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feelbokkie · 2 days

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Sorry, I Love You | Chapter 11

pairing: Jeongin x fem reader

genre/warnings: smau, crack, angst, fluff, non!idol au, friends to lovers, unrequited love, will they, won’t they dynamic, abusive relationship, alcohol abuse/alcoholism, emotional/psychological abuse

pov: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

warnings: Swearing, Soobin mention, mention of food, drinking/alcohol (drink responsibly)

summary: Jeongin is in love with his best friend and he has been ever since he met her back in high school. He’s not sure how Y/n feels about him and in order to persevere their friendship, it’s a secret he keeps to himself. But when Y/n starts showing interest in one of their new neighbors, Jeongin starts to worry about the future of their relationship.

taglist: CLOSED

word count: 4,836

screenshot count: 19

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"Uh-huh...Seung--Seungmin-" You wedge your phone between your face and shoulder as you run around your apartment getting your things ready.

"--I just think editing-wise, we can do a whole thing with color filters for mood--" Seungmin continues on the other end of the call.

"Seungmin, that's a good idea but--"

Knock knock

"Should we do that artificially with a filter in post or should we try to mess with the lighting? Lighting might look more natural but harder to produce since a lot of the film is outdoors--"

You drop your bag on your couch and roll your eyes before heading over to your front door, praying that Seungmin isn't on the other side. You love him, you really do, but he's been pestering you nonstop since the start of winter break about the film. You didn't even mean to answer his call. You were so busy getting ready to leave that you instinctively answered the phone without checking.

"That's a really good point and question, but Seungmin I have to--"

You pull open the door to find Jeongin standing on the other side. You raise an eyebrow at him, confused as to why he's even there. You thought he went home to Busan after his last final for the semester. But here he is, standing in front of you with his hands shoved into the pockets of his thick, black puffer jacket. A dark blue beanie sits on his head, pressing his bangs to his forehead. The bottoms of his blue jeans are soaked from walking through the snow. Or rather the slush on the floor that gives the false illusion of snow. You made the mistake of jumping into what you thought was a snow pile the other day and instead slipped into an unsuspecting ice puddle.

"Y/n? Are you listening to me? I'm trying to bounce ideas off of you and you're not throwing anything back." You can almost picture the pout sitting on Seungmin's face right now.

"Am I allowed to talk now?" You ask as you wave for Jeongin to come in.

"Who is that?" Jeongin asks, closing the door behind him and kicking off his shoes.

"Seungmin," You whisper back, holding the phone away from your face so he couldn't hear you. You can only imagine the rant Seungmin will go on if he thought you were ignoring him to talk to someone else.

Jeongin wastes no time yanking your phone out of your hand and putting it to his ear. "Hey, Seungmin, it's winter break. Go drink some hot chocolate and chill the hell out."

"But--" Jeongin ends the call before Seungmin can continue and hands you back your phone.

You stare at your phone for a second, waiting for Seungmin to call back before tossing it on the couch with your stuff. You take Jeongin by the hand and drag him over to the heater.

“Here, before you get hypothermia.” You mutter as you pull him to sit down.

“I’m not going to get hypothermia from the ends of my pants being wet, Y/n.” He laughs. Still, he sits on the ground to humor you.

You pull a blanket from your couch, the one that Lia made you for Christmas last year after complaining about how cold the winter is, and toss it around his shoulders. “Oh? Are you an expert on hypothermia?”

“It’s called common sense, idiot.” He smirks, lightly flicking your forehead.

“If you had any common sense, you would have rolled up your pant legs a bit to avoid this.” You crawl over to your couch and grab your phone to check the time, “I thought you went home like everyone else.”

“I decided to hang back and enjoy the quiet at the apartment. My parents don’t care as long as I’m back in time for midnight mass. Plus my brothers are annoying so staying here is a bonus.”

You swear under your breath when you realize how little time you have to get to the airport You toss your phone into your bag and triple-check that you have everything you need. "Not to be rude or anything, but you couldn't have come at a worse time, Innie."

"You have to go pick up your family from the airport, right?" You glance over at Jeongin as you slip your bag over your head. He's staring at you upside down, his head thrown backward. His round-rimmed black, lensless glasses slowly fall off his face.

"Yeah, and their flight is somehow early so I need to leave like, yesterday."

“Let’s go,” Jeongin slowly stands up and starts walking towards the front door.

“What?”

“Did you think I came here to spend time with you?” He says flatly.

The twitch in the corner of his mouth threatening to break into a smile gives him away. It's barely noticeable, but you know it's there. You've been friends with him long enough to be able to read him like a book. If you wait a little longer, he'll start to smile and then turn his head quickly so you don't see. His ears will turn red and he'll cover his mouth like he was trying to wipe it.

"You have nothing better to do than to drive me to pick up my family from the airport during break?" You question as you grab your apartment keys and meet him by the door.

"Didn't you know?" Jeongin leans down, placing his head on your shoulder, "I was placed on this earth to be your chauffeur. I'm fulfilling my one true purpose."

You slightly move to meet his eyes, careful to still keep your distance. You can feel the heat from his breath on your cheek. He looks at you with puppy dog eyes so soft and kind, they put a begging Kim Seungmin to shame.

"You're so fucking weird." You laugh, gently pushing him off your shoulder. His face feels warm against the palm of your hand. "This is why we need to get you a girlfriend. Someone to make you normal."

Jeongin opens the door and softly pushes you outside. You tighten the scarf around your neck as the cool air nips at your nose. "I'm normal enough around you."

"That is such a lie," You laugh again as he walks out of your apartment. You double-check that the door is locked and follow Jeongin to his car.

***

**Bold = English; Regular font = Korean**

You push in the door to your apartment and walk in first, holding the door open for your parents, brother, and Jeongin. It feels weird having your family in your apartment for the first time. In the four years you've lived in Korea, they've never been over once. Neither of your parents could take off time when you first moved and your brother was too busy moving back to his campus to help. They've seen your apartment in video calls and pictures, but having them standing in your tiny apartment is strange. For the longest time, it felt like you had two lives, one in South Korea and one back home. And now, both of those worlds are colliding. Even if it's only for a couple of weeks.

"Y/n, where do you want me to put these?" Jeongin asks, holding some of your mother's luggage.

"Just put it in my room, In. Thank you," You neatly organize everyone's shoes by the door, watching your family from the corner of your eyes. They took off their shoes when they came in, but their courtesy ends there as they now wander around the small apartment, opening doors and cabinets.

"You'd think with how much I'm paying for the place, it would be a bit bigger." Your father comments from the kitchen.

"It felt small at first, but it's just me so it's fine." You reassure him as you set your brother's things next to the couch. "You and mom are going to be in my room, by the way."

"Oh honey, you didn't have to give up your bed for us." Your mother coos, coming up behind you.

You know in the deepest crevice in your heart that, that's a lie. That if you didn't give your parents your room and instead gave them the pull-out couch that your brother is going to sleep on, she would fuss about it the entire time. Maybe even the rest of your life. Not in an obvious way, no that would be too kind. She'd make little comments about how her back hurts or how she could hardly get any sleep because she could hear the neighbors walking in the hallway. Or that the kitchen faucet kept her up all night. You love your mother, but sometimes she knows how to push all your buttons in the worst way possible.

"Y/n," Jeongin walks out of your room and makes his way over to you. "I'm going to head home now. Call me if you need anything."

"By home, you better mean Busan." You warn as you walk him to the door.

"What fun would that be? Plus, I've never experienced Seoul during Christmas." He grins at you as he pulls his shoes back on.

"And you're not going to this year. You said you're going back for midnight mass." You remind him.

"I can come back on Christmas day. I told you that we do everything on Christmas Eve since Christmas Day is Jesus' birthday. Something about greed and keeping it holy. I'm not going to miss out on anything," He stands up and readjusts his clothes.

"Yang Jeongin--"

"Oh, Y/n, is your friend leaving? Tell...what's his name again?" Your mother asks, coming up next to you.

"My name is Bob, ma'am." Jeongin stands up, extending his hand out to your mother.

"Be so fucking serious--" You glare at Jeongin before turning to your mother. "His name is Jeongin, mom."

"Jeongin, right. Tell Jeongin to stay for lunch at least. As a thank you for picking us up." Your mother places her hand on your shoulder, a large smile plastered on her face.

"Oh, it is okay. Enjoy family time." Jeongin reassures her.

"We insist. It's the least we can do. Think of it as a thank you for also taking care of my daughter."

"What are you doing?" You whisper.

"If it is okay with Y/n?"

"I'm being polite," Your mother whispers through a smile.

"You know how to do that--ow!" You rub your arm where your arm pinched you and pout at her.

"I didn't get to meet your other boyfriend, I'm going to meet this one." She finally admits.

"He's not my boyfriend. He's just my friend." You nearly shout.

"He knows his way around your apartment." She hums, not breaking eye contact with Jeongin.

"That's because he's my best friend, he spends a lot of time here. Hell, he practically lives here."

"He does what?" Your father asks, coming back into the living room.

"Kill me," You mutter under your breath, tossing your head back.

"If you insist, I'll stay for lunch. If that's okay with Y/n." Jeongin smiles at your mom, not even looking at you. He's good with moms, you'll give him that. You've witnessed him win over every single one of your friends' moms that you've met. It's impossible not to like him, but in this instance, you wish it was.

"What are you doing?" Your head snaps back up, raising an accusing eyebrow at Jeongin.

"She invited me for lunch." Jeongin tilted his head innocently.

"She's clearly jetlagged, don't listen to her." You groan.

"You're overreacting, it's just lunch." He laughs politely.

"And the twelve disciples thought the last supper was just dinner."

"That's blasphemous,"

"You're so right. Why don't you go home before I drag you to hell with me? Better yet, go all the way to Busan."

"Lover's quarrel?" Your brother pops up out of who knows where and drops down on the couch behind you.

Five minutes. It takes your family five minutes in your apartment, a grand total of twenty-five minutes in South Korea in general, for your family to completely drive you up the wall. It all floods back, why you left in the first place. You could have attended film school back home, but you decided to move as far as you could and somewhere they wouldn't have any interest in visiting. You wouldn't have to deal with them much outside of weekly phone calls. Your family could be worse, but the constant meddling in your life is enough to drive you insane.

Annoyed, you grab Jeongin's hand and drag him off to the kitchen. His fingers are stiff in your hand, almost like he's unsure if he should wrap his fingers around your hand. "C'mon, Bob, let's go make lunch."

