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redrorums · 8 months

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Aether/Eldritch Magic Comprehension

“Aether is unnatural”. An oversimplification, to be sure. So let’s attempt a better understanding of the “true nature” of Aether and what possibilities it provides for the skilled spell-caster. If a person from earth built a Maguffin device (particle accelerator, warp drive, time travel hot tub…take yur pick) that allowed them to breach the edge of their universe, but failed to connect to another universe of any kind, what would the breach connect to? Where would they end up if they stepped through to the beyond if the beyond is not quantifiably “a universe” of any kind? A lack of reality does not necessarily mean there isn’t some form of time/space/quantifiable data in the beyond. The Beyond is referred to as the Great Aether Ocean, and it refuses to conform to the scientific theories of ANY individual universe. However, one could stipulate that, though Aether does not need rigid scientific theory in order to exist, it can apply scientific notions or have them applied to it. This is because it is not BOUND by any theory that dictates it must act in a specific way…yet. The theories/laws of a universe bound by the chains of science would be applied seemingly at random in The Beyond, if quantified by an entity who originated from a scientifically bound universe. However, if there were a method to Unbind/untether one’s mind from scientific reality, the Unbound would then be able to interpret the knowledge of the Aether Ocean (to some extent). Herein lies the base requirement of all spell-casting, the Unbinding/Unraveling/call it whatever you want.

The easiest and most efficient way spell-casters have found to view Aether is as “Knowledge in its purest form, unmarried to any Universal Laws that would otherwise control it”. This is more or less accurate, as the Aether Ocean flows down the Ley Channels and through the Ley Stream connecting all the Cosmos/multiverse together, so too do the rules and laws of every separate universe flow back into the Aether ocean. Aether, viewed in this way, is the sum total of all knowledge in the Multiverse (just all jumbled and garbled up).

The oldest individuals known to have observed Aether in it’s true form and developed methods of harnessing it were the Ancient Covens of the True-blooded Witches. Witches are born with an innate connection to the Abyssal Realms (a series of vortexes that exist within the Great Aether Ocean. Home of Daemons) and all of their senses are perfectly attuned to catch the presence of Aether as it drips into the natural worlds. They found that if they combined ingredients saturated with Aether in different ways, they could produce illogical aka magical results. Through trial and error, The Covens of old created the first spells. Witchcraft is purely based on the sacrificial system: By sacrificing a series of ingredients possessing both Vitality and Aether, then using their innate understanding of Aether (or borrowing the knowledge of daemons or other extra-dimensional beings), Witches could meld them together to produce an endless variety of results. With the nigh limitless power they had now acquired, they became the first recorded trans-dimensional MORTAL travelers. This lead to their inevitable interactions with both the Gods and their most hated enemies, the Titans (Primordial ancestors of the Jötunns).

The Witches of old influenced most other spell-casters in some way. The ancient druids had very similar capabilities, but used spiritual communion to harness the omnipresent Aether of the world around them, instead of their raw innate talent. The Druids got along well with the Covens and they shared many of their rituals with one another. Witches seemed to have the ability to know exactly when and where sorcerers would be born. They would take these children and train them to wield their mutated Aether without dying, creating much more powerful (and long lived) sorcerers than before. Wizardry is directly derivative of witchcraft, as some Witches believed teaching worthy mortals to wield magic, even without innate talent, was the correct thing to do. This would ultimately spell their demise as Alchemy is, in turn, derived from the research of Wizards. It would be the united efforts of alchemists from all across the Cosmos that ended the reign of both Gods and Witches.

‘Twas the Eldest amongst the Wizards who initially produced the first Glyphs. Individual Glyphs are matrices that, once combined, will form a semi-sentient algorithmic Aether processor *deepest breath*. These Glyphs will help the Wizard decrypt Aether much faster and make the outcome far more controllable. Eventually, The process of Glyph Weaving became advanced enough to create Grimoires, an artificially intelligent tome that can fully decrypt any inputted spell. It’ll begin preparing it for immediate casting without any need for the sacrificial system or spiritual communion. Only the Wizard’s own Aether reservoir would be required to power the Grimoire. (It basically does all the work for them 😑)

Eldritch Magic and the Infinite Lies of the Ginnungagap

In their increasingly desperate struggle against the gods, the Ancient Covens made probably their gravest error/only viable choice. With the defeat of Kronos, most powerful amongst the primordial Jötunns, and the destruction of Gaia as well as the death of the half-Jötunn/half-god abomination known only as Zeus during Gaia’s Apocalypse, the Witches hoped to finally have peace. Imagine their surprise when a Minor Deity of Research and Discovery, Usiris, claimed that The Fates (a trio of prominent witches) had driven Zeus mad with black magic(didn’t exist yet… so false). Usiris used this as a platform (along with his brother Satet) to unify the various gods of the Cosmos against all Witches, seeking to cast them all into the Abyssal Realms… permanently. This was doubly surprising as Usiris had been a friend and ally of Isis, one of the most powerful and influential Witches, during the Titan-God wars. When they vehemently confronted Usiris and Satet, they were horrified to realize Usiris had been using Alchemy to improve and refine his near infinite Vitality. He had made himself truly Immortal (his body could be damaged, but his soul was completely immune to Death and Destruction) and had become completely immune to Aether. Usiris had renamed himself Osarhapi(Osiris-Apis), “Protector of all Mortal Souls” and declared himself the leader of his new OmniPantheon. He promised true immortality to any who joined him, and his followers across the Cosmos grew innumerable overnight.

The Covens needed a new, non-Aether weapon to defeat Osarhapi. They began all matter of dark research during this time, but it was Audhumbla (a Minotaur Witch) who discovered the Great Secret of the Cosmos. She discovered that, within all animate and inanimate entities, there was an almost imperceptible void that existed. She found this by researching what was left of the Minotakinds’ mother deity, a being that could regenerate Vitality infinitely.

SIDE NOTE: ɔuð, The Primeval Mother

* ɔuð was the Matron goddess of the Minotaur pantheon and is still considered the first true Immortal by many. She is said to have lived floating in the Aether Ocean long before the concept of “worlds” and “realms” existed. Whether or not She is technically older than the Cosmos is still hotly debated. She was able to regenerate her SOUL, so even erasing her from time and space (which Kronos tried) was not enough. Eventually her people would just start randomly remembering she existed and then her deeds/experiences and actions would reform along the timeline. By doing this, Kronos locked him and his clan into a paradoxical loop of being defeated by her, because she would always reform knowing exactly what he was going to do next. ɔuð was a peaceful deity, though, and simply asked Kronos to take his forces and leave her world. It is said that Kronos swore to her that, once he had conquered the rest of the Cosmos in the name of AllTitans’ Glory, he would return and make her his bride. Later during the cosmic conflict, her world was visited by the barbaric Ymir and his Frost Titan clan. Ymir demanded that She give him her milk (he was a pretty gross dude) and when She staunchly refused and rebuked him, he ate her in front of her people. Ymir’s stomach was potent as a black hole and it cancelled out her regenerative properties (though Minotaurs swear to this day he remained deathly ill after consuming her, so much so that Minotakind were able to easily defeat him and his clan). When Kronos learned of this, he found the sickly Ymir in Utgard and slew his entire clan except for his pregnant daughter (such a murder is considered doubly taboo by Jötunns) and then beat the weakened Ymir into a blob of molten flesh and crushed bone. This did not kill Ymir, but even after he regenerated, Ymir’s intelligence was said to have been permanently reduced to that of small child. This greatly and negatively impacted Kronos’ popularity amongst Titankind as a whole, because he had broken the Unbreakable Oath of AllJötunn Honoursworn. He had slain Titanborn who were physically and mentally weaker than himself on the sacred ground of Utgard (in the sight of the OmniFather) and all without EVEN issuing a formal challenge by sneaking into Ymir’s keep and eating all his Heiðrún (giant, fiery goats) and drinking all his mead… then scrawling his challenge as drunkenly as possible upon the larder walls. HE DIDN’T DO THE BARE MINIMUM LIKE WHAAAT!?!? *cough* anyways, this surprise slaughter of Ymir’s clan played a part in the now bitter Kronos’ ultimate defeat on the doomed world of ancient Gaia. ……………

YEAH SO BACK TO ɔuð. Only the tuft of fur from the end of her tail remained of her body, but devoid of any of her soul. It regenerated anyways, developing a new, weaker soul of its own. This Minotaur-like being was named Asterion and Vitality-wise, he was closer to being a mortal or demigod. However, his Vitality was regenerative and his soul exterior was extraordinarily dense, making him virtually indestructible. Kronos visited him many times in secret, making his wife Audhumbla believe that her husband Asterion may have been ɔuð and Kronos’ secret love child. How this would be possible….better not to ask such things. Studying her husband’s body(🌶😏) and how it interacted with the universe around it allowed Audhumbla to make massive leaps in understanding the true nature of gods, titans, and all beings who bore souls of their own. His regenerative properties were not the result of Aether or spiritual potency. It was as if his regeneration came from no where at all. She kept analyzing on a smaller and smaller scale until she found the Void. A paradoxical space between the space of his atoms. She found that all living and non-living entities had this quantum void within them. This subatomic gateway would grow ever so slightly wider within his atoms whenever Asterion was regenerating. It was as if it was giving him something, but as far as Audhumbla could tell, Nothing was coming through the quantum gateway. It needed more time and research, but the Covens (now under the protection of Ysmirœlda, The Ice Queen) were growing more and more aggressive in their attempts to defend themselves against the now seemingly invulnerable gods of the new OmniPantheon. They demanded a weapon they could use immediately and Audhumbla hesitantly submitted her findings.

The Covens knew this was the key, and started weaving spells to created much larger gateways to the Void. The Ancient Frost Giants who then served as Ysmirœlda’s advisers pleaded with the Witches not to interact with this Void, continuously referring to it as The Ginnungagap. They swore that, in the space before Time when even the Aether Ocean did not yet exist, there was only The Ginnungagap. A realm where “Frost was Flame, Storm was Sea, and all was One.” It was in It’s inky, blindingly black embrace that the Timeless Primordials were born. It was they who then spat out the Titans from within themselves, referring to them as “The Dredges of the Stomach” saying that they were too weak to survive in The Ginnungagap. The firstborn amongst the Titans crashed through the outer edge of reality and landed in Utgard, their sacred home. The Titans of old worshipped the Timeless and their shamans made constant brutal sacrifices to open a gateway to The Ginnungagap. When finally enough sacrifices had been made to satiate The Ginnungagap’s eternal hunger, a single Timeless appeared before them saying,

“I challenge thine priests! If you can know what I know and survive, you can return to the Ginnungagap.”

One by one the priests stepped up, went mad, and transformed into horrible, mindless abominations. The Timeless Primordial laughed and spake saying “such weakness does not deserve to exist” and then it opened its maw so that it’s proportions broke through the edges of reality and consumed the Cosmos whole(yes. It ate the whole multiverse in one gulp). This woke the OmniFather from eternal slumber and he took note of the tiny Timeless creature who had dared touch his work. He calmly asked the Timeless Primordial to explain itself, but upon being forced to look into the OmniFather’s single all-encompassing orifice filled with Absolute Truth, the Timeless was forced to admit each and every one of its weaknesses. As it did, it’s existence was unraveled and repurposed by the OmniFather. The OmniFather recreated the Cosmos and placed the Titans back where they were in Utgard. He chastised the confused priests and their peoples for some time, telling them they should live by their own strength, not try to summon the strength of others. He spake to them, saying thusly,

“Since that Timeless Primordial no longer ever existed, I have told the Cosmos that you are my children and that you will live freely without need to fear the shadows of The Ginnungagap any longer.”

The Witches ignored all of this and continued opening their Eldritch Gateway. When at last their rituals were completed, the gateway before them showed only perfectly obsidian darkness. Then, as if they all grew tired and their vision blurry, the darkness was replaced by a perfect mirror reflection of It’s surroundings. The Witches and Jötunns present found themselves no longer believing it had ever been pitch black, as if that memory were not but a dream. The Gateway was closed and the onlookers analyzed the ritual chamber. Nothing seemed different about the chamber. Nothing had changed. But Witch and Titan alike could both, almost preternaturally, sense that something was horribly wrong with the space before them. It was as if the inanimate chamber was breathing. As if the Absence of something was, itself, alive. Then Ysmirœlda cast the first spell of detection and the true form of the empty, breathing space was revealed. The massive, semi-humanoid creature lurched up with three legs made of various metals and what looked to be glowing, crushed bone cementing the metals together. It’s form seemed to warp and bend sharply as it rose, sometimes small and shriveled while other times it’s proportions were so gargantuan they defied the brain’s comprehension. Then It turned and looked at Ysmirœlda. She screamed horrifically as she stared into a mask that seemed to be made of thousands of squirming, struggling lifeforms. She had stared directly into It’s eyeholes, empty black pits. Portions of Ysmirœlda’s soul were taken that day, falling into the “eyes” of the creature they had summoned. She never fully recovered. The Covens warded themselves and then began attempting to destroy the spawn as the nearby Titans charged it thunderously. It did not kill them. They simply gave up and laid down to rest when they got too near. The Witches hurled their most powerful spells at the Profane Entity, but a seemingly organic cloud made of muscular sinew ate up the ground at the Creature’s ball shaped feet. It rained black, oily droplets upwards into the sky all around the now monumental Horror. Their spells were soaked up by the Black Rain, rendering them null and void. The Mass pointed in their direction with It’s gnarled, singular finger seemingly made from hundreds of different, molten farming tools. There was something shadowy, squirming just within the finger of red, hot tools. Then the Creature spoke.

“Why do you assault they who would save you?”

It’s voice was thousandfold, composed entirely of the screams that dying gods make…or would make. Many of the Witches could hear the screams of their most hated enemies amongst the cacophony of death.

“We are Tlāloc and we are summoned by thee. We cannot be undone. We heard your hearts screaming at us for Vengeance. For Suffering. To crush the gods beneath you and hear THEM beg you for mercy. The cries of all the Witches trapped in the Abyss by the gods, suffering, can FINALLY KNOW PEEEACE!”

It wept, images of the Lost Witches, being tortured in the Abyssal Realms, flashing forth from its eyeholes. Sulfuric acid was now continuously dripping from It’s two, massive fangs.

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pyyles · 9 months

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‎ ‎ As a mind, a body and a soul, what is it for person to look at another and conceptualise them and define them? That person who looks to create an image defines the other with only a silhouette of who they really are. Individuality and knowing of ones being and existence is so nuanced that another person who attempts to so much as try to craft an idea of another can only get so far, and not very far at all. To start at matter, the body, you shape an outline of a person, an image that serves no other purpose but being an image in itself, just some object to put a face to some behaviour. Behaviour is the chain between body and mind, our mind being a cultivation of our consciousness, our ideas, our thoughts and the changes we undergo that persevere in our memory, these things influencing our behaviour. Of course, we can restrain the behaviour and the influence, too. What comes after is the soul, ‘after’ being a word you can’t truly use for something that has no beginning or end. This, you cannot contain the influence of or alter. The soul is a frequency, an attunement to everything that exists outside of the rest of ‘you’, something only you are aware of or choose not to be aware of. Intrapersonal with everything else and the soul. This is what makes the shadow that fills the outline, that encapsulates the silhouette that others believe they have achieved of ‘you’.

