant #fic rec #sp fic exchange 2022

29 notes · View notes

sebastianshaw · 10 months

Text

I have a Penguin mini-series called “Pain & Prejudice” somewhere. In it, a man commits a casual slight against Penguin, insulting him when he bumps into him on the street before, in horror, he realizes who it is and apologizes profusely. The Penguin laughs and tells him not to worry. But then oddly, the man finds himself fired at his job for embezzlement, his apartment burns down, his parents die in a very mysterious car crash, and a seemingly random person accosts his girlfriend on the street and injects her with something that doesn’t get specified but medicine hasn’t caught up to yet. All this goes to show just how cruel and petty the Penguin is, and just how much influence and power he has in Gotham. And I was thinking, it’s stated pretty often (though really not shown well bc I think writers often don’t know HOW) that Shaw has far greater influence, that the Hellfire Club has this on a global scale, that Shaw in particular can reach “princes, presidents, and popes” And again, not often demonstrated because you can’t punch that away, but we’re told he has it and I don’t doubt that. I think the reason we don’t see stories like this from Shaw is simply that he isn’t that petty. Penguin is portrayed as horrifically insecure and needing the love and approval, even if it must be bribed or forced, from all those around him, and punishing any deviation from that due to his trauma from bullying and abuse. Shaw very fucking blatantly doesn’t give a shit, there are multiple instances where he’s just “yeah I’m fucking asshole what about it” One of the few good moments he got in the Krakoa era was in a N.ew M.utants issue by Ed B.risson where a cartel leader calls him a swear and Shaw’s response is simply “That I am.” Which is not to say Shaw is a pushover—perish the thought!---but that he’s learned that the only opinion and approval that matters is his own. I say “learned” because we do learn in the backstory with L’s death that this wasn’t always the case. He’s horrified to learn of Ned’s betrayal, despite having been warned by L and T.essa, and concludes verbally that he let his own need for acceptance blind him to the truth all around him. So, at this point in his life, he did care about the opinions of others—namely, the uber rich, amidst whose ranks he had just been accepted, which makes sense—and it cost him the most important person in his life. Between that and the fact he clearly became more and more of An Absolute Bastard Man since that, one who is TEXTUALLY stated to no longer let himself be vulnerable to others and “handled relationships like chess games” out of the expectation he will always be betrayed, it’s no wonder to me he would stop giving a fuck what anyone things. Which is a cool way to be, don’t get me wrong, wish I was like that, but also isn’t coming from a place any less traumatic than Oswald’s, it just goes the other way because of different circumstances. And the point of this rant isn’t “Shaw is Better than Penguin bc Shaw isn’t petty” it absolutely is not. I actually LOVE Pengy, that’s why I own that miniseries! It’s just, it is often DIFFICULT to a play a muse with the power and reach that Shaw has, and not use it to godmod a whole bunch of terrible shit happening to other people’s characters who piss him off (which a lot do, that is the personal mission of more than one muse I write with!) like the Penguin does to that dude. Because like. . .I don’t want to do that, firstly it’s bad RP etiquette and second it would limit the characters I could keep interacting with. But Shaw is an incredibly powerful guy who very much could make life miserable (or over) for like…honestly, almost anyone he wanted. So it helps that I can just go “well he actively doesn’t give enough of a shit, you’re not worth the time to him that it would take to make those arrangements” But I am 1000% sure he could. (also: in the spirit of fairness to Pengy, he’s shown to be JUST as disproportionate in REWARDING genuine kindness shown to him and those he cares for as he is in punishing unkindness. For instance, when he sees the nurse who cared for his elderly mother is genuinely crying at his beloved mother’s death, he ensures she’s set for life. So his pettiness, ruthless and cruel as it is, also has equally generous aspects. Love that complexity!)

#Shaw thoughts #out of shirt

6 notes · View notes

distortedataraxia · 1 year

Note

Hi ^^) it's my first time doing this, so I'm kinda nervous (ahhh how should I start?). Well, I'm here because i got interested in the BSD Matchup thing, so thank you in advancement >////<)

Uh- Im pretty shy and calm in real life, but in Internet I tend to be more teaser (maybe because I can't see the other person's face) even tho I can't really handle them in rl, and because of that ppl usually misunderstood my personality, also I have social anxiety, so it's pretty hard to people ACTUALLY understand and know the real me (honesty sometimes i wish ppl could just read my mind, that would be so much easier?). Sometimes i think like i just have a mask that I can't get off to the point of me forgetting the real me.

About those personality tests: I'm INTP-A, 5w6 and my love language is affirmative words and act of service

If I bake you something/draw you, for sure i treasure or relationship.

As for my hobbies: I like to read, sell, cosplay, draw, listen to true crimes podcast, watch animes, teach, learn languages (for now I can speak 5) study and bake (most time sweets). My dream is someday have a pretty (vegan) coffee.

