#also to be clear i genuinely truly could not fucking care less what you ship

[leonardalphachurch]

okay last thing i say about this but. i do want to be clear that wash and carolina are not canonically siblings and if you call shipping them incest you are also incredibly fucking annoying and i don’t want you here either.

like honestly i love carwash siblings but i don’t actually see their canon relationship as familial i think they’re just. friends. i think that kind of goes into the whole issue of like… men and women can’t just be friends you need to explain it away in some way. they’re dating or they’re siblings etc etc. i think actually they are platonically best friends and that this is awesome actually.

#also to be clear i genuinely truly could not fucking care less what you ship #it matters so not even a little bit to me. i don’t care. leave me alone. #that doesn’t mean that i can’t and won’t analyze and criticize harmful elements of your ship/fiction #actually if you can’t understand that someone can hold criticisms about something while not caring if other people partake in it i also don #want you here #we have critical thinking here. we have dialectics. we talk and analyze things instead of just saying #‘well i like it so it’s fine’ or ‘well i dislike it so it’s bad’ #this is a different conversation than the post. oh well. #i just don’t want people to be annoying about like. ‘shipping wars’ or some bullshit #this isn’t about shipping it’s about. analysis of characters and relationships and stories #i don’t even ship carolina and wash with anyone else LMAO

[shydaydreamer28]

MCU - PalmerStrange + Salvaging Cleaphen

Unlike my last PalmerStrange post, this IS NOT a rant - just (probably unwarranted) optimism as a Cleaphen shipper.

This is how I see PalmerStrange from the first film to MoM - which I think can add depth & perspective Strange in the future, salvage Cleaphen, while also taking some of the cringe & shallowness out of the MoM version of PalmerStrange.

I said this in my PS post, but them shoving Christine down our throats so hard fucks everything up for Clea as a love interest. When 4/8 years of Strange's MCU time has been Christine-based with her getting this unearned spot as his "one true love", how are we meant to care about Clea coming into his life?

Clea ends up looking like a consolation prize because his actual love rejected him (in numerous universes). With that being the case, how are MCU fans (who are non-comic readers) supposed to truly invest in what was set-up to look like a rebound relationship because they wrote themselves into a corner trying to give Rachel McAdams more spotlight? Lol

That's like if the comics tried to paint Zelma as Strange's true love after we spend decades with Clea. That was a weird relationship by the way. Sometimes she was strictly a student & friend, other times it was written like they intended Strange's feelings as romantic. Lord knows...But either way, it's asinine. Imo you don't (or shouldn't) spend years gassing up a relationship knowing you have no intent of settling on it, then bringing in a new person randomly claiming that it was always meant to be them after numerous prior years depicting it as clearly being someone else.

I am saying the above because it seems clear in interviews from Waldron & McAdams, that they genuinely believe in PalmerStrange as a deep love pairing. Wth their pushing of it, it hurts Clea's romance with Strange in future projects by being brought in as "the lesser" ship.

However, the writing & execution in MoM was so bad, that I can NOT see PalmerStrange the way Waldron & McAdams were trying to sell it. And plus, of course the latter is gonna toot her own horn & hype the main character's feelings for her. Lmao

The first film didn't paint Christine being anywhere near as important to Strange as MoM tried to (badly) suggest.

Being bluntly honest, Strange never really paid much attention to Christine unless he wanted or needed something. I do believe he cared as much as he could at that time in his life when we first meet him, but it seemed more like she was a safety net. I'll expand a bit further down.

But first, lets look at the first non-business interaction between them. This interaction alone tells us everything.

Christine shares her policy against dating co-works which she named after Strange. Strange is glad something is named after him since nobody wants to call the technique he invented "The Strange technique."

Christine corrects him in noting that they invited the technique, which includes her.

Note how Strange promptly rushes passed the part relating to her to talk about how he's speaking at a dinner he wants her to attend with him.

Christine is less than thrilled. Strange says they had fun when they'd go & she has to break it to him that she never had fun because everything is always about him.

This sets the tone right here. Strange is clearly attracted to Christine but he is not at all in-tune with her as a person. When they were dating, Christine went to those events for him - not because they were fun, because they weren't for her. And Strange was so detatched & disinterested in her emotionally, he couldn't fathum that she wasn't having any fun until she outright tells him. Not hard to see why she (we can safely assume) broke things off.

Lets also take notice of how Strange never does anything for Christine.

She bought him a very expensive & engraved watch.

She was the one person to visit with him in the hospital after his accident, and was clearly heartbroken seeing him hurt.

She tried to take care of him after the accident - we see her giving him a shave when he's still hospitalized as well as bringing him food after he's out.

And while her timing was bad, she tried to get him to face the fact that his hands can not be fixed rather than torture himself on false hopes & putting himself in debt because of it.

But she also tries to encourage him to use the time to find new meaning in life.

She saved his life when he was stabbed.

She tried to comfort him after The Ancient One's death.

Lastly, she invited him to her wedding as a good friend.

Meanwhile we never see him doing anything for her. Her wedding in MoM was a chance for him to be supportive & encouraging on her new life chapter.

But rather than do that, his first instinct is to make her wedding about him - using her reception as the time & place to confess that he still has feelings for her.

Not only is this tacky asf, but it shows how little her happiness & best interests are to him when he makes her big day about him. Their relationship was 100% giving and / or sacrifice on Christine's end & nothing but taking on Strange's end. And that has not changed in MoM.

Imo opinion that cements that Strange doesn't love her because he doesn't care enough about her to ever put her first, show her consideration, or do even the smallest kindnesses for her - even after his character developement .

Christine seems to be someone he could always count on to validate & support him whenever he needed / wanted because she was the only person to ever put up with him. For the longest, she may have been the only friend (and possibly lover) he ever had. Or maybe he had more but she was the only one who stuck around. However you slice it, the first film makes it clear, she's the only real friend he had prior to his journey. Nobody else cared about him beyond professional responsibility. And there was good reason for that. Lol

He's so obsessive in MoM, the only way I excuse & explain it is her wedding triggering him and bringing some insecuriies and traumas regarding loss & lonliness back to the surface.

Rather than truly loving her, he's just desperate to cling to the 1 person he's always had for the longest. Her marrying someone else cuts in on their relationship big time. But that clinginess has more to do with him trying to make himself happy & hold on to a comfort source rather than out of any truly deep love for her. 

Again, not saying he doesn't care about Christine - but rather his romantic feelings are not based around true love. It seems to be based around how she makes him feel more so than how he truly feels for her. A case of truly loving the person vs. their actions, i.e. "what they do or provide for you."

And even deep into MoM, this seemed to be the case because all of his interactions with Christine center on what he is feeling rather than him trying to truly connect with & understand her feelings. He's had some character development but when it comes to Christine, he still treats everything as being about him, marking very little change in their relationship since the hospital scene in the first film.

He regresses when he's around her. Not because of anything bad on her part. She's so compassionate to him, she's done nothing but sacrifice & give to him which he has now come to expect. When they link up, he's always looking for her to be his comfort, savior, & validation rather than his true love or partner. In response, she humors him & is more patient with him than most would be. But sadly she's inadvertently enabling his behavior.

Cleaphen & Perspective

Now that brings me to Cleaphen & new perspective for Strange. Unlike PalmStrange (lmao that name works on multiple levels), Cleaphen only got 30 sec. of screentime. Lmao So this is based around wishful thinking to build on the above. LMAO

For me, the way to salvage this upcoming ship is establish that his feelings for Christine were not as genuine as he may have thought at the time once he begins to experience & feel the real thing with Clea.

Now usually I am very much against sailing ships by bombing others. A good ship can sail on its own. The thing that makes this different was MCU writing things into a corner to show more Rachel. Derrickson used Christine to give Strange a personal teather to his old life that he'd have to give up at the film's end. He gave them their closure in the first film & was planning & excited to bring Clea in for MoM. But he left, so his vision was burnt to a crisp & replaced.

Disney wanted to do a "What If" episode about Christine, Waldron watched that and continued with giving Christine / Rachel a larger part than what they were supposed to have. Because of all this padding for McAdams, PalmerStrange got stretched way out, leading to non-comic MCU fans expecting a Ross x Rachel get-together after the supposed Will They / Won't They.

Marrying Christine off in MoM gave most people a WTF reaction because it feels anti-climactic to spend 4 years on a ship they made Strange obsessively lovesick over only to not follow through on sailing it. Then we didn't stop at the wedding, we got a variant Christine to tag along in MoM, leading folks to thinking our Strange would get with her. And that doesn't happen - even after his confession PalmerStrange fans expected to at least get a kiss there. Nope.

Now we have 4 years of wasted time on a dead & static romance while making it the center of our main character's existence only to introduce what was supposed to be his real true love in a rushed & half-assed fashion during the credits of his sequel-in-name-only.

So because of the mess Disney made with PalmerStrange, we gotta have some pull back if they truly care about selling Clea as a love interest to be cared about. And maybe they don't. We'll have to see. Lol

Imo PalmerStrange has been overstretched & has done no kind of favors to Strange as this tweet perfectly sums up. Lmao

In addition to doing Strange a disservice, it also drags down Cleaphen. If she's gonna be his lover for the duration of his MCU tenure, then the mess they made with PalmerStrange needs to be cleaned up. But this assumes there's anyone besides Derrickson in the MCU who cares about Strange & Clea's characters.

Starting off, I think his ship with Clea needs to be a very slow burn across multiple films or shows whichever they are invloved in. But it needs to be spread out to provide real development & depth so it doesn't seem rushed & half-assed. Again. Lol PalmerStrange got 2 films and 2 "What If..." episodes. They could at least give Cleaphen 2 films - especially since that's the ship that's supposed to go somewhere. The romance will only ever be a subplot because there's always a bigger over-arching story that is more important.

The following is gonna be how I hink Cleaphen should be spread post-MoM. Lord knows all the MCU projects and films to come. So I am just gonna number things

Film 1 (their very next major appearance)

We need to see them as comrades first. Show them working well together as a good team. Good battle chemistry can definitely be a factor in bonding them during early stages. It would lay the groundwork of mutual respect between 2 mystic fighters & sorcerers.

After developing mutual respect for one another as comrades, slowly work toward connecting more personally which leads to a friendship. That connection could be in conversation about her family. Perhaps Clea fully introduces herself to Strange revealing the extent of who she is to him - a key thing being that she's Dormammu's niece. We can hear about her family and the emotional conflct she faces coming from such a family whom she once supported.

This would help turn the tables. We'd get someone is sharing their sob story with Strange and he's getting a chance to be the ear to listen and provide comfort to Clea in similar fashion to what he had to do for America. This would already differentiate the relationship from Christine because he'd be required put forth emotional effort in the developmental stages. Unlike Christine, Clea comes with her own regrets and dark history. She's not the Mary Sue with no hardships or wrong-doings. So while Clea can be a source of support for Stephen, he has to be there for her issues as well.

With Clea having her own very clear demons & a VERY dangerous family, Strange would not have the chance to make everything all about him & become complacent in that. If he wants her, he's gonna have to make effort insuring she is emotionally supported & fulfilled as well.

Again, we can't linger on this subplot too long because the film would have a bigger story to be told - but we have nicely continued the ship voyage - showing how they mesh as comrades since the end of MoM, and now moving into friendship in this film. This film this is should focus a bit more on Clea with Strange being a supporting factor to her since she is a major new addition to Marvel & Strange lore. We can be learning about her & building a connection simultaneously with Strange. I hate to say that after Strange played 3rd fiddle in MoM, but even with focusing on Clea, it wouldn't hurt Strange's character as bad as MoM because we are developing a character who is going to be very big & influential in his life. So end the subplot here for this film. Whatever it may be. Lol

Film 2

Next film, shift back to Strange focus. Having clearly become fond of him, have Clea inquires about Strange - his life, family, and if he has a special someone back home. He can give a brief recap of his journey from his first film. After that, he can answer that he had a special someone years ago but it ended because he wasn't the best person at the time.

That is actually similar to the comics. Strange was engaged to a woman named Madeleine St. Germaine, a patient he treated & fell for. As his attittude got worse & more materialistic, she left him. So this can be the scene we get him talking about Christine & the real reason it ended (because everything was about him - not the BS holding the knife bit that they made up for that film). With a bit of romantic interest having seeped through, Clea asks if he still has feelings for Christine based on how fondly he's still speaking of her.

With that question, we can get some perspective and admittance from Strange - that he still cares for Christine as a very good friend but his romantic interest has passed. Why? He now realizes that he mostly loved as a source of comfort & validation rather than as a true lover.

With that question, we can get some perspective and admittance from Strange - that he still cares for Christine as a very good friend but his romantic interest has passed. Why? He now realizes that he mostly loved as a source of comfort & validation rather than as a true lover.

That would be a moment of realization that shows growth & self-reflection. Strange seemed totally ooc during the MoM Christine subplot but the above would give a legit & believable reason for his obsessive lovesick behavior. it would make it seem like a needed transition to prepare him for the relationship to come and help him truly recognize the difference between limerence vs. love now that he is learning to develop relationships and friendships outside of the 1 person he was putting all his humanity & happiness on - all his eggs in 1 basket so to speak. Baskets can be overloaded and break. Christine can't be responsible for a clingy partner using her for their emotional needs while providing nothing in return for her. Again, a very one-sided relationship. With perspective, Strange will see just what kind of effort & devotion true love can pull out of a person.

Now we have to keep the movie going. Because again, this is only a subplot. We have to move back to the bigger story. Imo this is a good place to leave Cleaphen until their next appearance. The seeds of romance have been planted with Strange & Clea being closer as comrades & having connected a bit on a friendship level. We also have both characters established to each other as single. lol

Film 3

Finally, move them into official lovers territory here. How to push it over the edge? We gotta have Strange make that final leap and allow himself to be 100% raw with Clea on an emotional level. We've now had 2 films building an intimacy as comrades & friends, so it wouldn't be unrealisticly rushed for him to be at the point of opening up on the deepest level - especially having mutually developed feelings for her over the course of the previous 2 films.

Clea has learned about Strange's life-changing journey and his history with Christine which he has gained more logical & less emotional perspective on. From here, we have a solid base set for moving the relationship to its final stage. Maybe now is the time to get that big moment we've had put off for 2 solo DS films. Strange has shared his journey into soercery & prior love life with Clea, but what about his family? I don't think it'd be an instantaneous. I could see Clea asking him about it and him brushing it off early on before he finally allows himself to open up to her fully.

And THIS story could finally be the moment we expand on Donna and see the trauma that resides there. But rather than skipping right passed it, show some actual flashbacks this time. Maybe use this story to bring up his brother, Victor and the guilt of also feeling like he failed him. This would also track with his comment to Christine about how he is afraid of being genuinely close to others because he gets scared.

When he finally caves & reveals his family history to Clea, let this be a true scene where we finally see the weight of Stephen letting all this out to someone after so long and then let Clea get the chance to comfort him on his family as he did for her when he revealed her own family drama & issues. Being such a stage ready actor who truly gets into his roles, Cumberbatch would KILL a scene like this. We'd get the chance to see Strange in a very different light, at his most vulnerable, and it's a side he's only revealing to Clea (his future wife). He can start truly opening his heart with her, and continue from there to where Comics Strange made it 30+ years ago. lmao

Doctor Strange 3

Only question, where does DS3 fit into this. Above I gave bullet points for how Cleaphen can develop organically over the course of 3 film subplots. It's still a bit rushed but there's only so much time per film and gotta face facs this isn't a Soap Opera with season upon season to devote to story lines. Getting back to the 3 mystery films, which of those is DS3 and should any of them be?

Rumor is that DS3 is being fast-tracked due to the success of MoM as well as Marvel wanting to get it out before Secret Wars. This is concerning because rushed work is usually never good. Another rumor is that it will adapt Time Runs Out from the comics and be another segue into a big event.

If those 2 things are true, then a romantic subplot probaly won't have much time for real devotion. Strange already had to take a backseat in DS2, and we stiill have Clea to properly introduce. So DS3 does NOT need to take place directly after MoM. Their next appearance needs to start planting seeds for their relationship as well as devote real time to establishing Clea. DS3 is not the place to do the latter because Strange doesn't need to play second-fiddle in 2/3 of his solo films. So that definitely crosses off Film 1 as DS3 possibilities.

Realistically DS3 could be Film 2 or Film 3. But since there is a high chance of it being event-based, I don't see a romance subplot getting handled in a way that is meaningful & satisfactory which leads me to think that all these films need to be appearances & plots that take place before DS3. If it went that way, then we can come into DS3 with Clea & Cleaphen already established - without major character moments & developments rushed in favor of making sure the event threads all get included.

Thing is, DS3 is again being fast-tracked. So unless SW isn't coming out until 2034, I doubt we'll get 3 films prior with Strange & Clea. So DS3 would have to fall in F2 or F3 to have a chance at still working with Clea & Cleaphen in a satisfying way.

I lean toward Film 2 because the suggested subplot events are depthful but wouldn't need to use too many scenes. So we can get the proper focus on that while still keeping pace for the event(s). But on the other side of the argument, what film other than his own could Strange's family and trauma truly be addressed? In a team film like Avengers, he'd already have his screentime divided among 10 other characters.

Would they do a team film that gave him the major subplot that his family trauma would need? I doubt it. So either Film 3 would be DS3. Or Cleaphen & Strange get to a certain point, pause for a bit, then finish up the development in a DS4. Lol Possible, but I never entertained the idea Strange would get a 4th film. I am not against it, but just never saw it as something that would happen.

Best Option

The best option would be to give Strange a mini series. I don't care if it's animated or live action, but his character could use it. Then we could get a lot of depth & development that the films robbed him of, develop his romance with Clea, and be in a good spot to use his remaining films as tie-ins because his development was handled in a tv series and the films can be more business oriented without shafteing the character(s) arc(s) entirely.

Outro

With all that (or similar) being done, we have a ship that has slowly built from comrades to romantic interests with mutual support & investment - much more stable than the last ship Strange was on. We can still accept that Christine is an important loved one in his life while adding a deeper layer to it - acknowledging things like emotional co-dependency instead of accepting bad writing where intended love just looks like limerence with the titular character not being mentally mature enough to know the difference. lol

With a build like this for Cleaphen and an added perspective on PalmStrange being misguided on Strange's end, we can create a ship that looks adult and deep. We can buy why Clea x Strange are good together and what they see in each other. We can have real investment with real character depth & growth - turning the negatives of MoM into positives and still making future plot points work.

Or have Christine & Charles divorce, with the forner coming back for Strange, only for him to reject her because he's in love with Clea. 🤣🤣🤣 They did it with Gwen & Spider-Man, who rejected her for MJ. But I know this won't happen. So lets get back to seriousness. Lmao

With the previous mentioned time & build, MCU Cleaphen looks like a legit ship where Strange truly is with the love of his life (like Waldron said she was suppoed to be) versus looking like a rebound he would instantly dump for Christine if she ever came back.

But again, all wishful thinking to lessen my MoM hate and still be able to enjoy the idea of Cleaphen in the MCU.

I doubt we will get anything close to deep in any future films they share. 9/10 when we finally see them again, they will already be married with the entirety of their relationship progression having happened off-screen.

#marvel #mcu #stephen strange #dr. strange #doctor strange #marvel cinematic universe #multiverse of madness #marvel mcu #Clea Strange #Cleaphen #spouses supreme #Pairings #Shipping #character analysis #dr. stephen strange #marvel comics #comics

[korodere]

kamukomahina gender/body headcanons

a bit of a ramble about my body, gender, and general appearance headcanons for them bcuz someone sent me a curiouscat prompting this 3k words of hyperfixation nonsense

Komaeda:

- He has a naturally lithe body, with a thin waist, broad shoulders and hips, which give him an hourglass. and a rather andrognyous body, which is "lucky" for him, because I hc him as nonbinary and gender non-conforming

- Gender-wise, as I said, I think he's nonbinary. Usually I do view Nagito as AMAB but I indulge in transmasc Nagito from time to time depending on my preference and how much I wish to uh, well, project, lol. But either way I think he would use he/they pronouns in a western sense. In japanese, however, they don't use third person pronouns that other people refer to them with, and in canon he uses the first person pronoun "boku", which is a "soft" masculine pronoun, in comparison to the "hard" masculine pronoun, “ore” (which Hajime uses btw!) which fits quite nicely, in my opinion! Also, in Japanese, you can be 'fluid' with your first person pronouns depending on the situation, so I think he could use more neutral or feminine pronouns should he desire it, too, to play on his gender non-conformity.

- Komaeda is very secure in his gender, regardless of being AMAB or AFAB. He does not care about stigma, or discrimination, he does not care about being "accepted" by broader society. Broader society is sort of meaningless to him, the average person and their ideas about gender and presentation and effeminity mean NOTHING to him. Whether or not a random person the street genders him correctly or treats him with respect is sort of, pointless? Because to him, most ordinary people are pointless nobodies. Their thoughts do not matter to him. I think he is still prone to insecurity, however, when around his "betters" but I just struggle to think he would degrade himself in regards to gender. to him, it's the least of his problems. what he cares about is hope and talent. He could dress femininely or wear makeup or straight up crossdress and not mind it, really. He thinks people would find a problem with it are the problem, because why does it even matter? It speaks to the way Komaeda is detached from societal norms & "normal" people, he did not grow up in normal circumstances, so he doesn't interact with the world normally by any means. he can mask and act normally to the best of his ability, often unintentionally?, but he simply does not fit into broader society and doesn't seek to.

- Komaeda loses weight really easily, and doesn't gain weight that well. This is mainly due to his many illnesses but also the medications he's been put on. He has a low appetite and burns weight rather easily, even though I headcanon that he eats like garbage (mainly junk food & takeout, since he obviously cannot cook). This makes him overall, health wise, not very healthy, and stick thin because of it. A stiff breeze could knock him over, tbh.

- He has a lot of faded scars, self-inflicted or not.

- Pre-despair (in HPA) he is fairly healthy but still lithe, and progressively his body deteriorates through his 2 years of hopes peak before the Tragedy begins.

- During the Tragedy itself, his body is at it's worst. he is almost nothing but bone at times, barely kept together by a need to live so he can see hope triumph. His weight fluctuates but he's very unhealthy. He's not anorexic or on death's door, but he's not well off, either.

- After being put into the neo world program, right after waking up, he's very, very thin and gaunt. he was in a pod on feeding tubs for an indiscernible but at least probably a month's worth of time? So he's just very weak, like he could collapse if he moves too quickly.

- But a while after waking, he goes into remission, and starts to gain more healthy habits due to being rehabilitated and cared for by Hinata, and gains some weight, finally at a healthy, normal weight. I still think he would struggle with putting on too much weight, but I am slightly fond of the idea that he gets a bit of healthy pudge after a while. To him, it's so foreign being healthy, that he honestly think something's wrong with him at first.

Hinata:

- Hinata has a very... average body, true to form. His hips and waist aren't too pronounced but he has a loosely "hourglass" shape, too, just not as exaggerated as Komaeda's in comparison.

- Gender-wise, I am EXTREMELY fond of transmasc Hinata. While I think I portray AMAB Hinata more than transmasc Hinata (in art and writing), I still firmly prefer transmasc Hinata. The reason I think portray otherwise more is just out of comfortability, but I've been getting better at comfortably portraying FTM Hinata. I have some reasons I prefer it and think you can extrapolate it from canon, but let's get into that

- Hinata, in my eyes, has an arc and story that fits perfectly into him just. Being trans. His desire to be someone else, someone better, someone he can proud of, and the way he overcompensates for himself and has an extreme inferiority complex would easily lend to him having similar feelings about his gender. To me, Hinata is a trans man who overperforms his masculinity out of insecurity and a need to pass. I see him as someone who would strictly use "he/him" in a western sense, which is lended to by his use of the "ore" pronoun in canon, which is almost hypermasculine.

- Even if he were AMAB, I think it still works, I think he's still someone who's insecure and tries to assert himself more strongly and therefore performs masculinity in a way to appear more confident than he is.

(side note: I actually read a bit about queerness in Japan and how it relates to gender performance and the use of pronouns, and read a bit about how queer women in japan tend to use "boku" and "ore" to perform masculinity, which I find neat. “Ore” was also sometimes used exclusively to show anger and dominance, which is why it's categorized as a "rough" pronoun. I think Japanese language, gender, and expression, and how those all relate to one another, are extremely interesting and if you get the time you should read about it lol)

- Body-wise, pre-despair, I think Hinata would. not have top surgery, obviously. I think he has a fairly average but leaning a little on the hefty side chest (pre-op) and binds it, hence the '91 cm' (but also he still has 91 cm post-op because bazongas). I also just think he leans on the "twunk" side of things at this point, not buff but not stick thin or without muscle, just kind of average with average strength and all, though I think Hinata would've tried to do sports and stuff to find his talent so he's in shape :)

- My personal, kind of amusing, but also kind of... thematical? Headcanon, is that during the Kamukura project, he also underwent gender transition. to be honest, while it may not make sense in modern Japan, I think we can suspend our disbelief for fiction, and also make the argument that Hinata's "transition" into Kamukura CAN be read, in some part, as relatable or at least familiar to the trans experience. Iit is not out of the realm of possibility, either, to assume that because many bits of society in Danganronpa are advanced (specifically science, is extremely ahead of our understanding, almost sci-fi like at times) certain attitudes about gender and sexuality can be smoothed over more in a Japanese context.

(side note: I also think that science-wise, we can suspend our disbelief, and assume that top surgery and bottom surgery are much more advanced in this universe, given the almost unbelievable levels of science in Danganronpa, such as memory wipe, mind control, completely realistic virtual simulation, um literally everything about Kamukura which is body modification and brain modification to an extreme, etc. I think it's kind of fitting within these to assume that... Hinata/Kamukura could just, gain a functioning penis, lol)

Kamukura:

- Kamukura would have a. "Perfect" body. it's stated, I'm pretty sure, that they modified not only his brain but his body, because he needs to be able to perform every talent under their belt with ease, and his strength, instincts, technique, are all superhuman. So it's clear to me he'd have a buff body. toned muscles and all. He wouldn't really feel a need to keep it up, though, but I think since they're very... artificial (basically fucking steroids?) they wouldn't fade from a lack of keep-up.

- Kamukura also rarely ever is injured, but when he does, his body heals rather fast and can care for himself adequately, because again, his body is modified to a point of almost inhumanity.

- Gender wise, Kamukura genuinely does not care. however, I am not one to think that Kamukura is "a different person" from Hinata, rather, he is separate from Hinata, but an extension of Hinata as well, proven that he experiences some of his emotions even if subconsciously and without understanding them. he isn't a different personality or person developed in Hinata's body, but a very traumatizing, repressed, and manipulated version of Hinata given a new name, with memories repressed. He's like Theseus's ship in human form---if you get rid of everything that makes someone themselves and replace it, bit by bit, is it the same person? Technically, yes, but... truly? Who knows. 

Because of this, I think Kamukura would have a leaning toward masculine gender performance (in canon, in fact, he uses the soft masculine pronoun "boku" in stead of "ore" like Hinata) BUT I think he is still very nonbinary. In a western sense, i think he would use he/they pronouns, but not really care if someone mistook him for a woman, I suppose.

- His appearance, unironically, is very nonbinary or "he/they" to me because he's wearing a suit, the archetypal form of masculinity, but has extremely long hair, which is considered feminine, and speaks softly (dully). Of course, the bishounen "pretty boy" appearance isn't uncommon or considered less masculine in japan, I think, but there is still a different between soft masculinity and rough masculinity in japan, which lends itself to being interpreted sort of gender non-conforming by western audiences :)

- Kamukura, due to his apathy, struggles with self-maintaining, but as we all probably know i am extremely attached to KamuKoma and thus headcanon that Servant helps him, sort of like a royal servant would royalty in the old days, take care of himself by bathing him, brushing his hair out, grooming him, etc. partially out of duty, partially out of appreciation for Kamukura's body, and partially out of maintaining his sort of "perfect" look since Kamukura, especially post-Junko death, is perceived widely by the public as the new leader of the ultimate despair, even if he is ambivalent to such a title.

Post-DR3 Hinata/Kamukura combined:

As I rambled on about previously, I don't think that Kamukura and Hinata are separate people or personality, I really dislike the interpretation that they are like a "split personality" or operate like DID, because they do not "form" like DID, but also in canon, are not portrayed as separate people.