‎ ‎ Two or more people who know of this soul of their own, know of the experiences and the feelings it brings them, the sensation of being connected with absolutely everything, and everything connected with you, are the people who can truly conceptualise one another, as true as a conceptualisation of ‘person’ from another ‘person’ could ever get. When you touch the grass you first feel it in your body, understand it in your mind and consume it in your soul. When you drink the salt water that the ocean brings to you, you taste its saltiness through your body, understand its properties with your mind, and accept it with your soul. There is a third layer to the essence of being, to ideas, to knowledge that you and I understand and will eventually teach.

‎ ‎○

#philosophy #literature

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

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Ben 10 lore that exists in my heart regardless of canon

- Ben’s personality in his mid-late teens is a mix of his Alien Force and Omniverse self. On the surface, he’s very cheerful and kind even if he is a bit of arrogant showoff. He makes jokes and plays around and acts as if he isn’t bothered by the things in his life. Those who know him best understand a good portion of his outward confidence and cockiness is just a facade to cover up his insecurities and to project the ideal, effortless hero. While sometimes seen as immature, most beings know Ben 10 means business as he takes his unofficial job and people’s safety very seriously. He’s clever, adaptable, charismatic and empathetic which makes him a formidable opponent and a loyal friend. Doesn’t open up easily but if you get to him, he become so dearly attached.

- Drinks smoothies so much for several reasons. Comfort food go brrr, reminds him of the good easy times with him Gwen and Kev. It’s also a light but generally nutritous food to give him energy for heroing. Anything too heavy and he’ll be puking (both from physical and emotional stress). Though he jokes about his mom’s health foods, his are a crazy concoction of add in proteins and vitamins/minerals bc he knows he’ll out and out collapse without it. (Still has on occasion bc boy still doesn’t eat right/enough)

- While Fame is exciting for him at first he soon begins to detest it. Not the fans, no, he can’t bring himself to hate the people who look up to him. But he hates the constant attention, that he can’t walk outside without being mobbed. the only place he feels safe is his hometown where most people are so used to him and his weirdness that they don’t react much anymore. Takes to wearing a cape and face shield when going out anywhere so he can actually get things done without being recognized and mobbed.

- Part of the reason Bellwood isn’t concerned with Ben is partially because ben’s been weird and alien for as long as they can remember but also many don’t realize how famous/powerful he is. Yeah that’s just Ben Tennyson over there, sometimes he turns into funny creatures- wait what do you MEAN he’s the savior of the universe?? He cried over a spilled smoothie the other day.

- Does mostly online schooling by the time he’s 15. At first he tries to do half day things to maintain something of a normal life but it quickly becomes overwhelming and dangerous him/the school. Finishes his GED early but the Plumbers and Azmuth make him take additional college level and alien courses to prepare him for his future role. Ben gripes but really does love learning all these things, especially on his terms (ADHD and stress + the public school system do not always go hand in hand). He’s a quick learner when he deems the information important and is made accessible to his learning needs.

- Ben definitely has ADHD speaking of which, it was nearly uncontrollable as a child bc his free-spirited parents didn’t believe in medicating. Ben convinced them he needed it and after some trial and error, found meds that worked. As he became more involved in heroics/growing up he had to change his medicine regimen (resulting in him being a bit more off the rails in OV) and needed antidepressants and therapy to manage it better. As an adult he has a whole litany of coping mechanisms (good and bad yes) and regularly checks in with his therapist and doctors to keep things under control.

- Has a complicated relationship with his necrofriggian children. Considers himself their mother and worries after them. They too feel a connection to their parent despite this being unusual for their species. A few visit (some more than others) while they grow while others maintain distance. Ben never breathes a word of them to the media for fear of them being targeted. Still he keeps an eye on them and ensures all 14 mature to adulthood (another rarity for the species). Checks in every now and again with the ones who don’t want to see him and those that do. Two join the Plumbers and Ben is both proud and worried. His youngest becomes partners with Rook Ben.

- Just in general loves kids, they’re his favorite fans and while he’ll grumble at pushy adult fans he always smiles and kneels down for the little ones. Not so secretly wanted to have children of his own but knew it was a risk overall and used a lot of that energy with mentoring and teaching. Eventually had Kenny later in life (late 30s-40s) and was over the moon, becoming such a loving and doing parent or as much as he could be with his hectic schedule.

- Omnitrix can’t come off, never has at any point since it first latched onto Ben’s arm. Azmuth tried and failed to get the device off, doesn’t let Ben know for many years as he feared the consequences. The watch loves and protects Ben even beyond it’s programming making him much more durable to damage and releasing energy charges when he’s threatened. Not even removing Ben’s arm would separate them. They’re stuck for life.

- Ben does have Anodite heritage but the Omnitrix actively suppresses it and uses the built up energy to power the transformations which is why ben is mostly unaffected by what should cause a massive energy drain on him. Theoretically if Ben learned to harness and safely use his Mana at an early age like Gwen he would have been fine but letting it build up without safe outlet meant activation would have killed him. Omnitrix Ben, however, went his whole life not knowing of his latent abilities and how the watch saved his life.

- Ben’s eyes get more green and glowy as time passes from the Omnitrix. At first they think its a trick of the light but by the time he’s an adult his eyes are pretty much glow in the dark. His veins light up too after long stretches of using the Omnitrix. Its vaguely unsettling to people who aren’t used to Ben.

- Max and the Earth Plumbers work so, so hard to keep teen Ben on Earth when half the universe is blowing up their comm lines asking for The Ben 10 to help with whatever problem of the day. Ben himself doesn’t quite understand when he’s younger the prestige and expectations on his shoulders. Max throws up a million and one roadblocks so Ben can live as normal a life as possible while he still can. Still, while doing that he Still overloads Ben with expectations and responsibilities on earth and beyond. He becomes a soldier again with Ben as their greatest weapon. He never forgave himself of losing sight of his grandson underneath the hero esp after Ben’s breakdown.

- Rook partnership with Ben ends not long after Omniverse with his promotion to Magister. Ben tries to play it cool but the thought of another loved one/teammate leaving his tears him apart. Max revealing that Ben most likely wouldn’t get a new Plumber assigned partner since he’s almost an adult and won’t need it and Rook accidentally missing their last smoothie run due to a scheduling mishap causes Ben to snap and have the nervous breakdown that had been building for almost a decade. He completely loses it for a little while and needs to take an extended leave of absence from school and heroics that lasts about a year. Spends time recovering both on Earth and Galvan Prime, does some diplomatic training, learns about aliens, actually confronts the stress and loneliness of his life. He comes out the other side stronger but still fragile and exhausted.

- Ben’s above mentioned breakdown brings him closer to all his friends who didn’t quite realize the extent of Ben’s burden. Rook had been under the impression Ben didn’t like him all that much so the knowledge that his departure was the final straw for friend/hero’s collapse was shocking. Ben and Azmuth also become closer, the Galvan becoming fiercely protective of the boy seeing as his Earth family didn’t do well to keep him safe. It takes years for him to get over his anger at Max for putting so much on his grandchild. Ben makes more friends, in and out of the hero business, finally gets a therapist and gets some of his burdens eased a bit. It’s not a sure fire fix and Ben has several smaller breakdowns the rest of his life but its something.

- Azmuth was straight up suicidal before he met Ben for the first time. Ben gave him back hope for the universe and his ability to create items for peace not weapons. The boy infuriates him, frightens him, frustrates him but Azmuth cannot deny in his heart of hearts that he loves Ben dearly. He’s very upset at Ben’s breakdown and doesn’t know how to handle the worst of the initail outbursts. Azmuth talks Ben down from a suicide attempt. He reaches out to Ben that he Too felt overwhelmed by pressure, thought himself only good for war. Ben’s arrival in his life saved him and now he will do the same for Ben. It’s the first positive step forward in Ben’s recovery.

- For no other reason than I like it, Azmuth primarily refers to Ben as Benjamin (mostly to annoy the kid but he likes the way it sounds too) and Ben in softer, more serious moments.

- Professor Paradox continues to flit in and out of Ben’s life. He says its because Ben is the most equipped to handle universal peril (true) but he’s also just very fond of the boy. Ben, existing in so many forms and having such importance also exists a beat outside of normal reality which Paradox identifies with. Ben is naturally attuned to time related problems because of this (instantly IDing Spanner as from the future before being told later deducing him to be his unborn son). Plus Ben named him, way back when. He’s just drawn to Ben.

- Adult Ben, while being seen as an impressively skilled fighter and champion, really has his strength as a universal diplomat of sorts. Based out of Earth, he helps mediate and defuse conflicts, advocate against tyranny and overall preserve peace and balance. He’s not perfect, he makes mistakes and sometimes is forced to become violent (and yes kill) but overall is regarded as a peacekeeper, something younger ben simply couldn’t understand.

- Gwen gets her degree and primarily does work with advocacy and teaching about magic/alien culture. While she and Ben are still close, there’s a bit of a frustrated divide in that she isn’t helping him share the burden of the universe. Gwen never wanted to be a hero and has enough worth to not shackle herself to a job that’ll burn her out. Ben loves heroing but gives too much of himself away trying to fix everything. They get into screaming arguments that it wouldn’t be so bad out there if she just helped him but she refuses to budge and says he shouldn’t make himself do so much. They always make up and thy still are each other’s closest relationships.

- Ben marries Kai in a political move, Kai is Asexual and Ben Aromantic. They didn’t love each other but they got on well enough and Ben was really feeling the stress of carrying the hero burden so Kai also being involved made him feel like he wasn’t alone. Both were also so tired of the universe constantly asking about their love life and said ‘fuck it we’re married leave us alone’. Gwen was always mad about it feeling Ben deserved better but the two of them were happy with it. They had separate rooms, mostly separate lives but they became strong friends and supports with their strictly platonic marriage. They had Ken via Invitro in an incubator and were loving if extremely busy parents.

- Also from the moment he appeared, Ben knew that Spanner was his future son, Kenny. He played ignorant and then was kind of deliberately teasing him in future encounters. He knew the rules of time and didn’t want to disrupt things further even if he was angry and worried as heck about why Ken felt the need to time travel. When future Ben catches up in the timeline, Kenny gets SUCH a lecture.

- Ben isn’t quite immortal but he’s also not entirely human anymore either. The Omnitrix not only keeps him safe from most harm but it lightens the effect of aging. Ben 10 is active many, many years when most humans would have been forced to retire. He’s not sure how long the watch will keep him alive and it terrifies him. Gwen too is functionally immortal however she ages like a normal human, then when her natural death came, shed her skin and became a fulltime Anodite. So in the end, it was her and Ben together wondering which of them will die first. Gwen has trouble retaining her humanity as pure energy and swears she’ll let herself fizzle out when Ben goes. When that’ll be however...

#Ben 10 #this took sooo long whoops #i wanna write about ben's breakdown so mad you have no idea

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etherealperrie · 3 years

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Arsonist's Lullaby (Loki x Reader AU)

Loki Laufeyson x Reader: in which Loki and Reader find themselves under the covers, sharing in the comfortable silence of the home they've created with one another.

Self-Insert // Alternate Universe // Imagine // Fluff

Word Count: 1k

The bed greets his weary body. He winces as he slides beneath the sheets and pulls them up around his neck, breathing in the soft scent of pine and bergamot. His eyes falter shut and for a moment the world goes black, the day melting away. He wanted nothing more than to forget the fight lost to his brother earlier in the day: a civil disagreement that ended with Loki on the wrong side of Thor’s hammer. He’d get back at his brother another time, once his bruised rib had time to heal. The gentle chirping of crickets outside the window paired with the soft humming of his lover in the bathroom keeps him tethered to reality, though.

Loki opens his eyes to the dimly lit room and shimmies out of his clothes, knowing they’d only inhibit his sleep later. Not just that, though, the cotton material of his robe might dull the feeling of his lover's hands as they dance across his back and stomach in an embrace. To dull that moment would be sinful, for it is one of life’s greatest pleasures.

Shuffling footsteps grow louder and he rolls over expectantly, glancing up at you as you round the corner into the bedroom. Loki’s eyes connect with yours, sending your heart into a flurry of anticipation to just hold him. He looks exhausted, ready for sleep, but your selfishness begs him to stay awake for just a few more minutes. It’s no more than a few seconds before the lights are off and your body is finally beside his. A comfortable silence falls over the room, mimicking the blanket of fog settling over the small Irish town you two decided to call home. Much like the fog is to the earth and its creatures, the silence is a welcome and necessary routine that nourishes and replenishes the soul.

The moment his bare skin comes into contact with yours as he pulls you closer into him, his cold fingers skimming the length of your torso, up your neck, and across your lips, god, you are reborn.

“How was your day, my love?” He asks, placing a kiss on your forehead. His voice, deep and rich, breaks the silence of the room -- not that you were complaining.

“Hopelessly human,” you sigh.

Loki lets out a soft chuckle. You crane your neck to look up at him, your cheek pressed against his chest. He’s smiling, a dimple forming just under his right cheek.

“What?”

“You make being a god seem so glamorous.”

“Is it not?”

You were right, Loki couldn’t deny that. Being the son of Odin did have its perks, but it was far from perfect. Whether that was a consequence of his status as a god or his own life choices, though, was another question entirely.

“Think of it this way, love, I’m living in an Irish cottage with you instead of on Asgard.”

You laugh this time, squeezing his sides a bit tighter. “Huh, I didn’t know I held such power over you.” Your tone drips with sarcasm, taunting him. “I mean, to give up a night on Asgard for me?”

Loki shakes his head, wrapping his arms around you. He breathes in the scent of your floral shampoo and pulls you on top of his chest, turning his torso so that he’s spooning you, his nose pressed to the nape of your neck.

You quite enjoy watching his cheeks turn a soft shade of pink, it wasn’t often that the God of Mischief was at a loss for words.

“If I could give back the nights I spent there before now, I would.” In the short time he’d been with you, he’d essentially forgotten what it’s like to lay alone and if it were up to him, he'd never remember those cold, restless nights. Perhaps that’s why he loves Earth so much, it’s quiet and simple — at least when he’s with you.

You hum in agreement, relishing in the feeling of his lips as they kiss down your spine. Chills spread across your back and up your neck and you shiver, pulling his arm around your torso.

“So, are you going to tell me about your day then?”

“Mmmm,” you mumble, yawning. “I went to the, uh, the — uhm — market and I found…”

Loki smiles in the darkness, attuned to the sleep in your voice, your thoughts trailing off as your eyelids droop.

“It’s alright love, you can tell me in the morning.”

You nod, snuggling closer to him, slipping your fingers between his. He smiles to himself. God, he was so lucky; you were his and his alone. Loki never expected anyone and he could never have predicted you, of all people. You, so soft and kind, so unlike his hard exterior, so undeserving of his love. But he’s so happy it’s you -- he’d never once thought kindly of Earth and its inhabitants before you.

Before you, Loki hated rest. He loathed the nights when he wasn’t out in the galaxy plotting his next moves and planning his detailed vengeance strategies. His home on Asgard was exquisite, the bed comfortable, anything he wanted at his fingertips. Yet, he could never sleep, his mind restless, his body cold, his soul aching for something he didn’t believe existed.

Now he knows.

The night feels longer when it belongs to only you and Loki, but he no longer minds the time spent lounging beneath the sheets. When he’s holding you, your light snores filling the room, he feels at home. It was with you when he realized home wasn’t a place, but a person. Here, at home, there’s no mention of anyone else, no interruptions from the outside world, just two souls communicating every need and every desire through touch.

