#which means the line can always be pushed in a certain direction. and it's always going to appeal to male aesthetics.

[kiwanopie]

aki brainrot is so real

oh my god yesss honestly that gives me a reason to finally post this

Favorite.

cw: suggestive. power dynamics. manhandling. dry humping. mention of breeding. 1.3k

You’re his favorite. Is what they tell you.

And you can agree to that - to a certain extent. He’s the closest with you out of the core group, values your opinions and your judgment when on excursions, trusts you with the kind of genuinity you would expect from someone who sees you as more than just a coworker. He’s looking in your direction more often than not. Always keeping a close eye on you ~ and your interactions, and the way you represent him as a leader.

You’re his favorite.

The cold ivory of his desk turns your cheek mushy. “H-Hayakawa-senpai-“

Aki presses enough weight on the side of your head to have your skin squeaking against the neat polishing when he adjusts his feet behind you. He’s wary of your neck, of course. He doesn’t push too hard to hurt too badly, but he’s firm as he keeps you bent before him. Pert little ass pressed against his belt buckle as he reaches for the cigarette between his lips and blows out cooly.

“Hm?” You watch him tap the head of it in his ashtray. “Oh. Not Aki this time?”

So, you stepped out of line.

Which, in your defense, isn’t unheard of behavior for cadets in your position. You’re still new, the public safety program is still big and scary - and incredibly taxing. Lots of new hunter’s blow their top in one way or another after their first few commissions. Hell, you have to talk Kobeni off a ledge nearly every other scouting. But the public safety committee has always been understanding of the mental toll it takes on the people who serve it. Even Aki isn’t so cruel as to punish you every time you step out of your place.

It’s just that this time, “Where’s that big voice you were using just now? You wanted me off my fucking high horse, right? Now I’m listening.”

You may have overdone it this time.

It’s his fault for denying your request to be contracted with the Compulsion Devil. It’s hypocritical that he’d tell you ‘No’ about something like that, especially when he has that stupid sword. The terms were clear. She’ll lend you her power and in exchange you trade her a beat of your heart for every second you use it. They’re honestly pretty mundane terms in comparison to a few of the agents who work here, including himself; so you didn’t get what the big idea was if you only used her sparingly.

“No. Stop asking.”

“But you aren’t even giving me a reason?”

“Do I need to? I’m still your superior. If I say ‘No’ then that’s what it is.”

“But it’s not like-“

“Do I have to instill a punishment?” Aki cuts you off to beat his carton of cigarettes against his palm. “I shouldn’t have to tell you the same thing twice.”

You grate your teeth as he carelessly lights one in his mouth. “Unless the next thing you have to say is ‘Yes, Hayakawa-senpai.’ Then be quiet. I don’t wanna hear about it again.”

If the way your cheek rubs raw against the shiny finish of his work desk should mean anything, what you said was definitely not akin to ‘Yes, Hayakawa-senpai.’ Or anything remotely close.

“You- You’re not being fair!”

The way his crotch presses firmer into your little pencil skirt inclines you to shiver. “Yeah? So, tell me about it.”

“Himeno-“ You choke. He must’ve put out his cigarette cause now there’s a heavy hand in the middle of your back. “Himeno-senpai and Kobeni, and… everybody else in this sector all have serious contracts! Why is it that when I ask-“

You squeak when Aki bends his knees to hook himself just under the cuff of your ass - and uses it as leverage to squash you into the desk even further. Pressing against your back till you’re all but presenting on him like a bitch in heat, and even more so when he straightens his back and leans some of his weight on you.

There’s a glimpse of him in your peripheral. A flinted expression, more blank than anything, if not for the way his eyebrows cinch in concentration. “I don’t remember being the boss of Himeno-senpai and everybody else in this sector? I do, though, remember hiring an air headed brat just under a year ago.”

He sucks in a hiss and a few muttered curse words when you start to squirm against him. “Throwing a tantrum in front of the guy writing your checks doesn’t seem like a great idea if you think about it.”

“And being a massive hypocrite is?”

His fingers press groves into your scalp.

You’re his favorite. You surmise. Which is why he gets away with treating you like this. Why you’re constantly under his scrutiny, and why he punishes you the harshest when you mouth off like this. Obviously that doesn’t stop you from doing it. But his coarse fingers seem reserved for you and you alone more often than not. Candidly hands on whenever you step out of line, and making a hot spot on your back as he keeps you arched over his desk.

You push back against him to keep your balance on your toes, which earns you a hard smack on the back of your thigh. If the way he blows out a pinched breath should mean anything, you’re not the only one who’s been wound up tight. “Why do you need the damn contract anyway? What about your contract with the Coercion Devil?”

“It’s not enough,” Aki’s jaw tightens when you pout. “I’m gonna need more than one measly contract to get one up on the Gun Devil!”

“As if you can do that if you’re dead. What happens when you overdo it on that contract and your heart stops?”

“If it means getting us closer to killing that bastard then why should I care?”

Your cheek pulls tackily off the wood with a crackle.

It’s brief, the few seconds he has you pulled up by your hair but it’s enough to make you yip at the suddenness of it. Lifted off the table and snatched in his direction, he belts you to his chest with the crook of his arm secured over your neck. It’s all you can do but reach for it as he leans himself closer to your ear.

So close that his warm breath makes you to shutter. “Don’t say stupid shit like that. Ever. - I know you’re not dumb enough to actually believe something like that.”

“It’s the truth.” You argue. “What’ll be the point of any of this?”

Aki stays silent a brooding second.

And then he’s squishing you against his desk.

You heave out a chunk of air at the feeling of most of his weight suddenly toppling over you. Only giving when you whine under your breath but he’s still hovering just above, still pressing his pelvis against your skirt, still talking over your head.

You suppose you can only ignore that bulge in his slacks for so long. “I’ve been thinking of giving you a reason to quit the committee. You think knocking you up would do that?”

You kiss your teeth. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Don’t be an idiot then. I’m not letting you go out and kill yourself for no reason.”

“But-“

“You’re not making the contract.” He avows. “If I even think you’re going out there to make it behind my back, I’ll turn you into a housewife.”

You blow out an exasperated breath.

But he’s not done - Far from it actually. You realize that when he’s kicking one of your heels with his dress shoes and coaxing your legs apart. Planting his hands on the side of you as support and digging his belt into your skirt.

“Now,” He pulls his carton of cigarettes out of his pocket. “How do you think you should be punished?”

How he punishes you in particular.

reblog to “make a contract” with the compulsion devil

#every time i look at him i can feel myself getting worse i wanna get on his nerves so badly #aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #aki x y/n #aki x you #aki hayakawa smut #aki chainsaw man #csm aki #aki hayakawa #aki <3 #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader #chainsaw man

[cuubism]

It’s 3pm on a rainy Wednesday, and Hob is sleepily grading student papers, when Death of the Endless appears in his flat, lies quietly down on the couch, and rests her head in his lap.

Hob stares down at her for a long moment, hands aloft in indecision, because this is not... something they do. By now he can say he calls Death a friend, and they get drinks together sometimes and chat, but this...

“Everything alright, love?” he asks, finally resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t mean to disturb your peace,” Death says quietly. The TV Hob’s left on as background noise—some silly cooking show—nearly drowns out her voice entirely.

“Nothing peaceful about trying to find nice ways to tell my students they can’t write for shit,” Hob says, pushing his papers away. He can’t see Death’s face well like this, but he doesn’t like the uneven sound of her voice, not when she’s usually so level. “Disturb away.”

After a long moment in which they both just listen to the TV program host blather on about crumpets, Death says, “I am not affected by deaths.”

“…Alright,” Hob says, though he’s not convinced.

“I am…” Death continues, but trails off on a breath like a whistle of cold wind. “May I... stay here awhile?”

“‘Course.” Hob carefully pets at her head, strokes her hair. Worry is building, but he doesn’t think Death needs him to pull her words out of her the way he sometimes has to with Dream. She will speak when she’s ready. “Do you want to hear some truly fascinating attempts at historical analysis? Or is peace and quiet what you’re looking for?”

“You can speak if you wish,” Death says, still in that quiet tone.

So Hob tells her about some of his students, the ones who truly seem to have some promise in the field, and the others who he’s pretty sure are just mangling their papers together from sentences out of one of those AI things, if the originality is anything to go by. It’s disappointing but does make for humorous reading. Though really, Hob’s not sure whether to laugh or despair when he has to read lines like War has negative effects on people in an actual university academic paper. Wow, you don’t say.

He does manage to get a few chuckles out of his friend, but none with her usual humor and enthusiasm, and eventually he trails off, and they listen quietly to the background noise of the TV.

“Is there anything I can do?” Hob asks quietly.

“Can you control the future, Hob?” Death asks, a rhetorical question without any of her usual lightheartedness.

“Can’t even control the present,” Hob says. He just keeps his hands on her, one on her shoulder, one on the top of her head. Grounding, he hopes. And he thinks on what she’d said.

Hob knows that Destiny is the only Endless that operates in the future, but he has wondered, now that he understands them a bit better, if Death may not have a foot in that direction as well. She must know, some way, how to be where she must when she must.

Death has never seemed overly burdened by the past, even though history is a tower of bones a hundred miles high. Hob had asked, once — do all those terrible things ever bother you? you were there for them all —and all she had said was, “It has already happened,” with neither pleasure nor pain, just acceptance.

The future is another matter entirely.

“Is something going to happen?” he asks.

“I will not burden you with knowledge that is not yours to carry,” Death says.

So, that’s a yes.

“Maybe I could do something about it,” Hob suggests, though he suspects where that query will lead.

“You could not.”

“What about you, then?”

“That is not my place,” she says, though she sounds less certain about it than she usually is when discussing her function.

“You sure?” Hob asks.

“Were I to change fates for some, what excuse would I have for not doing so for all? Unfair things happen hourly, and always will. If I upend the balance, there is no telling how things would tip out of control down the road.”

It must be hard, Hob thinks, to be so powerful and yet so powerless.

“You did spare me,” he points out.

Death huffs, almost a laugh. “In truth, I shouldn’t have done that. Although I suspect Destiny had it written in his book for other purposes entirely.”

Huh. Well, that’s probably something Hob shouldn’t think on too hard for the sake of his own sanity.

“Well, I’m certainly not complaining about it,” Hob says, and Death chuckles.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks, when they’ve been sitting for another few minutes in silence.

