#and the sentiment 'this is silly and you should feel silly for believing this' needs to be in there

[godsfavoritescientist]

(this post is satire)

I keep seeing people be like "Mabel caused the apocalypse when she gave Bill the rift!" and I think those people are missing the bigger picture. The REAL reason why Mabel caused the apocalypse is because she didn't press the red button in nwhs to shut down the portal before it finished powering on!

She had NO reason to trust Stan by that point, all the evidence she had up until then pointed towards him being some kind of supercriminal who LIED about his identity and maybe even killed the real stan, and she KNEW for a FACT that the portal being turned on would cause the end of the world, because she saw the blacklight warning messages about it only a few minutes beforehand!

But when it came down to it, she didn't listen to her own brother (a reoccurring problem :/ its so toxic to have different goals and interests and opinions from someone as perfect as Dipper), and let the portal finish activating, which DIRECTLY led to the rift existing in the first place.

And sure, you might wanna argue that Stan was the one who spent thirty years making the portal functional again, and was also the one who started the portal-turning-on process, and was also the one who convinced Mabel not to shut down the portal at the last second, and he had plenty of time to see the blacklight warning messages between the time he discovered that Ford used blacklight and the time the portal finished powering on, but she still could have shut it down before it was too late! A little bit of emotional anguish doesn't excuse making a decision that led to the end of the world.

You might also want to argue that Ford was the one who made the portal in the first place (and he was manipulated by Bill for years... which is WAY worse than being tricked by Bill for one day or for one second, and is totally 100% definitely Ford's fault. Like... who would let themselves get tricked by Bill... just don't fall for it?) but Ford at least TRIED to shut down the portal after he discovered how dangerous it was. Like, sure, he started out ignoring a lot of people who warned him that it was dangerous, and even after he found out he never fully disassembled the portal before he fell in (or even just burned the portal schematic pages), and the last thing he told Stan was "help me!" which made it sound like he WANTED Stan to turn the incredibly dangerous portal back on.... but after he came back, he dedicated all of his time to fixing his mistakes! I guess except for the time he played dungeons dungeons and more dungeons for multiple days in a row with Dipper, and didn't say anything about Stan and the kids leaving the shack once it was bill-proofed, and didnt put alien adhesive on the rift right away when he found it in the spaceship, and let himself get captured by a security droid (as if letting himself be tricked by Bill wasn't enough...) and let Dipper, a 12 year old, carry the rift in his backpack while it was still cracked, but he at least he didn't say or do anything impulsive while upset with his sibling! And DON'T say "he punched Stan" or "he told Stan to leave his house by the end of the Summer" or "he corrected Stan's grammar right before they were going to defeat Bill in a way that wouldn't have required erasing Stan's memories", none of that helped to CAUSE the APOCALYPSE. Except for I guess the time he sent that postcard to Stan. He should have never brought Stan into such a dangerous situation when he knew he might get frustrated at him tbh, and he basically goaded Stan into shoving him into the portal, which helped to eventually create the rift. He should have dropped everything with their argument and turned off the portal before continuing the conversation! But even then, he wasn't the one who let the portal get turned on AGAIN, so he's STILL less to blame than Mabel.

Even if you think he DID somehow help to cause the apocalypse more than Mabel did (btw i am judging you for that if you are. Stan and Ford did basically nothing to help cause the apocalypse how could you hate them :/), Ford was the one who bill-proofed the shack! He did way more to try to stop the apocalypse than Mabel ever did! I mean yeah, Mabel was the one who fought tooth and nail for that unicorn hair, which they couldn't have bill-proofed the shack without, let alone have a safe haven during the apocalypse or make a successful shacktron without, but she wasn't the one to glue the unicorn hair into place around the shack. All she did was follow Ford's orders (unlike Dipper, who was willing to physically fight back against Ford and almost erase his mind when he thought Bill might be possessing him! And also the time he ignored Ford telling him not to try and save him and just focus on fixing the rift, and even brought the rift with him onto the droid, a highly dangerous environment that could have broken the rift and caused the apocalypse. It was so brave of Dipper to make such a risky move even though he knew what would happen if the rift broke open). All Mabel cared about was not getting separated from her sibling (a flaw she and Stan share tbh..... but at least the only thing Stan broke on accident was a science fair project and not an interdimensional rift!). She should have just sucked it up and accepted that Dipper getting away from her toxic behaviors and getting to be taught by Ford (the best possible mentor anyone could ever have!) would have been the best thing that ever happened to him. The show literally definitely 100% implies that Mabel is suffocating Dipper's potential just like Stan did with Ford, and its really sad that she was immature enough to be THAT UPSET about something Dipper was really happy about! Like, she's literally almost 13, she should be more mature by now. Not to mention picking up the wrong backpack and not even knowing what the rift was... use your critical thinking skills, Mabel! The audience knows how dangerous it is and we don't even live in the world of the show, its not that hard :/

Handing over the rift was less influential in ending the world than LETTING the rift be CREATED, but she still should have not wanted to spend more time with her friends and family. It's just like the time Stan spent decades trying to bring back his brother (who isn't even a good person?) instead of accepting that he was gone.

Like, sure, she didn't knowingly make a deal with Bill, but she still should have known better! The time Dipper knowingly made a deal with Bill after Bill made him upset at his sister was totally different, and even though he almost dropped Mabel from high up in a theater while she was in that cake prop, its not like she actually got hurt or anything, and if anything Dipper was in more danger from that mistake. Unlike when Mabel got put in that prison bubble! She got to be in a perfectly good and not-even-all-that-creepy fantasy land! Her getting lowkey brainwashed while in the bubble and trapped in there for away from any of her friends or family for what was supposed to be eternity is a pretty good deal as far as Bill deals go! And even if Bill ended up half a second away from killing her in the end, that's still nothing compared to the bridge plan he had for Dipper that he didn't get the chance to get close to following through with.

The bottom line is, Mabel is the worst member of the Pines family, and YES it IS a competition. Comparing all of their flaws and mistakes is what the show is all about! She should have either listened to what everyone else told her to do all the time or been kicked out of the house for the summer, and even that wouldn't have been enough of a punishment. If only she had shut down the portal before Ford came back, she would have been so much more bearable :)

Tl;dr: contrary to what was said in The Last Mabelcorn, Mabel Pines is NOT a good person and nearly SINGLEHANDEDLY caused the apocalypse!!!!!

#under the cut: more batshit insane takes on all the pines family members #for the purpose of making fun of how batshit insane the take 'mabel caused the apocalypse' is #ive never written out a long post about how silly that accusation is so hopefully now I've gotten it out of my system #way more fun this way than making a sincere bullet point list explaining my thoughts in a serious manner #sometimes the opinion youre arguing against is so absurd that engaging with it seriously isnt even worthwhile #and the sentiment 'this is silly and you should feel silly for believing this' needs to be in there #mabel

[jakescakeislateforourdate]

Kaz Brekker and His Stupid Nicknames

In attempts to show you some love, kaz reverts to the most boyish and juvenile confession he can manage: name calling.

Idiot

Kaz has no idea what he’s doing. This feeling that you give him is bad. It’s weakness. So he tries to kill by convincing himself that you are nothing. He calls you idiot or imbecile right and left, hoping his brain will understand that you’re of no use to him.

But that’s not true because he thinks you’re brilliant.

Most commonly he uses it on heists. You save his sorry hide and because the phrase “thank you” does not exist in his vocabulary he simply says

“Try not to die, idiot! Don’t wanna drag your corpse outta here.”

Kaz thinks he’s slick. Hiding his silly little crush like this. He’s being a jerk and belittling you. No one would glance twice because he was just being classic Dirtyhands.

Wrong

Nina notices first. It reminds her of the young grisha boys who don’t know how to flatter a girl so they simply yank on fistfuls of hair or scream obscenities.

She thinks it’s stupidly adorable; making jabs at Kaz that he deflects easily. But she knows. She sees it clear as day.

Pest

Flea is a bit too mean but pest implies enough how irritable you make him. It implies that you’re swarming his thoughts and plaguing his dreams.

“You’re such a pest!”

You’re not. You’re anything but. From your stupid face that makes his heart skip a beat every time he sees you to the stupid things you say the awaken butterflies in his stomach. So irritating. So dumb.

Inej discovers next. She notices how Kaz can’t keep his eyes off of you. She notices how his lips twitch every time he calls you a name, like he meant to say something else entirely. She finally picks up on Nina’s jokes. They whisper to each other when Nina feels his heart beat faster.

Dummy

He’s got it down bad.

This term is affectionate. Less cruel than idiot. More teasing. Kaz knows that you know that he believes you to be fantastic. Why else would he keep you around? Why keep sending you on jobs? Why keep you right by his side at all times?

“Right here next to me, dummy.”

He doesn’t proclaim it so loudly anymore. He doesn’t need all of Ketterdam to think he’s parading around a so called idiot crow. It’s for you and only you.

Which is why the ever observant Wylan Van Eck finds out next. He watches Kaz mumble under his breath when he calls you dummy. It reminds Wylan of how Jesper flirts.

Wylan smiles to himself when he ponders the moments he glimpses. Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, a secret softie.

“Don’t want the dummy to get hurt now do we?”

It’s like a romance novel playing out right before Wylan’s eyes. And while he doesn’t make jokes, he chuckles whenever Nina says something witty that makes Kaz’s eye twitch.

Darling

The first time Kaz calls you this it’s a complete accident. He was just minding his own business filling out some paperwork and trying to get you out of his head. You come into his office needing to ask him a few questions about the upcoming heist when

BAM!

“What do you need, darlin’?”

You freeze and moments go by as it sinks in. Kaz is horrified. As it dawns on him his ears and cheeks go cherry red. It was so casual. So easy to say.

You blink at each other and you smile.

“Call people that often?” You’re so bright.

Kaz glowers and lowers his gaze, shaking his head.

“Scram.”

He flicks his hand toward the door and picks his pen back up.

“Not until you answer me.”

So bold of you. Kaz takes a deep breath and rocks back in his chair. This is a weakness. He should stamp it out. But one glance your hopeful face and he’s caving.

“Only you. Now scram, darling!”

This would be when Jesper notices. He overhears Kaz say it just once and that’s all it takes. Kaz calling someone darling. So sweet and sentimental there’s no possible way it’s true.

But when Jesper looks around and Nina and Inej and Wylan giggling and teasing, the pieces fall into place.

Oh

Oh it’s so cute

So fueling to Jesper’s teasing.

Jesper likes to push Kaz by flirting with you. He just wants to watch Kaz marinate in his childish anger and fess up about what’s going on. The only person who doesn’t know is Matthias if Nina hasn’t spoiled it.

Angel

Oh how the hearts swoon. Kaz finally weak in both knees. This name is used whenever you’re about to do something dangerous or during reunions.

Kaz can’t clutch you in his arms like he wants to. Can’t kiss you and drown you in affection like he craves. So he puts it all into one little word and hopes you get it.

“Be safe my angel.” Or “Glad you’re alive, angel.”

He used it pretty sparingly. There’s not many moments where you’re apart anymore so it’s a rare word.

It’s almost a little to cheesy and cliche for him but he uses it regardless because he likes to see you beam.

This is when the team recognizes it as a whole. Including Matthias who was clueless up until he witnessed it first hand.

Dirtyhands soft in the heart.

Last but certainly not least

Honey

This is code for Kaz wanting a domestic moment. Quiet time in the Slat while he helps you clean up after dinner or iron out his button-up shirts.

This is most likely when Kaz would show physical affection.

His gloved hands on your hips as he whispers in your ear,

“Honey, I love you.”

He only says it when he knows no one will hear. It is only for your ears. Only for you to know. Because this word is a dream.

It’s symbolic of the life Kaz wants to give you. Security. Safety. He wants an honest life with you. One you can be proud of. He’d really like to marry you and stay with you forever.

He wraps you in his arms, guarded by the sleeves of his shirt.

It’s hope for the chance at touching without the armor.

He spins you around and kisses your lips. Soft and sweet and slow.

Honey honey honey

It’s his favorite. No other name could compare. Not idiot, not pest, not dummy, not angel or even darling.

Something about the promise of a future warms him and suddenly his weakness doesn’t seem so bad any longer.

Honorable mentions: sweetheart, love, doll, sweet pea, investment

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #shadow and bone #six of crows #crooked kingdom #kaz x reader #yourfellowfandomfiend

[sansaorgana]

Please can you write a Buck x reader where he's really protective of her while she's pregnant? I think he'd be SO attentive and constantly making sure she's okay

hello! 🤰🏻🤰🏾 thank you for your request 💕 I think he'd be the best daddy and very involved in the pregnancy unlike most men back then 😊

I had to currently close the requests because I got so many so I'm working on them atm 🙏🏻

You reached above your head to grab a box on the top shelf of the wardrobe. It was no easy task, especially now when you were six months pregnant and you felt much heavier and slower. However, you didn’t want to ask Buck for help because he was busy reading a book downstairs. You didn’t want to bother him with something so silly.

You managed to grab the edge of the box as your tongue stuck out a little out of effort. You pulled the box closer and lost the grasp of it. You could only watch it hit the ground as you quickly took a step aside to avoid being hit with it. A loud thumping sound echoed all over the bedroom as you sighed and watched all the photographs from the box scattered all over the floor.

The door opened rapidly, which startled you.

“Gee, Buck, I had no idea you could be that fast,” you chuckled, trying to crouch down to collect the photographs.

Your husband was a few shades paler as his eyes were widened. He approached you and grabbed you by your shoulders, making you straighten your back. You furrowed your brow at him.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“Something fell down. I was scared it was you,” he admitted as his eyes scanned you up and down as if he didn’t believe your assuring words.

“I’m fine, Buck. It was the box. I tried to reach for it,” you told him.

“You should have called for me,” his tone was serious, nearly scolding. You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“I didn’t want to bother you. But now, when you’re here… You can help me to pick them up,” you proposed and Buck nodded without a word. Always eager to help and making sure you don’t overwork yourself even if it was a task as easy as this one.

He handed you the empty box and sat you down on the edge of your bed before crouching down and picking up the photographs. He was handing you them one after another and you could watch with a gentle smile all the beautiful memories that were there.

“What did you even need that box for?” He asked.

“I felt a little sentimental,” you told him as your lips curled into a smile at the sight of your wedding picture.