Soon, the darkness of the room submits to the blackness behind your eyes as you drift deeper and deeper into sleep. You keep hold of your love, too, hoping he can join you in the dreamland.

---

A/N: hello, if you've gotten this far, thank you! I hope you enjoyed my very small contribution to the Loki fanfiction universe. This is the first time I've written for Loki or the Marvel universe in any way. I have a pretty limited understanding of the whole thing, but what I lack in marvel plot, I make up for in indulgent fluff and imagines with the characters that I enjoy. Feel free to leave feedback, reblogs, or likes, whatever you'd like! 💜

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cancerjupiter · 4 years

Text

astrology notes: moon’s origins edition (pt. 2)

moon in libra

libra moons crave the idealized experience of beauty and peace; you seek to co-operate with others, to please, and to establish one-to-one relationships which are mutually gratifying. you also find satisfaction in using your minds, particularly your power of objectivity. a parent who valued you highly and enjoyed pleasing you; who encouraged your aesthetic and intellectual development, and who was willing and able to appreciate your points of view, may have helped you to become attuned to the positive dimensions of a libra moon.

if, however, your moon is in difficult aspect, or if its trines or sextiles suggest a parent who was only superficially available to you, you may attempt to gain from a partner what you could never experience from our parents. you may become overly dependent upon others, seeking to win their favor by being indispensable and satisfying their every desire. you 're also inclined to avoid confronting our anger and pain, suppressing emotions because you fear any threat to your relationships which might force you to acknowledge your aloneness. these patterns were probably by a parent figure who placed too much emphasis upon appearance or surface harmony, who could not tolerate discord, or who led you to believe that relationship equals subordinating oneself to another. such a mother or father may have brought many unfulfilled needs into parenting, expecting you to compensate for deficiencies he or she experienced in childhood or marriage.

although your libra moons suggest that your emotional fulfillment requires mutually significant relationships with others, you can only build satisfying connections by first developing a secure relationship with yourselves, accepting as valid your own feelings and needs, and being willing to assert yourselves, even when it means experiencing temporary discord for the sake of more authentic contact. you need to apply your openmindedness and capacity to identify with many points of view in relation to both yourselves, and others - to listen to and affirm each of your internal needs, willingly entering disharmony and imbalance when necessary to create a more enduring harmony and balance which is so vital to you. you need to honor your libran need for beauty and peace, creating environments and relationships which truly soothe and uplift you.

moon in scorpio

this moon shows you value your privacy; you are capable of considerable emotional intensity and passion; and you need to probe beneath the surface of experience to truly connect with something. when your feelings are denied or your needs unmet, you may easily resort to detrimental scorpio behavior patterns - obsessions with sexuality or money, expressions of revenge or destruction, or demanding and manipulative behaviors. one of the difficulties of a scorpio moon is related to the fear of losing control or surrendering. because of this fear, you may deny or conceal the softer, vulnerable facets of yourselves, preventing yourselves from experiencing the genuine connection you seek.

you may have internalized messages from your parents which enabled you to develop resourcefulness, endurance and strength of character, and the power to plumb the depths of experience. your sexuality may have been awakened early through the intensity of friendly or family interactions (this doesn’t mean abuse; but sex was one outlet your intense feelings found to let themselves go), so you were forced to come to terms with your own life and death force. a scorpionic parent, however, may have negatively influenced your ability to receive nurturance and to nourish yourselves. perhaps such a parent was hostile and disciplinary, so you developed considerable mistrust and learned to hide your feelings. they may have been dominating, intrusive or sexually provocative, leading you to fear being possessed or overpowered. coldness or stoicism, as manifested in a 'be tough' attitude, may have prevented your internal child from receiving the tenderness and care you needed. sometimes a scorpio moon suggests the premature death of a parent, or a premature confrontation with realities of death or violence.

you have the power to re-parent yourselves by recovering, accepting and expressing your feelings and emotional needs, not just your sexual desires. you need to contact your core, to possess yourselves rather than others, and to learn how to channel your passion constructively. one task of your scorpionic moon is that of discovering your inner power and drawing upon your own capacities to meet your needs rather than manipulating others to give you what you are unable or unwilling to give yourselves.

moon in sagittarius

if you have a sagittarian moon, you need to be free to expand your boundaries - to discover and actualize possibilities, to travel, and / or to develop your own understanding of things. you have a generous heart and seek to give from your own bounty; you also seek to rise above your difficulties through humor and friendship.

when your real needs aren’t met, or when you come into contact with feelings or desires which threaten you, you may express your sagittarian nature in a defensive or twisted manner - procrastinating or avoiding immediate issues by focusing upon the future, abstract realms or escapism (daydreaming); becoming preoccupied with ideals or goals rather than current tasks; intellectualizing or philosophizing incessantly; joking inappropriately; or moving restlessly from activity to activity or person to person on an endless quest both to escape from responsibility and to fulfill your inner emptiness.

most probably, your mother or significant parent figure provided you with a constructive philosophical framework by which to view life, and imbued you with a love of both internal and external exploration. but such a parent may have been fearful of emotional closeness and taken refuge in themselves rather than responding to your actual needs or feelings or to the difficulties or burdens you experienced. they may have indulged you rather than given you real nourishment. they may have preached rather than gently taught, issuing 'shoulds' or religious principles which may don’t keep up with your own nature and development.

those with moon in sag may need to reparent yourselves by creating your own philosophy and morality apart from your parents and by using your philosophy to help you come to terms with rather than suppress your feelings and needs. your tasks may also include learning to give to yourselves and others, developing the internal freedom capable of existing within limitations and commitments, and discovering and maintaining contact with the god you believe in (if you do), the universe within or whichever internal guiding spirit which leads and inspires you.

moon in capricorn

those of you with a capricorn moon (me!) need the security of organization and structure, and the satisfaction of maintaining commitments and achieving your aims. you take pride in your work and want recognition for your accomplishments. capricorn is the position of the moon's detriment (i know. i know.) and is therefore a particularly difficult position for experiencing emotional nourishment and developing self-nurturing behaviors. when feelings and needs emerge, you may not even allow them fully to enter your consciousness. you may be too afraid of your vulnerability or weakness, and too judgemental of your inner child. repression of the deeper facets of yourselves may lead you to wallow in depression, negativity or self-criticism, to work incessantly, or to isolate yourselves from fulfilling connections with other people. you may continually give ourselves 'be tough' messages which support your self-sufficiency but prevent the real connection with your feelings which makes close relationships possible.

it is most likely that a parental figure helped you to learn to control your emotions, take responsibility for yourselves and make adult rather than childish decisions; and also provided the consistency and safety you needed to feel secure. however, having a capricorn moon suggests that you could never give free rein to your feelings, and that you probably did not receive much tender nurturance (i did, but it was from another parent; mixed messages can make your feelings even more blurry). your parent may have been cold and rejecting; they may have neglected you or told that your feelings and needs had little value. perhaps they were also a perfectionist you could not satisfy, and whose acceptance was conditional upon notable achievement and success. as a result, you may feel a sense of worth only for what you accomplish, but not for who you are.

moons in capricorn, you need to create their own standards for yourselves apart from your parents' standards, and to give up compensatory striving which does not meet our genuine needs. your task involves developing an internal source of security and giving yourselves the validation and recognition you may have originally sought from others. you may only experience the fulfillment you seek when, by accepting your feelings and needs and allowing yourselves to be vulnerable, you discover strength and self-sufficiency which embraces rather than denies the sensitivity of your inner child.

moon in aquarius

your aquarian moon shows that you need to experience and express your individuality, to be free to interact with a wide range of people, and to use your intuitive, inventive and abstract mental capacities, and to contribute meaningfully to society. the energies of aquarius do not mesh easily with the cancerian moon principle. you may have difficulty acknowledging and validating your desires and feelings, and fear closeness and intimacy. when threatened by emerging emotions or needs, you may rationalize or intellectualize, may rebel or loudly proclaim your self-sufficiency, or may become overly preoccupied with meaningless shit. sometimes, moon in aquarius may lead you to make sudden abrupt changes in our lives to overcome the internal suffocation of too much closeness or intimacy with another person and / or lifestyle. cultivating a network of friends, and dedicating yourselves to a cause in which you believe, may fulfill you, but may also be a compensation for unmet personal needs.

it is most likely that a parent encouraged your aquarian qualities. they may have been intellectual, humanitarian and individualistic, and supported these traits in yourselves. you learned to take pride in your uniqueness and originality, and in your social and mental skills. however, such a parent may also have been emotionally detached or cold, and unable to nurture you physically or emotionally, while remaining responsive to large groups of people and social involvements which were less restrictive and emotionally demanding than ties to you. one or both of your parents may have been erratic when relating to you, so you could not develop trust in stable relationships, and learned at an early age to defend against intimacy.

you who have aquarian moons need to experience and value your own uniqueness, while simultaneously creating for yourselves your own society of intimates, one in which your emotional needs are respected and met rather than suppressed. you need to develop and trust your intuition, and to use your minds to help you understand your feelings and discover how to meet your needs, rather than escape from them. other tasks of your moon involve cultivating the internal freedom which results from full openness to your emotional natures and learning to be your own friend rather than submerging ourselves in social interactions because of your discomfort with yourselves. you can only have yourself.

moon in pisces

having this placement means that you need space in your lives to drift and to dream, relationships based upon empathic bonds, and openness to sources of inspiration inside and outside yourselves. the water energy of the moon is easily expressed, and sometimes overly emphasized, by a pisces moon. when you experience your feelings and needs, you may even indulge them through long bouts of crying, self-pity, or elicitations of sympathy from other people. with or without awareness, you may seek to escape from yourselves through fantasy or idealization, or through such addictions as alcohol or drugs. many of you with pisces moons may vicariously experience your feelings and satisfy your needs by continually focusing upon the feelings and needs of others and devoting ourselves to their welfare.

a parent who was a piscean influence most probably responded sensitively and compassionately to you and encouraged your inspirational temperament. however, if your Moon is afflicted, such a parent may also have had a detrimental influence upon you. they may have overindulged you, catering to your aches and pains, or too frequently played the victim, giving to you wholeheartedly but also invoking guilt or seeking complete dedication in return. they may have been hypochondriacal, or of an ethereal nature which could not easily come to terms with physical reality. a piscean parent may have been victim to their own addictions, or tangled in dreams or fantasies and not fully emotionally or physically present.

moon in pisces may need to learn how to respond constructively to your own feelings and needs, to serve yourselves and give to yourselves rather than attempt to lose yourselves in others. often, because you suffer from a spiritual discontent, you may have difficulty accepting and adapting to the realities of an earthly existence; you need to translate your visions into action, to live those dreams which are viable, forging a link between your practical and spiritual or creative natures. you may seek to experience oneness in close relationships, but you are not likely to know wholly that oneness unless you cultivate your attunement to your own creative and / or spiritual source, and open your hearts to the fullness of both the love and the pain within you.

#astrology #zodiac signs #pisces moon #sagittarius moon #aquarius moon #capricorn moon #libra moon #scorpio moon #moon signs #moon in pisces #moon in libra #moon in scorpio #moon in aquarius #moon in capricorn #moon in sagittarius

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willowcrowned · 3 years

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I wish you would write a fic where for some reason Luke & Leia are dropped in the past, specifically in the Mellida/Daan conflict after tiny baby Obi Wan has decided to stay there and Qui Gon has left him, which is followed by them winning that war and adopting/kidnapping Obi Wan and then meeting Qui Gon who kinda wants to 1- induct them into the order and 2- his Padawan back

Keeping in mind that I haven’t actually read any of the books, and all my knowledge has been gained through dubious fandom osmosis, let’s do this:

Luke and Leia are both twenty seven. The New Republic is established, the new Order has lots more Jedi Masters, and both of them are, well, not obsolete, because they both take an active role in their respective jobs, but they’re not necessary. Leia and Han are married, Luke has had a string of hookups, and they’re both... restless. You don’t live a war for four years and come out of it knowing how to live peacefully. Leia doesn’t know how to stop being in command; Luke doesn’t know how to stop feeling like he needs to be saving people all the time.

And then, all of a sudden, they’re in the middle of a war zone. Shots are flying, there’s yelling, and, worst of all, there are children everywhere. Luke ignites his saber, Leia grabs her blaster, and they get out of there, pulling as many children with them as they can.

The kids take them to their high command, which is filled with children— and only children. Luke and Leia share a look, and they can feel the other’s face harden in tandem with their own. This cannot— will not— go on.

And then, leading them, is a tiny jedi padawan and a girl with a shock of red hair, and Luke, against all odds, knows who the child is.

The war ends quickly after that— not bloodlessly, not without sacrifice, not without pain that the children never should have had to endure, but at least it ends quickly. Obi-Wan and his friend, Cerasi, both survive through the war, and through the rebuilding.

And then Luke and Leia are at a loss.

They’ve done this before— staying after peace has been established, seeing the resurgence not only of life, but of culture, of music and literature and science, and they love it, they love seeing the beginnings of a new kind of civilization but... there’s nothing for them to do.

Okay, they think, looking at each other. There must be other planets like this. We can bring them peace.

They tell the Young, the Melida, the Daan— they tell Cerasi and Obi-Wan— and everyone is happy but one. Luke can sense it— he’s always been attuned to Obi-Wan— and he asks him what’s wrong.

The whole story of Qui-Gon tumbles out of him— Tahl, leaving him, and Bandomeer before that— and Luke is a kind person, but this? This is awful.

“Alright,” he says to Obi-Wan, “If you want, I could train you.” And every bit of anxiety that Luke might feel about his own negligible mastery is washed away by the pure brightness of Obi-Wan’s face.

They leave Melida/Daan to its rebirth, and find another system to help. Obi-Wan grows, both in stature and in skill, and most importantly, in security. Every day that Luke and Leia don’t leave him, every day they hug him and come back for him and ask him what he’s feeling and what he wants like it matters, like he matters, he heals a little more.

And then, when Obi-Wan is fifteen, Qui-Gon tracks them down.

They’ve been on Mandalore a month when he shows up (Obi-Wan clearly has a crush on Satine, and Leia is coaching him through the politics of it while Luke just says vaguely encouraging things about love and connections with other people). Luke and Leia are... not pleased, to put it politely. They tell him, very sweet and very cold the whole way through, that he’s not welcome anywhere near Obi-Wan.

And then everything goes down.

The five of them end up on the run together, stuck in small ship after small ship, and Qui-Gon wants to dislike them, he really does, but they’re competent fighters and leaders, subtle when they need to be and loud when they don’t, and they’re excellent teachers for Obi-Wan, who’s excelling in a way Qui-Gon has never seen of a padawan before.

But they don’t let him near Obi-Wan. (The deal, as they explained it on the first night, was that until Obi-Wan asked to talk to Qui-Gon, Qui-Gon would not be talking to him. It’s a hard rule to enforce, and they do occasionally have to work together whenever they get into a tight spot, but for the most part, it sticks. Qui-Gon hasn’t been able to say any more to Obi-Wan than “On your left,” “Get down,” and “Now!”)

(Obi-Wan and Satine, all this while are engaging in the sort of courting that would only occur to two fairly repressed teenagers who tend to get shot at a lot, which is to say that there are many, many, occasions upon which they stitch each others wounds.)

And then it all comes to head.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon get trapped on a planet, Luke and Leia blasting off into the atmosphere with Satine, because they’ll all die if they don’t, and Obi-Wan is left alone with the man that might have been his master.

