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twilightcitysky · 10 months

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Everything Is Meant (long S2 analysis, part 2)

Part one here

Okay, so that's how I think the pre-creation scene and Gabriel's arc connect to Aziraphale's choice. I also think the ineffable bureaucracy speedrun exists to prove totally different things to Aziraphale and Crowley: Aziraphale loves that they can love each other but notes they have to run away to be together; Crowley sees this and immediately thinks "hey, we can do that too!", forgetting that running away is not a solution Aziraphale has ever been interested in. It's the mentality of an individualist vs a group-oriented mind, and neither of them is necessarily wrong, it's just that their priorities are different and they HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IT, which they don't.

Continued analysis under the cut:

3. Let's take the Job minisode. Why include it? We already mentioned that it proves Aziraphale remembers Crowley as an angel, since he mentions it. And he believes Crowley is the same person he always was, and that he doesn't want to harm Job's crops or animals or children. Crowley tries to convince him he's a Big Bad Demon who is all in on this assignment, but fails utterly to kill even a single goat, soooo... Aziraphale comes to the conclusion that he knows what Crowley wants. Alert! Alert! This is a big problem! Crowley says, "What do you know about what I want?" Aziraphale: "I know you." Crowley: "You do not know me." But because Aziraphale got it right this time, he goes ahead assuming he'll always get it right, which is a crucial failure when it comes to the final reckoning. He doesn't ever ASK Crowley what he wants, he just assumes. When you assume you know what someone wants, you usually assume their priorities align with yours... he couldn't be more wrong about that. The Job minisode sets up this dynamic for them, and they never really manage to change it.

The other thing happens at the end of the minisode. Crowley acknowledges two crucial points: 1) he's lonely ("But you said it wasn't!" "I'm a demon. I lied"), 2) he doesn't think Aziraphale would like Hell. Aziraphale DOESN'T like Hell. Aziraphale hates Hell for what they've done to Crowley. He doesn't see Heaven as innocent or benign, but importantly, Heaven has never tried to hurt Crowley directly. They never threatened his safety. They never tortured him (as it's heavily implied that Hell did). Fast forward to the last ten mins of season 2: Aziraphale excited to tell Crowley that he can be an angel again BECAUSE: he never has to go back to Hell. They can never hurt him again, not the way they did before. And he doesn't have to be lonely anymore.

Last point before I leave Job: Crowley has the chance to cause Aziraphale to Fall, here, probably. ("I lied to Heaven to thwart the will of God!" "You did, but I'm not going to tell anybody. Are you? ...good, then nothing has to change.") He doesn't take it. He doesn't want Aziraphale to be a demon. He loves Aziraphale as he is. "Angel" as an affectionate. Aziraphale certainly doesn't use "demon" as a pet name for Crowley. I think they set up this scene to contrast the final one, and show how deeply hurt Crowley is that Aziraphale suggest he change.

4. Moving on to Victorian Scotland. This one confused me at first. I was delighted that they brought back the "the lower you start the more opportunity you have to rise" dialogue from the book, but apart from that I didn't really see the point of it. It seems like the statue of Gabriel and the fact that he and Beelz ended up at that pub in the present were more or less coincidental.

The point, I think, is actually not the girl, but the doctor. He's a person who is trying to do good by working in a system that's deeply flawed, and engaging in questionable moral practices for the greater good. (Cadaver dissection is still an essential part of medical school. You need dead bodies to understand living ones.) He shows Aziraphale a tumor he removed from a child who died, and Aziraphale clutches it to his chest. The camera zooms in and lingers to tell us that this is a guardian through and through. He wants to protect people. He wants to do good with every fiber of his being.

To Crowley, it's enough to just "be an us" with Aziraphale. He doesn't really want anything more than that. That's an issue! For one thing, it fosters unhealthy codependency, and for another, Aziraphale would never be happy without the opportunity to help and protect people. It's an essential part of who he is. Metatron knows that, and he plays Aziraphale like a fiddle. The doctor showed Aziraphale that you can make a difference even in systems that are flawed, and even if you have to do things you'd rather not do. Aziraphale doesn't want to go back to Heaven, but he truly thinks he can change things; thinks he can be a guardian with some real power. In his mind, that's the right thing to do.

Last thing that happens in Scotland: Crowley saves a soul from Hell, arguably, by preventing a suicide. He gets in Big Trouble. Whatever happened to him downstairs resulted in him coming back up, leaning on a cane, and asking Aziraphale to give him holy water. Go back and watch that scene knowing what we know now about the Victorian minisode. Ask yourself how Aziraphale must have felt. He likely blamed himself for what happened, because if he hadn't meddled then they never would have been there in the first place. He knew where Crowley was, and why he was there, and he had to sit with that knowledge for years. He desperately wants Crowley to be safe; is perfectly willing to push him away to keep him safe-- which is what he does do, the minute Crowley gets back.

Now think again about what Metatron offered him. A chance to keep Crowley safe forever. He'd never be harmed again. Aziraphale is going to take that offer, no matter what else is asked of him. He's shown over and over again that he'll sacrifice his own happiness to make sure nothing happens to Crowley. And he'll do it without talking to Crowley about it first, because he is a moron who doesn't know how to use his words. Leading Crowley to assume that Aziraphale doesn't love him. The idiot angel is doing it all out of love, but because he doesn't make himself clear Crowley doesn't know that.

Part 3: Maggie and Nina, and their roles as mirror couple/ Greek chorus!

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens s2 #good omens s2 spoilers #good omens meta #aziraphale #crowley #everything is meant #good omens analysis #part 3 tomorrow

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thegnomelord · 6 months

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sof and cute hcs of eldritch reader trying to learn how to people (and maybe some raunchy ones about learning how human "mating" works) hhhhnnnngggh

Imagine Learning To Be Human

CW: SFW and NSFW First TF141 with SFW, then NSFW headcannons, sexting, masturbation, sex toys, morning after (no sex), sexual nudity, nonsexual nudity, implied poly141. GN reader, 500-900 words for each blurb, so somewhere around 5.5k words. Imma be quiet for the next week or so as I prepare for an exam so I'm feeding ya'll :Dd

Imagine SOAP— It's safe to say you're not the best with expressing what you think, especially not in this hollowed out corpse a tiny fraction of your consciousness inhabits. The more you try, the less human your attempts come out, only remembering that humans don't bend that way or don't do something after you've done it. You find yourself gravitating to Soap because he is the opposite of you, so open and responsive like an open book.

Imagine; observing Soap as he tries to piece together the fragments of a bomb, muttering curses under his breath as if the object had just called football 'soccer'. He's so concentrated he forgets the rest of the world exists, oblivious to you sitting across from him. But that's not a problem as it gives you a chance to watch and try to mimic what his face does; the slight hint of teeth as he nibbles on his lip, the furrow of his brows, the tenseness of his jaw pulling on his throat muscles…

You try to mimic every emotion he goes through as he tries and fails and succeeds and fails again to fit the pieces together like a jigsaw, but the hardest one to do is that smile of his. For some reason you just can't get it right, lips pulling back too far, teeth too much on display and brows too furrowed so you end up looking like an old savage.

Then as if to spite you, Soap looks up at you and immediately snorts. "What're yea doin' there Bonnie?" He coughingly laughs as your facial features return to your statue like state.

"Trying to look like you." You huff; at least you can do that correctly.

"Oh, look strapping don't I?" He snorts, doing what Ghost calls 'fishing for compliments' (though you're unsure how one can fish for abstract ideas).

"No more than the rest." You shrug and see him roll his eyes, though the corners of his lips are still quirked up, a hint of teeth on display and vestiges of dimples framing his mouth. "How do I do that?" You ask and motion to his face.

"Do what? Smile?" You snorts, already beckoning you over like you're a dog. "It's easy."

You lean across the table, tilting your head to indicate confusion but leaving your face a blank canvas. It takes all of your presence of mind not to give an earth shattering purr when his hands cup your jaw, distant stars quivering as his blunt nails scratch at your throat for a blissful second.

"Here," His thumbs settle at both corners of your lips, putting gentle pressure until he pushes the flesh back and up in a way that's natural to the skin suit but not you. "There yea go." He grins and pulls his thumbs away after a few moments, grinning when you hold the expression.

"Now yea're as dashing as me." He chuckles and you two must look like utter buffoons just grinning at one another; you wouldn't have it any other way.

Imagine GAZ — You're not exactly alive, technically you're the antithesis to life and existence, so to you, simple rules like eating or sleeping are no more than chalk guidelines after a rainstorm. Gaz doesn't subscribe to this idea, he's always trying to get you to indulge in these human comforts and you always allow him, even if it does include eating more things in a week than most of your kin have consumed in a millennia, if that.

Imagine; wandering the halls on a lazy Sunday morning, no drills to run or missions to prep for, and being drawn to the communal kitchen by the sound of boiling water and banding pans. You find Gaz cooking breakfast for the boys; he's the only one who can cook (according to him) seeing as Price seasons his food with hope, Ghost burns everything into coal and Soap's not allowed into the kitchen after he'd tried to make tea in the microwave (which Gaz had later asked you to exorcise).

"Mornin'." Kyle yawns and smiles at you, dressed in shorts and one of your 'lost' shirts. You do your best to replicate his expression. "Help me, yeah?" He asks and nods his head at what he's cooking.

Your expression falls back to neutral. "You'll need to show me how." You admit as you get next to him.

"Not a problem," He chuckles as he shifts behind you, pressing his chest flush with your back with his hands hovering over yours. You feel his warmth when he rests his head on your shoulder, his hands firm and steady as he shows you how to chop tomatoes and sausages, how to hold the knife correctly and pulling your fingers back when the blade draws too close to the flesh, talking you through it until you can do it on your own.

After that he leaves you to your task as he almost dances around the kitchen, stirring a pot here then putting the kettle on there and so many more little things while you remain where you are because you, by nature, are slow; to adapt, to age, to change.

But you do it for him.

"Those look great." He grins when you're done and then herds you in front of the cooking pans, and you're a little apprehensive about the bubbling oil when he dumps what you'd cut up into the pan. But his warmth is at your back again, steady hands guiding you on how to cook the food without burning your skin and leaving you to it when you catch on.

Then you feel a tug on your shirt, his presence once again next to you, but this time he's holding a piece of sausage on the end of a fork, a hand beneath it so it doesn't drop, "Hey, taste this for me."

You contemplate arguing you can't actually taste food the same way he does, but he gives you a look that has you letting him feed you. Though it tastes no different from everything else, from his hand it may as well be sweeter than ambrosia.

"Tastes good." The way he brightens up at your words makes the food only taste sweeter.

Imagine GHOST —You and him are similar in some ways, you both prefer to stick to what you know, who you know. It's harder for you to contain what you are inside your flesh body when there is so much life around you that every additional heartbeat pulls at the edge of your cold existence. So you stick to close to the people who's warmth has grown so familiar it's indistinguishable from the burning starts making up your real body.

Imagine; attending a celebration held by both TF141 and Los Vaqueros after a mission gone well, loud music and lewd lyrics blaring in your ears as men drink like teenagers at their first frat party. You're in a more secluded part of the bar next to Ghost, both of you nursing drinks while you watch the rest act like fools.

You're a little confused when you see Gaz and Soap move in a strange way, grinding against one another and pressed so close you'd think they're trying to mate, their hands roaming the other's body so roughly you're surprised no pieces of clothing come flying your way.

"Got a free show for my drink." Ghost chuckles next to you.

"What are they doing?" You finally ask when you can't contain your curiosity.

"Dancing." He answers and swallows the last inch of booze in his cup, setting it down on the bar. "For fun." He adds, already expecting the line of questioning, as if that's supposed to make you understand.

"They just look like they're trying to mate." You point out, receiving a long sigh in return.

"How 'bout I just show you." Before you can say anything he nicks the cup of untouched alcohol in your hand and swallows it all down in one go, putting the empty cup next to his before grabbing you by the arm and pulling you outside through the back entrance. You go along with him, but you're confused when you catch Soap's eyes and he wolf whistles at the two of you.

The world outside is calmer than the busy bar, the air much colder; closer to what you are. You turn to him once he lets you go, tilting your head and furrowing your brow to convey confusion. "So…what do I do?"

"Just follow my lead." A gravely chuckle escapes Simon as he closes the distance between you two, his rough hands settling on your waist as he begins to slowly rock both of your bodies along with the music, though his movements are more contained than what you'd seen, a steady push and pull compelling you to follow him.

"Why is this different than what Soap and Gaz were doing?" You ask, clutching his shoulders in return, your forehead almost resting on his chest as you look at your feet so you don't step on his toes.

You feel his chest vibrate as he chuckles, "They set a low bar." He rumbles and his hand moves to your jaw, tilting your head up so you two lock eyes, the intensity in his brown irises drowning out the sounds of the bar. "Eyes on me."

You nod. Your eyes stay firmly on him as you sway together to a tune he hums, finding a common ground in the way your cold and his heat mixes together. Above you millions of your eyes peer down at him, for as vast as you are, for this moment your attention is on him.

Imagine PRICE — He can tell how tired you are, not physically but mentally; having to communicate and understand people without the use of a mental link, when even the most complex ideas can be conveyed easily, was starting to fray the edges of your control over your human body. He decided to do something about it.

Imagine; Price taking you and the boys fishing to a remote cabin next to a lake. Knowing you don't sleep he pulls you out by the lake at the ass crack of dawn, having you watch as he sits down on the dock, his pants pulled up to his knees so he can dip his feet in the water while he sets up the fishing rods.

"What are we doing?" You ask but follow his example and sit next to him, the cool water of the lake similar enough to the cold abyss your true body resides to calm your nerves, though you're unsure of what to do when he gives you the fishing rod.

"Fishing." He says as he shows you how to cast out the line. "You look like you need it."

You don't argue with him and just try focusing on fishing, letting him teach you how to watch the line to see when something takes the bait and when to reel it in. You’re unsuccessful your first few attempts, and you have half the mind to just jump in and wrangle the fish in the lake with liquid abyss, but he stops you.

"Catching isn't the point." He says as he smokes his cigar while he takes an old boot off your hook. "It's about relaxing, the fish are just a bonus."

You let out a low sound that vibrates the water, but you settle next to him and cast out the line again. You don’t know how long you sit there next to him, your sides touching with the fishing rod sitting loosely in your hands. After some time you manage to yank out your first fish, and you certainly don't gloat when you pull a few more fish out of the lake while he only pulls out seaweed, but the look of pride in his eyes makes it even better.

Any prospects of catching any more fish are dashed when Gaz and Soap wake up and take running jumps into the lake, scaring all the fish with their splashing. "Like school boys." Price remarks as Ghost comes up to you both, offering beers as he sits down on your other side.