For now I am a volunteer physic teacher to help 9 graders to pass in exams for good highschools, but I can't wait to get a real job in some quiet place (like a library).

I am a short (150cm T^T), a bit chubby, I'm a sagittarius and I like the caos in the "not so monotonous" way (I just hate get bored), and when I'm not envolved, obviously, just watching, I hate have too many eyes on me. I also hate when people try to force a friendship with me, like, if i hug you, I'm showing that I don't mind you getting too close (even tho it can surprise me sometimes), but that change completely when "you" hug me without intimacy, i will 100% dislike your hugs from now on.

Also I really like to hear people talk about their passion and dreams, maybe I can get a bit of inspiration haha.

Sometimes when I take my medicines I may be oblivious to my own felling, so in that kind of situation i just like so see people I like happy by making them a treat or just walking through the city with no place in mind, just to focus on their happiness to make me feel warm

Whaa- sorry if it was too long, I don't know how much I should say or keep to myself to get a good analysis, usually I don't share that much oh things aaah that's embarrassing... but yeah that's it I hope you are having a wonderful day/night

Note : Hi! Firstly I'd like to apologize for the time it tooks to actually write this and secondly I'd like to assure you that you weren't embarassing ^^ Have a good day/night i hope and take care of yourself ! I haven't written any forms concerning matchups to help people requesting, so anything that you wrote is okay, it's never too long or too short and i'll try my best pairing you with a character with what i have. I hope that you like the one i paired you with and that it aha isn't too much or a mess, matchups aren't really my expertise ahah ^^'

I pair you with...

Atsushi ! ★

You, shy and calm in real life, a teaser on the internet, have came across the path of A CAT- I mean, weretiger.

He would be kind, understanding and considerate towards you and would respect your boundaries. Whenever you have troubles with anything, you know that Atsushi will always be with you and that it'll be okay, he'll support, understand and try to help you out.

That boy Atsushi needs theses affirmative words, he've been through a lot and only feel the right to live if he save people's lives and it's good sometimes to remind him that he's good enough just as he is.

if i got this wrong please run me over with a car , dig a hole and bury my brain inside of it... ACTUALLY NO PLEASE DON'T TOUCH MY BIGASS BRAIN

Atsushi would try to surprise you with some little gifts sometimes, he won't overdo it. If you're like kyoka by example, he'd buy you crepes and ice creams. If you're as mysterious as Dazai, he'll try to go with flowers probably.

Atsushi would be really happy if one day you bake or draw something for him.

Atsushi spent a lot of time reading in his orphanage's library as a form of escapism, so you can sometimes chat about books you both read without much problems.

You also love to ask about Atsushi's days as he works in the armed detective agency, and his days are never the ssame, as he like to ask about your day too.

Atsushi would absolutely support you in your dreams of having a pretty vegan coffee, and he'll do what he can to help you make your dream possible.

Atsushi gets flustered easily, and it can be pretty caotic. But cute?

When you're out on a date with Atsushi, he makes sure that you feel comfortable and to not get all eyes on both of you.

You both would be a nice pair.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd matchups #matchups #bsd x y/n #bungou stray dogs matchups #bsd x s/o #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs #atsushi x reader #atsushi x y/n #atsushi x you #atsushi bsd #atsushi matchup

5 notes · View notes

ingravinoveritas · 2 years

Note

If GT got the tattoo in 2010, then it was 2 years into the relationship, not months. They met in 2007 and started dating in 2008. They said he wasn't sure about the longevity of her affections due to age difference, maybe it was her way to reassure him. Also, all this does sound like typical fangirls being jealous of a spouse and villifying her thing. You know, what SPN & some other crazy fandoms are known & mocked for? Do you really need to be seen like that?

Hello, Anons. I expected some pushback in response to the Anon I answered last night, but I feel that some of what I’ve said has been misconstrued, so I’d like to respond with the hope of clearing a few things up.

Firstly, I believe I did inadvertently get the timeline wrong of when Georgia got the tattoo of David’s name, so 2010 is not the correct year. Georgia did, however, apparently get the tattoo right after their first date (additional information can be found here). So I apologize for my confusion regarding the timeline.

Secondly, I realize some folks may not have been following me for long, but one thing to know about my blog is that I have always tried to provide a balanced perspective when it comes to these topics. I’d like to direct your attention to this post, which was the first Anon I ever answered about Georgia-related “discourse.” This was in 2020, and as you can see from my response, I defended Georgia, and had no problem with her. If you’ve read any of my other responses to Anons, you know that I take my time and think carefully about everything I write, and that nothing is done to “attack” anyone, but rather to promote civil and respectful discussion of these issues.