Qui-Gon, to his credit, doesn’t push— they’re both exhausted, and Obi-Wan is wounded, and Qui-Gon may be practical but he’s not cruel, so after they’ve found shelter and stitched themselves up, he doesn’t push. After all, no one dies if Obi-Wan continues on the path he’s set for himself, even if the Order loses what might have been a brilliant Jedi. And besides, Qui-Gon has too much respect for Luke and Leia now to say that what they’re teaching Obi-Wan is bad.

So it’s Obi-Wan who speaks first.

“They’re coming back, you know.”

Qui-Gon doesn’t scoff but— it’s a near thing. “The mission is more important. They know that.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t react defensively— not the way a normal child might— he just shakes his head, and says with complete peace and certainty, “They’re coming back. They always do.”

Qui-Gon inclines his head, not conceding the point, but conceding that he won’t argue it further.

There’s a silence, then, a stillness that stretches beyond not moving— something in the Force, a waiting, the static before a thunderstorm.

“I came back,” Qui-Gon says, in the end, tired and older than his years, “to Melida/Daan. I came back for you.”

Obi-Wan swallows, looking very, very, small all of a sudden, even wrapped in Luke’s cloak. “You left me,” he says, barely above a whisper. “You left a thirteen year old in the middle of a war he didn’t know how to handle, and then you took my home from me.”

“I know,” Qui-Gon says, and he knows what he has to say— what he’s known since he found Melida/Daan at peace, and Obi-Wan gone, spirited away by some specters of a war ended, and realized that he had lost him for good— but that doesn’t make the words come any easier. “I was wrong,” he chokes out, syllable by agonizing syllable, “it was cruel, and I was wrong.”

A strange change comes over Obi-Wan, as if, after all these years, Qui-Gon’s words still mean something to him— as if whatever explanation he can give is enough for Obi-Wan’s absolution.

“Yes,” he agrees, and if he sounds older than he is, it’s not because he’s tired, but because he’s balanced, “it was.”

“I’m sorry,” Qui-Gon says, because it’s true, because he is, because he knows know what he didn’t know then— that Obi-Wan was right, was better than him in that moment, that Obi-Wan saw injustice, saw pain, and gave up everything he had, everything he’d ever wanted, to stop it. Qui-Gon hasn’t ever been able to do that, and he wants to blame it on Dooku, on the Order, on the censure he always receives for acting outside the exact guidelines, but he knows the truth of it; he keeps himself from caring so he doesn’t ever have to face those choices. Dooku may have taught him, the Order may have shaped him, but it’s him who makes that decision, day after day, and it took losing another padawan to finally face it. If Qui-Gon is what a Jedi is, then Obi-Wan is what a Jedi should be.

Obi-Wan looks at him, and he’s hurt, yes, and still grieving, but above all else he’s kind, like he can see what Qui-Gon has gone through, like he’s witnessed the worst he has to offer, and still thinks there’s good in him— the genuine, shining, good embodied by Obi-Wan.

“I know,” Obi-Wan says, “and I forgive you.”

#i'm not going to turn this into a fic i'm not going to turn this into a fic i'm not going to turn #sorry there's not a lot of the skywalkers but as always I have been derailed by Qui and Obi dynamics #asks #anon #fic wish game #star wars #star wars au #willow's aus #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #i need a tag for these two #children of war au

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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Hi! I was just watching good omens and I came up with some questions, but I didn't know whom to ask, so I was digging around for go analysis blogs and found you. *takes a breath* So, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on why Heaven's camera angles are the way they are. I noticed that, in heaven, the camera tends to focus on the characters' heads specifically, so they fill most of the screen. Either it's a meta reason or a reference to something (like Newt with the Office) that I'm not getting. That's the main thing, but I've also wondered why exactly Aziraphale uses the verb "fraternize" in the 19th century. It seemed an odd pivot from caring about Crowley's safety to Heaven's rules. Thanks so much!

Hello! Omg yes, let's talk Good Omens cinematography.

First, the obligatory Analysis Disclaimer: I doubt there's a specific interpretation that you're just not getting, some singular, "correct" reading of the scene(s). Two years past release, I'm positive the fandom as a whole has come up with plenty of ideas (I mostly hang on the periphery. I'm far from up to date with GO meta), but any and all of it will, by nature, be subjective. Thus, all I can offer is my own, personal interpretation.

So for me? It's about intimacy.

Not intimacy in the sense of friendship, but rather the broad idea of closeness. Confidentiality. Emotion. Knowledge. Understanding by means of literally getting into the thick of these conversations. I love the camerawork in Heaven (and elsewhere) because the camera itself acts like a person — an additional party to these interactions. And, since we're the ones watching this show via the camera, it makes it feel as if we're peeking into scenes that are otherwise private. Obviously all cinematography does this to a certain extent, the camera is always watching someone or something without acknowledging that we're doing the watching (outside of documentary-esque filmmaking), but GO uses angles and closeups to mimic another person observing these scenes, someone other than the characters involved.

The easiest example I can give here is when Michael makes their call to Ligur. Here, the camera is positioned up on the next landing of the staircase, as if we're sneaking a look down at this otherwise secret call. There's even a moment when the camera pans to the right to look at them through the gap in the railing, briefly obscuring Michael from our view.

Here, a standard expectation of any scene — keep your character in focus — is done away with to instead mimic the movements of someone actually hiding in the stairwell, listening in on the conversation. It creates that feeling of intimacy, as if we're really there with Michael, not just watching Michael through a screen. The camerawork acts like a person overhearing an illicit conversation prior to falling back on mid/closeup shots. We're spying on them.

To give a non-Heaven example, the camera helps us connect with Aziraphale during Gabriel's jogging scene. It's hard to show through screenshots, but if you re-watch you'll see that the camera initially keeps them both in the frame with full body shots, allowing us to compare things like Gabriel's unadorned gray workout clothes with Aziraphale's more stylish outfit; one's good jogging form and the other's awkward shuffle. However, this distance also creates the sense that we're jogging with them, we're keeping pace.

That is, until Aziraphale begins to lag. Then the camera lags too, giving them both the chance to catch up, so to speak.

Until, finally, Aziraphale has to stop completely and the camera, of course, stops with him. We're emotionally attuned to Aziraphale, not Gabriel, and the camerawork reflects that. Even more-so when we cut to a low shot of Gabriel's annoyed huff at having to stop at all, making him appear larger and more imposing. Because to Aziraphale, he is.

This work carries over into Heaven's other scenes. The closeups are pretty much a given since, whether it's Gabriel realizing Aziraphale has been "fraternizing" with Crowley (more on that below!), or Aziraphale choosing to go back to Earth, the scenes in Heaven are incredibly important to the narrative. Closeups allow the viewer to get a good read on each character's emotional state — focusing on minute facial changes as opposed to overall body language — and that fly-on-the-wall feeling is increased as we literally get an up close and personal look at these pivotal moments.

Compare a shot like this one of Gabriel to the line of angels ready for battle. We don't get closeups on any of their faces because their emotions aren't important. Yes, that's in part because they're background characters, not main characters, but a lack of emotion — their willingness to enter this war without question — is also the point of their presence in this scene. So they remain a semi-identical, nearly faceless mass that runs off into infinity down that hallway, not any individual whose inner life we get a peek at via a closeup.

I particularly like Aziraphale's conversation with the angel... general? Idk what to call this guy. He's just gonna be Mustache Angel. But, getting back on track, his scene has a lot of over the shoulder shots which, admittedly, are pretty common. From a practical perspective they're used to help the audience situate both characters in the scene — you're here, you're there, this is how you're spaced during this conversation — but it can also help emphasize that closeness between them. Keeping both characters in the shot connects them and though Aziraphale and Mustache Angel definitely aren't on the same page here, those shots help cue us in to the unwanted intimacy of this moment. They're both angels... even though Aziraphale no longer aligns himself with them. They're both soldiers in a war... but Aziraphale will not fight. This angel has a list of Aziraphale's secrets, including that he once had a flaming sword and lost it... but Aziraphale doesn't want to admit those circumstances to him. This angel wouldn't understand, even if he did. Intimacy here, connection and closeness, is something discomforting because Aziraphale can no longer embrace those similarities. They put him (and us) out of sorts, so when we get them both in frame, that connection creates tension, not relief.

And many of those over the shoulder shots are given sharp angels, or the camera is placed too close to the "off screen" party. Compare a shot like Luke and Rey to Aziraphale and Mustache Angel. Here, Luke is a clean, solid line on the left side of the screen, just enough there to cue us in to where he is in relationship to Ray, In contrast, Mustache Angel's mustache is Too Close and proves rather distracting. Rey and Luke are connecting here over being Jedi with responsibilities to uphold (or at least, Luke will acknowledge that connection later lol); Mustache Angel is forcing a connection with Aziraphale that makes everyone uncomfortable.

We are too close to him here. He feels too close to Aziraphale too. This whole conversation is upsetting and discomforting, pushing Aziraphale to finally choose which side he's on (his own with Crowley). The shots aren't meant to subtly keep the audience from getting lost and then otherwise be unobtrusive, we're supposed to be Very Aware of this angel's body and how close he's getting to the character we've come to identify with — both literally (he's leaning in) and in terms of forcing Aziraphale to finally make his choice.

When Mustache Angel marches forward and gets all up in Aziraphale's face, the camera positions itself behind Aziraphale in a way that makes it feel like we're hiding behind him, with Aziraphale taking up far more of the screen than Luke does. Like the scene with Michael or running with Gabriel, the camera often likes to mimic a "realistic" response to these events. This angry, shouty angel is getting closer, best take a step back and stay out of sight behind Aziraphale, holding his ground.

These closeups also serve as a nice contrast to the wide and longshots we get of Heaven. It's an imposing place with skyscrapers in the distance, lots of steel, immaculate floors, and endless white. It's overwhelming and it's cold. But then we cut to those mid-shots of Gabriel and Michael, telling us that they're in control of it all.

Aziraphale? Aziraphale is not in control. Not now, anyway. When he appears in Heaven we get a longshot to show off this endless void and he's just another, tiny speck in it. If he weren't flailing around — an acting move that likewise helps sell how out of his depth he is — it's unlikely you'd even notice him. Aziraphale's clothing and hair blends in perfectly with the background. He's forgettable. Easily overlooked. Someone to underestimate. And when he moves, he has to come to the camera. We don't cut to Aziraphale to establish control like we do with Gabriel. He's left to awkwardly shuffle up to Mustache Angel until he's finally come into view.

Yet when Aziraphale makes his decision, he aligns himself with the brightest, most colorful, most interesting thing in the room: Earth. Earth, with all its messy individuality, is the antithesis to Heaven's controlled uniformity and a bright blue orb hanging in the midst of all this white helps remind us of that. Aziraphale rejects becoming one of the identical soldiers and instead literally reaches out for the one thing in Heaven that doesn't fit in.

When he leaves, we get an extreme closeup for the first time. Mustache Angel is pissed and as such we not only get a good look at his face in the aftermath of Aziraphale's choice, but that extreme closeup on his mouth as he's shouting too. It's like he's shouting directly at us, the viewer who is currently cheering on Aziraphale's decision. There's a war, dammit... but we don't care. Not in the way he cares, anyway.

So there's a lot! And I could probably go on, but apparently I'm only allowed to add 10 images per post now (tumblr what the actual fuck if anyone knows a way around this please share!) and I've already had to merge a bunch of images like an animal. So let's awkwardly finish up with the duck pond scene.

...without a GIF because they apparently count as images too 🙃

Simply put, I don't think Aziraphale bringing up fraternizing is a pivot from one to the other — from caring about Crowley to caring about Heaven's rules. I mean yes, Aziraphale is lagging behind Crowley in terms of rebellion and a part of him is, at this point, absolutely concerned with how he'll come across to the higherups, but that worry doesn't stem solely from a (now very shaky) desire to obey for the sake of obeying. The thing is, Aziraphale's disobedience is, by default, also Crowley's disobedience. If they're friends and they're ever found out, they'll both get in trouble. Which, we know from the end of Season One, basically means being wiped from existence. That's horrifying! And it's a horror that threatens them both. I don't think Aziraphale cares about rules for the sake of rules; after all, he started off by giving away his sword, lying to God, is currently meeting with Crowley anyway... this angel has always ignored/bent the rules — established and implied — that don't suit him. Rather, he cares about the rules if he thinks they have a chance of being enforced. If there will be consequences for breaking and bending them. This is still about caring for Crowley (as well as saving his own, angelic skin). If they're found out, Crowley dies. And, as we the viewer learn, Heaven was indeed observing them that whole time. There was always legitimate risk attached to this relationship. Aziraphale's fear, hesitance, and at times forceful pleas to stop this stem as much from Aziraphale worrying about Crowley's safety as they do a learned instinct to obey the rules without question. He pushes to end the relationship because the relationship threatens the only thing Aziraphale cares about more than that: Crowley himself.

As for the term "fraternizing," that's a loaded one! I won't go into a whole history lesson here, but suffice to say it has military roots: to sympathize as brothers with an opponent. That is literally what Crowley and Aziraphale are doing. They are an angel and a demon, supposedly innate enemies, supposedly poised for an inevitable war... yet they've formed an incredibly strong kinship. They've both learned to love their enemy, the thing every army fears because, well, then your army won't fight (just as Aziraphale won't). However, beyond the enemy implications, "to fraternize" eventually took on a sexual meaning: to not merely love as a brother, but to lay with the enemy too, usually women from enemy countries (because, you know, heteronormativity). Nowadays, "to fraternize" often implies a sexual component. I've been rewatching The Good Wife lately and in one subplot, the State's Attorney cracks down on fraternization in his office. He doesn't mean his employees are forming bonds with assumed enemies, he means his employees are having sex on his office couch. So Aziraphale's phrasing here carries a LOT of weight. He's both reminding Crowley of their stations in the world — you are a demon, I am an angel, us meeting like this can have formal, irrevocable consequences for us both — as well as, given the fact that this is a love story, drawing attention to the depth of this relationship. They love one another, as more than just friends. Though whether Crowley's scathing "Fraternizing?" is a response to Aziraphale falling back on the technicalities of their positions, or acknowledging a love he's yet to overtly admit and commit to — or both! — is definitely up for debate.

#Good Omens #Ineffable Husbands #Air Conditioning #mymetas #whew #long post!#with too few images imo #with this done I'm gonna steam #about tumblr's absurd limitations #how's a girl supposed to do meta on this website anyway

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aknosde · 3 years

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Omnes Una Manet Nox

The chronologically first installment of my Reyna Swap AU, Alea Iacta Est // Reyna Avilla Ramírez-Arellano // Fluff & Angst, but minor on the angst // the night before Reyna disappears // tw: mentions past minor character death // light swearing // 4.4k

ao3

—————

“That went well, didn’t it?” Jason asks with that familiar, absently intense energy. They’ve just descended the steps of the Senate after their monthly meeting with the consuls.

The two consuls, in their late thirties, oversee all of Camp Jupiter. Of course, the legion manages their own grounds and budget, under Jason and Reyna’s command, but the little oversight they do get is from the consuls.

Johnson was one of New Rome’s praetors, a few years back. He doesn’t care much about the legion, being from a legacy family and largely skirting his training and service, and he never ceases to make that known. Malhill is the one that always gets under Jason’s defenses. He’s good on policy, good on veterans, good on kids, everything that they could want. But he was the legion’s champion only ten years ago. A direct son of Apollo, a talented archer but an even better bender of light, a legion praetor, and he’s had his eyes on Jason’s career since day one. Reyna’s seen the way he eyes Jason whenever she and Jason are in New Rome, already pegging him for a consul position once Jason’s old enough.