“Next time you feel a little sentimental, you call for me to help you,” Buck muttered to himself. He wasn’t really angry but you could hear his nervousness, still scared for you even though nothing had happened.

“You know, I got used to doing everything on my own,” you carelessly commented as you placed the picture inside the box and reached your hand out for another one. But there was none, so you lowered your eyes to meet your husband’s gaze. He was staring at you with his beautiful blue eyes but they were suddenly filled with pain and guilt.

“I’m sorry I left you for such a long time. I never meant to,” he whispered.

“Oh, Gale, baby, I didn’t mean it this way…” You bit on your lower lip and held his hand to pull him closer. He sat up on the bed next to you, clumsily – which was unusual for him. He put his arm around you and hid his face in the crook of your neck. “I don’t blame you for that, love. I’m glad you came back to me, doesn’t matter how long it took,” you assured him as you caressed the back of his head. “What I’m saying is, I learnt how to be independent. And sometimes…” You hesitated, not sure if you should finish the sentence. “And sometimes I forget you’re back home,” you finally added and took a deep breath in. “I’m upstairs, doing something and a noise from the living room startles me… Only then I remember that my husband is back with me,” you turned your head to place a kiss upon his forehead.

Buck looked up and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the tears welled in his eyes. You cupped his face to caress his scars gently and you gazed back at him, hoping he could see all the love in your own eyes, because words seemed to only make it worse.

He was home for nearly a year now but it took time to accept his presence once again. Just like it had been difficult to accept his absence after his departure.

“Here, can you feel it?” You quickly grabbed his hand and put it on your swollen bump as the baby inside you moved. You smiled at your husband through your tears and saw his face lighten up again. “I can’t wait for the nurse to hand you Baby Cleven. You’re going to be an amazing daddy,” you told him.

“Only time can tell,” Buck sighed.

“No, I just know it, baby,” you assured him. “Just like you’re an amazing husband,” you added. “Now, hand me the rest of the pictures and let’s just put that box away, hm?” You encouraged him and he nodded before leaning in to peck your lips and then moving back to the carpet to give you the rest of the scattered photographs.

Once you were done with it, you went downstairs with Buck and walked into the kitchen since it was time to prepare the supper.

“I’ll do it,” Gale insisted.

“I’m pregnant, not sick,” you chuckled. “I can handle making my husband a sandwich. I like taking care of you,” you shook your head and approached the counter to take the bread out but Buck followed you.

“Let me help at least,” he put his hands on his hips, completely lost at what to do.

“It is not complicated, Major Cleven. You just slice bread and put whatever you want on top,” you laughed. “Well, you can make tea if you really want to do something,” you nodded at him and he smiled.

As eager to help as a child wanting to assist their mother. You found it adorable in a way, or perhaps those were your hormones speaking.

“You know,” Buck started suddenly, “I’m reading that book about babies and I am really worried about some things.”

“You what?” You stopped slicing the bread for a moment as you froze and looked at him in disbelief. A slight blush on his cheeks was making your heart swell.

“I’m reading a book about babies. The one for fathers that was recommended by the doctor,” he explained.

“It was only a recommendation, baby. You’re probably the only man who actually bought it,” you laughed lovingly at him. All your friends who had been lucky to get pregnant before you, had been telling you many stories about their husbands not wanting to participate in anything baby-related. And here he was, your dear husband, Major Gale Cleven… Who had actually bought a book about babies recommended by a doctor. “You’re one in a million, baby. Just reminding me every day why I love you,” you quickly caressed his arm just in case you had embarrassed him accidentally with your reaction. “What were you worrying about?”

“There are just so many things that can go wrong. And it’s scaring me,” Buck admitted quietly, avoiding your gaze. “Things beyond my control. I can try my best and still not be able to prevent them from happening.”

“That’s what life is like, my dear. I thought you’d know it by now,” you hugged him and caressed his back. “But we’re together in this. We can do it. And the things that are beyond our control… Well, they’re beyond our control. We shouldn’t worry about them now. Why focus on the bad things?” You tried to cheer him up.

“What if I lose you?” He asked, his voice breaking.

“You won’t, I promise,” you took a step back to look into his eyes.

“You can’t promise me that,” Buck bit on his lower lip as his jaw clenched; all in effort to stop himself from crying again.

“You couldn’t promise me either. When you were going to Europe, you promised you would be back. But how could you know that? I remembered what one of my friends had told me. Them pilots die like flies, she said. But I refused to listen to her because you…” You put your hand on his chest. “You gave me a promise. And I know my man doesn’t break his word,” you looked up with a gentle smile.

“And…” Buck cleared his throat. “And the little one?” He asked, nearly naively. You chuckled softly and placed his hand on your bump again. The baby moved as if they knew they had been addressed.

“The little one promises to be alright, too, daddy,” you assured your husband. “Now, let’s make these sandwiches, mummy’s hungry,” you bopped him on the nose.

Buck was watching you sitting on the edge of the bed and putting a lotion on your legs, belly and arms. Pregnant or not, he loved to admire you as you were performing your little rituals. When you were done, you laid back on the pillows and sighed.

“Can you imagine that in three months we’ll have Baby Cleven with us?” You asked with a soft smile.

“No,” he admitted in a whisper. “Truth to be told, I can barely believe you’re my wife.”

“Don’t be daft,” you caressed his hair. “Come here, tell us a goodnight story?” You proposed and Buck nodded as he lowered himself to place a kiss on your bump and lay his head next to it. He put his arms around your waist and closed his eyes, savouring the sweet and intimate moment.

“Which story, love?” He asked, gently caressing your bump.

“The one about a princess waiting for her knight to come back from the war?” You asked. It was a story Buck had made up some time ago for your little baby, which was supposed to reflect the story of your child’s parents. But he was still working on the details, changing the plot here and there each time he was telling this story. You liked it not only because it was about the two of you but also because it was giving you a feeling of creating something together for the baby already. Even though Baby Cleven still needed three more months to grow under your heart, you already felt like a real family. There was not a day passing by when you were not grateful for your husband being so involved in the whole process.

“I thought you’d be sick of that story by now,” Buck chuckled.

“No, I will never be sick of it,” you assured him as your fingers brushed through his golden hair. “And I hope Baby Cleven will want to listen to it every day, too.”

“I highly doubt that,” Buck muttered with his face pressed to your bump, kissing it one more time.

“We’ll make up another story then. And then another. And another. I’m sure we’ll come up with dozens of amazing ones. We can make it a family tradition. What do you think?” You asked and he looked up at you. You couldn’t help but smile at how beautiful he was at that moment, with his eyes filled with love and admiration, letting himself be vulnerable and soft in your arms.

“I think it’s a beautiful idea,” he nodded.

“Wait, let me grab a notebook,” you reached out to the bedside table to get a notepad and a pen. “Let’s start writing them down.”

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

#sansaorgana: Answered #lovely anons #*buck #lilysfiction #austin butler x reader #gale cleven x reader

[booksandabeer]

Stucky, Fandom Longevity, and "Primacy Bias"

There’s this post that's been floating around the past few days about how the Stucky fandom in its heyday produced fic and art masterpieces like they were all collectively possessed by an unprecedented spirit of creative insanity. It’s a good, fun post and I agree with the person who wrote it. (not rb'ing because I didn't want to hijack their post with something that's only tangentially related).

It was indeed a magical time and the creative output in both quantity and quality in the two-year period following the release of CA:TWS is—with perhaps a few exceptions—unmatched by anything that I’ve seen before and since. However, going through the notes on that post, I noticed something that left me a little irritated and quite frankly sad since it is in congruence with, and to a certain extent the confirmation of something that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.

For one thing, there are so many people in the notes expressing sentiments along the lines of “it was such a wonderful time; I wish I could go back; I miss these fics; I want to read these fics again,” etc., etc., you get it. And it feels a little silly pointing this out, but…you can just do that? Almost all of these fics are still right there, waiting for you to be (re)read. Yes, a lot of people left the fandom after The Great Devastation of 2019, but their stories didn’t just disappear. It's not like there is now a big, black hole where the Steve/Bucky tag used to be on AO3. So, if you miss these fics and you want to revisit them—just do it. Chances are the authors will be delighted that people are still finding and enjoying their stories all these years later. And—since apparently this needs saying, too, judging from the notes on that post: A lot of people seem to be very concerned with losing ‘coolness points’ for openly admitting that they still miss the ship and often feel tempted to dip their toes back into the Stucky pool. I don’t know how to tell you this, but if someone tries to shame you for simply enjoying or missing something, they are an asshole. Not to mention that all this is happening on tumble.com—'coolness' doesn't exactly live here. And that is a good thing, to be clear. Fandom is not about being cool. It’s about being as enthusiastic, as silly, as absolutely fucking unhinged about the things you love as you want to be. So, stop caring what other people think and enjoy yourself.

The other thing is that there seems to be a pretty widespread misconception that the Stucky fandom hasn’t produced any good fanworks after 2016.

First, that is patently and demonstrably untrue. There is so much incredibly good fanfiction and fanart still out there. Not as much as back in the day, sure, but it still exists. And more is being posted every day! Even some of the OG Big Names are still around. One of the most beloved Stucky series that started all the way back in 2014 was updated as recently as December of last year. The artist, who I believe the op is referring to as creating ‘baroque’ paintings, posted their latest Stucky art not even two months ago.

Second, I find this “primacy bias” more than just a little insulting to the many hardworking and incredibly talented people who are still putting their blood, sweat, and tears into creating for this community. And it’s one thing if people who have long left the fandom believe or say something like this, but it’s frankly irritating when I see people who are still very much active—and therefore definitely should know better—feed into that same false myth. Yes, it sucks that the Stucky ship isn’t as big as it used to be, but that doesn't mean there isn't any 'fresh talent' to be found anymore. I’m also not saying we shouldn’t still celebrate and recommend older works—I do it all the time! And it sure as hell doesn't mean everyone has to reblog absolutely everything all the time, either. Your blog, your rules.

But maybe we should put a little more focus on the good things, on the creators and the community we have now, especially if we want that community to still exist in another ten years. I mean, imagine you’re a person who’s just gotten into the fandom (because yes, there are indeed still new people discovering Stucky all the time) and one of the first things you’re being told is “eh, nice that you're here, but you’re about 7 years late; the big party is already over.” Does that seem like a fun space to hang out in to you?

So. Let’s all—and I do not exclude myself from this because God knows, I love to complain—spend a little less time mourning the ‘good old days’ that are never coming back anyway, and instead focus our attention on enjoying and appreciating both the incredible treasure chest of an archive we have AND the wealth of high-quality art and fic that is still being created by this wonderful community every single day. With this in mind:

🥳🎊Happy Stucky Week 2023!!! 🎊🥳

*I want to make it very clear that this is a general thing that’s been on my mind lately and that I’m trying to work through here���probably not very coherently. I'm not trying to tell anybody 'how to do fandom' and I’m most definitely not vagueposting about any particular incident, person, or group in this fandom. This isn’t a callout post. It’s an I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this and I don’t know what else do with them post.

#stucky #stucky fanfic #fandom culture #i once again have no idea what to tag this #fanfiction forever #fanart forever

[sleepingdeath-light]

yandere househusband hcs ; wally

requested by ; anonymous (09/05/23)

fandom(s) ; welcome home

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; wally darling

outline ; “maybe yandere househusband wally who wants to tend to everything but hates when y/n is away ? they get tired of it though and end up leaving regardless”

warning(s) ; references to panicked behaviour, possessive mentality, jealous character, stalking, thoughts of imprisonment, thoughts of career sabotage, thoughts of drugging/making reader ill

the day you got married was the happiest day of his life — if he were able to, wally knew that he’d have been practically sobbing from joy

he rewatches your wedding tape pretty much daily and his breath always catches in his throat and his heart skips a beat when the camera pans to you when you start walking down the aisle towards him

call him sentimental, but you’re the centre of his world and he’s not afraid to act like it

he thinks he’s the luckiest person alive because you chose him — believes that you’re far and away out of his league and he dreads the day that you realise it too

you’re perfect, you’re everything to him, and he’s just… him

this mentality means that he’s fucking terrified of losing you and will break down and panic whenever you’re out of his sight for even a moment

being in a different room in home is difficult enough, but you going out to work every week is as close to hell as he’d ever like to be

every morning that he wakes up in your arms is pure bliss — an excuse to shower you in affection and bask in every morsel of love that you provide him with — and he could happily spend hours in bed with you

laughing, whispering, cuddling, kissing, being together away from the world

but then your alarm goes off and the illusion is shattered and he’s met once again with the reality that you need to go to work today

he goes through the same stages every single day, like clockwork, hoping for you to change your mind and give in just once

(isn’t that the definition of insanity?)

he starts off by reasoning with you, calm as he can pretend to be, cooking you your hearty breakfast (he’d even learned to cook for you) as he tries to rationalise you staying with him today

you just went to work yesterday

you haven’t had a day off in so long

you’re looking a little off-colour, maybe you should sit today out

one day off wouldn’t hurt your colleagues

and so on until he plates up your food and sits at the table with you, chowing down on some apples whilst you eat and diligently debunk every argument he made

then his arguments will start to get a bit more desperate, more frenzied as he runs his hands through his messy hair (not having bothered to put it up yet)

you don’t need to work, he can provide for you through home

poppy will bring you food so there’s no need for the paycheque

everyone misses you whilst you’re away so why would you want to upset them

but, of course, these don’t work on you and you just smile and shake your head and get up to change into your uniform

wally follows you, still arguing — almost yelling — as he slowly devolves into begging you to stay

he can feel his chest tightening and his vision is fading in and out and his hands are trembling as he collapses in front of you and grabs onto the edges of your blazer

no longer arguing

no longer shouting

just begging in a broken whisper that’s as close as he can get with his permanent grin to sobbing

begging you not to leave him

please don’t walk out the door

what if you don’t come home

he can’t live without you, please

please, please, please

he’ll do anything you want

just don’t walk out of that door

exasperated, you sigh, and kiss the top of his head and gently pry his hands away from you as you reassure him that you’re only going to be gone for a few hours

that you’ll be back before he knows it — and he shouldn’t be so silly about the whole thing since you’ve never not come back to him

and he whispers that maybe this time you won’t

and you very firmly promise that you will before hurrying out of the door so you’re not late to work

leaving your husband dejected and silent, kneeling on your bedroom floor and just staring emptily at the carpet

you’d gone. again.