"Summer vacation, captain." Ghost says and slips into the water, and you realize this is calming; in the way you haven't felt before, doing something familiar like watching Soap and Gaz trying to dunk each other in the water but feeling like you’re right there with them, laughing alongside them when Ghost scares the shit out of them by lunging out of the water.

“See sweetheart? ‘S not hard.” Price hums, adjusting his hat though his shoulders are already reddened from sunburns. He offers you his cigar and you accept it, breathing in the nicotine and smoke despite not having lungs or a circulatory system to be affected by it, before you give it back. “Taking it easy is good for you.”

You nod your head, content to sit next to him until something tugs on the line of your forgotten fishing rod and you scramble to reel it in. You give a small grunt as whatever is on the hook struggles, "Yank on it." Price tells you and you do, nearly toppling on your back when you finally win the tug of war. You blink as you look at what you've caught.

A Speedo.

"Well would you look at that." Price chuckles.

Judging by the way Johnny's suddenly bare assed and throwing obscenities in Gaelic your way, you assume that it's his.

“Caught a big one there.” Ghost notes, not yet laughing but his shoulders shake with silent laughter as he slaps Soap's cheeks (of his rear).

He yelps, confident enough to be naked in front of all of you, but not shameless enough to where his cheeks (on his face) don't redden from the way Gaz cackles and wheezes with laughter so loudly he nearly drowns. You give Johnny back his trunks before he can drown Gaz but, maybe you should fish any more.

NSFW:

Imagine SOAP— If anyone ever asks Soap why he would ever send a dick pick to an ancient god, he'll blame anything and everything; on being stood up, on loving himself a little less, on mixing up the numbers, in being black out drunk…

Imagine; him being stone cold sober when the thought invades his mind and he spends the next hour trying to take a good picture: in front of the mirror, on the bed, no clothes, some clothes, the list of positions goes on. He doesn't want to come across like he's compensating by just holding his dick in his hand like some cunt; as silly as it is, he wants the picture to actually tempt you, to make you feel something, though the question of if you even can doesn't cross his mind. He ends up with a picture of him on the bed, the tip of his hard cock peeking out from beneath the band of his boxers.

He won’t admit he holds his breath when he sends the suggestive picture to you alongside a ;) , watching the text bubble appear and disappear multiple times before you just leave him on seen. He deflates and has half the mind to delete the picture and chuck his phone to the other end of his bed but he’s stopped when he gets a message from Price.

‘My office. Now.’

Turns out you were with Price when you saw that photo and without a second thought had shown him it and asked what it meant. Granted Price had seen more than just his dick, but he was less than happy about Johnny sending you unsolicited dick pics.

You quiz Soap for nearly an hour, stone faced and unbothered while he gets redder with every question (what can you send, what not to send, how much to send, etc.) and he gets the impression that's how his ma' felt when she gave him and his sisters 'the talk'. “So, yeah.” He clears his throat, whole face feeling hot. “Don’t do it ‘lest yea’r asked or yea like ‘em.”

Thankfully Price finally lets you go when you’re satisfied with his answers and Soap can’t scamper fast enough out of his office with his whole face in flames.

He deletes the photo soon after but you've already burned it into your memory where it will outlast the stars, and the idea to reciprocate festers in your ageless mind like rot until you find yourself in front of your mirror after a shower. You play with the phone for a long time, snapping a few blurry close up shots of your face while you attempt to change it from the front to the back facing camera.

It takes even longer to figure out what to send as Soap wasn't that clear with his answers. Your siblings give you pointers, and first you attempt to take a picture of your most private part — bones snap as your rib cage splits open into a maw, vines full of eyes wrapping around your ribs like ivy as tendrils of darkness unwind just enough for the anti-light of your very essence sucks up all the light in the room — but the mirror cracks and your phone just shuts off with a pitiful whimper.

After fixing the mirror you end up doing what you do best; you mimic one of the statues you'd seen the Greeks make, the towel wrapped just along the V where your thighs connect to your pelvis, exposed from the waist up with your skin still wet. Your body isn't as demure as the muses that sculptor had used, but you hope Soap will appreciate it as you snap a few more photos and send them to Johnny with the same ;) he'd sent you.

Soap nearly chokes on his spit when he gets the photo, all the blood in his brain flooding south as his eyes rake over every exposed inch of skin, every curve and every dip in the muscles making him drool and cock harden and he's racing to your room before you even have the time to turn your phone off.

Imagine GAZ — For all of your pitfalls and misunderstandings he likes the little hints of inhumanity in your speech, in your mannerisms, in knowing you could be anywhere and anytime but you choose to be next to him. He couldn't imagine himself being enamored with an ant, yet you hang on his every word like he's revealing secrets you don't know, making him feel special; he feels so bad when his thoughts of you stop being innocent.

Imagine; He tries to keep things respectful, but his imagination runs wild when you do the simplest things. Bend down to tie your shoe? He's checking out your arse from the corner of his eyes. Stand behind him? He's suppressing a shiver just imagining your body draped over his in post-coital bliss. Check his skin for injuries? Gaz has to bite his lip to keep from begging you to touch all of him, to explore his body. Work out? Kyle's lucky if he doesn't start drooling imagining going over and licking the sweat off your skin, of feeling your muscles tense beneath his tongue while you continue to work out with him between your legs.

When he can't think of you without popping a boner he ends up having to compromise before the shame eats him whole. He goes on a random porn site; he usually prefers just using his imagination but when his mind keeps circling back to you he has no other option, and his conscience gnaws on him when he ends up finding a porn star with similar features to yours. It's not wrong if he's wanking off to a different person, right?

Heat's already burning in his stomach when he slouches in his chair, his back to his room and one earbud in his ear. Shame continues to eat at him when he's both delighted and disheartened by the fact the porn star sounds nothing like you, that his bones don't shiver like they do when you talk.

He keeps the volume low and instead focuses on rubbing and squeezing his cock the way the porn star does to a second actor, and he can't help imagining what you'd sound like; high pitched and whiny? Husky and low? Completely silent or animalistic? The idea of pulling sounds of pleasure out of your throat has him leaking. His head lolls back and he moans as he squeezes the base of his cock, his eyes open just enough to blur the fine details on the porn star's face so you two become indistinguishable.

His heart stops when you burst through his door, a random question leaving your lips before your ears pick up the moans and slick sounds coming from his direction. You're next to him in an instant, looming over his chair and caging him in with your eyes stuck to the screen. "What are you watching?"

"Get out!" He yelps and tries to push you away but it's like trying to move a mountain.

"Why does that human look like my vessel?" You persist, "And why are you watching humans mating when you told me it's wrong?" You tilt your head, luckily not seeing his hand on his hard cock, the porn reflecting in the blacks of your eyes.

“It’s on the net it’s different! People upload it for others' pleasure and-” He sputters and cuts himself off when he registers your words, freezing in place and that accidentally gets him to squeeze the head of his cock.

Your pupils widen like a cat’s when you hear the little moan escape his chest, your head automatically dropping down to see where his other hand is. "Oh,” is what comes out of your mouth when you see his hard weeping cock. “Can I?” You ask, making an odd motion with your head.

He thinks you're asking to leave and nods. "Yeah-" Gaz wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole, his cheeks burning red like he's a lobster in a pot. “-can you pl-please leave-”

He wheezes when your cold hand suddenly wraps around his cock, your hold firm and just at the edge of pain but still making him throb. A few more eyes spread across your skin to see him while you watch the video still playing on his computer, giving his cock a small pump and shaking the stars with your purr when he moans.

"What are-" He neck nearly snaps to look at you, a shiver raking his body and another moan escaping him as you squeeze the head of his cock, your skin like ice yet it makes him burn with arousal.

"Watch." You order and turn his head with your free hand so his eyes are back on the screen. You don't know why he's watching a fake 'you' mate when he could just ask you, but you know one thing; the person on the screen is competition, and by the way you roughly stroke his cock until he's whining and leaking like a tap, Gaz can tell— you don't like competition.

Imagine PRICE — He never imagined he'd need to have 'the talk' with a god; sure, you may understand how sex works, but you're hopeless in understanding the nuances of it all. If someone doesn't directly say 'let's fuck' you assume any touches from them, even groping, is just them being friendly. It makes his blood boil, seeing you be taken advantage of like that.

Imagine; You're in the bar with the boys and Price is a couple of drinks in when he sees being felt up by a stranger and you're oblivious to his advances. A green eyed monster nips at Price's heels and he doesn't notice when he puts himself next to you, 'accidentally' shoving the other guy back with just his bulk. His presence, his demeanor, and the few harsh words spoken in a clipped tone has the other guy scampering off.

He doesn't remember much after that, only the way you'd looked at him — with the intensity of a ravenous void, like he was a bright star you wanted to devour.

What wakes him isn't his clock, but the rays of sunlight gently streaming through the curtains. He groans as he registers the awful ache behind his eyes before he even has a chance to open them. He feels his bed shift and his eyes snap open automatically, he nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees you laying on your side as you stare at him.

"Jesus!" He jumps up, nearly topples over from the sudden vertigo but your steady hand on his shoulder keeps him upright, making him realize he's nude.

"He's not here." You shrug and as you sit up his sheets pool around your waist, making him realize you're naked from the waist up, though he doesn't want to think if you're naked naked. His fists clench when his eyes roam over your exposed body against his will, settling on the various hickeys decorating your shoulders and neck.

His heart sinks. "What…what happened last night?" He asks and doesn't want to know the answer, his stomach churns with shame.

"Oh, uh, you got drunk, I got you home, you started kissing and biting me." You say, tracing the numerous hickeys and indents of his teeth across your human form like they're medals. "Then you pulled me into your bed and wouldn't let me go. Then you passed out." You say as if nothing's wrong, and even if no sex happened it's little consolidation to the fact he took advantage of you.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” He asks as he takes a shaky breath, shoulders hunched up around his ears and eyes downcast, bile burning in his stomach.

"Why would I?" You tilt your head and shift positions to face him fully, the sheets falling away to reveal you are naked naked. "I may not understand you fully, but I would have stopped you if you did something I didn't want."

Price hates himself for how he can't tear his eyes away from your body. "But you let me." He insists and tries to get you to see reason, to be as angry and disgusted with him as he is with himself.

“Yes.” You are growing annoyed as well, silently cursing the frailty of the human mind; things would be easier to explain if you could just use mental communication… “You are less than insects to my kin.” You sigh and move to straddle him before he can get away, pinning him under you. “You are a sun to me.”

Even calling him a sun doesn’t do him justice; suns die out like firecrackers when your immeasurable body passes over them, when you devour them, him, you want to keep, to protect, to wrap in your cold abyss until he’s warm and safe.

He sucks in a breath, the gears in his head turning as he tries to understand. “What?-”

“Can I touch you?” You ask, your hands respectfully on your thighs as if you’re not pinning him in place with your weight. There’s a dark intelligence in your eyes, the same ravenous void staring at him behind the black of your eyes. You are not a child, you are a god.

"Why?" He sucks in a sharp breath as he breathes in your smell, the scent of dying stars and burn ozone tickling his lungs. "You don't have to." He says weakly, because what would anyone, god or not, want with him?

"You left marks on me, I want to do the same." The way you say it makes him think of godhood; not the bleak madness you are, but the type humanity romanticizes. Your lips part as if you're thinking of marking him, bits of oblivion staring back at him from the darkness of your throat when he looks too closely at your mouth.

He submits so fast. "C'mere then," He pulls you close by your head, kissing you like he's trying to steal your ichor, his body burning hot when your hands grip him tight enough to leave moon shaped bruises in his skin — the first of many you intend to give him, until you've marked him as yours and yours alone.

Imagine GHOST — Ghost prefers to show you rather than spend hours trying to explain things to you, he's more stricter with you when you try to do things you're told not to, both for your and everyone's safety. You never do quite learn.

Imagine; Ghost recently confiscated your phone when you tried to see what humans thought about you, or what they imagined you and your kin to be, on a website called 'Rule34'. Ghost had snatched the phone out of your hands before you could even click the link. After a week he gave you the go ahead to take it back, but got called to run a drill so just said to go find it.

Now, you've been told not to go rooting around other people's belongings, but while searching for your phone you'd fallen back into your old habit and snooped around until you found a small box in the bottom of his dresser. Thinking nothing of it you opened it and found…something. A lot of somethings; handcuffs, rope, weird egg shaped thing, a weird tube with a hole in it that squished like a stress toy but had a cunt molded at one end, but what drew your attention — was the dismembered black cock in the middle of the box.

You and all of your kin scratched your collective heads over the thing you now held in your hand, you'd been under the impression humans didn't carry around body parts anymore so you were stumped why Ghost had a dismembered dick and balls in his dresser. Besides the pitch black color and flat base it looked so realistic and the way it flopped when you turned it in your hand made you feel the same way humans did when seeing you.

So you got up and wen to ask Ghost about it, the thing held out in your hand when you found him with the rest of the boys. "Ghost, why do you a have body part in your closet?"

Your question made them all turn to look at you, Ghost made a strange sound like a strangled dog while Gaz and Soap fell over laughing and Price shielded his eyes with the rim of his hat.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” He snarls and before you know it he’s stomping over to you and dragging you by the front of your clothes, “What I tell you about snooping?”

“I couldn’t find my phone,” You try to argue but don’t struggle and just let him drag you somewhere like you're a kitten until you find yourself in his room with the door firmly locked behind him.

"Right." His tone makes it sound like he doesn't believe you, his rough hand pushes you down on his bed and he yanks the thing from your hold. “You want to know what this is for?” He asks and holds the the cock with the head pointed at you like a knife.

You nod your head and try to rise up but he pushes you back down, you're not even sure where he gets the handcuffs from but there's cold steel around your wrists before you can notice it. It's his order to "Sit and watch." that actually keeps you down, and you see the corners of his eyes shift to denote a smirk. "Do what you're good at."

You don't blink as you watch him disrobe until he's only wearing his mask, and your surprise is obvious when he sticks the thing on the floor and it stays up right. "This," He growls and sinks to his knees on the floor, a towel under him, "Is a fuckin' dildo." He reaches over and takes a small tube, squirting viscous liquid on his fingers. "You don't ever take it out of my room. Got it."

He leaves no room to argue and you rapidly nod your head. You find yourself breathless as you watch him reach behind himself and you don’t even notice how a bit of your oblivion leaks from your pores and spreads across the ground like spiderwebs, eyes blooming in the small pools all around him so you can see the way he roughly pushes a finger into himself, your hands clenching as his rim flutters around his large fingers.

"What is it for?" You find your voice, the sound ringing like the inside of a dead star the longer you watch him roughly stretch himself, pushing two then three fingers into his ass.

"Fun," He chuckles and feels so powerful when your eyes have all but turned black with hunger you've yet to notice. "It's a toy, for adults." He pulls his fingers out and squirts more liquid on the dildo, before sinking down on the toy in one fluid move that leaves him hissing at the stretch, his rim fluttering around the thick base.