“It went well, Jace,” she says. “Your mission plan is flawless, the only thing that could make them happier is if you’d go on it.” She regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth.

Her remorse is tangible, visible in the line of his spine, the way he taps the place in his pocket where Ivlivs would sit if they were not inside the Pomerian Line, the subtle flick of his wrist.

Not for the first time, she thinks about Mount Othrys. Everything it took from her. Sometimes when she sleeps–not often, but enough–it plays over in her head. But something is always wrong.

She’s leading the charge, but suddenly it’s Jason next to her instead of Michelle. Or Jason and Michelle run into the throne room, but when she closes the door behind them it locks. She makes it into the throne room, slaying all of the Dracaena, but when she enters Atlas is holding Jason over his head, instead of fighting him hand to hand. On the good nights, Michelle isn’t dead when she bursts through the door, on the bad, she watches Michelle die. The one constant is Jason, gold ichor dripping down his face in a horrific mask. When she and Jason land the killing blow, together, she can always see it.

He doesn’t talk about it, of course. Not about Michelle, not about his election, not about the mountain. But she can see it weighing on him through the big things, like how he hasn’t been out of camp borders since the battle, and the small things, like how he glances up at the stars, as if one will come down and crush him any moment.

She rolls her right shoulder, feeling the ligaments shift, as if it will rid her of the thoughts, prepare her for a topic of conversation that often hits a little too close to home.

“Did you hear how Johnson pronounced my name? He’s even worse than you.” Maybe the small huff of a laugh Jason expels is worth it. “‘Miss Ramírez-Arellano,’” she continues, in a nasally imitation of the consul.

“I don’t say it that badly.”

“You say it like a white boy who didn’t know Spanish was a language until two seconds ago.”

“Ramírez-Arellano,” he says, better than consul Johnson, but she still hates hearing it. That girl is long gone, the only thing connecting her to Reyna is Hylla, and although Reyna loves her sister, she’s grateful for the distance that keeps Hylla from being a constant reminder.

“‘We were– were very, erm, dazzled, by your most recent proposition.’” She continues the impression until they are walking through the Praetorian Gate, Jason half hanging off her shoulder and giggling like they’re thirteen again.

He has a nice laugh. A friendly one. It seems to feed off of her volume, her effort, fluctuating the longer he goes. He shouts at her to stop several times, but he’s doubled over in armor, snorting, and all she wants to do is make him laugh like this forever.

It only gets worse on the steps of the Principa, when he decides a good revenge plan is to trip her. The building is dark like the rest of the legion. Two lamps, invisible under the light of day, flank the double doors, but the light is faint and barely makes its way to the stairs, washing everything in a pale yellow. She side steps his foot–his sneakers have reflective decals on them for the sake of the gods, he’s an idiot–but he’s shifted his weight so much that he ends up tripping himself.

They stumble through the doors, still chuckling, and make their way across the great hall as quickly as possible. They must have gotten a new tender for the Principa, because the lights are off like they forgot that people actually live here. Only two people, but still. The darkness makes the place unsettling, and now she’s counting on Jason to keep her occupied. A job he seems all too willing to fulfill as he runs through the next set of doors, still in full armor, clashing against the wood.

Upstairs is worse, she decides. The abandoned lounge reminds her of her childhood living room. Any moment her father could rise from one of the low couches, ready to scoop her up and throw her in her room, that crazed look in his eye.

Something clangs and she jumps.

“What the heck is this?” Jason’s whisper-shouting when she catches up with him in the hallway outside their rooms. He’s partially on the floor–hands keeping him from being face flat–and something is crinkling under his knee.

For some reason all Reyna can say is: “Did you just say ‘heck?’”

“Shut up,” he whines, and she wishes the lights were on just so she could see his ears turning red.

“Of course, farm-boy.”

He’s sitting back on his heels now, she can see the object’s dark outline as he holds it up, rustling in his hands.

“Seriously, what is this thing?” he asks, looking up at her.

“A bag with my old clothes,” she says, squinting. “I was going to see if any legionnaires need some.”

“And you have it by your door so you don’t forget,” he says, explaining for her. In the stress of running for office, of war, she forgot the ways in which they are attuned to each other. She forgot that she doesn’t have to explain and defend her every little action to him. It’s sad that it’s taken her almost two months to remember.

He sets the bag back down, nudging it into almost its exact spot, and hefts himself to his feet with a sigh. His brow furrows once he’s standing, looking out into the middle distance, but he sees the quirk of her brow and quickly explains himself, “We have that meeting with the centurions tomorrow after breakfast.”

Jason is a social person. A true extrovert. He hates being alone, working alone, and the quiet that comes with both. So what he’s really saying is that he has work left to do and wants some company. And who is she to deny him that? “Do you want to work in the main hall, office, or my room?”

He grins, clapping his hands and then raises his palms to the sky. “Bedroom, praise Fortuna.”

“Five minutes, Sparkplug,” she says, bumping her shoulder into his own as she sidesteps him into her room. His eyes follow her as she goes, like she’s his North Star, and damn him for making her heart skip a beat, because in the empty space Venus’ words always echo. She stomps them down, before her face can fall, before the hollow silence can fill the hallway, and in their place she jams a smirk. “If you’re lucky I’ll even edit your speech.”

As her door clicks behind her she can hear him groan, “I just prayed to Fortuna.”

She stands with her hands on her hips, briefly surveying her room to decide what to do first.

Being praetor has its perks, like private bath and bedrooms across the hall from her best friend and king sized beds, but it also means she is no longer in the practice of keeping her space ready for inspections. Her comforter is pulled up, but her bed isn’t made, files are scattered across her desk and on her dresser, and her wardrobe is wide open.

She decides on doing everything at once, which involves a crooked path across her room as she shucks off armor, not bothering with her armor stand, and changes out of the nice clothes she wore to meet the consuls. All the while she turns on lights, puts on sweats, makes her bed, and tucks away files.

Jason knocks on her door five minutes later, that ever punctual bastard, just as she’s zipping her hoodie over her tank top.

“Help me, Reyna,” he says, holding a typed copy of his speech out to her in both hands like some sort of trophy. “You’re my only hope.”

She snorts, snatching the pages out of his hands. “Nice reference.”

He cocks his head to the side, brow furrowed, and she bets if he were actually a wolf one of his ears would be turned as well.

“You just made a Star Wars reference,” she says, but he looks just as confused.

“What’s Star Wars?” He asks warily.

She swears to herself in Spanish, because otherwise he’ll tease her about the legion’s anti-swearing policies, collapsing dramatically back on her bed, and sighs. “It’s a movie trilogy, wolf boy.”

“Ah.”

Another thing she forgot, apparently, is how little Jason knows about basically anything outside of camp. He says he arrived when he was three, and wasn’t even allowed into the city until he was eight, which apparently means he’s never been to a movie theater.

By now he seems used to her telling him about the more innocent aspects of the mortal world, and at the very least takes his lack of knowledge in stride. If only he would watch the movies and shows she’s downloaded on his laptop for him.

When she looks up after reading his introduction he is sitting at her desk, picking at some invisible blemish while subtly putting highlighters away, and looking around her room.

“If you start cleaning I’m throwing you out.”

He grumbles to himself, but she makes out a yes ma’am somewhere in the mix, so she decides to throw him a bone.

“If you want to occupy yourself I have a speech about legion veterans you can fact check,” she says, faux casual, not that he can tell. He needs to do something before he starts picking at his nails instead of the wood.

“Sure.”

“It’s in one of the red folders.”

“Would that be the one on the floor under your desk or the one on your dresser,” he says, sounding far too cheeky.

“The one on my dresser, and stop pretending you’re better than me, asshole.”

He clutches his chest dramatically, walking to her dresser. “Better than the best? How could I be?”

“Mmmhmm,” she responds, half ignoring him in favor of his speech, aware of the ticking clock.

It’s truly impossible for him to stay awake past ten, a fact that is only proven the next time she looks up and he’s asleep at her desk, pen still in hand and a research paper opened on her laptop. No matter how often she reminds him that the regimented lights out of the legion no longer applies to them, he just can’t seem to break the habit.

“Jason.” She nudges his shoulder, extracting the pen at the same moment so he can’t smudge her speech.

His head jerks, eyes alert, but voice groggy when he says, “What’s going on?” All legionnaires wake up in a similar manner, but for some reason it only strikes her as amusing when he does it.

She hadn’t thought of what she was waking him up for, besides a need to do it, and her mind wanders to the Forum, wondering if her favorite café would still be open at this hour. She’s starving, she realizes. Their meeting with the consuls had been pushed back and they had had to skip dinner to make it.

She grins. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh, yeah. How did you know?”

“Roof s’mores?”

“Reyna,” he drags out the last syllable, fading it into a sigh. “That takes energy.”

“Okay, but–” She holds her hands out, weighing them. “Would you rather spend the energy to just walk across the hall and go to sleep, or climb up to the roof with me and roast us a couple marshmallows?”

Jason looks at her like is that a real question? which had been her intention. She folds her hands into a pleading gesture and pouts emphatically–he’s always more flexible when she acts a little silly. “Please, Jace. I got that cheap chocolate you like. I’ll even get the stuff myself, you can go straight up.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes and she smiles, satisfied, and already on her way out the door.

The praetorian kitchen reminds her of office break rooms on television, besides the fact that it looks perpetually unnatural, mostly due to the fact that only three people go inside–her, Jason, and the Principa tender–and it’s always pristine. The only things actually kept in there are coffee, tea, and of course: her and Jason’s secret stash of s’more supplies, buried in the back of the cabinet with the untouched bowls.

By the time she’s through the roof access door, conveniently placed to hide it from the view of anyone on the ground, Jason is already sitting by the dark spot of ash that signifies their pastime. Because, yes, they started coming up here long before either of them were elected Praetor.

He’s a dark outline against the night sky, sitting criss-crossed and looking down at the façades of the other legion buildings, and briefly she has the thought that somebody could make a painting out of this. She slides her old Camp Jupiter ID back between the lock and door jamb, willing the thought to disappear with the potential of the fire alarm going off.

She shivers as she sits next to him, nose wrinkling with the cold now that she’s fully vulnerable to the elements. Without a word Jason removes his sweatshirt and passes it to her.

“I’m already wearing one.”

“Mine is thicker, trade me.”

And because he’s Jason, she does.

It’s slightly big on her, his shoulders just a few inches broader than her own, and a forest green. On the back is a printed vine of purple flowers and a date. She recognizes it as one of the prizes of the Ludi Florae, or Games of Flora, from Floralia last year. The festival sits right between April and May, and last year’s was the grandest of all. Or so Jason says. Everyone had been anxious about Mount Othrys, and apparently all of that energy had been funnelled into the events.

Reyna herself had been busy running for praetor. All she remembers from the festival is campaigning. And Jason, running up to her looking flushed, this sweatshirt thrown over one shoulder.

“Remember when I told you that you were the best, Jace,” she says sweetly once she is safely swaddled in his hoodie. He’s right–it is thicker.

Jason grins up at her, wrapping his hands around two marshmallows. “I may recall something along those lines having been said a long, long time ago.”

“Well, I just want to inform you that I retract that statement, because this sweatshirt is ugly and the cuffs are burnt.”

The electricity that had been slowly coursing over the ridges of his fingers flares for a second, and his hands fly open as if he was handed metal straight from the forges. “Oops.” Both of the marshmallows are burnt, but his lips are turned up in a poorly concealed smirk.

“I forget you’re a heathen,” she says primly, sticking her nose in the air instead of saying any of the less wholesome options at the back of her throat.

“Does liking burnt marshmallows make me a heathen?”

She pretends to mull it over for a second, extracting the rest of their supplies. “Yes. You have to buy the next bag because you’re mean and I say so.”

She takes the burnt marshmallow regardless, sandwiching it between her own chocolate and graham crackers. Jason takes three squares of the Hershey bar he likes for absolutely no good reason, and does the same. She shakes her head. He’s the fucking all American boy who sticks with the classics even when he doesn’t know they’re the classics. She has no idea how he does it.

They don’t talk while they eat, regrettably the silence reminding her of her childhood, no matter how hard she pushes against it. She looks up at the stars, trying to forget the cold kitchen, cold house, even in hundred degree heat. It’s times like this when the ring, and the chain she wears it on, weigh heavy on her neck.

It feels like a noose right now, just as much as it feels like freedom, like power, every other second of her life. Like a sentence, compelling her to pay for her crimes, to confess to them, to wreck her world so terribly that she would lose up from down and die. A fair punishment.

“What are you thinking about,” Jason asks a while after they’ve finished. She looks at him, sitting back on his hands, looking at her, not the sky. It’s dark on the roof, but the light from the street lamps seems to center around him. It glints off his hair, visibly blond even in the night, and pours into his eyes. They’re always so blue. So blue it looks fake. But they never cease to pull Reyna in. Sometimes she swears she can see lightning arc across his irises.

He’s always asking her questions like this. Innocent and curious, no ulterior motives, no goals. He genuinely wants to know. And if she doesn’t answer, he’ll drop it, because he always does. It’s not something she’s used to, even after all these years; this place she has in his mind, if not his heart. A place of utter respect. He doesn’t question her because he knows what she is thinking, and when he doesn’t, he accepts her. Would he still, if he knew what she did to her father?

She breaks his gaze with that thought. It’s too much. “My sister,” she says instead, and it doesn’t feel right to look back. Under oath, Reyna would say that Jason is the most important person in her life. Her best friend; the person she sees every day, talks to every day, eats with and works with. He is the closest thing she has to a family here. And she– And she loves him. Maybe as a little more than a friend. But talking about her sister while looking him in the eye feels too intimate, too intense. “She would like you.”

It is something to say, simply to say something, but maybe she isn’t wrong. There is something in Jason that reminds her of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, and not in the way that haunts her nightmares and twists her sheets around her until they become bonds she can’t quite break free of. Being on Blackbeard’s crew, that’s how Reyna learned hard work, in a way she never had before. It had instilled a drive in her, to change everything, to rewrite systems, to make something so beautiful it was unrecognizable. And perhaps Jason doesn’t have that same drive, but he knows the work. He goes out of his way to do it dirty and hard and long. He refuses to take the thousands of shortcuts he’s offered. And Hylla would admire that, she thinks.

“I had a sister,” he whispers.

For a second–just a second–she’s stuck. “What?”

“I had a sister.” He picks at a loose thread on his jeans for a moment, and that’s how she knows he’s serious, because he hates ripping his jeans more than almost anything else. He’s refusing to meet her gaze. “Thalia Grace.”

He says her name soft and tender. She can imagine him, standing over a hearth, cradling the name between his palms and looking at it the same way he first looked when he was gifted Ivlivs. Big, round eyes.

“That’s really nice, Jace,” she says, because he rarely surprises her, and for once she doesn’t know what to say.

He looks up at her, smiling tightly. His eyes are sad. Is that how she looks when she thinks about Hylla?

“You can tell me about her, if you want,” Reyna says when the moment becomes two, and then three, because Jason doesn’t bring up things he doesn’t want to talk about. But Jason also has his own ideas about debt, about worthiness, and it is clear to her that he told her about his sister in exchange for Reyna talking about her own.