you’d fucking left him. again.

because he was such a failure that he couldn’t keep you home and now he was going to lose you

he’d seen what your coworkers looked like, how they acted and sounded, he’d followed you to work plenty of times — and he saw how some of them looked at you

they looked at you like he did and he wanted to kill them for it — and he would if he knew it wouldn’t upset you

because the last thing he wanted was to drive you away

but still: you were his spouse, his darling, his muse — and he couldn’t believe the unneighbourly gall those people had to look at you that way, to even think of you that way

you were his

so rather than take a life, wally channelled his anger into the moment and wreaked havoc throughout home

tearing up canvases, tossing tables and generally destroying whatever he could

even home didn’t dare try and intervene

not until he’d gotten his rage out enough and he was back to being his calm and (semi-)rational self

when he’d calmly stand and walk through the chaos he’d created, up to your bathroom where he’d get dressed and do his hair up — humming a merry tune as he went

then he’d pick up a dustpan and broom and get to work on cleaning up his mess so you’d come back to a clean house

you only deserved the best, after all

and he couldn’t have you knowing about how he could get

it’s when he’s cleaning up home that he starts contemplating new ways to make you stay home — to stay with him, away from those nasty prying eyes

maybe howdy will have some sleeping pills that he can crush up into your food — or something even nastier — so that you’d get sick enough to stay home for a few days

wally certainly wouldn’t mind playing nurse

or perhaps he can have home lock all of the doors and windows and prevent you from getting out — you’d have no reason to leave and you’d have all the time in the world to see why you shouldn’t

home loved you too, after all, and he was sure they’d be up for it with a little convincing

then again he could always call up your place of work (it was easy enough to snag their contact information the first time he followed you in) and just lie

maybe your service was poor or maybe you were secretly a criminal stealing company assets… he could just take a few files from your folder, you’re trusting enough to not check before you leave

it would be easy enough, all of it, to pull off — but more planning would be needed, and he really didn’t want to hurt you

he loved you, after all, that was why he was doing all of this

why he chose to stay at home, why he learned to cook, why he became the best househusband he could be

and why he knew that he needed to do something to keep you with him

but, then again, there was always the chance that he could convince you on his own — no drugged food or spiked drinks or sabotage required — to stay at home

he just needed more time — and he’d give you all the time you needed because that’s what good husbands do

#sleepingdeath #gender neutral reader #welcome home x reader #yandere welcome home #yandere x reader #yandere wally darling x reader #wally darling x reader

[naamahdarling]

Do you have a favorite musical?

If so, what are your favorite lyrics from it, and why?

ALW's CATS.

Is it a surreal mess? Yes! But I love it before everything else.

The lyrics are silly but very clever. Most are at least partly by TS Eliot, drawn from a wonderfully nonsensical book of poems.

I think my favorite song is the Invitation to the Jellicle Ball, neck and neck with Mr Mistoffelees.

My favorite cat is Mistoffelees by a lot, followed by the Rum Tum Tugger. They are in love.

But the part that makes me feel the most in my heart is Grizabella. The only cat I relate to is Grizabella.

Memory is the big number that everyone knows and I do absolutely love it, it's one of my favorite songs and probably the best in the musical as it was before CATS 2019 introduced a new song, but I feel that out of context it simply doesn't have punch. It gets trotted out to showcase a singer's skill, as a bit of a tearjerker if you're a sentimental person. It is so much more than that.

I didn't understand Grizabella properly until I was well and truly an adult and had taken in multiple cats off the street, and lived near a colony, and watched my own cats become frail, which are all painful things in many ways; AND until I had begun to really feel the weight of my marginalization as a disabled person and an ill person, which means confronting almost daily the fact that I am unlikely to come to the sort of end I would like.

Hold on because I'm going to be unhinged about this cat for a minute.

Grizabella is an aged stray, once welcomed, now abandoned and unloved, considered ugly even by others like her (who are shown to supposedly accept differences and value, or at least respect, most everyone...but not her).

She lives in a haunted, lonely state unacknowledged by anyone except to be driven away. She can no longer care for herself, she is filthy and matted and scarred and probably in a lot of pain, she is starving, and she has nothing but her memories of better times, and every single dawn is both a gift and a miserable curse. She gets to remember. She has to remember.

If you watch, Grizabella is onstage a LOT, she's just off in the background, usually poorly lit, where she tries to mirror the dances happening on the main part of the stage, dances she knows because that was once her, there in the spotlight, shining. But now she's in too much pain to dance and her body isn't working right anymore. I have no doubt Grizabella is dying. The question is whether she will get to do that well, comforted and with dignity, or do it badly and alone.

I cannot HANDLE Grizabella.

If you have even the tiniest inkling of love for cats, if you believe every cat's life is worth something, her story should destroy you.

The legendary Jennifer Hudson's performance in the movie brought a really angry and confrontational turn to her, and it was flat out amazing. A rebuke of a performance. It really hurts to watch but it's what the role has always needed. She isn't just weak and sad, she clings to the tatters of her dignity and is angry that the others don't see her as a whole person. Just a miserable shadow to be avoided. A cautionary tale. We are never told what terrible thing she did to deserve her fall, and given that most of the Jellicles are young, I don't know that any of them really remember.

I will physically fight anyone who says she should not have been selected to ascend to a new life. She was the only choice. Even Gus. Even him. He can have his turn next year. Grizabella does not have another year in her.

And I'm going to make some folks mad but I love the 2019 movie (it's bad) and the new song, Beautiful Ghosts, is amazing, and I DO prefer Taylor Swift's version as the movie version is a little more timid (fitting the role and musical way better) but TS fucking BELTS IT and I get chills every time.

The lyrics are incredible and the song is gorgeous, gorgeous. And strung together with Grizabella's song, it finishes the musical in a way that it was a bit unfinished before. It uses an actual full song to connect Grizabella to the Ball and the Choice more directly than any choreography ever did or could:

Victoria, the White Cat and viewpoint character, still almost a kitten, has been dumped in the street and into a terrifying and beautiful new life.

After being swept up into its wonder, she sees Grizabella, utterly rejected, hissed at, made fun of, despised, and aches with the injustice of it -- Victoria was snatched right up by the other cats the instant her paws hit the ground, but nobody will take in Grizabella. Not even her own kind.

Victoria sees how strangely similar they are and feels a kinship that has no pity in it at all, but wonder and respect.

So Victoria sings this new song expressing the first admiration Grizabella has heard in god alone knows how long, reminding her she has had an amazing life worth envy and renown, and she pulls this horrible decrepit old mess of a cat into the Jellicle Ball, where she is FINALLY relieved of her pain.

Like? I'm crying right now?

It isn't a serious musical, but Grizabella's story runs through it like a cold current, something real and terrible, surrounded by absolute ridiculousness. Her numbers are deadly serious, never played for laughs. And ultimately it is her story that turns out to be the most important one, the truest one, and it is dark, and it is hopeful but only in only the most painful and grief-stricken way. She isn't brought back into a comfortable life with other cats to be happy and surrounded by love. She essentially...dies and goes to cat heaven. She embodies hope itself to the others, and her ascension represents a deeply humbling lesson in humility and grace. Her suffering and her ascent represent the possible future of every one of them, and now they have to confront that, and their treatment of her. She was rewarded, and for all their beauty and charm they were not.

Anyway I'm not normal about it.

The lyrics from Beautiful Ghosts that I love are:

Perilous night, their voices calling. A flicker of light, before the dawning. Out here the wild ones are taming the fear within me. Scared to call them my friends and be broken again. Is this hope just a mystical dream?

and

And so maybe my home Isn't what I had known, what I thought it would be. But I feel so alive With these phantoms of night, and I know that this life isn't safe but it's wild and it's free!

Like, come on. It's a lovely song and it took my breath away in the theater.

Ugh this musical touched me as a feral cat girl of 10 and it touches me again as a sad catguy in their 40s. Truly a very stupid work of weirdly meaningful art and one for the ages.

There are much better musicals, but none of them are part of me.

#cats the musical #grizabella

[ohisms]

↪     𝑺𝑳𝑬𝑬𝑷𝒀 𝑯𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑶𝑾 .    (  a  series  of  sentence  starters  from  the  1999  film   “  sleepy hollow  ” .  adjust  phrasing  as  necessary . )  

help ,  here  —  lend a hand .

just a moment ,  if i may  —

i stand up for sense  &  justice .

do make certain you meet with success .

such a day for such a sad farewell .

this is such a silly game .

be a sport  &  stop complaining !

play along ,  you must .

forgive me ,  i didn’t know .

we haven’t heard your name yet ,  friend .

you need some manners .

if we could speak alone ?

how much have your superiors bothered to tell you ?

you are horribly old - fashioned ,  aren’t you ?

feel free to form your own opinion ,  though it appears you already have .

it seems i’ve made matters worse .

i’ll leave you to your business .

excuse me  ...  i should apologize .

is it me ,  or are you this nervous around all women ?

do be a dear  &  tell me all about it .

sounds like an extraordinary place to live a life .

there is no such thing as magic .

to call a person superstitious is to imply they fear magic .

poets have silly notions .

you do believe me now ,  don’t you ?

you need less big words ,  &  more common sense .

what the hell are you doing ?

i am not here for revenge .  i am here to bring justice .

i manage fine alone .

i deserve to help you .  don’t you see how much this means ?

what are you spying on ?

i beg you ,  no more ,  please .

i will not allow it .  i will not !

why was i not told of this ?

you should step outside .

sorry for disturbing you .  i thought a forgotten candle was burning .

having trouble sleeping ?

i have something to show you ,  if you have a moment .

these scars .  how did you get them ?

oh ,  you are hopeless .

i have a gift for you .  true magic which even you will not be able to deny .

are you saying i should be frightened ?

what will it take for you to realize this is no laughing matter ?

don’t be afraid  ...  don’t be afraid .

you promised justice .  people have put their trust in you .

why would you do such a thing ?

leave me .  you are not welcome here .

allow me some time .

the things i said to you before  ...  i was wrong to say them .

every word you spoke had truth in it .

if you want me to go ,  i will .  do you want me to leave ?

i no longer know what i think or what i feel .

why are you so afraid ?  is there truly such harm in uncertainty ?

i should be going  ...  good day to you .

i’m one of the few people who likes you .

i apologize if i worried you .

my god  ...  what has happened ?

yes ,  i did notice that ,  thank you .

i am a bad habit .  there’s nothing for it .

don’t let him get you .

lay still ,  [ name ] .  do not move .

i’m drawing bad blood from the wound .

you were half - drowned when they found you .

i serve a fine purpose alive .

midnight seems an appropriate time .

hide in my room  &  bolt the door til i return .

i was getting worried .

do you have anything to clean it with ?

i know you saw me .

i know you followed me last night .

i appreciate your concern .

you are so upset now  ...  &  yet ,  you seemed in such good spirits last night .

why have i not seen your face for so long ?

i have been reading your journal .

what would you have me believe ?

if you think i am behind this ,  say it .

call me a liar ,  then ,  &  a  murderer .

what is stopping you ?  what has happened to your ability to transcend sentimentality ?

don’t dare stand looking as if you still care for me ,  after all that you have said .

if i were to confess ,  would that ease your suffering ?  would that make it easier for you to hate me ?

the next person to lay hands on me will have a bullet .

you do not know all that has happened .

why  ...  why are you like this ?

to hell with this place  &  all the people here .

won’t you change your mind ?  what can i say to convince you ?

take me with you .  there’s nothing left for me here .

forgive me .  i failed you .

you  ...  you’re alive .

no one will believe your lies .

i am not going to kill you .  not me  ...

you cannot kill what is already dead .

#rp meme #rp prompt #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #<3333

[baki-tiene-un-simp]

Hiii, could you please make some hc for guevara, mumon, musashi and retsu with an s/o that is basically an abnormality, for example she has like 4 arms because she was suposed to have a twin but she like ate her in the process and is like albino bit still has some color in her hair like blond and ginger and is like deaf due to the amount of abnormalities that she has and has like spots on her body due to vitiligo and things like that, like a really really weird s/o that is like extremely unic.

I would like to see musashi's reaction like thinking she is like a ghoul or an goddess or even an angel or something.

Sorry if it's too long or it doesn't appeal to you.

Have an amazing day and hope everything is ok with you 💕💕💕

Situation: S/O with some bodily peculiarity / S/O con alguna particularidad corporal.

Characters: Jun Guevara, Mumon Katsuragi, Musashi Miyamoto and Retsu Kaioh.

Jun Guevara.

He cannot believe what he sees, they must be a deity that came down from the heavens to delight humanity with their presences, so majestic and merciful.

No one should doubt his love for his S/O, there is simply no more way for Jun to show how much he loves his S/O in case anyone has any doubts, no matter how they look.

As if this man could find anything wrong with his partner, really, he is an idiot in love with the sea and his S/O. There's nothing else on that head other than his S/O. I'll even leave it at this point, it's just obvious.

Mumon Katsuragi.

Mumon can be curious, but he is extremely laid back, he won't dig too deep if the S/O's are reluctant to talk about their aspects.

He may be a little silly, but he is not an idiot and he knows how to read people, so he will be in charge of making his S/O feel at ease when they are with him.

Sporadic and sincere praise, smiles and good wishes. He is sweet.

If they ever seek to be heard, Mumon will be there, he will listen to their insecurities and make them feel loved. He can understand if they feel too left out in some places and will comfort them for that.

He can make his S/O happy, no matter what they look like, he loves them.

Musashi Miyamoto.

To be honest, I think he would see the S/O as some kind of supernatural deity or spirit.

His mind is greatly influenced by traditional beliefs where he respected and feared supernatural creatures because they brought fortune or destruction.

I think he would kneel in front of the S/O after watching them uncomfortably for a while, asking for wisdom and strength to continue getting stronger.

A little reluctant to stop believing that they are deities, even if someone else or the S/O themselves explains that this is not the case. He'll stop mentioning it out loud, but I'm sure he still believes it.

Their relationship is a little strange at first for this very reason; Many people ask for kisses/blessings from their partners for good luck as motivation, while Musashi will firmly believe that his S/O does grant him luck.

He is the most faithful and devoted admirer of his S/O, he is also the most dangerous, he does not accept insults towards his S/O. They are warned.

Retsu Kaioh.