“I… do not have many friends,” Death says. Common family trait, then, Hob thinks. Not that it’s really so surprising. Death is very personable, but most of her interactions with people are, well… fleeting. And it can’t be easy to make normal friends, when you’re as expansive a being as one of the Endless.

“Stay for a while then,” Hob says. He pulls a blanket over her and tucks it around her shoulders. “Until you have to go.”

“Thank you, Hob,” says Death, still sounding incredibly weighed down by her function, but given a slight reprieve, perhaps.

Hob rubs her shoulder and thinks about these endless creatures he’s chosen to love. Do they have anyone else to worry about them? He doesn’t think so. It’s just Hob, and he doesn’t think that’s anywhere close to enough, but he’ll just have to do his best.

“Any time, love,” he tells her, and means it.

#hob death friendship my beloved #couple days later hob's got /two/ endless sitting depressed on his couch cuz lbr whatever unspecified mass casualty event happens is going #to fuck up death and dream both #rip #hob gadling #death of the endless #deathling #i mean it's not intended as shippy but that's my tag for the two of them right now #my writing #FINALLY one ongoing wip finished. thank you nano. it's a short one but still #sandman fic #just post the most random ficlet and then go back to work XD #me: i won't post anything during nano i'll just focus on writing. also me:

[nativehueofresolution]

thinking about connor and shiv as the two kids 'out' of the company (or at least as out as they can be when their finances are tied up in it and the family is the brand), because they both came to it in different ways and have such different attitudes to it?

connor says in 3x05 he was always steered away from entering the company, and i think that's probably true but the context for him is quite different. from what we can piece together of the timeline, waystay was not quite a media empire during his childhood, and logan hadn't yet become obsessed with his legacy (it's kendall, after all, not connor, who is named after logan - which i take to mean he probably was not thinking about having a capital-h Heir yet). by the time that changed, connor's mother was likely already institutionalized and connor was old enough logan may have already decided he didn't have an aptitude for business (alan ruck has suggested in interviews connor probably flunked out of multiple schools). so it was better to start over, and connor had to watch kendall replace him as the eldest son and be groomed for the role instead. but it wasn't pre-ordained from his birth. it was a gradual fall in status until he'd accepted his place as the "first pancake" and was content to stay out of the bloodbaths and settle for scraps of attention to avoid being pushed out even further.

meanwhile, by the time shiv was born, logan already had an heir and a spare, and girls didn't count anyways. she always knew she wasn't going to get the keys to the kingdom no matter how good she was. so she builds her life in the opposite direction, tries to act like she's out because of defiance, because she's a black sheep who doesn't agree with waystar's conservatism. staying out on principle gives herself some agency, rather than waiting in the wings for an offer that will never come.

in one of the early s1 scripts, there's a line where connor tells shiv 'i've always said you and i are the only sane ones'. and it's a joke (the punchline is connor says this while wandering around on a horse lol), but i also wonder if maybe connor did feel a certain kinship with shiv - the ones too smart to get involved in the family mess, who could tell logan would never give them his approval - and if he was sad to see her throw her entire political career away at the first hint logan would give her the keys, when he thought they both had accepted their lot and were doing their own things.

on the other hand, i think shiv would maybe have been a little bit afraid of being a connor by staying out. of being reduced to an irrelevant joke, and that's why she can't fully keep her nose out of waystar business and likes the idea of having tom to puppet master in waystar, all while she is so determined to be a winner in the political arena. she's not out to be a professional rich person and follow daddy's orders, she's out because she has better things to do and maybe she has a guy keeping an eye on things but that's just being responsible.

#shiv roy #connor roy #succession #kaitlin speaks

[highonincense]

One thing I absolutely despise in drarry fics —and by this I mean a specific subset, not like in general cause there are many amazing fics— is the characterization of harry (and draco), the way he's an absolute fucking doormat!!!! I get it y'all are tryna portray him as a social dimwit, it can be done in a normal way without making him seem like a piece of cardboard! Are we talking about the same dude here?? You don't actually have to completely demolish a character, take away their key traits just to make the other half of the ship look better.

Let me give a pointwise description:

1. Dude stutters after every bloody sentence, like he's so overwhelmed talking to draco "smirking, smooth as butter, sardonic, sleek, godly" Malfoy who keeps insulting him every fucking second. Do you really think that harry would entertain that bullshit, especially in post-war fics!!! Like he'd just take it and not put him in his place?

2. I read this fic long ago and I don't remember the name, but good god it was unbearable. Basically the golden trio apologizes to draco for his tragic life that they were responsible for after the war? Like wtf? Why is there even a need to do that? 😭 That was too much and I stopped midway

3. Again, draco "3 OWLs" Malfoy, some supersmart / second coming of tom riddle, keeps patronizing every action of harry, the amount of times harry's intelligence is insulted? Immediate no from me, like are we still doing the whole "harry dumb mf potter is unobservant, slow, stupid, can't function without some rat hissing in his ear that he's an idiot 24/7"? Don't you think it's lame?

4. Harry has to always put up with his shitty attitude, I am all for character development, I know characters are multi dimensional and complex, and showing draco having a difficult personality is well and good, but it starts to get annoying when there's no real growth in him. I've read fics where he's absolutely despicable until the end which is covered up as him being a dickhead in general and harry "fondly" keeps up with his shit. *gag* canon harry would NEVER

5. I think it genuinely wouldn't make a difference if harry was there or not, I am not kidding or being dramatic, those fics might as well be character × y/n fics

All of this leads me to hate draco's character more! You portray him as this insufferable bastard who has a heart of gold apparently (where?) who has no real growth, shows no humility or regret or even pretends to and you think harry will put up with that?

It would be interesting if he starts out that way, works on himself and grows and changes, that would be more tolerable and interesting!

But no, he's always this annoying guy who hurls insults, keeps mocking harry or his friends every other line, you might argue it's in his character, but aren't those the traits which make him unlikeable? like those aren't cute or quirky? wouldn't it make more sense to show him grow out of it? It's really annoying

And harry, let's not go there, he's a completely new character, might as well be an oc atp, you can't even compare him to canon harry, that's how bad it is! I still haven't completely discussed it cause it's already getting long, but he's this wet bloody blanket and I can't stand it, the gryffs (except Hermione) in general are shown as some bumbling buffoons who can't differentiate between their hand and foot!! And the slytherins are all savvy, masterminds, geniuses... I really don't know whether it's admirable cause it's weird seeing them pushed into these moulds where they can only behave a certain way!

I'm so tired this is still going on like?? Why are their characters such caricatures? All of this sounds like it may have been a thing of past, but I am appalled it's still happening!!!

This is not directed at all drarry fics out there, cause there are some gorgeous fics written by amazing authors who fucking get these characters and make it about them, about their relationship and explore it in a depth and nail their characterizations without making either one of them boring. There are a good number of fics that I actually enjoy cause of the way they write drarry's characters, which makes or breaks the fic imho

#drarry #harry james potter #draco malfoy #harry potter #rant sesh #draco lucius malfoy #anti drarry? #anti drarry #wizard #wizarding world #hjp

[pidges-lost-robot]

I love the Keith and Lance friendly antagonism/rivalry (yk that thing the show could've eventually gotten to but forgot to) as much as the next person but I will always be the biggest Pidge vs Lance rivalry/friendly antagonism

It's too funny cause neither of them value the same things as being the thing to compete in, but they're also both competitive

Like I think Keith has to be pushed to care about competition tbh (or at least the writers had to contrive situations and his personality to make it work) but Keith doesn't hugely care about the same things Lance does in the way that eventually it was clear, even when they did really contrive to make Keith care, that the whole thing was really one sided (which is interesting but in different way)

But with Pidge and Lance, they both value certain traits in a way that even though its not the same and theyre each competing over different things, the pair of them would believably die on their respective hills just to prove a point, in a way that Keith just wouldn't. Pidge and Lance will go above and beyond to compete and be petty in a way where they know they have a close friendship but also they're gonna win. That competition can rarely be mistaken for actual antagonism and when it is or if it actually is, then the two are direct and blunt enough too to get to the bottom of it

Meanwhile being playfully mean for them would be different, cause they're both highly insecure and while competitiveness is one thing, being mean to each other would kind of cause problems for them if they hit a button or nerve they weren't aware of

I think Keith and Lance are better with the sort of relationship where its less competitive but more that they can honestly express their more negative traits and beliefs in front of each other without fear that the other will try to correct or fix the others belief. They can be as playfully mean, negative or cynical as they want in front of each other cause they're both the sort that try really hard not to come across certain ways and try to hide (sometimes in vain) these parts of themselves. They can show their darker traits that others would be concerned about to each other and know that the other is capable of being honest enough to both be able to handle it but also to know when there should be some actual concern and lines drawn

Plus on top of this, competition for Keith has always been this thing put upon him so tbh I think that's also a reason for me why Keith and Lance should be more playfully mean than competitive cause for Lance competition has been historically safe and fine for him with certain people, while for Keith it's always been something that has had people treat him negatively and therefore means something different to him.

This got longer than expected but TLDR (shut up ik it's not that long): Pidge and Lance are the rivals, but Lance and Keith are the playfully mean ones. Maybe that just makes them rivals but in a different font but to me that different font is important

#voltron #vld #voltron: legendary defender #lance #keith #pidge #lance vld #keith vld #pidge vld #vld lance #vld keith #vld pidge #klance #platonic plance #my headcanons #long post

[agent-of-sam]

My Big Rambling List of Perrin Thoughts

@toastandjamie asked for thoughts on Perrin's arc and the subsequent essay felt too big to be a comment so I made my own post.

Note it's not really an essay and more just a jumbled list of impressions from someone who tried and failed to complete a re read of the series.

The Gentle Giant thing is technically true but I think it's a misleading place to start with Perrin. The term feels more accurate for Loial who is both physically larger and less inclined to violence. And I do think there's some deliberate paralleling between the two as Loial spends a fair amount of time in Perrin's storyline. As an Ogier Loial is Pure Nature and Pure Creation, while Perrin's Wolfbrother connection is…something something, Primal Man, domestication of wolves as the man's first step towards civilization, something something idk.