He smiles at her. A real smile, if small. She feels warm, and it’s not from his extra thick sweatshirt.

“I don’t remember a lot about her, but… She had black hair. So dark, like the night. And her eyes, they were amazing. Bright blue, like a perfect sky. Sometimes I can see them, in this half-memory half-dream, and they’re so strong they look like how an electric shock feels.”

“Like yours,” she whispers, and Jason hums in a way that makes it frustratingly unclear if he heard her or not. She hopes not.

“When I was little,” he continues, after another moment of staring wistfully over the Twelfth Legion, “I used to imagine she was looking for me. That one day she would find me, here, be proud of me for– I don’t know what. Love me, or something. All that stupid shit.” He trails off again, picking at his nails, but she can’t bring herself to chide him.

There are things that she knows about Jason, true as the sun rising in the east and the pull of the moon on the tides and the sound of imperial gold on whetstone. She knows that he works hard, works with the public, flushes under the compliments of people older than him because he has never had a concrete parental figure. Not even one to hate, to fear, to mourn. She knows that he never trusts praise from these people because he knows his parentage, knows they know, knows that he is connected to his father in the eyes of these people in a way he doesn’t feel himself, and never will.

Truths of Jason that are pillars in her understanding of him, that were pivotal in their relationship. But like so many supports, they were never acknowledged. Truth has no need to be stated, and she has no compellence to state that which is unnecessary. He talks of Thalia, telling Reyna that he wants his sister to want him, to find him, and to love him not because he is a son of Jupiter, but because he’s him.

She doesn’t say, I don’t care about you because you’re the son of Jupiter, I care about you because you are my best friend. And she doesn’t say, I care about you because you listen to people, because you care about them and what happens to them so instinctively that I cannot understand it. She doesn’t say, I’m proud of you, and you should be proud of yourself.

She doesn’t say those things because he knows them, because they are truths, and truths do not need to be said.

But still, something must be done.

She– She’s always been bad at the physical things. She can do a handshake, a fist bump, but she has never been a hugger, no matter that Jason is. She’s never managed a hip-check, or a shoulder pat, or ruffled his hair in any way that wasn’t rough and meant to hurt.

But that doesn’t mean she can’t try.

She goes slow, leaning over slightly, feels the cool breeze breaking on her knuckles. Gently, perhaps more gently than she has done anything in her life, she takes his hands, detangles them, presses her finger pads against the bleeding bits where he’s torn his skin away. She closes her hands around his own, cups them in her palms.

He looks up at her, tears welled on his water line but nothing has spilled, and she feels his hands move in her own, feels him latch on, like when they were young and late for assignments, running across the grounds and refusing to leave each other behind. She looks into his eyes, wide. Electrifying. Just like she knew they were.

She waits for the moment to stretch and break, like moments oft do. Her last move is to give his hands a squeeze, hopefully reassuring, and he gives her another small smile and moves to wipe his eyes with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, the one he’s still wearing.

“We should probably be going to bed,” she says, because she doesn’t have anything else to say. He laughs, wetly, but in that way everybody laughs when they’re told something they already know. It makes her smile; it’s special when he does it.

Everybody isn’t wrong, she thinks as she and Jason part ways outside their rooms, Jason Grace is special. But not because he is the son of Jupiter. He’s special because Reyna had never wanted friends, and here he is, her best. He’s special because he does things, normal things, and they make her smile. He’s special because he does everything in his power to ensure he deserves the love he receives. And gods, she thinks, does he deserve it.

She slips off her necklace and gets under her duvet cover, curling up and fiddling with the cuffs of his sweatshirt. Chunks of the polyester-wool fabric are hard and melted from undoubtedly unfortunate rendezvous with electricity. She finds one, right where his thumb would rest, and rubs it between her own thumb and index finger as she falls asleep.

When she wakes up, she’s on a school bus.

—————

Others in this series: Amicus Certus in re Incerta Cernitur

#there's more info and clarifications in the end notes of ao3 so check those out #but i'm always happy to answer any questions about any of my writing #especially this series #chart writes #fic: Omnes una manet nox #jason grace #reyna avila ramirez arellano #Reyna!Swap au #alea iacta est #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #heroes of olympus #pjo fic #hoo fanfic #hoo #pjo #pjo fanfic #tw death mention #reyna ramirez arellano #riordanverse

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laadgovernorandsankadevi · 2 years

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Hiiii LG&SK! My question is about Arnavs sixth sense when it comes to knowing Khushi is on the phone. He can ALWAYS tell its her but it doesn't seem to work the other way round lol unlike the "awareness" of each other's physical presence. This might seem silly but it always fascinates me like do you think they intended for that to be part of the whole magical DM-ordained awareness thing? If so, why didn't Khushi have it too? But ya it's so cute when Khushi calls and hangs up twice after the first Lavanya breakup and by the third call Arnav snarkily calls her out. And she's like wtf lol. It was such a funny moment. Anyway thank youuu and I love your blog :)

Hello hello!

Thank you for enjoying my blog! There's not much analyses on it as of yet but I hope you enjoy the fics over here! :)

By awareness I am guessing you mean both of their instinctual guess of knowing the presence of one another? Like Khushi stepping inside the AR offices for the first time, and that making Arnav feel restless and anxious despite not knowing it was Khushi?

I don't think it was suppose to be "Devi Mayyian ordained", as you put it. I think it was just to represent how much of an intense connection Arnav and Khushi shared with one another. I like to think Arnav and Khushi as a couple who were also each other's twin flames.

Since both of them met, they couldn't help but think about one another. They were able to push thoughts about each other to the back of their mind on instances, but they still thought of one another, which goes to signify that despite not being in-sync, the two were intrigued to the point of always thinking about one another whenever they found themselves in close proximity of one another.

I would have to disagree on the Khushi calling Arnav after his and Lavanya's first break up to be cute. She felt a lot of guilt by Nani commending her for breaking them up which was far from the truth, and Arnav, who is generally a private person who had his sister push and probe him to learn of his inner most thoughts had a breakup that his entire family learnt about instantly and treated it with overdramatic callousness. I think that moment really showed how despite not being in agreement of one another, Arnav was able to understand that it was Khushi because she was the only one trying to fix his broken relationship. In contrast to that moment, I think it was really cute when Akash was trying to talk to Payal but was nervous to call so Arnav took matters into his own hand and called Payal, except later when she couldn't differentiate between Arnav and Akash's voice. Arnav tells her that he's surprised that she didn't recognize his voice to which she doesn't have a reply.

In terms of "why didn't Khushi have it", I think Khushi is always too caught up in the moment to really consider what is going on around her, until afterwards. On one occasion, she doesn't realize it's Arnav whose trying to call to apologize her, but the moment she stops for second after slamming the receiver down, that instinctual-gut recollection feeling make a reappearance and she thinks it might've been him. There's also the moment before janmashti, where Khushi is headed to give Lavanya her phone just as Arnav enters the house and she stops for a second. She then goes on as if nothing happened because she didn't see him around but then of course we see them colliding.

I think Khushi realizes that even though she never truly realizes she's talking to him, it's not the same for him; when during her trying to leave him before their remarriage, she avoids talking to Arnav on the phone while pretending to be sick Madhumati. She knows he'll recognize her voice through anything even when she ends up messing up at recognizing his voice at times. There's a little moment around remarriage track where Arnav teases her about it by pretending to be Akash.

I think Khushi does have the same instinct as Arnav but she's just too caught up in her surroundings to be attuned to every single move of his, whereas Arnav is extremely introverted and observant so he's able to pick up on her presence more easily.

I think the instinctual feeling they get about each other's presence wasn't something too far fetched from reality. Think about having a crush during your school days, and then getting really nervous once you're near the school building. And when you get a call from a friend, and you want to hope its your crush or someone associated with them. I think similar feeling but 10x more stronger is present in twin flames, and that's something we witnessed with added flair for the sake of the story being a soap opera, on the show.

That's just my take, my interpretation isn't a know-it-all for the show! Hope that helps with a bit of insight; Thank you for your question!

- LG&SD

#laadgovernorandsankadevi answers #laadgovernorandsankadevi #lgsd answers #anon ask #ipkknd #iss dosti ko kya naam doon

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rayveewrites · 3 years

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So who wants to hear about my extremely weird Hermitcraft AU? Anyone? Too bad, I'm talking about it anyway and y'all can't stop me.

So, you know the fantasy trope of "an ancient super-advanced civilisation that disappeared off the face of the planet/went extinct due to hubris/got wiped out by a plague/etc"? Yeah. That.

...Let me explain.

In this case, the ancient civilisation was, in fact, Players. Players came in a variety of shapes, sizes, species, etc. Humans, Mob Hybrids, Werefolk, Cyborgs, Shapeshifters, assorted Halloween monsters, full-on robots, aliens, technically-not-aliens-but-basically-aliens... the list goes on. Now, what made someone a Player was never particularly well-defined due to sheer variety, but there were a few common threads. Players could break, pick up and place blocks, they could use chests, crafting tables and their own inventories, they could respawn in non-hardcore worlds, and they had a certain level of intelligence (about on par with, say, a human).

So, anyway. One of the most common threads were that Players- all Players- had access to magic. Typically this manifested in the form of inventories, crafting, being able to break/place solid 1m³ blocks, and, of course, enchanting, with Admin and Operator powers manifesting in various worlds for specific people. There were other forms of magic, of course, but learning those typically required (at minimum) a lot of study and/or a level of attunement to that particular branch of magic.

Players lived in communities, on worlds- in this AU, all the worlds were connected, but separated by the world borders. The various Hermitcraft worlds were some of these, as were 3rd Life and Legacy SMP and Hypixel and so on.

So, that's the worldbuilding preamble out of the way.

The worlds updated every now and then, and they added, tweaked and (occasionally) removed various mobs, blocks and mechanics. But this update, the Final Update... nobody's quite sure why, but it removed magic.

Not completely, of course. It set in slowly. Villagers no longer transformed when they were slain by zombies. The monsters of the night became less and less common. Portals became unreliable, until they eventually stopped working entirely. World borders started to fail (and I feel sorry for those unlucky enough to neighbour servers like 2b2t). Enchanting became more temperamental. Still, Players were adaptable. They could manage.

Until they couldn't. See, while Players had magic running through their systems, and had since the universe had existed, all of a sudden their children...didn't. The big problem was that most species- Hybrids, Werefolk, Spaeshifters, Aliens and not-exactly-aliens... their biology meant their children physically couldn't survive without magic. The one exception? Humans.

Already in the majority, humans were the only race who could still produce living children. But these children weren't Players. They had no inventories, no ability to use a crafting table or break a block with their bare fists like their forebears. They managed though, adapting and creating new ways to craft and smelt. And as time went on... they became the only ones left.

See, while Players were all long-lived, and capable of respawn, they did eventually experience the Final Death, from which there was no coming back (ignoring the occasional ghost, resurrection, or any necromancy-related shenanigans that were frankly extremely rare to begin with). And as time wore on, Players slowly died out, until all that were left were those who were Undying, and the Humans who weren't Players (it's worth mentioning that Immortals and Undying were two different peoples. Immortality was granted by the gods; when the gods faded, their gifts faded with them. Undying, on the other hand, were those who had experienced their Final Death but kept going. Undead beings, if you will). Undying could be killed, if their body was so badly maimed their soul had no choice to fly free, but not so badly they would just respawn; as Human societies developed, many Undead succumbed to this fate, either by choice or by force, acts done by fearful Humans.

Let's go forward, now.

It's been over two thousand years since the Players died out, and longer since the Final Update. There is only one world now, the world borders long forgotten. The Players are myths, legends; a mysterious race, now long gone, their builds crumbling to ruin. Nobody has encountered a zombie or creeper for millennia; the only spiders left are small and harmless, a far cry from the creatures once large enough for a skeleton to ride.

Archeologist study the ruins Players left behind. One city, Hermiton, was originally a camping ground for people to study the various ruins in the area; the crumbling remains of a vast monument, the stump of a tree larger than should ever have been possible, a gaping hole some claim leads to the centre of the Earth.

Near Hermiton lies a vast forest, beside the footprint of what had once been an immense mansion. The forest is a mixture of different species, most likely transplanted thousands of years ago. In that forest lives... something. A ghost? A spirit? a cryptid?

Whatever it is, it's not human. The locals claim she looks like a woman, with glowing eyes and long red hair. They call her the Green Lady, for the colour of her skin. They say her teeth are sharp, and that dark claws tip her fingers. They say her cheeks are hollow, her eyes are sunken- but that her gaze holds a fire no Human could hope to match. They say she lives in the forest, and that she is its guardian. They say that anyone who tries to chop down the trees, to clear the land, will face her wrath.

Outsiders will write this off as a modern-day folk tale, an urban myth. But believe it or not, there is something- someone- who dwells in the woods. Someone who brings those lost home. Someone who intercedes if there's danger. Someone who will run through the forest with a familiarity only born from centuries, millennia, of practice.

They don't know who she is. She's a guardian spirit. She's a ghost. Se's been there since the Ancients walked the land. They're not wrong about that last one. Once, she altered a sign planted by the one responsible for the enormous tree. Once, she had her arm sewn back on by the person who'd built the immense mansion. Once, she threatened the man who dug the vast hole, the one they say leads to the centre of the Earth.

She's a Player, the last one left. She's a zombie, the only one to still walk the Earth. She's alone. Once, she had a family, a home. She dwells near the ruins of that home, even now. Her kind, her kin; they're long gone. She's the only one to remain.

She waits for the day her family will return. It's written in the stars, in the fabric of the Universe. They will return. And she will be there, ready to greet them with open arms. For the Univers is kind. The Universe loves its Players.

Alone in the forest, ZombieCleo, Master of Puppets, the Undead and Undying, the Last Player, waits. She'll be there, when her family, her hermits, return.

Even if it takes another two thousand years.

#At some point this turned from a quick explanation to a full fic #jeez #I did go off #I dunno if I'll write any *actual* fics about this au #I'd like to though #It'd be about the return of the hermits #and there'd be some sort of calamity they'd ave to fight off or something #I don't know #It could also be a fun slice-of-life thing?#the hermits show up and just kinda have to...adjust to the New World #the human-looking ones learn the new language #(because languages change after two thousand years)#and try to assimilate #but it doesn't go very well #and some evil government folk try to capture them for study #but Players are just so hilariously OP it fails miserably #So they just kinda leave them be eventually #so there's like a <20-Player community living in the woods #and most of Hermiton knows about it but don't really talk about it #and these are the *hermits*#so obviously they don't stay there for long #They do their best to make the world a better place #and also build ridiculous megabuilds just because they can #maybe it'll connect to (my interpretation of) the Scattered AU #mostly because seadragonpulse lives rent-free in my brain #if anyone has any questions/ideas/additions etc feel free to contribute #I have a very in-depth world and Literally No Plot #hermitcraft AU #last player AU #Rayvee actually Writes

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ephemerlskies · 4 years

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constant craving 04 (final) | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: “drabble” series, best friends to lovers au, slight angst, FLUFF, bestfriend!au, unrequited love, smarter idiots but still idiots all the same

⇢ word count: 6.8k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol, excessive drinking (drink responsibly), pining, jungkook is an overdramatic baby, a surplus of feelings (i am disgusted with myself), one (1) fire hazard

⇢ summary: with the Friendiversary approaching quickly, both you and Jungkook have an array of trials to navigate through. and, as Seokjin gets caught in the crossfires, you must finally make a decision that will define how the rest of your life will unfold.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: wow.... so bitches really call this a drabble series then write a 6 thousand word finale... its me im bitches... anywho, i really love the way this played out!! jungkook had to hit the bottom to start rising to the top and it shows. also, the ending is like....... hehe well ill just let you all see for yourselves. enjoy my lovely readers! this wrapped up such a heartfelt series that is so dear to my heart. thank you all for the support for this! and i might whip up a few drabbles simply because i think this relationship is really cute hehe ok... happy reading! <3

part four: i love you too

Carrying that music box in his pocket felt like a well-deserved and all too grim reminder of what went down a few days ago. Sitting drunk yet again, though one would best describe Jungkook’s posture as more of a sloven pile of flesh and bones withering away on a bar stool, he searched for the wallet which was in one of his four pockets.