In post-dr3, Hinata instead says that he is both of them, because he is. Kamukura is Hinata, always was, but had been given a new, false identity, had been stripped of his previous self, his memories, his personality, and crafted into something new. but that did not "split" his brain into two people. It simply repressed who he once was, and made him someone he now was. But when Kamukura regains his memories, his past self, through the means of the new world program by restoring his own memories after SDR2 concludes and he wakes up, as well as doing the same for everyone else, he decides to be "Hajime Hinata" who he always was, but carrying and shouldering the weight of what "Izuru Kamukura" had been, become, and done. Hinata *is* Kamukura, he answers for Kamukura's wrongdoings, his crimes, as something he had done as a different person who's mind operated differently, due to being artificially suppressed, modified, into an apathetic tool for the scientists who made him, and later and aimless, bored individual who simply sought meaning he did not have in the unknown of what despair would be at it's climax. And if hope could overcome it.

As such, I think, when Hinata's self is brought back into the mix, and he now deals with Kamukura's apathy and boredom in part, but much less consuming and much less often, I think hinata is less staunchly "masculine", does not overperform it anymore, and is trying to understand what his past means to him, what his present is, and what his future will be. I think that Hinata would still primarily use he/him (or still use "ore" in Japanese, as it's also a means of his personality, which is a bit rough around the edges and blunt), but be more ambivalent to rigid gender expression, still finding comfort and idealness in masculinity, but not be made dysphoric or feel frightened, uncomfortable, with non-comformity or anything like that. being boyish, masculine, is what he enjoys, but he's comfortable in it now, doesn't need to prove himself or overperform it. He can explore nonconformity without feeling like his gender or masculinity is at threat, even if it's not his preference outright.

Body-wise, I think it's safe to say he retains Kamukura's muscle and all, but Kamukura didn't put much effort into the everyday machinations of being a human being in general, and Hinata is much more fond of food than him now, eats more often, and I enjoy the idea that he gains a little pudge and has a kind of "dad bod" almost, post-DR3? lol.

Both for Hinata and Kamukura I don't see their bodies as “bara” or overly buff, masculine, but a kind of comfortable middle ground between twunk and hunk, lmao. I think they're also averagely hairy, not overly so, very lightly. kind of well groomed, and all. Hinata, pre-despair, put not so much effort into his appearance but still some, especially in trying to pass. (In fact I think his hair cut looks like a home job, all choppy and stuff, which fits him in my opinion, something done by his own hands even if messy and imperfect, he still prefers to be in control of it. also fits the trans headcanon tehe).

Izuru put very little if any effort into himself, only the bare minimum necessary to function, but servant helped him upkeep it to a perfect standard. Hinata, post-dr3 now, finds himself putting you know, an average amount of care into himself and his body, enough to be healthy, but not overly critical and conscious of himself.

Komaeda i have always seen as someone who takes a good deal of care about himself, merely if to alleviate the "disgust" of his appearance and body, by practically preening himself. He is someone who is good at cleaning and seems to appreciate clean and well kept spaces, so I think he would have a similar attitude toward himself. even if he is insecure, and of course, struggles with mental health and may slip at times in his routine in keeping himself well-kept, I think he still maintains an appearance for the most part, at least in his later years (teen to young adult). An argument can be made that he cared less in his adolescence because he had much more apathy about the world, but when he gave himself a purpose with hope and talent, I think he would care for himself a little better, even if his was spiralling mentally.

His hair is always washed, it is just very curly and prone to mess, so it often looks like perpetual bedhead, even when he combs and brushes it. His skin is soft even if a little worn by his tendency for accidents & injury, it's still soft and almost luckily so, and he takes pride in moisturizing and cleaning himself. His skin is a little sickly, still, and I think that despite having blemishes, scars, etc. Komaeda manages to look pretty in a strange way, not conventionally beautiful, but almost ethereal? He's just *pretty*, there's no way to explain it, he is nice to look at even with all his "flaws" and imperfections. Even when he's sickly and bony, even when his cheeks are gaunt or his hands shaky and weak, when his hair is a tangled mess or his clothes are dirty, he's nice to look at in a way that's nonconventional, and it's sort of mesmerizing.

Hinata I think is very average but also in a way that's nice to look at it. He's not ground-breaking hot or conventionally attractive, he has a good body, a nice face, and hair you could play with a little if you wanted. I think what's appealing about him is his normalcy, he's not trying too hard or "gifted" gene wise, but he's just kinda nice to look at, he's enjoyable to be around, an understanding person, or at least tries to be even when he fails, and despite having flaws, insecurities, blunt, he is someone you're drawn to because he's one of those people that's just, easy to talk to? An emotional anchor, almost. The kind of guy everyone kind of knows and has talked to at least once, even if you're not friends with him personally, not because he's cool or popular or anything, but because he's a normal dude who's easy to trust and talk to.

Kamukura, on the other hand, is intimidating, appearance wise and personality wise. he looks, strange, anything but normal, his eyes are red and his hair is this dark cloud that envelops him. His face may still be that plain one Hinata has but faces can be changed by the surrounding attributes as well as expression and such is true for him, with his apathetic and cold expression as well as otherwordly characteristics, he comes off as much more beautiful in a dark way, kind of? In a way that's intimidating or a little daunting, but he's still very beautiful. mesmerizing.

okay, thats my ramble. ty.

#nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #izuru kamukura #komahina #kamukoma #headcanons #my headcanons #kota.txt

[omg-imagine]

All We Are

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand x female!V

Summary: V is jealous after Johnny’s date with Rogue, which leads to an honest discussion about where they both stand.

Words: 1.7k

Warning: spoilers for Blistering Love side job, a little angst

A/N: Requested by an anon. This may be a bit different than what you were expecting, but I was in the feels™. Hope you still enjoy :)

Also, can we please talk about how adorable he looks in the gif?? 

The long drive back to the apartment was silent; the utter stillness in the car weighs heavily on V’s mind. Hands gripping tight on the steering wheel, she tries to ignore this unsettling ache she has, not allowing even an ounce of thought to pass. Though she chalks it off as a side effect of the pseudoendotrizine, this strange, hollow feeling of hers continues to stir deep inside, burning, burning and burning.

And so, she switches on the radio and focuses ahead on the stretch of road winding down the North Oak hills, the approaching lights of Night City glowing brighter against the inky skies. A fresh breeze flows into the open windows, dulling the tension for a moment.

A moment of tranquility that ends far too soon, yet it was a moment V’s at least grateful to have.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Johnny points out, the gruff baritone of his voice piercing the air. “An enny for your thoughts?”

Kicking his feet up on the dashboard, his aviators glint in the silver moonlight, making him appear impossibly more obnoxious than he usually is. He acts as if he’s not aware of the recent thoughts plaguing V’s head, but perhaps that truly was the case. If it were, then she would be surprised— Johnny often invades her mind, poking and prodding at things he shouldn’t be. For a while, she assumes he knows.

“Just tired,” V replies monotonously. Her answer was far from a lie; she really was tired. Exhausted, even. All she wants is to collapse into bed, pass out, and hope that for a few short hours, she can forget about today, about everything.

“Huh,” he breathes out, and V spares him not a single glance. “Pretty sure somethin’ was up. You’ve been actin’ weird since we left the drive-in.”

A chuckle rumbles through her chest. V still finds it unusual for Johnny to act so… concerned. Almost caring, if she had to be honest. She’s noticed a change in him recently, which became apparent after their conversation in the oil fields. He’s a lot softer now, sometimes sweet, both in his own unique way, of course. As if his rough edges were slightly smoothed out with sandpaper, enough that they no longer cut and make her bleed.

V would often catch him staring when he thinks she’s not looking. She also doesn’t fail to miss the small smile that creeps across his face as she talks. And in those passing seconds that lasts an eternity when the relic malfunctions, Johnny was there to offer her comfort. He’d kneel down to the ground while she coils in agony, whispering promises that this will all be over soon. That one way or another, they would get rid of that goddamn chip slotted in V’s head and ultimately save her life.

Life. Life has a funny way of unraveling itself. Fuck, this all seems like a cruel joke the universe is playing on V. Fate is rarely kind to her, a sad fact she’s accepted over the years. Never would she have imagined that after experiencing the pain of heartbreak and loss, she’d find herself falling for someone at the worst possible time.

And that someone is the imprisoned digital ghost of a rockerboy-turned-terrorist studying her from the passenger seat.

But V’s adamant in denying it. Her life was too fucking complicated for this right now.

“Are you capable of shutting the fuck up for two seconds?” V bitterly snaps, the hands on the wheel clenching stiffly as her jaw. “You got what you wanted tonight. Finally got your dick wet after fifty years, so leave me the hell alone, would’ya?!”

She doesn’t mean to act on her muted anger, but it manages to get the best of her. V knows why, and because of it, she crumbles. She crumbles like the walls she’s built around herself. Like the facade she’s been hiding behind for the past couple of months. Because underneath the dirt and grime, V was just a poor, tragic soul, more worried about losing the man she couldn’t have than her awaiting death.

“Really think that’s what happened?” Johnny asks, pushing his shades up to his head as he shifts to sit up straight in his seat.

V grits her teeth, eyes remaining locked on the road. She had woken up an hour or two after Johnny took over, finding her lips still warm, still swollen. Her hair was tousled, and she had been stripped off of most of her clothes; the scent of Rogue’s perfume lingering on her skin. She didn’t need him to recount; it was all clear to her what had transpired. It was what she agreed on to make him happy, a date with the Afterlife fixer and whatever it could lead up to.

In the end, V regretted it, not because Johnny used her body to sleep with someone. But because even after the rollercoaster ride, the dog tags, the private concerts, and the heart-to-heart they had at his gravesite, she still wasn’t his. He was too hung up over Rogue, and she couldn’t blame him. Having shared a lengthy history, there was no doubt Johnny wouldn’t snatch up the opportunity to win her back.

But then where does that leave V?

“The fuck is wrong, V? Don’t make me figure it out by myself.”

Biting the edge of her lip, she ignores Johnny’s latest question and contemplates swallowing an omega blocker. She doesn’t even care that he’s threatening to search for the truth without her permission. Choosing not to do so, he keeps pressing on regardless, and V was getting pissed off. When he doesn’t stop, she loses her temper and slams on the brakes, the Porsche coming to a screeching halt on a dead street.

Huffing, V pulls over to the side, shutting the car’s engine as Johnny is left bewildered by her actions. Peace and quiet. She yearns for peace and quiet, and the pills would do the trick in an instant. Her hand reaches for the bottle in her jacket pocket, the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears. Popping the cap open, she turns her head to the side, unable to help herself. She sees the tenderness etched in his features, a wordless plea shining in his dark eyes.

“V… Tell me.”

V’s gaze slowly falters, her consciousness at war with itself. The storm of anger in her calms, yet she needs to know what her next move is. She’s always been terrible at this sort of thing, dealing with her feelings and shit. Growing up in the streets of Heywood, she’s learned how to shut people out and keep them out. Biggest rule she had imposed on herself was to never, ever fall for a choom, but this time was different. Despite him being a mere figment of her imagination, she feels safe around Johnny, appreciated and content. The two understand each other on a level nobody else has done. They’ve been through literal hell and would only sink further into it to find a way to survive.

A chrome palm comes to rest on V’s cheek, the sensation oddly warm, oddly familiar. Her attention flickers back to Johnny as he strokes her weary face. His touch was delicate, movements careful and controlled. He treats her as if she were porcelain, afraid that his metal hand would cause her to crack. V exhales deeply, relishing the feeling she’s longed from the moment she had broken that dumb rule of hers.

“Go ahead,” she mumbles, giving Johnny consent for him to read her mind. It only takes a second, maybe even less. V half expects his shit-eating grin to make its appearance. She couldn’t forget how cocky he was, and she thought this would certainly rub his ego.

It never comes. Instead, Johnny’s lips turn up into a genuine smile, one softer than the way his black hair falls to frame his face. V swears she was floating; this doesn’t feel all that real to her. It couldn’t be real. But as the first faint slivers of sunlight appear on the horizon, she starts to believe that she isn’t dreaming nor hallucinating. She was still very much wide awake.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Johnny quips as he leans closer. “You had no reason to be jealous, princess.”

“Why not?”

“Nothin’ happen between Rogue and me,” he clarifies, his fingers pushing back her locks. “Yeah, we made out a little, but I couldn’t go through with it. Wanna know why?”

V nods.

“’Cause I realized that ship sailed a long time ago. We’re too different people now; she’s got her own life, while I got mine sittin’ right here.”

“Johnny…” she murmurs his name as he brings up his other hand to cradle her face. “I wanted to have what you and Rogue had, minus the shitty things you did. But I could feel how much you loved her, how you basically worshipped the ground she walked on. Then I thought, can’t compete with her. She’s a livin’ legend, a badass. Meanwhile, I could be dead the next minute or two, either by this fuckin’ relic or a bullet.”

“Trust me, V, you wouldn’t want that,” Johnny returns, resting his forehead against hers. How could he feel so real? “What you and I have is special. Ain’t felt this way before, not even with Rogue or Alt. Like I said, you’re the fuckin’ closest to me. These feelings you’re afraid of? Shit, I have them too, and I’m fuckin’ terrified. But knowing that you’re here and we both share them, it makes things a lot less scary.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Johnny laughs softly. “Gotta spell it out for ya, huh? Well then, here it goes; V, I love you. I don’t throw that word around randomly, but know that it’s what I feel whenever I think of you.”

V doesn’t waste a second longer. Her lips meet his for a kiss that is gentle and bruising, all at once. They hold one another close, their grasps taut so that the other wouldn’t slip away, not wanting to lose what they’ve gained. Time goes by, ticking in the background as they kiss again and again, but to them, it’s slow, nearly everlasting.

And when it was over, when they finally had to part, they were breathless, panting.

“Love you too, Johnny,” she murmurs into his skin, tone dripping with affection as he hums in response.

Night melds into day, and the city comes back to its fullest life. V kisses Johnny a final time before driving back to the place she calls home, even though she’s found her true one in his heart.

—

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#johnny silverhand x v #johnny silverhand #cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand x reader #johnny silverhand fanfic

[the-music-maniac]

You ever notice how similar Xie Wang and Han Ying’s stories and character arcs are?

A warning here that this contains spoilers for all of Word of Honor/Shan He Ling. Stop reading now, I reference a ton of shit.

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I was actually discussing a couple fic ideas with a friend a few weeks ago, and I got to wondering after thinking about those parallels I could see -

Does Han Ying x Xie Wang exist as a ship?? Is that a thing?? That exists?? Can it please exist??

It has so much potential. There's so many narrative parallels with these two characters.

They're two people who deserved better than their respective endings, who never got what they wanted, because of the manipulation of men who wanted power and would stop at nothing to get it (Jin Wang and Zhao Jing). The manipulation of those who saw them as less then what they were.

They also have similarities in their relationships with their "mentor figures" - Han Ying and Zhou Zishu, and Xie Wang and Zhao Jing. They have quite a lot of differences too, enough that their lives parallel each other instead of mirror, and I just think that their personal experiences could make for a very compelling storyline if these two were to interact. It would be an interesting road to a development of a potential relationship, and moreover an opportunity for both of them to learn from the other and heal.

And real talk? I just want the both of them to be happy tbh (and of course that obviously doesn't need to involve a romantic relationship - I just have no self control. I'd be just as ecstatic about a really good friendship though).

I also know they never interact in the drama - but then again these two are also literally dead in the drama. Reality is what you make it 🤣🤣. And considering how close the Scorpion was working with Tian Chuang - honestly I'm pretty sure you can't really say they haven't met either.

So anyways, I guess reasons why I think this would be a good ship dynamic:

First of all, their relations with their mentors and how it's similar to each other and also not. The resulting potential for mutual support:

Han Ying's dearest wish is to be a disciple of Zhou Zishu's, as he says plainly in that one episode.

The thing is, there could be quite a lot of subtext taken from that - I've read interpretations that he's in love with Zhou Zishu, or at least has romantic feelings for him - a strong crush possibly - which I can plausibly see (I can also see it just being platonic, which I will talk about later). But yeah, a romantic interpretation just because of how strong his devotion towards Zhou Zishu is. The wistful looks?????

In that kind of situation, IF the romantic feelings are two-sided instead of one-sided - which I would like to go on the record and say that with Han Ying and Zhou Zishu, I don't believe it is - and as a result actually becomes something, that type of relationship would not be the most healthy, because there's a very strong imbalance of power. Even if the mentor figure genuinely cares and actively minds the mentee's feelings - the mentee still undeniably has that level of hero worship - it won't ever be equal. We can see that already in Han Ying's case, Zhou Zishu repeatedly tells him to stop treating him with so much formality because he's not the leader anymore and yet Han Ying still remains deferential.

In that interpretation, if that were the case of it being two sided - Han Ying would have quite a lot of similarity of experience to Xie Wang's relation to Zhao Jing -

And here I can talk about how Xie Wang and Zhao Jing's relationship is uh. Kinda sus tbh. Like. That doesn't look like a healthy or platonic father-son relationship and it gives me the creeps. In Xie Wang and Zhao Jing's relationship, I'm more inclined to believe there's some semi-incestous yifu fucking going on than anything platonic, there's just so many sus moments - and if I'm not mistaken they dubbed over a line in the show where it was basically stated plainly that it's not a platonic relationship. Or at least - Xie Wang doesn't view Zhao Jing platonically (and I don't believe Zhao Jing discourages it at all, if anything he actively encourages and guides it to make Xie Wang dependent on him). So we got another setup where it's potentially one sided romantic feelings/hero worship. Or maybe two sided for them, who knows.

But the thing is, while I talked about unhealthy romantic relationships in my section about Han Ying, a fundamental difference between Xie Wang and Han Ying's relationships with their mentors is that Zhou Zishu's relationship with Han Ying would be a lot healthier. A LOT healthier. So much fucking healthier, I cannot emphasis that enough. And that's mostly because their relationship is not two-sided, and because he sees Han Ying as a person.

He cares about Han Ying a lot but not as anything beyond platonic - he views him as a student and a subordinate and protects him as such. Han Ying on the other hand could have romantic feelings for Zhou Zishu. Not in love per se, it feels to me like it could be a mix of a really strong crush with really strong hero worship. I don't think Han Ying truly knows Zhou Zishu's other aspects of personality (yet?? I guess because if we're gonna hypothetically bring both Han Ying and Xie Wang back to life he probably will eventually get to know Zhou Zishu properly), because I doubt he ever showed anything beyond his stern assassin leader type of persona to his subordinates. He was likely caring yes, but in a way that keeps people at a distance. So, a mentor-mentee type of relationship where Han Ying could be crushing quite hard on Zhou Zishu. But still a healthy one, as Zhou Zishu, one - doesn't intend to pursue a romantic relationship with Han Ying - and moreover, although might know about his feelings, or his devotion at least(tbh you'd have to be blind not to), he treats them, and him, with respect. He doesn't try and manipulate Han Ying, or use his emotions for his own purposes. He sees Han Ying as his own person. His affection and regards towards Han Ying remains unconditional, even if Han Ying messes up or doesn't follow instructions. Instructions that, btw, repeatedly try to keep Han Ying out of the line of fire, and makes it clear that Han Ying is to put himself first.

Everything Zhao Jing does however is solely to cripple Xie Wang and make him wholly dependent on him. He's been grooming Xie Wang from such a young age, and his positive regard and care is ALWAYS conditional. As soon as Xie Wang messes up, he takes it away as punishment, and because of how Zhao Jing's made himself the center of Xie Wang's world, that action is devastating to him. He subtly encourages and toys with Xie Wang's regard for him for his own purposes, he tries to make Xie Wang jealous so he works twice as hard to earn back Zhao Jing's attention. And as we see with his intention to eventually discard Xie Wang as soon as he is no longer useful - he doesn't view Xie Wang as a person. He's merely another tool in his arsenal.

The reason why I wrote such a long ass analysis about the similarities and differences between Xie Wang and Han Ying's relationships is because as I mentioned before, one reason I think this would be a pretty interesting ship and dynamic is how these two could help each other. At first, it might be more Han Ying helping Xie Wang.

Xie Wang hasn't ever experienced what a proper and healthy guardian type relationship is like, or even what it means for someone to choose him first. He's a victim of abuse, and should he manage to survive the avalanche at the end of the show, there is potential for him to start to undo all the damage that Zhao Jing has inflicted on him all those years, especially if the man is truly no longer around. And I think Han Ying would be in a very good position to offer him support in that journey. Moreover, if Han Ying has had an experience similar to that, it could be the reason he would want to offer support to Xie Wang. He's experienced a lot of what Xie Wang has experienced, but he's also seen what it is for someone to genuinely care about him, and as a result likely has a more healthy view on that type of relationship. They're similar enough for Xie Wang to potentially not want to push Han Ying away if he ever offers his help, but also dissimilar enough that Han Ying could offer new avenues of thought.

At the same time, if you just read Han Ying and Zhou Zishu's relationship as a really strong type of hero worship, this dynamic could make sense too. Han Ying clearly looks up to Zhou Zishu quite a lot, and on top of that, Zhou Zishu in a way represents everything Han Ying has wanted and couldn't have - aka a family and a mentor figure and a home to call his own. Regardless of if it's purely platonic or not, it's still an infinitely healthier relationship, a parallel to Xie Wang's experience, so the potential of the offer of support remains the same.

Second of all, similarity in origin and life experiences, which is a small thing tbh but still an important thing:

Han Ying is someone I don't know a lot of background on tbh - I presume he doesn't have a family anymore, and somehow ended up in the Window of Heaven. I've read fics where Zhou Zishu was the one to save him at some point and offer him a position in the assassin group, and I'm inclined to take that as a plausible head canon (unless it's actually canon, idk I haven't read tyk yet).

So, in bare bones, he's an orphan who is taken in by a mentor figure, and becomes a high ranking member of an assassin group.

Xie Wang is also someone who no longer has a family - we don't know that much about his background either, but I presume he was happened upon by Zhao Jing in some way - I'm not sure at what age tbh, is it assumed that he was raised by him?? Or maybe in teenage years??

Whatever it happens to be, Xie Wang was taken in, maybe even "saved" by (although if you ask me, he'd be better off without) Zhao Jing.

So in essence it is the same thing as Han Ying's experiences, an orphan who is taken in by a mentor figure, and becomes a high ranking (or the leader of) an assassin group.

And not only that, as I mentioned from the beginning, these two both realize and know, eventually, that they’re being used by men who are desperate for power (Jin Wang, Zhao Jing).

I mention this actually as just an extension of my first point, because while I mentioned that Han Ying very obviously can support Xie Wang in that particular “past grooming and abuse” aspect, there are probably still many hidden traumas and scars for these two from the lives they’ve both lead. Their similar experiences lead to similar choices which helped shape who they are, and as a result, I think these two could truly understand each other and where they’re coming from.

Their personalities would fit pretty well with each other. I think:

I don’t know if my interpretation on how these two are is accurate tbh, so feel free to let me know if you think it’s out of character.

To me, Han Ying seems like someone who would be pretty calm around the people he cares about; responsible, smart, eager to learn, with a steady sort of presence. He seems like someone who would wear their heart on their sleeve around people he trusts too, but not in any overtly obvious way. I think the reason why I get that impression is that, upon rewatch, I could plainly see his worry about Zhou Zishu in episode one, but when I first started the show, I somehow missed it entirely. Han Ying also didn’t show any qualms about admitting to Chengling that he wants to be Zhou Zishu’s disciple - which can be a very personal piece of info. The way he was around Zhou Zishu, and Wen Kexing also gave off an air of innocent eagerness to do well in his accomplishments and for approval. I’m not saying he’s always like this, because I’m rather certain he has a darker side too - as we see with all the characters, no one is without their traumas and no one is without artifice or without complexity. They’re all grey moral in a very human way, and Han Ying is no different. We’ve seen before too that once he’s got his game face on, the man is pretty competent and also ruthless (his conversation with Gao Chong for example) - I don’t think he could be any less if he’s that high up in the Tianchuang hierarchy. But at the same time I can also see him being a bit of a very subtle disaster (almost?? Slightly dorky??) in certain situations, and we can see that kind of peek through when Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing hijacked his kidnapping attempt and he was kind of like uhh. Okay so, I’m in a choke hold, I think that might be my former commander, so like. Let them go. It’s actually really funny cause while Wen Kexing was telling Gao Chong and Chengling to hurry up and leave, I swear you could see Han Ying contemplating his entire life.

The face of a man confuzzled.

Xie Wang on the other hand, is someone that’s more impulsive, liable to push or be mischievous, less of a steady personality and more like - for lack of better word - an absolute gremlin. A pretty murderous one. It’s a bit hard to tell all aspects of how Xie Wang is tbh, since he has many different mannerisms while talking to different people. With Zhao Jing he has a very subservient, almost dutiful, childlike and innocent air about him, and a sort of. Sa jiao (撒娇) type of demeanor. He craves approval from Zhao Jing, and is just generally very baby around him, and I’m really not sure how much of that is how he actually is and how much of that is him learning that this is the best way to get Zhao Jing’s attention. And tbh I don’t think all of that is grooming, I think Xie Wang probably does have the potential to be as soft or as innocently childlike and happy with others he cares about (just hopefully in a lot healthier way). I think we see his soft side a little with Qianqiao when he gives her the cure. Despite that though, we can still see other aspects of him surface. He makes suggestions and pushes when he thinks Zhao Jing’s refusals are unreasonable, he just goes and does his own thing sometimes (um usually murderous things. Like when he killed Song Huai Ren and told Zhao Jing he’s a traitor). He’s mischievous about some of his actions (after literally stabbing a man, ‘what? he said I should kill him if I have the ability’). He’s a lot more obviously gritty and aggressive and morally grey than Han Ying appears, which I think adds dimension to his character when added in with everything else. He’s also very smart, competent, ruthless - obviously since he runs the Scorpion, but he’s surprisingly fair and almost? Honourable? In certain aspects? And like Han Ying, he does somewhat wear his heart on his sleeve, retains that eagerness to do well and is somehow not as jaded as he could be, as he still finds the capacity to eventually care for a stranger (Liu Qianqiao). 

I may be oversimplifying how these two could be, but with their personality types I think they have a lot of potential both in a romantic relationship or as close friends. And in a way that at first glance would probably be puzzling - how in the hell did these two become friends/get together (lmao you’ll see Han Ying in his rather sensible disciple robes and then Xie Wang is just there in his braids, dramatic black outfits, winged eyeliner, etc. 🤣🤣😅😅) but on closer thought, makes sense. Han Ying could be a more steadying presence for Xie Wang, and Xie Wang in turn could help him loosen up a bit more. (That’s kind of oversimplifying it but it’s 5 am where I am rn and I’m too tired to elaborate) I also believe Xie Wang might push Han Ying to be more ambitious, be able to do things for himself more - because Xie Wang went through a process of, everything I do is for someone else, until I realized they were using me, and now I’m going to do it for myself. In that way they could potentially push each other to higher heights in what they do, and they are pretty similar in ideology and morals and previous actions. They both have blood on their hands, and they’re not afraid to be ruthless or do what’s necessary to get the job done. They have their traumas, their complexities and an understanding of what it’s like to put on masks for different people.

The potential for found family. All the found family. Gimme:

This one I feel like is more obvious and changes some things about canon, but the timeline I imagine for if Xie Wang x Han Ying would be a plausible ship is one where Han Ying survives the stealing of the fake glazed armour incident and becomes one of the disciples of Siji (second disciple of the sixth generation????). Everything else would likely proceed in a very similar way (although in this au in my mind Gu Xiang and Cao Weining are alive). And then during the avalanche incident, with WenZhou trapped in the armoury, Xie Wang ends up surviving and they end up finding him somehow.

Whether or not it’d be out of character for WenZhou to save him I think could be explored, but the bottom line is that eventually they would probably take him back to Siji. There, whether him meeting Han Ying goes smoothly or not is up to interpretation - I very much doubt it would be an amiable meeting tbh - in fact I fully imagine it to be antagonistic af at first, considering what opposing groups they used to be a part of and the knowledge of how deadly the other can be - trust would be hard to come by, which makes a slow development all the more interesting. And moreover them becoming friends or dating would likely help Xie Wang into the dynamic at Siji because now there’s a more tangible connection between him and the place, and I can see while he’s getting to know all the people of Siji, eventually thinking of them as family as well.  And Han Ying in turn gets another person who cares about him, and for him to care about.

I’ll be honest here and say that I don’t particularly care at this point how realistic or in character it all would be -  I need found family in my life I have no self control. Xie Wang and Han Ying my beloveds needs all the good things.