Something about the way the toy is of a similar color to your real body has you wriggling beneath your human skin, the air vibrating as you groan and try to reach out to him, wanting to cover him in your body and have all of him feel all of you.

"No." Just one word has you sitting back on the bed like a dog, a pitiful sound rumbling across the void as you can do nothing but watch. "This is what you get for snooping." He's so smug with the way he has such control over you without even touching you, his thick thighs tensing as he slowly bounces on the dildo, "Now watch. Maybe if you're good I'll let you touch me."

You'll do whatever he says so long as you get to feel him.

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ayoogirlie · 3 months

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Before I start writing angst, let's go with something pleasant. I just recently started reading and watching MASHLE which is why I don't knowe many characters well.

MASHLE MAIN 5 X GN!READER (separated)

Main 5 falling in love with you!

Mash

This one is oblivious. He doesn't realise he holds special feelings for you. I believe at first he could have though of you as sibling.

You're just as important as his father so why not? The three of you could be a fine family.

He would share creampuff with you... just like with others. Honestly, it would be difficult to notice he likes you in that way. This man is so indifferent or more like he forgot to train his face muscles.

The thing that betrayed his feelings is the fact that he has been following you everywhere like a little duckling his mom.

Whether you have classes together or not. If you had them together — he would sit with you or at least close to you. Some rather prefer to sit alone, which helps them focus. On the other hand, if you have separated classes, he would always escort you to the class and only leave after making sure you sat down.

Mash's main love language would be act of service. I don't find him as a touchy guy — he would respect your personal space. The most he would do is grab the snip of your sleeve to not possibly lose you in crowd. (I find it cute honestly, like he would be to shy to grab your hand, so he would be happy with bare minimum.)

Going back to act of services. I think you would have a special privilege — flavoured creampuff. Coffee, chocolate, strawberry, etc., whichever you want. This guy would take you to kitchen and make you bake them together. Unless, your cooking is hopeless and you can set the kitchen on fire, then you're simply watching him work and talk about the silliest things.

Mash would definitely listen to your rambling. Well, at least he will try to. At some point, he would pass out, if he was overflowing with many new information. Please, go slow with him.

When asking others for help with you, he first would try to figure things out himself. Only if he had no more ideas, would he ask his friends for love advices (most likely Lance or Finn).

This guy is so sweet yet so clueless. He loves you so clumsily and as a boyfriend he doesn't change his attitude much. He already treated you in special way. Well, maybe he'll get more intimate with you. I'll leave it to your imagination.

Finn

I simply adore this boy. His love is as innocent as he is. Literally, he would be all red and shy when he realised his feelings for you.

He would get nervous around you and every possible physical contact would make him explode. He's too focused to not make any mistakes in front of you, that he forgets to relax.

Well, it's not like he's always like that. His heart would explode at this point. There are some moments, when he is even sweeter than he is now. It's when you simply sit somewhere and do nothing, just enjoying your existence. He feels so calm that he wish those moments would last forever.

Finn likes DIY. So I bet he would make some for you, it might be jewelry, plushie or something more practical. Whatever you'll ask for he will do. (If it's in terms of his skills.)

If you ask him to teach you how to make some, he would be more than happy. Who wouldn't be happy to spend time with their crush?

He would carefully explain everything and help you if you have any difficulties with the project. Sometimes I wonder where he gets all this patience from. Whether you would get discouraged or curse how hard it is, he would try to calm you down and explain your mistakes.

When I'm still talking about teaching. Study session. I just see with my eyes of imagination. The two of you sitting in library beside each other and bending over books. It depends on you — whether he's teaching you some subject or you just enjoy your company.

Finn loves animals. I think, he would always tell you many random fact about them and won't stop talking, until he gets a hold on himself.

When he finally remembers himself, he will start apologising and feeling bad about being the only one talking. Then you kave to reassure him that you really don't mind and he can continue.

As a boyfriend, he treats you very well. People might say he's a perfect boyfriend material, but you can see how much he tries and I hope you do as much for him as he does for you.

Lance

Honestly, I can't imagine him giving someone else attention than his sister. Like this sis-con on has Anna in his head. So you can imagine how everyone was surprised when they noticed his unusual behaviour towards you.

And it wasn't some big change. No. It was more subtle. He was less strict with you than he is with others. Whenever you seemed sad because of his, sometimes mean, comments, he would apologise. (It took him a lot of courage to say this simple words.) He was more careful with his act to not sadden you.

I believe that after some time of knowing each other he would tell you about his sister and maybe if he happens to trust you a lot — about her illness as well.

He strikes me as a gentleman at some point. He would hold the door for you, help you with school work and follow you almost everywhere as if it was his duty.

Unfortunately for you, his sister will always be his number one, so unless you accept this fact, I don't think he will try to do anything with your relationship.

As well as it was with Finn, you two would have study session together. This guy is so clever that it would be stupid not to ask for help with the subject, spell or other thing you have difficulties with.

He truly admires you. You saw him in numerous embarrassing situations, for example when he was talking to Anna's pictures etc. Everyone' else would already start avoiding him. Maybe that's why he finds you as a perfect match for himself. Someone who wouldn't judge his behaviour and just accept his 'imperfections'.

Lance would respect your personal space and it would have to be you who initiates physical contact (mostly before your relationship). But he would place his hand on your waist with excuse not to let you bump into others.

He looks like the guy who would give other people, who are talking to you, nasty glare, when you don't look. It's not that he doesn't believe in his charm, it's just the fact that he doesn't like others being to close or touchy with you.

As a boyfriend Lance becomes more possessive and clingy. He would hug you from behind and gets touchy when you least expect it. Well, at least you're never bored.

Dot

It's easy to captivate this hot-headed guy's heart... if you're a woman of course. Male readers have it harder. But now we are talking about the stage he is already in love.

He would always boast to his friends about how he's going to marry you with no shame. Of course, always when you're absent. If by chance you will witness him saying it. He would want to hide under ground.

He would always scream at the person, you would give too much attention. He gets easily jealous, but he act like thata with every male that gets too much attention from others.

That's why you don't realise he holds any special feelings towards you. He still acts like he act towards women, so you don't think any special of the way he treats you.

I believe Dot would be touchy with you. Like put his arm over your shoulder or surprise you from behind. Honestly, if he would have ever touched you in a way that would make you feel uncomfortable, as a man he is — he would never forgive himself.

In his eyes, he gives you special treatment. He doesn't play pranks on you and even with Lemon in room, he always focus on what you're saying and so on.

After some time, he gets more obvious that others notice his strange behaviour. He always stares at you, daydream about you two being together. His eyes are always following your person.

When you're close, he catch himself on enjoying your fragrance. Later of course, Dot will blame himself as well call himself a pervert. But you cannot be mad at him. He just can't get enough of you.

If he only could he would almost always hold you in his arms and never let go, while being too scared you might run away from him.

He is energetic, so as a boyfriend he would take you to many places. Date? Let's go to amusement park, if not, we have many other options. Of course, sometimes you two have home dates, where you just cuddle and enjoy eachother company.

Lemon

Congratulations. You just won over Mash and captured Lemon's heart. This turn of event surprised everyone, like literally everyone, even Mash.

Lemon would act similar like she did while having crush on Mash. She would be so delulu and talk about how the two of you are engaged and all (in fact you aren't... for now).

She would randomly grab your arm and hug it. People got used to seeing you this way. The two of you walking through the corridor, you look like those couples who always stick close to eachother.

She gets easily jealous of other people you're close with, expect for Mash, Lance, Finn and Dot, since she knows they won't try anything with you. When she feels threatened by someone, she would get closer to you or (in most cases) panic.

She would definitely share Cupid Gummies with you. Like she would buy it and almost immediately run to you only to give you some. She thinks of it as a special bond between the two of you.

Lemon blush a lot around you, that's for sure. You get too close? With red as tomato face, she would slap you. She gets a little violent when nervous, it's the fact you have to accept. But who can blame her? She's so happy to have you around that she cannot control her actions.

She's like a ray of sunshine, which is why whenever you're sad, she will try to make you feel better. Sometimes when words won't help, she just sits next to you. She wants you to know she will be always here for you.

You would get a lucky charm from her. One reason is that to keep you safe, other is to have her close to you. While making a design she would try to match with your taste. Like when she made Mash creampuff plushie, she would make something similar.

Whenever she would have problems with spells, she would go to you. Perfect excuse to spend time together! In exchange, she would teach you theory you would have problem with.

As a girlfriend, Lemon is very sweet. She wouldn't have to find excuses just to spend time with you. You would be often seen together eating lunch or walkings around while holding hands.

#mashle x reader #mash burnedead x reader #lemon irvine #lemon irvine x reader #finn ames #mash burnedead #lance crown #finn ames x reader #lance crown x reader #dot barrett #dot barrett x reader #mashle #writing

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marie-m-art · 3 months

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Amongst the Aziraphale appreciation posts I see, there's a big thing that I think is often missed and deserves pointing out!

(I'm not sure if this is an unpopular opinion or if it's something so obvious that it goes without saying, and thus hasn't been said; so I am either throwing myself to the wolves here or to the crickets. Here I go!)

In short, I think sheltering Gabriel in S2E1 was undeniably the right thing to do, and I admire Aziraphale for it. The ensuing fight with Crowley might distract some people from seeing this.

Initially it was a snap decision whose rationale was probably along the lines of "Ohshit, this is insane, everyone is staring, this situation has to stop right now, just get in and I'll get rid of you later."

But then it becomes clear to Aziraphale that Gabriel is a person who needs help. This is a special situation in which his antagonist is currently helpless. If he turns Gabriel away, it's only a matter of time before the other angels find him (granted, Azi doesn't have all the information yet here, but it's not a huge leap for him to suspect heaven being part of the threat), and in the meantime he could be hurt or even be discorporated by humans or by accident, and presumably end up back in heaven where Something Terrible awaits.

To articulate what I think the thought process might be in this situation, I'll borrow a quote from Miss Level from A Hat Full of Sky: "You can't not help people just because they're stupid or forgetful or unpleasant. Everyone's poor round here. If I don't help them, who will?" He's able to set aside his feelings and risk his own comfort and possibly his safety to help someone clearly in need, despite their past. The reason this is admirable is because this is difficult to do.

I understand why Aziraphale was upset with Crowley (and acted a bit pissy) during their blow-up. Not only is it not unreasonable to be upset about being bailed on in a high stress situation, it's also disappointing that Crowley's proposed solution was to dump Gabriel somewhere to fend for himself - Aziraphale knows and we know that Crowley is usually kind and moral, not to mention rational (and we even see him being kind to Jim/Gabriel later). It's also worth noting that Aziraphale never implies that he thinks Crowley is a bad person for not helping; he asks for help, is upset to not get it, and suggests Crowley leaves because they're obviously at an impasse.

I see Crowley's side too, because it's also not unreasonable to get upset when your partner springs an unexpected stressful situation on you, and it was wise to leave when it was clear that they were both too emotional to work on a proper solution.

We all want to enjoy our precious, fragile existence on earth and not have to deal with curveballs, but I see this problem as the "worse" part of "for better or for worse". I might have seen things differently if Aziraphale was sheltering someone like Hastur, but he's helping his own antagonist, not Crowley's. I for one like to think that Crowley would have returned to help anyway after processing his emotions, even without the threat to Aziraphale's existence. And when he does return I like that he maintains an attitude of "I'll help but I don't have to like it!"

(Side note, it's also hilarious how irritated Aziraphale is by Jim later while Crowley is so patient - another case of doing the right thing but not necessarily liking it).

TLDR: I see their fight as emotional reactions to stress, that can be summed up along the lines of "I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at the situation!" Aziraphale's a BAMF in my book for doing what he believes was right.

#good omens 2 #good omens #good omens meta #aziraphale appreciation #neil gaiman #terry pratchett #azicrow #aziraphale and crowley #crowley and aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #a hat full of sky #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #p

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dee-morris · 24 days

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Some Random Thoughts on the Nature of Free Will

Thinking about that conversation from the book that got put into The Resurrectionists. Aziraphale is explaining how he and Crowley are good and wicked, respectively, but they have no choice while Elspeth does. Bc humans can't be truly good unless they have the choice to be wicked.

(This is where I usually end up arguing with someone on Twitter lol bc they think Aziraphale is being Mean to Crowley by calling him wicked. It's just a brand name darling, not a judgment call. He literally said in the same breath that he's not TRULY wicked bc he wasn't given a choice.)

So I'm sitting here thinking about free will and the choices the celestials are given, which are not many. And I wonder if one of the reasons they were drawn to the Arrangement was to give them each the choices that humans were born with. One can't be truly good without the opportunity to do wrong, so perhaps being able to work both sides of the equation helped them develop into truly moral beings and not just extensions of their offices. We see in Uz how they're able to work together and bounce off each other to save Job's family, even though the Arrangement didn't properly exist yet.

I've also seen lots of takes and metas that indicate that people view Heaven and Hell as a class system: Heaven is the upper-class privileged majority, while Hell is oppressed, kicked out, downtrodden. I think people forget that the primary difference between the two is aesthetic. Hell has all the same powers as Heaven, and they both intend to burn humanity to the ground in order to prove their gang is best.

No, if we're going to talk about who's got privilege, it's definitely humanity over heaven or hell. We have free will and imagination, which are more miraculous than anything. Sure they've got all these powers and can work miracles and so on, but where's that gotten them? We can actually change things. All they can do is try and influence us to change things, and their success rate isn't high. Two of the most powerful beings in the universe couldn't convince an eleven year old boy to blow things up. That's. Pathetic, actually.

Which brings me back around to the ineffables. Because they actually DO have free will, but I don't think they're used to realizing that they do, which might be why they act a little bone headed sometimes. The show implies and the book comes right out and says that they picked it up from being around humans. And like I said earlier, I think the Arrangement played a big part. They were actually able to choose to do good or evil, a luxury that normally only humans can enjoy.

And the best part of this, for me anyway, is knowing that everything that they are to each other is a conscious choice. Aziraphale didn't want to be a fighter, so he gave his sword away and made the conscious choice to be soft and silly and get into scrapes. And Crowley chooses to come to his rescue because he likes it, not because he is obligated. It's a way for him to choose to do good without getting in trouble. They are each other's outlet to explore humanity in a way that would be impossible if they were on their own.

Aziraphale speaks French badly and flutters his eyelashes and plans elaborate Balls because he loves doing human things and he wants to do them with Crowley. Crowley drives a sleek classic sex machine with bullet hole stickers on the windows and goes on capers and performs daring moves because he loves doing things the human way and he wants to do them with Aziraphale. The way they interact and work together because they WANT to, and not because it's their Great Bloody Destiny or whatever, is so fucking beautiful to me.