"I'm...I'm not allowed in the kitchen," He stammers.

"Don't worry, I'm not an idiot. You're not going to cook anything." You let go of his hand as soon as you are far enough in the kitchen. You finally turn around to face him. His ears are as red as the shirt poking out from under his jacket. "I'm just saving you from my family interrogating you."

"I wouldn't mind," He coughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You say that now," You roll your eyes as you grab the apron next to him. You grab one of your spare aprons and hand it to him. "But trust me, after like 2 minutes along with them, you'd be begging me to save you."

"It can't be that bad."

"Speaking of bad," You toss the apron on and tie the string in the back, looking him in the eyes again, "When did you get so good at English?"

"I've been practicing," He follows suit and puts his apron on.

"For?" You walk past him and begin getting ingredients from your fridge.

"...My...resume." He mutters.

"What kind of reasoning is that? You aren't even that prepared for class."

"His name is Bob?" You hear your brother asking your parents.

You let out a deep sigh as you set everything on the counter, "Idiots, both of you."

***

"Mom and dad are asleep, let's go out." Your brother says, walking back into the kitchen where you and Jeongin are talking.

Somehow, lunch turned into dinner which turned into the five you you playing card games until your parents decided to call it for the night. You're exhausted too, although, you're not sure if it's from all the translating you've been doing or just the overall energy you've been exerting for the day.

"And do what, exactly?" You question, dealing out the cards that Jeongin just shuffled.

"Isn't there a place around here that's popular for clubs and stuff?" Your brother sits down in the seat next to you. He rests his head in the palm of his hand and stares at the both of you.

"Are you talking about Hongdae?" Jeongin asks, picking up his deck.

"Yeah, yeah, Häagen-Dazs!" Your brother says happily.

"There is no way in hell you heard him and thought he said Häagen-Dazs--How are we related?" You fold your arms on the table and drop your head into them, resisting the urge to just slam your head into the table at your brother's stupidity. "Anyways, you're too old for Hongdae."

"I'm 25?" Your brother furrows your eyebrows at you.

"Exactly, you're basically geriatric here. They're not letting you in." You explain, lifting your head.

"Plus you're a foreigner. A male one at that." Jeongin adds.

"But...but you guys are young enough right? You can get me in. Plus if Y/n dresses how she did in high school, the bouncers will be too distracted and let us in."

"You're just going to pimp out your baby sister like that?"

"What else are you good for?"

"Literally anything else," You slap his arm and roll your eyes. "Besides, I'm not sneaking you into a club so you can whore around and cheat on your girlfriend. You know, the one you've been dating for 10 years and still haven't proposed to."

Your brother hangs his head low and picks up his cards. "She left me,"

"You should have proposed," You joke, still looking at your cards.

"Don't kick me when I'm down," He groans, dropping his head to the table.

"Down bad, maybe,"

"I'm down bad? What about the time you--"

"Finish that sentence and mom and dad are going to spend Christmas fishing your body out of the Han River." You threaten.

"'Whoring around?' 'Down bad?'" Jeongin whispers to you.

"Channie after two bottles of soju and beer," You explain simply.

"Ah, a slut. Got it." He gives a firm, understanding nod and goes back to looking at his cards. "You know, we could sneak him in. He looks a little sad about his girlfriend leaving him."

"He's just being dramatic. He'll be fine," You wave him off.

You know Jeongin is right. You could just sneak him in. It might be harder with just the three of you, but you've done it before with your friend group. Back before most of you were old enough to get into clubs, you figured out how to sneak your entire friend group in. Did it set the feminist movement back a few decades? Sure, but it was worth it to spend a few hours partying with your friends.

Your eyes can't help but wander over to your brother. You chew on the corner of your bottom lip as you think about it. Sure, he's a pain in the ass, but he's still your older brother. He's taken you to places he normally wouldn't be caught dead to cheer you up growing up. Watch movies that he claims he hates and let you paint his nails and practice makeup on him more times than you can count. He did it while huffing and puffing about how much he disliked it, but he still did it.

