#the recognition they have in the other it's fine sometimes I play just a little different

[yashley]

"I’m weak." "No. You’re just hurt."

#critical role #ygifs #laudmoore #ashton going from wanting to poke laudna for her repression to seeing her in a pit of pain and just. having only gentleness for her. #the way she tearfully says their name and they just watch her be that broken knowing how hard they tried to bring laudna back im chewing #the recognition they have in the other it's fine sometimes I play just a little different

[morlock-holmes]

On Autism and Masking

So, for I want to do an exercise for those who aren’t on the autism spectrum:

I want you to think about a subject in school that you didn’t understand very well, it could be math, it could be history, could be a foreign language, just any subject where you struggled and had a hard time grasping the basics, where it took a little more work than usual to actually figure things out.

Imagine that you are learning this subject in school, and the teacher, well, let’s say he isn’t a very nice person.

Let’s say that when he calls on you to give the answer, he relentlessly mocks you in front of the whole class when you get it wrong. In fact, he doesn’t just do this when you get an answer wrong, sometimes he’ll hold up your homework and mock your wrong answers in front of the whole class.

Not only that, but sometimes he’s physically abusive, sometimes when you get an answer wrong he’ll throw an eraser at your head or hit your knuckles with a ruler.

And, occasionally, just to mix things up, he’ll sometimes just correct your mistakes in a matter of fact way and move on.

You can’t really tell which mistakes cause him to fly into a physically violent rage and which ones merit gentle correction; if there’s a pattern there you can’t figure it out, it seems completely random.

Maybe, unfortunately, this isn’t too far from how some of you were actually taught.

How might you react to this? Perhaps by keeping your head down, sitting in the back of the class, and desperately hoping not to get noticed? Or maybe erratic and sudden acts of physical and verbal defiance? Keep in mind all the other school officials are quite certain that this teacher isn’t doing anything unexpected or unusual, and really, if you aren’t applying yourself to learning the material, you can’t really expect anything different.

How do you think you’d feel about this subject as an adult? Perhaps you might sort of put it out of your mind as much as possible, avoid that subject as an adult and sort of put on a mask of placid ignorance whenever the subject comes up in conversation?

This is how a tremendous number of us autistic people had to learn social interaction as children.

People on the autism spectrum are often at their most rigid and inflexible as children, which is also the time at which the rules of social engagement are simultaneously at their most fluid and most strictly enforced.

For one thing, children are much more prone to enforcing the social order through outright mockery and even physical violence. Sometimes when you talk about your interests it’s fine; I used to talk about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with the other boys and that was just fine. But then they started making fun of me because I also like My Little Pony. I had trouble understanding that, because, like, they’re both cartoons, right?

Exactly because you have a disability in social pattern recognition, it is very hard for you to distinguish between actions which are acceptable, actions which will result in overt mockery, actions which will result in days or months of overt mockery, and actions which will result in physical violence.

It begins to feel like every time you say something spontaneous, you’re rolling the dice, maybe saying this makes it okay to hit me, maybe it doesn’t, won’t know until the person is actually hitting me!

Even worse, when you’re a kid, socially acceptable behavior changes very quickly. One school year everybody is playing with dolls, the next only a dumb baby would ever play with dolls.

So you can’t even take refuge in doing what worked last year or last month; even doing exactly the same behavior that was okay last year might promote mockery or violence if you try it again this year.

In the face of this, it often becomes easier to withdraw from society; the way to keep safe is avoidance and the projection of a kind of placid anonymity.

To this day, despite being subjected to very little violence in the grand scheme of things, there is still a part of me that feels like admitting something openly about how I feel is putting me at risk of violence, and that the people around me will likely think of that violence as justified.

I have seen surprisingly little which focuses explicitly on this aspect of the autistic learning process; often we are not so much taught social interaction as we are, essentially, bullied into it.

I was looking up some definitions of “masking” on autism advocacy web sites and they tend to define it as various ways that autistic people attempt to mimic the actions of allistic people, but I don’t think that’s exactly the case. 

I think in particular that autistic people often develop a variety of strategies aimed at preventing people from noticing or reacting to them.

Again, this is because your formative years often teach you that it is extremely dangerous for people to react to something you have done; you simply don’t know whether or not they will react with mockery or violence; the only safe strategy becomes a kind of withdrawal, an attempt to minimize the amount to which others are reacting to your behavior at all. 

I don’t think that this is really the same process as allistic people use to conform to social expectations, indeed I think it is less an attempt to conform to an understood expectation and more an attempt to avoid doing anything that conceivably could be scrutinized or subject to expectation.

#autism #masking #mental health

[bonny-kookoo]

I have a request for Velvet Heart.

I'd like to know how or why things changed for Jungkook, what happened in the past that brought him so close to madness.

A/N: Obviously warning for Yandere content, psychological horror, mental illness. Don't read if that makes you uncomfortable, I'm not responsible for what you consume.

Jungkook has always been a little.. vulnerable, mentally. He's easily stressed, and stress makes him act irrationally sometimes- but no one ever thought it would become an issue, down the line.

He's just soft. It'll be fine when he grows older.

Wrong. It just got worse.

So much so that after yet another incident of someone finding out his phone number and mass calling him, he's brushed off as no issue at all. That he's old enough to deal with this on his own now- 'You're 21 now, that's an adult, Jungkook. And adults have to make their own decisions.'

Suddenly. Huh?

Suddenly he's supposed to be independent.

After years and years of being babied and belittled and having everything chewed up for him so he wouldn't have to use his teeth for anything. Suddenly he's supposed to hunt down his own food and provide for himself.

And it's when he realizes it, in the darkness of his small private apartment he got scolded for buying last year.

He's nothing but a product. No one actually cares for him- only for what he represents. A brand. A puppet. Something to buy. Nothing to love.

He's told to just ignore it, use another phone or request another number and just move on from it. But how can he move on if there's people out there who call him nothing but a dog for simply missing a comment on a livestream? He can't just play after everyone's tune, there's too much music at this point, beats bleeding into one another so much so that he can't find a spot to place his feet any longer.

He keeps tripping, and everyone blames him for it.

They've even taken his phone away from him entirely, years back. Now they're doing different things to control him. Tell him to concentrate, loose weight, gain it back, loose it again. Get surgery, don't get it, or rather get it but hide it. Promote this, just to get blamed if the brand does something stupid, stop promoting it just to get called a coward.

Die, but stay alive, but also die, but also keep going. What's going on?

Left?

Right?

Is there a middle to choose instead?

He's got no voice. He sings, loudly so, stable as ever- but his voice doesn't belong to himself. Is what's wanted, it's what fits the concept, just like the rest of him.

Interchangeable. Morphing, constantly.

One day he's the boyfriend, next he is the brother, then he's the boy next door, just to become the sexiest crush all the girls want. What is he?

Who is he?

He hasn't called back the company, has locked his doors and shut the blinds. He doesn't want to do this any longer, this is all just insanity, doesn't anyone see this? Is everyone just so obsessed with wealth that they don't care about being honest?

He's walking alongside Han River, hood deep over his head, facemask hiding what's exposed, clothes dark. He doesn't want to be known, by anyone, ever again. But even if he moved to the other end of the world, starting again as a no-name is a luxury he'll never be granted.

Someone's sitting on the ground, clothes wetly sticking to the skin. Long hair. A girl? He's not sure.

You're moving, barely so, shivering, body trembling in the cold temperature. He lends you his jacket, eyes wide open as they look at yours. You're like a scared little animal, nothing behind those eyes that's coherent, but most importantly-

there's no recognition.

Even when he pulls his mask down a little to test it- you don't seem to know who he is. You don't talk at all, even when asked for your name.

You just cry, scared, terrified, leaning closer to him when he tries to get up.

Is that affection? Or maybe what affection could feel like?

If so, this is affection without any thought behind it. Nothing to gain. Nothing to receive. You just want to be close to him. To him.

Not to him.

It's so wrong. God it's so wrong, it makes him nauseous, makes him panic a little when he realizes that he somehow managed to get you into his home, where you now sleep in his bed, freshly showered, arms wrapped in bandages, hair dried, dressed in his softest clothes, safely tucked beneath the covers.

He should call the cops. But then he'd be blamed, right? They'll think he's insane, a creep, a criminal- and when it get's out, he's a wanted man, even if he somehow doesn't get put into jail.

No. He can't do that.

He can't have that.

But he can have you.

And he wants to have you.

Someone who wants him.

And not the version of him staring back at him from the billboard across the street.

You're just what he needs.

And he'll become all that you'll need in return.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts yandere #yandere bts #yandere #yandere jungkook

[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 4: My throne for her heart

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

A little intimacy in the heart of their dominion starts conversations that have been waiting far too long.

Now professionally edited by @midnight-musings-of-nyx

Originally beta'd by @leomonae and @kringle-c

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Full photo on twitter.

Ban looked at her husband, at the way he tried to play his request off as something playful and not something he needed. She easily saw through it, however, to the ever-present fear in his eyes. The fear was usually muted but was now so close to the surface; doubt threatening to drag him down into its endless depths.

She felt it in his grip, tremulous and softer than was his wont, as if he was holding fine china instead of muscle and sinew - resisting the urge to hold on tightly. She saw it in his chest, rising and falling a little too fast and in his eyes, the gaze rather distant.

He looked like a man drowning, yet she saw his concern was only for her comfort.

Ban shifted a leg to straddle him fully - Astarion’s eyes widened a fraction, even as his smile widened and his arms pulled her closer. She settled right above his cock, grinding against him once; the answering gasp was enough to tell her she’d read him right.

Her dearest Astarion, king of her heart, light of her life, although she still couldn’t bring herself to tell him that. Gone were the days when she would fiercely revel in hurting him, those early months after the rite where they’d traded venomous barbs just as they’d traded favors. Even still, she sometimes found a small sense of satisfaction in doing it.

Like today.

The Vampire Ascendant wouldn’t - I know you’re still in there, prick!

A little harsh, she thought to herself. Maybe a lot harsh. The roiling anger had yet to fully abate, but she’d cooled down enough to acknowledge at least that much. She scanned his features, seeing nothing but heartache and fear and that ever-present doubt all wrapped up in a slightly drunken and playful exterior.

The light of her life. He deserves to know. But she just couldn’t, not yet. Someday. But not now. Later. Perhaps she could comfort him with a lesser truth, instead.

“I’m not … good.” It slipped from her lips, a small confession of her own. “I never have been.”

She recalled his own words, a distant memory, nearly forgotten: I'm not... good. Never was. But I do try, at least when it comes to you.

Seven thousand dead, after all; condemned without a second thought, for him. Had they not had the complication of his changed behavior… she doubted she’d ever have regretted it at all. The judgment from their former friends and allies, her own dreams of a quiet life pushed to the wayside. All for him. All for love.

A small snort escaped Astarion, a smile crinkling his eyes as he nodded in recognition of his own echoed words. His hands slipped upwards, searching for the lacing on the back of her dress. “I am aware,” he murmured, head tilting up to meet her in a light kiss. Ban could feel him smiling into it, seemingly amused despite his nervousness. “That has never been an issue.”

“Not even when I -”

“- hurt me?” Another kiss, this time on her cheek; he drew his legs closer together, allowing her to straddle him more comfortably. “Were we to lay out just how often we’ve torn each other’s hearts out, darling, I’m sure you’d find there would be nothing left to save.”

Uttered in a careless purr, certainly, but this was what he feared most.

His deft, quick, fingers undid the laces of her dress, fingertips ghosting over the skin of her back. She shivered at the contact, his warmer body temperature sometimes still disconcerting. She noticed it less and less as time passed, however the stress of the day had brought older, gentler, memories to the forefront.

All the memories of before, of those nights spent within the tent or under the stars - he’d been cold in all of them. Cold like stone, eyes warm like embers, heart slow and yet so full of untainted love.

Her hands pushed his jacket and shirt off his shoulders; a move she remembered doing all too often back in those days, and gods, she shouldn’t be thinking about the past right now…

Both armor and undershirt fell from his shoulders in one motion, the touch of cool skin pleasant against her calloused palms. Underneath her he sighed, rolling his eyes as she lightly touched the gash on his chest. “This isn’t healing well,” she said, tracing the wound with a finger.

“It’ll be fine in a day or two,” Astarion answered, looking at her with an amused expression. She was straddling him; it would be one of many precious nights where they would explore each other’s bodies without pushing him too much. As soon as the clothes were off, he had a hand between her legs, fingers brushing over her clit with a teasing lightness. “For now, I suggest you focus on… something else.”

She laughed, a joyous, uncomplicated thing with him. “Can’t really focus elsewhere when it’s staring me in the face, Astarion. It looks bad. You should be more worried.”

He fixed his eyes on her then, offered a warm smile in return. “I can worry later. Right now I can only see you.”

“Ban?”

She blinked as she heard that same voice, his voice, and locked eyes with him. Astarion had finished shrugging his jacket off, he was watching her with a guarded gaze.