#aziraphale #good omens #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale my beloved #good omens meta #crowley good omens #free will #heaven and hell

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dalekofchaos · 2 months

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Friendly reminder. Bruce Wayne hung up the suit and retired after THREATENING someone with a gun and this was his reaction.

And then his immediate reaction is to shut down and close the Batcave and his only words were. "Never again"

A truly tragic, but fitting way for Bruce’s career to end. Powerful stuff. Batman's career ended the same way it began: with a desperate man wielding a gun

Batman choosing not to be weak like Joe Chill >>>> Batman going on a killing spree because fighting crime is hard.

And by the way, since Zack Snyder says his inspiration was Dark Knight Returns, I got news for you, TDKR Batman doesn't kill either.

Zack Snyder is a complete blithering fucking idiot.

his statement on Batman just lines up with what I’ve seen from all of his work. He likes the idea of the comics he makes movies out of but he doesn’t actually understand their themes. A Batman that kills is pointless. An edgy Superman is not only the most boring way to write him, but doesn’t make any sense without the wholesome one. That’s why injustice Superman/brightburn/Plutonian/omniman/homelander kind of make sense in their own ways because the original exists to compare them to.(mostly also boring though) His take on watchmen was pretty much devoid of any of the actual commentary from the graphic novel, but instead was just a dark justice league that were pretty bad at their jobs. Rorschach was just framed as a kind of unhinged Batman, but still a badass that does good, which is wildly generous compared to the way he’s originally written. I can understand turning your brain off and coasting through an action movie, but his fans are delusional if they think he does any of these stories justice. I wouldn’t take any of his comments seriously if they would stop letting him make these mediocre movies.

Zack Snyder is all flash and no substance. His films are visually stunning but utterly lacking in compelling storytelling.

The point of Batman is he cannot 'stoop to their level'. He HAS to be better, he HAS to believe these criminals can be rehabilitated, because if he kills them, he becomes just like them. With his wit, his intellect, he could future proof the city against crime ever happening by just killing the criminals before they commit crimes based on probable statistics and similar themes. But a Batman who refuses to kill is a murderer by inaction. Every time he chooses not to put Joker in the ground, he's allowed him to slaughter dozens, hundreds more, just for a laugh. Batman is equally guilty for every one of those deaths, because he could simply kill the Joker, and stop him from ever killing again. But he doesn't. Snyder saying Batman can kill, Batman SHOULD kill, is to say that without batman doing so, or being able to, he is just as bad as the villians. Except dipshit doesn't even have his Batman kill The Joker. "Oopsie daisy, Joker got out and bombed a hospital full of people, sowwwwyyyy, I put him back in jail again dunt worry TeeHeee :3". And then next week we do it all over again. OR. You kill the Joker, and he never hurts another person again. Which is why Jason Todd works so well as a counter to batman, and SHOULD be what Snyder is looking into. The reason why Zod works so well as a villain is because Humans are flawed apes who cant be trusted to govern themselves and should be conquered, and Superman, a literal God, could fix all that, but doesn't, because of Hope. Its foolish, childish even, to consider that a solution. And when placed in the vacuum of a comic book it works because you have to suspend disbelief, and forget that Superman let a city full of people die while he punched Zod through skyscrapers.

If you want Batman to kill people, just go and read one of his 1784956th copies that kill people. Go read Midnighter. Go read Punisher. Go read Moon Knight. Go read Peacemaker. Go read Nighthawk. What is stopping you?

I'm sure all those characters have brought about the peace and prosperity and the crime-free society that a "killer Batman" was supposed to. "Punisher would clean Gotham in under a week", right, just like he cleaned Marvel's New York, didn't he?

It has to be Batman specifically the one doing the killing? The number of superheroes that kill is nowadays much higher than the number of heroes who don't. Remember how Hawkeye spent the better part of his existence being the most anti-killing Avenger? Nowadays he is known as a super-assassin that "never had a non-kill rule". Should heroes who don't kill go extinct?

I like that Batman doesn't kill people. I feel no need to turn him into something he isn't like it was done to Hawkeye. If I wanted a Batman that kills, I would go and read one of the thousand "Batman who kills" out there.

Batman should not kill and should never kill.

"Gotham would be better off if Batman just killed The Joker"

You. Miss. The. Entire. Point.

Bruce Wayne lost his parents to crime and Bruce Wayne is a child who died alongside his parents and was reborn as a creature dedicated to insuring it never happened to any other child. He made a vow never to reduce himself to the criminal scum’s level or to Joe Chill’s level. He never kills for a reason.

Batman not killing is what makes him so compelling, if he kills criminals, there is no moral conflict, he is no better than the Punisher, Wolverine or any other dark edgy hero. Hell, if he starts to take a life, Batman is no better than Ra’s Al Ghul.

In the Daredevil Netflix show, Frank Castle told Daredevil this “That’s not how this works. You cross over to my side of the line, you don’t get to come back from that. Not ever.” That alone is why Batman should not kill, not even The Joker. Bruce Wayne is not Frank Castle, stop trying to make him Frank Castle. I mean…Stan Lee was absolutely disgusted when someone called The Punisher a hero, Frank Castle is a murderer, not a hero. How is this so hard for people to understand?

I don’t want to hear that Batman killed in the old comics and I don’t want to hear Elseworld stories. It’s an established fact that Batman does not kill and it’s a big part of his character.

Guess what? We already got a Bruce who killed The Joker, it happened in the Burtonverse/Schumacherverse and he was disgusted with himself. “So, you're willing to take a life.” “Long as it's Two-Face.” “Then it will happen this way: You make the kill, but your pain doesn't die with Harvey, it grows. So you run out into the night to find another face, and another, and another, until one terrible morning you wake up and realize that revenge has become your whole life. And you won't know why.”

A huge part of Bruce’s character is that he doesn’t kill, no matter what. Same with Clark. But edgelord writers from the New 52, DCEU and the Injustice abominations think it’s cool to make heroes kill. Heroes should not kill. You can’t be a hero and a killer. IT DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY!

Guess what would happen if Batman kills The Joker? The Joker wins. The Joker and Batman are each trying to prove a point to society - and really to us, the readers. The Joker wants Batman to kill him because he perfectly embodies chaos and anarchy and wants to prove a point to everyone that people are basically more chaotic than orderly. This is why he is so scary: we are worried he may be right. If the Joker is right, then civilization is a ruse and we are all truly monsters inside. If the Joker can prove that Batman - the most orderly and logical and self-controlled of all of us - is a monster inside, then we are all monsters inside, and that is terrifying. The Joker is terrifying because we fear that we are like him deep down - that he is us. Batman is what we (any average person) could be at our absolute best, and the Joker is what we could be at our absolute worst. The Joker’s claim is that we are all terrible deep down, and it is only the law and our misplaced sense of justice that keeps us in line. Since Batman isn’t confined by the law, he is a perfect test case to try to get him to "break.” The Joker wants Batman to kill a person, any person, but knows that the only person Batman might ever even remotely consider killing would have to be a terrible monster, so is willing to do this himself and sacrifice himself to prove this macabre point. Batman needs to prove that it is not just laws that keep us in line, but basic human decency and our natural instinct NOT to kill. If Batman can prove this, then others will be inspired by his example (the citizens of Gotham, but again, also the readers), just as we are all inspired every day to keep civilization running smoothly and not descend into violence, anarchy, and chaos. This ability to be decent in the face of the horrors and temptations present all around us is humanity’s superpower, the superpower of each of us. The struggle of Batman and the Joker is the internal struggle of each of us. But we are inspired by Batman’s example, not the Joker’s, because Batman always wins the argument, because he has not killed the Joker.

Batman not killing matters. Batman stories to me are the ultimate tale of turning pain and suffering into something positive. That is a story that everyone can relate to because let's be honest here. The world can suck. I've experienced and probably will always experience feelings of fear of depression of anger of angst. It's in my nature as a human being to experience those things. It's in all our nature it is what we choose to do with that pain that we all feel that defines us. Batman chose to turn all those negative emotions, he feels into a symbol that can bring people. Hope that Batman will save us from pain but more importantly hope that we can all be Batman. Why do we fall? And Batman Begins explains this best “Why do we fall sir? So that we can learn to pick ourselves up.”

Yes, Bruce Wayne is a flawed crazy person. He is at times mean stubborn and even abusive but he is still good. He is still someone we can aspire to be. We can try our hardest to be Superman but no human being can fly, but we can still try to be Batman We can all try to turn our pain into something good when I see Batman killing people or fans saying he killed before and he should kill The Joker, It pains me. It actually hurts my soul. Batman is not about finding a way to kill evil. But try to redeem it. His mission is an impossible task. Maybe he should kill people. Maybe he should kill The Joker, but what makes him fascinating what makes him a hero Is the fact that he has that moral code and stopped himself from crossing that line That's why I always looked up to Batman even as a kid despite all the adult subtext or mature themes superheroes are for kids. And killing is not Batman and it is not Bruce Wayne. This is why I hated the portrayal in the DCEU and the Burtonverse and why I really hated the implication that Batman killed The Joker in Batwoman. A Batman who kills is certainly not Bruce Wayne, that is an interpretation of Bruce Wayne that completely misses the point of Batman. It's easy to kill. Batman does not make the easy choice… Batman does not kill.

#DC #Batman #Batman Beyond #Bruce Wayne #Anti Zack Snyder #Anti DCEU

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judasgot-it · 1 year

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Ello o/, I really like your writing style. May i req the reader pretends to be a client but actually a member of the agency but the ADA doesn't remember the reader because they have an ability to make anyone/everyone forget they exist and used it to protect the agency also dazai is the only one who remembers them.

I'm so sorry I took so long to get to this request I've been busy with life and all of that lame stuff

Also, I hope you don't mind but I changed it a Lil to be a two-parter with Ranpo as well, I feel like he would figure it out pretty quickly

Scenario: reader visits the ADA pretending to be a client. Dazai is the only one who remembers them working for the agency. (Dazai, Ranpo)

Part 1; Dazai

"So what brings someone as lovely as you to the agency today?"

Dazai was standing in front of you, giving you his best smile. He was holding your hand and reciting his lines as if you were in a play - although between the two of you, he looked like he was giving a performance for the ages.

"Dazai, you can't flirt with everyone that comes into the agency. You know this."

Kunikida had walked over from his desk, making sure to check up on your conversation. He just wanted to ensure you actually got the help that you needed and weren't swept away by Dazai's antics.

A part of you missed this.

"Oh, we're fine Kunikida. In fact, Dazai was just going to lead me to your consultation room so he could help me with my case."

You were covering for Dazai. Old habits die hard you suppose.

"You know, you shouldn't stress out so much Kunikida, you'll get grey hairs. Actually? I think you have some already!"

Dazai took this as his chance to poke around Kunikida's head, 'showing' him his gray hairs. You had to put a hand over your mouth to stop your laughter as you watched the two of them argue.

"I'll be in the room waiting on you Dazai. I don't have all day, you know?"

You walked out of the room, leading yourself through the building. Nothing really changed since you'd been there, although you could spot a couple of new faces among those working at their desks.

It was nice to see the agency moving on and continuing to grow.

The room was a bit different as well. They had finally replaced the old chairs that had been torn in a fight.

They were now a softer, blue fabric. The room seemed more softer, especially for what the room always brought with it.

"So, you finally decided to come back?"

Dazai appeared behind you, closing the door to the room - giving the two of you some much-needed privacy.

The curtain had closed on your little play.

"Well, only to visit. I'm leaving Yokohama tomorrow so I thought I'd stop by beforehand and see how you were all doing."

You looked behind you to see Dazai smiling. Although, you could clearly tell it wasn't a happy one.

"Let's sit down, I feel like you're going to want to know a bit about where I've been. I'll tell you if you promise to keep it a secret, ok?"

You had already moved to sit down on the small office chairs in the room - they were cozy enough for what would essentially be an interrogation.

Dazai wanted answers from you. Knowing him, he was going to get them one way or another - no matter how nice he was about it.

It was hard to stay silent anyway. He was the only man who really knew your predicament. You had hunches about everyone else, but it wasn't like they could escape your ability.

Even if they had this feeling about you, they couldn't escape the gap in their memories. No matter what, you were just a blindspot to them. The moment they met you, they would forget about you once again.

"You want to know why I left the agency, right?"

The most you left behind was a vague sense of unease. Not knowing why you had a sense of dejavue over a certain book and wondering why you know so much about something.

It was a great ability to have for a vagabond.

Dazai shook his head, placing it between it on his folded hands.

"You caught me there. I know how you did it, but I don't know if I can really figure out your why."

You looked to the window.

"Why did you leave when you were happy? Is it some form of punishment? It's got me really curious."

The view was perfect. Nothing would come and distract you from having to respond to the question.

He caught you, like a bird in flight.

"Because I don't have a choice. The longer I stay anywhere, the more dangerous I become. Right now I am just a ghost - I'm sure the president knows I exist, but can never really put a thumb on it."

You tried to wiggle around in your seat, looking as if you were in complete control.

"But if I stayed, eventually the feeling of being forgotten would wear off. It's painful being ignored, but when it happens all the time I can never feel the pain - I'm numb. But the agency?"

You let a watery smile out. Being in the room, finally talking to someone that wasn't a stranger. Talking to Dazai, who actually remembered you no matter how many times you activated your ability.

It was refreshing.

The walls that you had built up were breaking down.

"We got close. But eventually, I saw that their memory would get spotty, and it was happening again. I can't stand to see the people I love to forget about me, I don't want to become a stranger to them."

You hid your eyes behind your hands, trying to shield them from the sun. That's why they were dripping tears. Telling yourself this helped stave them off.

"So you left before that could happen, right?"

You felt an arm wrap around you, pulling you close.

Dazai's jacket wasn't exactly the softest, but you stayed close as you tried to push back your tears. You knew this visit would be hard, that you would have a hard conversation - but you didn't want to break down.

You tried to mumble out some sort of excuse or apology but your words were failing you.

Which left you with nothing but silence.

"Dazai. Thank you for not forgetting about me."

You took the lapels of his jacket in your hands, pulling him closer. You hadn't hugged someone who wasn't a stranger in so long. This was a feeling you definitely missed since your departure from the ADA.

"Y/n."

Dazai pulled away, bending down so the two of you were face to face. He cupped your face with his surprisingly calloused hands, analyzing you with his soft brown eyes.

He let out a breath, in some emotion that you couldn't really place.

"Anytime."

He backed away, wiping away his serious demeanor with a Cheshire smile.

"Besides. It's not like I have a choice in it. You know, you leave quite the impression on people!"

There was something behind those words. You felt it. The way he missed you, how it was unsaid in the air but was shown in the way he kept eyeing you.

He still kept his hands on you, as if the moment he let go, you would once again fade into a burning memory that only he was cursed to hold. Like so many other moments in his life.