"Shit," You mutter under your breath, "Okay, give me twenty minutes."

~~~

The hard beat of whatever music is being played too loudly over the speakers booms through your body. You can barely see two feet in front of you, with how poorly lit the club is. It's hot, which was a nice contrast from the cold outside when you first walked in, but it's become increasingly uncomfortable, nearly unbearable, in a short amount of time. The Irish coffee he had ordered for you when you first came in was a good idea in theory, something that would keep you awake and still let you share a drink with your brother. But now it's too hot to drink coffee with whisky in it. You had to steal a few ice cubes from Jeongin's water to cool it down enough so you drink it without feeling hot yourself.

"He's having fun," Jeongin points to your brother in the mass of sweaty bodies dancing in front of you. He has his tongue down the throat of some girl whose name you're certain he can't pronounce.

"I'm going to be sick," You groan, leaning further into the seat of the booth you're in. The red plastic leather peels off your skin, nearly glued to you from how long you've sat there. You're glad he's having fun, you just wish he wouldn't do it in your line of sight.

Jeongin laughs and pats your hand, trying to reassure you. His head softly bounces in tune to the music being played. You take a sip of your drink before leaning back again, the bitterness from both the coffee and the whisky hit your tongue in a way that makes you pull a slight face. The whisky burns your throat as it goes down. You feel all warm and fuzzy like you're being hugged from the inside. Except, it's one of those uncomfortable hugs that go on too long and make you feel too hot. There's not much you could do, you already took off your jacket after a few minutes of being in the club.

"Hey," A guy who looks to be around your age, maybe a little older, says, sliding into the booth next to you. "you look bored, do you want to come home with me to eat ramen?"

You close your eyes and take a deep breath before turning your head in his direction. You're entirely too tired, hot, and tipsy to deal with any of his bullshit. "Fuck off,"

"What did you say?" His tone is sharp. You're not sure if he's taken aback by the fact that you can speak Korean or how disrespectful you're being towards him, but you can feel the change of energy radiating off of him.

You feel an unexpected weight on your shoulders. Your eyes flick down and see Jeongin's hand hanging off your shoulder, carefully making sure not to touch you inappropriately. He leans in close, pulling you away from the guy and staring at him in the eyes. "She said 'fuck off.' Now go,"

The man looks between the two of you before letting out an exaggerated scoff and getting up from the table. The two of you watch as he walks over to another table, this one filled with a few girls who are definitely a little too drunk.

"Thanks," You say simply, resting your head back. Jeongin doesn't remove his arm, allowing you to use him as a cushion. You think for a moment, something about this situation is familiar. Not an exact match, but a similar one. You can't help but let out a low chuckle when you realize why.

"What's so funny," Jeongin's other hand brushes against your cheek, moving a stray piece of hair that you weren't aware of that was stuck to your cheek.

"Nothing," You slightly shake your head.

"You're laughing, how is that nothing?"

"It's sad, not funny" You sit up slightly, taking another sip of your drink. "The last time I was in Hongdae, that was pretty much happening a lot. Soobin and I were already bickering the entire night so we got into a fight about it. He was so mad that he made me walk home. Alone. It was pouring rain too,"

“Is that where that cold you had around my birthday came from?”

You let out a low hum and slightly nod your head. Your eyes flutter shut, the warmth in your body leaving slowly. Or maybe you're finally getting used to the heat. Your body feels like it's floating above the table you and Jeongin are sitting at. You know you have a higher alcohol tolerance, but maybe the exhaustion is making you more susceptible to the whiskey in your drink.

“Why didn’t you call me?” He whispers, his voice is soft and warm like honey against your ear.

“It was around 3 am. Didn’t wanna bother you,”

For a second, you're no longer floating but falling. No, not falling, you're being dragged down. Only for a second. You open your eyes slowly. The crowd in front of you is now slightly tilted like you're suddenly in the Leaning Tower of Pisa. It takes you a second to realize that your head is resting on Jeongin's chest.

Badum

You're not sure if your heart is beating in tune with the music or trying to keep up with the thumping coming from Jeongin's chest. The thumping in his chest doesn't match up with the music. It's louder and faster than the song that's currently playing. Your left-hand snakes up and presses on his chest, trying to settle his heartbeat, the fabric of his red cotton shirt soft and nearly silky underneath your fingertips.

“Idiot,” He murmurs. He pulls you in a little closer, making the beating of his heart louder in your ear. “You don’t bother me. Stop thinking you're a burden on others when you're not. I'll pick up anytime you call so don't do that again. Okay?”

“Hmm,” You hum in agreement, your eyes fluttering shut again. The beating in his chest slowly settles into a calm, soothing rhythm. You can't even hear the music anymore, only his heartbeat. The smell of his cologne, which somehow managed to last the entire day, finds its way into your nose giving you some sense of security and familiarity. Somehow, it smells more like home than your parents did when you hugged them. Your hand lightly grips the fabric of his shirt as you just lay there.

“C’mon, let’s go dance,” He says, tapping your forehead with his free hand.

“Dance?” You mumble, cracking one eye open.

“You’re falling asleep or passing out from being tipsy. Either way, it’s not going to look good for either one of us if I have to carry you out of here. So let’s dance,” He pulls you upright just as smoothly as he pulled you onto his chest.

You turn to look at him, both of your eyes open now. His face is red, almost like he's been drinking something other than water alongside you this entire time. You reach out and place your hand against his face, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb, his skin hot against it yet again. “Careful, Yang Jeongin, someone might think you're in love with me.”

He slowly sucks in his lower lip, his eyes dance across your face. Like you're a book and he's trying to decipher your words. Or maybe he's trying to find his own and the answer lies in your eyes. He grabs your wrist and pulls your hand off his face before sliding his hand up, taking your hand in his. He gently leans forward, next to your ear. His breath makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. "Would that be so bad?"

You pull away from him, leaving your hand in his, and narrow your eyes at him, trying to read him. You're not sure if he's serious or if the alcohol that's quickly leaving your system is making you misunderstand what's happening. Your eyes scan his face for answers and, unlike him, you're unsuccessful. His face is redder than it was before. It's almost like he's absorbing all the alcohol in your system through your hand.

“In—”

Thump

Someone bumps into your table, causing your drink to topple over and spill onto both of your laps.

"Shit," Jeongin mutters as he drops your hand and scrambles to grab whatever napkins are on the table. He gives some to you and helps you clean up the now ice-cold drink that's dripping down to your feet, his own pants being neglected.

"I'll be right back," He says quickly before leaving you at the table and disappearing in the direction of the bathrooms.

Before you can even process what happened, your brother slides into the booth next to you. "People here are weird. I was making out with that girl and all of a sudden she's talking to me about ramen."

You quickly shake your head and focus your attention on your brother. You pick up the now empty cup that used to hold your cocktail and go back to trying to clean your jeans. "You're going to be so upset you said 'no' later."

"Was ramen code for something?" He turns his full body to face you. You glance at him before going back to clean up your mess. There's a small red mark at the base of his neck and dark pink lipstick smeared across his mouth. You can only imagine how much trouble he was about to get himself into.

"I'll tell you later," You wad up the dirty napkins and put them in your cup.

Your brother looks around, realizing that something is missing, "Where's your boyfriend?"

You freeze at the word boyfriend. You're used to people assuming that you're dating Jeongin, but somehow, this time feels different. Before, it always sounded accusatory. Like the two of you couldn't be just friends. That you were using the term "friends" as a veil to hide illicit-esque behavior. But now...

"Would that be so bad?"

Your brain replays that phrase in your head over. Surely, he was taking advantage of your intoxicated state to tease you like he usually does. That, had you not been interrupted by cold whiskey and coffee pouring into your lap, he would have let out a loud laugh and left his mouth hang so widely open that you wouldn't be able to see past the dark-lined half-moons where his eyes should be as you stammered out a response. Something that he would tease you about for the rest of your lives.

"He's not my boyfriend, dumbass. We're just friends." You sigh, thumping your brother on the back of his head.

Your brother rolls his eyes as he rubs the back of his head, a smile that would make the Cheshire cat envious spreads across his face. "Look, I'm saying this as both your older brother and as a guy, you may be 'just friends' with him, but he’s definitely not 'just friends' with you,”

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

Taglist

Red means that it wouldn't let me tag you (either at all or properly)

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @marked-unknown @veedoesntknaur @nuronhe

*the rest of the taglist is in the comments*

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teleplague · 3 days

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I would love to see your take on Will Graham from the tv series Hannable, I feel like you would be really great at capturing his hopeless insanity

Heya, I apologize for the late response but I drew a sketch portrait of him today based specifically on this question. I tried my best to capture his essence to convey some sense of being lost or reflecting an unsettling mood with his expression — prior to your comment. I think this drawing really indicates how his character’s personality is like in the show

This came out alright, but I’ll definitely draw more fanart for the show soon. I have plenty of ideas featuring other characters and scenes because the show inspires me.. If you’re interested—hang tight :)

Feel free to drop any questions you might have, Im always ready to answer them!!

#artists on tumblr #artwork #digital art #my artwork #sketch #sketchbook #traditional drawing #traditional sketch #art dump #fanart #hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal fanart #will graham #will graham fanart #hannibal art #hannibal show

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gunsandspaceships · 2 days

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Tony’s Childhood. Part 2.1. Effects: Own Will

Before this part, be sure to read Part 1.

If you're not aware of Tony's strange understanding of the importance of his own wants and needs, check out this post from daydreamsandnightlights.

Here I will try to explain the roots of this behavior.

At age 4 Tony built his first circuit board (IM1)

At age 6 built his first engine (IM1)

Let's think about what it meant that he built all these things at such an early age. Was this his own or his father's will?

Let’s take Morgan for comparison – she is indeed a brilliant kid too, since at the age of 5 she can count up to 3000 (ordinary kids count up to 1000 at the age of 8), knows how much is in a ton, what “disintegrate” means and can easily manipulate her dad, a genius.

Looking at Morgan's behavior, we can assume that she is already capable of building a circuit board under the guidance of her father. But she doesn't. Because her father does not demand this from her. She is a kid. She plays with plush dogs and beavers, sleds on Captain America’s shield, and likes to have bedtime stories read to her before bed. She sneaks into her father’s garage because there are interesting things inside that she can take and play with, not to build something and add it to the list of impressive achievements.

The question is: did Tony want to create things because he liked it, or because his father did it and wanted his son to do the same?

We know that Howard had plans for Tony to "change the world" with Howard's ideas about the future. Apparently, he was preparing Tony for this purpose.

Do small children have a desire to tinker and build things? Some yes. Do they want to or should they play with cubes and constructor sets? Yes. Do they want to or should they work with real motorcycle engines and soldering irons? Hell no. They usually don't have the appropriate motor skills to do this, so they can easily hurt themselves. I'll talk more about this later when I discuss his pain tolerance.