Another possible meeting is just Han Ying being sent to negotiate with the Scorpions instead of Duan Pengju (is that how it went? I’ll admit I’m a little fuzzy on plot points here) and meeting each other that way. There could be moments of understanding while working together, an inevitable kinda separation, and eventually seeing each other again at Siji, after all the shitshow is over. The development could continue from there.

The closer age gap:

I’d like to preface this part with a disclaimer that I’m not trying to bash any other ships that are out there, this is actually just entirely my personal preference.

I don’t really like big age gaps in my ships unless their both established adults - for example in their 30's 40's, even 50's. Even if one of them remains young in body, it’s just not a dynamic I generally like. The most popular ship that comes to mind here is Ye Baiyi x Xie Wang - and all the more power to you if you do ship it tbh, I can see it being really adorable and healing for the both of them, especially since Ye Baiyi never really gets a happy ending either (and he absolutely deserves one 😤😤😤) - but that as a ship dynamic is personally not for me, especially after Xie Wang’s kinda hinted relationship with another man that’s also older than him. Ye Baiyi obviously is ten million times the man Zhao Jing could ever be, and it would be an infinitely healthier relationship anyway, but yeah the age gap thing is just my personal bias.

So I don’t know, I appreciate that Han Ying and Xie Wang are both closer in age to each other. I know there aren’t confirmed ages (I think?) but if I had to take a guess, I’d say I think both of them are probably in their early to mid twenties.

Anyways, it’s literally 5:43 am now where I am, so I think I’m gonna end this way too long post and pass out. Honestly, I’m not even sure if this thing is coherent anymore, I’m half delirious with exhaustion while writing this. I might possibly write a fic or do something about this Xie Wang x Han Ying ship, I might not, but I just wanted to get it out there. It’s a cute idea.

Oh god my eyeballs are burning. Cheers, goodnight.

#word of honor #xie wang x han ying #han ying x xie wang #Han Ying #Xie Wang #Shan he ling #I mentioned WenZhou #so I suppose I should put them in? #CaoXiang #Four Seasons Manor #Zhou Zishu #Wen Kexing #Jin Wang #Zhao Jing #liu qianqiao #word of honor spoilers #spoilers

[valdomarx]

Number Theory

On another version of Atlantis, John is a mathematician who is better with numbers than with people. But he's going to have to learn to get on with his team and their bossy leader, Rod, if he wants to survive here.

Stargate Atlantis, McShep, mensa!verse, 9k, rated E.

Also on AO3.

Dr. John Sheppard straightens his glasses, pulls his lab coat around himself, and makes one final, futile attempt to tame his hair.

He takes a last look around the SGC, bustling with scientists and marines and boxes of supplies, and wonders how everybody seems to know their place and what to do already.

Then he steps through a wormhole and into another galaxy.

-

Atlantis is stunning. Terrifying, and dangerous, and liable to kill them all, but stunning all the same.

-

He protests that there’s no need for a mathematician on an offworld team, but the head of science insists. John sourly suspects this Rod guy enjoys watching him wheeze and stumble every time they have to run for their damn lives.

But it turns out it’s useful for a field team to have someone around who can crack codes and work computers. And John hates field work less than he expected to, despite the unpredictability and the peril and all that awful running.

Sometimes, like when he breaks the encryption on a Wraith code in the nick of time and diverts an enemy ship away from its path toward Atlantis, he even feels a tiny bit like a hero.

-

Other than his team duties, though, Atlantis isn’t that much different from Caltech or MIT or the Air Force base at Wright-Patterson, or any of the other places he’s worked.

Everyone knows each other, except for him. Everyone bands together to look out for each other, and he stares in from the outside. Eating in the mess hall is like being catapulted back to high school.

So he makes himself at home in his lab. It’s quiet there, and there’s a plentiful supply of coffee, and there are only a couple of other mathematicians who occasionally pass through and largely leave him alone.

They’re next door to the noisy, boisterous science labs, where all the cool civilians hang out. But that’s fine. He gets used to ignoring them the same way he ignores the marines.

It’s just him and his numbers.

And sometimes, inexplicably, Rod or Teyla or Ronon, who will come by and sit at his desk and drink his coffee. He never understands what they’re hoping to achieve, but he doesn’t mind as long as they don’t touch anything.

-

Teyla appears in the doorway, staring at his whiteboard. It’s covered top to bottom with equations, and he’s had to stick up bits of paper around the walls to fit more on.

“Rod requested that I see how your work is going,” she says, voice giving nothing away.

He grits his teeth against the annoyance of the interruption. “It would be going faster if I could work unimpeded.”

She ignores the petulant note in his voice, squinting closer at the whiteboard. “What is this?”

“This is number theory. It’s the underlying basis for mathematics.”

Teyla raises an eyebrow. “And this is different from what Rod does?”

He sneers. “Very different. That’s just theoretical physics.”

“You do not respect Rod’s chosen field?” She seems genuinely curious.

“It’s fine, for, you know,” his lip curls, “an applied science.”

“I see. So this work can help us locate Wraith hive ships?”

He shifts his weight. “Well. I might need to, uhh, collaborate with Rod on that. I provide the conceptual models and he does the,” he waves dismissively, “practical calculations.”

“It seems that you two accomplish more when you work together.”

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t go that far. But he’s useful as an assistant, I suppose.”

-

When they learn there are three Wraith hive ships on their way to destroy the city, there isn’t much time for personal conflicts. They have a long-shot strategy: They’ve sent an emergency distress message in the vague hopes of rescue from Earth. But the Wraith ships are almost here and they need a plan now.

“Use the jumpers,” John suggests, because it’s obvious.

Rod snaps his fingers. “Yes! Put a nuclear warhead on board, fly the jumper right down the hives’ throats, and detonate.”

Elizabeth blanches. “That’s a suicide run.”

“No, no.” John thinks out loud. “Not if we can remote pilot the jumper.”

“Using the control chair!” Rod chimes in. “Sheppard, you’re a genius.”

John is so focused on the threat he forgets to preen over that.

It doesn’t take long for them to hook up the jumper to the chair and start running tests. Just as well, because death from above is coming imminently.

He knows something is wrong the moment Rod’s face falls while he’s poking at the cables running to the chair.

“McKay...” he says, voice low but insistent.

“I know! I know. Just give me a minute.” Rod disappears back into a bundle of cables. “I can fix this.”

Everything is suddenly, startlingly clear. The remote control won’t work, at least not in time. Someone will have to fly the jumper personally.

He and Rod both have the ATA gene, and both the same dubious piloting skills. But there’s not much skill required in flying directly into a hive, is there?

One of them has to do this.

“So long, Rod.” He turns and runs from the chair room to the jumper bay, not bothering to notify anyone of his plans.

“Sheppard! Sheppard!”

He hears Rod yell after him but he can’t think about that now. He has a job to do.

-

He gets beamed out by the Daedalus at the last moment. The battle is ugly, but the city and the expedition makes it out mostly intact.

Afterwards, Rod drags him into a conference room and yells at him for an hour about his reckless behavior.

John couldn’t give a shit. He has no regrets about his actions.

He gives an insouciant shrug. “Why the earful? It worked, didn’t it?”

“Because I am your team leader, and you didn’t even ask me for permission before nominating yourself for a suicide run!”

“That’s what this is about? Your precious chain of command? Grow up.”

Rod rounds on him and gets up on the balls of his feet. “There are people here who care about you, you dick!”

John blinks at the non sequitur. The idea that anyone would care more about him than about the city and everyone else in it is laughable. “Then they’re idiots,” he snaps and walks out.

Rod can write him up for that in one of the reports he so enjoys filing.

-

It would be nice if he could say that he learns and grows. That he makes friends. That he gets accepted by his peers and makes a home in the Pegasus galaxy.

But that’s not how this story goes. Not yet, anyway.

-

He does manage to make himself useful. He invents a new cryptographic algorithm to keep their computers and communications secure from Wraith interference. Elizabeth even gives him a grateful nod when he presents it to her, and says thank you.

He makes some progress on a quantum chaos approach to the Riemann hypothesis, not that anyone here understands that or how profoundly ingenious his work is.

And it turns out that many of the Ancient systems here are based on binary, just like computers on Earth, so he’s able to help Rod parse some of the more complex code. The two of them spend hours poking through the Ancient operating system, Rod fluttering around and theorizing aloud while John sits quietly in the corner, chewing on a pen and thinking.

It’s more fun than he would have expected.

-

And then, inevitably, he fucks up to a new and truly epic degree. He and Rod find the Ancient’s Project Arcturus, their great hope for extracting vacuum energy from subspace, and he convinces himself he can get it to work.

He’s self-aware enough to know he’s making poor choices, but not mentally strong enough to do otherwise. Because yes, of course virtually unlimited power is tempting, and of course discovering the last great experiment of the Ancients is thrilling. But he's a cautious person. He's not one to take unnecessary risks.

And yet the moment Rod turns to him with that look of delight, saying he's impressed, clapping him on the shoulder like he's done something wonderful, John is just gone. He ignores safety limits and all common sense, and he pushes and pushes and pushes for them to power up the generator, as if his wishes for it to work could make it so.

He wipes out most of a solar system with his hubris, not to mention nearly killing them both, and he's furious down to his bones because he can't figure out why he would have done something so stupid.

-

Bad enough to fail so spectacularly at your work that you devastate an entire star system, worse to have burned whatever credibility you may have built with your team, but worst of all to have to walk every day among people who know all about your inadequacy.

He's in the queue for the mess and a couple of the marines behind him are sniggering, one of them making a not-very-quiet crack about Sheppard’s ego being a weapon of mass destruction. John is staring straight ahead and pretending to ignore them, but the blood is pumping furiously in his ears and he's gripping his tray so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

“You got something to say?” Suddenly Ronon is there, all six-foot-three-million-pounds of him, glaring down at the sniggering marine like he might crush his skull with his bare hands. “If you’ve got something to say to Sheppard, you can say it to me as well.”

The marine backs away, hands held high and spluttering apologies.

Ronon throws an arm around John’s shoulder and walks him to a table so they can sit and eat.

John stares down at his food and wills the panic to subside. “Thanks,” he mutters once his breathing has settled.

“No worries, bud,” Ronon says and steals a piece of carrot off John’s plate. “So, how’s that bomb design you were working on coming along? You know I love a big boom.”

John tells him how his models have predicted the highly energetic variety of naquadah they’ve discovered could be harnessed into more efficient field explosives, and Ronon nods along as if this is all fascinating.

In that moment, John knows he would die for this man without hesitation.

-

Perhaps the worst part about the Arcturus incident is how unbearably nice Rod is about the whole thing. He tells John that it was both of their decision, that he doesn't blame him, that sometimes these things happen when dealing with advanced technology.

But John can see the disappointment in his eyes and hear the judgement in his voice. He gets a sick, twisting feeling in his stomach when he thinks about it, and that must be Rod's fault.

Rod picks a bad time to come visit the lab.

"Sheppard," Rod leans against the door frame. "I need your report on the Arcturus mission."

The sick feeling in his gut deepens. He hasn't written the report yet. "Bet you’re enjoying making me catalogue my failures."

"What? No. I just need you to submit a report so I can turn it over to Elizabeth."

"I see. You're looking for someone to blame, right? Going to write about how I pushed you and it's all my fault?"

"Of course not," Rod steps closer and there isn't enough air in the room. "I wouldn't do that. What's going on with you?"

He can't bear the look of concern on Rod's face, which he surely doesn't deserve and will surely evaporate soon enough. "Maybe I've had enough of you reminding me of my screw ups via the excuse of paperwork."

Rod's voice sharpens. "Don't blame me because you're feeling guilty. I can't deal with that for you."

The reminder of his lacking emotional skills stings and he lashes out. "Don't try to therapize me. You're hardly in the position to be doling out life advice." It's a mean, petty thing to say, but he's feeling vindictive.

Rod's eyes narrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

John's pulse is notching up and his face is getting hot, the last of his short temper fraying away.

“You’re a people pleaser, Rod!” He realizes he’s yelling. He doesn’t care. “Everything you do is to make other people like you.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Rod puffs up. “I try to be a decent human being. I try to think about others and support them. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s fake! It’s all bullshit. Do you even have a personality of your own, or do you just reflect whatever the last person who smiled at you wants?”

Finally, the cracks in the facade of nice begin to show. “Making an effort to treat those around you with consideration isn’t demeaning!” He gets up in John’s face, waving a finger at him. “Not that you’d know, because you never consider anyone other than yourself.”

“At least I’m honest,” he spits, and it’s venomous. “At least I know who I am. Do you? Do you have any idea who you’d be if you weren’t so absorbed in distracting everyone from your flaws?”

He sees the barb hit its mark. Rod stumbles back like he’s been physically shoved, his face crumpling.

“God, you’re an asshole.” It’s not even angry. It’s small, and quiet, and John is suddenly acutely aware of how much taller he is than Rod, how much he towers over him.

Rod turns on his heel and walks away, and John knows that means he’s won. But he doesn’t feel the usual curl of smug satisfaction he gets when he puts someone in their place.

Instead, he just feels empty.

-

Whatever. It’s not his problem that Rod is having some kind of breakdown. Why should he care that Rod is skulking around the base looking small and miserable? He only said what they both know to be true.

If Rod wants to be a dick about it, that’s on him. If he’s going to remove John from the team, that’s fine. There’s nothing that John can do about it anyway.

He gets back to work, running simulations of ZPM power levels and how long they can expect to sustain the city under different circumstances, given that they won’t be enjoying unlimited power any time soon. He likes modelling, and he knows this work is important.

But for some reason he can’t focus. His gut keeps churning and his temples ache and he’s haunted by the word worthless, worthless, worthless.

-

When his lab door chimes at well past midnight, he’s ready to tell whoever it is to fuck right off. In fact, the excuse to yell at someone sounds great right now.

But when he opens the door to find Rod standing there, twisting his hands anxiously, he’s too shocked to even be snitty. He’d assumed that Rod and he were done, that it was only a matter of time before he was kicked off the team.

But here Rod is, mouth downturned and saying, “You were right, okay?”

John notes the sad wobble of Rod’s chin and bites back the urge to say something dismissive. “About what?”

“About me. I do try to please everyone. I do want everyone to like me.”

It sounds pathetic, said out loud like that, John thinks but doesn’t say.

Rod is still going. “But it’s not what you think. It’s not some ego trip. When I was younger, I used to be -” He lets out a huff of air. “- very different. I said whatever I wanted to whoever I wanted, and I didn’t care if everyone hated me for it.”

John tries to imagine an angry, mean Rod. His brain can’t picture it.

“I pushed people away because I was afraid they’d reject me. I was always alone and I got very good at telling myself I liked it that way.”

An uncomfortable feeling of familiarity crawls up the back of John’s spine, and he ruthlessly quashes it.

“That changed when I went to the SGC. The people there… They believed in me. They wanted my help, and they wanted to help me. I learned that if I was going to work there, to do important work, then I was going to need connections. And to make connections, I had to think about others, and try to be what they needed. It wasn’t only about me any more.”

Something in the preachy tone of Rod’s voice sets John on the defensive, and his shoulders begin to rise, counterarguments springing to his lips.

“Wait, stop -” Rod lays a hand on his shoulder, and all the aggression leeches out of him. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m just trying to explain.”

The earnest look Rod is giving him makes his skin itch.

“I care about everyone here. Including you, John. Perhaps I try too hard sometimes, but that’s only because you all matter to me. I don’t want to let you down.”

Rod is talking in plurals, but John gets the impression he’s speaking to him personally. It’s too weighty, to be handed that kind of sincerity without warning.

“I do...” He coughs and looks at his feet, “I do care about the people here as well. I might not be demonstrative about it but I’m not…” he searches for the right word, “... indifferent.”

He doesn’t say the other words he’s thinking, which are cold, callous, heartless, the things people always call him.

Rod’s hand is still on his shoulder, heavy and warm, and he squeezes gently. “I know you do. I just wish that sometimes you’d let other people see that too.”

-

John tries. He really does. Ronon tells him that he needs to get out of the lab more, so he resolves to make time to socialize. He doesn’t really know how to do that, but Teyla quietly slides him a copy of the city’s social activity schedule and suggests he goes through the list.

Painting with Major Lorne - no.

Choir with the medical staff - sounds awful.

Extra combat training - absolutely not.

Mensa club - now there’s a possibility.

“Join us for FUN and FRIENDS,” the tiny advert reads. “All welcome (as long as your IQ is over 150).”

That he can do. He joins the club.

It's him and Kusanagi from R&D and Parrish from botany, plus a couple of the gate techs and one of the nurses from medical. Every Thursday night, they get together to solve puzzles and play chess. It's dorky and awkward but it's kind of nice, actually, and the people there don't seem to dislike him.

He thinks maybe he's getting better at this whole people thing.

-

And then Rod leaves, and everything goes to shit.

It starts off with a crisis, like there always is around here, exotic particles exploding out of a containment chamber which isn’t containing anything. There’s chaos, but there’s also data, so it doesn’t take long before he and Rod are turning to each other as the explanation clicks for both of them at the same time: An experiment to generate vacuum energy being conducted in a parallel universe.

“We can’t do anything from this side,” John reasons. “The bridge is one-way.”

“The inhabitants of the other universe might not even know what the effects here are. We need to go there directly and get them to shut it down,” Rod says, firm and sure. “It’s the only way.”

“But how could we-”

Rod snaps his fingers. “The Ancient shield. That’ll protect whoever travels there.”

“Right. Let me run some calculations.”

His head is buried in his computer when Rod comes running back in with the shield in his hand.

“Fire it up whenever you’re ready,” Rod orders. “I’ve got the shield to protect me.”

John’s head whips up. “You? You’re going?”

“Of course me! Come on, the chance to visit an alternate reality? Who could resist that?”

Icy cold water settles at the pit of John’s stomach. “That’s a one-way trip.”

Rod shrugs, like that’s nothing. “If that’s the cost to save our universe, it’ll be worth it.”

Something like rage explodes inside John’s head. “Absolutely not! I should be the one to go.” He searches desperately for a reason. “You’re needed here.”

Rod gives him a small, sad smile and says, “So are you.”

“That’s bullshit, McKay, and you know it. I’m not letting you do this.”

“Tell you what, let’s flip a coin for it.”

And that’s about as reasonable as he can hope for, so he turns his back to dig a coin out of his lab coat pocket.

That turns out to be a mistake.

“Be safe, John,” Rod says, then he activates the shield and steps into the containment chamber.

That bastard.

-

He spends three days thinking that Rod is gone for good.

He can’t… He can’t think, and he can’t sleep, and he’s angry all the time. When Zelenka asks for his help running calculations on the spacetime tear above the city John bellows at him, calls him incompetent, and says they might as well just accept that the city is going to be torn apart. Then he stays up all night doing the calculations anyway, because it’s better than lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for another interminable evening.

He doesn’t bother eating, or showering, because what’s the point if they’re all going to die within a week? There’s a restless, raging scratching under his skin and it’s not like he hasn’t faced the possibility of death before, but this feels bleak and empty and insurmountable in a way he simply can’t deal with.

And then the rift mends itself, and Rod returns on a beam of light, and everyone acts as if they’re back to normal now and that brush with annihilation was just one of those quirky things that happen in the Pegasus galaxy.

But it eats at John, that feeling of powerlessness, that rippling anger of a problem he couldn’t solve.

Rod slides back into life in the city like it was nothing but another mission, and everyone rushes to say how brave he was, what a hero, how selfless he is, and John’s blood boils.

Rod swings by John’s lab with his usual breezy demeanor.

“Hey Sheppard! Wanna grab some dinner?”

The incongruity of Rod in his doorway, smiling casually like this is just another Tuesday, sends something hot and sharp spiking through his brain. “No,” John snarls. “Busy.”

“Okay. How about tomorrow?”

“Busy then too.”

Rod gives a self-deprecating little smile, and John wants to wipe it off his face. “Too busy to make an hour for your team?”

“A team?” he spits. “Is that what we are?”

Rod pales, finally taking in how furious John is. “Of course we are. I thought, since I’m back now, we could -”

“Oh, so you stride back in and decide to grace us with your presence, and we’re supposed to be thankful for that?”

“John, what -”

“You left!” he explodes. He’s shocked by his own vehemence. “You left us all. You weren’t planning to come back and you just left.”

Rod takes half a step forward, his face doing something complicated. “John, listen. I never wanted to-”

“Go fuck yourself!” He shoves at Rod’s shoulders, hard enough to keep him at a distance. He needs space; he needs quiet; this is all too much. “We don’t want you here anyway. You should have stayed in that other dimension. I’m sure it was great there.”

“That’s not-”

“Shut up, McKay.” He tunes his voice to the iciest, most dismissive tone he has. “You should have stayed gone.”

He enjoys a mean spark of satisfaction at the way Rod’s face falls, then he storms out of the lab.

Fuck that guy anyway.

-

Everyone on the base keeps looking at John like he’s volatile, as if he’s about to blow at any minute. Even his team starts handling him with kid gloves, like he’s fragile, and he hates it so much he could scream.

He meticulously constructs the bubble of hostility which has long been his go-to when he needs people to leave him alone. He snaps and snarls, and perfects a glare so hostile that no one dares approach him.

It’s restrictive inside that bubble, but at least it’s stable. At least he gets to decide the reason why people are going to hate him.

-

A few days later, Teyla strides into his lab wearing her patented “take no shit” expression.

“John,” she says, and the false cheery brightness of her tone has him scared already. “You will join me for tea.”

This is not, he recognizes, a request. He begins to mumble excuses but she cuts him off without hesitation. “You will come to my quarters, and we will drink a mug of tea together.” She crosses her arms. “Now.”

There are battles you can win, and ones you cannot. This is most certainly the latter, so he meekly follows her as she sweeps out of the lab and back to her quarters.

Once inside, Teyla forces him into a chair with an excessively firm hand.

“Sit,” she orders.

It’s easier to do as she says.

She carefully prepares the tea and warms the earthenware mugs, strong hands making practiced, confident movements. John watches the motions as she pours the tea and slides a mug over to him.

“Drink,” she orders, and again it’s easier to obey.

The tea is soapy and bland, but he fears her retribution enough not to mention that. He sips as they sit in silence. She regards him heavily over her mug.

Eventually she reaches some kind of conclusion.

“You are a valued member of our team, John.” Her face is impassive but her words are warm. “We would not see harm come to you.”

“That’s. Uhh. Good.”

“But your behavior of late has been,” she narrows her eyes, “ill-advised.”

John opens his mouth to defend himself, because it’s not as if Teyla could understand what’s been going on. But she holds up a hand which stops him short.

“I do not care to listen to your justifications. But you should know that if you continue on the path you have been on, it will be to the detriment of us all.”

John feels like he’s been pulled into the principal’s office to be scolded like a schoolboy. He didn’t care for that shit when he was ten, and he certainly doesn’t care for it now.

“If that was all,” he pushes the mug away and gets to his feet, “I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait.” Teyla’s hand shoots out with a warrior’s accuracy and closes around his wrist. “I am concerned for the team, yes. But I am also concerned for you. I would like to think that we are…” she tilts her head, “friends. And I should like for you to be happy.”

John is embarrassed to find a lump forming in his throat. He’s never truly had a friend before, and that someone of Teyla’s stature and courage would consider him as such has him flabbergasted. He suddenly wants, very badly, for her to think well of him.

“I’ll try harder,” he says. “I’ll try to be better.”

She releases his wrist and gives him a generous smile.

“That is all any of us can do.”

-

He starts small.

He saves up a few of the precious Earth-imported cookies they get for dessert in the mess sometimes and brings them to the next Mensa club night. Kusanagi beams and says that was very thoughtful of him, and Parrish splits a chocolate chip cookie with him while they speed-solve sudokus.

The next day he types up a report about the team’s most recent mission with as much detail as he can remember, and he makes special note of how brave Rod and Teyla and Ronon were.

He saves it to a flash drive and takes it to Elizabeth himself.

“What’s this?” she asks as he hands it over.

“Mission report,” John says, eyes fixed on a tapestry hanging behind her desk.

“Submitting a report without having to be asked five times first? Who are you and what have you done with Dr. Sheppard?”

Anger flashes for a moment, because he’s trying here and she doesn’t need to remind him of his past failings. But he looks down and sees she’s smiling. It’s a joke. She’s joking around with him.

Huh. Okay. That’s unfamiliar, but he doesn’t hate it.

“Maybe I’ve slipped in from an alternate dimension,” he says, and even though that’s not very funny Elizabeth laughs anyway, and that makes something glow inside him.

-

He grudgingly admits to himself that there does seem to be a pattern developing: when he makes an effort to connect with people here and, god help him, be nice to them, then they are happy and so is he. When he yells and pushes people away, they are sad and he is angry.

It’s sort of obvious, really, and he would be embarrassed that it’s taken him so long to figure that out, but humans are bizarre and complicated and not at all like numbers.

He has a hypothesis and now he needs to test it. He should try being more considerate to those closest to him and see if that improves everyone’s moods. If only he could figure out how to do that without the entire experience being mortifying.

He’ll work on Ronon first, he determines. Ronon has always looked out for him and they have a sort of unspoken bond. Finding something nice to do for him should be simple enough.

He decides on a data-driven approach. He takes to following Ronon around, looking for inspiration, trotting after him with a small notebook in hand to record his observations. Ronon finds the whole thing hilarious.

Ronon spends approximately 40% of his free time in the gym, which certainly is a lot, and a further 30% in the mess. Another 10% of the time he goes running around the city, and the remainder of his time is spent visiting with Teyla, stopping by the science labs to tease Rod, or visiting John.

“You like people,” John observes one day, when Ronon is warming up for a combat session with some of the marines. He’s added up the figures and plotted the data into neat hand-drawn scatter plots and histograms. “You spend almost all of your time around other people.”

Ronon’s lips tighten for a second, and then he relaxes. “Yeah, I do. For a long time it wasn’t safe for me to be around anyone, and I hated it.” He looks around the bustling gym and nods. “Now I don’t have to be alone any more. I’ll never fail to appreciate that.”

John squints and scribbles that down in his notebook too. “You like spending time with people even if they’re -” He glances over at the marines, loud and bossy and distastefully laddish, “- strange? Or mean?”

Ronon grins at him. “Even then, yeah.”

“But you go running on your own. Is that what you prefer?”

Ronon stiffens slightly. “No. It reminds me of running from the Wraith. But it’s important to stay fit, and no one here likes running with me.”

Ahah! The perfect opportunity. John bounces on the balls of his feet. “I’ll go with you.”

“What, seriously?”

“Sure. It sounds fun.”

-

It is not fun. Running is brutal, and he is terrible at it, but Ronon smiles the whole time and he keeps telling John what a great job he’s doing.

By the time they’ve completed one lap of the route, sweat is pouring off John and his lungs are fit to burst.

“Go get some rest,” Ronon says, slapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “I’m going to do another couple of laps.”

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks between heaving breaths.

“You really want to do this again?”

“You run every day, right? So I will too.”

Ronon stops for a moment, then hauls John into a giant bear hug, apparently not caring that he’s sweaty and gross, and says, “Thanks, man.”

John is a little awed by how easily he expresses his approval, and how much it means to be on the receiving end of it.

-

He’s noticed on trade missions that the Athosians greatly value textiles, which they weave from plant fibers and dye bright colors. On his next trip to the mainland he slips away to ask the village elder Charin about the rugs which are spread throughout her tent.

She seems surprised by his interest but happy to show off her collection. She tells him how Athosians give rugs as gifts to celebrate relationships and achievements, and then she shows him how they're made.

He trades a whole month's worth of credits for supplies, and when he returns to Atlantis he spends hours each evening delicately weaving yarn through a wooden frame, building up a soft, textured rug. When it's done it's a little lumpy, but it has four clear bands of bright color running through it to represent their team.

He carries the rug to Teyla's quarters and fidgets outside her door.

"John." Teyla squints at him as she opens the door. "You appear nervous."

"I made this for you," he says and thrusts the rug at her. "Charin told me you're supposed to make them for family. This one has stripes for the four of us on the team. Sorry if it's not very good."

Tesla takes the rug and presses a hand to her chest as she examines it. A slow, warm smile spreads across her face.

"It is beautiful. You have my thanks, John. This means more to me than you know."

He has an uncomfortable flutter of emotion and he can't quite meet her eye. He focuses on the wall behind her instead.

"You are as family to me as well," she says, and steps forward to press their foreheads together in the Athosian way.

The frank sentimentality of her manner makes him squirm, but he sort of likes it.

-

Rod is trickier. He is not a person who cares much for stuff, and he always waves off supply runs from Earth, saying he has everything he needs.