A part of you wanted to stay, just for him. The feeling of his hand on your shoulder as he led you throughout the building, keeping you around so you could talk to the members one last time.

But your mind was unfortunately set.

He was nice enough to introduce you to the new members who had joined in your absence - it was a smart ploy.

He was trying to bide time, keeping an arm wrapped tightly around you while he joked around with Atsuhi about some memories they had a while back.

You could see how he tried to make you seem as if you never had left. As if you were always here.

It was a really smart ploy. It almost made you want to cancel your ability just so you could see everyone understand the inside joke that Dazai had said. One that only now you two understood.

If he was quiet after you had gone, staring at the papers at his desk - well that was, unfortunately, a secret only he would know.

Part 2; Ranpo

You were set to depart Yokohama in less than an hour. In the meantime, you were meandering the train station, biding your time.

After having visited the ADA again, you felt a bit lost. You truly did want to stay - but you felt that the ramifications of that action would be worse than if you continued living as a vagabond.

Your ability altered people's memories to the point that they themself would forget about your existence one day - the curse of being able to run away at a drop of a hat.

You can always run, but seemingly never stay. Somehow, they would always forget about you. Either gradually or suddenly, you knew that it would happen.

Freedom was a blessing, but it always came at a high price.

"Is this line A? I don't really know the system around here well."

Ranpo had sat next to you, making you jump in shock.

He was looking at you, waiting for your answer. He didn't seem to recognize you - not from earlier in the day, and not from when you had worked together.

It was a blessing, you supposed.

You took a breath to calm down.

"Yeah, you have the right one. It's not coming for an hour or so though, so you have time."

You hoped he would walk away. Being near anyone from your past always made you hurt in some way or another.

He seemed stubborn though, drapping his shoulders across the back of the bench and spreading his legs out in front of him - like a starfish on a rock, leaving himself out to sunbathe.

"I think I know you from somewhere. Do I?"

That made you stop.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I just mean - have we met before? You seem familiar. I have a feeling I met you, kind of like..."

He put his hand in his pocket, unwrapping a lollipop.

"I can't put my finger on the word..."

He stuck it in mouth with a loud pop.

"Dejavu?"

You supplied it to him, hoping he would go away. A cold, sinking had settled into your gut.

"Yeah! That's right!"

He looked at you, smiling wide. You realized your mistake when you saw that he had his glasses on.

"That's your ability name, right, Y/n?"

This was when you realized how unsettlingly quiet this station was. The announcement on the intercom felt like it was ringing in your ears.

Ranpo was still staring at you, waiting for you to piece a sentence together.

"Do you remember me?"

The man shrugged, settling back down. He was comfortable enough to take up more of your space than you had realized - his legs brushing up against yours.

"No. But I know that I could - if you let me. The ADA is a detective agency, Y/n. You can't exactly run forever when you have us on your tail."

Ranpo didn't wait for you to comprehend what he was saying. He leaned in close, your noses brushing up against each other.

"You're going to keep coming back."

"So. What are you going to do then?"

He said it in a monotone voice, as a simple statement.

"And even you think we won't find you - I will. I'm the best detective. No mystery is beyond me, not even your ability."

He waved up some papers. They were notes, photos and documents.

He was tracking you.

Ranpo smiled.

"I could go for some coffee."

"I dunno. You want to stay. I'm pretty hungry right now."

He was waving the documents around in a small circle, still refusing to give you space.

It was subtle, but you weren't going to get away from him without a chase.

I'm leaving the ending super open-ended, but Ranpo catches everyone in his life in weird ways so I feel like he'd do it this way too cause if you can somehow escape him once you're on his mental list

#bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #ranpo x reader

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unrequitedloveletter · 1 year

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Hi! Hope you’re having a good day!

I was wondering if I could request a Kaz x moon summoner!reader?

I’ve liked the idea of a moon summoner atm my main idea would be that they can do the same kind of thing as Alina with summoning light but it’s not as bright,they can also heal but on a higher level than a normal healer if that makes sense?

for the actual request just something with the reader making shapes out of light/messing around with it while Kaz works or something and it gets his attention

if not that’s perfectly fine too! :] -🍒Anon

Moon- K.B x gn! moon summoner! reader

cherry anon, thank you so much for sending this in! You and your requests always get my creative head going when I feel like I'm stuck and my creativity does not want to cooperate with me, and this request kind of got me out of a bit of funk!

Fic type- this is entirely fluff

Warnings- mentions of injuries/canon typical injuries mentioned

Your small science was so rare that the only other representations of it were present in myth. Myth that was right when it came down to your capabilities as a moon summoner but largely wrong in most other capacities.

Some tales stated that you had light as dim as bone-lights, some stated that you couldn't summon the light at all, only dim pieces of blue that were barely reminiscent of the night sky.

Others said you could heal yourself and others, though a lot slower than a healer; others made no mention of your potential to heal others or yourself at all.

You could summon light, though. It was a light that was as bright as the moon, which happened to be brighter than a bone light but not nearly so bright and blinding as the sun.

You could heal yourself and others more efficiently, too. You were quicker than a healer and it didn't take much out of you to do it, so it was an ability that came in handy.

You found yourself on Kaz's windowsil, the book you'd been reading somewhat forgotten as you held it open in your lap and had beams of moonlight dancing across the pages rather than illuminating the words as they'd been beforehand.

You looked up to meet Kaz's gaze in the same breath as he looked up to meet yours, grinning at his appearance as you did.

He looked as he usually did when it was just the two of you in his office, you reading a book and helping him with his plans while he alternated between planning a heist and keeping track of everything in the books so as to keep a track of legitimate records for the businesses he owned and operated.

His tie had been undone, resting on either of his shoulders, his gloves secure on his hands, his hair a bit of a mess from running his hands through it. The bags beneath his eyes had grown a bit prominent, and he was drinking coffee number three of the day.

"I always forget you can summon moonbeams," he said. "You heal people more often than you summon."

"Healing is just something that needs doing more often," you said with a grin. "I only summon when it's night and I'm trying to read, or when I get bored. It makes for quite the entertaining distraction."

Kaz nodded. "You're in for the job tomorrow?"

"Sixty thousand kruge. Not even with the advisement of the saints themselves would I refuse."

Kaz grinned, and the two of you fell back into that same, easy way of things that you always had. No conversation necessary, just the two of you existing in the same space, the love you felt for one of another making the silence an incredible comfort.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows #shadow and bone

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 2 months

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Do you think the Statue of Secrecy in the Harry Potter books should be broken?

I mean, that's an interesting question, and not one I'm sure I (or anyone else for that matter) is qualified to answer. It's sort of like asking "should a large and fundamental part of a culture change". It can change, and there'd be fallout from that, and the result would be something entirely different.

What I will say is the statute of secrecy, at least as we see it in Britain, sets up a potentially dangerous state of affairs for a civilization and especially one that is insistent on remaining ignorant of its neighbors.

There's a technical term for this that I'm completely forgetting at the moment but the idea is that if you have an extremely small civilization, in which there is also extreme isolation, then that civilization's technology not only tends not to progress but also regresses. This is a matter of population and knowledge being lost (you don't necessarily have 1-1 replacement for skills and techniques to retain what the civilization knows) and difficulty in innovating for similar reasons.

Now, wizarding Britain isn't quite this, and that's because we have Half-bloods and Muggle-borns. The population is ridiculously small, with Harry's class in Hogwarts being around ~30 total and no matter how JKR tries to convince me there's thousands at Hogwarts we only seem to see 100s if we're being generous, and the "pure" wizarding families being even smaller (~30 families many of which have died out). But we also get a few Muggle-borns every year and we get Half-bloods from magical people marrying Muggles either directly or those who came from Muggles two generations or less ago. We see technology transferred in from the Muggle world and accepted at large in the train for the Hogwarts Express, the Knight Bus, cameras, and radios.

There is technological transfer as well as some diversity in genetics.

The problem comes in that the wizarding world by isolating itself is incredibly vulnerable to diseases (dragon pox is noted as basically having wiped out Harry's grandparent's generation) and conflict (Voldemort's responsible for the ending of several cornerstone family lines). One bad famine, war, and epidemic could end the wizarding world the way it is now.

As it is, they may already be at a breaking point and not realize it, if enough of the families died out. (The Weasleys can't supply 3/4 of the population and you have to have someone there already to teach Muggle-borns magic in the first place).

There's also the issue that by isolating themselves so strictly the wizards have no idea how Muggles work or the state of the Muggle world. Arthur is painted as the best we see and he's offensively bad, it's a common gag how little he understands about the Muggle world as a Pureblood wizard. While people like Hermione and Harry are better, they also stopped their Muggle schooling at 11 and both spend as much time in the wizarding world as they can even during the few times they're sent back to the Muggle world. This is especially dangerous as Harry and Hermione think they understand the Muggle world extremely well, and while they're better than Ron, they're not the same as someone who is a Muggle, especially after they become adult wizards and have no reason to interact with the Muggle world anymore.

So we get a superficial understanding of Muggle technology (they know certain things exist, especially obvious physical devices, but their solution to making them work is to enchant them to float and they think they've got it) and basically 0 understanding of anything else.

We do see some crossover in that the Prime Minister has a direct line to the Minister of Magic, but we also see that it's a "you don't call us, we'll call you" type relationship in that the Prime Minister has been trying for ages to figure out what the fuck is going on when Fudge and Scrigemore finally show up and go "Oh, yeah, there's a changeover and we have a terrorist back who's going to fuck your shit up. Sorry". It's very clearly a position meant to shut the Muggles up and have their aid when the wizarding world needs something from them, not the other way around, which is bad relations (seen in canon, the PM was not a fan) and also makes it clear that the wizards don't care what the Muggles do or what they're up to so long as they do it off their lawn.

And that means... well, things could get spicy without the wizarding world having any means of warning.

Not to mention, of course, that it's barely being kept in place. We have canonical villages of obliviated people who act a little funny in the head because the wizards didn't want to move/wanted to feel progressive by living with Muggles. We have Harry alone causing a number of incidents such as flying a car over half the country with the obliviators then having to obliviate said half of the country. We have Muggle-borns popping up with the Ministry seeming to have no means of keeping track of them without the Hogwarts letter. We have a complete lack of understanding of recent Muggle technology (guys, a very small percentage of people actually understand how computers work, how information is stored, how it's replicated across the web, don't tell me that someone with a primary education up to age 11 understands all the nuance of computers. You may get one or two, but it's not going to be many and they're probably not going to have Ministry jobs because they're going to probably be Muggle-born and maybe, maybe, Half-blood).

So, basically, I think the statute of secrecy is unsustainable. They're rolling dice keeping it in place and one of those days they're going to roll for something that will not allow it to hold.

Does that mean it should be torn down?

Again, that's that "should" thing we got into at first, things would change, it'd get very messy and very ugly, but it's a change and not something I can really ascribe morality to one way or another. It just is.

#harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanon #the wizarding world #the statute of secrecy #meta #headcanon #opinion

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pinchofhoney · 8 months

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Sorry I'm invading your inbox again but I wanna see what you do with this song. Can be with any character. I just wanna see what amazing thing you come up with (when you have the time of course)

the broken self

carlisle cullen x fem!reader

word count: 1.1k

warning: esme simply does not exist in this one, mention of the tough past, our reader is not a vampire and i don't think she's aware of what carlisle is

summary: If I could start again, I would find a way. Now, you've been given the chance, so what's your next move?

a/n: hey, hello!!<33 thank you so much for your request, as always! in case you don't like what i have prepared, i'm sorry. in my defence, i didn't know from the very beginning which way it was going to go and i've always been pretty terrible at interpreting things (me writing for twilight was not on my bingo list for this year, but the autumn weather outside the window has made me do so. happy hua hua hua hua huooooaaa season!!)

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

also, my requests are open!

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

The Cullen house was bathed in the soft, fading light of the setting sun, casting long, amber shadows that stretched across the polished wooden floors. It was a striking contrast to the usual vitality that filled the grand halls and spacious rooms, typically bustling with the presence of the vampire family. But on this particular evening, the house felt still and serene, as if time had momentarily paused.

With each step down the wooden stairs, you could feel the texture of the handrail beneath your fingertips. You ran your hand gently along its length, a small ritual to dispel the dust that had managed to settle on it in the absence of bustling activity. The house seemed to sigh in response, as if it too welcomed your presence in the calmness.

As you made your way through the dimly lit corridors, you reached the doorway of Carlisle's study. The soft glow of a desk lamp illuminated the room, casting a warm and inviting aura within. There, in the center of the study, sat Carlisle, his slender frame framed by the golden light.

Carlisle looked up from the book he had been leafing through. He welcomed you with a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but held the warmth of familiarity.

As you stood in the entrance of the room, bathed in the warm, inviting glow, your mind churned with thoughts that had plagued you for far too long. You couldn't help but contrast the serenity of this moment with the turmoil that had defined your past. In this peaceful space, it was easy to forget the chaos you once reveled in, the empire of dirt you had built brick by brick.

Your eyes met Carlisle's, his gaze always so kind and understanding, yet you couldn't escape the unease gnawing at your heart. You had come so far since those dark days of your past, but the shadows of your former self still clung to you like an unshakable curse. You'd worked hard to change, to become someone unrecognizable even to yourself, but the weight of your past sins still weighed heavily on your conscience.

As you gazed into Carlisle's warm eyes, you couldn't help but remember who you used to be. A master of deception, a manipulator of hearts, you had once reveled in the power you held over others. Lies had flowed from your lips like sweet poison, carefully crafted to serve your own desires. You had toyed with people's emotions, played with their feelings as if they were nothing more than pawns in your game.

The memories of your past self weighed on you like an anchor, threatening to drag you back into the abyss you had fought so hard to escape. You had come to Carlisle seeking redemption, seeking a chance to be better, but a gnawing fear lingered in the depths of your soul. What if you were incapable of truly loving someone? What if your capacity to hurt ran deeper than you dared to admit?

These doubts, these insecurities, they clawed at your heart, and you couldn't help but wonder if Carlisle would eventually become another casualty of your brokenness. In his presence, you felt a warmth you had never known before, a genuine kindness that seemed to radiate from his very being. It was a stark contrast to the false facades you had once worn so effortlessly, a reminder of the person you aspired to become.

“Y/N?” the sound of your name suddenly pierced the cocoon of your thoughts, snapping you back to the present. You blinked a few times, returning your focus to Carlisle, who had been regarding you all along with his gentle, unwavering gaze. “Is everything all right?” he inquired, genuine concern evident in his voice. A faint furrow appeared between his brows, underscoring the authenticity of his worry.

You quickly composed yourself, as if slipping into a familiar role. “Oh, yes,” you responded swiftly, putting on a mask of laughter. With a gentle smile, you began to make your way toward Carlisle's desk. “I just got lost in my thoughts,” you added, your tone light and carefree.