I think it’s impossible to say now whether Tony was interested in engineering from that age (I mean sincere desire, not ability). So we cannot answer that question. But I doubt 4-year-old Tony realized what he was doing when building computer parts. He liked it though. Because those were probably the only times he spent time with his father.

Howard continued to deny his son his will when Tony was sent to boarding school when Tony was 7 years old. There he had a regulated, planned life for 7 years. Then college for another 7. And then became the youngest CEO at 21. None of this sounds like a child’s “I did what I wanted”.

He did not express his will but pleased others. Because this way he received a little love. Or a substitute for love, to be precise. And when, perhaps for the first time, he was taken care of by Yinsen, who saved him, even in such a terrible way, and died for him, he was incredibly grateful. And after that, his attitude towards people changed.

But not the attitude of people towards him, since they continued to want something from him, expecting the same behavior that they were used to seeing from the “rich and famous”.

*Doesn’t want to celebrate his birthday with a bunch of strangers in his house? Wants to spend his last days with the woman he loves? DENIED*

*Needs psychological support from people he trusts? DENIED*

*Wants to save the team from a breakup because he cares and knows what’s coming? DENIED*

Conclusion: Tony didn't belong to himself his whole life. He didn’t use to defend his own, laid deep within, interests. First, his will was moved aside by his father’s. Then Stane’s and the public’s. Fury then came with his Initiative without asking what Tony wanted. Then S.H.I.E.L.D. came to him (not) asking to find Tesseract and save the world. Then the whole team came. Then the government with its Accords, and so on and so forth. None of them bothered to ask, “What do you want, Tony?”. And the only times he insisted on something, were the times when he tried to keep the team together and prevent their death.

#tony stark #iron man #marvel #mcu #the avengers #captain america civil war #avengers age of ultron #iron man 3 #pepper potts #avengers endgame #captain america #morgan stark #psychology #iron man 2 #howard stark

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jooba · 2 days

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wolfman x reader

"Imagine getting the great news that you're one of a million civilians chosen to go to a distant planet, to intermingle with the local aliens. Unfortunately, your online friend doesn't exactly seem to like that idea."

TW: MDNI, reader referred to as 'girl', sexual desires, anxiety, neurodivergent reader, reader big dumb, licking, 'virgin' reader, hand appreciation

wordcount: 2,388

Three words: Civilian Space Program. The most incredible opportunity of a lifetime (for an average Joe like you).

One word: Congratulations! The letter you held in your shaking hands almost didn’t seem real. It was glossy, professional, and signed by someone so important that it was a 100% probability that you would never breathe the same air as them. Congratulations! But it was real, and your life would never be the same. You were going to space. To meet aliens. Your poor little heart almost couldn’t take it. Breath labored, you quickly snapped a picture of the letter before posting it to all of your socials. Quickly, friends and family bombarded you with questions and excitement, just as in disbelief as you are. Several phone calls later, and plenty of assurances to those with concerns, you fell back onto your couch, still clutching the letter. In just a month, you would be boarding a vessel with 14 other civilians, shipped off to the planet Geron 6GI, and left there for 3 years to “create relations” and “cultivate a human lifestyle”. Whatever that means. All you knew was that you… were a monsterfucker… and… well… aliens are sort of like monsters too.

In your elation, you nearly missed the newest comment on your Instagram post. It was Peter, an online friend whom you had known for years. It simply said, “call me.” Peter knew about the program and how badly you wanted to be in it, but he was pretty adamant that your chances were too low. Smiling, you dialed his number. He answered on the first ring, speaking before you had a chance to.

“This is serious? You’re serious?”

“Of course! I’m freaking out, Peter. I’m going to SPACE. I’m going to fuck so many aliens, you don't even know. Well, you do know, but-”

“You’re leaving in a month?” He asked. You kicked your legs in glee, squealing.

“Yep! 3 years in space and depending on how the program goes it might go on for longer. God, should I bring my toys? Do you think they’ll even be allowed on the flight? But what if the aliens have toys that I can buy…” Your breath hitched just at the thought. There was silence on his end for a few moments.

“You’re a virgin.” Cheeks turning red, you scoffed into your phone.

“So what?”

“So you’re giving yourself away to some random alien?” He hissed the word lowly, talking in a manner you had never heard from him before. You take a second to collect your thoughts, not understanding where his aggression is coming from.

“Peter… we live in the 21st century. Virginity is a stupid construct. Besides, I uh... I’m not really a virgin, you know.”

“What?”

“Ugh, can we not talk about this? So embarrassing…” You mumble, turning to a more comfortable position on the couch. There was silence as both of you struggled with what to say next. It wasn’t like you were actually embarrassed talking about sexual things, but Peter had a way of making your stomach flutter. It was awful having a mini crush on someone online, and even worse when he insisted on hearing all the details of your life. All the details.

“I’m going to come see you.” He said, sighing into the phone. You froze, blinking in surprise. The two of you had never met in real life before, you’ve never even seen a picture of him! Sometimes, you would discuss meeting, but he lived a long flight away and schedules never seemed to work out. Over time, the thought of seeing him in person became too daunting, and you always shot him down. What if he thought you were too ugly to be friends with? What if the two of you couldn’t get along in person, and he lost interest?

“A-are you sure, Peter?” You could hear the smile in his voice as he responded.

“Of course.”

You stood nervously in the airport, shifting back and forth. People kept glancing at you, giving you curious glances. Avoiding eyes with an old troll whose beard desperately needed maintenance, you wiped the sweat from your face with your sleeve. Maybe you’d be less nervous if you had brought a friend with you to pick up Peter… Your phone buzzed with a text.

landing now

You watch as the terminal quickly fills up with tired travelers. Eyes swiping back and forth from person to person, you attempt to pick out a man to match Peter’s description of himself. But his description was so vague, all you really knew was that apparently he was tall and had brown hair.

Someone bumps into you, and your phone clatters to the ground. They quickly apologize but scurry away too quickly for you to get a good look at them. Grumbling, you bend down to pick up your phone, dusting it off and checking for cracks. When your eyes lift, your heart explodes in surprise at the wolfman standing before you. Hot! Inner you squeals. Standing nearly two heads taller than you, he’s lean and dressed very cleanly. Chestnut-colored fur streaks around his cheeks and neck, speckled with darker colors around his hairline and dipping underneath his shirt. Black eyes peer at you, squinting slightly.

“Oh, um. Hi!” You laugh nervously, tugging at your hair. “Just dropped my phone.” You wave your phone in front of you, but then quickly tuck it away when you realize how dumb you probably looked. The wolfman’s mouth slowly curls up into a predatory smile, top lip slightly gaped to allow for pointy fangs to peek through.

“You’re cute,” he says quietly, eyes appraising your figure. You have to desperately ignore the urge to cover yourself from his evaluating gaze. You laugh weakly.

“T-thanks.” You give him a small smile. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. He hikes his backpack up over his shoulders, raising one eyebrow at you. Does he want something from you…? Oh god. Despite his good looks, it’s not the best time to be flirting with someone: not when you’re waiting for Peter.

“I’m sorry. I’m.. uh… picking up a friend. Sorry.” You glance away from him, pretending to search the crowd for Peter. Why is he taking so long?

The wolfman grumbles with quiet laughter, almost a mixture of a purr and low-pitched whine. It's a rather charming sound. Suddenly, his clawed hand is on your scalp, rubbing against your hair to mess it up. He tugs certain strands this way and that, causing an absolute mess. You gasp, pulling away, quickly attempting to fix the mess he just made.

“You’re even denser in person than I thought you would be,” he says, looking extremely satisfied at your misery. His ears twitch slightly. You pause, squinting up at him in irritation.

“Well, that’s rude. And please don’t touch my hair, I don’t know you.” You take a step back away from him in caution just to be safe.

The wolfman huffs, rolling his eyes slowly. “That’s the thing. You do know me.” He pulls his phone out, and types onto it quickly, before looking at you expectantly. Your phone buzzes. A message from Peter.

right in front of you. so dense.

You can’t quiet the gasp that leaves your mouth in time. You gape up at him, astonished.

“You never told me you were a wolfman!?!”

Heart racing, you bring your knuckle up to your mouth and light chew on a finger. All these years, all the calls and long talks and he never thought to mention his species?! Oh god, you have said so many embarrassing things to him: things you would never say to a non-human. Things about giant monster cocks and clawed hands and fluffy sensitive ears and oh my GOD. You swear heat is steaming out of your ears with how embarrassed you are.

“Didn’t think it mattered,” he shrugs. He reaches up to lightly scratch at one fluffy ear, maintaining eye contact with you. It twitches at his touch, apparently sensitive. You want to coo and squeal at how cute it is, but you restrain, just barely. Gnawing on your finger, you avert your eyes. You must not look at the handsome wolfman. Must resist. Must get Peter home without drowning in your drool…

One car ride home, hours of gentle ribbing and teasing, a desperate call to the nearest fast food joint, and a change into pajamas later, you find yourself sitting on your couch, a bowl of popcorn in hand, waiting patiently for Peter to join you. He’s taking a long time in the bathroom, but you’re not too worried. It seemed your apartment was a bit too small for him, and he was constantly ducking his head and squeezing past your furniture. Admittedly, it was really charming. You can’t help but shovel popcorn into your face as you wait. You can’t wait too long, otherwise the popcorn will get stale! In the middle of licking your fingers free from butter and salt, Peter plops down next to you. You slide down the couch and end up sitting right against you. He wraps an arm around you on the couch, hands already playing with your hair. He’s dressed in loose pajama pants and a t-shirt that says ‘You are fang-tastic!’ in faded letters.

“Really couldn’t wait for me, huh.” You smile in embarrassment, pulling your fingers out of your mouth. His dark eyes quickly zero in on your glistening fingers. Grimacing, you go to wipe them on your pants, but his hand wraps around your wrist before you can. You immediately notice how much bigger his hand is than yours, and how fur wraps around his knuckles but his fingers and palm are bare.

“Let me,” he purrs, eyes drooping into half lids. He opens his mouth and a long, pink tongue rolls out. It’s rounded at the end and fades into a slight purple the further back it gets. You’re instantly drawn to it and watch in stunned silence as he brings your fingers up to his mouth. He licks a long stripe up your fingers before twisting and turning them to lap at every inch. Quickly, your fingers become drenched in hot saliva. You clench your thighs, wishing he would put that tongue somewhere else… A soft noise leaves you, and he meets your eyes again. You mentally berate yourself for having dirty thoughts about your friend. He nips gently at your pointer finger. You squeak and pull your hand away, face certainly red. You hold your hand to your chest limply, now drenched in saliva. You blink at him, words caught in your throat.

“Mmm… tastes good.” Right. Good popcorn. Ha ha… ha… The TV blares and the two of you startle at the noise. Peter is quick to grab the remote and mute it. He watches the quiet television for a moment, throat bobbing.

“Let’s talk for a moment, space girl.” His voice is almost... uncertain. You grin unabashedly at the nickname, pleased. It immediately calms you down and you find yourself relaxing.

“Sure!” You place the popcorn down and turn on the couch, facing him directly. He turns to face you as well, one leg crossing over the other. The arm around the back of the couch begins to tap on the cushion.

“Just let me talk for a moment, no interruptions, okay?” He raises an eyebrow when you open your mouth to respond, and you huff, but stay quiet.

“Honestly, I thought I was being pretty straightforward with you all this time, but with this space fiasco, I knew you weren’t exactly getting the message. Had to talk to you face-to-face. I’ll make this short and sweet, easy to understand. I don’t want you going to space.” He raises one hand when you look like you are about to object. Breathing deeply, he continues.