But he has been complaining lately that the unstable nature of Lantea's sun has been interfering with some of his measurements. John has an idea that can help with that, even if it does involve working with grubby experimental data.

Once he's ready he invites Rod to join him in the control chair room.

"I did some modeling," he says quickly when Rod arrives. He doesn't bother with a greeting. "To predict solar influence on the Lantea system and help with your experimental readings."

Rod's eyes light up. "You modeled a star for me?"

"I thought it might be," he shrugs one shoulder, trying not to look too anxious about whether Rod will find it weird, "useful."

He plugs a flash drive into a socket on the chair platform and guides Rod into the chair.

"How does it work?" Rod is bouncing with excitement, the same look of delight on his face as when he finds a new piece of technology.

John indulges in a small, proud smile, and says, "Think about where we are in the solar system."

Rod leans back in the chair and its power hums on. Overhead, the holographic display bursts into life showing Lantea and its star, along with all the other planets and comets and asteroids filling the system, with notations on their size and mass and trajectory.

Rod whips the model around, running it backward and forward through time, watching the orbits of the planets dance.

Then Rod zooms in to see the sun up close and gasps. John has linked the model to the city's long range sensors so the display can simulate the star's fluctuations in real time, and as they watch its surface bubbles and releases a tendril of plasma which reaches out into space.

The display follows the plasma as it propagates out through the system, moving first through the asteroid field and then meeting the planet, interacting with the magnetosphere and lighting up the planet's atmosphere with an aurora of dancing colors.

The soft lights of the display are reflected in Rod's eyes, wide and joyful and curious, and the sight makes something like pain but not twist in John's chest.

"This is incredible." Rod pokes further through the interface, looking at zipping comets and distant moons. He sits up and the chair's power fades off. "Thank you."

Heat creeps across John's cheeks, and he busies himself unplugging the drive. "I wanted to do something… nice."

Rod stands and walks over to him, taking the drive from his fingers. But he doesn't let go, keeping hold of his hand. "This is very nice," he says, startlingly close.

And then something very strange happens, and Rod is leaning in and kissing him. John is distracted from the soft press of his lips by absolute bafflement at this turn of events and he freezes up.

Rod steps away and John stares at him, desperately trying to figure out how to respond. "You kissed me," he ends up on, which does have the merit of being true.

Rod rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry. I thought that's what you were going for. Was it not?"

John's brow wrinkles. His thoughts are whipping past at a million miles an hour.

That hadn't been his intention - he'd assumed that Rod was straight, not that he'd given it much thought - not that someone like Rod would be interested in him even if he wasn't - but there's something compelling about the concept, something intangible sitting on the edges of his perception. He can't quite see the shape of it.

"I need more data," he decides. "Kiss me again."

Rod breaks into a charmed smile. "I can do that."

This time when Rod leans in he's ready for it. Their mouths meet carefully, tentatively, and he angles his head so they line up better.

Oh. Interesting. The data is looking positive.

"Hmm." John draws back to breathe and consider. "Yes. That's good. Let's do that some more."

“An excellent plan," Rod says, putting his arms around John's waist to pull him closer and kiss him deeper.

Rod tastes incredible. Or maybe he just tastes of stale coffee and power bars, but John’s senses are so heightened that every sensation feels earth shattering, and he's starving for more. His hands scrabble at Rod’s collar, at his arms, at the hem of his shirt, trying to touch everything in a mad dash. He’s determined to get as much of whatever this is as he can before it comes to a crashing halt.

“Hey. Hey,” Rod’s hands are on top of his own, and he’s pulling away like John knew he would. John folds into himself, ready to turn his back as he listens to this is a mistake or we both know this isn’t going to work out or I’d never feel that way about you.

“If we’re going to do this…” Rod is giving him one of those lopsided smiles, soft and genuine. “I’d like to do it properly.”

John, still braced for rejection, has no idea what that means.

“Let me take you to bed,” Rod says, wobbly and uncertain and hopeful, of all things.

“Oh.” He could do that. They could do that. An ocean of unexpected possibilities opens up, glittering and unfamiliar and enticing. “Okay.”

Rod takes his hand and leads him back to his quarters. John’s palm is sweaty but his steps feel light as air.

-

Kissing Rod is excellent. Doing so while lying on Rod's bed is even better, and at some point they both lose their shirts and then there’s even more skin to explore and the comforting scent of Rod all around him.

It's what's next that's stressing him out, because while he's aware of the theoretical steps involved in sex, he doesn't exactly have practical experience to draw on.

There's the ever-present worry that he's missing something, that there's something he ought to know, like there's a handbook for this which everyone got a copy of except for him.

"You good?" Rod is looking at him with those very, very blue eyes. "You went away there for a minute."

His cheeks are blazing, but it seems important to set expectations. "I've never done this before," he admits.

"You mean with a man?"

He squirms. "With anyone."

He waits for Rod to laugh at him, but he merely looks contemplative. "Were you not interested, or…?"

"It never seemed that important, you know? Just another of those things that everyone else did except for me, like going to parties, or having friends, or spending Christmas with family."

Rod's face softens with sympathy.

"And even if I wanted to sometimes, it didn't matter, because who would want this?" He indicates himself with a disparaging hand. He knows what he looks like: too thin, too lanky, messy hair that will never keep a style. He's no one's ideal. "I'm not even sure why you’d be interested."

"God." Rod reaches for him and takes his face in his hands. "You really have no idea, do you?" Rod carefully removes his glasses, sets them aside, and says, "You're gorgeous," like he really means it.

Taking off his glasses makes John feel more vulnerable than taking off his clothes. Suddenly his shield is gone and there's the world, and Rod, and it's all very close and immediate and a little disorienting.

"Hey." Rod pets his face, soft and gentle, "It's okay. We can go slow."

He makes an effort to pull himself together. "I won't be very good at this."

"You don't have to be good." Rod traces his lips with a finger. "You just have to be you."

And that’s mystifying, frankly. But he’ll give it a go for Rod.

They kiss some more, and he relaxes into it, lets Rod take the lead, lets him explore his mouth until he’s boneless and breathless. He breaks for air and is lightheaded, the room almost spinning, but he wants more.

Then Rod is kissing along his jawline, and down his neck, and oh, when Rod’s lips brush against a spot near his throat his entire body tenses and twitches, and Rod makes a curious, happy noise and does it again. It’s a hair away from overwhelming but he likes it, he likes it a lot, and then Rod gently runs his teeth over that spot and John’s hips twitch off the bed entirely of their own volition.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, but Rod doesn’t look put off. In fact, he just grins, says, “Don’t be, I like it,” then pushes John back onto the bed and mouths at that spot some more.

His skin is hot all over and he’s shaking, and god, this is all going to be over embarrassingly fast and they haven’t even gotten all of their clothes off yet.

“Rod,” he says, and it comes out as a whine. “Will you -” He gestures vaguely at the bulge in the front of his jeans and hides his face in the pillow, too bashful to let Rod see him.

Rod pauses from his engrossment in John’s neck to breathe hot words into his ear instead. “Is that what you want?” he asks, and John is fit to burst already. How is Rod so good at this?

“Please,” he says, mumbling into the pillow. Everything is too much and not enough, and he wants, he wants, he wants. “Please, Rod, please -”

“Okay, of course I will, it’s okay.” Rod strokes his flank, petting him like a skittish horse, and that should be mortifying but it’s exactly what he needs. “I’d like to see you though,” he says, and reaches over to touch John’s chin.

John lets himself be turned, lets Rod roll him over so they’re facing each other and their eyes meet. That’s almost overwhelming too, but Rod looks so pleased he thinks he might be able to manage it, and then Rod is kissing him and unzipping his pants and oh, oh, oh.

Rod wraps a hand around his cock and John just melts, like every brain cell he possesses has decided to pack up for the night. He can't even bring himself to blush because Rod is touching him right there and it’s so good, it’s so good, and all he wants is more.

Rod handles him confidently, exploring what he likes: a bit faster, a bit slower, a bit more pressure, a bit less. If John could speak he’d tell him that it doesn’t matter, right now he likes everything, anything, whatever Rod wants to do to him he’d take it happily.

But Rod is a scientist, and he loves his data just as much as John does, so he does some experimentation and finds the ideal speed John likes, and the angle, and then he squeezes gently around the head and John’s orgasm explodes behind his eyes like bright, white light.

He floats for a while, like a spring that’s been twisted and twisted and finally bursts free, and he’s vaguely aware of Rod stroking his face. It’s nice, every muscle in his body slack and comfortable for once instead of clenched down tight.

“You good?” Rod asks, and John can’t help but smile.

“Very,” he mumbles, mouth lax and lazy.

Rod drops a kiss on his temple, and there’s something so casual and caring about that it makes John’s heart squeeze.

“You mind if I get myself off?” Rod asks and heat races up the back of John’s neck. He does not mind that one bit.

“Should I. Um.” He ought to offer, right? That was the polite thing. But, “I don’t really know what to do,” he admits.

Rod smiles softly at him and says, “How about you kiss me?”

And yes, John is definitely on board with that, he can do that. He puts an arm around Rod’s shoulders and pulls him closer, then kisses him: carefully at first, peppering soft pecks to his lips, and then deeper, lips sliding over each other as they grow more heated, and then finally wild and messy, slipping his tongue into Rod’s mouth while Rod pushes his pants down and works himself over.

He feels Rod’s fist bumping up against his thigh, faster and faster as he speeds up his hand, and John can’t help but glance down. He watches in fascination at the way the head of Rod’s cock peeks through his hand on each stroke, red and hard and leaking from the tip. Reflexively, he licks his lips.

Rod is making these soft groaning noises which have John entranced, like he wants to spend every spare minute he has learning how to coax them out of him. And then Rod is biting his lip, and twitching, and staring at him open-mouthed and breathing hard.

“Can I come on you?” he asks, and something in John’s brain short-circuits.

“Yes,” his mouth says for him. “Rod, god, yes.”

He can’t stop staring at the movement of Rod’s hand and, emboldened by a force he didn’t know he had in him, he reaches down to wrap his hand around Rod’s. He lets Rod guide their movements, adding a soft pressure from his fingers so they can bring him off together.

“John,” Rod sighs, full of warmth and contentment, and then he’s relaxing and coming. Fluid splatters across John’s thighs and he did that, he made Rod feel good, and that feels like the best gift of all.

Rod is soft around the edges now, smudgy like a charcoal painting, and when John asks, “Was that okay?” he pulls him closer and nuzzles into his neck, covering both of their bodies and their clothes hopelessly in come, and says, “That was perfect.”

-

John wakes up sticky, rather too hot, and filled with a roiling, anxious feeling. The bed is too small and Rod is too close, and his heart rate picks up as he looks fuzzily around the room.

He should go. He should just go, right now, before Rod wakes up and they have to talk about this and he says something wrong and ruins everything.

He’s squinting and patting at the bedside table, looking for his glasses, when he feels movement behind him.

“Morning.” Rod drops a soft kiss on his shoulder. Then he rolls over, John’s glasses in his hand, and opens them up and pops them onto his face. He slides them up John’s nose, smiles, and says, “There you are.”

And oh. All that panic seems further away once he has the armor of his glasses back, and now he can see the pillow crinkles imprinted into Rod’s cheek. He seems less like an agent of impending judgement and more like Rod, just Rod, Rod who knows him and has seen him at his worst and still, for whatever baffling reason, seems to like him.

“Hi,” he manages, and Rod beams like that was exactly the right thing to say.

“Coffee?” Rod offers. “Or shower first?”

As rare as it is for John to turn down coffee, he really is unpleasantly sticky. Deal with that problem first, he decides. “Shower,” he says, grateful that he’s not required to string together more than single words.

“Sure.” Rod gives his ass a cheeky pat as he rises, then throws him a towel.

He showers quickly and efficiently, but as he steps out and wraps a towel around himself he spots a purpling bruise on the side of his neck in the mirror. He stops to trace it with his fingers, remembering the feeling of Rod’s mouth there, hot and demanding.

“Ahh.” Rod stands in the doorway to the bathroom. “Sorry about that. I got a bit carried away.” There’s a flush on his cheeks, and he looks nervous.

John tilts his head, looks at the mark from another angle. There it is: incontrovertible evidence that he's wanted. What a fascinating concept. “Don’t be. I like it.”

“Oh.” Rod’s eyes go very round and the blush deepens. “That’s good. That’s. Ahh. Very good. I’ll just -”

Rod drops the towel from around his waist and makes for the shower, and John gets an eyeful of his half-hard cock, and then, as he walks past, an ass he has the sudden urge to sink his fingers into. A heat that’s beginning to feel familiar creeps up his neck, and he wants -

What the hell, he thinks, and he tosses his own towel aside to follow Rod back into the shower, delighting in his yelp of surprise when he slides up behind him.

-

“Shep! Think fast!”

John manages to get his hands up just in time to prevent the power bar from hitting him in the face.

“Thought you might want a snack before the mission,” Ronon says with a wink. “Just in case we have to run anywhere.”

“Hey, I’m getting better at that! I’ll catch up with you one day.”

“Sure you will.” Ronon checks the straps on John's tac vest like he always does, then says, "Looking good, buddy," and ruffles his hair.

John used to hate that, but he's given up trying to tame his hair and now he lets it stick up in whatever direction it wants. It's weird but it works.

Teyla bumps her shoulder against his as they walk toward the gate room. "What do you have for us today, John?"

“Remember that strange energy signal Major Lorne’s team picked up last week? I was able to map its topography through space and pinpoint its likely origin, and Rod took a look at the electromagnetic readings and he thinks it might be a power source -”

“So we are going to investigate the signal on P2X-884?”

“Bingo.”

Rod is standing in front of the gate like he belongs there. He claps his hands. "Ready for another thrilling adventure in the Pegasus galaxy?"

"Maybe we'll get to hunt some Wraith," Ronon says, entirely too cheerfully.

"Or discover some hideous alien parasite," Teyla joins in with a gruesome smirk.

"Or accidentally blow something up," John supplies, because that's usually how their luck goes.

"Sounds delightful." Rod grins and yells up to the gate techs, "Dial her up."

As the gate engages with a whoosh and a glow of blue light, Rod reaches out to graze his fingers against John's: a reminder, and a promise. Out of the corner of his eye, John catches his smile.

He stands a little taller, knowing his team has his back, and steps through the wormhole.

#mcshep #stargate atlantis #my writing #i will NOT shut up about mensa!john i LOVE him

[dannypuro]

Hi! In the last chapter and the 'Combeferre finds out that the idiots got their act together' bit you wrote recently, you mention that Combeferre picks Enjy up when hugging. First of all, that it adorable and I love it. Secondly, what was Enjy's reaction the first time that he did that? Also 'ferre repeatedly bullying bakers to make strawberry cakes for Enjy is perfect. Overall, something telling is awesome! Thank you so much for writing it!

(Hello! This is Something Telling verse (aka time-zapped, 1830s Enjolras, modern-era), and takes place somewhere between chapters 6 and 7. this ask has been sitting in my inbox for months, but i..... forgot that i had the draft sitting in my documents 😬. oops. anyways, thank you for sending it!!!!! here is the first Big Hug and best friends time. also.... exr pining, because it’s something telling and that’s the way it goes. but my asks are always open!!!! i accept all forms of questions and prompts!!!!!!)

“Combeferre’s coming back home tomorrow.”

Enjolras looks up from his book. He would not truly say that he had been reading it, per se, not since Grantaire returned from a morning of boxing with Bahorel in naught but a- a tank top, Enjolras believes he had called it, but the name of it is, in his opinion, much less significant than the way in which it clings to his back with lingering sweat, the way in which he can see the edge of his collarbone, the curve of his shoulders, the way-

Well. He had certainly been looking at his book. For the most part.

He clears his throat. “Pardon?” He manages.

Grantaire, thank the Lord, does not seem to notice his momentary… distraction. He sets his phone down. “Combeferre’s gonna be back from Morocco tomorrow. Joly says his flight comes in at four.”

Enjolras does what he can to parse that--even still, after weeks in this time, he cannot shake the semblance of strangeness, of unfamiliarity, that coats the words of everyone he meets. Even Grantaire, especially Grantaire, sounds, at times, as though he is speaking an unfamiliar tongue. (He wishes--God above, he wishes--to know it as he knows his own. To know Grantaire’s words, to know Grantaire, without the boundary of concentration required, without having to ask questions that must sound hopelessly stupid to everyone else in the world. To Grantaire. But-) “His… flight?” 

Granaire grimaces. Enjolras nearly wishes that he had not asked at all, aside from the fact that he does not understand. “Um. Okay. So.” He looks about himself, swears. Enjolras fights the urge to shrink in on himself, to tell Grantaire that it does not matter, to bury his nose back in his book. Only, then Grantaire sits down beside him upon the sofa, so. Perhaps he will not withdraw his question. “Um. Wait. Okay.” He draws in a breath. “Fuck.”

He flushes hot. “You need not explain if it is troublesome,” he mutters. 

Grantaire swears again. Enjolras fidgets with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “Um. So like. You know a boat?”

“A boat.” Surely, Grantaire is not asking if-

He nods, eyes wide and genuine and- and fucking caring. His shoulders are rather close to Enjolras’s own. He is still wearing no sleeves. 

He forces himself to breathe in, then out. “Yes,” he says, “I know of boats.” He does what he can to keep the ice from his tone--he cannot say for sure whether or not he succeeds.

Grantaire winces. “Oh. Yeah. Fuck. Obviously, sorry, I- Anyways, it’s like a boat that’s in the sky?”

Enjolras clears his throat. “You have lost me,” he admits. He does not feel guilty for doing so, for he is fairly certain that the fault does not fall upon him, in this rare instance. 

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay. Um. Picture, like, a giant metal tube?” That means nothing. Enjolras nods, anyways. “RIght, and then imagine that, like, a bunch of people go into it and then it flies to somewhere else in the world really, really fast. And then you get out of the tube.”

And-

Ah. Of course. Grantaire is making some sort of joke, some mockery at Enjolras’s expense. He scowls. “I do not appreciate it when you make light of the fact that I do not understand your time, Grantaire. You know this.”

Grantaire sputters. He looks- not guilty, not truly, but regretful enough that Enjolras cannot help but to regret a bit of the harshness in his words. 

He sighs. “It is not- It is fine. Only- I haven’t really any other way to learn these things, but to ask you, and so I do not-” He shakes his head. “It is fine.”

“No!” It is sudden, just a mite louder than Enjolras had been expecting--he startles, despite his efforts. Grantaire curses, then curses again, but softer, and then says, “Enj, no, I wouldn’t, I’m not, just-” he fumbles for his phone, prods at it for a few moments, then holds it out to Enjolras. “I wouldn’t,” he says, again.

Enjolras squints down at the phone. The glass is illuminated, showing- Well, it does seem to be a large tube, as Grantaire had said, but he still does not-

The vessel in the video lifts off of the ground. He turns to Grantaire with a start. “There- There are people within?”

He nods. “It’s a plane. An airplane. Lots of people take them.”

Enjolras feels rather as though he is going to be ill. He cannot tear his eyes from the phone. “And Combeferre shall be… inside of one? As it flies?” His hands have taken to shaking; try as he might, he cannot seem to still them. He hands the phone back to Grantaire, instead, presses his palms to the cushions of the sofa. 

Grantaire nods again, and keeps talking, but Enjolras cannot- he cannot quite manage to pay mind to what he says, for-

Oh, but he does not fancy that idea at all, of a man being- being propelled through the air, as such. Particularly if the man in question is Combeferre, for Enjolras has only just met him, has only just managed to befriend him, and Combeferre is terribly kind and frightfully intelligent and funny in a way that makes Courfeyrac groan but that Enjolras quite likes, actually, and-

“Enjolras?”

“I-” his voice cracks; he tries again. “I feel I must voice my concern.”

Grantaire pauses, frowns. Enjolras feels somewhat as though he has said something foolish--but then, he often feels such, and this is too important for him to rescind, even if Grantaire does think him a fool, and- “Because of the plane?”

He nods. “I only think that-” he swallows, starts again. “It only seems as though it would be rather- rather hazardous, would it not be simpler for him to travel by ship? Surely- Surely there is much less risk of-” he breaks off, manages a jerky shrug.

There is a pause.

“Oh,” Grantaire says, soft.

He shrugs again, though he is fairly certain that it is not particularly convincing.

Grantaire is looking at him… oddly. Something squirms beneath his skin. “I mean- Enjolras, hey, he’ll be okay,” he says, but-

“You cannot know that,” Enjolras snaps, and he regrets it, as soon as he has, but he cannot seem to make himself stop, just yet, either. “I was not aware that you were an expert in- in aired plains.”

Annoyingly, relievingly, predictably, Grantaire does not even flinch, he just looks a little sadder. Damn it all. (He also presses a little closer, his arm bared against Enjolras’s own, damn it, damn it.) “People fly all the time,” he reasons.

“Foolish people,” he spits out. “Fools and- and geese, only, would elect to do such a thing.” He is being ridiculous, he knows it, but oh, he does not like this one bit, not at all. “Men are not pigeons.”

“Men aren’t fish, either,” Grantaire jostles him, gently. Enjolras fights the urge to lean into it. “We still have boats, though, dude. Continual progress, and all that?”

“And yet, if a boat sinks, its passengers do not find themselves plummeting to the earth, dude.”

Grantaire snorts a laugh.

“I do not find it humorous, Grantaire!” 

“Sorry.” Grantaire draws in a breath, scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

He huffs.

Grantaire hesitates, and then settles an arm about his shoulders. As though Enjolras would ever deny him that--as though he could ever quell that selfish, poorly-hidden bit inside of him that relishes in the warmth, the closeness, the impropriety of the act. “Want me to call him?” he offers, and again, Enjolras is selfish, and he nearly-

Nearly agrees, nearly jumps on the offer like he knows he shouldn’t, for he- he misses Combeferre, and he does not like the idea of him hurtling about through the sky, and yet-

“No,” he says, “You needn’t.” He swallows. “You needn’t bother Combeferre, when he is surely quite busy with his family. I would not wish to impose.” This is the polite thing to do, he reassures himself, Combeferre will be fine, and simply because he is one of Enjolras’s dearest friends does not mean that he does, or ought, hold similar ground in Combeferre’s heart, and it is fine.

It is fine.

Grantaire looks… sad, almost; it makes something ache deep beneath Enjolras’s ribs. “Enjolras-” he begins-

“It is fine.”

“Enj-”

Enjolras opens his book rather pointedly. Grantaire stops talking, but he doesn’t- he doesn’t actually remove his arm from Enjolras’s shoulders. 

And.

Well.

Enjolras certainly shan’t be the one to remind him that it isn’t quite proper.

.

Enjolras is poor company the following morning, he is aware of this. 

Being aware of it does not, however, quite mean that he is able to bring himself to do anything to correct his comportement. Rather, he leans his cheek upon his hand and picks at a whorl in the tabletop and does what he can not to flinch at the sound of a truck being unloaded outside the window, at the spray of grapeshot which fits so seamlessly into each echo that he cannot quite manage to convince himself that it is not real. (It was real, is real, in a way, but he cannot- he cannot think on that, not now, not when he already has so much to think on.)

Grantaire-

Grantaire is speaking to him, he realizes, from the kitchen, but he does not notice it until it is too late, until he can catch no more than “-up to you, really,” and then, because Enjolras has taken too long to speak, taken too long to parse what he would even be talking about, “Enjolras?” He pokes his head out of the doorway. (He is sleep-rumpled, soft, concerned.)

Damn it, damn it.

He clears his throat. “I apologize,” he manages. “I’m afraid that I was not quite listening.”

At times, he wishes- he wishes that Grantaire would just grow tired of him, of his horrid behavior, instead of being so endlessly kind; that, at least, Enjolras would know what to do with. (At times, Enjolras is so afraid that it will happen that he thinks he would give anything not to ever think of it again.) As it is, Grantaire frowns. “I just- I just wanted to know what you want for breakfast, I don’t- Enj, are you okay?”

Oh. He must look rather poorly. He had not, after all, gotten much sleep at all the night before; he supposes that he had been hoping that it would not show on his face. (It is a vain thought, as well, which is vaguely infuriating. Before he met Grantaire, he so rarely thought about things so inconsequential as exhaustion.) “You may cook what you choose. It matters not.”

Grantaire crosses his arms. His shirt is very thin. 

Enjolras presses his wrists to the table to stop his hands from shaking as he glares back. It nearly works.

Grantaire, infuriatingly, says nothing.

He grits his teeth, then sighs. “I slept poorly. This is all.”

Grantaire pauses, at that. Enjolras takes a moment to wonder as to whether he has had any coffee, this morning--likely not. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. “This is about Combeferre,” he says, at last, once he has collected himself.

Damn it.

Enjolras should have elected to become enamored by somebody who is less perceptive. 

Not that-

Not that he is enamored, of course. 

He forces a quiet laugh, hopes that it is convincing enough to draw the furrow from Grantaire’s brow. It is not. “I- I am being foolish,” he admits, eventually. “As you said, Combeferre will be fine.” It does not sound particularly convincing, even from his own mouth. Especially from his own mouth. Part of him wishes that Grantaire would say it again, instead.

His hands are still shaking. Perhaps, he finds himself thinking, they will carry on this way forever; it is difficult to imagine that he could ever fire a rifle straight, anymore.

No matter.

Grantaire makes an odd noise at the back of his throat. 

“It is fine,” Enjolras reminds him, for if he does not stop looking so very wretched Enjolras may- not cry, likely, but- but it stings, in any case. “I simply. Well. Combeferre is a good man, and I- Well. Ah. You see, he- He has told me that I am his friend, and I haven’t terribly many friends, aside from you, and I know that you trust these- these aired plains, but I cannot seem to bring myself to do so, and so I- I am simply rather anxious. It is nothing serious.” (Enjolras thinks of a young man, a boy, far younger than Combeferre, at his feet with his jaw shot off and his hand wrapped like a vise around his ankle, of blood soaking into the seams of his boots, of the spray of grapeshot against brick and against bone, and-) 

Grantaire looks, if anything, more distressed than before. Heavens, but Enjolras is poor at this. “I should call Combeferre,” he says, resolutely. He fumbles for his phone. “Yeah, I should-”

“I would not have you do so.” It comes out just on the side of too sharp, but Grantaire does not startle, he simply winces, as though pained. “There is no need to disturb him by imposing, as such. So kindly do not.”

He returns his phone to his pocket. “Okay. Um.” He does not return to the kitchen; rather, he continues to linger, uncertain in a way in which Enjolras is not accustomed to seeing him. “Do you want anything for breakfast? Like, anything specific?”

And, well, in the spirit of absolute frankness, Enjolras does not--he is not particularly hungry at all, but-

But he is beginning to get to know Grantaire a little better, now, and he is beginning to guess that cookery means a bit more to him than it does to most others, and perhaps, perhaps, this is something that he needs to be able to do for Enjolras, right now.

Enjolras may be selfish, may be too cruel in ways that he cannot avoid, but he can give Grantaire this. He thinks on it, but he does not truly- 

Ah.

Well, perhaps- Perhaps he is not completely without cravings. “Have we any more of the lamb sausage which you purchased at the market the other day?” he hazards.

Grantaire beams. (Enjolras’s heart flutters like a small, helpless bird.) “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, man, totally.”

He returns to the kitchen to make Enjolras breakfast. Enjolras tries very, very hard not to think of the way in which the soft, strong set to Combeferre’s jaw so resembles that of the boy whose hand he still feels around his ankle, before it got shot off. It nearly works.

.

It is not until mid-afternoon that he- that he truly cannot stand it, cannot calm his heart where it hammers out a stuttering rhythm in his chest; cannot still his hands from shaking, even for a moment; cannot bring himself to read, to write, to sit calmly; cannot manage to drive his mind from thoughts of fire and of life lost and of the sharp spray of grapeshot and of horrible, ridiculous contraptions plummeting to the earth, and-

“I would have you call Combeferre now, I believe,” he blurts out, when Grantaire has looked up from his phone to note him standing in the doorway of the parlor. “I- I believe that I- I cannot quite- I-” He forces himself to draw in a breath, but it catches in his lungs, freezes there- “I- that is, I-” He looks to Grantaire helplessly. 

He had not been expecting for Grantaire’s face to drop, so. Or for him to curse, and scrub a hand over his face, and say, “Oh, Enj, I don’t-”

Enjolras does not understand what he has done wrong, but it- it is clearly something, but he does not-

Grantaire curses again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I should’ve- I should’ve told you earlier, but I can’t- Fuck. You can’t call somebody when they’re on an airplane, the call won’t go through. Everybody has to turn their phones off when they’re in the air, and Combeferre’s flight would have taken off an hour ago.”