He knew she’d been lost in memories, memories of the him he was before, but he tried to ignore it. His hands began to move back to her dress, intending to lift it off her.

“I- let me,” she said, hoping to cover up that lapse in attention. She climbed off his lap, slipping out of her dress and underwear. Astarion froze for a moment, eyes following her every move; recovering quickly, he pushed off the rest of his clothing, kicking it away.

As Ban returned to his lap, Astarion let out a rough sigh; his hand wrapping around the swell of her ass. “You’re thinking,” he murmured, brow furrowing. He didn’t need to say what she was thinking about; they were both aware. “It’s been-”

“More than a year. I know.” She sighed. Nearly 15 months. She’d known him far longer as the Ascendant than she had before the ritual. Guilt bubbled in her stomach at this, guilt at still missing that version of him - as if he wasn’t the same man. She forcibly pushed the thought away, but not before mumbling a hurried “I’m sorry”.

Astarion looked away, then shrugged. “Forgiven, as always.” She could see the clench of his jaw and the hard gaze he was leveling at nothing in particular.

“It’s just… It hurts, and I wonder at times if… if he could have done this. If he could’ve gone behind my back, knowing I wasn’t ready for him to know that part of me. If he could’ve taken my choice away.” He opened his mouth but she pressed on before he could continue. “I know. He could have. You could have.”

He regarded her for a moment longer, then leaned forward, accepting her explanation. Hesitant lips met her own, the kiss unsure and almost frightened, his breath shaky.

“I would have told you of your family,” he whispered in between kisses, “eventually.”

Ban wasn’t sure how much of that was truth and how much was Astarion trying to convince himself. But for now, she found it sufficient.

“Not forgiven just yet,” she replied, her hand moving to rest over his heart, hips gently rolling against him. She was wet, despite her words; the sight of him lounging on his throne had always sent arousal shooting through her, without fail. She could feel his body responding to her proximity, his breath catching and his cock beginning to throb. A small, half-stifled groan escaped from his lips, seemingly equal parts want and frustration at her statement.

“You act like that’s a novel experience for me, darling,” Astarion quipped; he couldn’t completely hide the bitterness in his voice. The hand on her ass urged her to fully press against him; his cock twitched at the contact, head flushed and tip glistening. A small shiver went through him and she ran a hand soothingly through his curls, noting that despite the desire, there was tension in his movements.

The wetness of her cunt made him groan and he thrusted up gently, seeking friction and warmth. His length rubbed her clit, eyes flicking down to her breasts, as if he was admiring her body. She couldn’t exactly explain why, but it seemed off.

“Can we just-” He took a small pause as he considered what to say. The hand on Ban’s ass squeezed once, as if to remind himself that she was there and on top of him. “Just love me.”

Ban frowned, the tone and the words heightening her concern. She touched his cheek, guiding him to meet her gaze, and she realized she’d guessed right - he was hiding his face; the pain and fear there now impossible to conceal.

“Astarion.” These would be the most important words she’d utter today; angry or not, they needed to be said. “Listen carefully. I have, I do, and I will always love you.” She said it slowly, making sure each word was clear, hoping he’d understand.

The words seeped through him, soothing the wounds in his heart and Astarion found that he could manage a tiny smile. “Even after everything?” It came out teasingly, he hoped. His body, however, couldn’t fully hide his relief; his shoulders sagged and his breath let out in contentment. His hips rolled faster, rubbing against her core and earning him her low moan as he dragged against her clit. His free hand wrapped around the armrest, bracing himself a little better.

Ban chuckled, the sound made him melt. “I’ll still be upset in the morning, but in the end I’ll always choose you, choose us. We’ll get through it.” Stroking her thumb over his cheek, she slipped her other hand down to wrap around his length, causing his hips to jerk. A few strokes, just enough to ensure he was rock hard, and she lined herself up above him.

“Good enough,” he choked out. He shifts his legs, placing them closer together to better support her weight. There was still some trepidation and hurt - she still hasn’t forgiven me, what if she never will? bounced around his mind unbidden - but the latter half of her statement soothed him. She’d chosen him - him, who wasn’t enough, who’d always been someone’s plaything and never much more, something to be discarded once used, someone who’d become a monster in his quest for freedom. Him.

Running his tongue lightly up her neck, he was utterly lost in his love for her, every sense overtaken by her presence. He could feel her heat, taste her sweat, smell her want... He could see that she was in this moment with him, and he could hear how close she was - all he needed to do was push in. Astarion repositioned his feet, firmly planting them against the white marble floor; he held back for a few moments, cock throbbing, a reminder of just how easy it would be to bury himself in her and fuck.

That wasn’t what he wanted, however.

Say it again, darling? is what he planned to say, preferably in a low, purring tone.

“Say it again, please,” was what slipped out instead.

Her response was immediate, unhesitating. “I love you.” Another smile, another of those she saved only for him, and he finally watched her sink down and take him home.

Astarion’s eyes fell shut as he drank in the sensation of her all around him; tight, warm, wet - her. He’d fucked scores of people on this very same throne when she’d been gone. A procession of warm bodies, little more than cunts and cocks used to try to forget her, a tactic that had felt a little too close to his past to be comfortable; but he hadn’t had a choice, had he, when he’d needed something, anything, to forget-

He shook off the spiraling thoughts. But she’s here, now, he told himself. Here to stay, even when he’d upset her - although, he reminded himself, that is something he’d need to make amends for. But still. She’d stayed.

He opened his eyes, smiling despite himself. No fantasy he’d used back then could ever compare to the reality of this: Ban staring down at him as she began to move her hips, pleasuring them both. Of this sight, for him alone, of being the only one chosen to give her this, despite everything. He gripped her ass tighter, feeling the muscles shift with every move; he placed his other hand on her back to support her, fingers tracing gentle circles on the soft skin. Her weight pressed on him; not unpleasantly, but enough that his legs tensed to hold them both in place.

Astarion felt himself approaching his climax, perhaps a little too fast; not much surprise there. He’d spent the whole day anxious, worried she wouldn’t come home, and the relief of her being here and loving him affected him like nothing else. He considered just letting go, letting himself rut up into her, chasing his release, but thought better of it. Not yet.

He bit the inside of his cheek, enough for the pain to partially distract him from the mounting coil of desire in his core. “Wait,” he groaned as she lifted herself up and then sank back down again, the drag of her walls around him almost enough to push him over. “Let me- else I won’t last.”

She cocked her head at him, stilling for a second, then languidly rolled her hips in one smooth, teasing move. A low, desperate whine escaped him. “Then don’t, love. Let me make love to you, like you asked. Let me give you this.”

Gods. Who was he to refuse that? He nodded, a little too vigorously perhaps, eyes locked onto hers. She stroked his cheek again and he leaned into it, expression impossibly tender. “You need not do this, Ban,” he said, although his mind screamed yes, yes!

“I want to.”

Hearing nothing but absolute certainty there, Astarion finally allowed himself to relax back into the moment. He pressed her closer to him, wanting, needing more contact. His eyes roamed her face and he felt her hand rest on his chest, covering the heart that beat only for her, that beat because of her.

She rode him, utterly focused on bringing him to peak, her speed increasing just enough to build upon his pleasure, but not so much that he couldn’t relish every motion. He could feel every clench, that slick warm grip sending his mind reeling and his cock weeping deep inside her. A quick angling of her hips allowed her to sink him even deeper and he almost cried out. Each thrust now buried him to the hilt, and he fought the urge to let his eyes roll back into his head from the pleasure, wanting to see her. Her, his Ban, his consort, no, his wife, his beloved, his heart-

“That’s it,” she whispered encouragingly, one hand bracing on the armrest as she moved. “Come for me, love.”

He couldn’t help the whine that erupted from his lips as he came, fingers digging into Ban’s skin, holding on for dear life. He could feel her hips continuing to roll as he spilled inside her, vision going blurry as his whole being narrowed down into a pinpoint of white-hot pleasure. Astarion rode it out, hips jerking involuntarily and heart hammering against her palm.

Loved. He felt loved, a feeling that had admittedly been more common lately, but one he’d feared he’d lost in light of his deception. To know that it was still there even when things were turbulent was a reassuring comfort he had never known before.

To know that Ban wasn’t bolting at the first sign of trouble; to know he was loved and chosen still.

Perhaps he could eventually even believe he’s enough.

Ban watched Astarion come down from his high, breaths shallow as he finally released his grip on her ass. He sagged back against the throne, glassy eyes refocusing on her. He was as beautiful as ever, marble skin flushed and coated in a sheen of sweat. She could feel him softening inside her, and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. That’s plenty for today, she thought. She didn’t think she had it in her to finish herself off; she was tired and mentally exhausted, and didn’t want him to feel insecure if she couldn’t come. But she’d loved giving him this, and it was enough for her.

His kisses felt a lot more confident, Astarion meeting her with equal fervor. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were shining; his hand slipping down to rest on Ban’s inner thigh, waiting for her to say yes.

She looked down, considering it. She was achingly wet, the desire compounded by the fact that he was still inside her, but she also wasn’t sure she actually could - the day’s events had been rather taxing on her, and she was beginning to tire from being spread open and riding him.

As if noting her indecision, Astarion’s brow furrowed. “Tell me what you want, p-”

He winced, quickly clearing his throat. “Darling.”

Ban raised an eyebrow. She’d asked him, long ago, to stop calling her pet, and he had done so without complaint or misstep; today would have been the first. But she understood why he’d nearly slipped. After all, she’d invoked the Ascendant, then they’d ended up on the throne after an argument, and this request was one he’d often employed after he’d first ascended.

“Thank you,” she said, acknowledging his effort to correct himself. “I would like to try, but…”

I don’t want to not finish and complicate things. Disappoint you, make you doubt.

“Might be better for me to take care of it myself, lest it end up being unsuccessful.”

He thought, silent for a moment. “May I at least help?” Before he could stop himself, he pushed on. “I’m still me. Let me please you. The way I did back then.”

Let me please you. Another familiar phrase, one he used to say in the privacy of their tent. She couldn’t help but feel wistful at the memory, but there is a wave of guilt that accompanies it at the realization that it’s still on his mind; she too finds navigating their renewed relationship challenging at times.

“Look. You can, and I would love you to, but-”

Her words died in her mouth as Astarion’s fingers slipped higher, two of them finding her clit and flicking once.

Pitched low, his voice washed over her, a gust of wind reigniting the embers of her desire. “Darling,” he purred, the wry grin she knew so well back on his face, “do you really want to go? Or do you want to come?”

The line was both hilarious and effective; Ban stifled a small laugh. “Fine. I can try to come, if that’s agreeable with you.”

His answer was quick and effortless. “Of course, love.” He considered for a moment, head tilting, then gently nudged her off his lap. As she stood, he finally slipped out of her, the loss of contact sending a small pang of regret through them both.

“Now come back,” Astarion said, spreading his legs wide and sitting further back, giving her ample space between his parted legs. “Sit, with- yes, that.”

She settled back onto the throne, her back to his chest. Astarion drew her close, arms wrapping around her waist; he settled his head next to hers to look down at her body, his breath tickling her ear.

Feeling his warm breaths ghost over her, she shivered. The sensation was so like before, and yet so different. The pale hand gliding up to cup a breast paused, and a soft kiss was pressed against her cheek.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “what you want. Where, faster, slower - everything.”

She couldn’t help the groan that escaped her at his words, watching his other hand slowly trace a path from her chest down to her belly. There was a soft press of lips against her temple, a light brush of fingers against her nipple that made her jerk. She noted, though, the tone of his voice - that silky-smooth purring was too perfect, and sighed. “I will, if you’ll relax.”

Astarion took a deep, rather shaky, breath; she felt his chest expanding against her back. “I… I can,” he said, the hand on her belly tracing gentle circles. “The offer remains, however. Anything you want, and it is yours…”

A small nod, and she leaned back against him, settling against the crook of his neck. “Touch me.”

The moment he did wasn’t electric, but soothing, satisfying that gnawing need growing in her core. His fingers moved in light, careful movements, not teasing but rather drawing out her pleasure. “That isn’t quite enough instruction, Ban. A little more would be highly appreciated,” he rumbled from behind her.

“A little faster, and…” She paused, unsure how to say it.

Her lack of experience had always been an ever-present thing, and letting herself fully go was a challenge. She’d come close during their adventures, but that ability had felt lost since their relationship had deteriorated after the rite. Ordering him around was one thing; letting him know clearly and honestly what she desired from him was far more challenging.

“Harder?” he offered. “I know precisely what to do, but I would so love to hear it from you.”

She whimpered, torn, and instead she grabbed his hand, leading it to her entrance.

“Ah,” Astarion nipped her ear, a gentle scrape of fangs that made her buck as his fingers traced around her opening. “So wet for me, so needy, and yet you won’t say it.”

The hand on her waist pulled her tighter to him, encouraging her to rest against him, letting her feel every rise and fall of his chest. He wasn’t leaning against the back of the chair, instead he held them both upright, without effort. The fingers skating across her entrance finally slipped inside in one smooth move; a moan escaped her.