MY man is really understanding, he wouldn't be able to single out anyone for any particularity, because that's not honorable.

For this man, the sentimental and spiritual connection is painfully important, it is at a level far above the physical appearance.

The S/O will not need to worry about awkward questions when talking to Retsu, he would never point out the S/O's particularities unless they themselves are willing to talk about it. He understands that some people don't like to talk about these issues, so he won't touch it.

If they dare to talk about their aspects, they can trust that Retsu will listen, perhaps the question of “Does this affect your health?”, will leave Retsu's lips listening to them. That's all he cares about.

I'm not trying to say he's the best option yes that's exactly what I mean, I just want to clarify.

Versión en español

Jun Guevara.

Él no puede creer lo que ve, debes ser una deidad que bajo de los cielos para deleitar a la humanidad con su presencia, tan majestuosa y misericordiosa.

Nadie debería dudar sobre su amor por su S/O, simplemente ya no hay más forma en que Jun pueda demuestre cuanto ama a su S/O por si a alguien le queda dudas, se vea como se vea.

Como si este hombre pudiera encontrar algo malo en su pareja, de verdad, es un idiota enamorado del mar y de su S/O. No hay nada más en esa cabeza aparte de su S/O. Incluso lo dejaré hasta aquí, simplemente es evidente.

Mumon Katsuragi.

Mumon puede ser curioso, pero es extremadamente relajado, no indagará demasiado si el S/O se muestra reacio a hablar sobre su aspecto.

Puede ser un poco tonto, pero no es idiota y sabe como leer a las personas, por lo que se encargara de hacer sentir a gusto a su S/O cuando estén con él.

Elogios esporádicos y sinceros, sonrisas y buenos deseos. Es dulce.

Si alguna vez buscan ser escuchados, Mumon estará ahí, escuchará sus inseguridades y los hará sentir queridos. Puede entender si se sienten demasiado excluidos en algunos lugares y los consolará por eso.

Él puede hacer feliz a su S/O, sin importar como se vean, él les ama.

Musashi Miyamoto.

Para ser honesta, creo que él vería al S/O como una especie de deidad o espíritu sobrenatural.

Su mente está sumamente influenciada por las creencias tradicionales en donde se respetaba y temía a las criaturas sobrenaturales porque daban fortuna o destrucción.

Pienso que se arrodillaría frente al S/O después de obsérvales incómodamente por un rato, pidiéndole sabiduría y fortaleza para seguir haciéndose fuerte.

Un poco reacio a dejar de creer que son deidades, aunque alguien más o el propio S/O le explique que no es el caso. Dejará de mencionarlo en voz alta, pero seguro que lo sigue creyendo.

Su relación es un poco extraña al principio por esto mismo; muchas personas piden besos/bendiciones de sus parejas para la buena suerte como motivación, mientras que Musashi creerá firmemente que su S/O sí le otorga suerte.

Es el más fiel y devoto admirador de su S/O, también es el más peligroso, no acepta insultos hacia su S/O. Advertidos están.

Retsu Kaioh.

MI hombre es realmente comprensivo, él no sería capaz de señalar a nadie por ninguna particularidad, porque eso no es honorable.

Para este hombre es dolorosamente importante la conexión sentimental y espiritual, está a un nivel muy por encima del aspecto físico. Muy por encima.

El S/O no necesitará preocuparse por preguntas incómodas al hablar con Retsu, él jamás señalaría las particularidades del S/O a menos que este mismo este dispuesto a hablar de ello. Entiende que a algunas personas no le gusta hablar de estos temas, así que, no lo tocara.

Si se animan a hablar de su aspecto, pueden confiar en que Retsu escuchara, quizá la pregunta de “¿Esto afecta a tu salud?”, salga de los labios de Retsu después de escucharlos. Es todo lo que le preocupa.

No estoy tratando de decir que es la mejor opción sí, es exactamente lo que quiero decir, solo quiero aclararlo.

#jun guevara #jun guevara baki #jun guevara x reader #jun guevara x lector #mumon katsuragi #mumon katsuragi baki gaiden yuuenchi #mumon katsuragi x reader #mumon katsuragi x lector #miyamoto musashi #musashi miyamoto baki #musashi miyamoto x reader #musashi miyamoto x lector #retsu kaioh #retsu baki #retsu kaioh x reader #retsu kaioh x lector #baki the grappler #baki son of ogre #baki dou #baki headcanons

[mcflymemes]

ASSASSIN'S CREED III PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the video game, adjust as necessary

we never took them seriously. maybe we should have.

i'm getting ahead of myself.

we've been fighting them for thousands of years.

i've seen the truth.

it holds the power to change everything.

there's only so much we can do.

if we can't find a way to stop it, these next few weeks will probably be our last.

it worked. we think. we hope.

we're here. let's go.

you must find the key.

here we go again.

do you hear us?

you collapsed and entered into a fugue state.

you weren't in any danger.

i know what i'm looking for, by the way. it's a key.

i'd like to run a couple of quick tests.

have you seen it before?

my father brought me here as a child.

on to business then.

the stairs are watched. you'll need to find another way up.

you should have come to me.

for what it's worth, i'm sorry.

that's why we've called you here.

i am yours to command.

well, then i'd best be on my way.

my research has been stolen. without it, i'm of no use to you.

i'll see if i can't speed things up.

we need to find a way inside.

i believe i've found the solution to our problem.

we'll attack on my signal.

i made a promise to you, [name], one i intend to keep.

the sooner we're done, the sooner we can get out of this cold.

it does not engender peace to cut your way to resolution.

if we applied the sword more liberally and more often, the world would be a better place than it is today.

now i've upheld my part of the bargain, i expect that you will honor yours?

you seem disappointed.

you have shown me great kindness, [name]. thank you.

really? that's your response? it's like dealing with a six year old.

i sense my words cause pain.

do you even know what that symbol represents?

come on. i've got something to show you.

very well. i'll train you.

you're also going to need a new name.

what's true and what is aren't always the same.

you'll be happy to hear there's actually good news for once.

it's silly for us to go back and forth like this.

we cannot give up our home.

do you have a name? do you know who is responsible?

time will tell if you speak the truth.

why are you here? has something happened?

you should have heeded my warning.

perhaps you'll respond better to the sword.

are you threatening us?

i thought it might bring clarity or instill a sense of accomplishment. but all i feel is regret.

such sacrifices must never come lightly.

all of them must be dealt with in turn.

you speak the words, but do you believe them?

takes a true monster to do something like this.

every day i wait, more will suffer.

many who should've died today now live because of you.

we do the best we can with what we've got.

you wield your blade like a man, but your mouth like a child.

there are more important things at stake here.

i do what is right. no more. no less.

i don't even see a stall in here. what if i had to take a dump?

please just mute the microphone if you do.

life is not a fairy tale, and there are no happy endings.

in your haste to save the world, take care you don't destroy it!

our interests are aligned.

perhaps some time together might do us good.

i can kill you now if you prefer.

would you like me to come along and hold your hand, perhaps?

why the change of heart? where is this coming from?

you oppose tyranny. injustice. these are just symptoms. their true cause is human weakness.

you have said so much... but you have shown me nothing.

tell me of your latest exploits.

you have not come this far to throw it all away over misplaced sentiment.

there is nothing more to discuss.

i should have stayed.

now you must hide it.

what once was shall be again.

#rp meme #rp memes #roleplay memes #rp prompt #rp starters #roleplay prompt #ask meme #ask memes #roleplay meme #writing prompts #writing prompt #rp asks #askbox meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter #sentence starters #sentence starter prompt #mcflymemes #assassin's creed #i watched the entire playthrough to get these quotes.... #so don't leave this hanging

[philtstone]

half wordless, half in elven-tongue

Summary: There is something very practical about Arwen’s ancient and much-powerful grandmother (for an Elf, anyway) that Arwen admires, for she herself has sometimes found it difficult to achieve practicality. Estel, Man though he is, appreciates her fancies very much. He and his poet’s soul. She has spent the last twenty years sharing them with him in her letters, and every response (growing fewer and fewer until these last six months they stopped entirely) has him writing back like one offered water in the desert.

Arwen does not mind; it is not as though she herself has much more sense, climbing into bed with him as she does.

huge shoutout to @firstelevens for reading thru this and telling me it didn't suck despite not really going here. also, a secondary shoutout to @btwxsixesandsevens for gong here even less but inadvertently inspiring the "lover from a story" bit with their (as always) brilliant fic writing. would never have spent 3 weeks agonizing over this otherwise!!!

3rd October, 2952

Mellon,

I’m late writing you for entirely explainable reasons. You will say, not so unusual for you – that is not true, and you are only very over-eager writing me, which should not be as pleasant a revelation as it is – but anyhow, here it is. We’ve had many visitors of late, and my skill was needed in the healing den. Of course, I thought of you (in all Ada’s training I have not read nearly so much about the virtues of athelas as I did skimming your last letter) but I urge you not to worry, as we are all well here and there is no contagious illness. Your presence would have been appreciated though. If not by Ada (he sits in the study sometimes and looks yearningly out the window; I know he is missing you, though he won’t admit to it) than by the poor Dwarf whose stomach could not settle. You were always very good at getting a smile out of even the most stubborn of silly souls. 

On that point, how has it been on the frontier of friend-finding? I know you must not be in the Wilds any longer. Given how swiftly we understood each other, I am sure you will have no trouble at all on that front. Send updates soon,

AE

6th February, 2953

Estel,

Is the Angle so very cold as all that? Do not despair at the stiffness of your welcome (or in your bones!). You are still their kindred and that is manifest even in the curve of the characters you write: you love them already, do you not? Do not deny it. 

I am very intrigued by your observations on the rouge-wearing practices of your people and cannot help but wonder if it is an exclusively Mannish preference. I certainly do not wear it, but I have seen portraits and I do believe Uncle Elros did. I cannot determine the colour, however, as the portrait is old. Thoughts? 

You will see I have many questions today. Your insistence that every Dunedain woman you meet feels akin to a cousin or aunt is terribly amusing (I am almost convinced you are making a joke — are you?). I am sure at least one of them does not reciprocate that sentiment. Are they still wary of you, or very forward now? What is the food like? How many teeth have you broken upon the infamous bread you described? Have you met your grandfather yet? (I remember you were worried about that). 

Do not let the cold seep in too much. You must wear warm socks and eat foods that keep the blood warm. I may be an Elf, but my healing arts extend to many races, so you are thus obliged to listen to me. 

As for the rest – your people will love you soon as you do them, for such a love as the one you give is easy to return. You are certainly very likeable, at any rate, and I will argue with anyone who disagrees. 

Have hope, and be well. All will be as it should.

14th March, 2953

Do not say you listen to me on all fronts, as I have it in writing by your own hand that you have not eaten in three days. In the cold! Foolish man.

25th January, 2956

Elves do not experience such monthly pains, as you well know Estel. Or perhaps you do not, in which case I must chide Ada for thus limiting your training in the healing arts. Childbirth and bearing is a region most important, as I have learned (I can already imagine your blush) from your own mother, with whom I’ve spoken three times since your last letter. I have decided we must become fast friends, and her efforts at formality are altogether poor anyway; her face is as open as yours often is, and it warms me to know whence that quality came. 

Anyhow. The blood in your vest. There is clay that runs beneath the bark of some trees that will remove stains made by bodily fluid. Also vinegar, if you are near a homestead.

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#my writing #arwen undomiel #aragorn #aragorn x arwen #galadriel #semi-epistolary there was only one bed lothlorien redux is finally here .... #lord of the rings #tolkien #lotr fanfic

[telekineticseance]

DEMOLITION LOVERS

kinktober day three: hate sex

pairing: trey parker x f! reader

summary: you and trey are costars for BASEketball, and yet you can't stand one another

genre: smut

word count: 1659

cw: fighting, slight hitting (trey gets slapped), cunnilingus, protected sex this time

author's note: hehehehehheheheheehe

“I literally can’t work with him anymore. He thinks he knows better than everyone because ‘Ooo I have a fancy cartoon’. It’s ridiculous.” You spoke on the phone, twirling the cord in between your fingers.

“He’s cute though. Right?” Your friend’s voice rang on the other side of the phone causing you to roll your eyes.

“That’s not what I’m talking about. Besides, he'd be a lot cuter if he learned to bleach his hair properly.”

The two of you started to laugh, but I mean she wasn’t wrong about him being cute. Trey was cute, just on occasion had an attitude while on set and it didn’t help that Matt, his right hand man, would be right there, egging him on.

The knock on your trailer caused you to jump before going back to the phone, “I gotta go. Someone’s here.”

“Come in!” You yelled, grabbing your bathrobe and putting it on. Your costumes were mainly some sort of business casual outfit so any chance you took, you usually stripped down into almost nothing so it would be easier to get dressed for the next scene whenever it would be time.

The door creaked open as you sat on the couch before you noticed the bouncing of poorly bleached hair followed by the rest of him. Trey Parker. You unfortunately had the opportunity to play his love interest in this new movie called BASEketball and throughout the duration Trey seemed to always have something to bitch about and it drove you insane.

If he wasn’t complaining, he was either rushing things so he could go work on his silly little show, or pulling pranks with his friends on set, which included you.

“Oh…it’s you.”

Trey could sense you didn’t like him, after all he barely liked you it seemed. The two of you were constantly at one another’s throats, hardly able to practice lines or even just talk on set without it turning into an argument.

“David sent me in here because he’s sick of reshooting our scene and wants us to practice it.”

“I think it’s fine. Don’t think he needs to keep having us do it.” You spoke, getting up from the couch, walking to the little kitchen as you grabbed a water bottle, taking a sip.

“You may think it’s fine but he doesn't since he’s the director we should try to listen to him.” Trey told you, his voice staying monotone.

You shrugged, “If you think so.”

You grabbed your script from the counter, returning to your spot on the couch before motioning to him to a spot next to you.

He slowly walked over, plopping down next to you before opening the little book, “Do you wanna start? Or should I start in a different spot?”

You opened your own script and flipped through to the scene that you were practicing. “Hmm…” You found the page before jumping into character and starting your line, “Why do you play, Coop?”

The two of you exchanged lines, trying to put as much passion as two people who couldn’t stand each other could. After all, it was one of the more sentimental scenes in the movie even with the comedic underline during it.

“...Fucks the sleeve of his favorite jacket..”

“What?”