He does not understand.

“So I… cannot call him,” he begins, for it is easier to start with something that he knows and work backwards, “That- Why?” It makes no sense. What is the use of such- such foolish devices, if one cannot even contact one’s friends when it is necessary?

Grantaire grimaces. “It’s something to do with the networks, I think? Like, the signal from the phone tower messes with the instruments and the navigation and shit. Or, like, maybe it’s too high up to get a signal, or something, but I don’t really know about…” He fades off.

Enjolras feels, oddly, as though he may cry. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, so softly that he does not know what to do with himself, and then Grantaire is on his feet in an instant, and Enjolras finds himself being pulled into an embrace that is warm and gut-wrenchingly close and better than anything he has ever deserved.

He draws in a deep, shuddering breath and lets Grantaire tug him in closer still, presses his nose to the curve of Grantaire’s neck and cannot even manage to think of the impropriety, not when Grantaire’s arms are so warm around his back, his shoulders.

He would apologize, but Grantaire always seems a little bit sadder, whenever he does so, so he figures that it would be rather counterintuitive, all things considered. 

“He’s gonna be alright, you know,” Grantaire murmurs against his hair. “I know you don’t- I know I can’t really do anything to make you believe that, right now, but I promise he is. Planes are safer than cars.”

What a horrifying thought. Enjolras is quite glad that Grantaire cannot drive a car. He does not mention this; instead, he allows himself to wrap his arms around Grantaire in return, to clutch at the back of his shirt and be held closer still. “Okay,” he manages.

Grantaire hums; Enjolras can feel it, deep in his chest. “Wanna watch a documentary?”

“Okay,” says Enjolras, though he does not think that he can bear to do anything, aside from to stay here, like this, with Grantaire’s arm’s around him.

“Cool,” says Grantaire, but he does not move to let him go for a long, long time.

.

They watch a documentary. 

Or. Well. Grantaire watches a documentary. Enjolras sits beside him and leans his head on his shoulder and does what he can to focus on the weight of his arm around his shoulders instead of the weight in his chest. It does very little to calm the way in which his heart races, but it serves, at the very least, as a distraction, as something by which he can mark the hours that slog by.

He would feel guilty for imposing, as such, were it not for the fact that Grantaire holds him so closely that it does not seem possible that it is for Enjolras’s benefit alone.

It helps, he thinks.

There is a crash outside, all metal and glass; there is the jolt of a carbine under his hand and the spray of gunshot against brick, against bone, and he is staring down the barrel of his rifle at a young man with soft features who is staring back at him down the barrel of a cannon, and he can feel the ticking of a pocket watch deep in his palm, and-

There is another sound, sharp and odd, and it takes Enjolras just an instant too long to realize that it has come from Grantaire’s phone. He startles; Grantaire, mystifyingly, takes the moment to run his fingers through Enjolras’s hair, as though gentling a particularly skittish horse, or perhaps a feral barn-cat. He would be rather insulted, he figures, were it not for the fact that it seems to still something frantic beneath his ribs.

“Combeferre’s flight just landed.” It is soft, blurred at the edges, as though Grantaire had been drifting off to sleep over the course of the moving. Perhaps he had--perhaps that would account for the way in which he had settled so comfortably against Enjolras. (Enjolras is not accustomed to people being comfortable around him; he finds he- he likes it. Particularly when it is Grantaire.)

He clears his throat. “Ah,” he says.

Grantaire hums.

“And- And all is well?” he hazards, and he- he does not even know how he would begin to ask more, what he would even say in a demand for more information, but he- 

He-

“Huh?” Grantaire scrubs a hand over his face. (Enjolras becomes more convinced of the fact that he had been half-asleep, only moments before. His heart stutters, uneven, in his chest.) “Oh, yeah, dude, totally normal flight. Everything went fine.”

“Good.” He tries, then, to exhale, to relax, but cannot quite manage it. Damn this new  constitution of his, damn that it never lets him fucking rest, damn that it does not ever leave him be. (Damn that he- that he seems to have lost, somewhere along the way, any shred of the dignity which he used to be able to hold so easily, damn it, damn it. He shall have to work on it, somehow. He shall have to, if he is to keep living alongside Grantaire, and if his heart is to continue to beat such a frantic pace in his chest at his touch.)

Grantaire opens his mouth to speak; Enjolras knows what he will say, what he will offer, before he says anything at all, and- and yes, he wants it, all of it, for he is selfish, and he wishes for Grantaire to call Combeferre, and for Grantaire to embrace him again, and for Combeferre to go out of his way to visit he and Grantaire’s apartment instead of returning to his own, and absolutely none of it is his to ask. “Do you want-” begins Grantaire, and Enjolras pulls himself to his feet despite his every impulse resisting to do so.

“I believe that I shall go read for a time in my own chambers,” he blurts out, before Grantaire can protest, and then he goes to do so. 

He wants for Grantaire to follow him, too, to persuade him back to the sitting room, to call Combeferre anyways, but does not, of course he does not. 

Damn it.

.

And then-

Enjolras makes it three more hours of his heart hammering away in his chest, of gritting his teeth against the feel of a hand on his ankle, of hearing flashes of grapeshot in the rumble of the vehicles below his window. It is a very admirable length of time, in his opinion; his hands have been shaking so hard throughout it that his forearms have taken to aching. 

He ought to wait. He ought simply call on Combeferre tomorrow. There is no need for him to visit unannounced, particularly when he has been traveling, and when Grantaire has assured him that Combeferre has arrived safely, and when there is no reason for concern but for the fact that he seems to have thoroughly lost all sense of rationality, somewhere between the window and the cobblestone, back in June, and-

He sets his book down on the side-table and reaches for his jacket--he was not truly reading it; it is not truly cold. But he- he is frightened, and he is not used to this fucking century, with its- its aired plains, and its bared arms, and he understands none of it at all and he--he tugs on his shoes, does not bother to undo and retie the laces--he is tired, and he would like to see his friend, and-

“Hey, were you reading with the lights off, again?” Grantaire asks, hopelessly concerned, when Enjolras leaves his chambers--and it is jarring, sudden, and he is frozen in place in the hall, for a moment, as he runs the words over in his mind- “Wait, where are you-”

There is a knock at the door.

That-

That is odd.

On the sofa, Grantaire frowns. “Were you expecting-”

Enjolras shakes his head.

“Weird,” says Grantaire.

It is weird. Enjolras goes to answer the door, unlocks it, and-

“Hi,” says Combeferre, who is beaming and who is there, in the doorway, and who is fine, and safe, and-

“Hello,” says Enjolras, and he finds himself unable to keep the sheer relief from his voice, nor a watery smile from rising to his cheeks, and then he is being pulled into an embrace that is so tight his ribs ache.

“I missed you,” Combeferre says, presses against his temple, and then he finds himself being lifted off of the ground, feet dangling, as Combeferre holds him tight. He-

He has never been held, as such, before.

Enjolras’s heart stutters; he swallows down something thick in his throat. “I-” He swallows again. 

Combeferre, then, seems to realize that he has been holding Enjolras some distance from the ground. He sets him down somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry,” he says, “I wasn’t-”

“I have missed you as well,” he blurts out, somewhat too loud, somewhat too brusque. He fidgets with the hem of his jacket, fingers twitching. “Very much so, I-” He looks to Combeferre, wills him to- to understand, to-

Combeferre pulls him into another embrace, and Enjolras presses his face to his shoulder and holds him in return. 

“How fares your family?” He asks, after a long moment.

Combeferre musses his hair as he lets him go. “Good. Numerous. I’ll show you a picture of my sister’s kid, she just started walking, and it’s- Actually, have you eaten? My mom made me take some pastilla back with me on the plane and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I brought it over here with me.”

He… He has not eaten, he realizes, and he shakes his head. Grantaire must not have wished to disturb him. Which- “Did Grantaire request you visit?”

Combeferre herds him into the kitchen. “No? Should he have?” He pulls a container made of square glass from his satchel; Enjolras fetches three plates, though he does not know if Grantaire has eaten. (He has not, most likely--he has come to realize that Grantaire tends to wait, now, tends not to cook unless it is for the both of them. He does not know what to think of that.)

He shrugs. “I was… concerned,” he admits. “Because of the aired plain. I thought that perhaps Grantaire informed you.”

He frowns. “No, I-” His eyes dip to look Enjolras over, then- “You were totally on your way out the door when I arrived, weren’t you?” It is not a question. 

“It is not of your affairs,” he tries, “Perhaps I was simply on my way to the convenience store. You do not know.”

“You were.” Combeferre is no longer frowning. Instead, a grin has risen to his face; Enjolras has only this as warning before he grabs for him, pulls him into a rough embrace before Enjolras can evade his grasp. “You were, you missed me. Admit it.”

Enjolras feigns struggle, hides his own smile against Combeferre’s arm. “Leave me. Release me at once.” 

“Admit it, admit you missed me.” Combeferre holds him tighter, musses his hair further. “Admit it and I’ll let you go.”

“Absolutely not,” Enjolras says. He struggles a bit more, though mostly only so that he is in a more comfortable position for Combeferre to continue to hold him close. 

“You’ve done this to yourself,” says Combeferre. Enjolras simply rests his forehead against his shoulder and shuts his eyes. Only for a moment. They shall eat Combeferre’s mother’s pastilla in a moment. He can hear Grantaire watching television in the other room; Combeferre’s arms around him are warm and comforting. Just-

A moment.

#something telling #exr #les miserables #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #combeferre #les mis #exr fanfiction #enjoltaire fanfiction #writing #les miserables fanfiction #Anonymous

[hisakata-resutomoshibi]

I request your brutally honest opinion on ships!! And I shall choose Jeje/Mikuni; Lily/Misono aaaaand Yumikage/Tsurugi!

Ohohoho Anon! I wonder if you know what you're getting into. I also wonder who you are~ ;3 because these are all VERY GOOD.

Ok, here we go! (sorry if this is rambling and insane <3)

Lily and Misono: I think this is one of those ships that you either love or hate. I suppose someone could be neutral about it but more often than not I've found that when I bring it up the other person either goes completely feral or is disgusted. I however, love it. I think it's really versatile and casual and just one of those amazing comfort ships, you know? Like, from the very beginning, even before their arc and increased bonding, Lily and Misono have been the two that are just "always together". And I mean that in the sense that when you think of one, you think of the other. It's not an unhealthy, codependent relationship, but one that both parties feel secure and comfortable in; so much so that they can be together, apart, arguing, agreeing, making out- it doesn't matter, they're on the same page and will always end the night happily together.

Now, I love angst. I live, breathe, cry, angst. But even I can appreciate the domestic bliss of a happy, well adjusted, soul mate ship. I can still make it angsty, sure, but even then I can go into it knowing that depite whatever happens, it will end fluffy and happy and sometimes I just really need that haha.

Plus, let's be honest here- the contrast is powerful between their temperaments but it only adds humor when paired with their similar abilities and I'm here for that. Lily is king and master of soft bakery AUs and stripper AUs, while Misono could run a flower shop just as casually as the mafia, and who doesn't love a Jack of all Trades?

Yumikage and Tsurugi: AHAHAHAHA *cracks knuckles*

GOOD. AMAZING. SUPERB.

So. I think first we have to establish the understanding that I love them in any capacity. Friends, Frenemies, Lovers, One Night Stand, Married. All of it is good. Because at the end of the day, they are compatible. And that's the basic summary of everything I'm about to say.

First off, I think they also have one of the most genuine connections between characters, and by that I mean that it is very organic. It started off dramatically (this is a manga after all) but in the end, they just get along.

Yumi looks up to Tsurugi and Tsurugi looks up to Yumi, both for opposing reasons and I think it's so important to note that they are both also willing to give up their own desires and ideals for the other. It's not a self destructive, unhealthy relationship, it's the opposite! They both want to improve and change for the other, all the while knowing that it isn't necessary. They can be exactly who they are, or who they want to be, and they will still be what they've always been to each other- something that I think is very important and overlooked in relationships by the way- friends. And what could be more beautiful than that?

Also, let's be real here, that scene in the restaurant- sharing a menu, trading looks silently, leaving together, existing in tandem, it's all just perfect. The comfort, the familiarity, the belief in each other. That's what I love about them. Tsurugi will give up money, Yumi will give up his pride- the ultimate representation of sacrifice and selflessness in the face of love.

Mikuni and Jeje: Ahh.... how can I even put into words how I feel about these two. It is pure beauty and bliss and poisonous romance, they are angry and aggressive and loving and dangerous and hurtful. But they are a constant. I love the dissonance found in their relationship. It is clear from the beginning that they are different; their ideals, their hobbies and interests, mannerisms, all of it, total opposites! (Except maybe that temper~)

But despite that, what Mikuni and Jeje illustrate is trust. Belief in the other. Care despite disagreeing. And though it may not be the kind of reaction to lthat feeling that you expect or want, it is undeniable. Because to work together the way they do, as eve and servamp, and simply as two separate people, there has to be trust.

Less physical in proof is their interactions. There are so many instances that show their relationship for what it really is. Mikuni, loud and aggressive, sure in what he wants, must be so frequently frustrated by Jeje's quiet nature. But he finds a way to compromise, a way to stay involved in their "life together". And Jeje, my sweet, sweet, strange Jeje. He is the definition of reclusive. He likes quiet and peace and reading. And he got Mikuni for an eve, bless him. But he doesn't just put up with him; it's clear that he feels comfortable despite Mikuni's aggressive nature and that must stem from something. There are so many moments of just the two of them and Jeje has his bags pulled up, scenes where he never hesitates to argue or demand, and my favorite- he yells! He has yelled at Mikuni before and for some reason I can't quite put into words I FUCKING LOVE IT. I feel like it is the perfect example of the changes that they inspire in each other; a freedom to be who you are.

And need I even mention "my Jeje"???? Like comE ON. I'LL DIE. Every single shot of them, every art piece, Mikuni is staring at Jeje with this truly sappy look on his face and Jeje is curled up around him like a fucking full body snap bracelet....... I digress-

I suppose in summary, the thing all these pairs have in common, the singular vein running through them, and the reason I am so weak to them, is that they are two vastly different people who have come together and agreed to love each other for what they are and what they could become. There isn't a past, now, or future, there is only them, and they will meet that life together.

#servamp #ask stuff #I guess my summary is pretty much applicable to EVERY pairing in this damn series #but that's why I LOVE IT #AHAHAHAHA #I suppose I better tag these bitches #tsurugi kamiya #yumikage tsukimitsu #mikuni alicein #misono alicein #all of love #hmmm #jekuni #doubt doubt #my little cutie #servamp jeje #servamp lily #ehhh good enough

[once-upon-a-pirate-ship]

it would kill me (if you didn't know)

I know. Trust me, I know. But I've been working on my novel, and when this fic slapped me in the face last night, I just went with it. And so should you.

Neverland AU - canon divergence for somewhere in 3a

(Blatant disregard of canon to follow--don't make me rewatch the show, please)

They saved Henry but all got separated in the process, and when they finally made it back to the ship, Emma realized that they were down a man. She's just gonna have to save him.

This features some pretty awesome Emma/David bonding, too.

This is a classic 'Killian's been taken while saving them and now he's being tortured and Emma isn't gonna stand for it' fic. I've read them all, and I just needed more. POV switches 3rd person between Killian and the others.

Thanks in advance for accepting the sidestepping of canon that I love to do.

Rated M for language and violence

length: 5k+

Read it on ao3

In retrospect, it wasn’t the greatest plan he’d ever had. But it also wasn’t the worst. Well, it could hardly even be called a plan, really, given that the consideration for it occurred in approximately three seconds, but he was hardly going to worry about it now. There were other things to worry about.

The thing that Killian Jones, pirate captain of the Jolly Roger and unofficial Neverland guide to Swan (and the others), needed to be worried about was the little demon child Peter fucking Pan who stood over him with that stupid evil smirk on his lips.

“Seems like you’ve finally lost, pirate,” Pan spat, but the amusement in his tone only sharpened the anger in his eyes.

Killian’s gaze flickered from the child to the grove in the distance, and when he saw not a trace of the others, he returned his attention to Pan. “Aye, I suppose so,” he said, his voice rough though calm and certain.

Pan’s brow furrowed. “Really? No witty remark? No promise to skin me alive?” he taunted. “You’ve changed your tune, Hook.”

He resisted rolling his eyes, instead gripping his wounded shoulder a little tighter. The arrow wasn’t poisoned—he’d have felt it working by now—but it wasn’t helping his predicament at all. Neither was the sizeable gash on his abdomen that Felix had been kind enough to gift him when he’d been distracted.

“Have I?” Killian asked. “I wonder what you’ll do with me now,” he added dryly. He knew. Oh, he knew.

Pan’s eyes flashed, and in an instant he was crouching towards Killian, his hand grasping the protruding arrow. “Now, I get to have my fun,” he declared with a cruel twist of his lips and an even crueler twist of the arrow.

But Killian Jones was no stranger to pain. They were intimately acquainted. That’s how he grit his teeth and buried it until nothing but a tiny grunt sounded from deep within his throat. Pan wouldn’t consider his torture much fun if he didn’t scream in agony, so he would keep playing until Killian could fight it no longer. And he’d let him. Because egging him on would make him lash out, and ensuring him of Swan’s victory would put her and the lad in danger. Pan had spent his time since their arrival playing games with them, distracting them from the important things they’d come there to do. It was only fair that Killian would return the favor.

So the demon could pull out all his toys, could whip him and carve into his flesh, could burn him until his skin was blackened ash, but nothing would stop Killian Jones from protecting his loved ones. And gods above, he loved Emma Swan.

--

All she wanted to know was how the fuck this happened. Their plan had been so perfect that even she couldn’t doubt it, but somehow the winds had shifted or their luck had run out or her luck had run out, and when they returned to the Jolly Rodger and the groups had reunited, they’d been down a man. Down a captain.

Neal, for all his talk of fighting for her, didn’t seem to mind not fighting for something that she actually cared about. He was running for president of the Let’s Leave the Pirate Here Club, and that wasn’t exactly a great way to get into her good graces, though that would’ve been hard enough as it was.

Regina, predictably, prioritized Henry to a fault—Emma was always for prioritizing her son, but not when it came to sacrificing her values or her morals or whatever, fine, she just didn’t want to sacrifice him. Henry was okay, he was safe, and they could take precautions to ensure that he would stay that way, but Regina just didn’t care or didn’t think it was worth it. A good option for Neal’s vice president.

In all her silent canvassing of the group’s feelings regarding Operation Save Hook (Henry was asleep, okay? He could come up with a better name when he woke up), Emma blatantly ignored Gold. For obvious reasons.

Tink was mostly for saving him, but not confident enough in any plan she could offer to make it stick. She’d tried to sway Regina, but that had been less than successful.

Then it was her parents. And, for once, they weren’t in total agreement.

Mary Margaret was sympathetic, to be sure, but not enough. She wasn’t in the Let’s Leave the Pirate Here Club, but she was Queen of Save My Kid and Her Kid Kingdom, so that was that.

But David—that’s what had caught her attention.

When they’d first discovered Hook’s absence and began discussing their options, Emma had held back and held her breath, unwilling to reveal her hand without knowing where the others stood. She’d gone into full Observant Mode, and that’s when she saw David, her father, and his reaction.

His face stiffened, an automatic move to hide his feelings, but Emma saw through it, even when Mary Margaret didn’t (or didn’t want to see it). It was a set jaw, a twitching lip that was almost a frown, tensed shoulders that eventually gave way to firmly crossed arms because apparently, Emma had gotten her Observant Mode from her father, and that’s what he was doing.

A few minutes into the conversation had nothing decided, but Emma shifted her stance, and her father looked her way. Their eyes locked, and while the others continued their pathetic excuse for a rescue discussion, father and daughter exchanged practically imperceptible nods, and then they were allies.

It’s what gave her the strength to step forward at last and disregard whatever half-assed ‘it’s too late’ speech Neal had been giving with a pointed clearing of her throat.

“David and I will go back for him while you guys get the ship ready,” Emma announced. Regina did that haughty half-step back that meant something between ‘I don’t care’ and ‘do whatever you want,’ and Mary Margaret’s only response was to look questioningly at her husband. Tinker Bell gave an enthusiastic nod of approval before busying herself with some bit of the rigging she may or may not have actually understood how to work.

Neal, however, was predictably Neal. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ems,” he said, that stupid nickname that he had no fucking right to use.

Emma’s head turned slowly to her ex, regarding him with the coldest gaze she’d ever offered anyone. Regina had some competition as head of the Looks That Could Kill Committee. “Hm, okay. Well, you don’t have to think it’s a good idea, because you’re staying here.”

“Emma—”

“There’s no discussion, Neal. No discussion from anyone, but especially from you. You have no right to talk, or interfere, and you especially have no right to argue against saving the man who is the reason your own son is alive and safe now.”

Mary Margaret was staring at her when she turned away from him, her eyes wide and openly confused, but she said nothing. David, however, had his eyes cutting into Neal, narrowed and calculating and damn, he was putting pieces together and he wasn’t liking the picture.

“Ready?” Emma asked her father.

He forced himself to look away. “Just have to grab one thing,” he told her, shaking his head at something Mary Margaret had said before he disappeared below.

Neal had huffed away after Emma’s little scolding, and he pouted at the exact opposite end from where his father pouted. Regina looked disinterested and mildly irritated, but when Emma glanced at her, she nodded towards Gold with a raised eyebrow.

Emma’s lips curled in something like a grateful smile, and she passed her bewildered mother on her way to the Dark One.

“You have something,” Emma said as soon as she stood in front of him. “Something to get Pan.”

“I do, Miss Swan,” he replied, that stupid tone that told her he had tricks up those stupid sleeves of his.

She hummed. “No, there’s no deal this time. No price. I’m done with games. So you can either give it to me, or I can take it from you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Take it from me?” he asked, entirely amused by the concept.

“I’m done with your shit, Crocodile. You can play Dark One with me all you want, but we both know it’s just easier to just hand it over.”

He glared at her for a long moment, but eventually he cracked, and he glanced at his son who looked out at the water and away from them both. “Fine. But only because I’ve no use for it anyway.”

She took the box he offered, resisting the urge to mutter, ‘yes, that’s why,’ as he explained how it worked. When he’d finished, she offered him a simple but genuine “thank you,” before joining her father once more.

“Here,” David said, passing her another cutlass, one she hadn’t seen before. “You need a new weapon,” he added.

“And I’m borrowing…”

“Hook’s. An extra,” he said. “Figured he wouldn’t mind.”

“Right,” she mumbled, taking it with a frown and securing it quickly. “Well then, let’s go.”

--

For all his talk of being intimately acquainted with pain, Killian Jones was doing a piss-poor job of hiding it. The cracks in his resolve were starting to widen, and when hums and grunts became groans and low growls, he knew it was only a matter of time before Pan started to truly have his fun.

He’d been more clever this time around, to be sure. It had to have been at least a century since Killian had gotten cozy with the demon’s knife (or arrowhead, or branding iron, or whatever particular weapon he’d chosen to use that time), but Pan had certainly honed his skills quite a bit since then.

But Killian was sure that Swan had taken her lad and the others far away by now, and the knowledge that he’d helped her, that he’d kept his word, allowed him the strength he needed to keep the screams from coming.

For a while.

Pan, though, had used a trick on him he’d never experienced, and the shock alone was enough to get it working for a little while.

That trick came in the form of her, of Emma Swan, and the name had fallen from his lips like a prayer, hope that he’d never felt before rising like a rushing tide in his chest, and she’d smiled at him, a radiant, lovely thing that he’d never imagined could’ve been gifted solely for him, useless pirate that he was.

But then she’d started talking, and he knew it was a trick (tides always come back, because when there’s a rise, there’s also a fall). Not at first, he’d give Pan that, because it was easy enough to believe that the smile hadn’t been for him, that she resented him, that she hadn’t meant to save him, that they were better off without him. It wasn’t what she said that tipped him off, it was how she said it. Because Killian Jones had studied her since the moment she uncovered his pathetic hide in that pile of bodies, and he knew her—more than she knew herself, to her dismay—and he could read her. She was an open book, after all.

When her eyes didn’t burn like he knew they should’ve when she spoke of anger and hatred, he knew. When her lips didn’t quirk in that one specific way when she mentioned abandoning him, he knew. And then she spoke about her parents and Baelfire, and it was all wrong, because Emma Swan had walls, and even Neverland wasn’t enough to break them down so quickly.

Wherever she was, Emma Swan wasn’t about to run into her parents’ arms and live happily ever after with them and her True Love, because she wasn’t there yet. He knew her. He knew how hard it was for her to open up to him, someone who understood her from such shared experiences, and that wasn’t something she could just overlook as soon as she returned home. They’d hurt her—here, in Neverland, with assumptions and confessions and automatic behaviors, but also before. And if she did wish to ride off into the sunset with Baelfire, Neal, it wasn’t going to happen right away, because Killian had watched her while she shifted away from Neal when he’d moved towards her. He’d seen the way she recoiled at his touch, how she’d narrowed those jade eyes at his words, how she didn’t trust him, not anymore.

No, the Emma Swan that stood before his beaten and bruised body was a copy, and a bad one. When she hadn’t achieved her goal, she disappeared, and Pan took her place, and though he knew the demon was mocking him and prodding him with insults and hoping they’d smash the last of his resolve, he wasn’t ready to give in just yet.

Killian Jones was waiting for something. He just couldn’t figure out what it was.

--

“What’d he do?”

Emma faltered, the blade missing the piece of jungle shit in her path she’d been trying to cut down. “What? Who?”

“Neal,” her father said, clearing the vines for her before they continued on.

“Oh,” she sounded, pulling her lips together as she considered what to say. He’d noticed it before, and she knew that. He wasn’t stupid, nor was he as hope-prone and naive as Mary Margaret could often be. And they had another few miles to go, at least. “He left,” she said.

David stopped, a hand on her arm that was more than just an attempt to stop her from walking, too. “He left you?” he asked, his eyes somehow tight with rage and tender with something she wanted to dub dad-ness, because no one had ever looked at her like that before.

Emma huffed, because now was definitely not the time for Feelings, now was the time to rescue a goddamn pirate from whatever the hell Peter fucking Pan was doing to him. “He set me up to take the fall for his crime and let me go to prison instead. I didn’t find out I was pregnant until I was already in jail.”

David blinked once, twice, and then his expression was consumed by dad-anger (because it was just a different brand of anger that she’d also never seen before). “Emma—”

“It was a long time ago, dad.” They both started at the name, dad, because she’d never really used it before. A few times she’d said it, but it was something she’d had to force, a correction or a pointed joke, sometimes a near-death thing, but this was different. Authentic. Slightly heartbreaking.

“We don’t have time for this,” she muttered as she turned away, but neither was surprised, and even her dad wasn’t hurt, because Emma had her walls, and that was okay, because she’d needed them to survive this long. And if he had to put in a little time and effort to help take them down, that didn’t bother him one bit.

“I was kinda surprised that you wanted to come,” she said after a while, unable to bear the tense atmosphere any longer.

David gave her a half-smile, slicing another thicket (because they’d grown over since they’d returned to the ship. Fuck Neverland, honestly). “He did save my life, you know. And he was saving Henry when an arrow hit him—before your mother and I got separated from the group. I wasn’t about to leave him for dead after he took an arrow for my grandson.”

Emma froze, nearly dropping the cutlass that wasn’t hers. “He saved Henry?”

Her father’s eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you knew that,” he said. “So why are you so eager to help him? If you didn’t know.”

Her lips parted only to press together firmly, and when she spoke, they both knew it wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the whole truth. “Because I don’t leave people behind. And even without the arrow, he still saved Henry. He brought us here.”

David studied her for a moment, and these pieces were coming together faster now, and quite suddenly, the picture made a lot of sense. “He came back.”

“For Henry. And Neal,” she replied.

“And you.”

She couldn’t deny it, and he knew that. But it surprised him that he didn’t mind it as much as he had before. Emma’s walls, no matter how much he wished he could change it, were in part because of him and Snow. They saved her, yes, but they abandoned her when they did it. And Neal had likely been the cause of the other fortress that surrounded her, because he’d abandoned her, too.

So if the pirate had gained her trust and her respect because he hadn’t abandoned her, then that was good. David had seen plenty of love and devotion in his life, but he’d never seen loyalty like the kind that burned in Captain Hook. Centuries in search of revenge for the one he’d loved and lost. That wasn’t the man who would turn around and abandon her the second the opportunity arose.