He reached for the wrong one. Instead of the faux leather skimming his skin, it was a solid wood corner pricking the pad of his index finger. It stung more than it should have. Perhaps he'd gotten a splinter, or the top layer of his skin was simply too raw from all the wear and tear of your fight. Jungkook wasn’t one to jump at such negligible shocks, but it sank him back into that night. It wasn't the wooden corner at all.

You loved him. You still love him.

That's what you said. That's what nearly put him on the floor instead of in his chair, and what had been preying on his mind as if he were no different than a helpless animal drowning his regrets in whiskey. And he knew he should have said it back.

Jungkook theorized ways to defy the cruel restraints of time, and if the universe would be so kind as to allow him to travel back to that day in middle school when he happened upon a scared, flush-faced student running so fast and panicked that they bumped into each other, just to be the one who said 'I love you' first. Or those genies and shooting stars and blessed fountains that supposedly granted wishes; he would pay no hesitation to plead with whatever deity would listen and permit his most prioritized desire.

The retrospective bargaining remained a ghost haunting just about every waking moment of his life. Though, he had not been quite sure if said ghost was some cosmic sent presence or simply his own guilt. If regret took on physical ramifications, then Jungkook would have been convinced that was why he felt as if his legs wouldn't have been able to carry him even if he tried.

If I could just go back to that night with the knowledge I know now, I would have hauled my ass to your house instead of that club and told you that my choice was made for me the moment I met you. Every other person I ended up with these past twelve years was simply a buffer for loving you. I had to prepare myself, because loving you was something entirely too tremendous for a boy still grappling with his own faulty speech pattern to assume.

I wish you knew that. I wish I didn’t stand there like an idiot and let you leave, thinking me some hero for finally letting this new guy Seokjin take the place I had always imagined being in. I wish I had just said that I love you.

I love you.

I love you, ___.

Jungkook’s vision resembled that of a smudged lens. However, there were no fingerprints on his eyes. The world had turned blurry and colorless, the latter he knew was not due to the sixth order of whiskey he let soak into his heart’s open wound.

A life of color was one of the many things that left when you did.

He didn’t know it then, but Jungkook was being fervently dramatic since it had not been more than seventy-two hours the last time he spoke to you. Thought to him, it was akin to being just short of death and taking another breath would have been an expense he wasn’t sufficiently funded to pay.

Whatever happened in the interim of him paying his tab and walking out onto the sidewalk must have landed somewhere in the blacked out stretches of his inebriated memory, since he was now staring at your contact gleaming on his phone bearing the semblance of one guardian angel.

It was so ingrained into his routine. Opening the app with the phone icon, clicking the ‘recent’ tab, and finding your name no further than three contacts down the list because he called you as if he had important things to tell you, though normally it was just to hear your voice or to tell you about what he had for lunch. And it nestled into his muscle memory as natural as it was for him to breathe or blink. Even when alcohol debilitated his driving, walking, and thinking, his body was drawn to seek a haven such as yourself. And he nearly pressed ‘call’.

Before the comfort of your voice could ring through to his phone, reality descended upon that reflex. Right now, you were probably with Seokjin, attending some pretentious art gallery for one of his colleagues.

It was just Jungkook and the night sky and the moon that he hoped you were gazing at too; it would be the only connection to you as of now. The moon, a parcel for the most longing gazes.

There are stories where the two protagonists get it right. This was not that story. That reality stung more than the residual burn of whiskey clinging along his throat.

Both you and Jungkook made every wrong decision possible. From the moment you subjected yourself to exploiting the veneer of being a ‘good friend’ to disguise any true feelings that might have taken light, to the moment Jungkook was presented with all the excruciatingly obvious signs that you were in love with him, but was simply too inept to notice, to the both of you neglecting any urge threatening the bounds of platonic. Any path that would have steered to a destination where you two would get that happy ending was conveniently untaken.

And you had a long journey riddled with heartbreak after heartbreak to prove it.

He traded his phone with that wooden music box, scuffing the soles of his shoe as he walked back home, hoping he’d be able to give the gift to you on your Friendiversary.

-----

Your pain was still raw. In this way, you had not considered, or rather avoided the idea of tending to such delicate wounds. The days leading up to the infamous anniversary had been spent hoping you would organically heal enough to allow the presence of Jungkook while denying another reopening in your wound.

You had been juggling a not so thrilling number of conflicts the three days preceding that self-acclaimed national holiday.

One, Seokjin and his bottomless supply of invitations that you felt too obligated to refuse. He had such a life packed with plans which is more than you could have said for Jungkook. He, most likely, busied himself with promoting ranks in some obscenely violent video game. Two, a mutual friend of yours had told you Seokjin was fixing to make your relationship official this coming Friday, and you didn’t want to admit the lackluster reaction upon hearing the news was equivalent to receiving a C on a test. It wasn't the worst grade to receive, but you knew there would always be something better than adequacy. Not satisfying enough nor disappointing enough to be dealt with without bending a few expectations. And three, all you really wanted, the only agent of excitability (both good and bad) that diluted the festering numbness in your heart just a tad more, was thinking about seeing Jungkook on your Friendiversary.

But with that excitement, was its equally worrying constituent: whether or not you would be able see Jungkook that day without cracking under pressure.

Things weren’t exactly attuned between the two of you. Your emotional stature had never been more unsynchronized and offkey with Jungkook’s, so, forcing a celebratory movie or dinner would be no different than adding cornstarch to the already thick tension.

“___? Are you listening?” Everything Seokjin had just been droning on about filtered in and out without a single word being absorbed, and you could have pretended this wasn't the case but stress had apprehended caring enough to lie.

“Sorry… No, I wasn't. I’m just stressed is all.” Since that was only a half lie, self-admonition had not yet taken permanent residency whenever you would look at Seokjin’s eyes offering nothing but genuine tact.

“Oh, sorry to hear! Are you okay? Anything you wanna talk about?” That, and the soft press of his hand over yours had swallowed you into a perpetual, guilty cycle of comparing two incomparable people.

Seokjin was always like this. Serving a gentle smile and honest ears as a vessel of calmness during whatever calamity you were grappling. It was safe knowing if you fell, you’d have a comfortable cushion to soften the impact. He was mindful with his words and had the intelligence to articulate them with impressive eloquence. You were more likely to see pigs fly than to see him stutter. He had a diverse group of friends and walked a steady path to a financially secure life. And you started to wonder what else one would need in a partner? Any sensible person would do much more than you had to snag someone like Seokjin, as handsome as he was kind and respectful. He seemed to have everything Jungkook lacked, including mutual feelings for you.

It would have been entirely too easy to pick him, as if there was a ‘Seokjin’ button and a ‘Jungkook’ button and you could press Seokjin’s on a whim. If choosing him would have meant miraculous nullification of all your very real and very unremitting feelings for that idiot you called your best friend, then you would have done it in a heartbeat.

There wasn't a 'Seokjin' button or a 'Jungkook' button, nor was there a button that would wondrously redistribute your feelings towards Seokjin.

And then there was Jungkook. Always in the back of your mind when he wasn't tenanting the focus of it.

He was never predictable in the ways that mattered. It was just as difficult figuring out his next move as figuring out whether this trait was exciting or exhausting.

Though, this had not been to say you didn’t know him well; in fact, all his habits and preferences and pet peeves could be bound into a book, written by you, and it would be so accurate anyone who read it would think it was an autobiography. He knew you to the same caliber. Where Seokjin would ask what was wrong, Jungkook wouldn’t need to. He already learned your behavior to know to say something along the lines of ‘tell me what’s wrong when you're ready, we can watch your favorite movie or swing by that Chinese place with those great fried dumplings in the meantime’. And on more favorable occasions, he'd say nothing and simply wrap you in his arms and let his shirt become a delta for your tears.

To anyone else, that might sound entirely too frank and perhaps a bit dismissive to be comforting, but to you it was the exact cure for each affliction. To never need explanations that would validate your feelings because Jungkook saw to that right when he took notice; to never manufacture fake smiles through failed attempts at cheering you up since, of course, he knew exactly what to do to vegetate joy in your heart and earn a smile from years and years —and years— of practice. It had almost driven you mad, thinking about how he knew from a shift in your brow what you were feeling and yet, somehow, never realized how deeply in love you were.

All the while, the moment you were convinced you had been versed fluently in his every move, he would pawn another blindsight that would leave you breathless and amazed all the same. Jungkook always had concealed tricks up his sleeve, and life was anything but repetitive with him. You would more often than not find yourself struggling to relearn language and existing itself just to keep up with him. How exactly he managed to wield such diametric facets of being was an enigma beyond the reasoning of this universe.To feel like home, somewhere you belonged outside of your own body, and a daring voyage into a completely new world all at once must have meant he was some sort of Godsend. Only angels could have sculpted a soul so magnetizing, you assumed.

Seokjin was an umbrella, shielding you on some arcane journey under an unforgiving rainfall. Your shoes kept dry and your hair intact.

And if he was the umbrella, then Jungkook was the rain. Falling everywhere and all at once, so that you couldn't help but let yourself be saturated in his entire, vibrant being. And who’s to say letting such a water fall against your skin was a bad thing? Sometimes rain is cleaning, gentle even. They bear fruits as beautiful as rainbows that guide you to an unnamed treasure.

Your treasure, however, had a name.

Jungkook calling.

"___? Hello? You in there?" Seokjin waved his hand in front of your face mostly in a jesting manner, but part of him felt like your eyes were blinded by something held in your heart. If he hadn’t pulled you back into reality, you might have been lost forever.

“I'm just…” Your attention had abandoned this conversation the second his name gave light to your screen. “Sorry, um…”

“It's okay, you can take the call. I’ll be in the kitchen making us some coffee.”

If you were to thank him profusely, it would have been far too obvious how much you missed seeing his name among your notifications, and most likely expose how often you spent thinking of Jungkook while you were supposed to be enthralled with Seokjin. So, you just nodded and answered the phone.

Nodding and answering, as though that didn't feel like taking a breath of clean air after hours of swimming through muddied waters.

“Hello? ___?”

“Jungkook.” It took you longer than usual to form a response and what was assembled had been a half-baked utterance just to let him know you were on the other side of the phone, hearing his voice and feeling a surge of energy course through your veins like he was some delicious narcotic filling life into you after only a week without him.

“___.” Jungkook was in his own debt of words as well. The exchange halted for a few seconds, a jaded breathing cutting the cracked static.

“Look-”

“Hey so-”

Any hope that you had finally caught up to the same page as Jungkook was lost. Now, it seemed you two were reading entirely different books.

“You go.” You said after another dreadful pause. He was the one who called, so he should be the one carrying the burden of navigating through this deafening tension.

“Well, I- uh… I… Well, you see I was just, um, wondering…” Jungkook’s heart must have shut off. That would explain why even the most rudimentary of words felt closer to a foreign language. Or, why he was making conscious efforts to counteract the threat of his nearly dormant lisp.

His brain was drained dry of any blood, his inner mechanisms were shutting down. Even without the alcoholic filter catching words and common sense in its web, Jungkook felt himself fall into an overactive state of dumbfoundedness. Sobriety only a cataract for his emotional override.

“Our friendiversary?”

“I’m sorry, I did not understand literally anything you just said.”

“Me neither.”

The charming and familiar laugh that spilled through the speaker reminded you that Jungkook was in fact a real person. Not some figmented embodiment of every lost and unrequited and tortuous feeling you had been suppressing for twelve years. Jungkook was real, his laugh and everything else you loved about him were all so incredibly real. And more importantly, the pure joy you felt was real; a permanent serialization of his. Your smiles and his smiles had always surfaced in tandem.

Now, you both were laughing. Neither were warranted by his messy attempt at forming a coherent sentence. The weight of discomfort shedding from your shoulders had been partnered with a slew of relieved chuckles.

“Anyway, um. I- I still wanna see you on our Friendiversary. Or, at least give you your gift.” Admitting that was terrifying but the thought of breaking the consecutive streak of eleven years simply because he was too much of a coward to admit he wanted to see you dizzied him. However, the thought of spending your friendiversary alone terrified him beyond comprehension. So, he thought not about that as a possibility; he carved an opening to his heart in hope you wouldn’t send sharp thorns of rejection into it.

“Yeah, I, uh. I still wanna see you too. I mean, it is a national holiday. We gotta have holiday spirit, right?” You were forcing playful banter, it felt like lemon juice scouring cuts on your tongue, but you were so desperate to make things between you two feel normal.

“You’re right! So, um… You can come over tomorrow night. I’ll set up a surprise or whatever.” He seemed to have fallen back into stride with pre-confession Jungkook. Trying to keep up with him now would just exhaust you of all your means, so you chose to save the rest for tomorrow night. Even if that meant watching him walk away to some unforeseeable finish line; his back, the last part of him you’d see until you could finally collect your broken pieces and start walking as well.

“Sounds good! I’ll, um, see you then.”

“See you, ___.”

You had no idea, and how could you, that Jungkook was now wiping small clusters of wetness from the bed of his eyelids. Why he thought you, the one person that remained a constant in his life, would say no to him over one fight (of many) made for quite the spill of tears. But if you did know, you would have told him you felt like crying too.

"Hey! How did everything go?" You were so immersed in your virtual conversation with Jungkook you nearly forgot the person you were presently with. The train of guilt wouldn't stop for your pathetic attempts at disembarking.

"Oh! Thanks for the coffee." You sipped, and it had just been a stall to blink away the tears that were straying beyond your will of concealment. "It went good. We're still celebrating our Friendiversary."

"Friendiversary?" Seokjin's light chuckle veiled his tense concern.

"Yeah... Uh, it's just this thing we do to celebrate our friendship. The day we met."

"Oh... that's..." His eyes were scaling the rim of his mug.

"That's what, Seokjin?" You were stern, knowing well enough it was born of far more than platonic defensiveness. And you had no right to be the one prosecuting him since you clearly had more to hide than meets the eye.

"I mean, it's just interesting how dedicated you are to an anniversary with a friend." Seokjin wielded that soft-spoken voice which made it difficult to be anything but patient with him. And from the tone of it, he seemed to have no ill intentions with that statement, though it had not been an entirely innocent observation. To you, however, it felt like he might as well have set you on fire.

"Interesting? What is that supposed to even mean? I mean, we've been friends for twelve years. I- I don't know why people are always so judgmental." Your arms crossed over your chest, hoping he would take notice how much his comment slighted you. If asked, you would have insisted you would have been this worked up over any of your friends. Though you knew well enough this was untrue, and it made you feel even worse acting as though Seokjin was the one at fault here.

"I'm sorry. I'm not judging you, really. I just... I just have never heard of two friends doing something like that so religiously."