“Huh? I’m just saying…We’ll be here for Joey, I promise.” You felt Trey inch closer to you, the feeling of his knee touching yours.

“Oh Coop, I wanna believe you. I wanna believe you more than anything bu-” You were cut off by Trey pressing his lips into yours, his hand moving into your hair as he kissed and before you kissed back you quickly pulled away, slapping your hand across his face.

“What the fuck?” Trey asked, his hand going to his cheek as he looked at you. “You startled me.”

“Startled you? It’s in the script what do you mean I startled you? We do it every time we film the scene?”

“Yeah but we’re not filming? I figured we just wouldn’t kiss.” You tried defending yourself, although you weren’t entirely sure why you slapped him and if you were telling the full truth about it.

“Oh be so fucking real right now. You just decided to slap me to be a bitch.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on. Like you haven’t been called a bitch before? Hard to believe that one.” He scoffed as he spoke, making you roll your eyes in almost disbelief.

“You’re an entitled ass who thinks they know better than everyone because he has his own tv show.”

“Well with my own tv show I think I have the right to be an entitled ass. I also have two movies if you forgot about those as well.” He spoke, you couldn’t even notice the air in the room growing heavier as the two of you continued to bicker.

“At least my reputation is a lot better than yours.”

“You think I care about my precious Hollywood reputation? You’re funny for that one. If I cared I wouldn’t have as much money as I do. And I definitely wouldn’t be standing here arguing with you.”

At this point the two of you were so close, you could practically smell each other’s scents, feel each other's heart beats. The silence between you two just grew, you were unable to come up with something to say through your anger. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at you with a scowl on his face. You probably returned the same but suddenly broke when he grabbed you by your waist, pulling you in and pushing his lips against yours again, this time more angrily.

You started to kiss back but pulled away, slapping his face again. Quickly, you pulled him in by his shirt, kissing him. His hand reached for your hair giving it a tug as the two of you quickly got on the couch, clothes practically flying as you pulled them off one another.

His hands reached for your breasts, taking them in his hands as he started massaging them, causing you to let out a moan into his mouth. He chuckled lightly from your moan causing you to pull away, “Keep laughing and we can stop now.”

He quickly stopped before kissing you once more while you pulled off his t-shirt and baggy jeans, throwing them onto the ground not caring if they got wrinkled or not.

You reached your hand down between you two, rubbing his length through his boxers and were honestly surprised by his size as you just always assumed he was smaller with the way his attitude was.

Trey was quick to wince under your touch, “Sorry I uh…never mind.” He quickly corrected himself, before moving down your body, propping your legs up.

He quickly pulled off your panties before blowing cool air on the growing wetness of your aching clit causing you to let out a gasp, giving him a small push with your leg.

“Do you want me to do this or not?”

“I’d rather you’d not be a tease about it.”

“God, do you ever shut up?” He asked, scoffing and rolling his eyes, moving your legs. “Maybe I would if you didn’t constantly ask stupid fucking que- AH FUCK!”

You were quickly cut off by the feeling of Trey diving his tongue in between your folds as he started sucking on your clit. You threw your head back onto the arm of the couch letting out a moan, gripping the bleached hair with your right hand while the other gripped onto the cushion underneath you.

Trey continued sucking at you clit, occasionally swirling his tongue as he moaned once you gripped his hair with your hand.

You felt Trey’s arms hook under your thighs before he propped you more on his shoulders, as he looked up at you.

The familiar pit in your stomach started to ache as you let out a small whine, “W-Wait Trey..” You tried pausing him, making him pull away.

“What?” His voice was slightly annoyed as he moved his arms from your legs, propping himself up. “Come back up here.” You groaned at him.

It didn’t take him long to listen before he climbed back up your body, putting his mouth against yours, rubbing his clothed cock against your folds. You pulled down his boxers, kicking them off with your feet before Trey motioned to his jeans, “I have uh a condom in there. Hold on.”

He climbed off from on top of you, grabbing the jeans and pulling the condom from the wallet in his front pocket. “Do you just carry that around?”

He shrugged as he started to roll it on, “Never know when you’ll need it.”

When he finished he propped one of your legs over his shoulder before sliding his cock in between your folds causing you to moan out, digging your nails into his back. He started his pacing out slowly before picking up speed, groaning into your neck as he thrusted.

He continued thrusting, the occasional grunt escaping from him as he started kissing on your neck causing your moans to increase.

“F-Fuck,” You whimpered out, digging your nails deeper, definitely leaving a mark on his back. “So close.”

“Then do it.” He whispered against your ear, causing you to roll your eyes.

It didn’t take long before you quickly felt the pulsating feeling in your clit as you reached your high. As his thrusts grew weaker, Trey shortly pulled out before slipping off the condom, tying it up, and throwing it in the nearby trash can.

“Do you think we can get through the scene now?” Trey asked, grabbing his boxers from the ground. You gave him a small shrug as you grabbed your robe, covering yourself, still not quite able to form words.

As you watched Trey get dressed you soon heard the echoing voice of Matt from outside the trailer, “It’s about time you two got it over with.”

#now this one is the one i think #trey parker #trey parker x reader #trey parker smut

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

 The Jealous One pt 8

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 1,862

In sickness and in health.

Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE

<Previous - Next>

You resisted the urge to cough violently, a tickling in your chest and that one mysterious, feather light spot in your throat

Your voice was nearly as nasal as Hiccup's and three times as raspy as anything you’d ever heard.

Basket held steady, you walked waveringly across the bridge from the forest to Berk.

It had taken a while to find what you needed, the plants hidden and the energy you’d spent searching had done little to calm your raw nerves.

The walk back had been long and now could taste mucus on your tongue and feel it thicken your throat, your sleeve coming up to rub at it and your nose once every few moments. It was nearly soaked, now, and the thought filled you with disgust.

You refused to believe it was sickness, even as you sensed hints of it along your breath and felt the bite of it marring the roof of your mouth.

You scowled grumpily just before you lost the battle, stumbling to a stop, your chest wrought with a brutal hacking.

Hiccup, a few steps ahead of you, looked back with concern, standing at the place where the bridge ended and wood met stone, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Urgh,” You groaned, realizing with dull irritation that you couldn’t breathe through your nose any longer.

You made it a few more feet, brushing in front of Hiccup, your aching walk-tired ankles and worn soles protesting the movement before you sniffed roughly and leaned -nearly collapsed- against the the one of one of the huts built into the side of the village’s spire.

While you were still standing, Hiccup walked easily up to you and lightly pulled your basket out of your hands, ignoring your sour, wordless grumbling, “How about I just… Take this, and you go lay down?”

You slumped against the floor, too weak to protest and figuring then that it would be as good a time as any to take a break, even if it was just a short one- You were realizing slowly that you would be needing it if you were going to make the walk back to  your cabin.

You vaguely registered as Hiccup spoke again, a semi-sarcastic, “...That’s fine too.” easily leaving his mouth.

You heard a steady beating which you hoped meant that he was finally going to just leave you be, a sentiment made stronger by just the pure force of your miserable sickness.

You laid your head against the side of the wall hut, your knees up to your chest, blinking slowly and feeling fully feverish. It shouldn’t be terrible if you took a short nap, should it?

You woke up groaning nearly imperceptible, your breaths heavy and the pounding of your heart strong, with the feel of something heavy and hot on your forehead.

You felt slick with what was sweat, as you’d realized, after a nearly unbearable moment, shifting, unable to tell which direction was up or down by feeling even as your eyes fluttered slightly open to start at high wood roofing.

Everything was stuffy and heavy and you couldn’t make sense of anything, even as you turned your head to the side slightly, something you regretted as it sent an ache down your neck.

You felt something adjust the towel on your forehead, each fiber brushing against your heated skin, mournfully cold where it was absent even as you looked to the side with pained eyes, meeting the worn, tired face of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III.

He was sitting on something wherever you were, obscured to you by your own weary, blurring vision, leaning on his knee with one arm and forwards towards you with his other.

As your vision faded further, you made a small noise in the back of your throat.

You were woken the second time by the feel of cold wood to your lips and something cooler peeking over its edge, wetting your lips and dry tongue.

Unnatural chills ran up and down your spine, the feeling of the air around seeming much too muggy for the wracking, sharp jabs running down your spine, feeling more raw than cold.

“Hey-” You heard a low voice, “Can you manage?”

It was stiff under you, what was maybe bedding or something else unliving and yet kind enough to hold you.

You knew not of what was dream and what was reality.

You closed your eyes again, unable to discern the difference between mumbled words and blurred sounds without thought and lacking the energy to try, everything around and under you feeling stuffed.

However, you did feel the distance- the absence of presence and the air circulating in unwelcome empty space.

You grabbed on to the corner of a sleeve, your arm thrown out limply. It nearly caused you to fall off the end of the bed, your opposite shoulder resting precariously against its edge with your arm folded under.

It was warmer up in the Chief’s hut- more so than any other spot on Berk besides maybe Gothi’s on the hottest sumarr's day and though colder than most, your friend always had been of unusually strong health despite being what he was- a Hiccup.

“Please…” You mumbled waveringly, unwilling to be left without that presence, nothing else existing in your mind at that moment, “Please stay.”

You didn’t know if it was real and you wouldn’t be sure later if you remembered though you were sure you wouldn’t.

You fell asleep to the feel of you being pushed further back onto the bed and to the feel of something heavy and covered in fabric scooting in behind you.

“-Ouch.” Hiccup sat guiltily upon his father’s chair, one hand on his knee, legs spread wide as he bent down to pick up a fallen plate from the floor.

“You’ve heard worse,” You snuffled thickly, shoving aside thoughts of not-reals and a lot of wishful thinking, “You’re lucky I’m not Astrid.”

You couldn’t come up with any other conclusion than the one that described a collusion between all three; you carried some of the chill from your night out drinking in the woods with you, then the unwilling ride in Toothless’ claws and the walk up into the hills and cliffs you’d spent had all come together and worsened everything until you’d ended up with the same sickness that described your current state.

Somehow, though, you felt in good humor, or perhaps it was regular humor. It didn’t matter, though. You didn’t feel particularly pleased or disheartened.

“I guess so,” You could feel his wince more than you saw it, looking at him from across the fire pit in his hut.

You were surprised that you’d been able to strike up conversation as easily as you had, about life and other things though not so in depth as to paint any real picture at all. You hadn’t brought up Snotlout or the Twins -not yet- though you felt that it was coming soon and it would cause at least some mild upset when and if it did.

There was a question that had been lingering on your mind for very obvious reasons, ones you still wished not to think in such plain terms, even if you knew them well. 

You hadn’t been on good enough terms for a while to ask, annoyed as you had been as of late, nor calm enough in manner when you were younger to ask without feeding into the irritating pressure behind your eyes. However, sick though you were, with your stuffy head, nose and everything and your barely honey-soothed throat, you were sure enough to ask.

“So… What’s up with you and Astrid?” You asked Hiccup bluntly, burying your chin further into your wrap of cocoons, feeling your top lids droop heavily over your eyes with your contentment. 

Hiccup cringed. You felt a measure of glee at his poor expression- it was the same look he worn, albeit less mournful, when you’d woken up earlier in that afternoon and asked him what had become of you, memoryless and unaware of how you’d found yourself in his bed on his loft and in his nearly empty home.

“She is not my girlfriend.” He spoke firmly, as if he already knew what you were going to ask next -as if he’d had to fend the jab off more than once- and he had, from you, something which you only used to prod at him when you were feeling exceptionally bitter but hadn’t the means or want to show it.

“Your ex, then?” You deadpanned nearly teasingly, “Or your battle buddy? In the simple platonic Viking sense.”

“Not even that.” Hiccup shrugged, looking at you unimpressively, “I-we just… didn’t click.”

You were thrown off guard slightly, though not thrown enough to deter you from anything. It was the first time he’d answered you and answered you truly- the reaction he’d posed and the one you’d usually been fishing for involved deflection if not mild indignation. 

“Yeah?” You asked, shaking your head. It took you a moment to cough out the vowel, your voice cracking in an ungainly way.

You watched the odd contrast of shadow and light flicker across his face, both pronouncing and denouncing the lay of his cheekbones, the round of his cheeks.

You allowed yourself to enjoy the sight before you grew mad with him again, letting out a breath and leaning back slightly against pillows and plush, feeling terribly insightful and artisting as you took him in.

“I guess… She was worried you liked me. In the complicated non-platonic sense.”

You laughed lowly, as if you couldn’t escape the hilarity of it all, “Really?”

Oh, you probably owed her an apology. A terrible one. 

You suppressed a shiver, letting out a shaky breath. The part of the blanket covering your neck fell slightly, stale, cold air hitting your back and rushing down your spine. 

“… Did you?”

You shrugged, looking down and pursing your lips, watching the firelight flicker gently, swaying with the wind, crackling hypnotically in the space between the two of you.

You risked a glance towards Hiccup in an attempt to glean what he was thinking. 

He seemed unsure. That’s all you could tell, all his brows, his jaw, the standard set of his shoulders gave away. The rest, you couldn’t tell.

For all the time he’d left you hanging and wanting and nearly yearning, you were sure that the answer you owed him was surely unkind, and the one you owed yourself was the one that spared you as much embarrassment as possible, having spent as much time stuck in such a terrible one-sided love as you had. 

“Why would I?” You asked eventually, and you really meant it.

“You’re well, then.” Hiccup said, standing at his open door.

“I am well,” You looked down onto the floor, nearly rolling up and down on your toes, feeling quite empty with your affects wrapped up into a small bundle. It was one you held in your two hands by a leather strap. “Goodbye, then.” 

As you left, you could almost imagine the soft whisper of another ‘goodbye’ following behind you on the wind.

#how to train your dragon #httyd #x reader #fanfiction #hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #httyd imagine #fem reader #female reader #toothless

[sencubussubs]

Loving Yourself in manifestation

(adorable banner art by Nekosuke)

I, like most law of assumption content creators, preach self concept. I’ve talked in a previous post about what self concept is and little ways you can incorporate it into your daily life but today i want to emphasize the inner love and respect for yourself that manifestation both uses and heightens. (This is a bit of a ramble be aware)

in brief, since i have talked about it before, your dominant thoughts about yourself, what you are capable and deserving of, and how you see yourself in relation to others (all your self concept) reflect into the world around you (the 3D). Most of you should be familiar with this sentiment, it is a large part of LOA(ss) after all :3

This does not mean however, which the law of attraction community often misconstrue, that you have to feel good and amazing all the time. You do not have to be a ray of sunshine to manifest anything. You are allowed to have bad days, you are allowed to feel upset. The important part is that you KNOW you are a person worthy of respect, love and your desires.

something i love about law of assumption, is that many people come to this community and the law feeling lack - desperate for something or someone and believing they need it or them to be worthy, happy or even just okay. But with doing the techniques and really learning of the law, they create a good self concept and they realise their own worth and value.