The opinions I have formed of Georgia over the past three years developed as I’ve learned more about Georgia and about her and David’s relationship, and are based not on rumors, but on factual information (i.e., things Georgia herself has said and done). What I wrote yesterday in response to that Anon is also the result of that, and of having genuine concerns. And what perturbs me is that simply stating facts and trying to have a rational discussion is now being equated with “vilifying” someone, which is not at all what I believe I did.

There are a lot of reasons why people come to my blog to talk about these things. Could some people be jealous? That’s certainly possible. But I think that tends to be a narrative that is easy for people to believe, whereas the truth--that some of us are coming from a genuine place of concern because we’ve been in relationships very much like Georgia and David’s and recognize the red flags in certain behaviors--is more difficult to accept.

Speaking for myself, as hot and thoroughly appealing as I find David to be, I can’t say that I am jealous of Georgia, or that my thoughts and opinions come from a place of jealousy. I have also seen firsthand what happens in fandoms when significant others are put on pedestals and viewed as “untouchable” and incapable of doing anything wrong, and how harmful it can be, and that is something I have and continue to strive to speak out against.

Folks are of course welcome to disagree with me, and I will never shy away from sharing dissenting opinions on my blog. That’s what healthy discussion and learning and growing is all about, after all. Nor can I stop anyone from resorting to personal attacks and insulting me, but by doing so, you’re not really making the point you think you are.

Rather than tell you to “seek help,” however, I would encourage you to read through my blog, including my #georgia tennant tag, to see the previous anons I have answered. That people continue to message me (both anonymously and via DM) about Georgia seems to speak to a need for these discussions, and consequently, I will continue to have them on my blog, and to give others the space to share their thoughts, too.

I hope you can start to understand the place we are coming from and engage in these exchanges with the rest of us, but if not, it costs absolutely nothing and takes no time at all to just scroll on by...

#anonymous #reply post #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #georgia tennant #i knew the hater anons would be incoming but damn #i can't even with this nonsense #the fact that i even gotta respond to this #it always seems like the words 'jealous' or 'hater' are thrown out to shut down discussion #but as i've said before and will again #that doesn't work here #i'd rather look like a 'bad' fan and talk about the reality of the situation #than look like a 'good' fan by ignoring it #discourse

15 notes · View notes

stomp-that-ho-regard · 2 years

Text

mircallablue asked:

Hey, if its cool with you I want to respond to your last anon, because they said some things I kind of disagree with (or at least they said some things I think it's important to phrase more clearly). Gonna risk doing it off anon because I'm a masochist I guess.

Firstly, Imodna really isn't a b/j apology ship, and I'll explain why. CR doesn't give a fuck about what its fans think, and doesn't make decisions to keep them happy. At least, not in *that* sense. If they cared about b/j or b/j fans, they simply wouldn't have done those characters dirty in the first place. What CR *does* care about is keeping its toxic fans on board, while also making money and building "the brand". And they want "the brand" to be as market friendly and un-offensive as possible. That's why they got rid of Brian. That's why their queer rep is either subtext and tragedy (for mlm) or hypersexual and tragedy (for wlw). That's why the anti-imperialist theme got dropped in campaign 2. That's why they never address the white-washed art. CR is 100% aware of the discourse surrounding the b/j retcon - how could they not be? They're aware of the god damned Imogen glasses discourse ffs.

For this reason, I honestly believe that imodna is at least partially intended to just be shipping bait. But not for b/j shippers - it's for b/y shippers. CR knows it needs to have *something* queer, because it's a supposedly left-wing company, and fortunately, b/y shippers have more than proven that they will go feral over crumbs. So - Introduce two women, have them hold hands, have them share a bed, but avoid defining the relationship for as long as possible, and occasionally no-homo or gal-pal them if they start to get to close to each other. And don't mention *anything* mlm unless it's dead in a backstory or it's so vague it has to be clarified on twitter after the fact JKR style. This is why Marisha interrupted Robbie so bizarrely on the new talk show - he was about to mention Dorians crush on Orym - so Marisha had to leap in and make it hetero as abruptly as possible, so much so that even Robbie and Matt were stunned. CR just wants to keep pathetic b/y shippers "manifesting" every week like they were at the end of campaign 2.

And anyone who thinks CR doesn't make decisions like this is honestly so naïve as to be pitiful.

Secondly, the problem with b/y isn't that it's sexual, there's nothing wrong with that - the problem is that it's ONLY sexual, despite trying to convince us that it's true love. I bet if you were to count, B/Y honestly probably said less than 500 words to each other 1-on-1 before saying "I love you", and I think that's probably being generous. This, as I've mentioned many times before, is a very common trope that straight people fall into when they try to write/portray wlw.