“There,” he cooed, eyes fixed on his hand. “I adore the way you look with my fingers inside you. Positively divine." He kept his fingers still for a moment, smirking when she tried to cant her hips and fuck herself on them.

“Tut, tut,” he chided. “I won’t move unless you tell me precisely what to do. Since you have provided no commands…”

“Just fuck me, gods, Astarion,” she hissed out, desperation winning out over embarrassment.

That elicited a small laugh, and he began pumping his fingers in and out.

Ban bucked at the sensation, hips lifting up to chase his fingers, her own hands gripping his thighs for purchase; the evidence of her desire and the remnants of his release visible with every pass. Astarion felt his cock begin to stir again, and was unable to prevent the low groan that escaped him. It did seem to affect her, however; she clenched around his fingers at the sound.

That she wants him, was aroused by the simple sound of him groaning, brought a lazy satisfaction to him; he began to languidly rut against her ass, fingers still thrusting in and out of her.

It didn’t escape his notice that she was starting to willingly talk about what she wanted, even if he had to coax it out. More often than not, she’d skirt it and let him decide, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing: he knew the way she wanted everything, centuries of being attuned to people’s desires making her an easy study. However, hearing her say it was entirely different, a gesture of openness that he very much preferred. He quietly congratulated himself for this attempt today, though; it seemed like being drunk had given him just enough courage to try again without worrying about being rejected.

She wants me, needs me, whether it be my voice or my cock or even just my fingers. Not just that, even my laughter, and the way I banter at her over meals, and just… me, really. She’s even willing to open up and tell me what she desires, now - and maybe I am enough?

He will be enough, he swore. In every way she wanted him to be.

“You’re doing so well, love,” he purred, “but I’m certain there’s at least one more thing you’d like to ask of me.” He let his thumb graze over her clit, and was rewarded with the sensation of nails digging into the meat of his thighs.

“Yes, that,” she murmured, as if embarrassed.

“That… what?” he asked, the perfect picture of mock innocence; he lifted his thumb away.

“I want you to touch my clit,” Ban finally managed to say, the words dragged through her lips.

“There we go,” Astarion growled into her ear approvingly, pitching his voice low and rough. “My very good girl.”

He thought that was enough pushing her for now; finally allowing his thumb to press against her clit, stroking it a little to the-

“That side, yes,” she breathed, and he was amused by the sudden forwardness, a sudden wave of affection flooding him. The lazy way he’d been rutting into her hadn’t intensified; he had no intention of going further, but it felt nice, all the same. He rested his head on her shoulder as he finally let her have what she wanted, fingers driving into her faster, curling just the way she liked, his thumb alternating between lazy circles and stroking the side she prefers.

“I… I didn’t stumble onto the contract.” It slipped out of her mouth, and Astarion froze, the hand still cupping her breast tightening slightly. “I waited until you were asleep, and searched for it.”

He barely had to fight back the urge to call her out for her hypocrisy, to say something he wouldn’t mean in a day or so. He wasn’t daft, and this information didn’t surprise him at all. Instead he leaned forward to mouth at her neck.

“I won’t say I’m not…”

Upset? Piqued? Astarion weighed his words. His fingers resumed sliding in and out of her, although a little more absently. “Well, I’m not too pleased, I suppose. But it matters little.”

I love you too much to hold it against you.

The kiss on her neck turned into a light nip, fangs playfully grazing against her skin. “There,” he murmured. “Your punishment.”

Ban laughed, the sound cut off when he purposely thumbed her clit faster in response. “You could do better than that, Astarion,” she challenged, a hand snaking up to gently grab a fistful of his silver curls, and he couldn’t help the way his cock throbbed at her insolent, playful tone and the feel of his hair being tugged.

He resumed thrusting against her ass, each roll of his hips sending a dull sense of pleasure through him. He doubted he’d come again, but didn’t mind; his focus was on her. His fingers worked, fucking her harder, making sure to graze her spot with every pass, thumb rubbing her clit at precisely the angle he knew she liked best. He felt sweat beading both their bodies, wondered for a moment if they’d ruined the upholstery, then decided they could always have it redone.

“Would you like me to bite?” he asked, mouth still poised over her neck. “You need only ask, my love.” He phrased it as sweetly as he could, but the rutting against her only increased in fervency, a hint of his own excitement at the prospect of tasting her again.

He swore he could taste her every day and still not get used to it - nothing else came close. Astarion felt her clench around his fingers, the tightness intensifying. He responded accordingly, stroking her clit more firmly, fingers curling as they worked in and out of her core. Perfect, he thought. He figured if he timed it right, he could bring her over the edge as he sank his fangs in.

“Make it hurt,” she growled at him, baring her neck. The words sent a bolt of pure lust straight through him, his hips grinding against her in response. For a moment he considered flipping her around and burying himself in her, into that delectable heat, just pounding into her again and again without a second thought, drinking her blood, cock sheathed to the hilt-

No. You’ve already had your fill, he told himself. The love and trust she was showing him was more than enough.

Instead he bared his fangs, jaw widening, and sank them in. Hard, as requested, but precise - he knew not to cause too much pain.

The surge of blood into his mouth made him moan, his hips involuntarily thrusting harder, but he kept most of his attention on her - on the way she gasped and jerked in his arms, the way her hand tightened in his hair, the way her cunt clamped down on his fingers as she finally came, the surge of wetness that told him he’d done his job well.

He drank; not a lot, nowhere near the amount he used to, when he’d needed it for sustenance. And he held her close, too, taking her through her orgasm; rubbing, thrusting, squeezing, sucking. Once her body’s movements subsided to mere shivers, he licked over the pinprick wounds; swallowing down his last mouthful with a pang of regret.

Ban sagged against him, hand falling away from his hair as she nuzzled into his neck. He looked down at her, taken by the sight. His own hips stilled, burgeoning lust abating, replaced by a fierce, unbridled affection for the woman sprawled against him.

A small kiss on her cheek was all he managed; no words seemed sufficient for the sheer joy of the moment. He was aware it was partially relief - relief that she hadn’t taken his transgression as something to leave him over - but most of his joy was due to simple, blind, devotion.

Ban shifted against him. “Well that must’ve sobered you up some,” she teased, and he barked out a laugh in response.

“Positively,” he admitted. “Shall we clean up and go to bed, then, darling?”

Inwardly, he was just pleased to have her back. She stood, and he followed. He swayed, belatedly, realizing he might still be a little tipsy.

A loud laugh erupted from his dearest, his wife, his Ban, and her arms wrapped around him to help support him. They were both naked; he flapped a hand at her when she hesitated, looking over at their discarded clothing.

“Let the servants deal with it tomorrow. What do we even pay them for, if not to pick up after us?”

She snorted, unabashed, and he grinned at the sound. It was getting easier for her to open up around him, and he cherished every little sign of it. “Fine. Let’s go, you lush.”

He let her guide him without protest, leaning on her. There would be more discussions to be had over the issue of her family, certainly, but for now? He was loved. He was happy.

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @girlygmer-blog @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester

#astarion #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion fic #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanart #baldurs gate #bg3 art #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion art #astarion fanart #astarion smut #bg3 smut #long fic #astarion ascended #ascended astarion #ascendant astarion #ascension #vampire ascendant #ascendant #ascended astarion x f!tav #ascended astarion x tav

[nikosasaki]

⸻ day three; a twist on a common au !

summary; minho is a regular customer at a cafe, but barista luke refuses to remember his name and order. discussions and awkward semi-love confessions ensue.

wordcount; 979

"Hi again."

The boy in front of Luke was smiling from ear to ear, the sort of anticipatory smile that Luke had learned to despise over the past weeks. The store was too quiet for Luke to find anything else to do, and even if he did there would be no other person there to take his order. Luke was condemned to this interaction.

"What'll it be?" 

The boy scoffed a little indignant and Luke could only barely stop himself from rolling his eyes. He took a paper coffee cup from the towering stack in one hand, rolling a marker in the other. The cap of it was lost somewhere underneath the counter. It rolled under the wooden slat about an hour earlier and since Luke was in no mood to fish it out he resigned himself to waiting for the marker to dry out. It put up an incredible fight thus far.

"Same as always," the boy said, showing no sign of giving up.

"I don't know what you mean. What do you want to order?" In that way, the boy must have found his perfect match, as Luke was no less steadfast in his resolve to not give into the boy's wants.

"Come on, you know! I come in here every day and order the same thing," he said, clearly getting agitated. "You have to know by now." A stray piece of hair hung in his eyes. They had been shielded by sunglasses before, the first few times the boy came to the cafe, but he'd since come in every time without them. Maybe in the hopes that Luke would finally remember him.

However, it's hard to remember a person when you purposefully forget them every time. 

Luke had a thing about people who tried too hard. They would come in with big smiles and loud voices and give complicated orders and make sure to spell out their name so Luke would remember it for the next time. Usually Luke would play along—he didn't hate regular customers—but in the case of the boy—The Boy, as he'd now become—he plainly refused. He would mess up both the spelling and the order on every other visit, and keep asking both the name and the order. It was, admittedly, a little fun to watch the ego and bravado melt and drip from his eyes every single time.

The Boy sighed, resigned finally. "Fine. A double ristretto shot of espresso poured over ice with half a teaspoon of light brown sugar and a splash of oat milk."

"...for?" 

The Boy looked about ready to strangle him. "For Minho," he told Luke with a tight jaw. Luke decided to spare him, and wrote it correctly this time. Sometimes he was nicer than others. Nothing ever quite compared to the one time where Luke randomly decided to pretend like he did not speak Korean.

"You do know me, though," Minho insisted, still lingering at the counter as Luke got started on his order. "You get this annoyed look on your face when I walk in."

"And that's a good sign to you?"

"It's recognition." Minho shrugged.

"Maybe you have a recognizable face, but the rest of you is just less noteworthy," Luke responded, and he wasn't sure why he was even still talking with The Boy but he couldn't quite find it in himself to stop, either.

"I think you like me."

Luke's eyes shot up, and Minho was grinning like the Cheshire cat, eyes directly looking into Luke's.

"That's so stupid," Luke rebuked with a feigned air of indifference, ignoring the sudden tightness in his stomach. In all fairness, it wasn't like he'd never thought about it. Nobody could deny that Minho was handsome in a near-annoyingly perfect way. He had a perfect smile and bright eyes and carried himself with the kind of confidence that could only be described as irritable but commendable. If Luke was honest with himself, Minho was exactly the kind of person Luke could easily fall for. But he wouldn't, and even if he already had he would never give Minho the satisfaction of knowing it.

Minho was still grinning, though, not even slightly thrown by Luke's response. "No, you do." Minho followed Luke as he moved to the other end of the counter like a predator following prey, blood-thirsty smile never faltering. "You like me, and this whole thing is just a weird little mating ritual for you. You're like a praying mantis or something. After this you're going to fuck and kill me."

Luke startled so bad that he didn't even notice he dropped the coffee until he felt a burn on his chest from where the hot liquid had soaked through.

"Shit!"

"Wait—let me—" Minho ran behind the counter, grabbing a towel and reaching for Luke's shirt. Before he could, however, Luke was already pulling his t-shirt over his head.

All at once, everything froze. Minho, most of all.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the expanse of perfectly brown exposed skin in front of him. He mapped it all in an instant, committing the placement of moles to memory. Weeks from then, it was still all he would be able to see when he closed his eyes, like a constellation of stars printed on the backs of his eyelids.

Minho didn't notice he'd been staring.

"I think this is your weird mating ritual more than mine." Luke's little laugh effectively snapped Minho from his daze. He could feel his entire body heat up, cheeks no doubt a bright red. He tried to give himself any sort of shape, eventually landing with his hands in his hips and his eyes trying—and failing—to look anywhere but at Luke's still-bare chest.

"Oh, come on," Luke said with a smile, moving past Minho to rinse out his shirt in the sink. 

"I'll even let you eat me, after."

taglist: @kendelias @chlobenet @bravelittleflower @eddiemunscns  @purpleyearning @valdrinors @eddysocs @heavenlysurf @arrthurpendragon @nolanhollogay @stanshollaand @lovehermioneforever @raith-way @kiara-carrera @decennia @luucypevensie @waterloou @carmens-garden @hiddenqveendom @foxesandmagic @jvstjewels @dragonsbone  @endless-oc-creations @ginevrastilinski-ocs @sunlitscribe @dyhlanobrien @partiallypearl @witchofinterest @fleetwoodmcs

#qocc oc challenge #ocappreciation #queerocs #ocapp #xo kitty oc #ch: luke #ch: luke greco #my writing #my edits #just a tiny lil guy

[lollytea]

going back to ur castle kids au post made me think a little more abt how jealous hunter would get of gus's friendship with willow and how he might make excuses to follow gus to join the flyer derby team at school esp after hearing willow's team captain.

so instead of huntlow finding comradery with one another, they are now so completely competative with one another.