Something i love about the law is the inner transformation you go through. Most people come to the law in a state of lack as they are desperate for someone or something and - though they may not realise it - believe this thing or person will make them worthy, happy or have value. Once they are introduced to self concept and really start applying it though, it really changes all of this: this feeling of inner fulfilment, happiness and worthiness just for being you! This feeling of content and happiness just for being me is unmatched, truly.

No person or thing is going to give you value, the only meaning or value assigned to anything is that which you give to it. And the person who deserves to be assigned the most value is YOU babe.

The neural pathways that we have built over time are mostly reflections of our societies’/community’s/family’s norms. Most societies preach being humble, not being overly optimistic, always looking for worst case scenario. As we grow up these dominant, core thoughts become reflected back to us. But, as put by bashar, this makes us belief thief’s. it’s silly but i think it’s important to learn that you do not have to hold on to anyone else’s beliefs. That which does not serve you, bye bye!

Of course i like to be humble, but i think it’s often pushed way further than that to not even believe in your own inherent worth in fear of being selfish. i choose to believe in my power, my looks, my personality and my worthiness. I am fully aware that i can have bad days and that things go wrong - and even though i’m sure i could manifest even this away, i prefer to live my life and have my world like this - but i refuse to have a mindset that always assumes the worst. after all, our assumptions reflect back in the 3D. You deserve to assume that things always work out for you and as you assume it so it shall be :)

quick side note, two affirmations that have really helped me to unlearn assuming the worst:

- All is well, all will be well

- Everything is always working out for me, no matter how it looks at any given point in time.

Okay, having discussed the importance of self concept and identifying with assumptions and beliefs that serve you, back to the main point of this sort of appreciation post. Though your journey may start from a state of lack, the change in self concept brings not only your manifestations but also so much happiness and fulfilment. Now this is gonna sound silly to longer time loa lovers as of course the whole point is to embody the state of wish fulfilled, and that’s gonna make you feel good, but i feel like many new manifestors - at least definitely me when i started - don’t realise the true fulfilment and happiness within yourself that this journey will give you.

What at first seems like a chore and silly little affirmations to get a goal, becomes little smiles throughout the day when i remember how happy i am to be me.

it is the greatest reward.

love,

saph <3

#law of assumption #manifestation #manifesting #sencubus #affirmations #loa #loassblog #loassumption #bashar #manifestors #master manifester #self concept #improving self concept #self love #wish fulfilled #states of consciousness #conscious manifesting #manifesting rant

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Poets and Painters (Evening) Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss. Commander Wolffe shows Reader he cares so fucking deeply for his battalion in this segment because that’s important to me, thanks. Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet. 

Word-count: 6,915

The sun is beginning to set on Little Archossi. Everyone has opted to stay, save for some of the crew. Only, that's untrue; most of the crew has left. Save for you. If the Clones are staying behind, you feel you should too. These are not your brothers, there is no familial bond that drives you to remain by their side and swear to keep them safe. 

For Maker's sake, you're not even armed! one of your fellow crewmates says in an attempt to reason with you. That's of no concern thanks to Soapsuds' generosity. (His spare DeeCee now sits tucked into the belt and waistband of your slate gray uniform.)

(There, now I am armed. Will you be leaving now?) 

But you couldn't leave. Part of you burned to know what the peoples of Little Archossi would look like, how this potential first contact would go, what it was General Plo Koon had sensed through the Force… An equally large part couldn't leave Commander Wolffe on his own. 

But… that's a silly notion. He's surrounded by his brothers, flanked by his diligent sergeants, Sinker and Boost, and he's been readily communicating with his pilots like Warthog as they perform aerial sweeps following their return to the atmosphere of Archossi after dropping off the civilian crew on the Triumphant. 

Commander Wolffe is not alone. So why do you feel like your absence would mean he'd suddenly be without company? Why did this equally large, equally loud voice within you tell you to stay for his sake? If he wanted you here, that would be one thing. But he never expressed any such sentiment. And he probably doesn't need you here because now you're one more thing, one more person's safety, to be concerned over. 

Why are you offering to stay with Commander Wolffe, Arcadia?

I feel like he needs my… 

You couldn't answer your crewmate. So you shrugged them off and told them to get on the LAAT without you. What the hell were you going to answer with? My help? My risk assessment? My friendship?

(… and again that creeping, all-consuming doubt: were you friends?)

Joining you on the hill, Commander Wolffe turns his face into the fading light and watches the final signs of daylight melt away; golden amber and candy-soft pinks are surrendering to the deep, swallowing blues of the sea, and the rich, dignified purples that often cloak royalty. 

"No painting in the galaxy would ever do a sunfall like this justice." 

"Perhaps not…" Wolffe murmurs. "But many will try." He says it like he pities the wasted efforts. Or perhaps instead he is quietly sorrowful on their behalf, in his own way. 

"I think it's a wonderful thing that they will." you muse with a soft smile, deciding not to tease him for getting poetic (though it would be so easy to, after all the instances lobbied your way) but to agree with him instead. "Finding something inspiring and hoping to catch a little slice of that moment in time forever? It's like… a tangible form of courage." 

Wolffe turns his face from the fading light, seeking clarity. "Courage?" he asks you tenderly, dark brow buckling just a fraction above the beautiful, cold silver eye. Figuring it's perhaps a measure of facial paralysis due to a severed nerve or two, you take notice that Wolffe's brow which the scar runs through doesn't lift as high as the other. 

Old gods and galaxies… it makes your heart clench and your veins burn with fire in anger just for a moment. Such a mark dealt by the blade of one who shrouds herself in the dogma of the Sith has only added to the overarching tragedy of Wolffe's war service. His brothers, his eye, his paint. How much more would this galaxy rob him of? 

His bravery? The willingness to rise from the dust, bare his teeth and say “again”? Would it take his courage, too? 

(Courage… how terrible a thing to lose.)

Swallowing your swirling thoughts at long last, you think you should answer the Commander's question. "It takes courage to try…" you offer simply, "...creating art is the marriage of an act of courage and emotion. A little snapshot of the soul, some people might say. Like, for example, when I started sketching you today: it was a test of my courage…" 

You explain that while today seems to show evidence to the contrary, it's been a while since making use of more traditional supplies, and you think of your skills as being a bit rough around the edges. 

"I also think I can admit now that when you sat down in front of the tree… it kinda pissed me off. Just for a moment." Your nervous laugh breaks any mounting silence that would have built between you as the Commander considers your admission. "I-I, uh, wasn't planning on drawing anyone at all! But you'd finally sat down… and I didn't have the heart in me to ask you to move. Not when you were finally off your feet, and looking a little more… calmer than before when you were pacing. So I made a decision to add you to the sketch. And… you know the rest." 

Indeed he did. 

The shoulder pad with the icon of the wolf. The request to watch you add the color and ink to the page. How you'd gotten to know each other degree by degree as he spoke of Abregado, of his brothers, showed you he was more than you expected. The buried and measured sensitivity within him. The maroon and the gray paint. His observations that served as compliments of sorts.

You're perhaps too wise beyond your years, Arcadia. 

Sketching… stitching little wolf designs into your uniform… How many other talents are you hiding?

Once, a half-joking statement about being able to tame a battle-beaten wolf was offered. ("I'm sure my brothers will start wishing you were around more, if we ever had more opportunities to "do nothing", Arcadia.") You had been watching Warthog assisting with preparing multiple gunships other than his own for takeoff, then. You had made up your mind to stay behind, but you hadn't yet told Wolffe.

Maybe one day… you'd agreed with a wistful smile, one day, when the war is over. We'll have plenty more days like this. 

Part of you hoped it would be with him. When he would be free of his inner anxieties, when he was certain his brothers, all of them, were safe… would always be safe… maybe then, you could spend more days with him creating rather than destroying. 

"I apologize for pissing you off," Wolffe offers, his voice a welcome interruption to the growing silence, "and now I appreciate your sketch that much more." The sincerity in the sight of his full lips parted in a gracious, charming smile is just enough to make your heart flutter for a mere moment. Mere moments were all he needed before he needed to excuse himself, Warthog was vying for his attention from the portion of the clearing where they had grounded the LAATs. 

He'll (unfortunately) have to leave you to enjoy the rest of the natural, wondrous light show on your own. 

As he turns on his heel, and starts down the hill, you wonder… Was there always this militant elegance to the way the Commander walked, carried himself, simply existed? 

Maker alive… what's gotten into you suddenly? 

There's glee and child-like wonder in the clearing, just paces away as you amble around the edge of the forest. Trying to clear your head, you've traded the durasteel halls of the Triumphant for dew-ladden, fragrant grass to pace. (The smell eludes you. It's familiar, yet hard to pinpoint. Is it the freshness of the water or the silky richness of the life-source in the soil under your feet? (Have you been aboard star craft for too long and just forgotten what grass smells like?))

You're trying to make sense of your thoughts, but there's just too much to filter through both internally and externally. While you're trying to figure out a singular thing - if you've made a friend today - it's impossible to miss the way no one can come to an agreement on what the ever-loving fuck these bugs are called. 

“I'm telling you, lantern bugs are just as correct as fireflies.” Tack repeats himself with increasing emphasis to an increasingly confused Soapsuds. 

“And they can also be called fire beetle?”

“Yes; not to be confused with the flame beetles of Kashyyyk. Those are different.”

Suds stammers in confusion. “H-how?” 

“The flame beetles fuckin’ explode.” is all the elaboration Tack feels like supplying, the grim smile a far cry from comfort.

“What about glowworms?”

“Yes…”

“And fireworms?”

“Yes! You can also call them lampyrids and lightning bugs and candle flies. All of them are correct because they're all different common names for the same bug!” Tack promises, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sucks in his teeth. 

Bless him, he's been remarkably patient with his brothers, veterans and shinies alike, in answering their questions about what the devil these bugs with yellowed-green lights were, and if they could catch them (or were they like those razorwing moths back on another planet that looked harmless, but had wings laced with a chemical irritant?) and other questions without end. 

Yes, they were safe to catch. Yes, his brothers should also be careful not to squish them. They glow thanks to a process of chemicals, enzymes and oxygen, in short. (No really, Commander, I don't mind answering their questions; you don't have to tell them to quit “pestering” me.) 

Yes, they are really pretty, in a strange sort of way, Orchid. The Clone researcher could certainly agree with that. “They’re like… Like…” Tack begins to mutter under his breath in thought, searching for the right sort of descriptive imagery and failing. “Fuck, I got nothing,” he admits with a laugh, “I’ve got connections to another researcher Clone in a completely separate unit, and he's really fond of bugs… I'm certain he'd come up with something in no time.” 

You've abandoned your walk for the time being, too intrigued by Tack’s trouble, and mention of connection to another researcher like him. “How about something like… “living stars”, for a start, Tack? And who's the other researcher you know?” 

Once more, you've opened the door to be teased for potential poetism, but no one takes the bait this time. Instead, Tack and the two brothers who are aging out of being considered shinies look out into the grassy field where the air is softly roiling with maybe hundreds of airborne fire beetles and allow a collective moment of contemplation.

Living stars… 

“Yeah, I can see it.” Orchid offers quietly. 

Nodding in distracted agreement, Tack offers the answer to your last question best he can. “His name is Cypher, and he's with the… the uh… Sh-shit, sorry Arcadia, I can never remember if he's with a legion or a battalion, officially. There's some weird arrangement going on with this unit being led by one Jedi, with one Clone commander and captain under their command.” 

That sure does sound “weird”, you agree. “I didn't think that a Jedi Master would be-” 

“Oh that's the thing: they're not a Jedi Master; just a Knight, according to what we know through the rumor mill, anyways.” Tack clarifies quickly (with an apologetic look for interrupting you). “But, yeah, that still doesn't answer why a singular Force-wielder is leading two forces like this. Trying to get answers out of Cypher that don't involve bugs is like trying to pull rancor teeth, too. No idea if it's some kind of grand fuck-up or maybe there… was… a Jedi Master and they were KIA.”

There's a weighted silence in the air now, devoid of the comfort and ease it once had. “That's… horrible, if it's the second case.” you offer solemnly. You admit your knowledge on the Jedi isn't as great as it could be, in all potential, but you think you understand that a Force-wielder with the ranking of a knight doesn't necessarily “need” the tutelage of their masters anymore (at least if you compare them to say, a Padawan?)... It's still a terrible ordeal to lose someone you formed some bond with. 

“Not to mention… pretty troubling if it was a grand fuck-up.” Borrowing Tack's words, you have to acknowledge that the circumstances of leading two forces like this means someone is saddled with the task of keeping so many soldiers of the GAR safe. That's an enormous responsibility to shoulder. So many souls… so many brave men to lead. “If it's the first… let's hope whoever is… let's say in charge of directing the Jedi, sends someone else to help them. I know I'd want to make sure someone isn't on their own in a situation like that.” 

From time spent in observation of the Clones aboard the Triumphant, when Soapsuds' left hand lifts to shoulder-height, you know that means he's got a question in mind. “Yeah, Suds?”

“Was it surprising to your family when you decided to take a position on a cruiser like ours?”

You shake your head and laugh out loud, the memory of making up your mind and announcing your decision coming back to you. “Oh, stars, no. They weren't surprised that I wanted to help people, but more how I wanted to go about it, I guess. Maybe they expected me to volunteer at a medcenter, rather than… something like this.”

Oh, you can feel it in your heart that this would make for an interesting story to tell, one day. You've definitely given them a decent amount of communication since joining, but it's all been careful and sparsely detailed. No names, ranks or planetary locations. Nothing the Separatists can intercept and use as leverage, or in an ambush. 

You doubt the Separatists could glean anything from hearing you complain that one of your crewmates is a little too fond of loud, thrumming music at 04:00, or that no, you still don't like that one particular vegetable no matter how it's prepared, or no, unfortunately you still hadn't had the time to utilize the art supplies you were gifted, but you kept thinking about it. 