In terms of personality, Perrin is deliberate and pragmatic. He's a good problem-solver, able to break things down into logical steps and can often surprise people by seeing to the core of an issue or by approaching it from an unexpected direction. But like all the Emond's Fielders this comes with a unique set of blind spots, biases, and hypocrisies. Perrin, in particular, feels like a very linear thinker who thus struggles with problems that don't have clear answers. (waves vaguely at his entire relationship with Faile). Thematically, as other people have said, I think Perrin's "arc" isn't a distinct line. It's a journey towards acceptance both about himself and about how the world works. Am I a Wolf or Man? Both. Am I Peaceful or Violent? Both. Is it Wrong to Kill? Yes but sometimes you have to do it anyway. How will I know when it's Right? You won't but you'll have to make a decision and follow through. How will I know when to Stop? When it feels right.

He's a character who fundamentally wants clear rules and structured morality and demonstrable cause and effect and the world won't line up the way he wants.

I think he's the character who holds on longest to his old life and his old identity, at least among the guys. Like, Rand is never "happy" about being the Dragon Reborn but once it's proven he commits to it, hell or high water. Mat is famous for loudly proclaiming he's something other than what he clearly is. Perrin choosing to leave Rand in Tear and go back to the Two Rivers is described as a physical tearing as he resists the pull of Ta'veren. He insists he's a simple blacksmith even as people are calling him Lord Goldeneyes and waving his banner and the Two Rivers is literally changing and modernizing around him. -I think there's something about acceptance as a theme in all the characters. Pushing against Fate and the Pattern and the world telling them who they are, trying to change them. Except, the Pattern didn't change them. They were always who they were, they just didn't know it until the journey revealed it to them. Whether they like the revelation or not is irrelevant. Rand was always going to channel eventually. So were Egwene and Nynaeve, probably. The Wolves were always going to find Perrin. Most of them eventually come to a sort of subconscious realization that they, ironically, have the most agency when they choose to go with the flow instead of trying to swim upstream. I think Perrin, with his specific brand of quit stubbornness, takes the longest to actually reach that turning point.

This next part might all be projection but In terms of writing style, I think there's something to the idea the Perrin operates with a certain separation from his own emotions. Rand angsts, he pushes down his feelings but he stills feels them. Mat's got his whole comedic irony thing going on. I think Perrin straight-up doesn't register his emotions 90% of the time. Which doesn't mean they aren't there, he's just kind of blind to them until something big happens and then suddenly it's a tidal wave. It tracks for someone who's like, "To figure out this situation I must be direct and logical. First step is to put my personal feeling into a box because they aren't relevant right now." And it works so you do that for every problem. And over a lifetime you kind of just…lose the ability to regulate. Your emotional responses become Nothing or Way Too Much. Everything in the box gets mushed together into a big soup.

I think he's got anger issues, but in that specific way where he's an exploder. "I'm fine. Everything's fine. No big deal. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. It's fine. Oh, look an Aiel Man in a cage. I don't like that." Then things get a bit blurry and suddenly he's got a bloody axe and there's a bunch of dead White Cloaks all around.

And for that kind of person the sort of primal, instinctual sensations he gets from the wolves is euphoric and terrifying.

For Perrin emotions literally become sensations at some point? The wolves communicate by psychically bombarding each other with images and scents and emotions. Then he gets his scent powers and Faile's jealousy is a hot spiky feeling that stabs at his nose and Aram's growing resentment and fanaticism is this itchy, alien smell that Perrin finds literally repulsive. But he can't smell himself so it's always this intrusive, upsetting sensory overload?

Anyway, it's a writing approach that I think fundamentally doesn't appeal to some people because there's less to grab onto and also what's there is simultaneously very big but also very direct and kind of "exactly what it says on the tin". Because Jordan can be a very subtle writer when he wants to be but, conversely, he can also be incredibly blunt sometimes. And I think he's at his most blunt when writing Perrin. Probably because that's just who Perrin is. Perrin's not a metaphor guy and he's not a philosophy guy. For Perrin a thing is a thing or it's not and if it's not then it's not worth thinking about. Or so he tells himself.

It also falls into Jordan's gender stuff where it's leans into a very Plain-Spoken Salt-of-the-Earth Man Does not Understand Complicated Thing Like Women or Human Emotions. I think, like a lot of Jordan's Gender and specifically Masculinity stuff, if you look at the series as a whole it's a functional critique showing the pitfalls and drawbacks of those kinds of mentalities both on a societal level and on a personal level. But it also takes 12 books to get there and, while it's hard to say exactly how various character arcs would have ended if Jordan had lived to finish the series himself, I think as a writer he favored slowly sliding people into place rather than big epiphany moments. And there is a large modern audience that either doesn't have the patience or just fundamentally isn't interested in that kind of story. Which is fair, I guess.

But I love Perrin. He's my guy. That's it, that's my essay.

#wheel of time #wheel of time books #wheel of time spoilers #perrin aybara

[inncubus-honey]

watch the crows

a/n: this based on that one post where it tells that the number of crows can indicate something. so, I'm trying my hand at writing soap, so let me know how it feels. also it may not make sense in places, i wrote this in one night with a bit of editing.

soap x gn!reader Word Count: 1.9k

“remember y/n, watch the crows when you hear them calling. they are natures fortune tellers…people always say owls are the wise ones, but crows have always secretly been protecting people for millions of years..” your grandpa nudged your shoulder as the cold air nipped at your exposed nose. nodding his head in the direction of the birds, you saw seven crows sitting on the telephone lines. not directly together, but altogether, there were eleven when counted. looking at your grandpa, a puff of smoke left his mouth from the cigar in his hand.

the soft clank of his mug on the glass table sounded along with shuffling of winter clothes from him and you. burning your cheeks further into the raised collar of your puffer coat, glancing over at him, you saw as he watched the crows, unmoving when you turned to him.

“what do eleven crows mean, grandpa?” your voice softly carried out across the snowy plains as a deep chuckle left him. confused, you raised an eyebrow as you waited for his answer as burnt tobacco met your nose as the wind pushed the smoke towards you.

“uncertainty, little one. the most uncertain events will transpire soon.” a deep sigh left him as you turned back to the crows in time for the birds to take off from the telephone line. walking over to your grandpa, you took a seat next to him which led to him bringing you into his side to keep from the cold.

“is that why you have that crow tattoo, grandpa?” you whispered to him, almost scared of spooking away the crows if you spoke in your normal volume. your grandpa had shown younger photos of himself which allowed you to see that he had three crows in three stages of flight on his back. a hearty laugh left him as he rubbed your shoulder and a tight squeeze of a hug.

“aye, y/n. the day i asked your grandmother to marry me, i spotted three crows that morning on the way to pick the ring i had made for her…” he smiled down at you, life bright in his eyes with crows feet hugging the corners.

two nights from the day with your grandpa, you would get the news that he had been rushed to the hospital when he had a heart attack. your whole family would live on edge for a month as your grandpas health went up and down; he would pass away, peacefully in the middle of the night in november.

its a conscious habit now to watch phone lines, trees, buildings for any signs of birds when out on the field..this earned you your call sign, ‘Condor’, when you first joined the army. others saw how you watched birds and the name stuck, joking that you always had your head stuck in clouds or waiting for something to fall from the sky. 

but from watching the crows has allowed you to predict the outcome of some missions. when kate brought you to the 141, your bird watching habit grew ten times stronger; all missions could end in everyone dying or something like that. but when you spot your birds, you know what needs to happen. this caught the eye of a certain scotsman; soap would see how you always looked at something, but couldnt tell why or what. 

always writing in a journal that you kept in the front of your vest, getting it out your vest when you have a moment of quiet on the field or on the heli back to base. he knows the comfort writing a journal could bring during service, he does it himself when gets back to his room. it helped him keep his head on his shoulders, soap always wanted to ask what you would write about. but he knew it would be very invasive to ask and make writing in a journal be very hard.

when you first met soap, you always watched how he interacted with others. it was different from how you kept to yourself; like a crow watching a bevy of larks, either waiting to strike or just…longing to have a group like that.

whenever having a chance to eat in the mess hall with the group, you found yourself listening and drawn to soap at a moments notice. baby blue eyes beamed with excitement, joy or humor when he was sharing a story or how expressive he was while doing it.

you soon realized your heart fluttered while your stomach did flips at the thought of seeing soap next in the mess hall. it felt nice to have something to look forward to after so long.

 —

taking a few moments to rest after a long night of walking, you guys took a break and started a little fire to warm up a bit. having to do a mission set in germany in winter was not a great feeling, your feet started to feel numb in your toes and your joints ached at the slightest bend. breathing caused your lungs to burn at every exhale as your nose got a deeper red hue the more time you spent outside. ghost took first watch over the four of you and sat back to the fire to watch the forest line with his rifle sitting on his lap. 

gaz took to sleeping by the log, near ghost as soap was across from gaz and watched the forest with ghost. but when he looked at you as you were further away from the others. your notebook resting upon your stomach, your hands printing whatever came to your mind, he could see some doodles and writing. but he couldnt read anything you wrote down. soap wished he saw what thoughts went through your head in the notebook of yours.

you counted five crows on the phone line. positive transaction. making note of it in your notebook, you had a habit of noting how many crows you see every mission or whenever you're out. it was like your grandfather was still with you whenever you wrote your findings; just the knowledge of the crow watching and the crows that day were the only words meant for you and your grandfather.

—

waking up the next morning, your lungs burned and ached from the frosty air throughout the night. the men were eating mri packs quickly before ghost handed you a pack which caused you eat everything given inside. doesnt matter if its good or not, you need the energy for anything that could happen; sitting upon a dead log next to gaz, you looked around at the powerlines incase they changed in the morning. 

no crows were to be seen which is a good sign as it means nothing is coming for awhile and that last nights watching was a good omen. packing everything into the bag on your back, you ready your gun of choice. everyone made their way down the trail to the compound that is said to hold makarov and all his plans. everyone keeping their eyes on the foliage around them.