BY shippers will misrepresent this criticism of BY by saying that "b/j shippers think BY is a lesbian ship for straight people", and that's a strawman at best (or sometimes, as the anon pointed out, they'll just throw wild accusations at the wall to see what sticks). You *could* say that BY is a lesbian ship *by* straight people, which is factually correct, and this trope is why we say that. That's why Marisha said, VERBATIM "my feelings just kind of transferred". Because to her, the fact that it was wlw was all that mattered by that point. The specific women in the relationship had become irrelevant. b/j is what happened naturally, and b/y is what *had* to happen for corporate reasons. I notice that b/y shippers never talk about or acknowledge that line... I wonder why...

Thirdly, yes, it is completely pathetic that some b/j shippers would get sucked in by CR again, but honestly, it's shocking to me that anyone would. Because, it is genuinely 100% in-character for c/ritical role to just start pretending, at any moment, that Imogen and Laudna have never been room mates. They've literally done exactly that before. Imogen and Laudna might go the next 41 episodes without having a single 1-on-1 conversation, and CR fans who ship, say, imogen and dorian, will call you delusional if you try to point out how weird it is. That's exactly what they did to b/j, and that was after *99* episodes, not a measly 20 something.

I bring this up because I feel like a lot of people still don't get that THAT'S why b/j shippers reacted the way they did. It has nothing to do with the ship not becoming canon, most of us never thought that would happen anyway. We just noticed that it was a literal retcon, which has continued to this day (the Kamordah M9 animated recap, for example). We made such a fuss about it at the time, mainly to get the reassurance from others that we weren't *losing our fucking minds*, and of course, very many b/y shippers were (and are) happy to leap in and tell that we're mentally ill. Or call us lesbophobes. Or anti-sex. Or infantilising. Or predatory. Or TERFs. Or saying we hate Laura. Or saying we worship Laura. Or accuse us of sending death threats. Or literally just pick a bad thing out of a hat, honestly. Anything to make it so that CR hasn't done anything wrong.

Well, everything you’ve said here is spot on, as usual. And hey, just for the record, feel free to come off anon more, if you want to. No one’s gonna be chewing anybody out on here lol We’re all in the same boat.

I do have some things to add...

“For this reason, I honestly believe that imodna is at least partially intended to just be shipping bait. But not for b/j shippers - it's for b/y shippers. CR knows it needs to have *something* queer, because it's a supposedly left-wing company, and fortunately, b/y shippers have more than proven that they will go feral over crumbs.” Yeah, that could be what’s happening. I think CR mistakenly believes that the BY shipping fandom is comprised of most, if not all, of the queer women in their fandom. So yes, they could believe they are playing to a perceived majority; to keep them watching, and buying merch, and to get free promo out of them. The problem with that though is that, right now, as I’ve pointed out before, there are a LOT of BY’s who want nothing to do with Im/odna. Mainly because they know how many BJ’s ship it. They might find the dynamic cute, but refuse to actively ship it because they despise the idea of BJ’s ever possibly being ‘rewarded’. So, I don’t know how well that plan is working or will work out for CR. Even still, I do recognize that CR has become more PR-conscious as of late, so this could very well be just that; a PR move (naively aimed towards BY’s).

“You *could* say that BY is a lesbian ship *by* straight people, which is factually correct” This is really something they don’t want to accept. That these are straight women attempting to play out a lesbian romance. The amount of outrage you’d get from stating this directly to them is astonishing. They are so convinced Marisha is bi and they will live and die by this so-called ‘fact’ even though she never actually said it anywhere or even implied it. I think the one thing that they keep basing this on was something from the Q&A panel the cast did just before the live show in Chicago (Feb ‘20). No one had any audio or video of this, so no hard receipts. I think someone complimented her on the way she was playing Beau and wondered how she got it so right or something. And she said one sentence, no elaboration, “Yeah, you know, I went to college.” I remember that bit because people kept repeating it over and over as if it meant something. She never went into detail. Never said/implied she had crushes on her friends, or ever had flings or actual relationships with women. It was just “I went to college.” (To me, it didn’t confirm that Marisha is bi, it confirmed that she’s a tone deaf straight woman who experimented once in college and now believes that she totally understands what it’s like to be a lesbian.) But of course, the fandom took it differently, and it’s the only thing they have so they’ve held onto it with a vice grip ever since. With Ashley, I’m not really sure why they think she’s bi. She’s never said/implied it. It seems like her voicing Ellie in T/LOU and being moved by the love story bringing comfort to people means she can’t possibly be straight. Apparently to them, actresses can’t just be good at their jobs, something more has to be going on there. And that’s why the second you mention them being straight, especially Marisha, they lose their fucking minds. They’ll insist that it’s OBVIOUS that she’s bi, and somehow make you feel stupid for not believing that she is.

These were tags in the notes of a post calling out the people who were calling out Marisha after she bragged about ‘accidentally’ showing an IT guy her NSFW BY lockscreen. From user c/upcakesandhags...