"oh captain wants us to do 30 laps? that's baby scout training. i can do 100 and not break a sweat"

"ok caleb! you want to just warm up? that's fine! the rest of us will do our laps and then get started on our drills! Have fun! :)"

just getting absolutely in each other's faces sometimes but its never vindictive or mean. i think they might be tactless sometimes but it more like just feeding into the other's intensities like two dogs on opposite sides of a street to see who can bark the loudest and longest.

it really becomes less about gus over time and more about just one-upping each other and riling one another up. i just think its really funny to think about how they obviously respect each other abilities and think about each other all the time but neither of them will ever say anything about it because hunter's too proud to admit it, and willow knows if she ever brought it up, her prev crush of the gg will come up and that can never EVER be mentioned in front of him.

like hunter's huffing and puffing that willow's so good at talking to the team constuctively and he "complains" how clearly she's so thoughtful, and wise, and strong, and really intuitive as a leader but he's the golden guard so he's clearly got more tools under his belt as a leader and he could take the time to show her some pointers ha ha ha

or willow's grumbling about how hunters always so honest about giving compliments to the team and he never fails to execute the play perfectly and he's such a good flyer, its so nice to have someone so clearly passionate about flyer derby because his cute gaptooth shows every time he smiles at the team, but she's clearly got more background in flyer derby and he's "just a bit cocky for her taste" (note: never bothered her b4 when he was just the gg)

i just really love the idea of huntlow rivalry like recognition of the self through the other (mortifying so now i'm racing you to the cafeteria to grab the last appleblood juice for gus) and mutually becoming a little obsessed with each other.

I am FUELED by the idea of Castle Kids AU huntlow rivalry. Like there are a lot of lovely reasons for Willow to strive to become the toughest strongest version of herself (to protect her friends and whatnot.) But there's something very chaotic and funny about her being partly motivated by pure spite. Gotta knock this cocky bitch off his high horse. (Griffin? Staff?? Whatever, she's gonna knock his ass off something or die trying.)

I love to think of Willow being involved in an antagonistic dynamic that doesn't make her feel small, but rather it just encourages her to hype herself up in order to prove him wrong. Because she already found him a bit snobby to begin with so has wanted to show him up for quite some time. She is mortified by the fact that she originally had a little crush on him (before she was made aware of what a chilly jerk he was.) so now she makes a point to stubbornly disagree with everything he says, just to prove to herself that there's not even an ember of that flame left. Of course she's awesome. Because the Golden Guard doesn't believe so, and he's never had a halfway decent opinion on anything in his life. Fuck that guy. Plus he's not even that cute.

Whether the two of them like it or not, in any universe, they're kinda destined to have this spark of mutual understanding very early on. (Like how they were having full out conversations with their eyes in ASIAS after knowing eachother for a day.) But it's like. On a subconscious level. They don't realize that they're enjoying this little rivalry even though they'll insist they don't care for each other and yet it never even occurs to them to try to cut the other deep with a remark that would actually hurt. They both understand feeling worthless too intimately to inflict it on anyone else. However there is no harm in getting a little competitive when the person you can't stand has this annoyingly smug look on their annoyingly pretty face that you're just itching to wipe clean.

I think when this whole feud over Gus started off, Hunter didn't even see Willow that often, not that he was going out of his way to do so. Willow wasn't in the castle very much. The Emperor's Coven doesn't exactly supply extra rooms for friends and family. (An exception was made for Gus as Perry was a single dad so Gus had nowhere else to go.) Usually Willow stays at home with Harvey. But she'll show up at the castle a few days a week to visit Gilbert when he has a free moment from his duties and she'll hang around until the evening when Harvey picks her up. Occasionally she'll stay the night.

Gilbert's room happens to be directly across from Hunter's. So when Willow does stick around, she has the misfortune of being Hunter's neighbour. (💘😡)

Usually when Gilbert is busy, Willow will hang around with Gus. Hunter gets very annoyed that he's usually unavailable to butt in between them and establish his friendship because he's carrying out Golden Guard duties.

I think Willow's crush was still kinda there when she first showed up, because she never really got the chance to interact with him, and she was way too shy to approach him herself. However it was immediately stamped out when he found her wandering the castle hallways one day.

"Oh. It's you." He had said, his expression hidden beneath that mask. Willow swore she picked up a hint of distaste in his tone but she wasn't going to dwell on that.

"It's me! Hi!" She had answered hurriedly, a little flustered that he apparently knew who she was. "I've got a name too. It's-"

"Everyone has names." Interrupted the Golden Guard, confusingly snippy. "Are you lost? Should I return you to your father?"

Some of the charm Willow had always heard in his voice drained away.

She didn't like the insinuation that she had to be shepherded around like a child.

"I'm just exploring."

"This castle is not the place for that."

That was a lie. Willow had heard all about Gus venturing around every nook and cranny of this old place. And she knew for a fact that the Golden Guard sometimes tagged along.

"But I guess your school still hasn't taught the lesson about respecting the Emperor's home."

Oh. Bitch.

"Are you..." Willow began uncertainly, gobsmacked by the audacity. "Are you seriously making fun of me for being in school?"

The Golden Guard shrugged jauntily, before polishing his gloves knuckles against his uniform. "When I was your age, I was already serving the Emperor." He declared, the words dripping with pride.

"When you were my age?!" Willow spluttered, incredulous. "You mean last year?!"

"It's a significant amount of time!"

"It really isn't."

He had gotten huffy then and strode away, his ridiculous cloak dramatically flapping as he departed.

Alright. Willow had been made insecure before but she just simply couldn't summon that emotion this time. Not with this guy. Because, frankly put, he was fucking stupid. She was fourteen, where the fuck else should she be but at school?

It became more obvious to her over time that he didn't turn up his nose at her specifically, but the whole world. He was just so much better than everyone, wasn't he? He was so obnoxious, just his presence alone made Willow livid. He wasn't like Boscha or Amity (sometimes), as he wasn't really mean about it but....Titan, she could feel self importance radiating off him.

If nobody was gonna show him up, then she supposed she would just have to do it herself. His smugness was maddening.

I like to imagine that Willow does not see Hunter's face until they're really down bad in the throes of this flyer derby antagonism. He'll ditch the uniform and the cloak during practise but the mask is always there. It's a barrier Hunter establishes between the two, to convince himself that she's nothing but a civilian. He only goes maskless around higher ups of the Emperor's Coven, the occasional scout and those close to his heart (Gus) and Willow is none of these things. She's not important to him.

She is not important to him.

And maybe the mask makes him feel more confident. Which is really useful during his interactions with Willow. It's freeing to know she can't see his expression.

Plus she's really pretty (an objective observation! Hes not blind for Titan's sake.) while he's....not. So he'd prefer to leave his appearance anonymous for now.

They also don't do first names. Obviously Willow has known Hunter's name since before she met him cuz Gus talks about him nonstop, but she never refers to him as anything but "Golden Guard." Or sometimes just "Guard" if she's flirting antagonising him.

When they first met, Willow was referred to as nothing but "You" or "Her" or occasionally "Park's daughter" when she wasn't around. It bothered her. She liked to be called something.

So, after begrudgingly allowing him to join her derby team, (he was a good flyer and she hated it.) she made one thing perfectly clear.

Willow strode up to Hunter with a rolled up jersey and shoved against his chest so forcefully he nearly topped over.

"I know you might be used to taking the lead, Guard." She said. "But this is my team. You are my player and I am your captain."

"Captain." He had tested the word on his tongue. To Viney and Skara, it may have sounded pleasantly cheerful but Willow knew better. As this was a boy without a face, she had to pay special attention to the subtle lift and fall of his voice. She believed herself somewhat fluent in reading his signals by now.

He was humoring her and thinking himself so very decent for doing so. He was baiting her and she wasn't going to tolerate it. That one word expressed a challenge.

Why don't you show me what you got then?

Willow had every intention of doing so. The Golden Guard was going to do what she told him to do. And with the Titan as her witness, by the end of the week, she'd have him asking "how high?" if she ordered him to jump.

At first, Hunter only called her Captain sparsely. Like when she had gotten all up in his face, or when he was teasing her or being so Hunterishly annoying. "Captain" had become something he used to get under her skin. It made her bristle with irritation.

He was always sending her some kind of message when he used it. But as time went on and it became a far more frequent nickname, Willow started to lose her grip on what those messages meant.

Sometimes when he said it, his voice was strangely soft. Sometimes it was loud and enthusiastic. And sometimes it was so completely neutral that it made Willow feel funny. He was not using that term to antagonise her. But rather...it seemed like "Captain" was simply the nickname he had decided suited her.

She would never tell anyone just how much she liked it. But she often wondered when he had chosen to stop using the name as ammo. Or....the shift had been so gradual...had he even realized....?

But yeah. When Hunter came strutting up to join her team, Willow anticipated that he would be difficult. She had geared herself up for somebody who would challenge her authority at every corner. And she was prepared to fight fang and nail to keep him in his place.

So she was very surprised to find that....he didn't actually do that? Sure he made a point to show off and boast about how easy Willow's team warm up exercises were. ("It's my Coven Training. But I guess you wouldn't be familiar with those kind of brutal drills, huh Captain?") But when Willow gives him orders, he follows them. And then he proceeds to blow her away by doing what he's told expertly. And he has the audacity to do a cocky little gesture at her while doing so.

He's perfect. She can't stand him.

Willow does everything within her power to outdo him. Which results in her pushing herself during practise until her bones ache and she smells awful.

Something Willow doesn't take the time to realize is that Hunter is trying just as hard, if not harder to outdo her.

It straight up isn't about Gus anymore. The issue with Gus was like the training wheels on the bicycle of their rivalry. It wouldn't have been able to get moving without them but at some point the training wheels have been removed and they haven't noticed yet because the bike is still rolling.

Like. Seriously. Are you guys really arguing over who's gonna give Gus a piggyback home for Gus's sake or is it because you both wanna show off how strong you are to the other?

Gus is aware of this and quite frankly, he doesn't give a fuck about the reason. He just wants the piggy back.

It's so funny to think about how Hunter was originally miffed that Willow was taking away all of Gus's attention. But at this stage, Hunter and Gus will be having a sleepover and Hunter will spend all their quality time ranting about his feud with Willow.

"Dude you realize that you're like....obsessed with her?" Gus interrupts.

Hunter vehemently denies this.

Meanwhile Willow has been spending the night at the castle a lot more frequently lately. Who knows why this is.

Probably not because when the three of them return home from practise, Gus splits for his room at least 20 doors down, so there's a whole hallway walk where it's just her and Hunter.

They never really spend any time alone. Why would they? Not like either of them want to. But they have no option in this case. But she supposes it's....tolerable. They're both too tired to be antagonistic so they just....talk.

On one occasion, as Willow reaches her room and her hand rests upon the handle, she swallows and says something she's never said to him.

"Goodnight, Guard."

She can't see his reaction. But he freezes where he stands, his grip on his own door handle tightening. He doesn't dare look back at her.

"Night, Captain."

A jolt of nerves strikes down both of their systems as they turn in for the night without another word.

Something is beginning to change. But they cannot put their finger on what.

All they know is that person in the room across from theirs makes them behave like a fool.

#sorry if this is all over the place #this ask was so good that i was like ''oh god can i even answer this right?'' and just ended up word vomiting #idk if its even fun to read

[remyfire]

It sure was Flootz's! Love Is a Sacrament, and god that's another I've reread several times because I just LOVE the dynamic at play there. It also hits so many of my "interests", so to say, and truly is such a good showing for that ship. I also love that even though it's a modern AU, they're still written exactly the same, just with the added bonus of actually being married.

And y e s I can definitely see that! I need BJ to confront the parts of himself he doesn't want to acknowledge the existence of, please and thanks. I know there have got to be things he represses and ignores, and I'm sure Sidney can tell too, but BJ never lets him get close enough to figure out what those things are. But BJ babygirl sometimes you have to talk it out! And truly if you wrote more fics of them I would read every single one.

I could definitely tell something was up in that scene in Eye for a Tooth too, Margaret may get fed up with these boys but she's not outright cruel or vengeful. I was so interested to see where it was going, and BJ's reaction did not disappoint. Admittedly I don't really ship them however I absolutely respect that rarepair, and even platonically I can sooo appreciate that care and softness he showed her! It was all acting and she was in on the plan but it's still so clear that BJ wanted to make absolutely certain she was okay the whole time and god just what a man. Everything he does is underscored with so much love and I love the little moments we can see it like that hand hold and check in!

As for Mulcahy, I definitely see your point about the wanting recognition vs the Catholic teaching of selfless help. I also thought it was interesting that the immediate next episode was Dear Sis, where we see Mulcahy struggling again with feeling useless and unrecognized in the unit. I loved Hawkeye's talk with him and trying to show him he was wanted, I think he really deserved that. And as a former Catholic myself, I find the idea of the dismantling of a belief system you've followed your entire life soooo interesting. And the fact that Mulcahy has managed to hold onto his beliefs for so much of the war tells me that any questioning he does would be painful and long-felt, and that just makes it even better. Any introspection with him would be fascinating and would take so long to dive into, like you said, but damn it if I'm not having some thoughts of my own.