“eyes up, everyone. we dont know what lies ahead; look for anything suspicious.” ghost voice broke the eerie silence of nature and footsteps crunching upon the ground. everyones nerves were on high alert as you got closer and closer to the compound. anything and everything could happen in a matter of moments and none of you would be the wiser. 

but thankfully, yall had a smooth entry into makarovs compound. taking guards out silently, moving the shadows like you were taught to do. ghost taking charge when it came to checking corners and giving orders, leading you around to find the control room where the files yall needed would be found. you found your eyes watching soap as he moved before you like you always have with him.

soap moved with such stature like a lion; holding the gun in a tight grip as everyone moved throughout the compound. you found you couldnt tear your eyes away from the way he carried himself, but also it almost cost you both everything.

as kyle and ghost went to the left of the corridor while soap and you moved forward, your eyes both watched him and passed him to look out for threats. when given the cue to round the corner, soap moved first with his gun readied in front of his face. Everything felt like it moved in slow motion as someone else rounded the corner as well, their gun drawn high and ready at soaps head. in a split second, you pulled soap down to the ground, but not before a bullet nicked him in the temple.

moving quickly, you made quick work of the person causing them to fall to the ground with a thud. soap groaned in pain made you focus on the man you’ve secretly cherished for years, blood pooling for gash upon his temple, you grabbed a gaze from your vest and packed it into the wound.

“we heard shots, what happened-” kyle found himself cut off upon seeing you hold gaze to soaps head wound. looking over at ghost, he was already on call for an evac heil for you and soap as he and kyle would finish up in the compound. 

kyle crouched down next to you as silent tears trickled down your cheeks, applying pressure to soaps wound. 

“hey…soaps gonna be okay.” kyle whispered to you as he gently held onto to soaps neck to keep his spine stable. once price heard that someone had a head injury, he had the pilot speed over to the compound.

ghost kept watch over the halls as you and kyle kept your eyes and hands on soap; your body shook as you tried to keep your hands from shaking with distraught. blood dyed his hair crimson, along with dripping down his features coating them in red slick.

maybe you missed a sighting of crows that morning, maybe you didn't look at the trees along the road to the compound and now soap is injured and its your fault.

the thought of your last night with your grandpa before ending up in hospital flashed through your mind as the same out of control feeling creeped into your bones. some stray tears dripped down onto your hands as you looked over his still face.

thankfully, the doctor said it was a simple gash, but because it was such thin skin thats why he bled a lot. soap was laying, unconscious with wires and tubes all over him. you had sat in the uncomfortable, leather hospital chair all night and waited for soap to do and say anything.

you found yourself holding onto his warm hand, gently rubbing your thumb across his knuckles. comforting him in touch as he tried to pull himself out of his unconscious state; the 141 was too quiet without him.

“you better wakeup soon, johnny…i hate you not being here..” you found yourself whispering to the still air of the hospital room. the others had gone back to the barracks for the night, but your heart kept you in the chair.

“lass…im not going anywhere, sweething…” a groan sounded from soap as he shifted to face you. a tired, smirk graced his lips as you sniffled with relief upon seeing him wake up. you removed the tears from your eyes, you got up and moved to sit next to him on the hospital bed.

soap pulled you in closed to his body as he rested his head upon yours, wrapping your hand in his. you both just cuddled into one another with content silence, drifting off into finally some comfortable sleep with the beeping of machines echoing throughout the room.

the last thought that came across your mind was…yeah, yall would be alright.

#cod mw2 x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #gn reader #honey writings #john soap mactavish

[heyclickadee]

Things about "The Outpost" that are still killing me:

1. That airstrip was huge. And by the time we see Mayday and Crosshair on it they've been walking across it for a while, at the rate they’re going. The TK troopers don't see them at first, but once they do, they gather, see this:

These two men, barely on their feet, clearly in pain, one of them unable to keep holding on to his crutch anymore, staggering towards them inch by inch, looking towards them for help--not a single one of the TK troopers offers any kind of assistance whatsoever. No one calls for a medic, no one rushes forward to carry Mayday. They all just stand there and watch. And when Nolan tells them to go, they do, because they probably don't see the clones that differently than Nolan does.  

Yeah, Lieutenant Nolan is an asshole. He went from, "I'm probably going to dislike this guy," to, "LOATHE," in my book with a single line. He's a pathetic officer-wannabe who genuinely thinks of the clones as machinery he can push around and direct how he likes. He doesn't see the problem with kicking around someone like Mayday--someone who technically outranks him, I think--or the danger inherent in goading someone like Crosshair, because he doesn't see either of them as reasoning, emotion-having people who may just retaliate if pushed far enough. He's a snake and he deserved what he got. But his malice is more than matched by the TK troopers' apathy.

2. The way that there's ice and snow frozen to Crosshair's armor on the landing strip, and the fact that Mayday can't quite make it to the end of the tarmac, nor is Crosshair able to continue carrying him. They're both so cold and tired. They've both hit their physical limit and it would have been enough if anyone had cared to help.

3. Crosshair is--literally--stripped of everything that marks him as an imperial soldier or a soldier at all by the end of the episode, and most of it is stuff he casts aside himself. His CT number (in a way, when he gives Mayday his name), his helmet that he doesn't even look for (there as SO MANY good helmet metas out there, so I'm not going to get into it), his rifle (which he gives to Mayday to use as a crutch and doesn't retrieve when Mayday drops it), his backpack (I'm guessing it got too heavy so he threw it away to keep carrying Mayday), and even his armor, reflection mirror...sticker...things, and sidepiece (all of which are taken from him after he blacks out. I'm not real happy about the fact that the scientists at Mount Tantiss changed his clothes while he was unconscious). Of course, the last few function a little bit differently than they first ones do. The CT number, the helmet, the rifle, and I guess (?) even the backpack (though to a much lesser extent) are all Crosshair intentionally putting his imperial identity aside in order to help someone he sees as a brother and re-humanizing himself in the process. The last couple--the armor, the sidepiece--that's the writers telling us how vulnerable Crosshair is in his current situation.

4. The SNOW and the way it interacted with the CHARACTERS was just *chef's kiss* Credit to Joel Aron and the effects department, you guys knocked it out of the park.

5. Likewise, while I'm really glad The Bad Batch does list the names of the animators at CGCG who worked on each episode in the credits (because guess what--not every animated show does this. Sometimes they just list the name of the studio), I really want to know which animators were responsible for animating Crosshair this time around. Or at least Crosshair's shots, since the way I think it often works is that an animator will be assigned a series of shots and be responsible for animating everyone in those shots, because oh boy, was that a performance. Crosshair's animation has always been standout, I think partly (partly) because he's a character that doesn't actually talk that much, and says stuff he doesn't mean at least half the time, so there has to be a certain level of clarity and nuance in his performance for the character comes across the way the writers intend (and partly because being an ultra-expressive but taciturn bundle of emotions is a big part of Crosshair as a person). But the team working on this episode took something that was already great and kicked it up another level.

6. I want to know if Jennifer Corbett, the board artists, layout artists, the other writers, the directors, and others high-fived each other when they came up with the ice vulture symbolism and the rock-wings shot. I want to know if they knew we'd go crazy over it.

7. Mayday. Literally everything about Mayday. Mayday my beloved. *cries*

8. The look on Crosshair's face when he's about to pass out and sees the TK troopers coming still messes me up, because it's the closest thing we've gotten to a real smile (one that actually reaches his eyes) pretty much since he was teasing Echo in the med bay in "Aftermath." Crosshair's someone who's come across as to me passively suicidal since the moment he turned around after the droid fight in "Return to Kamino" and saw Hunter and the rest pointing their guns at him. Passively--meaning that he's not going to actually do anything, that he doesn't actually want to die, he’ll survive however he can, but that he's not exactly planning for the future, either. He'll just keep doing what he's doing until it (almost definitely) kills him. And. I mean. Crosshair's not stupid. He knows what killing Lieutenant Nolan means for him. I'm not saying that Crosshair didn't expect to wake up afterwards, or that he wanted to not wake up, but I am saying that he did decide that avenging Mayday and defying the Empire in whatever small way he could was worth dying for. And that he was very, very tired.

9. I'm so! Glad! That Crosshair's growth wasn't centered around Omega, Wrecker, Tech, Hunter, or Echo. We already know that he cares about them. Showing us the lengths he'll go to help a relative stranger instead and making that his breaking point does so much more to tell us that he's grown.

10. The thing that sticks with me most, though, is the fact that this episode wasn't just sad. It wasn't just unrelenting tragedy, or even like "The Solitary Clone," where overriding emotion of the whole episode is despair. I mean, yes, this episode is sad. It's tragic. You have Lieutenant Nolan's cruelty, you have the malice of the Empire, you have the apathy of the TK troopers, the dehumanization of the clones, the soul-crushing way in which Mayday and Crosshair find out that the clones were always going to be replaced, that inevitability, the futility (on one level) struggle that ends in Mayday's death. 

But it's not just that. There's warmth, too. There's camraderie and a little bit of humor. Mayday, a survivor starting to see how pointless it all was, and Crosshair, who's so desperate for companionship at this point that he'd pack bond with a rock, snark back and forth at each other a little bit like old friends. Heck, this is the episode where we get the most profound act of compassion we've seen in the show so far. Mayday didn't have to disarm that mine and save Crosshair, but he did, and it matters. No, Mayday didn't make it, but Crosshair carried him through a blizzard for two days and made sure he didn't get left behind or die alone, even if he couldn't save him, and that matters. Yes, Crosshair's a prisoner now, but he chose to avenge Mayday, grab hold of his own humanity again, and told the Empire where to stuff it, and that matters. Kindness and defiance have their own meaning, even if they don't change the outcome. But the fact that this episode is more than just sad is, I think, why it's so harrowing in the first place.

#the bad batch #tbb spoilers #tbbspoilers #the bad batch spoilers #crosshair bad batch #commander mayday #lieutenant asshole #tw suicide ideation #this episoooooooode!! #back to the shambles I go #I’ll write a normal length post about this show when I’m dead #it’s either two sentences or an essay #there is no in-between

[jeffgerstmann]

I mean, what GTA seems to be at this point is twenty-year old game mechanics and sensibilities somehow making dumptrucks of money solely through whatever weird business people get up to in the online.

What I remember most from 5 is how limited everything was in what you could do compared to the previous games. The number of fail states during missions if you deviated even slightly from their carefully-crafted path was crazy for an open world game.

I'm not saying any of the previous GTAs were perfect, but there was an ambition to 3, Vice City, and San Andreas that I haven't seen since then except for making everything look really nice. Rockstar pretty much defined the open world with cars genre until Saints Row started ramping up and ever since then they've been focusing more on their tales of human drama that I don't think the quality of writing can support.