“Don’t go to space. Stay here. I’ll give you all the monster cock you want, promise… I’m not usually one to wait so long, but I knew during our first call I would have to take it slow with you. I’ve been biding my time all these years, slowly getting to know you, waiting for my chance. And then I saw your post. When I saw that, it left me ‘peterified’.” He chuffs at his joke, pleased.

“So yeah, I’ve got feelings for you. And a lot of them revolve around ramming my cock down your throat. Or god, knotting you,” he sighs wistfully as he speaks. He looks like he wants to say more, but stops himself.

Ho….ly…. SHIT! You’re frozen on the spot, mind racing with a thousand dirty thoughts. You’ve dreamt of this moment, dreamt of a monster desiring you. And now…now you’re presented with an opportunity.

“F-forget space! Oh my god. Peter? Peter!” You’re squealing now, your body shaking with excitement. You stand up and begin pacing, not even really aware of what you’re doing. Peter relaxes on the couch, mouth tilted up in a sly smile.

“This is crazy. Are you serious? He’s serious. I-I need to shave! And prep! Oh god, I don’t know if I’m ready for this…” You bite at your finger nervously, the beginnings of nausea twisting your stomach. Who knew that aching and wanting something for so long would have you feeling so sick?

Peter tugs at your hand, slowing your pacing.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, you nut. Just breathe.” He breathes in deeply, and you copy him instinctually. He guides your breath into something much slower, much more manageable. You smile at him gratefully, falling onto the couch.

“Sorry, this is just… a lot,” you sigh out. He shakes his head.

“Not at all. Just take it easy.” He nudges your knee with his. “Just think about it, yeah?” You nudge him back, eyes twinkling.

“So, all this time you’ve…” you question. He simply nods his head.

“But you didn’t even know what I looked like?” You're surprised when his face starts to turn a gentle shade of red. He coughs into his fist, looking away. He speaks, in a cool tone that doesn’t match his cheeks, “Yeah, I knew right from the start. Your looks are just a plus.”

Aaand now you’re looking away, embarrassed.

“Oh, okay,” you mumble.

#suggest TW #monster fucker #wolfman x reader #monster x reader #sorry #hmmm should i write more for Peter?#x reader #not a werewolf #MDNI #monster/alien/human society #not proofread #its 2 am

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writingquestionsanswered · 21 hours

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Hi, I was wondering if two brothers can rule different states or provinces? Currently, I’m writing an original story where I was inspired by the Tang Dynasty, ancient Japan as well as Persia.

Brothers Ruling Different States/Provinces

This is kind of a tough question to answer but I'll do my best. My lens is via Europe, so we'll go from there and see where it gets us.. :)

First, it's worth starting with understanding the division of territory, both in your inspiration locations and your own story. Monarchic states (such as a kingdom) were sometimes subdivided into smaller administrative territories with appointed rulers who managed the territory behalf of the king and were subordinate to him. In Europe, these would be things like duchies (ruled by a duke), county (ruled by a count), barony (ruled by a baron), marches (ruled by a marquess). I'm not sure what the equivalent would be in Ancient China, Ancient Japan, or Ancient Iran. In Europe, things like states and provinces were colonial territories, which were ruled by an appointed governor. In an Empire, typically the absorbed territories would continue to be ruled by their usual ruler, it's just that they would now be subordinate to the emperor who ruled over a collection of territories.

Second, it's also worth understanding how the rule of monarchic states is typically determined and passed down. Most monarchies have been patriarchal meaning that they pass primarily from father to the oldest son. If there are no sons, the crown would pass from grandfather to oldest grandson. If there are no grandsons, from brother to next oldest brother. If there are no brothers, from uncle to oldest nephew. You get the idea. The leaders of monarchic states and colonial territories would be appointed by the king. So, theoretically, a king could potentially make a pair of brothers dukes with their own duchies... but they're not really rulers so much as managers on behalf of the king. A king could also make two brothers governors of different colonial states, provinces, or territories, but again, they're not really "ruling" these territories so much as governing them on behalf of the monarch.

Now, does it work the same in Ancient China, Ancient Japan, or Ancient Iran? I have no idea, but my guess is it's probably similar even if the specific words, subdivisions, etc. are different. If your story is an obvious analogue of one or all of those places, you may want to do some further research to see what you can learn so you can figure out how best to do it. If you're writing fantasy, you've got some more wiggle room. But, in the best interest of simplicity, I think going the route of having the monarch award two brothers each with the leadership of their own monarchic state would be a good route to go. And if you need these monarchic states to be rivals in some way, you could probably achieve that by creating some conflict between them that makes them rivals even though they're subjects of the same crown.

I hope that helps!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

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tswwwit · 8 months

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Lol omg at your last ask because imagine dippers under some truth spell and ends up spilling a bunch of secrets that Bill already knew and had stashed to use for later

This is no longer 'last ask' relevant because I had this partially written in my drafts for like a million years - but a Truth spell on Dipper would be very interesting!

So I took this prompt and didn't really answer it except in some ways.

Here's a thing!

“You never bring me any souvenirs.” Bill complains. In an all-too-whiny tone, and an all-too-close lean into Dipper's personal space.

Plus, it's a blatant lie. One Dipper shouldn't respond to.

He does anyway. “I literally brought you harpy feathers last week.”

“Doesn’t count! That was for a ritual you wanted to pull off!” Bill sounds miffed, though he also plants a palm on Dipper’s head and starts ruffling hair. “Now where's the emerald from last March? Or like, the headdress from that cult with all the rabbit bones? The good stuff."

Dipper grunts. He focuses on navigating back out of the cave, turning the clay tablet over in his hands.

Figures Bill would remember all the times he did get something. His memory is excellent. And he’s greedy, because a new toy every time is a big ask.

What does Bill expect, anyway. Not every situation Dipper gets into has something to bring back. What could he even offer? An ear taken off every monster he has to fight?

Wait, no. Bill would love that.

Dipper makes a face. “You've just proved that it's not ‘never’. With examples."

"Sure, but when’s the last time it was cool?”

Dipper sighs. No point in arguing. Bill could go on forever about how 'unfair' it is that he doesn't get trophies from every trip, or trinkets from conquered lands, or, again, ears from every enemy. When he’s decided to complain, no reasonable argument will shake him out of it.

“Too bad, then. You’re only getting some gifts.” Dipper shakes his head rapidly to dislodge Bill’s hand from his hair. "It’s hardly the worst thing that’s ever happened to you."

“Hey! I could argue that it’s related! In fact -”

Dipper tunes out the rest of Bill’s ramble, rolling his eyes. Listening with half an ear to Bill's ongoing tirade about being a poorly kept man, and unappreciated in his time.

Despite how much he already has, Bill always wants more. Somehow he sniffed out Dipper’s latest excursion, showing up right at the end and looking for ‘loot’.

Which Dipper, by all rights, should prevent.

Anything magical falling into Bill's hands can cause chaos, no matter how innocuous it seems. The flower incident alone is reason not to hand Bill anything, ever, and the fact that Dipper still does sometimes should be appreciated, damn it.

Bill's complaining on and on, but whatever. Eventually he'll get bored.

In the meantime, Dipper turns the clay tablet around again with a frown. He found something interesting, at least.

Whatever this is, it’s definitely not a language he recognizes. The script is strange, scrawled in different directions. For all he knows he’s holding it upside down. He hopes Bill doesn’t notice until he’s figured out -

"Whatcha got there?" Just as expected - and right on time.

Dipper feels the tablet yanked out of his grasp, unfazed. He doesn't break his stride.

"I found it in the lair, after... you know." Charred bones, explosions - Dipper wishes he could use, like water, or something, but mastery over even one element is powerful as is. "Anyway, that monster was collecting a lot of weird magic stuff, and this was the only interesting thing it had." He shrugs. Then, because Bill will like it, adds, "So... to the victor go the spoils?"

“Now that’s the spirit!” Bill gives him a grin, holding the tablet up to squint at it. Thankfully not turning it around. One point for Dipper, on not looking incompetent.

Still, if anyone can read it…

“What language is this?” Dipper not-so-subtly leans over, trying to peek around Bill’s arm.

"Old Draconic," Bill says, without missing a beat. Humming to himself as he apparently reads the text. Perking up a bit, smile widening. "Oh, hey! Iambic pentameter."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing, sapling. I just wish when people did the whole 'ancient poetry curse' thing, they'd get a little more creative. You never see hexameter! Or tetrameter! Not even a tasteful use of spondee.” Bill sticks his tongue out. "Come to think of it - I don’t think anyone’s done a prose epic that made the reader wanna tear their eyes out since Joyce."

Sometimes with Bill, you have to read between the lines. The long, irrelevant babbling lines.

"Just tell me if I need to get Ford or not." Dipper says, flat. He rubs at the bridge of his nose.

Among all the other stuff, Bill said ‘curse’. Never, ever a good sign.

Though the monster he just took down wasn’t a dragon, and that wasn’t really a ‘horde’ so much as something resembling the contents of the Mystery Shack, there’s absolutely no good thing about a curse. If Dipper somehow triggered it -

Great. As if hanging around Bill alone didn’t invite enough bad fortune, he’s picking up parts of his own stupid curiosity.

"Nah, don’t bother with the loser uncle!" Bill waves his concern away, amused. “This is just purple prose! Buncha ‘oooh, bad things’ll happen if you mess with my stuff.’ Totally boilerplate spellcraft with some flowery wording.”

With a shrug, Bill dismisses the whole thing. Which includes chucking the tablet over his shoulder, but Dipper manages to snag it before it falls and shatters into a million pieces.

“Typical dragon horde enchantment. All bluster, no burning.” Bill keeps walking without a care in the world. “They’re full of hot air!”

“So I’m not cursed,” Dipper prompts, catching up to him. “Aside from you, I mean.”

“Flatterer,” Bill says, slightly warmer. He continues, shrugging. “No reason you would be! No dragons in the area, and the warning sign there’s too old. By my guess, the original horde was raided centuries ago! Just another piece of random crap that got dragged into that junkyard." And he ruffles Dipper’s hair again, in the second-most annoying way. "You’re stuck with me, though.”

Dipper ducks and twists, thus freeing himself from the minor torment. “I think I can live with that.”

One would think that chatting with a demon - one as cryptic and ominous and aggravating as Bill - would only cause irritation, at best.

It still does, of course. But when it comes to Dipper, Bill… sometimes lays things out straight. On occasion. Especially when he’s instructing, doubly when it comes to magic. Like he’s trying to pour all the facts he can into Dipper’s brain, overfilling the cup.

If his goal is to overload this one mortal mind, though, he'll have to work a lot harder.

Dipper gets out his notebook, while Bill looks away, and pretends he didn’t see it. Yet another poorly-veiled lesson, with Bill obviously trying to plant seeds re: actually casting curses. Tough luck managing that. His subtle lean towards chaos might escape the unwary, but to Dipper? Bill’s way too transparent.

The fact is, that Dipper absorbs things fast. Even Bill will admit it, sometimes without being prompted.

That Includes stuff Bill doesn't even know he's teaching.

Bill’s also rambling on about historical curses, and how often these things backfire, or misfire. It’d almost sound like a series of unconnected, gossipy anecdotes, if it weren’t for the extra technical details.

And Dipper’s not falling for it. As far as he's concerned, his first curse was his last one.

But then…

Even if he’s not going to use the knowledge, there's no reason not to learn it. Knowledge about making curses can also be used to break them, after all. Taking all the facts Bill smacked a ‘For Evil Purposes Only’ sticker on and using them to shatter an evil plan would be very satisfying.