(God bless the MASH writers who decided to give us shower scenes in literally any of the episodes they appear in. Also that chopper pilot is correct, because I too want to blow Mulcahy's back out. I think he deserves it.)

And P.S. please don't apologize for the length or rambling! As you can see, I'm fully able to match your energy in that regard. I love getting the peeks into other peoples' minds like this and also writing obnoxious character studies in tumblr ask boxes. So ramble away!

It's always interesting to see what transposes well into a modern verse and what doesn't carry through, right? I respect authors that can make it work for them so easily because I struggle sometimes to really manifest ideas of what would be the modern equivalent of being trapped in a very small area with a very small group of people to essentially evolve the characters into the ones we come to know and love. Like, they are not the same people when they get there as the ones who leave, and the majority of the reason they become who they are is due to the stress, the constant psychic damage of it all.

I realize ofc this is the autism of it all, really, me making things overly complicated for myself as an author 😂 But it's fine

That being said, justalittlegreen did it in a way I really enjoyed with her "A Full, Rich Day," which is BJ/Hawk/Trap and setting them in a modern verse where they're all in residency together, and having the frantic and sometimes incredibly heavy/grief-stricken moments really pulled it all together for me in a way that just hit. So I'm always turning thoughts like that over and over in my head to figure out what might finally inspire me to possibly try something similar one day in my own work.

(also please, don't worry, you don't have to tell me you don't ship BJ and Margaret. I am the captain of their canoe with roughly four other individuals as passengers, just paddling our way through the ocean. I assume that no one else ships them, trust me 😂 )

If you're not careful, though, you're gonna get me talking about just the sheer husband-coded nature of BJ and how he is constantly looking for ways to microdose on that aspect of himself while being so far away from Peg. It kills me. Man is out here carrying Margaret around any chance he gets, being so respectfully tactile with the nurses—a hand on the shoulder or the arm—his instinct to check in on them when he can tell something's wrong. Like, YES, so much of it is that he is genuinely an incredibly good man, but it's such an interesting part of his character to me, how often he'll go out of his way to do these things and genuinely seeming to get a degree of personal fulfillment out of it, bless his heart.

I am fighting tooth and nail to hold Mulcahy back in my brain right now. Lovely, sweet man, genuinely misguided in many circumstances, fully aware of a lot of the pain that he brings by nature of being a Catholic priest (I have a lot of thoughts about it regarding the S8 episode "Yessir, That's Our Baby" that are always trying to bubble over, so lemme know if you have some yourself when you get there haha) and yet still so keen on his mission all the same, whether it's compassion or conversion. And Dear Sis, fucking Christ, what a whammy of an episode. That conversation between him and Hawk in it lives rent free in my head. God. Did you know this is a good show? /lh

#really surprised every time i remember that this is a Good Show #who knew that the thing that had such a cultural impact half a century ago would continue to hit with the strength it does #long post #my ramblings

[thevalleyisjolly]

Hmm, thinking about how one of the common characterizations of fey is that they’re often varying shades of self-centred - from self-absorbed to straight up selfish.  Everything, everything in the world, everything that matters, revolves around them and their feelings and their desires and their whims.  It’s that laser-focus of want and my amusement and my benefit and even my anger, me me me.  I want all the magic of the Bloom to myself, no matter the cost to everyone else.  I want power and reputation, no matter who I have to order around or step over or crush.  I want an advantageous match, no matter what I have to do to get it.

Which is why the Feywild is such a perfect setting for a Regency-inspired campaign (or vice versa), because Regency romances are built on messy characters in their own, tiny little world with their own wants and concerns which are both the most important thing in their life and also a little ridiculous - in a good way!  You have to laugh sometimes in order to cry.

And the ACOFAF cast is so good at understanding this setting, have created these wonderfully layered characters whose wants and concerns (big or small, serious or trivial) truly drive the story forwards:

I want to have fun and chaos, especially if it means playing with other people’s lives and feelings;

I want my family on the Material Plane safe and I will do whatever I have to in order to keep those portals open - not for the sake of sharing magic with the world, just for the things that are important to me;

I want to be loved for who I am and I want everyone to have love, even if what I think they should have isn’t the full story of what they want themselves, no matter how much it hurts others when I presume to manage their wants (my wants for them) on their behalf;

I want to prove to my mother that I am worthy of her regard and throne, so I will put myself forwards whenever I can this Bloom and be seen as a grown prince and a capable warrior and an eligible bachelor;

I want respect and recognition from my court that I will never have, but it’s fine because I know I’m a blunt object, my purpose is to serve and therefore I lay aside all my own wants except for that ongoing, fundamental desire to be recognized as I am, for the things I’ve done for their honour (because after all, that is all I’m good for and that is what they see me as and if I keep doing this long and well enough, they may after all recognize its value one day)

Then against all this there’s BINX.  Who has wants, yes, she wants the truth about who was responsible for the Court of Craft’s destruction, she wants everyone to have the possibility of magic, and she has burgeoning feelings for Andhera.  But what makes them stand out amidst this court of wonderfully, beautifully self-centred fey, is that they’re able to act beyond these interests, to show genuine generosity and care for others even when it has nothing to do with themselves. 

And this isn’t to say that the other characters aren’t generous or that they don’t care about each other.  They very clearly do care, and have amazing, complex relationships with each other that are both giving and receiving in turn.  What distinguishes BINX is how seldom her generosity comes with that layer of personal desire/want/advantage.  Unlike others, her generosity doesn’t come from honour or manners or social obligation (in the sense of societal expectations of conduct, though BINX considers it a personal obligation as a member of the Court of Craft).  They don’t show kindness to others as part of any scheme or power game, and they do it without expectation of any return. 

In a campaign where the main antagonists hoard magic and power, where all the characters are fey (known in the genre for deals and tricks and intricate rituals and self-absorption), BINX stand out with genuine, selfless kindness.  They didn’t have to give up one of their tokens to give their warlock such a powerful boost, they could have just told him what kind of monster they were facing.  She didn’t have to make such an effort with Wanessa, her well-being and comfort don’t (so far) have much to do with BINX’s own goals, but she did.   They could have just accepted Andhera into their court without asking to take out the shard, but they did so for no other reason than they care about him.

Which also isn’t to say that BINX is entirely altruistic.  After all, she’s still a fey and she’s still a person with her own interests: she came to the Bloom by means of deception and with a goal, and she has been gathering friends and allies not just for friendship’s sake but with the aim of finding people who will help her expose the truth.  But against the self-centred foils of both the fey court and the other PCs, BINX’s sympathy and selflessness stand out all the more because they have all the reason in the world not to do so.  She’s seen her entire court vanish and die because of the selfish actions of fey at this very Bloom.  They could hide away, live the rest of their life in the nooks and crannies of the Court of Wonder, focus on their own survival and not concern themselves with anyone else.

And yet.  Knowing the weight of what it entails, she chooses to continue the ways of the Court of Craft, community and comfort and creation, and in so doing keeps it alive.  They can’t imagine being removed and aloof from others, and it isn’t out of naivete about what the wider world entails because they know.  She knows what other fey and other courts are like, she has survived the consequences of their self-interest.  With all that, and they choose kindness and generosity without hesitation.  She still has her own interests -the truth, magic, feelings for Andhera- but they do not define her world.

Perhaps, living without the structure of a court (which was never very rigid and politically involved in the first place), they’ve been able to decide for themselves what really matters to them and who they want to be without that weight of expectation, and having seen a bigger picture of what does and does not ultimately matter, they thus chose freely to carry on the legacy and the values of her court.  Maybe, having seen selfishness at its worst, she’s determined to do better.  They could just be a generous person at heart.  Or all of the above at once!

But what a wonderful job the entire cast has done this season in bringing us these complex, nuanced characters that feel lived in, like real, messy people with their own lives and desires and intentions and relationships.  This season really is so very character-driven, with every character feeling a fully-realized person taking part in the story for their own reasons and very much motivated by those reasons.  Of course they were created with the setting in mind and there’s still a controlled structure to the story, but the cast are doing such a good job with the RP and the character choices that those meta elements of setting and plot blend in so that they appear to be made for the characters, not the other way around. 

Anyways, a heartfelt bravo to the entire ACOFAF team, and I can’t wait to see how this all ends next week.

#dimension 20 #a court of fey and flowers #dimension 20 spoilers #a court of fey and flowers spoilers #i don't know if this is anything but it's been rambling around in my head for a week #it started out as some loose thoughts on fey perspectives and turned into a love letter to BINX

[touchmycoat]

phantom!AU

just rewatched the 2004 phantom of the opera movie and jesus heck, thinking dramatic thoughts about christine!YQY and phantom!SJ where SJ escaped the Qiu House but bears the scars. In the shadows of the theater is the only place he can be around art and music and beauty, sometimes imagine himself excelling at the center of it (like he deserved) without being rudely awakened.

So there he hides, watching the boy he loves get trained, get adored. He's envious and resentful but he also can't bear to take any of it from YQY, not really. Instead, he wants YQY trapped. Qi-ge never came back for him? Left him in chains? Fine—YQY shall never be free from this theater he so dearly loves then. Every understudy gets injured, every interim show gets sabotaged. Qi-ge wants to shine then let him shine, let him never stop shining. There will never be a show in this theater again without YQY. The phantom loves him, the audience whispers. The theater ghost's obsession.

YQY, for his part, believes and doesn't believe. The evidence just hasn't been definitive, and it made no sense anyhow. Talent gets discovered among the orphan troupe they have coming in (Farewell My Concubine-style), a young man named Luo Binghe. He, like the other orphans, have been running crew and background cast for years, but in a recent ad hoc audition they discovered he has an amazing voice. LBH says he's been hearing a spirit of song, and has greatly benefited from the unintended tutelage. YQY, inspired and loving, takes him as an understudy. SJ, of course, finds out and is furious, especially seeing as SJ's the one LBH's been hearing, that SJ has been playing/singing to. SJ saw something of himself in LBH's isolation from the rest of the orphans and didn't think much of keeping the boy company, but now LBH's stabbed him in the back.

Here's where SY comes in. He transmigrates into Random Orphan No. 4's body and wakes up on an infirmary bed. Turns out, he's the first orphan who's supposed to die in LBH's stead when SJ comes for vengeance. He gets his second life and is like "hMM WOW WOULD SURE LOVE TO NOT GET MURDERED BY THE CRAZY GUY IN THE WALLS HOW CAN I CONVINCE MY NEW BEST FRIEND THIS SWEET LIL BOY TO FORGO HIS TALENT AND A CHANCE AT RECOGNITION SO HE DOESN'T GET SUCKED DOWN THE DRAINAGE PIPE OF BULLSHIT THAT THIS PLOT HAS IN STORE FOR HIM"

Because in the original story, SJ ends up burning half of LBH's face off. Grievously injured and desperate, LBH gets in turn abandoned by everyone who should've stuck by him and disappears, also, into the shadows. He's gone for a bit while YQY finally believes the phantom exists, he and SJ have their little confrontation and almost resolution, etc. But all that promptly goes to hell when LBH returns for his revenge, rips out SJ's tongue and leaves him to burn alive in a fire. YQY gets impaled by a chandelier, and LBH is the only one left standing. Faced with the choice of leaving the theater, LBH instead returns to the shadow and takes up the mantle of the phantom, repeating the cycle of trauma and harm because he knew how to do little else.

Yeah, that would suck. So how can SY stop this? He can't just take Binghe and run away 'cause apparently they're indentured servants and are actually pretty tightly guarded. Oh god, he has to get YQY and SJ together doesn't he, resolve all the issues between them but subtly so SJ doesn't lose his shit and murder SY or LBH. Something like that.

Oh and somewhere, there's kinda-Raoul!LQG. In the original he's a super minor character who existed just to give LBH some tiny hope and then completely rip it away when it would hurt LBH most—he and LBH met once when they were young, and Young Master Liu promised to buy and free LBH from his contract with the troupe (with some baby blushy cheesy talk about marriage and domestic shit after LBH's free). Unfortunately that was when the troupe was still traveling and LBH never saw LQG again. The first night that LBH got to perform (it was a surprise to everyone including SJ) LQG was in the audience, and LBH was later told that LQG had sent up an invitation to dinner or something.

But when SJ did his shitty thing and injured LBH, LBH went and asked if LQG's promise was true. LQG in turn said he's never met LBH in his life and there was no promise between them, driving LBH to spiral.

He's part of SY's potential escape, though SY thinks they can't really trust this asshole if he would renege on a promise the moment he sees LBH's face is ruined. They can totally use LQG though, can't they? So bingliushen shenanigans as heartbroken LBH believes LQG doesn't remember their promise, SY thinks LQG's an immoral jerk but they gotta be cool with him to secure their escape, and LQG genuinely has never seen LBH before in his life (the childhood promise was LMY sneaking out pretending to be him) but hey, these two seem to be pretty intent on his company for some reason, and they're like, nice, or whatever. Good company. And very good-looking. Hm, are they a couple? Hm...