I think you're mostly right, but I also think San Andreas more or less mastered (or at least maxed out) some sort of level of ambition for that style of GTA game. Pushing further in that direction would've meant diminishing returns and a dedication to absurdity that was never really their goal in the first place. After three games of "let's see how many cops I can kill with infinite rocket launchers" or whatever, GTA4 pushed in a new direction that finally made that sort of stuff seem out of place. Say what you will about the quality of GTA4, but at least it showed they had something different up their sleeve and wanted to do something more.

I think GTA4 and 5 are fine. The quality of writing is fine. They're watching a lot of movies and trying to write things that remind them of the movies they like. It's always been that. The stuff they're doing is at least on par with, like, standard Hollywood blockbuster action movie/crime drama stuff. It's a hard line to walk, but I think they've walked it well enough so far.

If anything, I think their sense of humor is the thing that's gotten the most stale over the years, but in some sick way, their dedication to it gives the franchise a certain through-line that it'd otherwise lack. It has a charm to it, for all its stale satire and dick jokes.

I don't know, I'm really interested to see what they've been working on. I bet they'll end up moving some things forward in weird and unexpected ways but hey, at this point, you probably have a pretty good idea of what they're making and if you're interested in that or not. At some point there'll probably be a mission where you have to tail a car without getting too close and you'll think "I can't fucking believe they're still making these shit-ass missions in these games." Personally, my concern would be that they'd focus even more on the online side of the game, which didn't especially interest me last time.

[balanceoflightanddark]

What if the avatar spirit was the spirit of light/peace/yang and darkness/chaos/yin at the same time and it fuses with Wan?

Hmmm...well, it definitely would be a step up from the "light=good" "dark=evil" dynamics in The Legend of Korra proper. Not to mention bringing it back to the original roots of yang and yin needing each other to maintain balance from the cultures that the series is supposed to take inspiration from.

It's certainly an interesting concept to be certain and how it illustrates how the Avatar is capable of both preserving peace and committing destruction at the same time. Something that was right in the original show with the Avatar state, particularly with the Siege of the North and La's rampage being empowered by Aang.

If we're applying it to The Legend of Korra, it also shows that Korra can be just as much a force for good as she can be a destructive force. Don't get me wrong, she does want to do the right thing and fulfill the role of the Avatar. But her upbringing gave her a pretty damn skewered view of what "justice" is. I mean, when you're raised in a compound being taught to master three of the four bending arts at a very young age (something that is considered to be rather unusual in the franchise) to the point her social skills weren't exactly up to par when she arrives in Republic City, this resulted in...

...yeah.

Please note that this isn't smearing against Korra. This is just pointing out how you shouldn't raise a kid to solve everything with her fists and then throw her into situations where that's the wrong thing to do.

But getting back to the point, the Avatar Spirit being both a fusion of Raava and Vaatu would again be an extension of this dynamic between one's good and evil. And how essentially you can't have one without the other. Like, take Raava for example. Raava can be taken as an embodiment of light, peace, harmony, and order. All of which can be considered positive. But at the same time, there are times where ultimately you do need to take a stand and fight for what you believe in. Which is something Aang learned while learning Earthbending, about how you can't always run and eventually you need to stand and fight.

Vaatu is the opposite. He is the embodiment of darkness, chaos, and conflict. Yet while those concepts are considered to be destructive, sometimes you do need to throw hands when worst comes to worst. About how sometimes you need to upend the status quo in order to ensure a better future. Something that the ragtag Gaang from ATLA embodied by going up against the dominating Fire Nation. That being said, you can take things too far in that direction to the point where you start to hurt the people you're supposed to protect for the sake of the greater good, which is one of the core unifying aspects of the villains in The Legend of Korra.

Again, that's why both yin and yang need each other to maintain harmony. One without the other would lead to disaster since they would be pushed into one particular extreme. Which is what happened in Book 1 of ATLA when Tui was killed leading to the whole world being thrown into chaos. So while I can certainly see why Raava was considered the "good" half of the two (maybe even from an in-universe perception since what Raava stands for would be more in line with what the Avatar's core beliefs are supposed to be), it would make a lot more sense if Vaatu wasn't exactly demonized and treated as a rampaging monster but more treated as a necessary part of the Avatar Spirit, even if he can be intimidating at times.

As for how it would go for Wan himself, I could see him struggling with handling these two conflicting ideals. Especially since he's supposed to be the very first Avatar. Which could be the core of his arc, trying to find some kind of balance between the two extremes. Like he might at first be more intimidated by the Vaatu aspect of the Avatar Spirit, but overtime recognizes that it is an integral part of how it works. Particularly if he recognizes that by tapping into the Raava half, he's becoming more unwavering, distant, or controlling by leaning into one extreme as opposed to the other. And how for the Avatar Spirit to be truly whole, he needs to embrace both halves instead of the one.

Bringing it all back to the overarching theme of Balance which the series is all about.

#atla #lok #avatar the last airbender #legend of korra #raava #vaatu #aang #korra #atla meta #lok meta #ask answered #anon answered #ask me anything #wan #avatar wan #long post

[pochapal]

This will be an interesting time to get into homestuck, considering everything

Umineko question for ya: Why do you think this is a Visual Novel(or as 07th expansion calls it, a Sound Novel)? They could of written a more mainstream novel. And the original version of Higurashi was a play.

probably the best time, really! if you ever get around to reading + finishing it i have a limited but comprehensive list of fics for you to check out when you're done lol.

as for the umineko question: i think this is a similar reason as to why homestuck is the way it is. the vn form allows for a better specific modulation of pacing and tone through the use of sound, art, and dialogue that a novel alone cannot accomplish. i also think in umineko's case specifically vns are often seen as "interactive" fiction and while umineko itself has no means of directly interacting with the text beyond clicking to advance it by a line, as a reader this is prompting you to have a more active involvement in the story, which in turn motivates you to further *want* to engage with and solve the mystery rather than passively letting it wash over you as can happen with traditional prose. also because "oooooOOoooOOOOOOhhhhhhh beatriceeeeEEEEEEEEEE" absolutely Needed an audio dimension for the full meaning impact and thematic importance of its existence to be conveyed. umineko is not even half the story it is without the old man shrieking.

higurashi starting out as a play is also interesting too! particularly given that (sorry to always be talking about this) homestuck's construction is deliberately evocative of a play - structured with acts and intermissions, heavy dense pages of dialogue without much prose direction - as well. this is i guess going into the construction of dramatics and maybe melodrama? ie when dealing with a text to be Performed there are certain primers/prompts that push you to engage with things on a deeper emotional level. i guess a lot of that would be pertinent with umineko's family drama angle as given the limitations of time/place/character there is something stageplay like about the story itself (i also know about the stageplay adaption and i'm very excited to get to the point where i can safely look at that). similarly this probably explains why homestuck is known for its myriad fandubs - something about the dialogue-heavy form is begging to be performed, for you to feel the words in your own throat as much as reading them in your mind. the drama makes it visceral which is probably why stories like these have such staying power in the minds and hearts of those who make it to the end.

#coolstuffiseverywhere

[leeahqueen]

The Remaining Dust Trio (CER-01)

CER-01

Human physiological conditions dictate that such an environment is not suitable for them to survive here, but correspondingly, this is also a paradise for certain lives.

------

Noctis: 21, can you also use a little force?

Noctis: Are those two claws of yours just for decoration?

No.21: No.21 is already pushed it. If I use more force, the car will be scratched.

No.21: But I feel like Noctis would be fine if he pushed it himself.

No.21: From till now, it was Noctis who was exerting his strength.

Noctis: Hey! You…

Vera: No.21, you push a little harder.

Vera: In another ten minutes, you will be holding the steering wheel in the car.

Noctis: What about me? That’s not fair at all!

Vera: Didn’t you just get out of the car? What are you thinking about?

Vera: With your steering wheel skills, I might as well put a wooden stake on the driver’s seat.

The weather was very sunny, even too sunny, and the sun shone unbridled on hundreds of kilometers of deserted gravel, meadows, and asphalt roads.

Human physiological conditions dictate that such an environment is not suitable for them to survive here, but correspondingly, this is also a paradise for certain lives.

Such as lizards, blue sheep, hares, wolves, and vultures in the sky.

--And the Cerberus pushing a car on an endless road.

Noctis: I said, so what exactly is the mission?

Noctis: It makes me so suspicious, what kind of mission must we do in such a place where ‘birds’ don’t shit?

Vera: Little did I know that the sick and generous commandant just told us to go to the predetermined coordinates.

Vera: It would be nice if I didn’t put you in solitary confinement because of the trouble we caused last time.

Noctis: Ugh…

No.21: Captain, a communication has been received.

Vera: Is there a signal?

Vera let go of the hand on the cart, turned over and sat next to No.21 on the roof of the car, and took the communication device from No.21’s hand.

Noctis, who suddenly lost power, almost stumbled and fell under the car.

Noctis: [Beep] [Beep] –

Vera: Stop making noise!

Vera gestured to Noctis, who was sitting cross-legged angrily on the ground, to tell him to be quiet. Then she stood on the hood of the car, holding the communicator in the air, trying to make the communication signal clearer.

This vast, desolate, and barren no-man’s land has almost always been a radio blind spot. There are only a few opportunities to communicate with Babylonia every day and each communication window is only for a few minutes.

Communication device: [Sizzling Sizzling] …

Vera: Why is the signal so bad…

Communication device: [Sizzling Sizzling] … -Ve …

Communication device: Vera…

Vera: Hello?

Communication device: Northwest… Wagon…

No.21: We are now in… which direction is this?

Vera: Twenty-four degrees west by the starting point, on Highway 77.

Communication device: Must… medicine… serum… you…

Noctis: Why do we need these things? I didn’t even see anyone along the way.

Communication device: Non… component… also illegal… You… [Sizzling] … question…

Communication device: You guys… solve it yourself.

The voice in the communication device turned into a monotonous rustling sound again.

Noctis: What do you mean? What do you mean we are… illegal?

Noctis: Could it be that the higher-ups found that you were hiding something?

Vera: Those parts and serum…

Noctis: Enough fooling!

Vera: Just relying on the supplies sent from above will not be able to fill the hole for you to deal with the aftermath. I heard there were quite a few people lining up at the court-martial waiting to give you a hard time.

Vera: How about I stop doing this next time? Can you still laugh?

No.21: No.21 thinks…it shouldn’t be this.

No.21: When I received the communication just now, the type of message header was ‘Task Assignment Instruction’.

Vera: Maybe it’s about this mission.

Noctis: What about the direction? Is the direction correct?