They’re nearly out of the cave at this point, so Dipper figures it’s fine to let his guard down a bit. The monster's dead, all the traps were cleared out on the way in - everything should be fine.

He clicks his pen a couple times, and asks Bill to repeat that last thing, about the life drain. It gets a snort of amusement, but Bill’s more than happy to elaborate at length. Dipper struggles to keep up with Bill’s rapid-fire speech; he's trying to make this intentionally difficult, damn it.

Bill leads on with careless gestures and an uninterrupted stride. Getting ahead of Dipper by several meters, but Dipper’s got to note down what he says before he has to do something awful, like ask Bill to repeat himself.

Dipper is, in fact, so busy trying to write in shorthand, and walk, and not hit a stalactite with his face, all at the same time, that he sort of loses track of where he is.

And okay, maybe he trips over a rock slightly, and nearly faceplants, bonking against the sudden curve of a wall with a swear.

Dipper takes a step back, rubbing at his forehead. Annoying, but, whatever. There were a few traps around, but he pretty much cleared out the cave on the way in, so it’s probably - oh, hell.

Not fine, he dropped the stupid tablet.

Great. The only really interesting object, shattered into half a dozen pieces. So much from saving it from Bill; Dipper himself fumbled the bag.

He backs up to evaluate the damage -

The stone sinks under his foot, and something goes ‘click’.

With a start, Dipper raises a shield without thinking, arm jerking up as he wills his magic into the gesture. It's solid enough for something done on reflex, but an impact hits hard on his side, with sudden, stinging pain.

And a pretty hard impact, at that. He didn’t get it solid enough, damn it, wasn’t expecting something physical -

Dipper wheezes out a breath, slumping to the ground and clutching his stomach.

Alright. So. He got most of the traps.

He sits down, and lets his head thump back against the stone, teeth bared in a grimace. Stupid. Should have been paying attention.

The commotion makes Bill turn his head, blinking at Dipper sitting on the ground.

Then - because he’s an asshole - he starts laughing.

“I know I’m fascinating, sapling, but really?” He tuts, setting fists on his hips. “Not sure if I should be flattered that you’re obsessed with me, or disappointed that you’re dumb enough to walk right into a wall.”

Dipper sucks in a breath, gingerly touching his side. Doesn’t seem like - he glances down. Sure, it stings, and his shirt’s torn, a long, shallow cut on his stomach, just near the old scar. But that’s about it. Over to his side, an arrow rolls against the ground, stone head clicking against the ground.

Over by the cave mouth, Bill’s cackling. God, he’s a jerk sometimes.

But he must not have seen the trap set off, too wrapped up in his own stupid bullshit, or he’d be less of one. Dipper knows that for a fact. Though he’d really, really prefer he’d never had that experience.

“C’mon, kid. If you’re not even more brain damaged from your bump, let’s ditch this joint.” Bill jerks his head over his shoulder.

Dipper hugs himself around the torso, grimacing. Not bothering to respond. His heart is still pounding, or he’d have a retort ready. Adrenaline’s helped him out in a lot of situations, but not with talking. He’ll get up when he’s ready.

“What, you smash your skull open or something?” Bill raises one arch eyebrow.

Though Dipper knows why Bill’s like this, it’s still deeply annoying. He shakes his head in lieu of a reply. In a second, he’ll be calm enough to tell Bill exactly what he thinks of his incredibly poor bedside - and cave-side - manner.

“Figures. Can’t leave you alone for five minutes without your guts spilling everywhere.” Bill clicks his tongue, folding his arms and stepping forward. “What’s the damage?”

“It hurts.” Dipper says, through gritted teeth. Then pauses. Wait, he meant to say - He shakes his head rapidly, only for more words to force themselves out, unbidden. “I got cut again.”

Again, not what he intended. Dipper lowers his chin, teeth clenched. What the hell, he shouldn’t have said that. Bill’s mocking aside, maybe he did hit his head a little too hard. Once Bill gets the mockery out of his system, he’s going to be a total pest about it, too.

With a huff, Dipper slumps. Settling in for a sulk, waiting for the next jab - But there’s no insult forthcoming. Or argument.

In fact, Bill’s gone totally silent. Which is super weird.

Dipper looks up at the cave entrance, expecting a comment or a question, or at least a huge grin. He tenses up, hunching over.

And meets a frozen, unsmiling face.

Bill dropped his arms, they hang limp by his sides. His expression’s gone blank.

The next moment, he’s right in front of Dipper, kneeling and tugging at his arms with alarming urgency.

“Alright, lemme see.” Bill’s face is very close. Though he’s trying to pull his arms away, Dipper resists out of sheer surprise. Bill growls, eye darting around until it lands on the arrow. “Oh for - Really can’t leave you alone for five minutes. Move.”

Another pull, less hard this time. Like he’s trying to ease Dipper’s arms away.

“Wh- Hey!” Dipper plants a foot against Bill’s chest, but that hardly stops anything. He raises his arms. Holding them up, in fact, like he’s at gunpoint. Where’d this come from. “Don’t get upset, I’m fine.”

“Ha! Good one, sapling. Who’s upset, exactly?” Bill says, teeth bared, and in a deeply upset way. He tugs Dipper’s shirt, up, fingers tracing the cut before pressing into his stomach. “I’m just wondering if I need a replacement mortal this soon into your miserable existence. No big deal!”

Okay, this is too much.

Dipper struggles up, despite Bill trying to shove him down again. Bracing himself on the cave wall, and glaring. “Calm down already.”

“I’m perfectly calm.” Bill says, through gritted teeth. At best he looks miffed, but he’s at least stopped trying to make Dipper lie down in the recovery position or whatever. With a glare, he tugs up Dipper’s shirt, prodding at the shallow cut. “What the hell, kid. I thought you said it hurt!”

“Ow.” Dipper’s stomach jumps at another poke. He smacks Bill’s hand away. “It does, alright? Quit poking.”

Bill doesn’t seem impressed. His fingers trail over the larger, older scar on Dipper’s left side, then glares at Dipper’s stomach like it’s insulted him. A beat, then - “You don’t usually complain.”

“I-” Okay, true. Dipper glares anyway. “Shut up.”

He doesn’t complain because it’s the only option. For all that Bill whines and teases and taunts Dipper, all the time, about being some ‘fragile mortal meatsack’, already rotting before his eyes, he really doesn’t like it when it’s brought forcefully to his attention.

God, he shouldn't have said anything. Ninety-five percent of the time, there isn’t any harm to mention. But when Dipper does ends up showing he is kind of… mortal, and it’s small, he just. Doesn’t bring it up. For all that they bicker all the time, he doesn’t like to make Bill upset.

Bill grunts, mouth turned down at the corners. He stands up quickly, folding his arms. His lip curls up in a sneer. “If you wanted attention, kid, there are way better ways to-”

Oh, fuck that. Dipper flips him off, and starts storming off.

God, this is stupid. Whenever Dipper ever breaks a bone or something, he gets teased about being so weak and vulnerable. Which he is, but neither of them like the reminder.

These days, it also comes with some weirdly maybe-sincere ‘kiss it better’ thing that Dipper then has to disinfect. A lot of hovering, and rambling commentary. Sometimes creative descriptions of how much worse it could have been, and Dipper never needed those, at any time. Bill gets oddly fixated on such random little moments, and it’s just -

Dipper doesn’t like it, is all. Bill gets the way he gets, it’s a lot, and it’s easier just to avoid it. If he were a different guy - a human guy, or even mostly-human monster- Dipper might try to talk to him about it.

But Bill’s a demon. Not normal, barely sane even on his best days, and worse, he’s Bill, so. That conversation would go precisely nowhere.

Behind him, he hears said demon approaching, fast. Stupid jerk. He should be as tall as his real form. That’d be fair. More accurate, too, and then Dipper could properly stomp off without Bill catching up so easily.

Already the bastard is by Dipper’s side. A tall, irritating presence. Hovering close without grabbing on, which adds to said irritation.

Dipper leans away, but Bill catches him around the waist and drags him in.

“Don’t get so grumpy, sapling, you’re fine! A little nick in the outer layer rarely killed anyone since they invented antibiotics.” Though he pinches Dipper’s cheek, he yanks his head away with a grunt. Bill sighs. “Everything’s a-okay here! Looks like I don't have to find a replacement just yet.”

Bill’s an idiot. Dipper scoffs, though an unpleasant feeling crawls in his gut. “Oh yeah? Who would you replace me with?”

“Eh, not like I got anyone specific in mind.” Bill waves that off, nonchalant. “But I have options! Lots of options.” He bumps a hip against Dipper. “Keep that in mind before you go charging off into obvious traps.”

This goddamn liar. Dipper elbows him in the side, because the asshole deserves it.

Not that Dipper’s worried, or anything. From what little he’s heard of Bill’s exes in the demonic rumor mill - Bill’s been, as they say, less than successful. Already Dipper’s outstripped his longest by years.. Bill can lie day in and day out about his options, put on a brave face - but they both know he’s not going to find this again. Not easily.

“Good luck finding another husband, asshole.” Dipper says with appropriate derision. It’s annoying that Bill even brought it up. There’s a good riposte in there, somewhere - but while his brain is coming up with an insult, his mouth runs on automatic. “But I was really worried that you would last week. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day until you sent a dick pic. It was weirdly comforting.”

Bill turns toward him with genuine surprise. He even blinks a few times, no retort emerging, and Dipper looks back at him with equal surprise.

Until his mind catches up with what he just said.

Dipper digs his heels in the ground, slamming to a halt. Clapping both hands to his mouth, eyes wide.

Beside him Bill nearly trips at the sudden stop, flailing for balance with a swear.

Shit, shit shit. Dipper really didn’t mean to say that. He knows Bill’s not looking around, that he’s not interested. Cynically, that he couldn’t manage it if he was. Last week was just a one-off anxiety, like all the others Dipper’s brain comes up with when it gets too much free time. Totally irrational, and really hard to stop fixating on.

Bill keeps staring. Not angry, just confused, for long enough that Dipper wants to shrink into the ground and melt into nothingness.

Then he asks, “What the hell, Pine Tree?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I thought that. I don’t know why I said that.” Dipper cringes into himself, grimacing and ducking his head. He runs a hand over his slightly sweaty face. “I didn't even want you to know I got hurt.”

At that, Bill snorts. “Oh, please. I’d have seen that first time I got your shirt off. You can’t keep secrets from me!”

Dipper folds his arms, internally seething - and his stupid mouth moves to say, “I’ve done it before.”

This time, the silence is tense.

Dipper wipes his sweating forehead again, not daring to meet Bill’s eye. God he shouldn't have -

Before he can think, he blurts out, “I think something’s wrong.”

“Probably!” Bill agrees, with a smile just a little too sharp. He takes Dipper’s face in both hands, eye narrowed. “Hold still a sec.”

As Bill’s eye flickers blue, and the magic between them surges - Dipper squirms a bit, but. Well. If anything’s wrong with him - magically, anyway - Bill’s the best one to diagnose it..

Bill tilts his head to one side, then the other. After a moment, his mouth twists up into something unpleasant, eye glowing slightly brighter for an instant.

Then he sighs, and lets Dipper go. His expression is neutral, except for the slightest downturn of his mouth. His lips part like he’s about to speak, then twist up into a grimace.

Uh oh.

Whatever Bill saw, he didn’t like it.

“What?” Dipper pats his head, then his chest. If there was something weird, magically about him, he - wouldn’t be able to tell, actually. He’s too close to get a good look. Oh god, what if he did hit his head too hard, and something in his brain is bleeding, or worse. “Wait. Am I dying?”

“Worse! You’re telling the truth.” Bill claps his hands together. Though he’s smiling again, it’s brittle and annoyed. “Don’t suppose you know any curse breakers that aren’t your great-uncle?”

“Not really,” Dipper admits. Bill's words catch up to him, and he bites his lip. Then, because the situation deserves it, “Fuck.”

Protection curse. The tablet.

Damn it.

A part of a horde, from a long time ago. Messed with. It should have been something less awful. Like warts, or sprouting plants from his skin, or a big fireball. Pretty much anything else would be less awful.

Truth curses are rare, they’re difficult as hell - but judging by the words spilling out of Dipper, he’s caught a pretty strong variant.

Of all the curses that could hit him. Why this one.

Hell, maybe it’s intended to be the worst curse possible for the ‘thief’. That would explain how targeted this feels.

And knowing Dipper’s luck, that part was explained on, like, the back of the tablet.