No, without him or the pirate realizing it, he’d pretty much gained his blessing. Because David knew damn well that if the roles were reversed, not even if Emma herself were in danger, but if Hook were here in his place and someone she loved was being tortured, there’s no one he would trust more than Captain Hook to help her. Neal had barely batted an eye. But he was apparently quite skilled at leaving people to rot.

David was just beginning to contemplate how to handle that particular situation when the screams started.

He took his daughter’s hand, meeting her huge and watery eyes, and they ran.

--

He’d held on so long, but it was worth it. It was worth it. No, she was worth it. Emma Swan was worth it.

Emma. Emma. Emma.

Her name became a mantra, a song in his head to fill the space between screams.

Killian Jones had loved Milah. He never doubted that, and his love for another didn’t negate it, either. He wasn’t sure what made his love for Emma Swan sharper, deeper, but it was just different. His working theory was that they’d both loved before, both been hurt before, both lingered in something that was slightly less than pure. Whatever had happened with Baelfire couldn’t have been perfect, because it hurt her. And she’d been so young when she’d had Henry. Milah wasn’t faultless, either. Ironically enough, that point was proven by Baelfire.

Killian had spoken to her about it for hours. She’d spun tales of rescuing the lad, taking him from his pathetic father and bringing him aboard, but it never happened. It wasn’t until Henry was taken from Swan that he realized the downfall of his Milah. He’d known it, truly, but nothing would have stopped Swan from getting back her son, and it should’ve been the same with Milah.

For a moment, the pain of his guilt overwhelmed the pain of Pan’s lash that sliced into his back.

But that was what made his love for Emma Swan different.

Try something new, darling. It’s called trust.

Be a part of something.

Too bad he’d never have the chance to explain it all to her.

--

Emma had seen so much in her life. So much pain, so much ugliness—it had made her start to believe that there was really nothing else. But then Henry showed up at her door, and things changed.

Now, standing in her hiding place with her father, she was forced to watch as the demon child inflicted brutal and unrelenting torture to Captain Hook—no, no, he wasn’t Hook anymore. Not after this. He was Killian Jones, and she was going to save him.

She just couldn’t jump in and do it. Not without a plan.

Once they’d decided who was the distraction and who was taking the box, they were ready, but she wasn’t. Each scream pierced her heart, and by this point, the tears were just a permanent fixture that neither of them acknowledged. You couldn’t listen to that kind of pain and not feel it down to your goddamn soul. And she knew that as much as it hurt to hear it, Killian was hurting a thousand times worse while he endured it.

It had only been hours, maybe, but she’d never seen a person look so broken and not be actually dead, and it felt like her fault. Because maybe if she’d been strong and reasonable enough to let go of Henry’s hand for even a second, she would’ve realized that he wasn’t at her side like he was supposed to be. Sure, they’d all been separated into groups that slowly returned to the ship, but she should’ve known. She should’ve been there. He shouldn’t have been here.

None of that mattered now. It was time to save him, and then she could worry about everything else.

Her father kissed her forehead, brushing her tears with his thumbs and offering her a reassuring nod that said we’ve got this, and then he disappeared to play his part. When she stepped into the clearing, she was much more confident than she had any right to be.

“Pan.”

The kid snapped to attention, whirling around to look at her. “Really? You’ve come to rescue the pirate?”

His words, his face, his stupid grin pissed her the fuck off, but what really sold it, the thing that solidified everything for her was the sight of Killian’s hook tucked into Peter Pan’s pocket like it was a fucking souvenir.

“Well, you know what they say about us hero types,” Emma stalled, keeping herself from glancing at Killian where he lay in the dirt. “We don’t leave anyone behind. We come back for everyone. It’s just in our nature.” She had no idea what she was actually saying, she was just talking, just waiting until her father got into place.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you take the pirate, Emma. He’s mine, you see,” Pan told her, and she thought that he’d never looked less than a child with the straight-up evil in his eyes and the weapon in his hand.

She folded her arms across her chest, pulling on strength she didn’t have. “Hm, no, I don’t think he is,” she said, letting some of her anger seep into her voice. “He’s a pirate, sure, but you and I both know that he’s pretty determined about that good form nonsense, and he made me a promise, you know,” Emma continued. “He told me he’d see to it that Henry gets home safely. He can’t do that if he’s here.”

Pan’s shoulders shifted as his chest puffed out, and he wanted something. “How about this,” he said, “the pirate in exchange for your son.”

Emma scoffed. “As I told the Dark One earlier, I’m done playing games. No deals. I’m leaving this island with my son and my pirate and everyone else, and that’s it. You lose, kid.”

Peter Pan grinned, and if she hadn’t just seen David out of the corner of her eye, she would’ve been terrified. “How’s that? I’m not going to let you leave with Henry or the pirate, no matter how much you’re convinced I’m going to,” he said, almost petulant.

“Sorry, I should’ve been clearer,” Emma smiled, “I should’ve mentioned the part about you being captured. Whoops. Too late.”

Emma surged forward, snatching the hook just before Pan was sucked into Pandora’s box from David’s outstretched hand. Neither he nor Emma hesitated for a second before they rushed to Killian where he was no more than a pile of cuts and bruises on the ground, stripped of his coat and his vest and his bravado.

David rolled him onto his side carefully, shooting her a concerned look when he didn’t even flinch.

The hook fell from her grasp and onto the ground beside them. “Killian?” Emma said softly, her hand reaching out to ghost across his sweaty forehead. If she didn’t see the rise and fall of his chest in time with the shuddering breaths he took, she would’ve been certain he was dead, because anyone else would’ve been dead.

“Emma, I have no idea how we’re going to move him when he’s like this,” her father told her, and if he were someone else, that would’ve meant that they’d run out of options, but hope was the family motto.

Emma pushed out a breath, bringing her hands back to her face, running them over her hair and locking a few fingers around her necklace. “Alright, okay, lemme think,” she said, but of course that was when her brain turned to absolute mush.

Time, nonexistent here though it was, was marked with Killian’s shaky breaths, and several minutes passed before David spoke. “Emma…” he began, and when she looked at him, that family motto was shining in his eyes. “Emma, you have magic. You can heal him.”

“I—” I can’t, she wanted to say. But it didn’t matter that she’d never done it, that she had no idea how to, because she’d do it. She’d do anything to save this stupid, ridiculous, insufferable, amazing pirate. He promised that he’d win her heart, and she wasn’t about to lose him right when she finally had a chance to let him.

“How?” she asked, hoping—yes, Emma Swan did things like hope now—he’d know something helpful.

David hesitated, as if he were gathering everything he’d ever learned about magic. “Okay, your magic is about emotion, right?” At her nod, he continued, “Well, that’s good, because you’re feeling a lot of things right now. You want to help him, to heal him, so maybe think about why?”

Emma chuckled, and it was a watery thing, but she wiped the dampness from her cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve cried this much since…I have no idea when,” she confessed.

David met her gaze, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Use it.”

She took a breath, her eyes slamming shut so she could focus, but her hand didn’t leave her father’s.

Why was she crying now, this much, after everything? She wasn’t a crier (you couldn’t be in the system that long and still be a crier), so what had changed? All at once, she knew.

Captain Hook is what changed. Killian Jones had towered her walls, and now she was crying over him. Because she felt things. Things with a capital ‘t,’ and it was the first time in her life that she was finally, truly letting herself feel Things, the first time she honestly wanted to. There hadn’t really been a choice with Neal. He was just there, and that’s why she’d loved him. She was young, and he offered her this tiny piece of security and she’d latched onto it, and that was it. It wasn’t even about him, not really, not when she broke it down like that. Everything she felt for Killian Jones was about him.

Right from the start, he’d terrified her, because he could see right through her walls like they were made of glass. He read her because he already spoke the fucking language, but she hadn’t let herself understand that piece until later. But how many times had she been standing beside her family (she had that now), knowing that things were off or just not feeling right because they didn’t quite get it—but then she’d looked over and he’d been watching her because he got it. He knew. And he came back.

Killian Jones had never abandoned her. Well, there was that one time he locked her in a cell, but that was only because she’d just chained him up on the top of a beanstalk and it was honestly only fair, so that was different. Every moment when she waited for him to race off while in Neverland, when leaving her to her fate would’ve been the smart and easy thing to do, he’d proven her wrong (but she wasn’t really wrong, because she didn’t really believe it. She’d trusted him right from the start, and each time he didn’t leave her was somehow both totally surprising and totally predictable).

But it wasn’t just that. It was everything she saw in him when he thought no one was looking. The shadows that crossed his face when they ran into something familiar, the hesitance when offered assistance by anyone, the mysteriously filled waterskins that appeared by her bedroll after his watch. Everything he did for her and her family was a promise that he was no longer a villain—that maybe he’d never actually been one—and she could doubt everyone else (except for Henry), but she couldn’t doubt Killian Jones.

She was falling for him. Hard. She probably already would’ve fallen if she’d let herself, especially if she’d gone with her gut at the top of that beanstalk and trusted him, so she wasn’t about to let him die.

Emma raised her free hand, feeling all of her Feelings and thinking all of the Things, and she healed him, because she needed to. She felt the warmth that radiated from her palm, and when her eyes flickered open, there was a brilliant light that washed over his face and followed the path of her hand as she hovered along his body. The cuts shrank, sealing themselves while the blood seeped back into his skin, and when his breaths were no longer labored, she knew he was healed.

Her father gave her a proud smile (it was watery, too), but their attention was quickly brought back to the groaning pirate.

Killian’s eyes took several fluttering blinks before they focused correctly, and when he spoke, it was no more than a disoriented grunt. “Swan?”

“We’re here,” she said, releasing David’s hand to take Killian’s. “We trapped Pan, Henry’s safe on the Jolly Roger, and now all we need is for you to take us home.”

His eyes were stormy when he looked up at her, and his rough palm lined up with her soft one, and for a single, fleeting moment, it was as if he’d never felt pain in his life. The warmth, the ease, the life he felt holding Emma Swan’s hand made him briefly forget the hours of torture from Pan, and for what may have honestly been the first time in his life, Killian Jones felt safe.

There were many questions that he needed to ask, ones he hadn’t had the chance to think of with his present exhaustion, but he pushed them aside, because she was smiling that smile, the one he’d never imagined could be directed and him, and it lacked the tightness that Pan’s version had. Where Pan’s version had pranced around words, the real Swan was straight to the point and not flowery about anything. But what was most comforting about this Swan was that even though her smile was warm and lovely and nothing like he’d ever seen on her lips, he could see her walls hidden in her gaze, that lingering hesitance, and he knew. She’d come back for him.

“Think you can walk?” David asked him, and it almost made the pirate jump (centuries of always being on his guard, always prepared and aware of his surroundings, and Emma Swan gave him one smile and held his only hand and that was enough to block out the rest of the realm).

Killian nodded, and with some careful maneuvering by Swan and her father, he was upright. He wavered slightly—blood loss, he reasoned, because Emma had definitely healed him with her magic, but there was only so much magic could do—but they secured both of his arms without delay.

“Oh,” Emma paused, bending down to grab his hook. “Thought you’d want this back,” she added with a smile that was almost sheepish.

It was the way she held it that made him lightheaded (not at all related to the blood loss). Her hand was wrapped around the metal like it was nothing but also everything. She didn’t fear it, didn’t scrunch her nose at it—the way she held it was like the way she held his hand: a part of him, something she couldn’t quite bring herself to let go of.

“Thank you, Emma,” he murmured, and all three of them knew it wasn’t just for returning the hook. He gestured for her to attach it, and after a glance of confirmation, she did. And he couldn’t help but feel whole.

#once upon a time fanfiction #ouat fanfic #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #captain swan fic #ao3 #Neverland fic #ouat neverland #this is me avoiding my novel and my other actual wip

[gallavictorious]

Once again the fandom coming together to daydream about Mickey helping Ian out and seeing him back on track to become an emt again but why is that on Mickey? Why does he always have to do things to make Ian happy when Ian's usually nothing but annoyed by Mickey and does nothing to make Mickey happy? Truly shows which character y'all care about more.

This got absurdly long, because I am who I am and did take the opportunity to go off on a tangent about valid conclusions and what not, so I put it under a cut. Read at your own risk! Oh, and I also do address the actual question about whether or not Ian's career is on Mickey, and whether or not Ian never does anything to make Mickey happy. ;)

For the sake of clarity, I got this ask in response to this post.

And I gotta say, nonnie, getting this ask perplexed me to the point of running off to Trusted Fandom Friends, demanding to know how my undying love and loyalty for Mickey could ever be doubted. Had to laugh at myself a little, actually, and the strenght of my befuddlement. It reminded me of the time I went on a trip with people from the 501st (cosplayers dedicated to the bad guys in Star Wars) and Rebel Legion (cosplayers dedicated to the good guys in Star Wars) and a lot of people assumed I was a Rebel sympathizer simply because I had friends in that group and those were the people who had invited me. Excuse me, I didn't yell, I have like 30 Darth Vaders in my damned home, how dare you question my allegiance? I was so used to always being known as a diehard Vaderkin fangirl that the mer fact of strangers failing to recognize me as such genuinely fucked a little with my sense of identity. My love of Mickey isn't anywhere near as deeply ingrained into my sense of self, since he's only been an occasional presence in my life since 2016 while Darth Vader's been my main man since 1994, but it was still a little jarring to suddenly find myself (mis)identified as an Ian stan.

Being a fangirl is strange.

And I want to make it clear that I do love Ian. He's a fascinating character and, to me, he's a character that's often much harder to understand than Mickey. He rewards careful analysis and discussion, though, so I guess I tend to talk a lot about him? I don't need to spend as much time considering Mickey's feelings and motivations because they are (almost) always pretty obvious; I don't need to tease them out. But at the end of the day, Mickey is my favourite. (Though I'll always love Ian and Mickey together more than I love either of them on their own. It's like fresh cilantro and mint – each perfectly lovely in their own right, but the combination of them creates a flavour that's just out of this world.)

Now, you might argue that you don't follow me and so have no idea who I am and what I like to post about, and that going only by that single post (which, in fairness, was tagged with 'i just want ian to be happy okay?') I give off the general impression of an Ian stan. And that's fair enough; I'm an obscure blog in a decently big fandom and you're not required to keep track of anyone. However, if you want to throw around passive aggressive accusations of caring more about one character than the other, I will ask you to do your research first. Reacting to one single piece of data without considering the context is a common but highly unfortunate practice that needlessly complicates meaningful conversations, and we'd all do well to abstain from it.

Oh, you don't want to spend a lot of time and energy on consdering every single thing a specific Tumblr blog has ever said on a specific topic just so you can draw a valid conclusion about their stance? That's perfectly understandable, nonnie, and easily sorted: refrain from making unsubstantiated claims about what other people think or don't think and you won't have to. Ask them, if you wonder. If you see a tendency in fandom to put the responsibility for Ian's wellbeing and career or Mickey's shoulders and want to discuss that, that's totally cool! I am game (and will address that question below)! But it's very possible to do that without somewhat rudely ascribing perferences and opinions to other people, and you'll get better answers for it (for instance, you won't have to wade through me rambling on about valid conclusions and my memories from other fandoms... ).

It seems to me, though, that this touches upon a long-held frustration of yours. If I interpret your ask correctly, you think the show gives us an Ian who is mostly annoyed with Mickey and doesn't do anything to make him happy, and you think that the fandom responds to this by relegating Mickey to the role of Ian's caretaker, whose sole purpose is to serve Ian's needs without any regard for what might Mickey himself happy. Have I got that right?

If so, it should be noted that I don't agree with either of these takes: I don't think that's the Ian the show gives us (a point I will return to below), and I don't think that fandom at large only cares about Ian's happiness, and I particularly don't think that my post can be used a evidence of the latter.

For instance, when you sent me this ask the post in question had all of 40 notes. As I write this, it has just over 70. ”The fandom coming together” seems to be slightly overstating the case, don't you think? There are certainly fans who care more about Ian and only see Mickey as valuable as long as he contributes to Ian's happiness, just as there are fans who care more about Mickey and only see Ian as valuable as long as he contributes to Mickey's happiness - but this single post with less than a hundred notes does not support that either of these stances would be predominant within the fandom. (And, while on the topic, I'd like to state that I don't actually see a problem with either of those stances; these are fictional characters that exists for our entertainment and we don't have any moral obligations to treat them equally and fairly. Don't ruin other fans' fun by dumping on either of them in the character or shipping tags or on character and shipping posts and this is not a problem. It might be a somewhat unpopular opinion, but I don't think you have to love or even like all characters in a ship to ship it: I refuse to drink plain tea because it's nasty but put a splash of milk in it and its my favourite thing ever. You can love a combination without loving all the seperate pieces on their own. And yeah, I do revert to food metaphors a lot. I like food.)

Secondly, whether or not the post can be said to represent the feeling of the fandom at large (it cannot), I think that reading a post specifically about ”Mickey helping Ian out and seeing him back on track to become an emt again” and then extrapolating from that that Mickey ”always have to do things to make Ian happy” is a little wild. The very first thing I wrote for this fandom was a vision of Ian offering Mickey comfort, goddammit. (Ian giving Mickey a hug is so high on my list of desires, you can't even imagine)

As for your actual question (and, ah, imagine how much shorter this post would be if you had just left it at that) – of course that's not on Mickey. That much, incidentally, I've actually explicitly stated in another post. Ian might have his issues but he's still an adult and responsible for himself. That being said, I don't see it as particularly strange that someone would go out of their way to help their partner when they see them struggling? If I realize that someone I care about is unhappy and there's a way for me to help, I would want to help because I love them and want them to be happy, even if it's – ethically speaking – not my responsibility to do so. Pretty sure Mickey, who is action-oriented and so very protective of the people he loves, feels the same way.

Of course, if it's a one-sided thing – if one partner is always the one to do stuff for the other and never receives any support in return – that's not a healthy relationship, and I assume that this is what you're seeing in the show and taking exception to?

Only... I can't help but wonder who this Ian is, this uncaring, selfish version you see – because I don't quite get how it can be the Ian who emptied his bank account for Mickey, or the Ian who was ready to throw his parole and stay in prison for Mickey even when they were in the middle of a fight specifically because Mickey said it would make him happy, or the one who kept trying to talk to Mickey and win him back after Mickey punched him in the face, accidentally broke his leg, and took off with a new lover (I'm not taking sides in this one, btw – I have a lot of sympathy and understanding for both of them and their actions throughout this whole sorry affair), or the Ian who immediately wanted to marry Mickey protect him from the consequences of a murder Ian thought he had actually comitted, or the Ian who went along with arranging a real wedding even though he initially didn't at all understand why this was important to Mickey and who had someone come serenade him once he did, or the Ian who chose At last for Mickey to walk up to the aisle to, or the Ian who keeps trying to reach out to Mickey and to touch him and discuss their issues in a mature way even when he's (justifiably) upset about Mickey using all their wedding money without telling Ian. (Though Ian deciding for both of them that they're saving the money isn't great either.)

I mean, Ian's absolutely done shitty things, as has Mickey. They're human, and they're the products of a chaotic and often hostile enviroment. They do mess up a lot; they've hurt each other rather badly over the years. Depending on your perspective and preferences, you may think one or the other have behaved worse, but as far as I can see, the claim that Ian never does anything to make Mickey happy is simply not supported.

Ian has seemed unusually annoyed with Mickey this season, I'll give you that, but while that's not always the most fun thing to watch and I strongly sympathize with the wish to just see Ian look at Mickey with that fond look again, I don't find him being frustrated right now all that weird, given the circumstances. I'd argue it has less to do with Mickey and more to do with a general frustration over thwarted ambitions and not being able to hold on even to a really shitty job, though Mickey's attitude doesn’t exactly help (which is not to say that I think that Ian's the one in the right here, becasue Ian's way of handling things hasn't always been been stellar either). However, I do have faith in them sorting this out – because even though they fight and bicker and get annoyed with each other, there's never any indication that they're not both committed to making this marriage thing work. They certainly stumble, they misunderstand each other and lash out, but they calm down and go to sleep in the same bed and compromise and keep trying. Every day, they – both of them – choose each other.

I'd like to finish this off by noting, even though it's not entirely relevant to my argument, that that the number one thing that does make Mickey happy is being together with Ian, and even when Ian is pissed at Mickey and withholding sex (which was very ill-advised but says a lot of interesting things about his character, I think!) no one's sleeping on the couch, there are no nights away from the house and each other, and even in the middle of an argument they sit and stand next to each other. I think that's pretty telling of Ian's dedication, especially given his propensity for running away from his problems.

Phew. Okay, nonnie – though we don't agree and I doubt you'll find this answer satisfactory, I hope you see that I have done my best to understand your point of view and treat your arguments fairly and give you a thoughtful response. If you'd like to get back to me and elaborate on your stance, I'd ask that you show me the same courtesy. :)

#asks #i don't even know what to tag this i spent five hours writing it and my brain is mush #meta #i guess?

[clonecaptains]

DELIVER ME - a mandalorian fic 

word count | 5.7k

rating: m for smut; mentions of forced arranged marriage

summary: mandalorian x reader; The Mandalorian is a bounty hunter - and you’re the bounty. You’re set to marry a man you’ve never even met. The Mandalorian is set to deliver you to him, and he will deliver you - but not the way you expect. 

a/n: there’s a handful of planets and places mentioned - none of these are in the star wars universe - i just made them up! also this is my first sw fic - feedback is appreciated~! 

Deliver Me

The wealthy king of Alloral'la has brokered a deal with the Zenkoth system’s dignitary. A trading system will be enacted between the two systems after the king’s daughter marries the dignitary. It’s old-fashioned, but since the Empire has fallen - anything goes.

Only no one bothered to ask you if you wanted to marry this dignitary on another world. And this man is truly despicable.

Where you come from - love, the sacredness of marriage, and virginity is part of your DNA. It’s quite easy for others to taint the way of life. This dignitary being one of them, and your father doesn’t seem to mind if he gets his end of the deal. Your life, your love, is being traded for metals to build better cities. “It’s a sacrifice for the greater good,” he told you.

But what good will it do you? You haven’t had a chance to fall in love or see your planet for that matter. There’s an entire galaxy out there, but you’ve been trapped in the walls of this palace for your entire life. All attempts to escape or sabotage your father’s plan have failed.

On Alloral’la, everyone has purple eyes. If you have fallen in love or given your body to another in sexual pleasures, a bright pink circle surrounds your purple iris. Therefore, you’ve never been allowed to leave; your eyes are purple. Pure dark purple. If you’d fallen in love or had sex, that pink would appear - rendering you useless in a trade such as this.

You’d planned for years to sleep with a guard, sex would do the trick to give you the pink coloring in your eye, even if the sex was meaningless. It bothered you for years how readily you were willing to trade such an intimate act to be free. But the older you’ve become, the less you care. Your heart has turned cold to love, you’ve given it up.

So when the deal is made, and you’re to be traded like fine jewels to this dignitary, you decide that if your deliverer won’t turn your eyes, maybe you can find someone else who will.

The Mandalorian is your deliverer. This job isn’t exactly his first choice, but your father is good for the money, and so is the dignitary.

You watch Mando fuel up his ship from the fuel banks nearby in the shipyard. It’s almost time to leave. You’ve said your goodbyes, and when the Mandalorian nods his head, you know it’s time.

You follow behind him in the palace courtyard to his ship. Several guards follow behind with crates of your things, mostly clothes and old books. You observe your quiet deliverer. His armor is shiny but has seen battle. His cape is tattered on the bottom. Weapons are strapped to him in multiple places. It’s a sharp contrast to your flowing gown and delicate hairdo.

A variety of emotions have passed through your mind, but a numb feeling is the most prominent. Saying goodbye to your father was rather emotionless. You’ve not seen much of your own planet, so saying goodbye to your home was a freeing feeling truth be told. But the moment the hatch doors of the ship closed, and your guards were gone, tears rolled down your cheeks. You’re alone now with this silent bounty hunter.

It’s silly you think for him to comfort you in this time of pain, but he does. In his own way.

“Follow me,” he tells you, and he leads you to the cockpit. He motions for you to sit down, and when you do, he sits in the pilot seat. He pushes a button on his gauntlet, and the small hissing sound of a door being opened sounds behind you. Only it’s not a door, it’s a large ball - the doors open revealing a tiny green baby, with grey hair and big ears and bright eyes. It coos at you, and it brings the first genuine smile to your face in weeks.

“May I hold it?” you whisper, and he nods once. Reaching inside the ball, you lift the baby and it coos happily. It grabs your finger and begins to suckle, making you laugh. Holding this small child brings more tears to your eyes. You’re scared. At first you felt nothing, but now you’re feeling everything.

You don’t know what the Mandalorian’s thinking, but you can tell from his body language, he’s uncomfortable. He’s accustomed to capturing bounties that aren’t happy. But this, this is different. You’ve not done anything wrong, you owe no one a debt, you’ve committed no crime.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, trying to suck it up. “I’ve just never seen the stars like this,” you tell him looking out the window. “And I never knew my planet was so blue! I’ve read about this one planet that has blue sands. I’d love to visit.”

“You’ve never left that place, have you?” his voice is quiet, gentle.

“Not ever.”

For reasons unknown to you, you tell him your life story. That you’ve been trapped, that your eyes are still purple. That you’re being traded away. That the galaxy to you means freedom.

You have absolutely no idea if he even cares, or why you’re telling him. But you have an inkling he does care because you know about the Mandalore culture. Your life has been spent reading and learning about a galaxy you’ve never seen. He carries a child with him, which a surprise on its own. You suspect he has heart underneath that cold armor. It might be harder than you thought to get him to take you to bed, he’s not scum. Scum wouldn’t be so concerned about this child.

Your thoughts are interrupted by your own yawn. It’s been a long day.

“Get some rest,” he tells you. “You can take my quarters.”

“What about you?” you ask through another yawn. Your eyelids feel so heavy. You feel like you haven’t slept in weeks. Truth be told you don’t remember when you slept well. Fear of this trade has kept you awake.

Mando answers your question, but you don’t understand him. His voice sounds far away, you’re already drifting to sleep. You vaguely remember slumping over in your chair and feeling him lift you up into his arms to carry you to his bed. It feels like a dream.

When you stir, it’s dark. You begin to panic, for a moment you’d forgotten where you were. For years, it’s been the same bed. Same room. Never anything different. Alloral'la has three moons in the sky at night, you’d grown accustomed to them illuminating your window. Now to wake in complete darkness frightens you. The fear passes when you remember where you are, then your other fear of your destination comes to the light.

You don’t know what you’re going to do, but you cannot, will not marry this dignitary. Thoughts drifting back to the Mandalorian, you think of how his gloves felt on your skin, the cool metal pressing against you of his armor. His voice is gentle, his build is strong. If you were to pick anyone to ‘change your color’, you wouldn’t mind if it’s him.

Adrenaline from fear sets a light in you and you climb out of the bed. Again, you think of him, this is his bed. It’s cozy, soft. Smells clean but there’s a lingering musky smell. It’s masculine. Your bedroom at home is always clean, always perfumed. Never touched by a man. Just like yourself.

Getting up, you turn on the light and find your way to the cockpit. He’s awake, he’s watching the child sleep.

“Everything alright?” he questions, hearing that you’re slightly out of breath.

“I need you to fuck me,” you say louder than you meant. You’re not used to swearing, ‘it’s not ladylike.’

“Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said.” You feel anxious, you need a concrete answer.

“I don’t make it a habit of interfering with clients.”

You clear your throat and turn your head towards the sleeping baby in the cradle. “What about this one?”

“That was different.” He knows you’re right.

“How am I different? I’ve been locked away and am being sold against my will to a disgusting dignitary. Please. I’ll pay you since you need the money.”

“No.”

“Please, you don’t even have to do anything,” you kneel in front of him. “It’ll be enough.”

“Absolutely not,” he grabs your arm to pull you off the ground. You start to yank yourself free from his grasp when a rapid beeping sounds from the console in front of the two of you.

He releases his grip from your wrist to switch off the sounding alert.

“Low fuel.”

“Are we in danger?”

“No,” he speaks calmly. “There’s a planet nearby, we’ll stop and refuel and get something to eat. That alright with you?”

You nod. Your curiosity is piqued, a new place to see and new foods to try.

“Is that-?” you gasp seeing the planet as you approach to land. It’s a rich blue. Even brighter than your planet.

“It is.” His answer is curt, but kind.