The last thing you wanted was for Carlisle to glimpse the chaos within you, to see the shards of your past self that still clung to your soul. The fear that he might stop caring about you if he knew who you used to be was a heavy burden to bear.

As you continued your charade of nonchalance, a wave of hypocrisy washed over you. It was absurd, really, that you, who had always been the one to leave others when you grew bored, now found yourself terrified of abandonment.

“What are you reading?” you asked, your voice casual and genuinely curious as you circled Carlisle's desk and stood behind him, placing your hands gently on his cold shoulders. You were truly interested in the lecture he had been engrossed in, hoping to engage him in conversation and keep him from delving too deeply into your own thoughts.

Carlisle looked up from the pages of the book, a warm smile gracing his lips. “Just some recent research on rare genetic disorders,” he replied, his voice tinged with enthusiasm. “It's fascinating how people's understanding of these conditions continues to evolve.”

You smiled in response to Carlisle's passion. His love for his work was one of the many things that drew you to him, a stark contrast to your past life where you had feigned interest for the sake of appearances.

“That does sound fascinating,” you said genuinely, your hands still resting lightly on his shoulders. “You always manage to make the things I don’t even understand intriguing," you laughed softly.

Carlisle's smile widened at your compliment, and he leaned back slightly in his chair, allowing your hands to linger on his shoulders. “Thank you,” he replied warmly.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the weight of unspoken words and fears still present but momentarily pushed aside by the connection you shared. There was this strange, unexplainable attraction to this man, an irresistible force that dragged you closer to him, just like when a magnet pulls things together.

After a moment, you broke the silence, your tone casual. “You know,” you began, “if you're not too busy, maybe we could go for a walk later. It’s already dark outside, but I think the weather is lovely, and it's been a while since we had some quality time together.”

Carlisle's eyes brightened at the suggestion, and he nodded eagerly. “That sounds like a wonderful idea,” he agreed. “I'd love to.”

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inkskinned · 1 year

Text

something that stuck with me once, way back in middle school when i was still learning how to write - my teacher said "writing shock and tragedy is easy, it's humor that's the hardest."

i have been up and down the halls of academia. i have the fancy degree and the experience in publishing. i think i paved most of my own road with the little bricks of sorrow i had stored inside of me. i know i did it mostly with works that are blisteringly lonely. i know why we write like that. it's lifesaving.

but yeah, i mean. i also know how much people think that "sad" media is the same thing as "good" media. our human desire to connect is so hard-pressed that we immediately latch onto any broken themes. the bullied kids and the tales of inspiration. people keep saying things like "glass onion" and "everything everywhere" weren't actually good. because, you know, they're. happy. or happy-ish. happy enough. and we only value art if it's grimdark-adjacent.

do you know - people still consistently whine at me that my writing would be so good if i just capitalized things. i used to flinch. i get kind of a weird, vindictive little rush these days - i get to say thank you for the comment! i have chronic pain and this is how i conserve my hands so i can write more during the day :) grammar isn't real anyway! and now they're trapped in the room with me, you know? i get to pull out my map and show them how grammar is not the same thing as good writing.

writers have this thing. we scratch at our insides, constantly, prying our lives apart into splinters. prying the splinters apart into atoms. when we combust something into poetry, we control it. it cannot hurt us if it exists outside of us rather than burning a hole through the bottom of our lungs. it's not a wonder to me that so much of what i make comes out like a death gasp. i spent a long time at the bottom. i keep going back, too. when you're down there for so long, the only thing you can exhale is fumes.

but humor is hard. humor needs timing; which i can't promise in a paragraph. i can kind-of force it through careful spacing, but i have no idea how fast you're reading these things. humor needs a somewhat awareness of your audience, when really - anybody could be looking. humor needs us to understand what the joke is, why it's a joke, and to think - ha! that is funny. in tragedy, everyone understands the metaphor of a kicked puppy. in humor, you need to introduce them to the concept of a dog.

and forget about positivity. forget about anything not made for adults explicitly. every time i see a well-made children's media piece, i feel fucking horrible for the creators. most of the time, people see children's media as being sort of "not worth" applause, even though i'm pretty sure they have to work twice as hard. i have no idea how hard it must be to not be able to have your character just say. "well, fuck." something about a message of peace or friendship or caring - for some reason, that makes the media not for adults. like, okay. i'm pretty sure my father actually, out of all of us, could use a good book on how to control his temper and talk about his feelings.

but whatever. i write a short story about my ocd, and how it's fucking killing me. it gets an award. it gets published. i write a short story about my ocd, and how i'm overcoming it, and how my days are getting lighter and starting to flourish. i keep getting ghosted. no response. it just is lacking... something.

is this it, forever? you can be an artist, okay. but the trade off is that the things you make - if they're happy? if they're joyful? people will say it's stupid and pandering. you bite your nails off. you file your teeth. you hear something inside of you breaking.

the other day in a writing group, someone i'd thought of as a friend said: "you write so much better these days! i love what you make when you'd rather be dead."

#i have no idea what this is about #writeblr #i think u might tho. if ur an artist. u might. idk

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lostbetweenvampiresandmusic · 2 months

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6 and 15 please 🙏🏾

6. "Paul! Stop bullying the pigeons!"

15. "Don't be an idiot, of course I love you."

Thanks for requesting! I hope you like this one!

-----------------------------

Three days ago, David had come back from a mandatory visit with Max with rather bad news. Apparently, their activities had gained the attention of not only a bunch of vampire hunters but also the feds. Bad news. Very bad, because vampire hunters could be fought - but the feds meant the general public could figure out that they existed.

Three days ago, David had walked in, simply stating: "We're grounded." Three days ago, things were fine. Now, however, the atmosphere was tense.

Since the news, they hadn't fed, so they were hungry. One thing about hungry vampires is that they get on each others nerves quickly.

David had retreated back to an old abandoned room, hidden somewhere deep inside the caves. He'd stated that if anyone bothered him, they'd regret it - and seeing the hungry stare and the almost empty pack of cigarettes in his hands, the boys had agreed. Marko had been painting, working on some new patches, feeding his pigeons. Hed managed to keep himself quite busy. Dwayne had taken to reading, trying to forget the hunger by literary escapism. It had worked for a while until someone had gotten bored. The first day, Paul had sorted out his music. The second he'd listened to everything and discovered he didn't have any weed, alcohol or cigarettes anymore. The third day, today, he had woken up only to be very - very - bored. So, now he was entering hour four of catching a bouncing ball after dropping it, throwing it at the walls or ceiling - and then doing it all over again.

"Will you stop that?!" Dwayne growled, glaring at Paul. Paul stopped to look at him, only to catch the bouncing ball a second later and bouncing it against the wall once again.

"Dude, shut up! Go read somewhere else if it bothers you this much."

"Throw that damn thing once again and I'll fucking rip your hands off!"

"Don't bother, I'll learn to throw with my feet."

"Them too!"

"Fine, I'll learn how to do it with my mouth," Paul grinned, causing Dwaynes glare to turn deadly. Before Paul realised what had happened, Dwayne had grabbed the bouncing ball, crushing it between his fists. The dusty crumble fell to the ground. With a sad sigh Paul looked at the remains of his entertainment before looking at Dwayne.

"You owe me a fucking bouncing ball."

"Get me my sanity back and we'll talk."

With those words, Dwayne disappeared into the cave, leaving both his book and the source of his annoyance behind.

"You really don't know when to stop, do you?" Marko looked up from his latest work, a giant mural of Jim Morrison.

"I can't help it, I'm bored!" Paul jumped down on the couch, falling on his back with a loud huff. His arm laid loosely beside the couch, his fingers toying with some pebble.

"You do realise we're all stuck in here?"

"Duh! The hunger I can deal with, alright? But I fucking miss the boardwalk and doing shit!"

Marko looked up and shrugged. "If you weren't such an ass you would have gotten some in the past few days."

"You tell me now," Paul grumbled, throwing the pebble up in the air, scaring one of the pigeons away from its resting spot. The vampire grinned, catching the pebble and throwing it up into the air once again, scaring another pigeon. It flew up, feathers falling down. Angrily, the bird glared at Paul.

Paul didn't mind, though, even though he was careful not to actually hit the pigeons - not because he cared about the pigeons, but because he cared about the owner of said pigeons - it was something new to do. And if the birds got physical, well, at least it would keep him busy, right?

"Paul!" Marko yelled, catching the pebble before it landed in Paul's hand. "Stop bullying the pigeons!"

"Then give me something to do because I am fucking bored!"

"Not my problem, don't bother my pigeons."

"You could bother me, though?" Paul asked grinning, but he shut up when he saw the glare his mate send him. "Sorry about the pigeons man."

"Yeah."

"No, seriously."

Marko nodded, picking up a paint brush and continuing his work. "I know."

"I'm just not used to being cooped up inside."

"None of us are, and we're dealing with it alright." Marko snapped, realising he'd made a small error with the latest brushstroke. He would have to fix it later when it was dry.

"Are you mad at me or something?"

"No. Just hungry."

Paul nodded. "Oh. I thought you were pissed about the pigeons."

"Kind of, you're a fucking idiot if you think that bullying them would get you any positive attention."

"Yeah, I guess. It was shitty."

"Yeah. Glad that you got it."

"I think I'll just go," Paul said. He got up, walking towards the lift shaft at the end of the cave. Marko stopped him, giving him a questioning look.

"Why?"

"Well -" he began, but Marko quickly shut him up. He knew Paul. He knew what he was like, how his thoughts ran a hundred miles a second, and how - if they were not stopped before - they could turn dark and depressing within minutes. He sighed, knowing exactly where his thoughts would go now.

"Don't be an idiot," he looked at Paul, "of course I love you."

#the lost boys #marko #david #paul #tlb #dwayne #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #the lost boys x reader #lost boys #paul x marko

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redditpinterest · 4 months

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gold rush | cole walter

cole walter x female mc

summary: gracie has never been in love. she thinks. though, the enigmatic cole walter seems to have invaded her thoughts and infected her in every sense. she's completely enamored. too bad every other girl is too.

word count: 3.5k

author's note: i thought we could have a little haley james tutor moment and it was so much fun to write

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

When we are little, our mothers always tell us to never stare at the sun. That the brightness is too much for our delicate irises. It's hard to imagine that something so essential to our lives can be just as harmful. We count on the sun to rise, as much as we count on it to set. It's a constant in our lives, the kind of thing that feels comforting because you know that no matter what, it will never leave.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

I startle as the bell pulls me from my thoughts, the ramblings of my calculus teacher going in one ear and out the other. Truly, I try to pay attention in class. But it's hard when he's sitting right there, not knowing. Not knowing that I would do anything to have the privilege of loving him.

I've always wondered what it must be like to grow up that beautiful. With the kind of hair that falls into place like dominoes and the kind of eyes that captivate a room. I've never been anything special. Not like Cole Walter. He's enigmatic, pulling everyone in and willing us to look in his direction.

Standing from my desk, I take my books into my arms and beeline for the lockers. I've got work after school, and we just got a new shipment in, meaning I get to spend my time reading the backs of the covers and creating a mental tbr. I force myself to forget Cole, hating how much of my thoughts he seems to consume when he barely knows my name.

Sure, we've been in class together since grade-school, but he's always hung around Dylan and Erin. Never me, not that I've even tried to be his friend. I'm not good at that kind of stuff. I much prefer to keep to myself, silently admiring him, because it's comfortable. He'll never know how much he consumes me, but that's okay. He doesn't need to. My crush on Cole Walter is as steady as the sun that rises each day. The sun never thinks about me, it just simply exists, and the rest of us revolve around it.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

The next week, my calculus teacher asks me to stay after class. To be completely honest, I was confused, since I was doing well in his class. I had even aced the last test.

"Gracie, I wanted to ask you a favor. I have a student who is really struggling in this class and I think that he would greatly benefit from your insights. Of course, you would get volunteer hours, but I was wondering if you could offer your time to tutor him?"

My brows furrow, Mr. Henry leaning against his desk, his arms crossed in front of him. I've tutored kids before, but it was always through the tutoring center at school. A teacher has never explicitly asked me to tutor one kid in one subject.

I don't really have the time, working at the bookstore, being on the volleyball team, and balancing my other courses. But I would hate to let Mr. Henry down, since he's one of my favorite teachers. And the people-pleaser in me can rarely find myself saying no. Which is why I nod, holding tightly onto the straps of my backpack.

"Yeah, of course. I'm free seventh period, so if you could just send him to the tutoring center then, that would be great."

Mr. Henry looks relieved, sending me a smile of approval.

"Perfect, thank you so much Gracie."

"Mhm." I nod as I begin to leave the classroom, "See ya, Mr. Henry."

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

I feel like a little kid again, like at any moment I'm going to be scolded for looking at the sun for too long. But it's kind of hard not to stare when none other than Cole Walter walked into the tutoring center.

He's holding a green slip of paper, his blond hair gracefully falling into place. A simple grey t-shirt clings to his torso, his tanned arms seeming to shine as if he wasn't even from this world. A smirk adorns his lips, as his eyes connect with mine. I swear I feel my heart stutter in my chest.

"Gracie?" He lifts the paper in my direction.

I don't know if I can do this. I don't want him to be real. I'm perfectly fine with him being a figment of my imagination, a projection of my personal life. He didn't know me. He didn't need to. We would graduate and my silly crush on Cole Walter would disappear as if it were a hummingbird in the spring. There one minute, gone the next. And I was okay with that. He was never supposed to be permanent. But I'm afraid that if I get to know him, one of two things will happen.

He is nothing like my brain has projected onto him, and this daydream of mine is inevitably ruined.

This crush of mine becomes something so permanent that I fear I will never be able to scrub it from my brain.

Either one sounds like hell.

I realize that I haven't responded yet, and Cole is giving me an odd look that I can't quite decipher.

"Oh yeah, hi." I scramble to say, standing up from the table and holding my hand out like an idiot.

Cole's eyes glance down at my hand before bouncing back up to my face. Reluctantly his palm slides against mine and he gives it a good shake before pulling away with a laugh.

"So formal."

He pulls the chair out next to mine, throwing his body into it and leaning over to reach into his backpack.

"Sorry." My cheeks heat with embarrassment as I sit back down.

His scent immediately intoxicates me, and I can't tell if it's cologne or just him. The woodsy notes fill my senses and I can't help but wonder if he knows how enamored everyone is by Cole Walter.

"So, Mr. Henry seems to think that I need some help with calculus. Can you help me, Gracie?"

I give him a soft smile, not daring to look him in the eyes. They're the most inviting waters, though I would hate to feel like a sinking ship.

"I suppose I could, Cole."

He pulls his last test out of his folder, sliding it in my direction for me to look it over.

"Do you tutor a lot?"

I hate the way that his voice fills me, making my whole body flush just from his proximity.

"Um, not as much anymore. I'm kind of busy recently."