From user s/hmendrickthemagician...

Here’s just a taste of how deep into this some people are...

Good god. That one tweet saying the whole cast is some form of queer, except Travis lol

Please tell me when and how the fandom collectively decided that the cast is now filled to the brim with marginalized people? Could this possibly be yet another way for them to try to shield CR from criticism? Like, if they insist hard enough that the majority of this cast isn't straight, maybe people will stop saying mean things about them? Even if they aren’t majority straight (which I highly doubt based on all of the constant missteps), that wouldn’t change anything. Someone’s sexual orientation or gender identity doesn’t exclude them from being shitty or from making extremely shitty storytelling decisions.

“Marisha said, VERBATIM "my feelings just kind of transferred". [...] I notice that b/y shippers never talk about or acknowledge that line” Oh, some of them did at the time. But they dismissed it, like they did everything else she said. Claimed they didn’t understand what the problem was and that this kind of thing ‘happens in real-life all the time’. I’d really like to know what alternate universe they’re living in.

“b/j is what happened naturally, and b/y is what *had* to happen for corporate reasons.” And I think one of those corporate reasons was FJ. BJ happening would throw a wrench into CR’s main m/f ship, and that would be blasphemous. They couldn’t allow that. As we all know, any show’s most popular m/f pairing needs to be protected at all costs, like it’s some kind of priceless treasure. (This is why I keep comparing CR’s storytelling tactics to scripted TV. The patterns are the same.)

“many b/y shippers were (and are) happy to leap in and tell that we're mentally ill. Or call us lesbophobes. Or anti-sex. Or infantilising. Or predatory. Or TERFs. Or saying we hate Laura. Or saying we worship Laura. Or accuse us of sending death threats. Or literally just pick a bad thing out of a hat, honestly. Anything to make it so that CR hasn't done anything wrong.” This is what it’s like to become the fandom’s punching bag. But I don’t think BY’s are just doing it to protect CR, it’s also simply because we don’t agree with them. This is their retaliation for us not worshipping BY.

Here’s an old post from l/uck...

She was talking about us. Maybe her and her BY cronies should ALSO stop pretending that all queer women share a hive mind. And accept that not all queer women feel the same way about every f/f ship. Accept that not all queer women believe BY is the ROMANCE TO END ALL ROMANCES and THE BEST REP WE’VE EVER SEEN and that they shouldn’t be required to believe that in order to avoid harassment. But the BY’s don’t have enough self-awareness for that. Again, ‘rules for thee, but not for me.’

#op #ask

7 notes · View notes

theshelbyclan · 2 years

Text

Black History

Summary: I’m not very good with words. That’s the one thing you should know about me, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid

(gif by @nofckingfighting)

A/N: Anon requested: Firstly, ILYSM💖💖💖💖ur an amazing writer!!!!!!! If u are taking in requests, could you do one where a female of colour is in the garrisons and people are maybe being racist to her and Tommy stands up for her? Something like that? If not it’s totally fine. Love you!! Okay, so I changed it a little. I love writing for any reader of colour and unfortunately, there’s not much fanfic out there for it, but I also really wanted to write about a woman being really into history? And I really wanted to avoid all the cliches... So I combined both ideas. BUT, I’m not black myself, so if anything isn’t correct here or if I got some of the history wrong, please let me know. Hope you like it!

Words: 2108

***

I’m not very good with words. Even though I like stories about people and places, a lot. That’s the one thing you should know about me, that I don’t talk much, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. It just means I’m in my head a lot.

Let me tell you a story: In 1922, Birmingham was sometimes referred to as ‘the Black Country’. It’s because of all the smoke, the soot and the factories, you see. People who worked here were always covered in dirt, just like the houses and the streets: everything in Birmingham had turned black. But to be more precise, the Black Country is a much bigger area, the birthplace of industry, that made Britain wealthy. Just not us. Coal mines and factories, steel mills and brickworks: filth turned to gold for the king. I always think that the name, the Black Country, has a romantic ring to it. But that’s not why we came here. Because even though the streets may be black, none of the people really were. People like me, people of colour, we still stood out like a sore thumb among the others.

“Watch where you’re going, love!” “Sorry,” I mumbled, apologizing to the man I’d walked into, but hardly any sound came from my lips. And with eyes cast down, I hurried along.

As I walked through those streets, I was thinking about all of this. I’ve often been accused of being a dreamer. My father used to tell me I have my head in the clouds too much. But it wasn’t figments of the imagination I was interested in, not really. I like the stories that buildings and streets could tell. I love learning about people who have done great things, who have managed to change something in the world. Needless to say, I like history.

And then I saw my friend, the one who worked with me at the Austin. She called out my name, “Y/N!”