“Welp! Good thing I’m not short on contacts, kid.” Bill grapes his shoulder, shaking him a bit, before he trails an arm over Dipper’s shoulders. “Who wants some fumbling idiot uncle to fix this kinda spell, anyway?”

Dipper would! If it was feasible. He makes a brief attempt at shrugging Bill’s arm up before letting his shoulders slump.

The idea of Ford hearing about this is….

Dipper sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Ford really would have a way around this. He'd certainly have the best intentions, Dipper’s certain. He'd...

Also not have the best sense of boundaries.

Though he'd be doing it for the right reasons, he'd ask the wrong questions. Out of concern, and arguably valid worry; he's never fully believed that Bill can't influence him. Despite how many times Dipper’s tried to explain it to him, Ford just can’t wrap his mind around certain truths.

With this curse, though. Between poor social sense, the Pines curiosity, and what Dipper might blurt out, while compelled to answer -

On this, Dipper agrees with Bill. They’ll have to find something else to break this.

In the meantime, he’ll manage, like he has all the other times his life has sucked. Hardly the worst case scenario. If Bill had been cursed - someone who lies like he breathes - Who knows? Give it a few days, and he might just explode from all the backed up bullshit.

“Wait.” A horrible thought strikes. Dipper reels on his husband, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“What, me? I’m a perfectly moral human man,” Bill says, resting a hand on his chest, lifting his chin with pride. “A boring sentient mammal who’s never found curses entertaining.”

Yep, Bill’s fine. As always, it’s Dipper who gets the short end of the stick.

He breathes in slowly, and lets it out.

Yeah. Still sucks. He’ll deal. Cursed, but not dead. In danger, but not the worst - and his husband’s being annoying, which means he’s perfectly fine. There’s a solution too - it’s just going to be a huge, annoying process getting to it.

“So,” Bill says, slowly. Drawing the word out in a long string, while he finger-walks his arm up around Dipper’s shoulder.

Uh oh.

Speaking of annoying…

“Watch it,” Dipper hunches his shoulders, not daring to look his idiot husband in the eye. “You’re this close to sleeping on the couch for a month.” Not a big enough threat, Bill’s still thinking- “Or for a year.”

“Oh, sure,” Bill says, in a distracted tone. His fingers pause on their walk, one ‘leg’ poised on Dipper’s clavicle. They hold the position for a long moment, tapping out a little marching step - and seconds later, his palm slaps down on Dipper’s shoulder. “So, Pine Tree! How do you feel about this ‘Bill Cipher’ guy?”

Though Dipper resists, and he really tries to, the words slip out past his teeth, his lips form the sounds -

“I love you.” God. Damnit. He clenches his fists, as Bill’s sheer smugness radiates from him like heat. “And I’m thinking about shoving you off a cliff right now.”

When Bill paused, Dipper thought he might have fended this off. Wishful thinking, really, Bill’s almost impossible to stop. Dipper used what leverage he had, but all he’s managed to avoid are the worst, most invasive questions.

When it comes to Bill, that’s pretty close to a win.

Not that it’s going to feel like one.

Bill has, in fact, been encouraged. Now that he’s heard something he likes, he leans in like a weird creep. Dipper can practically hear the leer in his voice. “And on a scale of one to ten, how handsome am I?

“Ten point five,” Dipper needs to loosen his jaw or he might break a filling. Being pumped for information is bad enough without pumping up Bill’s already ridiculous ego. “You bastard.”

Bill’s chest puffs out, there’s a strut in his stride. The grin is so wide now Dipper’s pretty sure it should hurt- and if he dares to pucker up, he’s not getting lips on his awful face. “And am I the most clever and sexually amazing guy in the universe or what?

This time, Dipper snorts.

“Definitely not.” He ignores the sharp, indignant sound next to him, tilting his head in thought. “For one, there’s succubi and incubi, so. Sexually, you’re not even on top amongst demons.” He glances over at the offended ‘o’ of Bill’s mouth. “And I know you’re not the most clever, because I win our debates nearly half the time. Maybe you’re up there, but not the most. And that’s just the surface level stuff.”

Dipper doesn’t have a complete cosmological view of the multiverse, but he has learned a lot. Mostly stuff he picked up from his husband, and demonic gossip. It’s absolutely enough to go on a long, long ramble about how Bill most likely doesn’t rank number one in anything. If Dipper avoids the topics where he actually is.

He’s barely fifteen seconds in before Bill starts scowling, with a grumpy hunch to his shoulders - But screw him.

Dipper starts smiling, just a bit. Then, to be a dick, he adds,

“The ten and a half is just me, anyway. To the average human, you’re maybe an eight..” Dipper continues, over another spluttered protest. Again, true; not everyone likes the slightly inhuman maniac cyclops look. “Six with your personality.”

Bill groans. “Ugh, you pedant.” He squeezes Dipper’s shoulder, jostling him slightly. “C’mon, you know what I meant! What’s the real - “

“Don’t ask questions if you can’t handle the answers,” Dipper warns, jabbing Bill in the chest. So far it hasn’t been too much, but it could be. Time to draw a line. “I will suck so much fun out of this for you.”

Bill Cipher, unintentional teacher once more. Now Dipper knows the curse isn’t about perfect truth. When he can deliberately misinterpret a question’s intent, and can go on tangents - that means he has loopholes. There might even be more, if he tries.

And if they can’t get this settled soon, he’ll need every one of those he can find.

“Clever brat.” Bill’s frowning, but he can’t disguise the amusement in his voice. His eyebrows wiggle, his arm hauling him close - "Go ahead, then. Anything else you wanna share?"

"I know two and half ways to kill you, Bill Cipher." Dipper gets right up in his face. He won’t let Bill push this any further. "Don't tempt me to use them."

Being face to face like this, Dipper watches Bill’s eye go wide - ha, didn’t expect that, did he. With that threat, he’ll -

Start cackling. And weirdly, turn a little pink. Dipper feels all the momentum he had whoosh out of him like sad balloon animal.

“Boy, you are a saucy one!” Bill whistles, low. He places his hands demurely on his cheeks, fluttering his eye at Dipper with amusement. “Oh, yeah. Talk deadly to me.”

By this time, Dipper figures he should be used to stumbling into demonic flirtation. Only it turns out it’s basically fractal in nature, and he keeps running into new and newer edge cases.

“Fun as this is - we gotta get you cleared up, and no time like the present!” Bill’s calmed down enough to scoop an arm around his waist, leading Dipper onward. “Can’t have you babbling everything to everyone, y’know?”

“What, you don’t want me telling you everything?” Total bullshit. Dipper elbows him in the side. “I thought you wanted to get in my head.”

“Hey! I didn’t ask for our game to be set on ‘beginner’ mode. That’s boring.” Bill flicks his fingers - but he’s got his ‘evading questions’ look on. “You’re lucky I’m so- oof.”

Another elbow, harder this time. Bill grunts, but capitulates. Rubbing at his eye briefly, he sighs.

“So! How many of my secrets would you say you know, Pine Tree?” Bill tightens his grip on Dipper’s waist, tugging him closer. “And I’m talking about the ones that I wouldn’t enjoy getting out in the world.”

“More than I can count.” Dipper says without thinking. Then, with thinking - “Oh.”

Dipper hadn’t considered how much Bill’s taught him, before this exact moment. How much he’s learned. Even unintentionally. Especially unintentionally.

Crap, even his threat before was kind of -

Shit. There’s definitely, absolutely, no way can they go to Ford about this. Total recipe for disaster.

“See? We both got liabilities in play here.” Bill moves easily as Dipper picks up the pace. If anything he’s amused, and not feeling nearly as urgent. Another reason he’s an idiot. “All we gotta do is get you patched up quick, and no more loose lips sinking ships! Easy-peasy.”

“It better be,” Dipper mutters. Nothing ever goes right for him. And by extension, them.

“Trust me, kid! I got this handled!” Bill snaps his fingers - and smacks Dipper’s butt with a wink. “I know some guys!”

#answers #Not my best work but I haven't posted in a while so here's a thing!#I will get better at writing I swear #There are references to the whump fic in this just so you know #It is canon that Dipper didn't die but the how and the aftermath are for the sequel #Anyway whump sequel is going decent and I have some ideas for other stuff #Don't worry Dipper Ford wouldn't even think to ask you the questions you're worried about #He assumes that Bill would never ever let you know those facts #And technically Bill never told Dipper either of those two and a half ways but you learn a lot from being married for a few years #I don't have any more interesting tag facts other than that don't expect a timely sequel to this because I have so much stuff to complete #I hope it's at least fun to read!

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doodlebeeberry · 2 months

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what implications do u think the amelia investigations episode (possibly) being last has......

thinking about it im not sure implications is the word i was really looking for, rather i think theres like. a particular weight, to me, in placing her episode as the last one (presuming, of course, that there are only 5 episodes in investigations like is generally whats being assumed. for all we know though there could be more than that but thats the assumption im working off of)

ive always read the lack of any particularly tangible details about her pre-plane life, let alone the lake of an actual disappearance scene for her, as a means of further alienating her from her previous life. It drives in this wedge between Amelia and Scenty, such that even though shes probably the most vocal (at least throughout s1) about wanting to go home, her desire is countered by the fact that pretty much her entire existence in the show is defined by exclusively her time on the plane. The lack of a background for her (as absolutely crazy as it drives me) does play a pretty notable role in how her relationship to earth and the plane and herself are laid out.

This, in my mind, creates a bit of an interesting situation for investigations to play with. seemingly, investigations kinda requires an exploration into everyone's pre-plane lives, a certain insight into their lives that amelia just doesnt have. so, unless they do something a bit radical in the presentation of that episode in particular, youd have to explore her old life on some level without undermining the dynamic with it that we already have. I guess the most obvious answer is that it wont be amelia telling her own story to the audience. We wont be hearing her explain or be in her perspective, we'll be hearing from (presumably) garret. Its a story about her that isnt her story to tell. even when we do finally get to see it, her life, her disappearance isnt hers. not really. and i think placing it last in the sequence, the final mystery to unravel, the hardest answer to get, implies at the very least an acknowledgement of that.

but i do have a degree in Reading Into Things so like. who knows. maybe thats just what i want

#in short: i am amelia enjoyer number one thats why #hfjone #i assume that my interpretation of her backstory situation is the popular one but i really have no idea #cause people like. arent as interested in what she has going on in comparison to bryce and liam and airy #(also if taylor and charlotte are your number ones then i dont know how you guys do it. your like 10 times more powerful than me they get #so little despite being so interesting)#its something i accept but like. Real reluctantly. i get why 'not giving a character who wants a thing the thing' is a perfectly sound #writing choice #im just not happy about it.#anyway. hope that answers your question like sensibly. ive gotta go to class #ask

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rainbowcarousels · 8 days

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11 - SephGen for the ship asks 🥹🖤

What their first impression was of each other?

You know, it's funny, I've definitely done first impressions from Angeal and Genesis's perspective but I'm not sure I ever have when it comes to Sephiroth.

I think Genesis's is multilayered because I think the very first time he heard Sephiroth - and I do think he heard him speak before he ever saw him, just a few words that were likely stumbled off script that he probably assumed was designed to be awkwardly charming until he realised Sephiroth is just the epitome of an awkward turtle - that he was in disbelief. It was a challenge to his own mind, like no way, this one person cannot be doing what they say, so when he finally got a chance to see news footage (I like to think it was on one of these old sets so colour distorted and grainy), obsession set in. Because his skill is undeniable. It's captivating to watch.

Then we run into the very real issue that Sephiroth is not what it says on the tin if you get up close. This is a post-First Soldier Sephiroth that has likely learned what can happen if you get attached to the people you work with: they die or they disappear, and the man is a poster child for abandonment issues. I think he's trying to keep his distance at that point and Genesis is perceptive, I think he can pick up on some of that and the mix of the two....well.