My eyes scan over the pages of his test as I nervously tap my fingers against the fabric of my jeans. In all honesty, Cole has a pretty good grasp of the concepts, he just struggles with using them.

Cole's silent for a moment before speaking again.

"Hm. Busy with what?"

I ignore his question, finally pulling my eyes up to look at him.

"I think this is fixable. You're not bad at calculus, Cole. We just need to work on applying the stuff you already know."

I don't want Cole to know things about me because I don't want him to become real. The more distance I keep, the more comfortable I am. There nothing I would hate more than for him to realize that I'm just as obsessed with him as every other girl. It's pathetic, really, the way that he just pulls me in without even knowing.

But I don't want a gold rush. I want something real, tangible. Cole Walter is nothing more than the kind of hope that humans hold on to. It's too good to be true, and I would much rather be looking at it from a distance than get to close and realize that it's all been a lie that I've been telling myself.

Cole seems a little caught off guard with my deflection, his eyes flicking between mine as if deciding whether to call me out for it. He doesn't, going along with me instead.

"Sure. Teach me the art of integrals, Gracie."

I work with Cole on correcting his test for the next hour, determined to focus on something that makes sense to me. Calculus. When the hour hand of the clock reaches three, I write down a list of practice problems for Cole to work on at home.

"Alright, these are for you to work on, and we'll go over them at our next session, okay?"

I start to put my textbook into my bag, standing to leave.

"Okay," Cole draws out, still sitting at the table.

He looks like heaven sitting there, the evening light hitting his skin in an angelic way. It seems as if even the sun herself can't resist Cole Walter.

"Okay." I breath out, giving him a curt nod before leaving the room.

I feel as if I can finally breath again as I step into the parking lot, allowing the fresh air to fill my lungs and clear my head. Heading toward my green Jeep, I halt when I hear someone call my name. I turn around, hand pausing on the handle of the driver's door.

Cole is walking in my direction and I think for a moment that I forgot something at the table. When he reaches me, he leans his arm against the hood of my car, taking a moment to admire my biggest pride.

"Nice car." He gives me a smile that allows dimples to form at his cheeks, and there's something so human about it that it makes me dizzy.

"Thanks."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, and I turn my head to scan around the parking lot, confused.

"Did you need something?"

I probably sound like a bitch, but I have work at 3:30 and I don't want Mary to be upset with me.

"Oh, uh yeah. I can't do seventh period for our next tutoring session. Taking my sister to her football practice."

"Oh. Well I have volleyball in the morning and work after school- I can't really do any other time."

"You could come to my house after work?"

The question catches me so off guard that I swear I almost start to violently cough.

"I couldn't- I get off pretty late and I don't want to make you wait for me. We could just wait until next week."

Cole seems amused at my rambling, tilting his head while my eyes fight to look anywhere else but him.

"Nah, it's cool if you're okay with it. I really want to do good in calc. Here, give me your phone."

He holds his hand out and I don't even hesitate before putting the cream phone case into his palm. Cole adds his number to my phone, texting himself to set it up.

"Okay, just text me when you get off and I'll send you my address. See you tomorrow, tutor girl."

I feel like my body is frozen in place as he backs away, waving at me before getting into his truck.

Cole Walter just put his number in my phone. My. Phone. What the fuck.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

I think that my favorite thing about the sun is that it holds our entire solar system together. Its gravity is so magnetic that it keeps all of the planets orbiting around it in a constant rhythm.

It provides all possibility of life for us, while not harboring any of its own.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

The next day, I feel like my shift at the bookstore lasts a million years. Time moves slowly, inching by as I dread going to Cole's house. Like I said, I don't like that he's becoming real. And even worse, I hate that I almost like him more now that I've been around him. This is absolutely dreadful.

I hold my chin in my hand as I watch the minutes tick by, my body shielded by the register. Today's been pretty slow, though I did see a new paperback release from Emily Henry that has me wanting to buy it immediately. When it reaches 7:30, Mary wanders to the front, letting me off. My stomach drops with butterflies when the reality of seeing Cole Walter's life outside of school settles in. It feels wrong, in a way.

Reluctantly, I type out a message to Cole, praying that he remembered the fact that we were supposed to meet after I got off work.

Gracie: hey, it's gracie! i just got off work if we're still good for tutoring

Cole wastes no time sending me his address, about ten minutes away.

Cole: See ya soon, tutor girl ;)

I ignore the way that heat flushes my cheeks from his text and drive to his house, admiring the way that the sunset paints the sky with the final light of the day.

When I pull up to the ranch house, the pale yellow home seems to tell a story. The final streaks of light disappear beyond the tops of the aspen trees, and the moon peeks over the horizon. I text Cole to let him know that I'm here before grabbing my backpack and closing the door of my Jeep.

Cole meets me at the front door, swinging it open as I walk up the porch steps, the dark wood creaking beneath me. He flashes me a smile and I notice his eyes scan me up and down before settling on my face. I'm wearing a pair of baggy low rise jeans with a simple black tank top, a white pair of sneakers on my feet. My hair is in waves, the dark hair cascading to the middle of my back.

My lips lift softly in his direction, as he leans against the doorframe. He adorns a worn broncos shirt and a pair of grey sweats, looking so effortlessly beautiful. My hands clutch onto the straps of my bag as I stand in front of him, needing something to release the pent up nerves.

"Hey." I rock uncomfortably on my heels.

"Hey," he nods his head toward the house, "here, come on in."

I follow him inside, kicking off my shoes at the entrance before glancing around in the house. Warm wood encases the surfaces, the walls covered in photos and artwork. My home is nothing like this, almost sterile in comparison.

I hate how much more real it makes him feel.

Cole heads up the stair case and I follow, my eyes scanning each image, trying to understand how a family could have this many photos. He waits at the top, watching as I pause on a couple of the pictures, admiring the large smiles that grace the Walter boys as they grow.

"There's so many." I breath out at the top of the staircase, Cole twisting the handle of his door.

"Yeah, we get that a lot." Cole laughs.

"No I mean, there's so many pictures. I think my mom maybe has five pictures of me as a baby."

Cole gives me an odd look, and I realize that I just told him something real about me. It's something that I didn't realize was that weird until I started visiting my friend's houses growing up. That the parents saw their kids as their biggest accomplishments, rather than a burden to take care of until I move out. Though, I've never known anything different, so I don't think it really bothers me.

"Anyway," I work to change the subject, resting my backpack against the corner of his bed frame, "did you finish those problems?"

He doesn't say anything for a second, before internally shaking himself out of it and clearing his throat.

"Yeah, all except one. I didn't know where to start."

I nod, placing my textbook on the floor next to his bed and sliding myself to a sitting position, knees pulled to my chest.

"How was work?" Cole asks, handing me his problem sheet before laying on top of the bed, head close to mine.

"Slow. But we got in a new book I really want to read so that's fun."

Cole's head is next to mine as we both scan his paper, and I give him corrections as well as a starting point for the problem he was confused on. His proximity has my chest tightening, my whole body feeling like it's in fight or flight mode. I can feel his breath warm against me, his heat radiating like a phone you've been using too long.

I play with my fingernails as Cole works on the problem. It's so weird being in his room, seeing the posters he hung up as memories of his childhood. His fascinations and all the little things that make Cole Walter, Cole Walter.

"Done." I startle at his voice and the feeling of his arm as it brushes against my shoulder to hand me the paper.

My eyes catch on a bookshelf, filled with worn paperbacks.

"You like to read?"

I turn my head to catch Cole's eyes, and he's a lot closer than I expected, our faces merely inches apart.

"Yeah. Mostly just the shit that my dad buys for me at garage sales, though. Bet that's pretty funny since I'm kind of shit at school, huh, tutor girl."

I roll my eyes playfully, a smile involuntarily taking over my face.

"Okay, first of all, you're not shit as school, Cole. And second of all, stop calling me that."

"Or what?" His voice drops, shivers covering my spine.

I gulp, my mind racing to convince myself that this isn't real. It's another daydream that will disappear as soon as I wake myself up. Cole's too close, and he's looking at me in a way that I can't understand.

Gold rush, I remind myself. He's not real.

"How have we never talked before, Gracie?" His eyes don't leave mine.

The Sun, being a dynamic star, is constantly changing. At least, that's what NASA says. And I believe them for the most part. For so long, Cole has been this comfortable force in my life, something just out of reach, but always there. As much as I never want that to change, I can't help but think that this is worth the risk. Because just as the Sun, we are also constantly changing.

Cole is propped up by his elbow, his chest in my direction. His scent, as always, is intoxicating and now I'm certain that it's just him.

"I don't know. I guess I've always been too nervous." I confess.

"That's such bullshit. You're like a billion times more interesting than me."

"Cole. You have no idea the effect you have on people." I breath out, blinking slowly as he scans over my face.

Cole's head dips slightly, and he's suddenly close enough that if I were to lean slightly, we would be kissing. His hand reaches to my cheek, my breath catching at the soft touch.

"Gracie." He whispers.

All I can do is nod, answering the question he seemed to be asking.

He brushes his lips against mine, softly, before leaning in fully. And it doesn't feel quite real, that Cole Walter is kissing me. Eighteen years of life, eight of them spent consumed by him when I was so sure he didn't even know I existed. I'd dated, but Cole was always there, a place in my mind just for him.

My eyes flutter shut as I lean into his touch, our lips molded together in a dance. He increases the pressure, tilting my head back with his thumb against my jaw. Cole's tongue teases my lips, and they part to allow him access as he moans softly against my mouth.

I'd never felt like this before, not even with my ex-boyfriend who I had dated for two years. This felt electric, something so overwhelming that my whole body was on fire.

I pull away slightly, needing to remember that it's not real. When Cole goes to kiss me again, I tilt my head toward the floor.

"I- um. I should get going. I'll send you the practice test for the exam next week, okay?"

I stand up and swing my backpack over my shoulder, stepping toward his door and swinging it open.

Part of me feels bad, but I don't want to be another girl on Cole's roster. It's just another crack breaking through the delusion that I've been convincing myself of for years.

Cole's eyes are soft on mine when I raise my head to look at him again.

"Are you serious right now?"

"Yeah, I'll see you around, Cole."

I walk out, trying to keep my head held up until I climb inside my car. My forehead rests against the steering wheel as inevitable tears escape me.

It's best to let him go. I would hate to fall for him, only to be crushed when I reach reality. Because falling is magical until that final bone crush, when everything hits at once.

#cole walter #my life with the walter boys #fanfic #fanfiction #cole walter oneshot #mlwtwb #mlwtwb imagines #cole x reader

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doverstar · 1 year

Note

Even 1991's Hook showed that Jack and Peter fell for the allure of Neverland while Maggie never forgot and just wanted to go home. Implying, the way 2003's Peter Pan outright said, girls are much too clever. Disney is stomping all over this story.

Listen to me, Hook is a genius Peter Pan adaptation/reimagining. In so many ways. I know as a film, it apparently had its disappointments, but just speaking as a Peter Pan fan (of the book and the play), whatever Jim Hart/Nick Castle were doing when they were making story decisions for that movie, it worked. I could gush.

I'm going to gush. This is going to be long. If you like Peter Pan, keep reading.

Disney is stomping all over the story with their new movie in so many ways. And Peter Pan 2003 is an almost one-to-one, 108% accurate adaptation of the original book/play, so I'm gonna talk about that in regards to Hook- First of all, yes, the whole Maggie thing is SO smart and SO accurate to how Barrie chose to portray women in general in the original story. All the major female characters have their silly, petty, foolish moments like real women of all ages do, yes, but when Barrie portrays what's naturally good about good women, he knocks it out of the park. Wendy is selfless and compassionate, Tink dies for someone she loves, Mrs. Darling is a graceful nurturer and her husband's rock. Like, when Barrie uses Peter to say "girls are too clever to fall out of their prams", that's not just Peter being manipulative, that's the kind of thing Barrie really thought about females. It's in all of his plays and all of his books. He doesn't ignore women's general faults, but he does love to showcase why it's not good for man to be alone. In the original story, when you're in the Neverland, the longer you stay there, the less you remember of your life on the mainland. John and Michael just totally forget they ever had real parents and start acting like Wendy, who is playing pretend, is their only mother figure. Wendy is realizing she's forgetting real life too, and makes it a nightly thing to tell all the boys the same story - of how they got to Neverland and how they're eventually gonna go back, and why, and how their real mother specifically will always be waiting for them and she has no doubt about that because that's real love. And that's what Hook is about, second of all. Peter forgets who he used to be as a child, and it's actually normal for Peter to forget important things - finite memory in an infinite existence - but this is him forgetting who he is. And that's a big deal because he forgets not only what it was like to be young and what he personally was missing (parents, a family, the gaping hole in his magical life that created a lack of consistent real love), but he forgets what made him as a character the hero of the story. As sword-fighting leader of the Lost Boys, Peter Pan was confident, honorable, and unafraid.

This is who Peter Pan is. He's selfish and arrogant and kind of a butt sometimes (like little boys often are) but the thing that makes him special isn't that he can fly or never age (though those things are cool). The other Lost Boys can fly and don't age, either, in the original story. Peter is a born leader. Peter protects the Lost Boys. Peter doesn't kill a pirate while he's sleeping; he waits for the guy to wake up. Peter won't strike Hook while he's unarmed and tries to help him up onto solid ground in the middle of a fight before continuing the duel because that's the right thing. Peter won't keep a girl in Neverland against her will. Peter lets the kite take Wendy to safety and sits wounded on a rock alone, waiting to die without being scared. Peter Pan is a hero. Peter Banning forgot all of that. Peter Banning doesn't remember what it's like to be young, or to want parents, or to crave real love. He doesn't remember that to die will be an awfully big adventure. He's terrified of death. He's terrified of heights. He's scared of everything. He doesn't protect his kids or care about their interests or watch when they're putting on a play or attend a single baseball game or spend any time with them at all. The one thing Peter Pan had to be forever barred from, Peter Banning got to have - a family - and he forgets what it feels like not to have that and neglects them. So Jack gets to Neverland and is scared (and manipulated by pirates, the thing his great-grandmother before him went through and never fell for), and he's spent his young life craving the attention and affection of his workaholic Peter Banning dad and never gets it, literally watches Peter give up on saving him and Maggie because he's too scared (Peter Pan never gave up) and that hurts, so of course he starts forgetting who he is and where he came from because that's easier and he's his father's son. But Maggie!! is Wendy's great-granddaughter!!! and like the other women in the Peter Pan canon, she doesn't forget for one second who she is or where they came from or what's important, and she knows the pirates are bad and Peter is good, and she knows her family loves her, and she knows her dad loves her, and even though she watched Peter give up too, she begs Jack not to forget and tries actively to remind him of the truth. She rejects the pirate life. She never loses faith. She's just a little kid but she's polite and she's a good girl and she won't do what mommy said not to even in Neverland. Wendy wrote "dirty pig" on the greasy windows of the Jolly Roger because she wasn't scared of pirates and she was disgusted that grown men never took care of business on that ship and it was filthy. Maggie is cut of the same cloth, just much younger on her first trip to Neverland.