I gave her a small nod, which was more than I’d do for anyone else. More than anything, I hated attracting attention to myself, but she was always so upbeat, so friendly, so for her I made an exception.

She took my arm happily and whispered, “Let’s go get a drink, eh?” “We can’t!” I whispered, a little shocked, “not just us two…” But she looked at me with this twinkle in her beautiful blue eyes, “Oi, Billy! Come with us, yeah? To the Garrison!” I hunched over even more, like I wanted to become completely invisible, at the loudness of her voice. Billy came over almost at once and he practically skipped ahead of us over to the pub.

As I felt the familiar anxiety creep into my bones, I tried to focus on something that felt more safe and more secure. So, let me tell you a little more about this area. Obviously, we’re known for our factories, but did you know Dickens actually wrote about the chimneys! He wrote they “poured out their plague of smoke, obscured the light, and made foul the melancholy air.”It was in his book… “Y/N! Come on,” and she practically dragged me inside the Garrison.

But as soon as we entered, I felt how people didn’t fixate on my loud companions, but on me. And I knew instantly it was all due to the colour of my skin. When I came here with my brother from Jamaica, and after he’d fought as a soldier in the war, we never knew it would be like this. We never would have thought you could feel this lonely in a crowd, all day, every day.

The barman looked as uncomfortable as I felt. He rubbed the back of his head as he tried to decide. Eventually he said, “You can’t drink here.”

“Why?” my friend immediately jumped on him.

“Well…” the barman struggled for a second to find the words, “I can’t serve a woman alone.” She gestured around in a broad manner, “Look around you. She’s not alone, is she?” “I’m sorry, miss…” I had so many things to say, but all that came out was me practically begging my friend, “Let’s just go?”

“No, why can’t she just…” But I already knew why.

And then one man in the back finally said what everyone else was thinking, “He means blacks are not welcome. Go and find your own place to drink!” And I felt my blood turn cold. Here are some interesting facts for you: In 1919, just after the war, the first ‘race riots’ started in England. This started in South Shields and from there, it spread like some virus to the bigger cities where groups of minorities lived. These violent riots, where many died, were aimed at everyone who wasn’t white: Arabs, Asians and blacks, all those who came to this country through the ports. But that’s not all; even in America, the Caribbean and South-Africa that summer race riots erupted. And idiotically enough, they often resulted in the deportation of many immigrants. That year, the English police arrested 155 black men, 80 white men and only nine white women, even though black people were clearly only defending themselves. Still, half of the black men were acquitted during trial, so I suppose we ought to be thankful for that…

My thoughts were rudely interrupted by the stranger who appeared next to me. I noticed the cloud of cigarette smoke before I even saw the man. Then I realised it was Thomas Shelby himself, and I practically flinched.

“What’s the problem, Harry?” he inquired in his deep voice. “This girl. She says she wants a drink, Mr. Shelby…” “Then serve the lady her drink,” he emphasized the word ‘lady’ and if it hadn’t been a Shelby who had spoken the words, I’d be flattered. But I knew I had the ruthless leader of the Peaky Blinders in front of me, so I knew when to be frightened. Then he turned to me, “What would you like to drink?” I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. “It’s not up to him,” Thomas Shelby said, “this is our pub. And anyone with good intentions is welcome. So, tell me, and I’ll make sure you get it.” “There really is no need, Mr. Shelby,” I finally managed. For a moment he only looked at me. Then he put out his cigarette, took off his coat and made his way behind the bar. And before the barman or anyone could react, he poured me a gin himself and handed it to me across the bar. I only stared at him. He in turn lit another cigarette and frowned, “I won’t have any kind of prejudice in my pub, you understand? All are equal here.” And his blue eyes seemed to look right through me as he spoke.

Let me tell you about someone my father told me about: Ignatius Sancho. Now his story truly is stranger than fiction. In 1729 he was born on a transatlantic ship used to carry slaves, which was headed to the Spanish colony of New Granada. His mother died shortly after arrival and his father killed himself soon after. When Sancho was two years old, he was taken by the man who claimed to own him and given to three old women in Greenwich. A duke who often visited these women became interested in the boy and his education, and when he was 20 years old, he went to work at the duke’s house, Montagu House, as a butler. During this time, he learned all about music, poetry and literature. After the duke’s death, Sancho inherited some money. Eventually he married this West-Indian woman and became a devoted husband and father. And, not to forget, with the help of the Montagu’s, he opened up his own shop in 1774, which made him a man of independent means, which earned him the right to vote. And so he did, the first black man ever to vote, in 1774 and 1780.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Only then did I realise he’d made his way to the other side of the bar once again and was now indeed standing next to me. I could smell him, feel him almost, that’s how close he was. I shook my head timidly in reply.