Vera: Didn’t I say northwest? We are also northwest of the starting point.

Noctis: How far do we have to push it?

Vera: There is a rest area five kilometers ahead on the map.

Noctis: FIVE! KILO! METERS!

Vera: Push it quickly.

Vera threw the communication to No.21, jumped out of the car, and stood next to Noctis, kicking him to signal him to get up and continue pushing the cart.

No.21 was like before, gently humming an unknown tune and sitting on the roof of the car.

Noctis: Hey, 21, why don’t you go inside the car and hold the steering wheel?

No.21: Because I tied the steering wheel with straps.

No.21: This way the car drives in a straighter line than Noctis.

Read next: CER-01 | CER-02

Note: As we all know, Noctis calls No.21 "Sanqi" in Cn/Tw. Meaning, san=3 qi=7. So, 3 x 7 = 21. So here ill use '21' instead of 37 to avoid confusion.

#punishing gray raven #pgr noctis #pgr vera #pgr no21

[calliecat93]

So here is my silly little prediction regarding Ruby storyline for Volume 9.

To say that Ruby has had it rough would be an understatement. The past two volumes really pushed her. Those coming after Volume 6, the volume that really cemented her strength and hope, are not a coincidence. We’ve been waiting for the ‘Ruby breakdown volume’ for a LONG time now. I’ve been waiting since Volume 4 for it. And going off the first chapter, the trailer, and the opening I think I have a good idea of what to expect.

We know that RWBY is in Remnant’s version of Alice in Wonderland, which was referenced in Volume 8. As in they are in the actual story somehow. It might be why it looks like Blake's going to be taking the lead. While all four probably know the story, Ruby and Blake are probably the most familiar considering their love of books but with Ruby out of it, Blake's the one who knows what direction they should go. It also shows how for the most part she, Weiss, and Yang are in better mental states. They certainly have things to address, but they've already confronted and bested their pain and gone through their breaking points. Whatever they have to face they can do so.

Ruby though? She hasn't. She's come close to breaking, but she always managed to just pull herself back. That was her greatest strength. That's why she was the only one on her team who kept going after the Fall of Beacon. It's why she didn't fall into The Apathy like the others in Volume 6. It's why she inspired everyone around her since the start. Even Oz noted it in Volume 5. But Volume 7 and especially Volume 8 have broken her down. Atlas has fallen. The Relics are lost. No help came when she was so sure that her message would work. And worst of all Penny, someone that Ruby cares for so much and went so far to help, has died. That hope and optimism ultimately failed her. She is NOT okay. She's going to try and press on, but she can't this time. She can't push back her emotions, especially in a world where her emotions affect the environment around her. She doesn't want to address her issues and emotions, wanting to just smile and bear it. But that's not going to work this time.

Going off all that we've seen, the Ever After will NOT let you leave unless you confront your issues. The first line is literally an excerpt about a girl 'with a lot of issues'. As I said WBY has dealt with most of theirs and whatever remains they can and will face. But Ruby has spent so much time internalizing it in favor of focusing on what's before her. In a world where she HAS to confront it in order to leave? Nope. She can't do it. She doesn't want to do it. So then what happens if she can't? Well going off certain context clues in the trailer and opening...

Some others have also pointed this out but I think the longer you remain the Ever After and refuse to face your demons, the more you become assimilated into it. In the trailer, we have someone telling Ruby how she can leave Ruby Rose behind and asking what'll happen if she doesn't. We have the girls having to follow the fairy tale and the figure of the Alice character (Alyx apparently is her name?) in the opening. We have lines in the opening like "What I'd give in exchange/To be happy without trying" and "I've gotta let go but could I lose my mind?".

We also possibly have Jaune in some kind of knight get-up. If it is in fact Jaune it may very well mean that he's already assimilated or is going to due to what he had to do and not having any support like Ruby at least does. He left Jaune Arc behind and become The White Knight. Maybe some of the other characters like the Jabberwalker ended up the same way. It's probably gonna be a pretty nasty reveal for RWBY and what's in store if they don't get out. What will happen if Ruby leaves Ruby Rose behind? Will she become Alyx? The Red Queen maybe? Something else? Who knows? But simply put she will succumb and never be able to leave.

This is probably where the scene with her talking to her younger self comes in. It's either going to be a bad thing that pushes her even more into despair. Or it's the reminder that she is going to need. Of all that she believed in. Of her belief in those fairy tales and in helping people. Of the hope and determination that she's always carried with her that has pushed her so far. She needs to break, but then she needs the reminder of who she is. Yes, she failed. Yes, she may fail again. Yes, she's lost so much and gone through so much and that's not going to just stop. But she can't keep masking it. She has to accept that it hurt and let it out. Then she needs to pick herself up and go forward. Only then will she be able to reclaim Crescent Rose and likely pull Jaune back if this is gonna go like I think it will. She'll be able to re-ignite his hope just as she has done for her team. Thus they'll all be permitted to leave (IDK about Neo, maybe she'll finally find out what actually happened with Roman, we'll see) But first Ruby has to reignite it within herself, by far her greatest challenge yet.

...or I could be thinking WAY too much about this. Like I said I've been waiting for this for so long and it's finally happening.

#rwby #rwby9 #rwby spoilers

[i-didnt-do-1t]

[scrambling up to you] can i pls get “that really spooked you” from the noticing trauma prompts for the delanceys? <3

Hello!! Ty! Oscar is the one having a Bad Time this time round! Enjoy :D (all the usual Delancey CW’s apply!) hope this is okay!

Sometimes Morris thought he knew his brother better than he knew himself. He wasn’t introspective or any of that shit, but he knew they’d been raised on sharing looks rather than words. He had scoped out every inch of his father’s face so he could tell what he was feeling, so he could prepare for what any one look might mean, and he guessed it was the kind of thing that stuck.

It meant he knew every way Oscar’s eyebrow moved and what it meant. Meant he knew what he was feeling through the twitch of a lip, or the tensing of his shoulders, or that one look he would send Morris when he needed him to shut up for their own good if nothing else.

All of it was catalogued and filed away and reinforced any time he was right. Which was most of the time. Right now, all the signals were pointing a certain direction.

“Oscar?”

“What?”

He was bristling, like a cat with it’s back arched in a warning to keep people away.

“Spooked you, didn’t it?”

And there he went again, shoulders hunched up and Morris could see his jaw working, took note of the way he avoided looking Morris’s direction, gaze intense and focused on the street in front him; the kind of look that made other people walking in opposition to them shuffle out of his way before he ran through them.

There was one lady though, distracted by the little girl whose hand she was holding who wasn’t paying attention, didn’t move fast enough, and Oscar didn’t stop as he hit her with his shoulder on the way past.

“Oscar.”

“She didn’t move.” He shot back, refusing to turn and look at him.

“You gonna slow down a sec’?”

“We gotta get to work.”

“Oscar.” He caught his arm, only for a second before he wretched it out of his grip, but it made him stop nonetheless, and Morris took advantage of the stillness that settled for just a moment to study him, to notice the vaguely vacant look in his eyes. “I said that really spooked you, didn’t it?”

It was the way his face closed off as Morris spoke that proved him right.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Watching that guy hit his kid ain’t throwin’ you off?”

Oscar finally looked at him, properly looked at him.

“Kid prob’ly’ deserved it.” He spat.

His voice was cold when he spoke, the forced kind, not the kind that he used when he yelled at the newsies, not the kind that got snapped at Morris when he talked too much, too late. Something fake and threatening, almost a sneer but built with the intention that it would make anyone aside from Morris back off.

“Maybe, but that ain’t the point.” Morris paused, and shoved a hand against Oscar’s shoulder to start them walking again so they weren’t taking up space standin’ still in the middle of the street, but a little slower this time. “You don’t get all jittery when Uncle Wies yells.”

And he was making it sound like Oscar had made it obvious, as if the way he noticed how Oscar’s hand tightened into a fist in his pocket was perceptible to everyone as their attention had been drawn to a man and presumably his son arguing outside a diner. Oscar’s gaze had been fixed and distant on the scene, the casual slant of his back as he leant against the wall next to Morris, smoke in his free hand, becoming tenser as it escalated, snapping when the man finally cracked the back of his hand across the kid’s face.

That’s when Oscar pushed away, cigarette left forgotten on the ground and Morris trying to read through the line of his shoulders what the hell was happening in his brother’s head.

Oscar let out a half scoff, half laugh, something so tired underneath it all. “Uncle Wies don’t yell like that.”

Morris shoved his own hands in his pockets, slowin’ his pace a little as to stick by Oscar’s side, he always was the fast walker of the two of em’.

He almost let the conversation lie there, almost, but one glance at his brother confirmed that the line of his jaw was still hard, the hands in his pockets still flexing.

Morris threw an arm around his shoulders in the way Oscar had done to him a hundred times over.

“You ain’t that kid no more Oscar. An’ you know I got your back too.”

Oscar didn’t say anything back, but he didn’t have to, the way Morris could feel the tension in his shoulders dissolve little by little was enough.

[mrspasser]

After the snap - Chapter 2

Sterek fanfiction

Chapter 1

A03 and Wattpad

How the pack deals with being back.

After the snap - Chapter 2

"My son is back. Stiles is back." The words parade through Noah's brain as he tries to weave his way through traffic. There's chaos everywhere, though until now it seems to be a good kind of chaos. A hell of a lot of confusion, yes, but Noah has seen a lot of happy reunions already. Like how deputy Parrish suddenly materialised next to him at the coffee machine, wondering where in the world his mug had disappeared to. 

"I was just holding it!" were his first words, while Noah tried to push back the heart attack he was about to get. Said mug had fallen to pieces when Jordan Parrish turned into dust five years ago.

"You can use mine," he'd said and pulled his dearly missed deputy in a bone crushing hug. 

As soon as he was able Noah had pulled himself away from the station. Stiles is back. His son is back! When he reaches the loft he takes the stairs two at a time, racing towards the heavy sliding door that seals off Derek’s apartment. It’s not locked, it hardly ever is. Werewolf hearing makes for a good alarm system. As do claws and fangs, for that matter.

He finds them on the floor by the large window, holding on to each other for dear life. Noah would like to do the same, so he just falls to his knees and reaches out. 

"Hey dad," Stiles says like it’s just been yesterday that they saw each other and Noah cries heavy tears. His son is back. He is really back. 