LisTEN. There are no girls in the Lost Boys because GIRLS in the Peter Pan canon have something that little boys don't right away, because girls are different from boys. Girls are naturally more in touch with emotions. Girls are often (not always) more mature. They understand things little boys sometimes (not always) don't understand. Girls are sometimes (not always) smarter than boys in certain areas. Girls are much too clever to fall out of their prams, and girls don't forget what's important and that they must grow up someday, and girls - mothers - will always keep the window open for their children. There are no girls in the Lost Boys! DEAL WITH IT. It's OKAY.

Hook is amazing. It takes little details in the margins and paragraphs of Barrie's story and incorporates them in this one zany film. It takes some of the clearest messages and themes in the book and yells it through a megaphone. "Don't forget the great things about being a child! Don't forget what true love is! Don't forget why it's necessary to grow up! Don't forget what's bad about staying a kid forever! Grow up, but keep the childlike faith and the childlike confidence and remember what kids need, and give those things to your own children!"

Hook says this stuff with Tootles. It says it with Rufio. It says it with Jack and with Maggie in two different outcomes. It says it most of all with Peter.

I LOVE HOOK. I watch it all the time, especially on rainy days. I will die on this hill. Go watch it. It's on HBO Max and you can watch it free right here with no ads you're welcome, and I myself own two copies of it on DVD just in case.

Thank you for listening and drop me a line with your own thoughts if you have any; I don't want to be rambling in a vacuum XD

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siconetribal · 2 months

Text

Put It On My Tab: Chapter 9

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Tag: @vbecker10 @wordsfromshona @harlequin-hangout @harpy-space @tild3ath @gone-batty-fics @princessbl0ss0m @dakotali

Warning: Threats, Harassment, Discussion of possible links to/interest in criminal activity, and Y/N being a trouble magnet

Summary:

Everyone deserves time off, and the vigilantes of Gotham are no exception to the rule. The boys decide to take a weekend to let loose. Who knew a few drinks would lead to a stranger in bed?

Author Note:

A huge thank you and shout out to @harlequin-hangout for the amazing banners you made for me.

If you’re new to the story, here is a link to the other parts:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

The store was spotless. The last customer had left about half an hour ago. There was nothing else to do, so Y/N took it upon herself to make sure it was pristine and ready for the next night traveler that would grace the establishment. Did she honestly expect anyone to come in? No, but this just meant she had one last thing to do before the shift was through.

“And now, I wait.” She mumbled as hopped up onto the stool behind the counter. It was going to be a boring and hellish shift with so little to do, but that just meant she was getting paid to do nothing. And that is far better than having to deal with some cranky customer. Grabbing her book from under the counter, she dove into the realm that awaited. A place where good, evil, and morally grey collided into a kaleidoscope of brilliant colors of adventure, intrigue, and romance. Within these pages, she was not some minimum wager struggling to make ends meet in some crime-ridden city. Within these bound sheets, she was free…until the chime of the front door pulled her back to reality. Of course, someone comes in just when I thought I’d be doing nothing.

“Well, well, well, look who we have here.” The familiar accented voice made Y/N’s jaw tighten as she slipped her bookmark back into the book and looked up to see none other than Citlalli’s troublesome cousin, Matías, and his posse of trouble. The one who always had some kind of job that would promise big reward, and would definitely get you killed if you were lucky. She could still recall the look on the Penguin's face when he realized he was being had. A look she never wanted to see once in her lifetime, let alone again.

I’d rather deal with those secret menu drinks and hear the brainless chatter of the overprivileged youth than deal with him. A lobotomy sounds delightful, even. “Welcome, what can I get started for you today?” She plastered on her award-winning customer service smile as she stood from the stool and stepped up to the register.

“C’mon Lindura, don't be like that.” He softly clicked his tongue and reached across the counter to grab her hand. Y/N was quick to pull her arm back to her side.

“I will have to ask you to refrain from reaching across the counter, sir. If you need time for your order, you may do so, but I request you step aside. Anyone who is ready in the group, I am happy to help.”

“Damn, Matty, she’s not playing with you today.” The group snickered.

“Fuck off, that’s just how mi pequeña petardo is.” Matías eyed Y/N and smirked. It made her skin crawl, and she wanted to burn every inch that had the poor luck of being seen by such a leering gaze. “Isn’t that right, Nena? You like playing hard to get, don't worry, I’m not giving up that easy.”

No, please do. Give up, better yet, please walk into a wall however many times it takes for you to completely forget about my existence as a whole. She bit back the retort, reminding herself that she was at work and being recorded. She needed this job to pay off the 4k. “Sir, I'm not "playing ard to get", you're simply impossible to want. I am but a simple café employee working her shift, nothing more. So, what would you like?”

“For you to finally say yes and be mine.” She had to admit it was a smooth answer, but coming from him it was more greasy, like deep fried onion rings fresh out of the fier and still swimming in the oil. Her temple began to throb as the group cheered and encouraged Matías to go on. Emboldened, he leaned over the counter some more and attempted to grab her again. She smacked his hand away and glared.

“Strike two, Matías, keep this up, and I’ll call the cops.” She kept her voice flat as she glared at him. “Now, do you want to order anything or not? If not, get out and leave me alone. I’m not interested in you, your idiotic lackeys, or whatever pitch you're trying to sell.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are talking to us like that, bitch?” The one to Matías’ right snapped, grabbing and tugging her closer by the front of her apron. “Do you know who you’re messing with?” It was obvious from the clothes that he wore and the way he held himself, this guy was a hot headed rich kid trying to be cool.

“Someone with severe halitosis?” She rolled her eyes, trying to tug his hand off of her apron. “Let me go, or you'll regret it.”

“Regret it?” The rich kid scoffed. “How? Gonna call the cops? Then what? Even if we give ya the chance to call them, it’s gonna take time for them to get here. That gives us plenty of time for some fun. Plus my dad knows the commissioner, they can’t do shit” His slimy smug smirk was the last straw. Her free hand gripped the counter edge as she tried to create distance by pulling back as she tugged at his wrist in the opposite direction.

“I’m how.” Everyone turned at the newcomer’s voice, surprised to see that someone else was there at all, since the door had not chimed at someone else coming in.

No way, Wonder Boy?! Y/N’s jaw dropped at the turn of luck of having someone as witness to the harassment.

“And who the fuck are you supposed to be? Piss off and mind your own business.” The tallest of the group stepped forward.

“Guys, settle down.” Matías glared at Jason. There was something unnerving about him, and he knew fighting him as they are now would be a loss on their end. “Joey, let her go.”

“But Matty,” the rich kid turned to their leader to insist, but one look from Matías was all it took for him to back down. “You’re lucky, bitch.” He sneered, shoving her backwards hard enough to send her falling back into the counter behind her. The sharp pain up her spine was hard to ignore, but she refused to give them the satisfaction.

“You’ve misunderstood the situation, my friend! Lindura and I, we go way back. She’s my cousin’s best friend, after all.” He gave Jason a broad smile as he hooked an arm around Joey. “Joey here likes to play rough, we were all just joking around. We were actually in to see our good friend Ryan. He was supposed to be in tonight, which is why we stopped by in the first place. Seeing Lindura was just a big surprise.”

So he was expecting Ryan? Or is he just bluffing and just said the first generic white name he could think of? Y/N eyed Citlalli’s cousin with great suspicion. Her gut was telling her that it was most likely the former, and there was a lot that was not being said. Knowing what she did about him, what was unsaid was usually dangerous, and her expensive knight in shining armor did not need to get involved in all that. Is he trying to get other staff mixed up in his schemes? Don’t tell me he’s trying to pull a fast one on the Penguin again. Or is this him trying to gain turf and get noticed by some other criminal mastermind? Didn’t he idolize the Riddler or Scarecrow? Yeah, I need to be associated with that just as much I need a hundred bullets turning me into human Swiss cheese!

“Lindura?” She snapped out of her thoughts at the call of the annoying pet name she was given by Matías.

“For the hundredth time, quit calling me that.” She snapped. Shit, what did he say? “Also, don't get me or him involved in whatever this is. You’re on private property and our company wants nothing to do with any of it, understand? If you’re not ordering, leave. He wants to order, and you’re holding him up.” She motioned to Jason, purposely avoiding any confirmation of someone named Ryan being employed here. The less she said, the more distance she could keep from whatever was going on. I’ll just let Mr. B know later. I better let Cici know, too, I don’t want her or the rest of her family getting dragged into his nonsense. Matías glared at her response, looking between her and Jason in silence. He was clearly angry with her and her answer, but said nothing more. He turned towards the door, which was behind Jason, and shoved past him. His little group of lackeys followed suit, glaring and sneering at Jason, who barely even flinched at their attempts of intimidation. He turned and watched the group climb into their car and drive off before turning back to face Y/N.

“So, he’s really a friend of yours or,” he trailed off.

“More like a pain in my side. Like he said, he’s my best friend’s annoying cousin.” She sighed, rubbing the sore spot on her back. “Thanks, for stepping in like that. He’s…not the best person to be around and hangs around unsavory people, as you saw. I want as little to do with him as possible, but he just can’t seem to take a hint.”

“Is that what you call hinting? I’d hate to see what you being blunt is,” he chuckled as he walked up to the counter. Does she remember who I am? “So, this would be the second time I save you?”

Ah, so he does know it’s me! “Are you asking? Because I might need to start charging you, again.” He raised his hands up in mock surrender.

Yup, definitely does. “Purely rhetorical, but if you must, you can put it on my tab.” He chuckled. Y/N rolled her eyes at his confidence, she had to. Otherwise, she would have found it cute, and she needed to not find him anymore attractive than she already did. “So, are you closing up shop or can I order?”

“Sadly, I’m stuck here until the next shift comes in at 8. For some reason, we need to be a 24-hour location. So, what’ll it be, Wonder Boy? Order whatever you like, it’ll be on the house. The Least I can do for you since you saved me from that mess.” She straightened her apron and stood in front of the register once more.

“Something tells me your boss won’t like that, and you'll end up paying for it. How about I buy us both something, and you come join me at a table?” Jason offered, looking around at the vacant shop, to point out that she really had nothing to lose if she did. It was a very tempting offer, though she was equally happy with just sitting back here and reading her book, but when would be the next time she would meet him? To get a chance to actually talk to him and sort out this hotel mess?

“Well, if you insist,” she forced a heavy sigh of reluctance. “What’ll you have? The bakery items are either made in house or bought fresh from local shops, by the way. I’d suggest one of the sandwiches if you're looking for something more filling or aren't too big on sweets.” He hummed audibly as he stepped to the right, peering into the display case before glancing up at the menu that was hung up behind her before making his selection and insisting she or more than a drink. As promised, he paid for the entire order, and she quickly got to work making everything.

The second son of Bruce Wayne silently watched as she moved around behind the counter, sometimes disappearing behind the door to what he could only assume was the kitchen. After weeks of searching, he finally had her. He finally found the young woman he landed into a sizable amount of financial hardship, and she was not against spending time with him. Now I just need to figure out a way to bring up the topic. If those assholes didn’t make such a scene, I could've easily brought it up now and insisted on paying. But now she’s going to feel indebted to me for saving her again, and might fight me on it. There's got to be a way to make this work. He frowned, crossing his arms as he watched the back of her head move left and right as she began to make whatever drink she had put in for herself. He knew it could not be his order, he kept it simple with coffee, medium with creamer and sugar. The fact that I broke a coffee machine, and she works at a café, she must really think I’m some sort of imbecile. He ruffled his hair to release some pent-up frustration.

“Here’s your coffee and sandwich. Here’s my drink and pastry,” he heard her mumble to herself as she reviewed the ticket once more before stepping out from behind the counter. “We should be good. If you need anything, just let me know and I’ll grab it for you. Anywhere in particular you want to sit?” He glanced around the room before settling on a window side table that was a half booth on the window with chairs on the opposite.

That looks like it’s the closes to the counter, so she doesn’t have to go running if someone else comes in, and the lot is visible from there too. If those assholes decide to come back, I can handle it. “Over there is fine.” He pointed towards the table, placing everything on his tray and carrying it over. Y/N watched with raised eyebrows at the gentlemanly treatment. She was not one to judge by looks, but he certainly did not look like the type to be so courteous. “Are you coming?” She blinked away her look of surprise as she walked towards him.

“Color me impressed. Is saving damsels your forte?” She grabbed the chair to take a seat when Jason motioned for her to sit in the booth.

“I’ll let you know if you got anyone coming in.” He took the chair from her and sat down. “As for me saving damsels, I guess it depends. Do you make it a business to always be in distress?” He smirked, stirring his coffee a bit before taking a sip.

“I don’t make it my business, if you must know. Trouble likes to court me whenever it gets the chance.” She scowled, plopping onto the cushioned seating. “And it seems like you are around quite often when it’s doing its damnedest. Should I be wary of you?”

Oh, you have no idea. “Is that any way to treat your savior, twice over?” He exaggerated his frown as he leaned back into his seat.

“That depends, are you causing the trouble so you can do the saving, or am I just that lucky to have you around to save me?”

“You’re not ‘just lucky’ if it’s me doing the saving. You could say I’m a bit of a professional,” he thumbed his nose, earning a loud “ha” from Y/N.

“Fancy yourself as some sort of warrior of justice? A lesser known caped crusader?”

“No capes, definitely no capes.” He sternly answered. Y/N stared at him, surprised by the tone of his voice, but ended up laughing it off, just like the last statement. He was clearly playing along with her line of inquiry. Jason, on the other hand, was being honest and was a little annoyed by her lack of believing him. It did not help that he found her laughter melodious and the joy of it so infectious that it placated the momentary irritation of her waving his words off as something humorous.

“Ok, a capeless crusader, got it.” She picked up her drink and took a sip. “Well, thank you, in all seriousness. You really saved me on both counts. I’m pretty sure that drink you took on my behalf was drugged, which would explain why you were so out of it afterwards. And even now, even though he knows me, Matías wasn’t going to stop that Joey guy from causing a ruckus. The last thing I need is something that’ll cost me or Cici’s job.”

“Cici, that’s the girl who took my order last time, right?” He thought back to his first visit here. He recalled reading the name tag of the employee he requested to keep his association with Bruce Wayne hidden.“The one and only,” she nodded her head. “Which, speaking of, I wasn’t, she didn’t-” she let out a heavy sigh and raised a finger signaling that she needed a moment to gather her thoughts. Jason raised an eyebrow in question, but said nothing as he let her take her time while he ate his sandwich. How exactly do I explain this without sounding like I’m blaming him or demanding money?

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