Thomas inhaled slowly and breathed out the smoke, “Good.” Finally, I worked up the courage to say softly, “Neither do you.”

“Nope.” And before I could stop myself, I smiled at him. He returned the smile and pointed at me, squinting his eyes a little, he said, “But you think a lot.” “I suppose so?” “What about?” he asked, and he sounded purely interested, which caught me completely off-guard.

Suddenly, I felt my usual defences dropping, “history,” I confessed.

“History, eh?” he downed his whiskey, “what does a woman like you know about history?” This hurt, so I’m afraid I snapped a little, “A woman like me?” Poor, black and with no education, he meant.

This reminded me of another great man, one who was continually being underestimated as well: James McCune Smith. He was born in 1813 to a mother who was being kept as a slave and his father claimed to be her owner. He grew up with his mother, but when he was 14 years old, he became a free man due to the laws changing in New York. Interestingly enough, because his father was white, he was sometimes classified as white and sometimes as black, depending on the year. Either way, he excelled at school, but still none of the New York universities would accept him because of the colour of his skin. And that’s how he ended up in Glasgow, where he graduated in medicine in 1830. This made him the first Afro-American doctor in America who’d gone to university and he used his knowledge to work for the Colored Orphan Asylum for over 20 years. But I said none of this out loud. After a long silence, Thomas said, “I’ve hurt you.”

“Yes,” I replied meekly. “I apologize.”

I’m afraid I smiled again, “It’s alright. Mr. Shelby” I said. “Tommy.”

Another long silence followed, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“So, here’s my confession,” he finally broke the silence, “I’ve been trying to impress you, but you’re a hard woman to get to know. So what does a man have to do, to get a look inside your head, eh?” About a million thoughts went through my head in a split second. I suppose I was expected to say something witty now, something clever and something quick, but I had nothing. The truth was, I wasn’t very witty or clever, especially not around men I hardly knew. So I did what I always do and decided to just be honest, “Why would you want to impress me?” “Why not? You’re the most interesting girl in the room. Everyone else bores me.” And in that moment, I suddenly wished I did know how to flirt. There’s one woman I really look up to, one who has such a different life from mine, but sometimes I pretend I’m her. We are both women of colour after all and born around the same time… Her name is Florence Mills and she’s the Queen of Happiness of the American cabaret. Even though her parents weren’t, she was born a free woman in Washington DC. When she was young, she and her sisters formed a vaudeville act, known as the Mills Sisters. Florence was he only one to continue on as an entertainer. For a while, she was even a part of the Panama Four, you know, the group that Ada ‘Bricktop’ Smith was also a part of, the woman who later owned her very own club in Paris? But that’s a different story entirely… Florence went on to join the Tennessee Ten and eventually gained fame through her part in ‘Shuffle Along’, the first all-black Broadway hit. But she has no plans to stop there. Oh no, she’s now trying to get the evening shows of the Plantation Club, where she and her husband work, on Broadway as well. Imagine being that inventive and creative, and brave too!

“That,” he pointed at me again, with those piercing eyes trying to search my soul, “you did it again.” “Did what?” “The thinking,” he waved a hand, “the fucking disappearing into your head thing.”

“I do do that,” I mumbled with a shy smile. “How about you let me in, eh?” Did I dare to be brave? I did, but I have no idea why. But I finally worked up the courage to make an exception for this intimidating but soft man, and I said, “Have you ever heard of Bessie Coleman?” And just like that, we talked all night. And not a single person bothered or interrupted me again.

***

Masterlist

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby imagine #poc reader #peaky blinders fluff #cillian murphy #black history

583 notes · View notes

arianaagreyy · 3 years

Text

Outcast || Remus Lupin x Reader (Part 1)

Ok so...I did Remus bad in the last post so here is a apology. I hope it's good.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

_________________________________________

Words: 1,334 words

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, let me know if there are more.

________________________

Being a transfer student from Beauxbatons was not easy. Firstly, you were a Veela and Veelas weren't considered normal in Hogwarts, which you sadly found out the hard way.

"Watch out for the monster. She might turn on her charm and charm you into doing stuff", a boy shouted out.

"You don't belong here, you're an outcast", a girl added.

It hurt to remember all the words that are spoken to you on a daily basis. An outcast. That’s what people called you just because you were born a Veela.

Secondly, you were very insecure about yourself. You never liked your eye color, your pale skin, and your body. You hated the way people would ogle at you even if you weren’t wearing anything revealing, looking at you like you were a prey and they, a predator. You hated how you couldn’t make any girl friends because they would be afraid that you would steal their boyfriends.

You hated yourself.

But there was someone. Someone who had fallen for you, not because of your looks but because of your nature.