#anyways very unfleshed out and i'm half asleep lmfao #but i'M THINKING THOUGHTS #svsss #qijiu #plot stockpile

[clarks-letterman]

Wally anon: For now. Idk how pronounced the problems become, but the way people have discussed them do not sound very inspiring. 😶‍🌫️

Yessss. He's just getting so sloppy with it, thrusting up & down until he probably wouldn't even need to keep fucking it from how much juice is on his dick, but he's so lost in the moment that he keeps going until he cums everywhere. 😮‍💨 Oh, for sure. The only thing that get him temporarily sticky is your cum & he loves the feeling of it. And, yup, if he does it for long enough, the lingering flavor is on his dick the entire day & you can't get enough. 🤪 I almost want to say he's fucked a whole cake before. It made an absolute mess, but, once again, not a problem for him. 🎂

lollllll @ the loan. But, yeah, I getchu. It's really the bond between you & him that's reignited the excitement for him like he's going through puberty all over again.

Exactlyyy. You'll be leaving that little exam more wobbly than usual cause he'll have exhausted every single area that drives you wild. 🥴

You get it. 🙌 You've gotta hold on tight (both with your hands & hole) to him when he really gets into it just so you don't end up being completely jostled around. But, even then, you know the bed is about to fully give out (& he'll keep fucking you through it, as if he doesn't notice it).

And that's one of his best attributes cause you know he's gonna be 100% honest at all times.

Yupppp. He just can't get enough & gets so overwhelmed thinking about how lucky the both of you are to be with each other. Oh, you KNOW he's gripped on tight to you in the most comforting bear hug you've ever felt while you fall asleep in his arms on those nights when you absolutely have to rest. Even though he doesn't have to sleep, just the close proximity is a comfort to him.

He (& Milo in general) really deserves so much more. 😫 Yup, it's just a good practice for both representational reasons & adding variety to headcanons. A small thing, but can make a big difference over just going with the same old same old.

(ah, I see, I see. I'll have to give him a shot sometime.)

Let’s just say the show queerbaited its finale😭

For realll, he just needs that release that he doesn’t care how it’s making a mess on him. Even with a cake (would moister cakes feel better?? does fondant or buttercream icing feel better??) he doesn’t care that crumbs and icing are smashed all over his hips and his dick has been smeared in the color of icing some poor sap in Home Ec. decided to use on their cake. (If we’re talking alive!Wally here, he could be fucking a navy blue cake the sports team was gifted for one of their wins sksjsjg)

Exactly, he’s confused but ecstatic to explore what he can in whatever way, shape, or form possible.

Speaking of the whole doctor/“exam” thing, I totally forgot he was a patient in that one disney show and a fine one at that😮‍💨 off topic mini-mention over.

Wally just has the kind of (ass)ets that leave you drained in more ways than one. whether he’s pounding or riding you, it’s always gonna make you feel weak after. I bet his aftercare is phenomenal when he isn’t limited to what the school offers.

He speaks his truth to be sassy and to be the best partner ever fr

He’d definitely close his eyes and think about sleeping as hard as he can, but you’re already his dream come true… (cheesyyyyy) and he may smell like a locker room because he literally died while playing football so i know he doesn’t smell like roses💀😮‍💨

They really do, Milo unfortunately got stuck in the Disney web where most of his stuff is either marketed to kids or just never gets popular enough for recognition. I’m glad he doing more and getting noticed more. He deserves it🖤🖤

(yeah he’s got kind of the same positive vibes i’d expect milo to have if i met him imo)

#wally clark #wally clark x you #wally clark x reader

[dragoneyes618]

buenas tardes, buenas noches

Elena hadn't realized how much her mother still loved her own father for the longest time.

She rarely spoke of him. But then, neither did Abuela, or Elena's great-uncles. He had left his own family to chase fame and glory. What use was there in talking about him? The family was perfectly fine without him. They didn't need him.

When Elena and Victoria were young and their papá would play with them, telling them silly stories or eagerly participating in their childish games, when they grew older and came to him for questions or advice, Mamá had always smiled, but with a trace of sadness, and looked away. Elena hadn't understood why, then.

Mamá had been crying at Elena's wedding, when Papá had walked her down the aisle. It was not just out of happiness on her daughter's wedding day.

It was not until much, much later, when Abuela and Tíos Oscar and Felipe and Tía Rosita and Papá and even Victoria were dead, when Elena herself was a grandmother several times over; when Mamá beautiful dark hair had turned snow-white and her memory began to go, that she realized how much Mamá still loved her father, even though he hadn't loved her in return, and hadn't been there to see her grow up.

Mamá's memory had not gone all at once.

It hadn't been so bad at first. Little things, like getting mixed up as to which day of the week it was, or misplacing her favorite book.

But that - that was normal. Mamá was old. The mind often forgot little things as it aged. Elena, no spring chicken herself, sometimes found herself forgetting an item while shopping even though it was right there on the list, or forgetting where she'd put something. It was the way of the world.

But then the little things turned into big things. Cooking on the stove and forgetting to turn off the flame when she was done. Calling a stray cat Pepita, a name Elena vaguely remembered from her earliest childhood. Confusing Berto and Enrique with each other, and even Carmen, Luisa, and Gloria.

She would absentmindedly mention that she wondered when her mamá would be home from the market, or what Rosita would be making for supper, or what her tíos had been up to in the workshop - all people she loved, all long dead.

She confused Rosa with Gloria and Victoria. She confused Abel with Enrique and Berto. She called Elena by Victoria's name over and over.

The most heartbreaking part - up until then, at least - was the times when she would urgently wheel her chair to Elena, speaking to her in an urgent whisper: "Mija, I can't find Victoria, she's not anywhere in the house, where has she gone?" And Elena would have to gently remind her that Victoria was long dead, over and over, and watch her mother's face shatter, over and over.

Mamá began to relive her own childhood. In her mind, she was a little girl again, happy with her family.

Elena bore this all, until Mamá looked right at her with no recognition and asked, "Who are you?"

Mamá wasn't confusing her name, or thinking she was Victoria. Mamá truly did not know who she was.

It made sense. If Mamá thought she was a little girl, than of course she wouldn't recognize her own daughter, a grandmother far past middle age. Mamá still loved her. Elena still loved Mamá. The terrible disease overtaking her mother's mind changed nothing.

Elena did her best to live up to her abuela's strong, stoic example. But that night, she waited until everyone in the house had gone to bed and wept on Franco's shoulder.

Still, Mamá didn't need to recognize her, or indeed any member of the family, all the time. As long as Mamá was happy and comfortable, that was the main thing.

And indeed, Mamá seemed happy, albeit missing much of her family; her husband, her daughter, her mother. But she had Elena, and Franco, and her grandchildren and great-grandchildren - Miguelito in particular adored his Mamá Coco - and she loved them and knew they loved her, even if she wasn't sure exactly who they were anymore.

But as her mind receded ever further, she began to ask for her papá.

Where was he? Where had he gone? When was he coming home?

She wanted him to come back. She waited for him to come back. Every time the door opened she would turn expectantly, only for her face to fall in disappointment.

Mamá wanted him to come back. He had left her as a small child, left Abuela all alone, left Tíos Oscar and Felipe to step into a father's role as best they could, left a young daughter who, it was now clear, had never stopped longing for him to come home. He had left his daughter behind without looking back, and never seen her again, and even after everything Mamá still loved him. Elena couldn't fathom it. How could she forgive him for that?

Maybe she hadn't forgiven him. If she had all her faculties, maybe she would hate him just as much as Elena did, and Abuela had.

But now, revealed for all to see was the little girl who desperately missed her papá, and wanted nothing more than for him to come home. There had always been something missing in Mamá's life, a big something, and now Elena knew what it was.

Elena hated him. Hated him, for abandoning her abuela. Hated him, for abandoning her mamá, for leaving her to cry into her pillow as a child, to walk down the aisle without him, to raise her daughters and grandchildren with a hole in her heart. Hated him, for leaving his family for the fame and glory music could bring him, leaving his daughter, nearly a century later, to sit forlornly at the window, night after night after night, waiting for a father who had never come home.

#coco #coco pixar #pixar coco #coco the movie #coco 2017 #elena rivera #abuelita elena #coco rivera #mama coco #hector rivera #rivera family #the rivera family

[the-widow-sisters]

I need some more Yelena and Nat fluff I like the idea of 6 year old Yelena getting bullied at school and 11 year old Nat being a protective big sis and helping Yelena by scaring her bullies away

A/N: Thank you so, so much for this request!!! 🥰💖💖💖 I absolutely loved writing this one! It was super fun to finally have a request for this idea since it had been one circulating in my head for a long while now 💗

I hope y’all enjoy! 😊💕

Word Count: 2620

Warning: Some Violence

  Natasha peacefully lounged at the top of the tree, reading a book as she remained watchful over her baby sister where she was sitting at the base of the tree.

  It was recess at their elementary school, and Natasha had chosen to climb a tree to escape the loudness of the children around them and take a sort of break from it. She had hard days sometimes where it was difficult to be around a ton of other people, and in those times, she preferred to seclude herself.

  Normally, she would have been fighting and training constantly to let off the steam and to find some manner of peace within herself. However, there was no real way to find relief here given the fact that they had to maintain their cover, so fights with the other children were completely out of the question.

  Not to mention the fact that she was well-aware that she could kill them all in the blink of an eye with little to no effort on her part.

  As soon as recess had been called, Yelena had come running to meet up with her as she always did, and Natasha had taken her hand softly in her own, never feeling too angry or too frustrated to greet Yelena as she always did. However, in that manner that Yelena had that sometimes utterly surprised Natasha with the sheer intuition of it, she had started asking her what was wrong, sensing it.

  “I’m fine, little one,” Natasha had reassured, and Yelena had furrowed her little brow, shaking her head.

  “You don’t seem fine.”

  “I’m just… Tired,” Natasha had finally settled for explaining, knowing that she could not tell Yelena the true reason and honestly not even wanting to burden the happy-go-lucky girl with her own troubles anyway even if she could tell her. Yelena had nodded in recognition, that adorable concern still shining in her eyes as she practically dragged Natasha over to a tree.

  “You go sleep and I’ll sit here and protect you,” Yelena had explained, and Natasha had looked at her with a deep awe and adoration.

  It still positively shocked Natasha how intuitive and intelligent that Yelena truly was. Most children her age would not have even thought of such things, but her baby sister most certainly did.

  Natasha had huffed, figuring that she would humor the little girl since it seemed that it actually would help to spend some time alone. She had pulled Yelena into a soft hug before climbing up the tree with the book that she had brought with her in her backpack.

  Yelena had wandered off to go get some cars from the sandpile to play with there at the base of the tree, and since then, Natasha had been watching over her from her perch, enjoying the relative peacefulness and the sound of her baby sister going on about something as she made the cars talk to one another.

  “No, Blue! I can’t go with you! I have to stay here and be with my friends!” Yelena spoke, talking for the purple car in her grasp. She then raised up the blue car and started to speak in a slightly deeper voice.

  “But I’m your friend, too, Purple! I want to go to the grocery store with you!” Natasha raised an eyebrow as she huffed and finally looked down at the situation unfolding with the toy cars.

  It was extremely silly and juvenile, but since Natasha had been on this mission, she had come to find joy in the childish, kid things that Yelena participated in. Something in her grew warm every time she saw Yelena’s innocence shining through.

  And true, it was a little insane that two cars named after their paintjobs were talking to each other and wanting to go to the grocery store of all places, but Natasha found that she loved to hear Yelena’s imagination in action.

  It was better than her own imagination that simply came up with scenarios with the most murderous of happenstances and the ugliest of circumstances within them.

  “Why don’t you bring your friends, too? We can all go!”

  “Yay! Let’s go!” Yelena cried, driving the cars along on the grass in front of her as she made car noises, and Natasha smiled gently, her heart warming and her eyes softening. She had never really thought that she would ever be capable of being anything but a heartless killer, and she had most certainly never entertained thoughts that there might actually be a place for her in this world, but with Yelena, that mindset actually started to shift a little.

  However, the sweetness of the moment was suddenly interrupted by a few boys from Natasha’s fifth grade history class.

  “There’s the toy cars!” they yelled, and Yelena paused in the middle of playing, looking at them uncertainly as she glanced down at the cars.

  Natasha furrowed her brow, watching them carefully as they approached Yelena. She was not sure what was about to happen, but if they dared even try to do anything to Yelena, she was not about to hesitate in taking care of the situation regardless of the need to maintain cover.

  Quite simply, no one was going to put their hands on Yelena. Not now and not ever.

  “What are you doing with the cars? Those are for the boys to play with!” the leader, a red-headed boy with a terrible attitude, declared.