You sighed out all your anger, knowing the way you snapped at him was merely misdirected frustration. "No, I'm sorry. I know it's kinda weird."

"Look, I get it. You guys are close. But, ___, you talk about him so much that half, no, over half of your stories include him. We've been dating for, what, barely a week now, and I know more about this Jungkook guy than I know about you, and I haven't even met him."

Lips parted, ready to dispatch another slew of defenses to refute all the things he said. It was more disappointing than it was shocking to find nothing but a long sigh emerging. Because he was right. Jungkook has been interwoven so thoroughly in your last twelve years that if you only told the stories without him in it, then it would be the least accurate and nondescript retelling of your life. Fragments of an unfinished novel. It would miss the most crucial pieces, entire chapters, of your story.

You would have been presenting a shell of you, hollow and one dimensional. All the inner parts of you, the lungs and veins and tissue that gave you life and made you whole belonged solely with Jungkook.

That's why you sat there, blank faced, foolishly waiting for the words that wouldn't come to your aid because you had no place to contend with him.

"Seokjin... I'm with you..." It's all that would come up your throat, and it felt like acid. You were sure it burned his ears when he heard them more than it had your throat.

It hadn’t even been partially true. Physically you were with him, but in your head you were sitting on your couch with Jungkook, consuming a concerning amount of junk food while chatting through a movie used more as background noise than entertainment.

"Okay. Does that mean you don't have feelings for him?"

"Well..."

"Can you confidently say you could replace all the time you spend with him with time you would spend with me?" Seokjin must have noticed your returning tears because he loosened his verbal grip from your throat. To you, it sounded like he was pacifying you for some horrible sin, to anyone else it sounded as though he was simply trying to dredge up feelings that would disrupt the chance of a relationship between you and him. "___, I like you. I really do, but in all honesty, I'm looking for something serious. I think we would be great together, but only if you don't have any feelings left for him."

"Seokjin..." You regretted looking at him.

Sweetness was strewn in his eyes and gentle smile. Seokjin was softer than cotton, which made the real threat, the rough sandpaper wearing away skin and bones, you. It made it all the more painful to know you had been keeping everything you felt for Jungkook hidden from Seokjin. Though, if one would have presented an objective point of view, your feelings were far from secretive. And the most brutal honesty was that you knew feelings for Seokjin were never in your attainability. Not the way they always had been for Jungkook.

He was the wrong person who crossed paths with you at the right moment. A mere convenience. And you knew he deserved much more than what you had to offer.

"And maybe I'm being an idiot, but I like you too much to give you some ultimatum which would put you in such an unfair position. So, I'll let you think this over." His compassion felt more like a sharp blow to your chest. “No pressure.”

If he hadn’t smiled like he did, then you would have broken up with him right then and there. It was not possible to rip away such tender hope away from a smile so sweet.

"I'm sorry." You meant the remorse behind those words and it still hadn’t amounted to a proper consolation. "I'm sorry. I guess... I guess I'll go... Seokjin?”

“Yes?” He replied quickly, and you knew only a pace that rapid was one brought on by a sliver of faith that you might have made your decision right then.

“You’re a really great person. You deserve the world.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t give him what he wanted. And as bitter and unkind as that might have felt at the moment, it was the only bit of truth and relent you could have offered him.

-----

In your bed, sleep became somewhat of an abstract desire. You knew your rest was deprived from you when the digital clock on your bedside told you it was six hours past the time you'd normally fall asleep. It was because you really did have a choice to make now.

To choose Seokjin, and know you'd collapse in the safety of his reciprocated affection, though haunted by how you would never feel the fullest extent of content. And you would live with that until resentment and distance wedged irreversible damage in your relationship.

Or, to choose Jungkook, which would catapult you into a depth so dark and tenuous that you would have no idea whether you'd meet gentle snow or hard, deadly concrete when you landed. And maybe you'd never land at all; maybe you would be caught in a state of falling down and down forever, until your beating heart eventually stilled.

Which one was worth it? Which were you willing to risk? These were the questions that kept you awake.

The hours leading to your undisclosed celebration events with Jungkook ceased being actual points of your existence and merely obstructions that you had to plow through in order to arrive at some conclusive moment. Something that might give you an answer to all your questions. Something that might have released you from devotedly checking your phone for a Jungkook patented text or call.

You were turning into a half-being. Someone who could only inhale a full breath, laugh an intentional laugh, and sleep a soundless sleep when their other half was there.

If you thought being in love with Jungkook for your entire friendship was pathetic, then you couldn’t fathom what you had become now.

Standing in front of his door, the same one you lugged him to that night he was too drunk to balance on his feet, when you willingly carried all the weight he couldn’t, when your lips became acquainted and comfortable with his within half a beat, you felt as if this chunk of wood was mocking you. A partition barricading you from Jungkook. Your Jungkook. The man you always felt you were on the outskirts of, with only a window to peer into his unreadable mind. And that was enough for you ―until now.

Now you were going to knock on that door with your hand, make him open it for you, and walk into his home. You would be the one to step foot inside of the very structure that only solicited closed doors and immovable walls and fogged windows. And you would leave behind your timidity, every feeling and urge that left you with disappointing compromises for the sake of maintaining this friendship.

You would be selfish, and he would finally feel a mere glimpse of what you have always felt for the best and worst of your life.

Even when he opened the door, arming a smile that actively disarmed you, this home of his was yours to conquer. This was your time to act for you alone, despite how many smiles he sent your way. You had not any weapons or shields or an infantry for a clutch. You just had your heart and all the love it carried.

“Hey! ___, you look… You look great.” There was no real incentive for him to censor how he truly thought you looked. Immeasurably beautiful. It was simply his own nerves impeding on the feelings that were too intense to express without it being followed by an entire soliloquy of I love you’s.

“Thanks... You too...” You could almost feel the words brimming in your and Jungkook’s mouth, carrying such raw emotions and longing intentions.

"I'm really glad that- Jungkook..." Walking into his house punctuated what you were about to say.

His living room was strewn with enough candles to steal the last of your words and to consider his house a fire hazard. That didn't negate this lovely sea of lights to be anything but romantic and thoughtful. A bit cluttered, and not at all perfect, but it must have taken Jungkook hours to set up every wax column. The thoughtfulness of this gesture would have astonished you had it not been for the consistency of Jungkook snatching your breath and words away whenever he tried. It was antithetical, the way you expected his surprises. Yet, always surprised all the same.

Unpredictable, completely surrounding you just like the rain.

"I had to turn off my fire detector but... Worth it." Jungkook considered the number of mishaps that could have dampened any chance of this being romantic.

A candle could tip over and set his entire place ablaze, the wax could leak onto his carpet and tabletops, damaging his furniture and savings for replacements, you and he could have suffocated from all the fumes steaming from the wick. But if that look on your face didn't feel like the only bit of revival to keep his heart's steady beating, if your eyes didn’t look as though it was the only set of eyes that shed beauty into this world then he wouldn't have used up exactly three lighters to pull this stunt. But it did, and he felt warmth and color return to every inch of his body.

He would have used hundreds of lighters to ignite thousands of candles if that meant an ounce of happiness from you. He wanted to say that, but he knew the candles said it for him.

The spectacle almost made you forget why you were here in the first place. It almost made you forget the resolve you managed to gather before entering. And then he said your name.

"___."

The letters flowing from his lips as if they could only be pronounced by his tongue. It sounded so good. So good, that if anyone else were to say it then it wouldn't have been your name at all. It would have sounded wrong, sullied. And it wasn't supplied by neat articulation, this new belonging of your name in his mouth. The need for him to sculpt your name into this world was more than that. "I will never forgive myself if I don't get this out while I still can."

"Jungkook, what is all this?" You didn't know why you felt a collection of tears brimming along your eyes, but you didn't care to figure it out. Perhaps you felt an influx of feelings, an abundance too heavy for your body to seal within the confines of your emotional seams, so they overflowed in the form of tears. This certainly had not been the first time you cried over Jungkook, but you had never cried over him like this.

"___, I love you!" Jungkook said loudly. It was just you and him who could hear, but it felt as though he wanted the entire world to know.

"What? I- You- What?" Your lack of verbal poise was indicative of your love for him once again taking the reins of your mind and heart. Words were a luxury you couldn't afford as of now. You just had to feel everything you were feeling until the rainstorm settled. The hope that he would spare you some remnants of fluency was far along, and you weren't too sure if what Jungkook was about to say would be gentle enough to leave you with any words at all.

"I love you. I don't know why I didn't know it sooner. Or maybe, I- Maybe I did know?" Jungkook sighed at his own ineloquence. "I'm stupid! That's it. That's my only excuse. I'm so stupid. The way I felt about you, the way I still feel about you, is something I thought all best friends had. I thought everyone felt like the moments they weren't spending with their best friends just felt like filler moments. Like, every day I spent without you was just a span of time I had to wait out until I see you again. Like every damn moment of my life is spent waiting for you. And if I don't end up with you then... then I'll never stop waiting."

"Jungkook, I-" He prevailed in surprising you, taking words and breath and thoughts all at once.

"And, I'm that stupid! I really thought all best friends had those moments when they stare at you, and- and-" Now, you weren't the only one with wet eyes and cheeks. "And I just feel like looking at you and being with you just makes me better. It makes me a better person, or something, and it makes me feel like... Like I'll never get hurt again. And even if I do get hurt, I know it's you I want to be there. I know that whenever something bad happens to you, or when you feel like crying or when you're happy or angry or anything that I want to be the one who gets to be by your side. When I look at you, all I want is to love you. To love all your pain away."

"You really mean that?"

"Yes! God, I love you." You didn't notice how it happened, but Jungkook's arms became a shield around you. Inside his arms you were indestructible. Your hands pressed against his cheeks, memorizing the plush, smooth skin. The world could hurl all the fire and ice it had, but it wouldn’t matter. "___, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out. I'm sorry that in that period, I hurt you. Please, forgive me. I love you, and I want to be with you."

"Of course, I forgive you. I... I can't believe this." Hearing everything you always wanted from him was drastically different when it was actually unfolding. It was a million times more than any hope or dream you used as a salve for your longing. It was everything.

"Maybe it took so long because I was afraid. Because the idea of loving you was something I wasn't ready for. Even though I did love you, God, who was I to take on something as fragile and crucial as loving you. I know I probably would have messed it up. And, fuck, maybe I'm messing it up right now. But I just needed it to be perfect. I needed loving you to be perfect because I don't want to give you anything less than that."

"You were always enough for me, Jungkook. More than enough. You were and are everything to me" His arms that pressed you further into him expressed how happy that made him.

"But I'm not perfect yet. I might mess up... A lot. No, I'll definitely mess up. I don't know if I can offer you perfect yet. But I do know that through everything I have never stopped loving you and I will never stop loving you."

"Jungkook... I don't know what to say." Your thumb grazed a falling tear from his face. Jungkook had not cried often in front of you; and you could tally up the amount of times he had on your fingers alone. But when he did, it was still as beautiful as when he was smiling or laughing or even scowling.

"You could say you love me back." You did. You loved him, his smile that was currently on a mission to melt your heart, his arms that carried both the good and bad parts of you, his wit that you always relished in. All the reasons to love him were an endless flowing river. If you were lucky enough, you would catch a glimpse of each beautiful current and be able to give name to the gravity that pulled you into him.

"I love you too, you idiot." The last word caught in your throat because your lips were being kissed instead.

His lips. Warm and exciting, allotting your being with an infinite devotion of his. And it was more than you could have ever hoped for.

It felt like fire. Like a grove of candles encapsulating the origin of heat. You and Jungkook, holding each other so close, you could have become one. Hot and all-consuming of anything in its path. If one stood too close, they would suffer scorching embers that stray from the orange pyres. Seokjin, Irene, and any other unassuming casualty that had the misfortune of stepping between the two of you, harboring the burn scars to remind them of what fumed from their interference.

Every element concocting between you and him was that of a bright flame, cremating pure metals and wet woods and thick forests alike.

You were in his home. His arms and lips and hands told you it was your home as well. All that time spent wondering why you could never slip inside before was never because he didn't want to let you in. And the thing is, you never thought to knock until now. You sat outside in a silenced hope that he would voluntarily open that door for you. But unknown to you, Jungkook seemed to be waiting as well. Waiting in a large room with empty spaces where you belonged and where he kept reserved for your residence alone.

He waited even when he wasn't quite sure of who he was waiting for, or if you would ever actually spill your warmth into his home. He waited until his fingers turned to ice and his eyes fell to exhaustion, for you to walk inside.

"So, you're like my boyfriend now?" Your voice brushed against his smiling lips.

"Yeah, your boyfriend, or whatever."

"You know this means you have to top next year's friendiversary. And I mean, all these candles? That's gonna be tough." It could have counted as sensory overload, the feeling of his palms flush against your back, the tip of his nose grazing yours, the bright array of candles illuminating the room. But you were so, incredibly cold without him that this felt like solace to you.

"When have I ever disappointed you?" Jungkook regretted what came out of his mouth too late to stop himself from saying it.

"Oh, I couldn't count the amount of times on my fingers alone! What about that time you forgot our chains for the tires on our trip to the mountains? We almost died." His eye roll only encouraged you to continue. Maybe, if you were lucky, he'd equip that cute pout whenever he wanted his way. "Or what about when you swore you brought water, but three miles in on our hike you had that look on your face. You know I reminded you to get water and you swore you did. Or what about-"

"Okay! I get it! I fuck up, jeez." He scrunched his nose, his eyes waning into crescents courtesy of that grin of his. You counted the number of wrinkles along the bridge of his nose as you always did, though you had acquired an expertise in the geography of his face. Each line and angle and ridge were now and eternally yours to restudy and marvel. "Hey, uh, almost forgot."

He reached into his front left pocket. "I, um, kept carrying it around thinking I'd see you somewhere. Kinda dumb right?"

"Not dumb." You opened the tiny box, wound the handle until the spring felt tight and you could see the throngs prick the textured wheel, and it was one of those moments where you didn't see a gift in your hand. You simply saw his thought and sentiment manifested as a box of wood that sung a tune.

All the things Jungkook wanted to give you, the sun and the moon and the entire universe were not his to give. So for now, he settled for this music box and there would be a day when he would collect each celestial being and place them right into your hands. Maybe then, he would feel less of a debt for possessing such a love like yours.

"This is... I love it. Thank you, Jungkook." You smiled, but it was motivated in the hopes he would smile back. You thought he deserved that much, at least. And he did.

"Sooooo... Can I tell Seokjin that you're actually in love with me and that he sucks ba-"

"Um, absolutely not!" As always, his crudeness and slight inability to remain mature for too long only wedged you deeper in love.

So, terribly in love. Your state of constant craving for Jeon Jungkook had been left barren. That desolate, solitary province was no longer yours to take residence in.

You had a home now. And you had no need to crave Jungkook anymore. He was right here, holding you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

a/n: okay, cry with me.... these two.... such hopeless saps for each other i'm here for it. final destination is simp city... also (spoiler) it is completely canon that irene and seokjin bond over their mutual heartbreaks and get to smitten hehehe. anyway, my loves i hope you enjoyed this finale as much as i enjoyed writing it!!! it was a short but heartfelt journey with these two and i will miss their idiocy sm. thank u for your endless support i love u all!!! <3

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #bts writing #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook bestfriend!au #jungkook angst #bts series #jungkook bestfriendstolovers!au #jungkook series #constant craving #rubycoast

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