It's Stiles who directs them all over to the sofa, who arranges them to sit with him in the middle, holding both their hands firmly as they lean against him. "How long was I...?" he asks carefully. 

"Five years," Noah answers in a thick voice. His face is still wet with tears, but they're happy tears. 

Stiles sucks in a breath with a hiss. "Holy shit." He squeezes their hands hard, his brain probably barely wrapping around the idea of having been gone for so long. It’s a testament to all the weird shit he has been through since he was 16 years old that this new fact, him being gone for five years, doesn’t warrant a bigger reaction.

"The others?" he asks a few minutes later. "Scott?" 

"Scott was fine," Noah reassures him. Their friendship was a bit rocky in the few years before The Snap, but Scott would always be his son's oldest friend. "The others, well," he swallows heavily, "they were all gone." 

Stiles whips his head around to look at the man next to him. "Oh, Derek," is all he says, but it sounds broken and Noah knows that Stiles understands what it means. What it meant.

Derek never liked to talk about it, yet Noah is good at putting bits and pieces together to form a whole story. That is his job, after all. So he knows how Derek felt the packbonds disappearing one after the other, like someone cut the invisible lines with blunt scissors. He lost all of his betas, along with his human packmates, until he was left with a True Alpha who had always been unwilling to form a real pack with him and a Hunter’s daughter. And there was Noah, who was pack by proxy, courtesy of his teenage son who never knew how to leave well enough alone. 

And break down he does, in a truly heartbreaking manner. 

It was a good thing Noah knew about werewolves before that dreadful day, because nothing could have prepared him for the desperate Alpha werewolf he found in his living room a short week after the Snap. Derek hadn’t been able to change back to human for at least six days. Six days in which Noah was fairly certain he hadn’t slept. Or ate. What he did do in those days was unknown; he doubted Derek would be able to tell him, as he was pretty out of it. When he turned up in Noah’s house he was at his wit’s end and after Noah talked him down somewhat he’d crashed in Stiles’ bedroom to sleep for 28 hours.

Derek looks equally lost now, his facial features bordering on werewolf constantly. It’s a strange sight, with the eyes flickering between red and his normal colour, and the workings of his jaw when he pushes back his fangs. Still, as lost as he is, he’s not dangerous. In danger of breaking down, yes, but not dangerous to his surroundings. 

Stiles figures it out first. “You can feel them?” he questions urgently, grappling for the werewolf as Derek suddenly howls desperately and tears new holes in the sofa with his claws. “Derek, it’s okay, do you feel them, are they back?”

The boys end up on the floor, Stiles mostly lying on top of Derek. He makes shushing noises and is petting Derek’s hair, his face, his shoulders. The werewolf has his arms wrapped around Stiles’ back, holding him close, with his face buried in the crook of Stiles’ neck. Noah guesses the weight on top of him is comforting. He’s just grateful there’s no claws threatening to pierce his son’s vital organs.

Not long after that, there are four werewolves added to the pile. Just like Stiles, they had no idea they were away, but they can feel their Alpha’s desperation. Isaac is the first to arrive, looking bewildered but otherwise okay. Derek whines in the back of his throat and his Beta shoots towards him like an arrow from a bow. Derek releases Stiles to pat down Isaac, make sure he’s real and in one piece. When Stiles scoots over to give them some room, Derek’s hand clamps down on his wrist, making it clear he can’t go anywhere. It goes the same with the other kids. Boyd and Erica arrive together, closely followed by Jackson. Derek doesn’t have enough hands and arms to hug and touch his pack; judging by their faces the kids have never seen him like this before. They take it in stride though, because the need to be close is evident even to Noah, who doesn’t feel it like the werewolves can. Even the Whittemore kid joins in on the group hug, which is a little surprising to see.

Noah takes it upon himself to get everything in order for the pack. It soothes his need to do his duty as a sheriff now it’s at war with the need to stay close to his only son. He convinces Derek to let Jackson go so he can pick up Lydia, which the Alpha allows begrudgingly. 

“Here, kid,” Noah says, handing Jackson some cash, “pick up some pizzas on your way back. I doubt anyone will be up to delivering right now.” They might even have to get frozen pizzas from the supermarket, because Maria Torelli lost her husband and two sons in The Snap, so he guesses making pizzas isn’t the first thing on her mind right now.

“I don’t need your money,” Jackson answers, every bit the cocky kid he was five years ago.

“You’ve been away for a long time, kid,” Noah says gently, pressing the money in his hand. “I don’t think your credit cards are still working.”

The young werewolf frowns, but he takes the bills and disappears out of the door without another word. A moment later there’s the sound of a car speeding away. 

They work together in near silence, with Stiles happily muttering under his breath when he finds the cups in the same cabinet they were in five years ago. His son came back into a world that changed a lot in the time he was away, he can be happy about something small such as finding the coffee cups in the right place.

With food taken care of, Noah busies himself with making drinks for the pack. He figures a pot of tea and a pot of coffee will do the trick. Derek doesn’t drink much soda anyway, so there’s not a lot of that around. That will soon be different now the pack is complete again; Noah has a feeling the pantry will be stocked with soda and junk food again in no time.

While coffee runs through, Stiles joins him in the kitchen and quietly moves underneath Noah’s welcoming arm. “Good to have you back, son.”

“Yeah, I guess they aren’t the only ones who will have such problems.” Noah rubs a hand over his jaw. He really ought to get back to the station, to help sort things out. All those people who are returning to find their lives have changed… “This is gonna be a mess.”

Lydia and Jackson arrive with frozen pizzas, which is fine, because Noah already preset the oven to heat up. 

When he informs if Lydia’s parents were willing to let her go so soon again, she shrugs. “They were both gone too. I guess it feels like we just saw each other yesterday. I left them arguing with the help. Apparently she and her kids moved into the house when we were gone.”

“A mess that will still be there tomorrow,” Stiles remarks, coming to stand next to him. “The town will be fine without you for tonight, dad.”

He wraps his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and presses a kiss to the boy’s temple. “I guess you’re right.”

When all the pizza is eaten and Noah has to defend the fridge to keep any food left for breakfast tomorrow morning, he strongly suggests the idea of going to bed. It’s well after midnight by now and everybody is starting to look a little worse for wear. 

The pack settles in for the pizza, swapping stories about what or who they found when they returned. Boyd and Erica returned inside Boyd’s bedroom, to find that his grandmother had turned it into a laundry room in his absence. She was very happy to see her grandson again, and even more pleased to have her husband back. Erica had a similar situation as Lydia, with both her parents also having been gone. So after making sure everybody was okay, they’d come to the loft. 

Isaac had been staying with Scott five years ago, but the pull to come see Derek had led him here first. He’d found himself outside the old coffee shop on Main Street: “Which is now an ice cream parlor. Is it any good?”

Jackson returned behind the wheel of his car, the Porsche sitting in the garage underneath a tarp. He’d just parked it there when he vanished and his parents had left his beloved sports car in the garage, underneath a protective cover. “I had to cut my way out,” Jackson smirks, showing off the sharp claws on his right hand.

“Puppy pile?” Erica suggests coyly, although Noah suspects she’s a lot more serious about it than she sounds.

“Puppy pile,” Stiles confirms with a nod and then they all scramble off to search for pillows and blankets. For a single man living alone, Derek sure has a lot of those.

A look of doubt crosses his face, but his son nods. Then he gets up from the nest and plods over for a big hug. “You can’t leave without a patented Stilinski hug,” he says with a smile and hugs his father extra hard. “Love you, dad.”

Noah eyes the large nest they build around the sofa. Most of the kids discard their shoes and jeans and dive in, finding a place close to their Alpha. It should look ridiculous, seven young adults cuddling together in what looks like a sloppy version of Big Bird’s nest, yet he can definitely see the appeal. 

“My back is not gonna survive that,” he says with a frown. “I think I’ll sleep at home.” His words are met with a chorus of disagreement, Erica somehow the loudest until she sees Derek glare at her. There’s little heat behind the glare, Noah suspects there will not be for a long time. “Stiles, you’ll be staying here, I think?”

“Love you too, kid. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Noah says, trying his best to not let his voice waver. 

Stiles nods against his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere, dad.”

They hug some more and then Noah leaves, wishing them all a good night. He makes it to his car and even gets in, but he can’t make himself turn the key in the ignition. After twenty minutes he gives up and lets himself into the building again. When he opens the large sliding door the apartment is quiet and dark, except for a small light by the iron wrought staircase. 

“You can take my bed, upstairs,” Derek says from somewhere in the middle of the ‘puppy pile’ and it’s the most Noah has heard him say all evening. Solemn red eyes blink at him in the dark.

Noah nods, knowing Derek can see him just fine even though he himself can’t see much more than dark shapes. He finds his way to the staircase, tells them good night again and goes to find that Derek has a very nice mattress. 

***

When Scott finds his mom she is livid. “You sold the house?!”

A moment later, she’s hugging him breathless. She returned inside the hospital, wearing the same scrubs she had on when she disappeared in The Blip. He can’t believe he’s hugging his mother again, he was convinced he would never see her again.

“Noah Stilinski?” Melissa asks, pleased to hear about him. “He’s always been a smart man. I’m happy he was still around to keep an eye on you. And Stiles?”

When people started returning left and right, Scott had run to the hospital, only to find that his mother wasn’t there anymore. He’d found her on the stoop of their old house, staring angrily at the front door with her old key in her hand - no longer fitting the lock. 

He takes her back to his apartment above the ice cream parlor in town and explains to her how he’d sold the house to pay for college. “I’m gonna be a certified veterinarian in little more than a year,” he says and she’s so proud that she immediately forgives him for selling their home. 

Of course it helps that he also tells her about the storage unit that houses the stuff he couldn’t fit into his apartment. “Noah’s idea,” he says with a self conscious shrug. At the time, he was trying his hardest to move forward, to get on with his life. He’d broken up with Allison and was determined to follow the new path he’d set for himself. 

***

Scott shakes his head. “It was just me and Noah. Oh, and Derek Hale. And Ally, but she’s living in Europe now.” He spends most of the night getting his mother up to speed about all the things that happened in the past five years. 

He also calls Noah and gets Stiles on the phone. The whole pack is over at the loft, but they understand that he stays with his mother. Scott promises to come see them tomorrow, after he’s dropped his mom off at the hospital. She wants to help out, even though her old job might no longer be available. 