Remus Lupin loved the way you concentrated on your studies and excelled at them with ease. He knew you didn’t like using quills to write, you preferred a pen and so he loved the way you chewed the tip of your pen while taking notes. He loved the way you looked at younger students with such a soft look in your eyes. The way you scrunched up your nose when you couldn’t understand a word in your books. How you would always help a fellow student when they need it.

And what made it difficult was the fact that she was a Gryffindor which meant he saw her every day, sitting close to the fireplace, face covered by a book. Remus would always find it fascinating how you finished a book so quickly and every day after the other, he would see a different book in your hands. He would note down the name of the book you were reading and once you finished it and returned it to the librarian Madam Pince, he would borrow the book from the library and spend the rest of the night reading it.

To his amazement, your taste in books was a lot better than his. You liked reading historical fiction, something not many people enjoyed but again, when were you normal?

His friends would usually catch him looking at you with longing eyes and make fun of him but he couldn’t care less.

Today was a full moon. Y/N usually liked going to the astronomy tower to stare at the moon but today she decided against it and stayed in her common room. She had a book in her hands which she was reading with utter fascination. Reading was a hobby she got back in her third year when she had freshly transferred to Hogwarts and a bunch of Slytherins were mocking her for being a Veela.

“You’re an outcast, a monster”, a boy with blonde hair sneered.

“Shut up”, you snapped back, trying your best to not cry but failing miserably as one tear fell down your left eye giving the boy the satisfaction he needed.

“Oh look, the pathetic monster is crying. Whose pity are you trying to gain? Everybody hates you”, he said with a sick grin on his face.

By now your tears were freely spilling out of your eyes. You wiped your face with the back of your hand before mustering up the courage and asking:

“Why does every body hate me? I’m just like everyone-“, she was interrupted by the loud laughs of the entire group. The blonde boy was the first to stop laughing and looked at the 13 year old girl with a stare that could make anyone uncomfortable.

“That’s where you are wrong sweetheart”, he said.

“You’re not normal. You’re not like us. You’re a monster, a disgusting half-breed, an outcast. You’re a dangerous creature”, he snarled.

These words were etched to your brain and before you knew it, you were running past those Slytherins and into the closest place you found, the library. To distract yourself, you picked out a book from the historical fiction column and sat on the table farthest to the entrance, in a secluded corner. Since then, that table was your favorite place to study and the book genre was your absolutely favorite.

Right now, you were sitting on the floor, your back against the couch that was in the Common Room. Your legs were scrunched up to your stomach, the book resting on your lap. You were raising your hand to turn the page when you suddenly heard rustling from outside the portrait.

You slowly got up from your previous place, put the book on the couch and slowly made cautious steps towards the portrait. Slowly, you lifted your hand to open the portrait and the sight that met you made you control every nerve in your body from shouting out loud at this hour of the night.

There stood the Marauders, Sirius Black and James Potter supporting a bloody Remus Lupin. He had scratches all over his body, his clothes torn and his face scrunched up in pain. There was a look of exhaustion on all of their faces, indicating that they had been out for a long time.

You gently took one of Remus’s hands and tucked it around your shoulder, Sirius on the other side, and took him towards the couch. You slowly unwrapped his arm from around you, the feeling of his skin against yours still warm, and laid him on the couch. His eyes were slightly open but you doubted he could see anything clearly.

“We wanted to take him to Madam Pomfrey but she wasn’t there”, James said rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it from here”, you said softly and smiled a warm smile to him, which he returned and dragged Sirius to their dormitory.

You sighed before turning your attention back to the injured boy. Even if he was covered in blood and cuts, he still looked like the most perfect boy in the world to you. His light brown hair all disheveled, his eyes scrunched close. You took out your wand and murmured a healing spell you learned a few weeks ago and to your satisfaction, the deep cuts on his face and hands slowly started to fade until there was nothing but a small mark which would only be visible if looked closely.

You performed a cleaning charm, cleaning all of the blood from his body until he was spotless. You sighed again and leaned your back against the couch.

You had liked Remus Lupin ever since you laid eyes on him. Being a part of the group of the infamous pranksters, the Marauders, and being so ridiculously famous, the thought of him feeling the same for you almost sounded pathetic to you yourself but how you wished. How you wished he would look at you with love in his eyes, how you wished you would be able to run your hands through his soft light brown hair, how you wished he would call you his and his only, but that was impossible.

You were already considered an outcast in Hogwarts and Remus Lupin deserved better than to be with a monster. You.

When you felt sleep taking over you, you soundlessly stood up from the ground and looked at the boy you just healed minutes ago one last time before retreating back to your dorm and calling it a night.

Little did you know the boy was awake; he was just enjoying the feeling of being this close to you and watching you get concerned for him. As soon as you closed the door to your dorm, his eyes shot open and even with the pain shooting through his entire body, he smiled.

Maybe full moons weren’t so bad after all.

Taglist :

315 notes · View notes