If we go by my personal canon for these two? Genesis got floored by his enhancements way more than Angeal did (there's something up with Genesis's DNA that isn't in the others so I think it stands to reason) so Angeal had already met Sephiroth by the time Genesis did. As such, I think he was already on the defensive, picked up on Sephiroth's vibe of trying to keep everything at an arms length and together with Sephiroth's awkward way of treating SOLDIERs in training at that point more like dogs or weapons (GEE I WONDER WHERE HE PICKED THAT UP), they did not mesh well.

As such, I think Genesis got upset - this wasn't the Sephiroth he built up in his head, this was someone detached, withdrawn, someone who did not recognise and foster such talent as he knew he had but rather just corrected it without a social word at all.

The kicker is I think Sephiroth actually did notice he was different - how many baby Third's come in with that kind of magical skill? How many SOLDIERs in general at that point have a specialty with magic? It's used in a utilitarian way and Genesis doesn't function that way at all and I think Sephiroth just doesn't - understand it? I think he's curious about it but he doesn't really know what to do about it. Has no idea Genesis is operating under the idea they're now mortal enemies fallen from the grace of potential friendship. Honestly, he's really only processing every other sentence - he doesn't know that he's ever known anyone who talks that much.

I think it's only on the third meeting, the ones where they're seeing each other on their first missions together, that they come to an understanding of each other. Genesis starts to process who Sephiroth actually is as opposed to who he thought he was, sorting him into categories of what is propaganda and what is actually him peeking through the presses clutches, and there are a couple of moments that I think highlight it for him that actually, this is the real him and he's actually far more interested in this version than any theatrics. If there's to be theatrics in a relationship, it's coming from him ta very much.

From Sephiroth's perspective, Genesis just makes absolutely no sense - he should not be that chatty, that much of a show off, that headstrong and independent and still be effective as a SOLDIER. He brings this effusive fancy to everything he does and it should be a hindrance but somehow, it's not. There is so much beneath the surface that Sephiroth has no real grasp of - he can't grasp his own nuances, let alone anyone elses - but he's curious, then fascinated. He's inefficient, but he's fast and distracting.

I HC that in fact he did manage to distract him long enough to result Genesis himself giving him a good yank out of the way in a fight because he just is trying to put it all together in his mind and he doesn't know how. How can someone be so wild yet so precise? So fast yet saunter about? So emotional and it not a crippling vulnability but somehow, a strength? WHAT IS THIS CREATURE.

It feels a little funny to me that what Genesis is eventually truly fascinated by is Sephiroth being more awkward teenager trying to figure out how to person - in other words, more mortal and human than he appears - while Sephiroth is trying to figure out how some teenager from a little southern village where they make apple juice is somehow fire and chaos incarnate and why he likes that so much.

#i hope this actually answers the question #like genesis is obsessively interested with the idea of sephiroth having seen him because it's not human it's not average #but it's not until he experiences him first hand that there's this clash of who he's portrayed and who he actually is #and it turns out genesis is far more interested in the person underneath the propaganda than he expected #sephiroth is just on the 'oh a SOLDIER with a magic specialty that's unusual' to 'does he have an off switch' to 'how is he...like that'#'it kind of looks like... fun?'#ff7 #ff7 headcanons #ask meme #answered #birdblacksocialclub #thank you for the ask!

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doctorwhoisadhd · 4 months

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so wait, since i was just reminded of the recorder thing donna talked about in the giggle, i now have a question for uk ppl: do yall learn the recorder in school? like in a music class? and like how much do yall have music class over there?

#this is a very interesting topic for me as a music educator from the us #ik a guy from ireland and he said there was no music class in schools for him and like not the same country BUT same island #(as northern ireland. not the others in the uk but still)#and its so wild and fascinating music education is a fascinating field and the way we do it in the us seems to be largely vvv unique to us #for clarification on how things are different so ppl have a better idea on how to answer my question lol:#in the us music class is standard in elementary schools and most places have general music until abt 5th/6th grade (year 6/7)#(general music = basics- music games learn recorder SOME notation-reading; often classroom instruments eg boomwhackers claves maracas #orff instruments if you're lucky/from a school district that isnt poor. also some world music)#its less standardized after that and not every school will have music after middle school but concert bands and choirs are both huge here #choirs start right on the heels of general music classes (sometimes start earlier + students elect to be in choir instead of general music)#bands USUALLY start in 4th grade (year 5) but sometimes can be later 5th/6th (year 6/7) or even 7th (year 8) (WAY less common)#depends on the state generally 4th is most common i think (choirs start at around the same time i think so probs 4th but choir isnt my area #orchestras are weird bc theyre a lot less common but can commonly start younger bc of one of the big approaches to music ed (suzuki method)#so like maybe 3rd grade (year 4) maybe 4th w/ band (year 5) but i have a friend who teaches at a private school #& said they have 1st/2nd graders (year 2/3)!! orchestra is also not my area though #also marching bands: vv common! usually just in hs (starting 9th grade / year 10) bc it supports the football team at games #but starting in 8th grade (year 9) is also common (sometimes even 7th / year 8)#theres two different styles: collegiate/show band and competition. former is very rah rah pop music etc; competition is more abstract #show bands are clearly designed to entertain whereas competition is designed to be more impressive and tell a story #so more impact moments abstract shapes/lines on the field and has movements - opener ballad closer (fast-slow-fast)

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hexenjagd · 22 days

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Major arcana of the tarot asks || Accepting

― @izar-tarazed @necrophcge @yellowfingcr @miserycorde inquired: Just saw the headcanon question and I'm most curious about this one: ― 20. judgement: is your muse forgiving of themselves ? how about of others who wrong them?

In many ways, it is less about forgiving and more accepting things for what they are in terms of her own mistakes, not in some form of submission or surrender-- what's done is done, more like. What she did, knowing why she did it and why she won't take it back. It's done; nothing will change it-- not mourning it, not in hating it, nor in hating herself, even if she may have wanted things to be different at one point. That was at one point. So in that, there is a measure of a sort of self-forgiveness, a state of bitter sweet peace in recognizing it and moving away from it. At this current state, she has no interest in 'walking upon her knees' or 'self-flagellation' to achieve some inner acceptance and sanctum of peace. As such, she will carry it for what it is. So in a way? Somewhat, it's a nuanced thing that touches upon various self-perceptions she has. Given what she is, what does it mean to absolve others, what does it mean to truly forgive oneself in turn for something like her? It comes in the form of a sense of self-release and realization of a self-sustaining and self-destructive cycle that she had had enough. Now she lives in a peculiar state of release, a kind of uninhibitedness after having chipped away the last of some of her shackles imagined or otherwise. There is solace and wisdom gained from these experiences, learning from where she may have went wrong and how she was blinded by a mindset or set of choices she made. She knows her hands are dirty and won't pretend they aren't, besides the fact that her very nature is a designated 'sin', so what more does the sinner have than to accept and absolve those who have harmed far less than she? No matter how high she rises she knows where she stands -or stood- in the eyes of those who look upon her with disdain in a world that has already decided that she by extent is wrong. An aberration, an incorrect existence. For some already, she was written off as 'wrong' and 'undeserving' before she ever came to do anything beyond her expected station. She found her way to reclaim and revel-- a way to live beyond that grasp, a way to break what she was caged in long ago.

With that, a sense of liberation is achieved that offers her far more... so why hang herself up chasing some ideal or station she was never meant to be part of regardless? She is a crook in the grand design and she embraces that. She will carry on. She will learn, she will get better. So, let her be filthy-- and if they still know her let them hunt her, say what they will, let them come after her, let them chase her to the far ends if they even know her name and she will welcome them with open arms. They will come, perhaps they will always come, and she will not beg them for they will see her as nothing more. Come what may, she will persist-- but she will do so differently this time. She will redefine and take what she can hold and she will bring what she can to ruin so that she may build upon it anew.

As for others who have wronged her? Really depends on the nature of what was done and how. In many ways she is a much more vengeful presence in this version, but she isn't so gone as to be blinded totally in the way she once was, not like she was at the height of the Witch Knight era. That does not mean it's entirely gone from her, though. I'll break it down like this ―

What remains a sort of constant for her is that Helena has always had the ability to at least listen and consider the words of her enemy, even if it should end as it always does, in violence and 'death'. Maybe she'll even collect them once the act is said and done and take them all the same, but if they do take their chances to reach out, to speak to her then she will offer the grace of audience in return. If anything at all. For figures of her past? Some she will never forgive, and certain others she realizes -more than ever- that they are a product of circumstances, even if she can't always find it in herself to fully forgive let alone forget them. It may not even fully stop her from hunting some of them down in turn.

The shape of the world and the nature of it has made monsters of even once well-intentioned people. Some of these people are very much a product of this cycle of struggle and violence that ultimately had nowhere else to turn to, or they were so blinded by their own intents that they failed to see beyond it. She -in this way- isn't all that different at least in that regard to a certain extent. Although if one were to ask, she will tell you it was much more of a choice for her in the end.

For others that present a current threat that long to wrong her, harm her or harm those in her stead? It really is simple... She will remove them, it will be a death sentence, a hunt. Forgiveness is seldom.

#Confession || answer tag;#In which I ramble #time and act can make a difference-- but circumstances...#I do find these kinds of questions tricky because alot of it can be circumstantial and vary and what vs. what at different points and all #Part of this liberation stems from post death and return #Initially she did have a hard time settling into her strange state and even had a loose grasp of who she was #Let alone had no idea where to begin again #Alot of this she had to come around to on her own and with it; a further established sense of realization; release #and the sense of freedom that comes from that #You know on top of the fact that; she was dirty before she was ever dirty #take of that what you will #It is still interesting to me how this version of Helena is still somehow more 'free' and one of the happier versions of her #Which is something cause this role and what she is uh.. weighty #Some she will absolutely hunt down and GET and is much more inclined to this verse #locked and loaded-- drag'em by the antlers with her own #Part of it can even be strategic-- two birds one stone.#in some ways she has learned-- in others... well.. habits are hard to break #Anyway sorry if I'm a little all over the place and for the short wait #Passed out again last night and I am just now getting back to these #Thank you for sending one in!#The balance is a little more off kilter and on one hand she weighs these things has shifted #I am all over with this.. probably the sleep brain...

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