“I’ve studied maps of the galaxy. This system is nowhere near my home. Did you bring us here?” You turn to look at him with a gasp.

He shrugs simply. “I might’ve. You said you wanted to see more of the galaxy. I figure we have some time.”

It dawns on you further that he didn’t need fuel. Your heart aches from the kind gesture. It’s more than anyone has done for you in a long time.

Walking down the hatch door, you hesitate right before you should step off onto the blue sands. Mando is ahead of you, the child following behind leaving a little trail in the sand.

When Mando doesn’t hear you behind him, he turns seeing you still haven’t stepped onto the sands. Without a word, he walks towards you and offers his hand. You don’t need help getting down, but he offers it to you all the same. You take his hand, and your heart jumps feeling the sand under your feet.

“It’s gorgeous,” you gasp.

“It certainly is,” he says. You could have sworn he was looking at you, but you can’t tell. The child is giggling in the sand, and you along with him. Looking up at you, the child reaches for you with a gentle coo. You kneel to pick him up and hold him close.

“He likes you,” Mando says walking beside you. You fight a blush wondering if ‘he’ means the child or himself

With a nod of his head, Mando directs you to a restaurant in the small town you’re walking into. Once inside, he flicks a coin to the bartender, and he points the three of you to a table.

When you’re seated you notice a man at the bar who is staring at you.

“Maybe I could try my luck with him,” you say aloud half joking. You lean up to sit more comfortably, but Mando takes it as you’re getting up to approach the man.

“No,” he touches your arm to stop you, “not like this.”

“Not like what?” you’re confused. His hand feels warm on your arm. You don’t realize how touched starved you’d been until you feel his gentle protective hold on you.

“I thought-”

“Thought what? I was going to let that man take me in the back alley?”

“You were ready to ‘take me’ in the Razor Crest not a few hours ago. There’s a whole galaxy out there, don’t waste it.”

“On him or you?”

“I don’t like how he’s looking at you,” Mando grumbles.

“I’m about to be given over to a dignitary who already has 8 wives. He just wants the pleasure of watching my eyes turn pink while he takes me to bed. I will not let that happen. I need to fix it.”

“Not like this,” Mando tells you again.

Your food is brought, and at first it embarrasses you to eat in front of him while he is not eating. But then you remember all the meals you’ve eaten alone with a guard watching over you.

This ‘guard’ is different. He seems to care about you. And a fondness grows in your chest.

When the meal has been eaten, Mando gives another coin to the bartender. You’re making your exit behind Mando when the man at the bar grabs your arm.

“Hey!” you gasp. His grip is tight on your arm, it hurts.

“Let her go,” you hear, and in the blink of an eye there’s a blaster pointed in the man’s face. His grip weakens, and you yank yourself free.

Mando gently touches a hand to your arm, “are you alright?”

You nod. There’s that blooming feeling in your chest again. This time it accompanies a slight ache, a headache. One like you’ve never had before, but it passes quicker than it arrived.

As you walk away you notice a crest on the man’s sleeve.

“I know that crest,” you tell Mando. “It’s from the system you’re taking me to.”

“You’re of high importance if they are keeping tabs on you,” he replies, his pace quickening. He doesn’t like that his every move is being tracked, that’s usually his job.

Once you’re safe on the Razor Crest, Mando does a once over of the perimeter and interior of the ship, just to be sure you’re not being followed again. You take your place back in the cockpit with him, feeling safer by his side.

“Why do you never say the names of the systems?” Mando asks punching in the course in his navigation system. “You know plenty about them, but you never say their names.” He turns to face you awaiting your reply. He means no harm, it’s a conversational question. He’s trying to put you at ease, the guilt of taking you is weighing on his mind.

“I don’t know how to pronounce them,” you blush, sheepish. “All my old-fashioned books, and learning pads never speak them. I usually must guess. I don’t want to be wrong, so I don’t say.”

“The planet we were just on? That’s B’eul. The planet I’m taking you to? Zenkoth.”

“You know so much, I envy your life, your freedom.”

“Others don’t see it that way.”

“So, you never take off your helmet? You can still see out of it. See the universe. I’ve been stuck in the same room, same palace. And I’m about to be stuck in another. I’ve seen more of the galaxy with you in these few days than I ever saw from my old books.”

“When I took this job, I didn’t know.”

There is such gentleness in his voice you get a swell in your chest again. And that strange headache hits hard. It takes longer to pass this time, but it eventually does.

It’s not long before Zenkoth is beeping on the radar. If you could see his face, you know that he’s looking on you with sympathy.

“What’s your name?” you ask him, trying to ignore the sick feeling bubbling up in your stomach. You’re looking out the window over this planet, your new home. And it feels cold. The surface is grey. Dark grey snow is swirling in the air.

“Din. Din Djarin.” His voice comes out raspy, like a whisper.

“I wanted to hate you, for taking me here. But you’ve shown me nothing but kindness. I’ll forever be grateful Din Djarin.”

You sniffle once, then clear your throat. There’s not much to be done now but accept your fate. You say goodbye to the little Child. Leaving him hurts just as much as Din. You’ve grown attached to the little thing.

“Wait,” Din gently reaches for your arm. “I have a plan.”

“To what?”

“To get you out. I could use someone like you to watch the kid. In return, you could see all these new systems.”

“How would it work?”  

The less you know the better. Din doesn’t tell you much of the plan, only what you need to know. This place is new to him, so he must do recon to get the lay of the land. He’ll do his best observing while he’s delivering you and when he gets paid. Lucky for him, there is a celebration going on, a wedding celebration. Parties mean organized chaos, which will give him more opportunity to sneak around. And he very well could be invited to the party, that’s happened on more than one occasion.

Din is by your side when you’re introduced to your intended. The room is gaudy and there’s all 8 of his other wives with him. Each one is from a different system, ranging in colors and sizes. Your stomach churns to be among them, and you find yourself walking as close to Din as possible. He touches a gloved finger to your thigh, letting you know it’s alright.

It all happens so fast. The dignitary brings you close and touches his hand to your face. He’s examining your eyes, checking they are still purple.

“Send her to my quarters,” he gives a command with a flick of his wrist, and you’re pulled away. Din is still standing in the center of the room watching you disappear down the hallway.

Cold. That’s how you feel. Cold. You’re not dressed for this cold planet. Your box of clothes had been carelessly left on the Razor Crest. Din was more concerned with your safety, and he can’t carry the boxes on his own. So, they were left behind because no one else bothered to.

You shiver in the bed chamber. You’ve never felt such emptiness in your life. You have hope Din will come, but for now you’re alone. You look out the window and see the dark snow fall. Clouds cover the sky, it’s dreary. You’d do anything to see the three moons outside your window of your old room.

Cringing that the only place to sit in this room is on the floor or on the bed, you choose the corner of the bed. Every sound of footsteps by the door has your heart pounding in fear. When you hear it creak open, you feel all the color leave your face.

Then you hear your name in a familiar voice.

Din turns the corner and into your sight. The very sight of him has your heart bursting, he’s come for you. Your heart is pounding, you feel your head pound - that headache is back. This time it’s blinding white hot pain.

He’s surveying the room, looking out the window for any and all escape routes. He turns abruptly when he hears you wince in pain. Din kneels in front of you and tilts your face upwards towards his masked one.

“I’m too late,” he sighs.

“You aren’t!” you tell him, the headache is gone again. You’re too overwhelmed with fear and emotion to think much of it.

“Then why are your eyes pink?” Din’s voice cracks.

The word ‘pink’ hits you hard, your breath is stuck in your throat. You’re paralyzed, you know what this means.

As if on cue, you hear a booming voice enter the bedchamber. It’s the dignitary. Din is quick and rolls under the bed - it’s the biggest space he can fit in.

You’re panicking now. In about two seconds he’s going to see that your eyes are not pure purple anymore. You fear for your life.

Thinking up a lie, you nod you head when he speaks to you. Expecting him to take you down to the courts for the actual wedding, you’re surprised when he pushes you backwards onto the bed. He’s about to climb on top of you, when he trips and falls. You stifle a giggle knowing a certain someone under the bed might have had something to do with that.

Collecting himself, the dignitary stands up and towers over the bed. You try and hide your face from him, but the pink is unmistakable.

“What’s this?”

“I- I’m so overwhelmed with love for you sire,” you lie.

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t recoil from my touch,” he pouts like a child.

With a harsh backhand slap against your face, he spits, and barks out an order to his bodyguards to have you taken to the prison quarters to be dealt with later.

Somehow in the prison cell you feel safer. Four walls you’re not allowed to leave. You’re used to it. And you know Din is coming. All you must do is wait.

The cell they put you in has a pretty low-tech lock. You’ve read about these types before. You watch for the guards to walk past, but this cell area is abandoned, so done walk past - giving you time to unlock this door. You almost have it when it sparks, burning your fingertip.

You’re about to try again when you hear clanging, thumping, and blasters firing. Then quiet footsteps sound down the hall towards your cell.

“I’m here to retrieve a heinous criminal,” Din teases rounding the corner. You can’t stop smiling when you see him. “She’s committed the worst crime of all.”

He pushes one button and the cell block door hisses and opens. He cocks his head in confusion at how quickly it opened.

“I tampered with it,” you smile and jump into his arms to hug him. He’s stiff at first, but then relaxes and holds you tight to his Beskar plated chest. Looking up at his covered face, you touch the cool metal of his helmet, “thank you.”

You know he’s looking in your eyes, and you want him to see. That pink is from him alone. The first person to show you kindness in ages, he truly does care.

“We need to move,” he speaks gently, his hand is resting on your back protectively. He moves to stand in front of you as you quickly exit the prison area. There’s a window nearby that he smashes. Knowing the sound will draw unwanted ears, he grabs you quickly in his arms and using his jet pack- he flies the two of you out the window.

You cling to him tight and don’t let go until you’re inside the Razor Crest and the hatch doors are closed.

He gets the ship off Zenkoth as fast as possible, and when the course is set - he joins you in main area of the ship. You’re sitting with your head in your hands trying to catch your breath.

“You alright?” he asks sitting down next to you. You hear a wince in his voice.

“Are you alright?” you ask looking at him. You side red on his side, and you touch it gently. “You’re bleeding! When did this happen?”

He winces again and stands to remove his Beskar. You get the feeling you shouldn’t be seeing this, but he touches your face gently with his gloved hand, “I need your help.”

He tells you where the aid pack is, you leave him to collect it. It dawns on you as you make your way around this ship that it’s your home now.

You fetch the pack quickly. As you return to him, his back is to you. You see him putting his helmet back on. Your heart jumps, that means he’d taken it off when you were gone. It was already covering his head, so you miss any glimpse of what his hair color looked like.

Coming around to face him, he’s sitting now on the floor. Armor completely off and around him on the floor. He’s shirtless completely, the only thing on him are his pants and helmet.

The first sight of his chest hair makes your knees weak. A dark line of hair disappears into the waistband of his pants and you tremble.

When you hand him the pack, his fingers touch yours and it sends a jolt to your core. First skin to skin contact with him. His hands are soft, but work roughened. Fingers are slender, knuckles cracked. Scars and burns are all over his body. Old and fresh bruises paint his skin. His newest wound isn’t horrible, the bleeding spot just needs to be bandaged.

He lets you ‘help’ him, and he’s silent watching you attend his wound.

“You didn’t really need my help did you?” you ask not looking up at him. You can’t even see his eyes, but you know his gaze is on you. You’re feeling a lot shyer around him now that he knows you’re in love with him.

“Not for this no,” there’s humor in his tone. “I told you I need help with the kid.”

“That’s all?” you smile knowing he’s toying with you. “Alright, all finished,” you tell him and smooth your fingers over the bandage, smoothing out all the edges. His skin is tan and warm, you love how it feels. His body is reacting to your touch as well, his abs tighten and skin quivers to feel your light touch.

You’re two touch starved people dancing around something more intimate, but for now it’s gentle grazes of fingers on skin.

“Can I try something?” he asks getting to his feet. “I’m going to turn off the lights in here.”

“I don’t like the dark,” you sound panicked.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures. He waits patiently until you nod. Then he hits the power switch leaving you in complete darkness. Your heart is ramming against your ribcage, then you hear his gentle voice. It sounds different, unaltered.

His helmet is off.

You hear him sit down next to you and hear the slight thunk of him set the helmet down on the floor. Warm hands find your hands, and he guides them up towards his face. He lets go of your hands, and lets you explore his features.

“You have a mustache,” you laugh feeling the bristles on his upper lip. His mouth twitches up in a smile. You want to feel it all, and he lets you. From his cheeks, to his strong jaw. His chin is lightly dusted with facial hair. You scratch his chin, and he purrs in the back of his throat. When you touch his lips, he lightly kisses your fingertips. He even lets you feel across his eyebrows. His forehead has sweaty hair stuck to it, and with both hand you rake your fingers through his hair. He moans to be touched so, and you’re beside yourself.

“Can I try something?” you ask him, repeating his question.

His ‘yes’ comes out soft. He knows what you’re asking because his face is close to yours. The gap is closed, and he presses his lips to yours. Your first real kiss.

It starts sweet, gentle pecks. Then his hand finds his way into your hair and he deepens the kiss. He groans into your mouth and you sigh to be held like this. Such sure hands hold you, so deliberate.

A beeping from the cockpit interrupts the moment. Din pulls away and blindly reaches for his helmet.

“I’m turning on the light, watch your eyes,” he tells you and hits the switch. You squint at the sudden change. He disappears into the cockpit and you follow behind.

A deep red system is in your view from the window.

“Welcome to Rosania.”

You gasp, you know of this place. The entire planet is covered in beautiful red flowers of all kinds. It’s known for its romance and beauty.

“Why did you bring me here?” you turn looking at him. Again, you wish to see his face, but his silence is enough to tell you - and you know why you’re here.

Next thing you know, you’re barefoot walking next to Din in a peaceful field of flowers. The Child is in his ball, his eyes are bright and excited looking at the flowers around him.

The three of you find a good place in the shade to eat. Again, Din doesn’t eat, he’s content to sit with the two of you. He’ll eat later.

“So, are you going to stay?”

“Stay?” you reply unsure of his question.

“With me. Help me take care of the kid.”

“I owe you my life. And I’d love to stay.” You don’t have to say you love him. He knows.

“Good,” he nods.

Standing, he pushes a button on his gauntlet and closes the doors of the ball the Child is in.

“Can I try something else?” Din’s voice is raspy again. Eagerly you nod, though a bit unsure of what he’s up to. Using the blanket, you’re sitting on, he tears a off a long strip of it. “It’ll be dark again,” he tells you, showing you the strip of fabric. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod and let him tie the strip of fabric around your face, covering your eyes. He moves quick despite his injury to remove his Beskar. Then his hands are on you.

“Do you want this?” he asks reaching around behind you, fingers toying with the fastenings of your dress.

“Please, I love you,” you sigh and find his lips with yours. Your dress is complicated, and you need his help getting it off. Experienced fingers unfasten your undergarments and soon you’re naked in front of him. Your arms twitch to cover yourself, you’ve never been so exposed in front of someone like this before - but he stops you. He cradles your head in his hands and lays you down on the blanket.

“It’s alright,” he whispers above you.

Now it’s his turn to explore you. He kisses all over your face. The slight tickle of his facial hair has you wriggling. Your neck is his next target, you shudder to be touched like this. A laugh bubbles up and you can’t help but let it escape.

“All my years of reading, I’ve read so much of pleasure. I wasn’t prepared for-”

“For what?” he murmurs into your skin.

“The way my heart would feel in my chest.” Then you feel his warm calloused hand press over your pounding heart. He takes your hand and puts it over his heart. Your smile is so big it hurts your cheeks, and he kisses the corner of your mouth.

When his hands touch your breasts, you gasp arching your back into his touch. Calloused thumbs brush gently over your nipples and you squirm. The sparks of pleasure are too much you think, but he only adds to it but closing his lips around one of your nipples. He sucks and teases with his tongue. You ache to see him, but something about not seeing him adds to the feeling. You have no choice but to focus on how he feels. And he feels divine.

When he’s done with each breast, he moves down lower. There are a few moments where he’s not touching you and you call out to him.

“I’m here,” he answers. You felt his breath against your lower stomach, and by the time you realize where he is - he’s placed his lips on your center. He licks and sucks on your sex and it’s all you can do to not scream.

In your years of wondering what sex was like, you’d pleasured yourself. But nothing could have prepared you for his warm mouth. His facial hair tickles only adding to the sensation. Then he slips a finger in your sex, and it’s not long before you find your release, you’re at the mercy of the Mandalorian.

There’s a slight chuckle in his voice when he comes back up to kiss your cheek. Your essence is on his chin and you feel it when he kisses you.

“You told me ‘not like this’ when I was thinking about that man in the Cantina. Is ‘this’ what you had in mind?” you’re still catching your breath when you ask.

“Something like that,” he muses and kisses you once more.

It’s then you feel the weight of him on top of you, his body is so warm. Immediately, you cling to him wrapping your arms around his back, and your legs around his waist.

He kisses your jaw and ear a couple times before he whispers a question, “are you ready?”

“I think you know,” you whine. With another kiss, he pushes himself into your heat. Like everything else he does, it’s deliberate and controlled. He’s patient. He kisses all over your face and strokes your skin. When he’s fully situated inside of you, you let out a soft cry. Tears soak into your blindfold, and he sees some fall on your cheeks.

“Am I hurting you?” his voice is soft in your ear.

“No, it’s just. My entire life, my culture, your eyes turn pink in a moment like this, and I’m blindfolded.”

“Yes, but your eyes were already pink with love for me,” he tells you kissing your temple.

He’s right, but still the action of it isn’t lost on you. You were about to be traded away for the joy of seeing your eyes change in bed. You never anticipated they would change from love. Then to have your lover take you to bed only to have you blindfold, your heart is aching in the best way.

“Din?”

“Mmm?”

“Move.”

He obliges and begins to thrust his hips forward into you. Feeling his warm skin, hearing his soft grunts, the pressure of him between your legs, it’s not long before he brings you to your second release.

With a few more thrusts, he finds his release. You cling to his shoulders, and his hand is holding you to him tight.

“You know, you’re a really terrible bounty hunter,” you laugh when he moves off of you. Your joke sets off laughter in him and he falls next to you laughing on the blanket. It’s absolute music to your ears. You wish you could see his smile.

His confession of love is a gentle rasp in your ear. He’s gently running his fingertips over your face.

“I didn’t think this would be the outcome when you set out to deliver me,” you think aloud.

“I think you’re the one that delivered me,” Din answers with another kiss. “What system do you want me to take you to next?”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #my writing #my gifs #mine #it was only a matter of time lol

[zaritarazi]

002 with mixen <3

002 | send me a ship and I will tell you:

when i started shipping it: okay so i went deep into my archives and i found my first mixen gifset, here, from october 26, 2016. it is then followed by this gifset from october 28, 2016, a complete stroke of genius i’d forgotten about. and HERE is the first post i made about them while watching legends, also from october 28th, 2016. i’m assuming that the clip of her trying to kill him was released as a preview which is why the gifset predates the text post. so then in november 2016 is good it’s not really ramped up yet and then we get the chicago way and that, in a lot of ways, changed my life? for the better? unclear. am i being sarcastic? also unclear. there’s just so much about it that did me in. first the “i’m clyde that’s bonnie” because s3 of dusk had JUST ended and that was a RAW fucking nerve. just the exact shit i was looking for. the scene where mick puts his finger to his lips while looking at amaya’s mouth and you just know he’s internally like i am... going to hell. i am GOING to hell. amaya kissing him on the CHEEK? [mick’s certainty of going to hell intensifies] and the real piece de resistance was len descending from the ceiling shrieking in gay rage like. that’s what really solidified mick’s relationship with amaya to me: he was willing to defend her to literally, literally his husband. he says amaya is his ONLY friend because leonard is GONE, implying that amaya is len’s EQUAL in mick’s eyes. mick is a complex character and he’s actually very sensitive but when we had him in season 1, he came as a packaged set with len. and he grew and formed new relationships and listen we all know i can and will ship mick with anyone dominic purcell this is a threat but amaya is, in canon, not just implied by dominic’s choices for the character, the time where mick is declaring his affection for someone out loud. and i also want to reflect on like. leonard, be he real or be he a figment of mick’s mind, despite being WILDLY jealous of amaya, had one goal in that episode: to keep mick alive. like mick was so reckless in season two and with amaya he seems to finally almost want to... pull back? he tells leonard “i’ll be dead like you” which says he isn’t objecting to the idea of being dead, but that amaya is giving him something that makes life exciting, and he’d rather have that than fall into his old self-preservation instincts. you can MARK that mick starts trying to die less after the chicago way until len comes back in the world war i episode.  like i guess i started shipping mixen when they became the epitome of “god said love your enemy so i obeyed her and i loved myself” are you HAPPY? is this what you WANTED? 

-

my thoughts: you accidentally had a baby with him. i am the reason he is able to feel love. we are not the same

-

what makes me happy about them: as much as i’ve focused on amaya’s positive impact on mick i want to emphasize that this is a two way street because mick is someone who taught amaya to embrace herself and what makes her happy. amaya has so much pressure riding on her shoulders and mick is never deterred by it. amaya has always been brilliant beautiful incredible etc but when we first meet her in s2 she is so tightly wound and she is so in the mold of what she thinks she needs to be and what she thinks the legacy of the anansi totem requires of her and when she’s around mick she realizes she can be... amaya. just amaya. like did she say to mick “what would a criminal do” because she was being horny on main? yes. but she also did it because she was genuinely open to learning how he saw the world. like it’s truly incredible that amaya meets mick and in the span of 30 minutes is like actually, mick is the most interesting and enticing person i have ever met and  [mick’s certainty of going to hell intensifies] but actually there are just little things they do even when they don’t like each other that show a certain level of respect- mick tells amaya he’s not an idiot and amaya tells him not to call her “girlie” so amaya actually spends the rest of their relationship uplifting mick’s ideas and his accomplishments and mick POINTEDLY never gives amaya a nickname. the nickname one is especially funny bc i geniunely think she just didn’t like “girlie” and may have been fine with a different nickname but like. the fact that mick remembers to NOT give her a nickname EVER when everyone else gets one? the way he paid attention to amaya and respected what she was saying? the way they could be open with each other? like okay they weren’t canon-canon but a part of me is glad bc. this ship was originally marc’s idea and what is legends s2 if not phil and marc fighting for control of the story like the one ring? if marc had been allowed to make them romantic i fear he would’ve done his normal bullshit that he does with his couples where basically mick never changes in a positive way and keeps chipping away at parts of amaya until she feels like she is at “his level” and then he essentially takes over the rest of the parts of her life he hadn’t already taken control of and just, disgusting. like let me be clear on mick rory’s worst day he is still a better person than oliver queen on his best day i don’t care if he’s roasting people alive he is STILL a better person. but with that relationship choice being taken out of marc’s hands, we instead get a relationship where amaya offers mick the starting blocks to build himself UP, and he takes them and is able to keep building himself even without fully relying on her. when he tells her in season 3 “we’ve all done things we’re not proud of” and she just brightens so immediately, and the same thing happens in the pirate episode - and he is able to do these things for her because he let her help him, but did not make her his only lifeline. the person mick is in s3 onward is a person he feels better about being because amaya has always seen good in him and like. not to be dramatic but i am literally, literally crumbling into ash as we speak

-

what makes me sad about them: FROM SEASON 4 ONWARD SHE ISN’T THERE ANYMORE AND MICK IS JUST LEFT WITH ALL THE FUCKING EMOTIONS SHE MADE HIM FEEL AND THE WAYS SHE HELPED HIM AND ALL HE CAN DO IS TRY TO KEEP HER ALIVE, IN HIS MIND AT LEAST, BY HELPING PEOPLE (CHARLIE AND MONA) THE WAY AMAYA HELPED HIM. 

-

things done in fanfic that annoys me: i have no issue with mixen being in fic with OTHER ships but to my fucking detriment it always seems to be a secondary pairing in captain canary fics and like 1. hate crime 2. mick is a bisexual he can have a husband and a wife he can have them at the same time he can have them at separate times but if you’re writing capcan i’m assuming you have a heterosexual agenda and i want that kept away from ships i like at ALL times

-

things I look for in fanfic: a genuine understanding of mick’s character. he can be kind of tricky to strike a balance with but you can just tell when he’s being written too aggressively or when he’s being written just as too much of a bastard or a former criminal and like, i also look for amaya not being helpless and emotional bc quite frankly mick is way more expressive emotionally than amaya and it is so vital that this is understood. also if it’s sad i like to read it and then cry myself to sleep

-

who i’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: OKAY FINE nate for either. nate for both! final ot3 of nate/amaya/mick is good, pure, canon supported, and legally required. but also amaya with zari 1.0 and mick with ray or, honestly? zari 2.0. DON’T @ ME

-

My happily ever after for them: they just get to like. live life together. mick takes in ese as one of his own and amaya does the same for lita and they have a 3rd child together that’s in the bible look it up but like. not giving up the time traveling life and the heroics and the adventures fully but being a family even when their kids grow up and they can be old together even if it’s them popping on and off the waverider sometimes together sometimes they do their own thing always put the kids first and sure mick has 22 wonderful years on amaya but he’s on a timeship he can wait for her to catch up so they can get old-old together. also nate is there romantically, sexually, raising the children, let’s have mick and nate make a fourth child, this is absolutely non-negotiable

-

who is the big spoon/little spoon: amaya is AGGRESSIVELY the little spoon. like flinging herself into mick’s arms and like HOLD ME and mick just reflexively wrapping his arms around her bc she small. sof. smells nice. pretty

-

what is their favorite non-sexual activity: amaya like why be having not-sex when you could be having sex? and mick like i don’t know. sleeping? photography? long drives? (it’s long drives & going to museums don’t @ me)

#mixen #legends of tomorrow #lot headcanon #steelvixenwave #long post #i went off the rails I'M SORRY I FEEL DEEPLY #like i love zari 1.0 but i feel like the questions on hers didn't lend themselves to deeper answers like these did? and sometimes i just ge #don't sue me #dykerory #asks

[uaklauslovesdave]

Hi, thank you for sending me asks, I really appreciate it! :D Could you do 002 for klave, I always want to hear your thoughts about them <3

my buddy, my dude, it’s been roughly 17 years since you sent this ask, and i’m oh so sorry for taking this long to answer. it got to be one of those situations where i wanted to do it Properly, which of course brought the anxiety, which of course then brought the avoidance. But we’re here now! it’s a new era and i have a whole bunch of klave thoughts to dump on my unsuspecting followers. let us begin.

when i started shipping it:

Pretty much immediately! I remember first watching s1 and getting that slow confirmation that Klaus time traveled to the Vietnam War. We saw him on the bus with his fatigues and bloody hands and I was like ‘oh god oh no he went to Vietnam didn’t he.’ And then later we have Klaus experiencing flashbacks in the bathtub and there are echoes of the noises of war but also a strong and clear “Dave!” And in that moment my interest was piqued. Dave, he said? Who is this Dave? Is this someone he loved? Did he have a war-time romance with another soldier? And I was hopeful but I also didn’t want to get too ahead of myself because of Queer Baiting in Media reasons (like, I was in the marvel fandom, ok? I went through the whole stucky dance routine). But then, but then! We got more. We got roughly five minutes (or less?) of scenes of Klaus dropping down in front of a disoriented soldier, of this soldier introducing himself as Dave on a bus, of Klaus and Dave dancing in a bar, of Klaus and Dave sharing a kiss in a quiet corner, of Dave bleeding out and dying in the middle of combat as Klaus sobs above him. And it was quick and it was short but it was meaningful and it was tender and immediately I knew that I was gone for them. There was no turning back at this point. I was all in on the Klave Train.

my thoughts:

My thoughts? Where do I even start? I have many! Some are incoherent! Some are devastating! Some are sickeningly sweet! Some are raunchy! Stay tuned to find out!

what makes me happy about them/what makes me sad about them:

So I decided to combine these two questions because, well, I Do Not Know how to untie the happy and the sad when it comes to klave. I tried and I cannot do it. They’re two sides of the same coin with these two. Because their entire relationship is tinted by tragedy, you know? They only met each other because Klaus was tortured and then flung into a notoriously traumatizing war in the 1960s. And who knows what number tour Dave was on. Had he been there for just 2 months or was this second or third time around? I’m not sure which option is more painful, really. And it’s unclear, did Dave genuinely want to serve in the military? Did he truly subscribe to those values instilled by his family? I’d lean towards no, based on the conversation Klaus tries to have with the Younger Dave in the diner. But I think it took Dave some time to get there, as he grew older and came to better understand and accept himself and perhaps grew more and more disillusioned with the life he was pushed into. And then there’s Klaus, whose own experiences somewhat parallel Dave’s (they just happened on a different timeline). Klaus, who grew up under Reginald’s reign of terror, who was taught to be a soldier just like Dave was. But his own disillusionment was expedited and he was able to rebel and remove himself from that scene more easily than Dave could (but at the expense of losing shelter and security and stability). And we have some insights into what it was like for Klaus to grow up in that environment, constantly surrounded by death. When we first meet him he is a person who clearly does not do genuine attachment or sincerity, because that is far too vulnerable and far too dangerous in his experience. He looks out for himself and he does what he needs to do to get by, and he approaches things from a casual, crass (safe) distance. And then there’s Dave, who we learn a little bit about from his interactions with Klaus in 1963 Dallas. He appears earnest and kind, just a Really Good Kid. He seems somewhat confused by Klaus, but also intrigued. Pretty much every time we see Klaus interact with someone in the 1960’s who is not a member of Destiny’s Children they approach him with disdain (referring to him as “pretty boy,” kicking him out of the diner, etc.). But not Dave. Not until he is pressured into it by Uncle Homophobe. And after that Dave seeks him out and apologizes, says that’s not him. And he and Klaus talk, and we see that they really knew each other, they really had a relationship, but by the end of the conversation Dave has been pushed too far. He’s not quite ready to rebel yet, he’s not quite able to make that leap into living as his true self. Just like Klaus, Dave grew up trapped and restricted and surrounded by ghosts. Not literal ones, no, but the ghosts of dead war heroes who came before him, the ghosts of the Ideal Man and Good Son that he thought he had to be, that he thought he had to prove he could become. And it’s not quite clear how and when Dave finally got to that point where he could rebel, where he could finally push past the fear, knock down the walls of the box he had been shoved into. But by the time he and Klaus crossed paths in 1968 Vietnam he was ready. And Klaus was ready. And they brought that genuine, true, real love out in each other. Something both of them probably thought was never possible. Something both of them probably thought was just a myth. Just turning themselves inside out and sharing that with each other. Trusting the other to take care of it and hold and keep it safe. All in the middle of a deadly war. It’s beautiful and it’s painful and it’s why I love them.

things done in fanfic that annoy me:

Nothing really specific comes to mind. Generally if there’s something I don’t like in a fanfic I’ll stop reading and move on. There is, of course, the Fanon Klaus Problem that makes its way into klave fics, so I suppose that annoys me. Or stories where Dave is one-dimensional and seems to exist just to comfort and take care of Klaus. But really, I don’t wanna hate on anyone who writes fanfic in a particular way. You do you. If it appeals to me I’ll read it and if it doesn’t I’ll just pass it by. No big deal.

things i look for in fanfic:

It absolutely depends on the day and what I’m in the mood for in that particular moment. I’m a sucker for angst so I absolutely do not mind reading something terribly sad and tragic. I like hurt/comfort with an emphasis on the hurt. I’m a fan of the GhostDave Watches Over Klaus Through the Years genre. I like stories that explore their time together in Vietnam. I’m into AU’s that include AliveDave traveling back to 2019 with Klaus and they hang out in Klaus’ room in the academy and Dave meets the siblings and Diego gives him a shovel talk. Sometimes I just want that sweet, sweet smut. Mostly I look for something that is both lovely and sad, which is not hard to find because that is, essentially, their relationship. There’s lots of good stuff out there. All y’all writers are talented. I salute you.

my kinks:

Alright, I’m just gonna preface this by saying that I will try my best to be unapologetically open about this, but at my core I am both shy and repressed. My easy and safe answer to this is that my kink for klave is love, happiness, and tender intimacy. That’s what I really want for them. But also. But also! Let them be smutty! Let them find places to sneak away and fuck, Dave’s hand over Klaus’ mouth to stop him from making noise that will alert the other soldiers to their activities. Or maybe they’re sitting under a tarp in the pouring rain and Klaus sees how far he can take it, and Dave doesn’t back down, and it ends up with Klaus blowing Dave while some other guys are sitting just feet away, oblivious to what’s going on between Katz and Hargreeves just over there. And then there’s that time they get to take leave together, and they’re able to get a hotel room, just to themselves, with real walls and a door that locks and a bed and everything. And the digs aren’t great but it feels like a palace compared to what they’re used to, and they absolutely do not waste this opportunity. Dave fucks Klaus into the mattress, and Klaus gets to learn what it’s like to have someone take control because you actually want them to and you feel safe with them, and Dave gets to learn what it’s like to have someone trust you implicitly and be willing to be vulnerable with you. And it’s not perfect, of course, sometimes their histories and understandings of sex and intimacy bump heads, but they love each other, they really do, and they work through it. And they both cry during sex at some point. For Dave it’s the first time he’s done so, for Klaus it’s not (but this is nothing like those other times this is because he wants to be here this is because he’s overwhelmed with love this is a release this is being seen this is being cared for).

who i’d be comfortable with them ending up with if not each other:

Let me be real and say that I really, really, really want them to end up with each other, and I think that this is where the show is headed. But, if that is not the case, as long as they are happy I will be happy. Perhaps that is cliche, but oh well. Just let them experience love and support, whether that’s with each other, someone else, or just on their own.

my happily ever after for them:

I don’t know how and I don’t know when (like seriously, when in the timeline is a big question), but I want them to find a way to be together. Maybe it involves some time-traveling, maybe it involves some timeline-hopping, maybe it involves some Commission interference, maybe one or both of them will be dead, maybe (most likely) it involves something that has not even crossed my mind as a possibility. But, like I said, I think that somehow there WILL be a (perhaps nontraditional) happily ever after for them. It might take some time to get there and I don’t think it’s gonna be a smooth road, but I do think that’s the ultimate destination. And I’m looking forward to the whole process.

who is the big spoon/little spoon:

Good question! My first instinct was Klaus as little spoon. Because he is Klaus but also because of the Bar Kiss scene where Dave tenderly cradles his face and those Very Important blurry behind the scenes instagram photos of Klaus resting his head on Dave. But I also think it would be really nice for Dave to be the little spoon? Because Klaus gets to hold him and act as a Protector and maybe he can feel Dave’s heartbeat beneath his (hello) hand and he gets to wrap around him and hold on tight and he can let go when he wants to but he doesn’t want to, he wants to stay right here as long as Dave will have him. And Dave will have Klaus wrapped around him, holding on, as long as Klaus wants to stay. Dave gets to be held and cocooned in the arms of this beautiful person he loves. Dave doesn’t have to be strong right now, he doesn’t have to put on the face of the Good Soldier. All he has to do is fall into the space between them.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity:

I’m gonna say that they had a lot of time to sit together and talk while they were in Vietnam. Sure, they had their duties and sometimes they were in the shit but there was also a lot of down time, just sitting around and waiting for something to happen. And so they’d sit and they’d smoke and they would talk. About their interests, about where they come from, and eventually about the life they would build together after they got out of there. But here’s a specific image that I have: they’re sitting close together, maybe it’s dark, there’s no one nearby. Cigarette smoke lingers in the air, mingles with the fine mist. The conversation has turned to music, somehow. Conversations have a tendency to meander when Klaus is involved, and Dave follows him step for step, never tripping, never questioning how they got there. And Klaus asks Dave about his favorite song, and Dave hesitantly mentions “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence,” like he’s embarrassed, but he’s loved it for years and he wants to be honest with Klaus. And Klaus hums and says he doesn’t know it, hasn’t heard of it, and he leans against Dave, lays his head against his chest. And Dave says, that’s ok, it doesn’t matter, it’s just a stupid old song anway. But Klaus says, no, you should sing it for me, I want to hear it, I want to know it. And Dave scoffs and laughs, but Klaus looks up at him, and then Dave looks away, and his mouth lifts into a smile, something small and fragile. He turns back to Klaus, looks him the eye, and softly, so softly, starts singing, “When Liberty Valence rode to town, the womenfolk would hide…” And Klaus drops his head and shifts closer to Dave and hears the words slip from Dave’s mouth and feels the words vibrate in Dave’s chest. He closes his eyes. There’s a war going on. It’s 1968 and he’s in Vietnam and his clothes are damp but he’s right where he wants to be. The song is not romantic, but it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. He never forgets the words.

#these are my klave rambles! they are long and i am sorry! i could not contain myself! i think you got insight into the Incoherent Thoughts! #alright i’ll stop yelling now #thank you again for the ask and sorry again for taking so long #the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #dave katz #klave #an ask and an answer #softforklave

[hellsingimpuresouls]

1, 2, 7, 25 (Gonzo Hellsing)!

responding to this late, so sorry about that! hopefully i’m answering the questions from the correct meme orz. onward to the salt! ( i’m an idiot because only after i answered everything did i realize you put ‘for Gonzo’, so these answers are a mix )

1. What OTP(s) in the fandom do you just not get?

Seras/Integra. 

the most famous interaction that people go nuts over is the finger-sucking scene : it’s gross, rapey and just… uncomfortable how generally this is justified in so many ways. from ‘well, it didn’t ACTUALLY happen like that, that was just through the male gaze’ to ‘it’s just fan-service, Integra wouldn’t actually force herself on Seras’ to ‘uwu lesbian / sapphic rep.’ i just don’t vibe, canonically or fandom wise - there’s a very clear power dynamic in that rendition of Integra, and generally as a whole ( not that i’m infantilizing Seras by the way ), and people really like to use the finger-sucking scene as a sort of… foundation or undeniable evidence that they are very into each other, when if that same scene was done with Walter or god-forbid, Alucard, there would be riots left and right ( clarification : Alucard TO Seras, not Integra to Alucard ). it just really hit too because irl, women go through shit like this in the workplace, being sexually assaulted / harassed by their bosses. Integra being a woman doesn’t make it less rapey.

it’s also hard to ignore the fact that Seras was ‘taken in’ without anyone asking her what she wanted ( unlike Gonzo ) on her end - idc what people say, they literally abducted her ( that creepy smile Integra gives her in the first episode when Seras is being given her uniform, or that even creepier smile when she’s sexually assaulting her : miss me with that shit ). MAYBE i’d be into it a bit more if the finger-sucking scene never happened? who knows. 

i can say i enjoy shipping them in any other way but the fandom / general way. the manga-canon had a funny thing going between them ( even the finger sucking scene hit a little different? still not okay obviously but more… idk ig lighthearted and almost troll-like, ‘here suck it. do it. doooo iiiit.’ i could appreciate that. )

2. Are there any popular fandom OTPs you only BroTP?

i know Millennium pairings aren’t popular, at least in current tumblr spaces, but Dok/Major. it was apparently a popular ship back in the day, and i still occasionally see stuff for it. i genuinely don’t get it, because i saw no kind of connection between those two that was even slightly romantic. Dok legit went ‘aight, i’m out’ when the zeppelin was shot to bits - he gave no fucks about Major lmao.

7. Is there anything you used to like but can’t stand now?

mm... maybe the dynamic between Integra/Alucard? idk, when i first watched Ultimate, no tumblr or fandom involved, i thought it was very complicated. there was definitely trust, suggestiveness, excitement, guardian-like qualities, and the list just goes on! but then i made the mistake of exposing myself to fandom spaces a bit much, and them being spoken about in a strictly romantic sense kind of annoys me now. same thing if people insist that there ISN’T romance. i’m on a high horse, but i genuinely don’t think i’ve seen many people truly understand / capture the Integra/Alucard dynamic. i roll my eyes when i see either extreme sides ( romance v. no romance ).

not that i was the biggest shipper or anything - i gave very little care for Alucard and Integra respectively, but now i just care for them even less. i literally just say ‘idk and idc’ when people ask me if i ship it.

25. How would you end XXX/Would you change the ending of XXX?

impure souls : would they have continued season 2 as planned, just continue to the canon. Integra would run the organization under the watch of the Crown, but everything else would run mostly the same. there would be interesting plot points when Integra and the Queen conflict on what to do with certain missions, and the pressure gets put on even more when they realize there’s literal Nazis behind everything. at some point, reveal that the traitor was the same guy we see in Ultimate, ergo Incognito and the whole FREAK mess was just more Millennium fuss. introduce Pip and Heinkel later on too ( as they were planned to also make an appearance in the anime as well ). i definitely wouldn’t have minded Gonzo’s take on canon, and it’d be easy to pick up from where they left off.

ultimate : everything was fine / dandy, i wouldn’t change anything except for the last minutes. this is the old, nostalgic, Walter-fangirl i once was, but since Alucard is almost close to a god ( or something ) at this point, have him lift up his cape at Integra, only to reveal that he somehow managed to take in Walter as a familiar ( unwillingly, of course ), not only that, but he’s forever stuck in his adolescent form. sort of to have the ‘gang’ back together, or something. Walter was a son of a bitch who deserved no good, but this would be a funny way to condemn him.

as far as canon goes, i am please with how things ended. it was pretty alright.

SALTY ASK LIST

#* my love turned around and i fell : asks #crystallinee-waters #hellsing

[phoebehalliwell]

Hello, I just wanted to say I'm a major Charmed fan and love all four sisters! That being said, as much as I love Paige, I've still always hated that Prue had to die (even though it's been over 20 years, I'm still not over it), and I hate even more that Prue and Phoebe's relationship never had a chance to truly recover from her lie about Cole. Also , I think could see why you shipped Prue/Jack, there relationship certainly had a Moonlighting like dynamic to it, didn't it?

yeah wait we did just clear the twenty year anniversary of prue dying in may huh crazy how time works but like. like okay because ik the whole the way the story goes was ~they didn't know if they were killing off shannen or alyssa~ they left it ~open ended bc they didn't know which sister would die~ but like. they knew. oh bro they so knew. like dude. phoebe got a hot new steamy love interest filled w drama and intrigue who was like integral to the plot after basically two seasons of being love-interest-less prue got what? justin?? prue got an episode coming to terms w the fact she will die. like. they knew okay. and like. what breaks my heart is prue as a character like deserved So Much More like she deserved to break free of this narrative of matriarchal sacrifice that she had been locked into like prue practically had to sacrifice her childhood to raise us yeah yeah but like bro there are genuinely so few places where she got to like actually experience life outside of protecting her sisters and then she died protecting her sisters like aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. like aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. like bro u knew u were going to kill her and you end her & phoebe on that. even if we're sticking with the narrative they didn't know which sister would die there was the very conscious choice to end the narrative on that. so like. 🤬

of course like. tbh. i don't think prue & phoebe's relationship needs to like fully like "recover" from cole i don't think this is nearly as big of a rift as say roger bc i think between the past three years like they've really grown as people and have a new respect for one another that really had yet to be unearthed in it pilot but it's still like. like phoebe was in the underworld trying to save cole when prue died (& piper almost died!!) and we never do see her grapple with that. like even when we're sowing seeds of doom by making cole the source and have phoebe go full dark side like even in the midst of tanking phole we never bother to get some good old fashioned anger self hatred and making the wrong choice like. like that good have been really fun.

but then!! circling over 2 prue/jack bc i do really love prue/jack i think like my favorite thing about it is like. just like how fun and stupid it is. like. like okay so for starters i will say i love the idea of jack as the one to be prue's first real love interest after andy because with andy like you really did have this whole childhood friends to lovers this deep mutual understanding and trust and love and passion like definitely set up to vibe like soulmatism and then he fuckin bites the dust. but like. it's 1999. it's shannen doherty. she can't be an shw forever like you need your female characters to have love interests that's just kind of the way the world works but how do you top andy? how do you beat like the love of her life her perfect man? do you try to go well here's her perfect-er man,, this one's even better than before!! that we did so many countless times with phoebe no because that shit's fucking stupid instead they said here's jack sheridan & he fuckin sucks. & i love it i really do for starters excellent representation for women who are into lame ass guys like i know it's easy to say like haha i'm into guys and aren't they all lame but i'm talking specifically a man being lame is what makes him unreasonably sexy it's a mental condition i know i suffer from it it's bad but it's also like. really funny. but it's also bad. but that's not the point. the point is prue/jack was always supposed to be something kind of stupid something with an imminent expiration date you know? this is not andy. i mean from the moment we met andy we're like hearing wedding bells right from the moment we meet jack we're like ew wtf lol??? like both prue And jack know goddamn well entering this relationship that this is pointless. this is only here to end. and yet!! in spite of that!!! genuine love blossoms!!!! like. whether or not prue was ever in love with jack is definitely debatable i don't think she ever was like in love with him per se mainly because she didn't like. she didn't want to be. she didn't want to do love again that wasn't the point of this relationship so she's not gonna do it. and then for jack theoretically it should be the same thing because like he does constantly play it so nonchalant like he's not head over heels fucking in love with her but he is!!!! he took this relationship that was meant to be casual and stupid and over in a month and he fuckin blew it man he fell So So In Love With Her. like. drives me crazy it does i love that dynamic. and there was something there from prue's side too like. like over and over again she's telling him like you're not the guy for me you're not the guy i'm going to end up with But right now you're the one i want. like. like she has this vision definitely this andy-like figure someone who will you know be the stable father to her kids and her steady husband for many many years to come and her brain's going yeah no way that's jack but at the same time she doesn't care??? like, she likes him right now? she wants to spend time with him right now??? like fuck that potential future mr. right because he's not the one prue wants to spend time with right now she'd rather spend the night with jack like!!!!!! there are some vastly underrated dynamics going on with pruejack that definitely make me start munching on drywall every time i talk about them but like Oh My God. them <3. lol.

#charmed #prue x phoebe #prue x jack #💌

[unforth]

May Trope Mayhem Fill Day 13: First Kiss

Fandom: Star Wars Eps 7 - 9

Ship: Finn/Poe Dameron

Rating: Gen

Tags: Post canon, fluff with a splash of angstful pining, love confessions, first kiss

Words: 1,987

First time in like a week one of these fills was short enough that I felt it was appropriate to post the whole thing to Tumblr. Also, first time since the event started that I didn’t write either Chinese or Japanese fandom. :D Here, have some Stormpilot.

Xposted to AO3

@duckprintspress​

Rolling onto his side, Finn swung a hand behind himself to catch his balance before he could tumble off the edge of the narrow X Wing nose (was it even called a nose? Finn wasn’t sure, and wasn’t in the mood for the good-natured ribbing he’d sustain if he asked). Poe lay beside him, so close that their sides had been pressed together before Finn moved; he made holding his position look effortless, as effortless as he made flying look, as effortless as he made rebelling look, as effortless as he made smiling look. Lips spread in a relaxed grin, Poe stared up at the night sky over D’Qar, reflected stars sparkling in the depths of his dark eyes. A breeze tousled brown locks over his face and shifted the folds of his loose shirt.

He’s gorgeous.

Am I allowed to think that? I wish I knew. I wish I could ask. And...maybe I can...I wish I knew why I feel like I can’t…

...don’t be an idiot, FN-21-- Finn. I feel I can’t because I’m scared of what’ll happen if I say something I shouldn’t.

I can’t risk losing what we have now.

So - let’s keep things safe, instead.

“What happens now?” Finn asked. Even speaking barely above a whisper, Finn’s voice sounded loud in his ears in the forest night. Insects chirped, branches creaked, leaves rustled, something called low and eerie from the darkness, and Poe’s breathing ebbed and flowed in sof rushes of air. Speaking seemed to shatter something, and Finn wished he hadn’t, but Poe didn’t react as though he’d done anything wrong; he wiggled onto his side, slid an arm under himself, set his elbow on the hard metal of the X Wing and propped his head up on the hand, and directed toward Finn the same easy look that, moments before, had stared up at the sky. One of those gusting exhales brushed over Finn’s face, warm and humid, and stole Finn’s breath away.

“What doesn’t happen now?” Poe replied avidly. “The sky’s the limit, literally. Rey’s got that whole Jedi-Sith fusion plan going on, and the politicians are doing, I dunno, the same crap they always do, and I’m still training folks at the academy...there’s sure enough to keep busy with! I guess the question is - what do you want to happen now? What do you want to do, Finn?”

(read more)

“I want to stay by your side.” The answer, the truth, slipped from Finn before he could stop it. A dash of panic set his heart to racing - what if Poe misunderstood what he meant? What if Poe understood what he meant? - and he continued in a rush, “You know. Rehabilitating the former Storm Troopers. Helping them integrate. Retraining the ones who want it. All that kind of…” Searching for the right words, he raised an arm and waved vaguely at the ait; tiny bugs flitted away as though he movement threatened them; it didn’t - the only threat was to his own precarious perch, and he caught himself with a foot thrown behind himself and a boot stomped hard against the angled side of the ship. “...stuff like that.”

“Awesome stuff like that, yeah.” Poe’s eagerness was spectacular, his implicit support calming. “But honestly? Not exactly what I meant.”

“No?”

Poe shook his head; even that didn’t damage his positioning. Truly, the man was a wonder in everything he did.

But he didn’t answer.

“Something wrong?” Finn asked leadingly, nervously.

“No...and yes,” Poe sighed, slumping onto his back and pressing his palms into his eyes. “Fuck, I’m bad at this.”

“Bad at what?”

“Usually, it’s so easy.”

“What’s easy?”

“I just...go to the person, say how I feel and what I’d like to do, they go, ‘cool, yeah, let’s do that!’ or ‘I’d rather not’ or, at worst, ‘ew, no, get away,’ and that’s that - it’s all good, we do what we do, we don’t do what we don’t do, and life goes on.”

“I literally couldn’t have less idea what you’re talking about.” Finn scowled, disgruntled. He knew that Poe was forward in stating his desires and approaching people he was interested in. That was part of why Finn felt so sure he wasn’t allowed to want - all that confidence had never been directed toward Finn, at least not ‘like that.’ If Poe wanted what Finn wanted, why hadn’t he just said something?

Takes one to know one, Finn - I feel how I feel, and I want what I want, but I haven’t said anything either…

“But you…” Poe directed his speech toward the fathomless sky, not sparing Finn’s interjections a reaction. “...Fuck, I don’t know. What am I even saying?”

“That’s what I’m wondering,” said Finn. “ ‘Cause it almost sounds like you’re suggesting that you’ve got feelings and...doings...that you want to say, except for whatever reason, you’re putting me in a different category than...like...everyone else?”

Please don’t...please tell me I’m just another person…

“Uh, duh?”

...or say that. Oh, that stings.

“Oh,” muttered Finn. Shifting his leg, he let gravity take him and did a controlled tumble down to the runway, landing in a squat.

“Finn?” Poe called after him. Glaring at nothing, Finn rose and stalked toward the barracks.

“Wait up!”

He knew he was being unreasonable.

“Come on, don’t be like that!”

He knew he was being unfair.

“Will you just stop?”

He knew that, if he wanted Poe to talk to him, his current behavior was guaranteed to produce the exact opposite result.

“You don’t understand!”

He knew, knew, that Poe didn’t see him as merely an ex-Stormtrooper, merely a former soldier, merely a murderer who had to learn to assume the facsimile of personhood.

“Aaargh, you’re being impossible!”

He doesn’t see me that way.

“This is exactly why I didn’t know what to say!”

I see me that way.

“I love you!” Poe’s voice, breathless and sincere, shouted out loudly enough in the night that the birds and animals went silent.

Finn froze.

Pounding footsteps raced up behind him and Poe sprinted to his side, overran by several steps, stopped huffing and puffing with his hands on his knees and his breath making foggy clouds in the chill night air before him.

“I know...I know what you’re thinking,” Poe said. “I get what you’re afraid of. And you’re not wrong.” I’m not? “I don’t see you like those people. Because you’re not those people. They could be anyone, but you’re Finn.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” asked Finn acidly. I’m sure it is. He said he loved me. He said...he really said…

“If I cared less, I could talk about it more.”

“...that sounds like something I’ve heard before…”

“Whatever, it’s from some book the General recommended, it doesn’t matter,” said Poe, waving away Finn’s words. “What matters is you. You matter too much for me to risk hurting you. You’re too important for me to take for granted. You’re too special for me to sanguinely accept that if I say the wrong thing, you’ll walk away. And then I said the wrong thing anyway, and you did walk away, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

He looks so earnest, so genuine, so beautiful, that Finn’s heart ached.

“Can I fix it?” Poe implored.

His concerns sound so similar to my own...he comes from a place of experience, and I from a place of inexperience, but the fears are the same.

“Tell me how, and I’ll do it.”

And now I know - there’s nothing for me to be afraid, because he’s told me how he feels, and I know it’s the truth.

“Because I’ve lost everyone - almost everyone - and I can’t lose you too, Finn.”

I’ve told him nothing.

“You won’t,” Finn said; a moment of shame and worry had him looking around, looking down, his toe scuffing the dirt of the path...and then he shook his head, crossed the couple steps separating them, threw his arms around Poe’s shoulders, and pulled him into a rough hug. “You never will.” A helpless noise burst from Poe and then he relaxed into the embrace, putting one arm around Finn’s waist, another around his shoulders, and holding him like he never meant to let go.

“Finn…”

“I love you, Poe,” Finn murmured, shifting his head against the side of Poe’s face, delighting in the tingle of scruff tickling against his cheek, adoring being able to whisper the truth into Poe’s ear. “Seriously.” Poe breathed a word - it might have been yes! but Finn wasn’t sure - and hugged him more tightly. “I really, really, love you.”

“Really, really?” asked Poe, voice rolling with laughter.

“Really, really.”

“Just to be abso-fricken-lutely clear, you don’t mean, like...bro-love?”

“I mean, like, I can’t remember the last time I looked at your face and didn’t imagine kissing you senseless.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s...that’s really, really.”

“Yup.”

“Awesome.” And Poe dropped an arm, leaned back, and hesitated a moment as he gazed at Finn’s face...and he lifted a hand to Finn’s face, ran calloused fingers over his cheek, and then leaned forward and brought their lips together softly, slowly, gently.

Finn had seen a lot of people kiss since he joined the Rebellion.

Finn had been kissed, and kissed others, a whole mess of time - in grief, in celebration, in relief, in greeting. So many cultures kissed casually, he’d learned to do the same.

Finn thought he knew what a kiss was.

Easing into lip-on-lip contact with Poe, Finn realized with crystal-clear, fuzzy-warm clarity, he had no idea what a kiss was.

And he was really, really looking forward to finding out.

He and Poe would have to experiment a great deal until Finn understood, profoundly, how all those other kisses were different from exchanging tender intimacies with the man he’s loved and wanted since roughly 10 Standard Minutes after they met.

Too soon, the kiss ended. There was a soft mwap as they drew apart. Finn’s lips tingled pleasantly, warmth suffusing his chest; flicking out his tongue, he moistened the skin and delighted at the flavor of Poe in his mouth.

He opened his eyes.

Poe was staring avidly at his mouth.

“That good, Finn?” he asked, voice low and throaty.

“You tell me,” Finn replied.

“How about we both work on the sharing-and-caring?”

“It was fantastic, Poe.”

“Right?! It really was!”

“Really, really!”

“Super really, really!”

“Ultra really, really.”

“Mega really, really.”

“Ice-cream-with-a-cherry-on-top really, really.”

“Where did you even learn that?” laughed Poe. “Ginormously re--”

“Question.”

“Anything, Finn.”

“Why are we talking about it when we could be doing it again?”

“...valid. Really valid.”

“Really, really valid?”

Snorting, Poe smacked a quick kiss on his lips again - Finn chased him futilely as he leaned away - and broke their embrace to take Finn’s hand.

“My bunk or yours?”

“My bunk is literally a bunk,” replied Finn.

“And mine isn’t?”

“Yeah, but yours is in a room, with a door, and no bunkmates.”

“...they haven’t given you your own room?!”

“How do you not know that?”

“You literally saved the galaxy.”

“We all literally saved the galaxy.”

“I...you...fucking damn, okay, tomorrow, we’re going to fix that.”

“And right now?”

“Right now...my bunk. Definitely my bunk. Right, Finn?”

“Really, really right, Poe.”

“Stop that,” groaned Poe, laughing again.

“Never,” promised Finn with a grin, and delighted in the matching grin he got back.

“That’s right. Never. Never stop.”

“I really, really won’t.”

“Fuck, do I love you…”

And, beaming, beyond happy, Finn allowed himself to be drawn to Poe’s room.

Had he truly been so worried about how things would go if he spoke his heart?

Now, he was really, really not worried.

And he knew - he was in for a really, really, excellent night…

...and he’d never have to really, really, worry about Poe’s heart again.

Really, really.

#unforth writes #fanfiction #star wars #stormpilot