  He was known as Knuckles by pretty much all the students. This was primarily because he was the biggest boy in elementary school with the meanest temper, and he had no problem getting physical as a result of said temper.

  Natasha had been dying to knock him down a few pegs, but she had been holding back all this time for the sake of her cover.

  But if he kept bothering her baby sister, his comeuppance was about to come up quicker than he expected.

  “Go play with your stupid Barbie dolls. Those are for stupid girls,” he told her, and the other boys laughed along with him, the entire lot of them just yes-men to their carrot top leader.

  “Stupid isn’t a nice word,” Yelena pointed out, looking very unsure of herself and on the edge of getting really upset as her bottom lip trembled just a little. As soon as Natasha spotted the trembling of her lip, Natasha gritted her teeth, her nostrils flaring as she started to climb down the tree from the backside.

  “Give me those cars! They’re ours!” he yelled, and Yelena immediately protested. Just as Natasha came around the tree, she spotted the boy snatching both of the cars from her grasp, and Natasha growled under her breath, speaking up.

  “Hey!” Natasha raised her voice, finding herself slipping back into the girl that she had been forced to leave behind at the Red Room. They immediately looked at her uncertainly, and Natasha narrowed her eyes, angling her head toward the cars.

  “Give those back to her right now,” Natasha warned, and Knuckles stared at her as if she had completely lost her mind, that arrogance just emanating from him in every way.

  “Oooh,” the other boys chorused, and Knuckles just looked back at them, scoffing before looking at Natasha.

  “And what are you going to do about it, Chicken Legs?” he questioned. Chicken legs had very frustratingly come to be Natasha’s name around the school since Knuckles had so ceremoniously coined it upon his first meeting with her at the beginning of the school year.

  “If you don’t stop, I will break your nose,” Natasha warned, every word coming out dead serious as she eyed them. Knuckles just laughed at her, and the rest of his group, while a little shaken at the threat, still laughed with him. Natasha just eyed them carefully, preparing to take action.

  It was at that moment that Yelena chose to get up and start trying to reach for the cars. After all, Natasha had said that they were supposed to give her back the cars.

  However, it was directly after that attempt that Knuckles reached out, shoving her down to the ground after her attempt. Natasha’s eyes widened a little, and a snarl left her lips before she could control herself.

  She stalked toward him as he sneered at Yelena, and as soon as he was within arms-length, he happened to look in her direction. She slammed her fist into his face, a sickening crack resounding as she made contact. He crumpled to the ground, howling painedly as he nursed his broken nose.

  One of the boys immediately took off to go get the teacher in response to this development. Natasha could not help but feel what could perhaps be considered a sick sense of joy at the revenge that she had gained on the behalf of not only her sister but so many other children as well.

  Yelena got to her feet, sniffling a little after having been pushed down, and she hurried over to Natasha, hiding behind her as she placed her small hands on Natasha’s back. She gripped the fabric of Natasha’s shirt as she peered out from behind her somewhat tearfully, and Natasha just glared down at the boy.

  “What is wrong with you?!” one of the other boys cried, and Natasha just bared her teeth at him in an almost feral manner.

  “I told him that I’d break his nose if he didn’t quit! And I did!” Natasha warned, and the boy came back with the teacher swiftly. She gasped as she took in the sight of Knuckles, and she looked at Natasha in nothing short of horror and intense lividness.

  “Natasha Shaw!” Natasha could not help but feel the urge to cringe at the fake last name that they had been using for the last three years as a “family.” She did not particularly love it, and she really wished that there was some other derivative of Shostakov that could have been picked instead.

  “To the principal’s office! Right now!” she demanded, and Natasha let out a deep sigh, starting to head in that direction. However, Yelena remained holding onto her tightly, and Natasha stopped, turning toward her, and Yelena looked like she was going to burst into tears.

  “No, no, Natty! Don’t go to the office!” Yelena sniveled pitifully, her eyes big and sad as she looked at Natasha, and Natasha shook her head, kneeling down to her level as the teacher’s critical, evil eye was following her every movement as she helped Knuckles to his feet.

  “Don’t worry, little one,” Natasha told her softly. “I’ll be okay. Just have fun at recess, okay?”

  “Oh, no, she’s not having any fun. We’re calling your parents!” the teacher proclaimed, and Natasha set her jaw, flicking her eyes in the woman’s direction.

  That was a major problem. She had really preferred that they kept this entire incident a secret. Especially considering the fact that when they went home that Natasha was liable to be in deep and very real trouble in consideration to the mission. Natasha let out a sigh, and Yelena immediately started to cry, hugging Natasha’s middle tightly, and Natasha straightened as she held her close.

  “Just stay here, okay? Mom’s going to come get us,” Natasha explained, the more affectionate name for her mother slipping out far more easily nowadays than it had in past. Yelena sniffed hard, hugging her still.

  “Be a brave girl and let me go, okay?” Natasha told her, and Yelena hugged her tighter for just a moment before finally releasing her. Natasha smiled down at her, wiping her tears away, and she stroked her cheek before leaving her to go to the principal’s office.

  This was going to be fun…

   ………………………………………………………………………………………………………

       Yelena sat outside the principal’s office, a deep fear and nervousness in her. All she could think about was Natasha and how much terrible trouble that she was going to be in.

  Their mother had arrived at the school a little while ago, and picking up Yelena with soft words of reassurance, she had headed to the office and placed her on the little couch outside of it, assuring her that she would only be there for a few minutes.

  Yelena honestly felt that it had been more than a few minutes by now. To her, it was taking absolute ages.

  In the midst of her fear and worry for her big sister, she had tried listening in at the door a couple of times, but she could not hear anything of real consequence. It just sounded like mumbling voices, and in dejection, she had headed back to her seat. Her only comfort from the experience was that she had heard the sound of her sister’s voice.

  Yelena never really knew what happened when kids went to the office. She had always been a good girl and had never been sent there, so she had no reason to really know. All she understood was that the office was bad and it was where all the bad kids who did bad things went.

  However, despite this, it was her belief that her Natty was a good girl. She did not need to be sent to the office at all, because she was just trying to protect Yelena. She was trying to keep those boys from being mean to Yelena, and even though Natasha had hit one of them, she was not trying to be mean. It was protecting.

  Yelena did not understand why Natasha had to get sent to the office for protecting her. Was that the wrong thing to do?

  Suddenly, the door opened all the way, and out stepped Natasha. Yelena’s eyes went wide, and she grinned widely and happily as she practically jumped from her seat and rushed over to her big sister, locking her arms around her as she buried her face in Natasha’s shirt. Natasha laughed a little, kissing her head as she moved the both of them out of the way of the door so that Melina could come out.

  “Yes, you have a good day, sir,” their mother smiled kindly, shutting the door behind her as she reached out for the girls’ hands. Yelena moved to her right side as she always did, and Natasha remained at her left, and they started out.

  “Mommy?” Yelena questioned after a moment, looking back at the principal’s office uncertainly before looking up at their mother.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Why did Natty get in trouble?” Yelena asked her, knowing her mother would be straightforward with her. Melina shook her head, humming as she smiled down at Yelena.

  “Honey, it was just a big misunderstanding. Don’t worry. Your sister is not going to be getting in any trouble any time soon,” Melina assured her, keeping that same loving look on her face that she always had when dealing with her girls. She leaned forward a little in an attempt to see Natasha’s face around their mother.

  She quickly spotted her big sister’s surprisingly soft smile, and after that, Yelena herself smiled, nodding her head and accepting the answer. If all was okay with her big sister, then all was okay with her.

  “What do you say we get some ice cream?” Melina offered, and Yelena immediately completely forgot what happened earlier in favor of grinning widely and hopping a little as they walked.

  “Yay!!!” Yelena excitedly cried, and Melina chuckled warmly. Natasha grinned, looking as excited as Natasha ever seemed about anything in her typical manner of calmness.

  And as the three of them headed for the ice cream shop down the road from the school, all was perfect in their perfect world as it should be.

#natasha romanoff #yelena belova #melina vostokoff #widow sisters #black widow #natasha romanov #young yelena belova #young natasha romanoff #black widow 2021 #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #fluff #sweet

[nyrator]

Got the Rotten Nyan tumblr queued up with art I've neglected to post on there.. keeping a few more sketchy doodley art still on Twitter/the website, but should be all up a little after midnight my time~

... still feel really self conscious with the kind of content I've been making vent art of lately, please don't be afraid to message me with any concerns or criticisms... I tried tagging it all with a custom warning tag (that way it won't nuke the post, I think...) hopefully that's enough... if not hopefully people let me that as well

In other life news, I'm seeing a therapist, got a job, etc~ More in the cut

So, yeah. Life.

Still a vtuber, but feels like I've stalled lately... Not in terms of growth (if anything I keep growing), but in terms of motivation. I have a list of games to play, but I just can't focus on playing games anymore, it's rough.. mostly do zatsus, but even those are pretty hit or miss and sometimes I spiral into really dumb personal unprofessional rambles...

My art commissions are picking up- more than I can handle, honestly... My clients have gotten pretty big and it's getting me recognition, I have a few big offers in store once I can get around to them and I'm excited about it... but commissions are hard. I'm going to raise prices in January, and I try to accept five a month... but I can't keep up. I can't even do one a month it feels like... And yet I keep getting dozens of requests..

So in spite of this, because of my own doing and lack of doing, I've been bleeding a lot of money. I'm at a dangerous point of money... so I finally got a seasonal job at a local chocolate shop.

Haaaaaaaa.....

It's rough... I was in a huge depression over it, and I still don't want to work... The people are nice, the hours are light, and the pay is better than expected, but it's still so stressful... My social anxiety is terrible lately, it makes me want to curl into a ball and cry. I can't stand it, I can't stand being seen, I can't focus or memorize anything on the register, I can't handle dealing with customers or fast-paced environments...

They say the season lasts until Easter because of the nature of the store, but maybe I'll leave after Christmas time if it doesn't work out.. It's really a pain, and also could affect things like my food stamps and subsidized rent. Plus, the gas I have to spend, the clothes I had to buy, etc etc.. I wonder if it'll be worth it (probably, but nyeh)

I'm in need of money, though... one, my phone is on its last legs. The battery barely lasts an hour, it's very slow and unresponsive, and the 32 GB of storage is becoming more and more unwieldy.. Going to maybe buy one tonight...

My throat is also been a mess lately- I've had trouble swallowing, to the point I was unable to eat anything without a 50-50 chance of just choking on it. Drinking water was like waterboarding, it was like I was drowning. After raising my mattress, it's helped a lot, but not entirely, so I think it's something to do with scarring thanks to acid reflux- been trying to get an endoscopy for a year and finally have one scheduled in mid December. I'm worried how much it might cost.. hoping insurance covers it, but I still had to pay almost a thousand for my colonoscopy a few years back, which terrifies me...

Other small things- items I'd like to own, taking care of Bootsie (she's fine but overdue for a checkup and she's like 13 years old), etc.

But yeah, therapy. Also started taking that- we're trying to avoid me taking any medication, but I'm afraid I might need it.. I see her every week and I've been going since early October, and she seems like a decent therapist- she's the same age as me and understands a lot of internet culture, which.. is weird to talk to someone like that who "gets it" (she's a cosplayer, for example, and knows of vtubers), but it's nice.

Been reliving a lot of past stuffs... Been trying to improve, had some good phases, but fell back apart recently and not sure how far I can really get... keeping my apartment clean is hard, feeding myself is hard, drawing and doing anything is hard. I don't watch any media these days besides some indie vtubers I know, I don't really do much of anything but be depressed.

My biggest issue, as always, is my complex/trauma/whatever you want to call it... I've started trying to embrace it the past year. I've openly admitted to it, I made an alternate Twitter account for vent art of it, etc. But it makes me hate myself so much... It's become an addiction it feels like. Do I let it consume me and fully embrace it, even though it will push people away and make people think worse of me? Even though it will attract strange people who want creepy things from me? Even though it's expensive and gross and exhausting and uncomfortable to manage?

Or do I try to quit cold turkey? Get it all out of my system, and then never talk about it again. Delete the vent account, stop drawing it, stop being paranoid without things to take care of it, and just move on. I don't know. It's a part of me. But I hate it. And I really hate myself for it, it's my biggest tool to hate myself with.

But I've tried to embraced it, and that's what the RN update will have, and I apologize for it. I don't know how to move forward now. Therapy reopened a lot of thoughts about it- it really is a weird trauma, and a lot of it stems from my childhood... I want it gone. I want to be okay and not hurt myself mentally...

But such is life I supposeee. Again, I apologize that most of my art lately has been venting about it.. even if I embrace it, I don't want to be exclusively that kind of artist, you know? It's just one of many aspects. But it's invasive. And I don't want it to be invasive, but I don't know how to handle it.