(You had no reason to believe they were listening; to monitor so many channels of communication takes a lot of time and resources, realistically speaking. But, better to assume they are.)

Hmm… you can finally tell them you used the art supplies today, speaking of them. Handful of doodles, and at least two proper sketches. A flower and a… person? 

No, that makes it sound too impersonal and vague, you decide. You drew a flower and a friend. 

You were friends. New friends. 

You don't have to be good or even close friends with someone for a meaningful connection like the one you've developed with Commander Wolffe today. Even decent friends are capable of creating unique experiences… It's no less heartfelt. 

No less heartfelt and beautiful than the way you see so many of the soldiers who have stayed behind romp through the clearing, catching all the lightning bugs they can. Curiosity and childlike wonder abound, especially among the youngest. Giddy despite minor nervousness, shinnies have made a game (of sorts) out of catching as many of these bugs as they can to then “gift” to their older brothers and their Jedi. 

Sinker and Boost take these bioluminescent gifts with readiness; thanking their brothers before counting each little bug before releasing them out into the open air once more. The higher the count, the more impressed they act. 

When Commander Wolffe accepts them, he chooses to hold onto it for a time - if the firefly allows. Some fly away immediately, others will remain, resting their wings by lazily crawling over his gloved hands for a time, then taking flight. Other times he “trades” a few with his general. Really, on most occasions, he's just off-loading his gifted fireflies to Plo Koon, where each Clone is thanked by name.

“These are from Crash, General.” 

He's looking to make his escape from the Jedi’s side, for a moment. The amount of young brothers coming to the highest grassy knoll with their fingers full of fire-bugs must be beginning to overwhelm him slightly. His eyes meet for a moment with your own.

Hello, you, is the silent exchange. 

Plo Koon offers the excuse sought by Wolffe; a carefully masked chuckle of mischief (or delight in his own cleverness) is made by the Kel Dor as he hands one of the many lantern bugs clinging to his arm guard to his rather stoic second-in-command. “An excellent find, Crash; a most impressive size. Here, why don't you take this little one given to me by Arcadia? Perhaps they would like to return to their first friend, Commander Wolffe?”

“Certainly, sir.” 

It should make you laugh to see how obediently, dutifully, a man like Commander Wolffe carries such a puny little thing in his curled left hand down the hill to you. You can't help thinking he looks too serious with such a no-nonsense expression, reminiscent of a predator determined not to let its meal escape them.

A hungry wolf hoping to wear down a frightfully-footed lamb. 

But you are no lamb. 

And you recall his promise from earlier when you call out to him, forgoing rank or respectful title in front of his brothers currently nearby. “Not getting overwhelmed, are you, Wolffe? Is that why the General wanted you to give me back the first firefly?” 

Soapsuds regards you with eyes wider than a porg to hear you tease his Commander so flippantly. What's gotten into you?! the expression seems to scream between the young and bright brown eyes to the sudden drop of his jaw. Where's your respect?!

If you can tease, you will be teased in kind. But first, Wolffe gives you the singular, small glowworm as he was instructed. “I wouldn't say I'm the overwhelmed one, Arcadia. Taking your own turn to walk around the clearing, making more faces than Suds does listening to Orchid swear.”

You chuckle for a number of reasons, first for the ticklish nature of the bug's feet in the palm of your hand, and second for the comparison. “You noticed that, hm?” Wolffe does not answer right away, you notice. He seems contemplative as he watches the little firebug scuttle across each knuckle of your dominant hand, open its wing-covering (Tack called it the elytra) and take off with a buzzy zwit! into the cooling night air. 

“A professional Sabacc player would read you like an open book.” Wolffe responds levelly, refraining from mirroring the curious smile with one of his own. (Noted, you think to yourself.) “You clearly had something on your mind.” 

To say someone was on your mind as a part of that ‘something’ would be more accurate. At least in large part. Before you say anything to the affirmative, Wolffe offers some reassurance that he's not saying anything with the intention of prying for any information. 

“Not that it's any of my business, of course.” 

Not that it was any of his business, no, but he had been watching you at least long enough to make an observation, a guess. 

“Well, there's been a few occasions where I've been told I'm rather… expressive, so, I'm not terribly surprised.” You offer the response in hopes that it'll keep the conversation from going completely dead; something overly-playful seems like the wrong move to make right now. Something too dismissive would likely be seen through, too. 

“You could also say animated, I suppose…” you add with a soft laugh, inspired by the exuberance Orchid shows in tearing after a particularly large firefly that Tack has pointed out rather suddenly. “Or lively or… whatever else. I dunno. Guess it happens more than I'm aware.” 

“Nothing wrong with that,” Tack promises you, “we've all got our quirks.” 

Wolffe nods in agreement to the researcher, a slow roll of his eyes as if to say don't I know it. Adding in a way that's almost an aside, he says, “Comet and Warthog were the ones who noticed. They thought perhaps you might've come to regret staying behind with us.” Here, perhaps subconsciously, his scarred brow lifts when he looks at you again. 

Are you? the action says. 

You lift one brow of your own, eyes narrowing a fraction. “I haven't.” you promise. (Why? (And are you sure it wasn't you?))

His head bobs slowly, thoughtfully. (Fair.) “Only thought I'd mention it. But I'm glad to hear, Arcadia.” 

There's an unusual softness settling into every feature of his face with the last syllable of your name. Something beyond the selfless gratitude typical to hearing someone you care for has had a pleasant day. His brow unfurrows just so. The thumb hooked in his belt just behind his holster - keeping his weapon near - becomes less deliberate now. (Not completely relaxed, but certainly less of a chokehold.)

Not to mention the slight, relieved smile before he turns his concern on one of his brothers. 

“Where's your DeeCee, Soapsuds?” 

Startled by the sudden addressal, Suds yelps and nearly squishes the large firefly Orchid has caught. “Huh! O-oh I'm letting Arcadia borrow it, Commander. One of the other crewmates, uh-” 

Either in the interest of time, or the disinterest in hearing long-winded excuses, Wolffe shortly asks for the firearm tucked into the waistband of your uniform to be returned to Soapsuds. One of the flint-gray commander's own DeeCees is extracted from his belt, no fanfare or fancy fingerwork to make it twirl like Suds had when he offered, and is firmly planted with all the proper weapons-handling etiquette in the palm of your hand. Commander Wolffe's hand is undoubtedly solid - it is not just the form of the blaster that lends to your arm dipping under its weight. 

Even through the raven-dark material of the gloves, the body suit, the neutral-colored armor, you know Wolffe is warm, too. 

“Here. Why don't you take mine?” 

It is not a suggestion.

You don't immediately understand what the big deal is about trading Soapsuds’ weaponry for the Commander's until you spend a little more time thinking about it. Suds has only the one gun with him on Little Archossi, and if the Commander has two, then, it'd only make sense to take his. 

As a precaution, you shouldn't be unarmed; that much was agreed upon between the soldier and his commanding officer a ways off in the clearing now. You could catch snippets of their voices, carried on the stiff, evening winds. 

“I was only trying to help.”

Suds had not intended to be completely defenseless himself, nor would he be, owing to his training instilled in him on the Clones’ rainy motherworld. Push comes to shove, you've seen your fair share of how proficient these men could be with only their hands. Hands that have hoisted and carried a fellow soldier to safety under enemy fire. Hands that have shown tenderness to the frightened and battle-scarred, civilian and brother alike.

(And that's not without mentioning the many knuckles broken against the plating of the CIS battle units by the brazen (or desperate) men of the Grand Army.) 

“I understand that, but you should have considered that we don't know what's out there.” 

You're unsure if the Commander is lecturing this brother and young soldier out of disappointment, or out of worry. You've known many Clones who tend to fret after their ‘little’ brothers, each in their own way and fashion. Only too understandable with everything Wolffe has been through and faced (and lost), he must feel some need to really make sure these lessons stick. He will always lose brothers, from the callous to the curious, but if he can ensure as many as possible make it out of this war alive, he likely would. 

In this lifetime, in the next, and every heartbeat in-between. 

Commander Wolffe cares. About his General. 

“... are you angry at me, sir, for giving away my blaster without thinking again?” 

About his brothers.

“No, Soapsuds. You were thinking… You… You only meant to look out for Arcadia.”

About you.

Though it feels too private a moment, one between brothers, to witness, you cannot turn away when Wolffe lifts Suds' head hung low and gives him a quiet look. “Your blaster and your name. Never forget.” Soapsuds waits a beat before nodding solemnly; there is a seriousness and severity to his brother's reminder. 

Their blasters and their names are among the few things a Clone can own. I own my blaster, I own my breath, I own my Name… 

Never will you forget the mantra you've heard multiple shinies, fresh off Kamino, mutter to themselves in isolated halls in the dead of the night aboard the Jedi cruiser. Suds must be one of the few who still repeats this to himself even now. 

“I won't.” he promises with an emotional grimace, one that prompts his CO to clutch him to his chest.

He can't. No brother would ever let him forget his name, and a blaster can always be replaced in the event it is lost. There would never be another him. Never another Clone who would twinkle, or glimmer, or burn the same way as him in the Force. Every one of them feels, senses different in it. 

(How do you compare, you wonder.) 

Would you feel steadfast, seemingly indomitable like them? Or rather you'd be found out as having a bright, sun-like spirit; not merely hot and golden, but perhaps comforting. Maybe flickering and dreamlike, just the way the fireflies are.

You might go your whole life never finding out how you are sensed, never knowing the details in the thumbprint of your soul. You can make your peace with that. You'd sooner exhaust yourself asking after the likes of the Clones, given the chance. 

Commander Wolffe releases his brother at last, the hand cradling the back of Suds' neck lifting away last of all as he's freed from a needed embrace. The time for tender doting fulfilled, Wolffe once more cautions his brother to be careful as the evening deepens before turning him loose. “Be sure to watch your step. And keep clear of the trees.” It's totally dark with the sun sunken below the horizon, casting this side of the planet with the deep blues of night. It would be wise to give the forest an even wider berth than before. 

After doing some theorizing, the sergeants carried out the test themselves while everyone else had been mesmerized by the emergence of the first fireflies.

You can not see what stares back at you when you peer into the thicket; denser than Kaminoan rainfall, according to Sinker and Boost’s findings. 

(Just what the Commander needed… more reasons to worry.)

Soapsuds bobs his head as if to say no, right, makes sense. “I'll, uh… remind Orchid as well, sir.” he promises almost meekly. If he can help it, he won't make his Commander stop whatever he's doing just to wrangle him back into place a second time. 

He's not stupid. Soapsuds is just… young. Excitable. 

Less experienced. In a moment, perhaps one of mild frustration or fraternal anxiety, Commander Wolffe may have temporarily forgotten that. Which is okay - forgetting is not a crime, much in the same way that being young is not a crime. 

Nor should being unable to help your nature… 

After some time alone, when you come to check on him, Wolffe casts a nearly pained look in your direction, surmising that you've witnessed the entire encounter. The sloping, pinching squeeze of his eyebrows and the haunted expression suggests maybe he believes he's been too harsh. That he's spent the last five, maybe ten minutes beginning to second guess what he's said - or how he's said it - to an almost-not-a-shiny brother. 

No matter how much he's been trying, he's done it again. With every good intention, Master Plo can invite him to relax as many times as he'd like, but it will not come so easily for a soldier. 

Commander Wolffe will not relax completely today, because he can't. At least not on his own, not without someone to reign him in should he stray too far beyond briefly conferring with a soldier or two, or sparing a few moments for a visual sweep across the clearing when it had been light out. 

“Thought I'd keep up my habit of keeping you company,” you offer quietly, setting yourself down in the lush grass beside him to pull out your sketchbook and pencils, “if that's alright.” You won’t mention the fact that while you were giving Wolffe the space you thought he needed, Sinker had extracted himself from where he, Boost and Comet had steered a giggling mess of Clones a little further off when their retellings of their “sexploits” had become a little more colorful. 

You’ve been having better luck than us, Arcadia, Sergeant Sinker had admitted to you, we think you should be the one to keep him company. We’ll keep the lid on things here best we can.

(Force be with you and all that if ‘keeping a lid on things’ involves Orchid and far too many details about sex in any capacity… (Like the time he purportedly ‘froze up’ for a moment when he realized the date he scored himself at 79’s was with an intersex humanoid-species he can't remember the name of.))

You're aiming just to be non-intrusive, out-of-the-way in your company. You're not expecting conversation when you've already done plenty of talking today. You're not even sure what you'll sketch, or if you'll even draw. 

Hearing the words “Could I?” out of his mouth is surprising to you. He almost certainly hears that surprise in your voice. 

“You wanna give it a try? Uh. S-sure, here.” 

The pad is immediately flipped to a clean, unmarked page once it's in his hands; selecting a pencil takes longer, the labels making little sense. Herf. Besh. Herf-Besh. 2-Besh. There's at least two others he hasn't touched yet. 

“What does it all mean?” he murmurs more to himself than you. (He takes the 2-Besh at your coaching.) “Level of the graphite’s softness?” 

You can only shrug. “Apparently. From what little I know, 2-Besh is most versatile, so that should work for just about whatever you had in mind.” He could fill the page with circles until you've gone cross-eyed for all you care, honestly. There's obviously been a lot on his mind today; there's been a lot on yours too. Whatever it'll take to drive the thoughts nipping at your heels back even for a moment, or even slow or halt altogether that tumultuous tailspin of anxiety for both of you would be a welcomed discovery. 

He's made up his mind on what he'll be drawing, but you're not permitted to look. “Not just yet.”

“What? Oh, Wolffe, come o-” 

“Ah-ah. Would only be fair.” He didn't see what you had been working on for a few hours, after all, right? The piece the Commander plans to compose is less involved than yours, so it shouldn't take ‘terribly long’. (Okay, that would only be fair, you concede.) You have one of his pistols, so if you wanted, you could walk around the outskirts of the clearing so long as you were mindful of how close you were to the forest. 

Maybe not right now. Maybe instead you should keep an unoccupied eye out instead. You both did just hear General Plo begin to caution several men only a few yards away that there was a shift in the Force around the planet. 

The inhabitants of Little Archossi might be waking up. 