“I had not expected to see you so soon already,” Melody says when she opens the door of her roomy office to Derek. “And you’ve brought a friend.”

The young man next to Derek gives her a finger wave. “Hi,” he says cheerfully, “I hope it’s not a problem that I’m tagging along?”

“I’m guessing that’s Stiles?” she says, smiling at Derek in his usual seat across from her. 

She looks at the way their hands are entwined between them and smiles. “No, not a problem at all. Come in.”

Inside she pretends not to notice how Derek lays a heavy hand across his friend’s neck, to which the younger man responds by rubbing a hand down his arm before they part and he moves over to the large windowsill next to her desk. He sits down on the sill and takes out his headphones, seemingly intent on giving them privacy for the session.

“I’m so happy for you.” She means it. She has come to know Derek as a gentle soul, scarred by the pain of his past; she sincerely wishes him all the best.

“It is,” the werewolf confirms, his eyes locked on the figure by the window. She recognises in his gaze what she still feels herself, little over a week since that joyful day: happiness and disbelief over the return of loved ones. 

“They all came back,” Derek says, looking at her. “My pack.”

“Your sister?” Derek asks, uncharacteristically chatty. She tells him how her sister, her husband and their daughter have all returned, just like his pack members, his family.

The boy in the window is silent, although she bets the werewolf can hear the music that’s playing on his headphones, or the movements of his head and foot in time with the music. “Why did you bring Stiles?” she asks, because even though she can guess why, it will be good for Derek to put it into words himself. 

To his credit, he only has to think for a moment before he says it. “I have a hard time letting him out of my sight.” The werewolf watches the boy, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly, the lines in his face softening. “I want to keep them all close, but…”

“Him the most,” she finishes for him, reading it from his eyes. “Have you talked to him about why that is?”

His shoulders hunch up slightly, yet he answers anyway. “A little. He understands, I think. I guess Noah told him how - how I reacted when he disappeared.”

They talk a bit about communication, how important it is for Derek to talk about his feelings and his needs with his pack. The werewolves will be able to sense a lot from each other, yet Melody has always been an advocate for open and honest communication between people. “If you want, I am also willing to do group sessions. It might help with finding balance again.”

Derek promises to think about it and as quickly as always their thirty minutes are over. When Derek stands, Stiles shoves his headphones off and comes over. He holds his hand out to Melody. “Thanks doc,” he says earnestly, “Derek told me you’ve been of great help.”

She smiles and shakes his hand. “Take good care of each other. But something tells me you will.”

***

The large table in Derek’s loft is filled with people. Everybody is talking over each other and wine and aconite laced beers are consummated generously. Their plates are polished clean, as are the oven dishes. Learning that Derek cooked from his mother’s cookbooks did funny things to Stiles’ insides, as did discovering that his dad and Derek were fast friends. He’s eternally grateful they had each other for support after the Mad Titan decided that the universe was a better place if he cut its population in half. Stiles hates to think what would have happened to either of them if they were all alone. 

It’s weird to think he’s been away for five years. To him, it doesn’t feel like that. Yet it is undeniable that a lot has happened, the world he knew is a different place now. His father has more grey hairs, more wrinkles, yet his eyes and mind are just as sharp. Derek also has grey hairs, that had been a fun discovery. He also has some lines in his face that weren’t there before, worry lines instead of the happy crow’s feet Stiles would’ve loved to see there. 

It’s been three weeks since everybody returned and although there are still a lot of things to figure out, the pack has fallen back into place, spending a lot of time together. It feels good. When they disappeared, some of them had been in college, others had jobs that took a lot of their time. That was all gone now. His studies at Berkeley had been cut off abruptly and it was still unsure whether or not he would be able to pick up where he left off five years ago. A lot of his professors had disappeared as well and just like any other institution or company, the university had to adapt, then and now. Stiles doesn’t worry about it: they will figure it out in time and then he can decide what to do. Right now, he isn’t going anywhere. Except the kitchen maybe, to get the pie for desert. 

He puts the pie - another one of his mother’s recipes - on the table in front of his father, handing him the large knife and therefore putting him in charge of serving a pack of hungry werewolves their pie. On his way back to his seat across the table, he walks behind Derek, trailing a hand over the man’s shoulder. The werewolf catches his wrist in his hand, pulling him in, his fingers settling on his pulse point so he can not only hear but also feel Stiles’ heartbeat. He leans easily against the back of the Alpha’s shoulders, his hand settling lightly on Derek’s chest, over his heart. He can feel how he relaxes, Stiles’ touch grounding him. Their absence - his absence - has been hard on the werewolf and it still overwhelms him to have them all back. 

The first few days Derek couldn’t bear to have them all out of his sight for longer than a few minutes. He didn’t articulate it, not like he should, a few years of therapy had not been able to change that yet. Luckily, werewolves do not rely on words alone for their communication. And Stiles may not be a werewolf, he’s been running with the wolves for long enough to know how they tick. 

He’s practically living at the loft now, which comes in handy because Melissa has moved in with his dad for now because Scott’s apartment is tiny. Besides, like Melissa said, her son is used to living on his own, he doesn’t need to have his mother around all the time. Isaac alternates between sleeping over at Scott’s and at the loft, Lydia is staying over at Jackson’s house until her parents have fixed things with the help, and the others sleep at home but spend a lot of their time at the loft. Still, Stiles is the one who is there every day of the week. 

Stiles has been low-key in love with Derek since he realised his obsession with Lydia was nothing but that: an infatuation with a dream girl. He’s never acted upon it, never actively pursued anything; nothing beyond building a steady friendship with the werewolf, recognising that it would be best to let things take their natural course.

The first couple of nights they all slept together in a puppy pile in the middle of the living room. After that, they all took to spending the nights in their own beds, with Stiles taking the sofa in Derek’s loft. That only lasted for half a night, when Derek kept coming out of bed to check if Stiles was still there. No matter that he could hear Stiles from his bedroom, he needed the visual and tactile confirmation. The solution was simple: they’re sharing a bed now. 

The Alpha prefers to go to sleep with his head pillowed on Stiles’ chest, listening to the tattoo of his heart. And for all that Stiles moves in his sleep, they always wake up connected, even if it is just their feet touching. When Stiles vanished five years ago they weren’t at this point in their relationship. They were friends, good friends, friends that relied on each other and listened to what the other had to say. Their current status is just an extension of that, if you ask him; a rapid, painless change for Stiles and one that inflicted a lot of heartbreak and hurt on Derek’s side.

Derek loves him, he knows that even though they haven’t talked about it. Not in so many words anyway. It’s not necessary. Not yet. They’ll get to it, they have time. Because Stiles isn’t going anywhere.

#sterek fanfic #after the snap #thanos snapped his fingers #marvel au #teenwolf fanfiction #tear jerker #happy ending #stiles x derek #ilse writes fanfiction #chaptered fic #derek hale #derek got left behind #stiles stilinski

[drbased]

all these arguments 'work involves a skill that you get better at', 'work has safety regulations, including around hazardous fluids', 'work is something you're valued for more as you age', 'prostituted women experience extraordinarily high rates of sexual assault/harassment and that's why it's not empowering' are as full of holes as a cartoon piece of cheese. don't let these fuckers push you into saying anything more direct than 'all work is coerced, sex work is coerced sex, sex work is rape'. in fact I'm going to go through each of these other arguments and point out problems/exceptions:

work involves a skill you get better at, not something you merely endure: uhhhhhh night watchman. data entry. film extra. work is just labour you're paid for, there is zero prerequisite that you're going to 'get better' at it - that work inherently involves gaining transferrable skills is modern corporate BS to justify bullshit jobs under capitalism. besides, any prostituted woman, cam girl etc. will tell you time and time again that they do gain valuable skills in client management, time management etc. not exactly something you can put on a CV, but this kind of 'women in prostitution are used up and chewed out and rendered functionally useless victims in society' is a vaguely conservative-esque rhetoric which libfems want to directly challenge. women in prostitution are real human beings, fyi

work has safety regulations, including around hazardous fluids: this is one of those weird essentialist arguments that has me scratching my head because, like, you realise the only response this is going to elicit is for libfems to be: 'shit, I guess we need to have better protections for sex workers then!' You realise that this isn't any sort of real argument against libfems, and actually something they'd probably agree with you on??? besides, the only reason 'work' has safety regulations is because of unions and direct employee action!!! 'work' isn't just a concept that exists in the ether, it's not a sacred immutable definition by any means. there are places all over where people's 'jobs' do not have safety regulations. are those not legitimate work? are they all purely exploitation? or are the lines between exploitation and 'real work' actually incredibly blurred, especially under capitalism. defining 'work' as if it is sacrosanct and then saying 'see! see! sex work doesn't count!' isn't, uh, very radical or leftist of you. once again, conservatism-lite argument.

work is something you're valued for more as you age: this is one of the dumbest arguments to me. acting, sports, idk basically anything that requires you to have a certain amount of strength and physical endurance. also, we're literally talking about women here - y'know, a class of people who are valued less in basically career as they age. this is your chosen argument? really??

prostituted women experience extraordinarily high rates of sexual assault/harassment and that's why it's not empowering: bam bam bam, we're back to point 3 all over again! so first of all, I always find it interest how radfems are really, really hung up on the phrase 'empowering'. personally, I find it the least interesting of anything the libfems/tras have to say. secondly, 'empowering' has nothing to do with what work is. if you have any real leftist conscience, then you know that work is hella not empowering. once again, we're back trying to define work as something separate from exploitation, which it's just not. and if you listen to how libfems argue, you'll see them say 'yeah, it's all exploitation - and we all just want to be seen as full human beings with rights!' so any libfem's response to high levels of sexual harassment etc. in sex work is to be 'uhhh, duh, what do you think we're fighting for when we want to destigmatise sex work and fight for the rights of sex workers??' seriously, idk what argument radfems are even trying to have here.

'sex work is work' is a smokescreen, just like 'trans women are women'. radfems are left scrambling to define terms. and I find it really fucking weird when we don't even need to define anything here!!! leftist thought has been saying this whole time that coerced sex is rape, and all work is coercive under capitalism! they're saying those things, just separately.

the argument is already there for us, and I don't know why we're not using it! let's make it our own catchphrase! I wanna see the actual leftist (lib)feminist response to:

If all work (under capitalism) is coerced, and coerced sex is rape, and sex work is work, then sex work is rape.

#radical feminism #rape tw #my writing