The main goal of therapy is to get me drawing again. To give me what I've lost- a drive and motivation to continue. It feels like I just go through the motions when I draw. It's awful. I can't picture anything, no ideas. Rotten Nyan is completely stagnant lately. I don't know what to do about it. Life is just empty and depressing, it feels like. I gave up on myself, and now I don't know how to un-give up. But that's what therapy's for. Hopefully it helps... She brought up medication again, and I wonder if I should try it at this rate...

My anxiety is very bad. I end up relying on my complex trauma coping methods a lot when anxious. It's embarrassing and gross. And it just fuels my anxiety more using those things. I can't stand driving, or being around people, or crowded situations. I can't handle stress, or excitement, or being praised, or anything. My nerves are shot and I just have to curl into a ball. I don't know how I'm going to improve, but I have to try...

And then my focus, which I just can't focus at all anymore.. I don't know if it's depression/anxiety, ADHD, or what, but I just can't focus at all. It's awful. Very forgetful, very not-able-to-draw.

Otherwise, not much different. Got the new Nagata Kabi manga (I still worry about her a lot... she's so relatable though, she speaks to me, but she flares my anxiety like crazy too...) Still obsessed with my Disney anime boy gacha game, it's great, Vil's great. Vil, Cater, Lilia, Jade... so many good characters....

I guess that's all for now. Hope everyone has a happy thanksgiving- will keep doing what I can to try to improve.

And again, I'm really sorry about my art output and that most of it is just gross vent art about a gross personal trauma... I'm sorry...

#text stuffs

[nightmarewing]

For the latest ask game, if you'd like: Puppyshipping 2 + 9, and Mokuba 7 if you'd like. Thank you! ILU

Thank you for the ask. :D ILU too.

Puppyshipping:

2. ...why I do or don't ship them. It started with childhood obsession with interest in the characters individually, and I still really love both of them. I don't know if they're my favorites, as I'm attached to so many YGO characters now, but I do still spend a disproportionate amount of time thinking about them.

Ultimately, I've always enjoyed shipping rivals, characters who rub each other the wrong way, and ones with diametrically opposed themes/backgrounds. They're not the actual rivals in YGO, nor do they even interact all that much in the grand scheme of things, but it's always interesting when they do. There's a palpable contrast in their histories and their living situations and their ideals, and that's fun to play with. Lots of room for interesting conflicts.

I also feel like Jounouchi is exactly the right kind of stubborn, temperamental, aggressively affectionate fool to be able to get under Kaiba's skin, given enough time and exposure. That it's difficult only makes him more persistent. He wants to be acknowledged. And I also think, generally speaking, it's good for Kaiba to be wrested out of his own head sometimes. Even at his most irritated, Jounouchi has always cared about Kaiba to some degree. The same is... not true in reverse, lol.

BUT even this scene is really interesting to me, because this is a point that Kaiba acknowledges Jounouchi: when he thinks he died in the pursuit of victory. He disparages him for loss and weakness in the same breath, but Kaiba really and truly believes there's merit in sacrificing yourself for victory and dying if you can't achieve it. Which is why the perspective of Atem and Jounouchi is so fun to confront him with: losing isn't shameful, and strength comes from doing your best and picking yourself up again no matter what happens. The fight, the journey, matters as much as the outcome.

Nobody represents that better than Jounouchi, and it's so much fun to butt up against Kaiba's issues. Jounouchi won't just lay down! He doesn't even have the grace to stay dead when he dies. Jounouchi doesn't care who he loses to or how many times he loses. For Kaiba, that existence would be crushingly shameful, but Jounouchi is fine. He's resilient. He learns from his defeats and (at least according to the text of the series... we won't talk about the idiot ball) gets better at dueling all the time. He's proud of becoming the third best duelist in the world. That's gotta be so irritating from Kaiba's perspective, if he would give it more than half a moment of thought at a time.

... I didn't know if I honestly had that much to say about them that I hadn't said already, but there you go, lol.

9. ...what my ideal endgame for them is.

Hmm, ideal is hard to consider since I'm into exploring them from a lot of different angles with a lot of different conclusions, but I am a sucker for them getting over themselves enough to grow into a comfortable, stable relationship in which they can maybe grow old together. I think they really could be good for each other if they'd slow down and let themselves be vulnerable and not make every conflict the end of the world. Big ifs, lol. I can't even begin to envision them having this kind of relationship until considerably after canon, when they've matured a little and had some distance from everything that happened (and probably from each other as well).

But I like it. I want Kaiba to soften his edges and process his trauma enough to get by without feeling like he has to put himself on the line all the time to be worthy of anyone's time, and I want Jounouchi to get the same kind of recognition and affection he gives so freely without feeling like he has to prove himself all the time either.

Mokuba:

7. ...the scene that I think adds depth to their character or the relationship this character has with someone.

Ahh, this is harder for me because what I've read of the manga is kind of scattered, and I think Mokuba probably is a deeper and more interesting character in the manga. Need to fix that sometime.

But as far as the anime goes, I love how anytime Mokuba is given a little bit of responsibility or authority, he gets so excited, like... it's childlike in a weird way. His circumstances kind of force him to be more mature and responsible in general than any kid that age should have to be, but he still really wants to help and blow his whistle at BC and be baby vice president and wear his DSoD suit and tie. He guesses he can get you a dueling booth at Kaiba Land under the table because, you know, he has connections.

There's just something about the enthusiasm he handles this kind of thing with which serves to point out that he's just a kid who wants his brother's approval, a kid playing at being a bigshot. It's also sad, because he really is stuck being one, dealing with Kaiba's behavior/handling things in his absence, and we can see how Mokuba reacts to even the slightest, most occasional bit of praise for it. Good stuff.

Questions here.

#thank you again! #ask memes

[multiplecomplexes]

(@mashbrainrot since you wanted to know)

Okay, so I guess I should start off with this - I do not see Trapper and Hawkeye's relationship as being romantic, or even physical.

I think they love each other, deeply. I think they were both very important to each other's stability and mental health. But I just do not see their relationship extending beyond the platonic, or even the familial. Which, I would like add, does not dilute, diminish, or detract from the Love shared between them.

However.

I do also see them both as being closeted queer men, perhaps even partially closeted to one another. They both know, but neither has actually said anything outright, so they can dance around it, and joke about it, and try to find a comfortable place to be in it, while still holding on to that plausible deniability lifeline.

But the thing is, because they are platonic queer friends, they can play.

They can just say shit. And because there's no real stakes, there's no problem, it's all a good time and they can just screw around and play with this new (queer) way of being. The 4077, for all its horrors, has created, ironically, a safe space bubble. Klinger can crossdress and explore a new way of expressing his masculinity/femininity/gender, Margaret has a freedom of expression and responsibility that she probably just would not get in any other setting as a 1950s woman, Hawkeye is...the way he is, you see where I'm going with this?

The 4077, in its weird way isn't "real", this isn't the World. This is currently their reality but its not...Reality.

So they can be. They can try stuff, do stuff, explore themselves in ways that may or may not have been open to them in a different setting.

And then, Reality hits.

Henry dies, Trapper leaves, and thus - enter BJ, stage right.

(Further under the cut cause I start to go on)

And BJ....just messes everything up.

Because its real.

Joking and being open about his queerness isn't quite so comfortable for Hawkeye anymore when the guy he's bouncing off of is...earnest.

There is real emotion here, there are stakes, there are consequences. BJ has a family. And if something happens between he and Hawkeye...what then? We know how Hawkeye is about families, about children, the guilt that he would feel would destroy him.

These aren't just playful jokes that mean nothing, aren't serious, and are just meant to tease, the man is actually very much in love with Hawkeye. Its not

So it's not safe, anymore. We're striking too close to home, now.

Calling yourself a guy's missus just doesn't slide off as easily as it does when you know the guy in question wants that to be your reality, even if only for awhile.

Making sex jokes isn't as easy when that is something that could happen, compared to making those same jokes with someone who is like "yeah sure of course, I'd fuck you dude, totally" and then can't even keep a straight (haha) face while saying it because it's just so ridiculous and the both of you know it and are fine with it.

BJ's emotions, and the romantic love and physical attraction he feels toward Hawkeye is real. It's too real, in fact. Add a joke and there's very little space to breathe.

So, Hawkeye pulls back. He's still flamboyant, he still flagrant and out there, but in the face of BJ's reality, his diminishes.

Also something that needs to be taken into account is that, once season four rolled around, the show had gained popularity, recognition was growing. And the tone changed.

In the first three seasons they had several POC in either recurring roles, or singular roles with importance. They talked about racism, war, gay men in the army, civilians being stolen for soldiers, children being drafted, the way foreign soliders (and particularly American soldiers) came in and completely fucked over and subjugated the Korean people, the blatant LIES the army told to cover its ass when they made a mistake, propaganda, ect. it was a gigantic Fuck You to the army, "Regular Army" was the enemy, sometimes even more than opposing forces were.

Seasons 1-3, for all its faults (and it had them) was belligerent.

But season four and onwards was when the money and the attention came in. And that's not to say that they didn't still have a message, or anything like that, no no, not at all. But the studio was paying more attention now and they had to mind their step a bit better if they want to strike deep where it counts, because they have to measure their blows now.

So, by a kind of necessity, their teeth were dulled.

Klinger was in uniform more often, "Regular Army" actually had some good guys in it, and Hawkeye's queerness did not progress much farther from the point it had already reached (not to say that is actually would have before, we don't know, probably not, but you get my gist).

So that's my longwinided point, Hawkeye might have gotten queerer if Trapper had stayed around, I think it's probable even, given that his character is always pushing the envelope of behavior, but with the arrival of BJ and the truth of his emotions and desires toward Hawkeye, coupled with the advent of extra hands on the pen and eyes in the writer's room, effectively set the limit.

#It's been so long. Do you even remember? #Sorry it took forever. Things have beeen....hectic for awhile #But tada! I finally got it! #Hawkeye Pierce #Trapper #Trapper John McIntyre #BJ Hunnicutt #M*a*s*h #Mash #Mash 4077 #Audie talks #This is of course just me talking. I could be outstandingly wrong #Ah this has been sitting so long and I've revised it a bunch and I hope it makes sense

[yournextflame]

You've said before that you think Ranni and Marika would be interpreted in a less flattering light if they weren't pretty women. Why do you think then that Malenia gets so much hate? She's pretty, and her faction is the one that's ACTUALLY trying to ward off outer gods and grant relief to oppressed minorities, not Ranni's, yet people constantly make shit up to both demonize her and downplay her strength. Because she's a hard boss? Because she beat up meme horse guy? Because her lore is obscure?

I don't see a lot of hate towards Malenia nowadays, there is some residual grudge from Radahn's fanboys, but it nowhere as strong. I think there are a few factors played towards her initial not so positive reception - she is a hard boss, she nuked Caelid, she doesn't fit the waifu box (her pretty looks aside) and she was a victim of a jar guy meme.

When I said Marika and Ranni getting away with a lot of because they are pretty, I mainly compared them to the central figures in the previous From titles like Gwyn or Laurence. But I think it's more complicated than this. I recently had a convo with another Japanese knower, who is also lurking in JP side of fandom, and also noticed that reception of Marika's character is quite different from Western worship, where she is a perfect Queen Mary Sue. However, a wish-fulfillment fantasy of being a consort of a righteous benevolent martyr-goddess also played its part. Well, people like to feel that they are doing something meaningful, more meaningful than being murderhobos manipulated by a basic tropey prophecy about Chosen One. I have a lot of to say about fantasy tropes and difference in audiences mentality, but it would be a really long post.

I don't think Malenia's lore is obscure, she is just quite simple characater. She is a little more developed Prince Lorian and Lorian worked just fine as a mute plot device. She is Blade of Miquella and that's it. On the contrary, Marika's and Ranni's lore is rather convoluted and... well, sometimes not so appealing. So, people had to do something about it and cramming any possible noble goal they can think about into their plots. In case of Ranni there is "mistranslated ending" meme, which is used as a loophole by westerners. Speaking of Marika, her fanon characterization is 30% stereotypical gender tropes (ie she is a goddess=she is a symbol of feminity and fertility, a good mother, etc, while in canon she is nothing like this; she views her children as disposable and her children never mention her anywhere), 30% borrowed Radagon's lore, 30% youtubers crap, who are portraying her like a poor victim and maybe 10% recognition of her canon traits, glossed over by "Elden Beast forced her to do it".

Maybe it's actually her "Blade of Miquella" thing that annoys gamer bros. She isn't there to ascend Tarnished to a god's right hand position, she has her own goal and is loyal to her brother first and foremost.

P.S. I assume that you are the same anon, who asked about Malenia's rune? I don't remember last time I said that her rune is a part of ER. Since then I changed my opinion on her rune or more like... I don't understand how runes are working because game has contradictory information - some descriptions are implying that demigods were born with them, other that they were fighting for them.

#reply #it's incoherent and it's my 4th attempt to reply because I really have a lot of to say #but it will be the greatest wall of the most horrible english ever #don't take this post as r/nni and m/rika bashing #I was talking about fandom projection #not their actual characters or how I view them