“Good idea.” Wolffe agrees. He'll be quick about it, he promises. You'll have a look before long, though for now, you'll need to find a way to entertain yourself between the intermittent safety checks. Keep your eyes up, keep your ears perked, and sweep your line of sight often. The only thing he won't tell you to do is keeping a closer eye on the shinies. “I don't know how well you know my men; how readily you can tell them all apart, nevermind who is and isn't newer to the battalion.”

You single out a trooper at random - one who's absolutely covered in grass stains and dirt after rolling down a hill in his full armor kit - and in full confidence declare “That's Halogen. I believe he's fond of rotary cannons as opposed to blasters.” 

He chuckles once, impressed. “And is Halogen a shiny?” You're good; he wants to see just how good you are. The pencil is flipped in Wolffe's hand and he tediously erases something for a moment.

“He’s not. Waves, the brother he's sneaking up on is, though.” 

Another impressed chuckle. You know more than you've let on, perhaps, he admits, but he still won't task you with shiny-wrangling. Leave that to him as their commander. He turns his attention wholly to the spiral-bound book in his hands, occasionally leafing through the previously marked pages until he reaches the first. Comparing? Admiring? 

Or is he thinking, remembering? 

“Like worship…” 

You try not to respond, acting entirely too interested in the busy-work of fixing up your footwear, ensuring all is secure as you wait for those choppy, sweeping skritch!-es to resume. 

And with Commander Wolffe nose-deep in the sketchpad, shielding it from your field of view, you find yourself zoning out somewhat. He won’t show you what he’s working on, but from the sheer amount of times he’s glanced your way, you have a possibility in mind.

You turn your gaze skyward for the moment, higher than the fireflies and beyond the misting of stars. “Wow… would you look at the size of that moon?” you marvel under your breath, more to yourself than anyone in particular. Round and bright, she’s certainly the celestial focal point over Little Archossi, and though it will likely be dark, or perhaps partly back-lit, you know the general location of the Jedi cruiser from your position. 

Will the moon look just as beautiful from the viewports of the Triumphant, or does she lose all her shining splendor in the spiraling vastness of space? 

“I’m not going to howl.”

There’s a beat of silence before the commander either realizes that you had not made the remark he assumed you had, or that you had not reacted to it like he would have guessed.

“Sorry, Arcadia, I…” The graphite pencil halts in his hand as he reigns in his thoughts, sharply exhaling the likely frustration or disappointment. “Terrible joke. There was a trooper named Howell… It was part of a routine with him; he had a fascination with astronomy. Could tell you the name of every moon a planet had. First thing he’d look for every nightfall. “Look Commander,” he’d say, “Look at the size of that moon!” with such palpable excitement, too…”

You can guess why Wolffe’s reply was what it was. You can almost hear how he’d likely say it too, were he less distracted by the sketch in his hands… “What happened to Howell?”

“The half-starved megafauna the droids were using cornered him in a foxhole while we were aiding another Jedi in the Outer Rim. General Plo couldn’t reach Howell in time.” Commander Wolffe's pencil strokes become halting, brisk, as he thinks about this brother. “Without a helmet, it takes roughly 235 kilograms of force to crush a human skull. Or so I'm told.” The afterthought is added in a small, tight voice. A memory he’s jostled loose that’s left a bitter taste in his mouth.

A fist squeezes the material of your uniform over your heart as you infer poor Howell’s fate for yourself. “Fucking shit…” How terrible. You try not to dwell on those thoughts as you glance over your surroundings, even behind you for good measure. (What sort of megafauna is capable of that, anyways?) Nothing appears out of order in the clearing, but there seems to be perceptible activity from the treeline that the Force-wielder is picking up on. 

Why else would Plo Koon be steering the Clones deeper into the heart of the clearing with that kind, almost fatherly cautioning;  “Why don’t you join your brothers near the hills, son? (Why, General?) In the interest of safety, that’s all.” Every opportunity he has, Plo has his eyes trained on the forest as he moves from cluster to cluster of troopers, directing them to move closer to where Sinker and Boost have positioned themselves, or the Republic gunships at the very least. He’s moving with purpose, his stride unbroken and direct through the ankle-high, fragrant grass.

Something must be awake beyond the trees…  You don’t know if you should start feeling concerned by all these precautionary measures, or feel assured. The Commander hasn’t reacted in any noteworthy way as of now, but you know he’s at least noticed your nervous tells once more. Only once he’s taken a more thorough read of your body language - the shoulders creeping closer to your ears, the occasional bob in your throat with every dry swallow, the fistful of your uniform rumpled in your dominant hand - does Commander Wolffe begin to act.

He begins covering and setting the sketchpad aside, just for a moment, to give you and the immediate surroundings his undivided attention. “Don’t hold your breath, Arcadia. The last thing you should do when you’re starting to get nervous is hold your breath.” he advises you, being cautious about his line delivery. Too casual, it comes across flippant at best about your anxieties. Too stern, and it will sound like a lecture. A reprimand. And he’s not here to do that; Wolffe only means to soothe your nerves best as he can - like he tried to do for Suds. “General Plo would be addressing those troopers a little more urgently if he sensed real trouble.”

You bob your head, but want to offer him a questioning look all the same. The Jedi’s behavior seems pretty damn urgent to you. But Commander Wolffe knows the Kel Dor better than you do, so you trust he’s telling you the truth. “That’s good to know.” you reply with a lilt of relief in your voice. 

A lilt he of course notices, and takes as a permission of sorts to resume his sketching. He’s nearly done, he tells you, but he needs to clean up one last thing and add another first before he shows you. Then, perhaps, you could help him decide how he should finish this. 

“That sure was fast.” You don’t know if surprise or admiration for the speed of his work is more appropriate.

Maker have mercy, when he flashes a slightly wolfish smile at you, you’re almost tempted to pinch yourself - just to be sure you haven’t imagined it. 

“It helps when you’re inspired.”

That’s certainly true, in your experience. When you feel inspired by something, feel inspired to create something, it feels like little else matters in that moment. You can become a whirlwind of creative thought, so swept up in the progress, that time just seems to slip away.

Before you can ask what it was that inspired the Clone commander, Wolffe has added his last few pencil strokes, and presents you with the page. 

It becomes very clear right away what it was that has captured his eye, what it was that inspired him. It’s just as you suspected.

“Is… that supposed to be me?” you utter in wonder. 

The figure on the page looks just like you, resembles you at the very least; but the wear is not your own. The slate gray uniform has been swapped for the raven of the bodysuit, and encasing every limb are the segments of Clone armor. The gauntlets sport claw-marks, and you think that partially-hidden phase two helmet at “your” hip has what are supposed to be bare teeth - wolf teeth, no doubt. And the chest plate is clearly modeled after his own, at least in part. Otherwise crisp lines partly ruined by eraser-smudgings, there's a large crack in the direct middle, and in the center there's an attempt at an anatomically-correct human heart.

There is a tiny, tiny little icon of the Wolfpack on the throat of the bodysuit in your favorite color, and that's when you see without further doubts that yes, this is supposed to be you. 

If your drawing was described as worship, you find his to be an equally heartfelt act of devotion. You're drawn with such care, it's nearly… you don't even have the words for it. 

You find yourself almost choking out your words now. “It is me…” 

“And you're welcome to color it as you see fit, Arcadia,” Commander Wolffe says rather abruptly, thrusting the pad into your open hands, “I’m needed to speak with the General.”

Pleading with him to stay is like trying to catch smoke. “Wolffe, wait-” He's quicker to his feet than you expect, trampling the grass underfoot without a moment's hesitation to answer the Kel Dor’s distant summons. He will not wait. He will not explain what the bottom of the page, in tidy, thin Aurebesh means. 

Behind the teeth and claws, there is a beating heart. 

I now have a taglist form, which you can find -> HERE! <- 🩷 Thank you for your patience as the length of this fic spirals out of my control, haha. Clearly it's no longer just the four initial segments like I once thought. (Hey, it's just more Commander Wolffe content, can we really complain?)

[Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Midday] [Late Afternoon] [Here] [Deep Night] [Golden Dawn part 1]

[Golden Dawn part 2]

#frostfics #Poets and Painters #star wars #star wars fanfiction #the clone wars fanfiction #star wars the clone wars #swtcw #tcw #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x you #wolffe x reader #wolffe x you #gender neutral reader #tcw wolffe #commander wolffe #clone trooper wolffe #cc 3636 #cameos of #plo koon #104th battalion #tcw sinker #tcw boost #tcw warthog #tcw comet #clone oc: tack #clone oc: orchid #clone oc: soapsuds

[gamblegun]

i also believe most "anti-transandrophobia people" aren't shitty people. i remember when the "bi lesbian" thing came up, people were really quick to jump to conclusions based on a viral post mocking the concept. when people advocate against an idea, there's the unsaid "if you support this, then you're a bad person!" so most people don't think critically about it, especially if it doesn't directly concern them. they'll assume they're doing the right thing and they might even add it to their DNI list.

also due to the nature of the internet, stirring up outrage is effective. people think they're immune, but they're not. especially on tumblr, if you say something in mockery similar to the way the "funnymen" do, you're likely to get people behind you. not to mention the cult of personalities that are able to proliferate exclusionist ideas easily. most people on here might just touch an exclusionist idea and absorb it partially, even if they're not actively partaking in any shenanigans.

unfortunately, this is niche internet discourse. most people won't think about it much. they don't have time to check out all the discourse points and will take others at their word because they want to be a decent person. (i am of course, only describing some of the people i've seen, not all)

Yeah, while I feel there are definitely shit stirrers around who just are using this opportunity to be awful towards us, for me it's a matter of genuinely understanding how some people that are against transandrophobia have come to this conclusion, and still feeling pretty hurt anyways. Like, I need people to take a moment and think before attacking and fear mongering about a group of trans people for Christ's sake. When I first heard about all this, it was seeing some posts about how privileged trans man are, and feeling that was pretty silly and unbelievable. I saw some people critiquing that sentiment and learned about the word "transandrophobia" from there, which seemed like a no brainer and good step forward for the community. I have indeed been on the other side of a lot of transandrophobia from the community since figuring myself out, and it was nice to see this discussion happening. However, when a lot of people seemed to become extremely against this seemingly overnight, it frightened me, it honestly made me feel unsafe in my social circle. I questioned myself extensively, reading up on feminist theory, trying to determine if I really was being as misogynistic as they claimed. It tanked my mental health for months, but I wholly believe our concepts are sound, and that trans men should be able to have a word of our own and the freedom to talk about our pain full stop.

It's like, even the people who think they are in the right are being transphobic about us all the time. A lot of tenants of their arguments are transandrophobic in nature, and then will refuse to accept criticism because they've already determined we're irrational hysterical thought seductors, and that saying transphobic things towards us would be okay anyway since we deserve to be hurt. When a lot of us say that a lot of people in the online community have drunk the 'ra/d/fem KoolAid', I tend agree with them. There are a lot of imbedded lines of thought I honestly don't know how to combat. And it makes me feel pretty unsafe in the community, and I don't think I deserve that, or anyone deserves that really. A lot of trans allies are much much more transandrophobic than they believe and it's disturbing to see so out in the open. I'm just... So disappointed in people constantly. You're right, if someone says something with the usual 'tumblr funnyman' contempt, people just tend to believe it. But it makes me angry! How dare people be manipulated so easily, have such shaky morals that they're willing to act so uselessly and cruelly without much a thought, or even taking time to have enough information. And it's like, I don't hate you, but it's embarrassing. Exclusionary behavior is always so insidious and embarrassing. I know that's not being completely fair, we are all just... So traumatized. A lot of people within the community tend to be extremely lonely, have had hard lives, and that's just asking for crab bucket behavior. And I can even see why trans women would feel concerned about it too, but I don't think we deserve automatic suspicion either.

I don't think they're fundamentally bad people or anything. I just can't be treated badly, I'm just not going to allow it, and I am certainly not going to like or respect anyone who acts so poorly.

I just hope this discourse is over eventually. I want to love and be loved by this community in turn. I want to actually feel apart of it. I want us all to stand together, it's going to be hard road ahead.

#long post #I just kind of rambled there #transandrophobia #anti transmasculinity #I feel like I didn't adress all of your ask probably I apologize #it's like #I understand #but also I really don't #I feel like all this is really difficult subject matter #there's a lot of hurt bad history and extremism in the mix

[newsfromstolenland]

I’m sending this on anon to avoid judgement on my main blog, but I really need to put this somewhere after seeing your post about how much anti-theism there is in leftist spaces.

I’m an Omnitheist Jewish witch from an interfaith family. I’m culturally Jewish and observe Shabbat and the high holidays (and would go to synagogue more if the only synagogue accessible to me wasn’t my university’s Hillel chapter), but I was raised in a Waldorf school and taught about all sorts of different religions from all around the world, so I feel it would be ignorant of me to be like “oh only my religion is right and everyone else is wrong”.

The amount of antireligious bullshit I have seen from (mostly) white leftists is absolutely disgusting. I hate seeing posts on my dash that are like “haha silly people who believe in ghosts are psychotic and need to listen to science” from people who otherwise preach love and light for everyone. I’ve gotten to a point where I do not feel comfortable discussing my religion, spirituality, or any spiritual experiences I have unless I am extremely comfortable with the person I’m talking to.

On top of that, I’m an Anthropology Major with a Religious Studies Minor, and the amount of times I’ve had to remind MY OWN PROFESSORS to not try and come up with some dismissive explanation of the belief system of a group of people is frankly astonishing. It makes me absolutely sick to my stomach, and what’s even sicker is that I’m too scared to even bring this up on my actual platform because of the fear of being discredited or slandered.

Again, I’m sorry for the vent in your inbox, but I wanted to thank you for saying something when some of us are too scared to do so or feel that we’ll be mocked.

I imagine that's especially difficult because of the western approach to anthropology (the "look at these primitive belief systems" shit)

it's unfortunate that some people take the perfectly reasonable sentiments of "no one should be forced into religion" and "religion, like many things, can be used to justify harm" and take them to mean that religious people are evil and/or stupid and that it's okay to contribute to the oppression of people who are marginalized for our religions

I would argue that white women have used their womanhood to contribute to the oppression of men of colour (historically to the point of lynchings), but that doesn't mean womanhood itself is the problem. people use many things to justify harm. those things aren't always inherently harmful.

I'm glad what I'm saying is reaching people in similar situations, and I hope you can find a community where your jewish identity doesn't have to be hidden

#asks #anonymous