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nellyofthevalley · 5 months

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truths, ch.8

astarion x fem!tav rating: explicit

content: piv sex, fingering, biting/blood drinking, emotionally repressed losers who can't communicate, angst, hurt/comfort, extended sickfic?

summary: this fic started as an excuse to write a bunch of dialogue bouncing around in my head. astarion is a sad little idiot who never learned how to love. tav is kind of emotionally repressed and a bad communicator too, and he has to learn how to deal with this. with her, and her … affliction.

He can’t even remember the last time someone asked him what he wanted. In centuries of service, even the warmest victims were there for nothing more than midnight fun, unknowingly biting off far more than they could chew. It’s better that way, though. It’s always easier when he can’t remember their names or faces after, and he only ever remembered the ones that were sweet.

chapters: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | ch.6 | ch.7 | ch.8

read it on ao3 or below the cut I totally posted this on ao3 forever ago and forgot to post it here

His mind swims while his fingers mend her clothes, re-stitching torn seams and mending rips he’d been staring at for weeks wanting to fix but refusing to be caught doing it. Astarion ponders over everything he said and did yesterday and how he could’ve done it all better; he thinks if he had another chance, he could’ve said something better than ‘I don’t know’, but it’s a foolish thought—even as he actively tries to convince himself, no other words bubble up and he knows damn well that’s the best he has.

He’s floundering thinking of what he’d say to her, but his mind just keeps fucking swimming and he’s so, so sure that if he’d had one more moment with her, he’d somehow manage to finish sentences cut short or have difficult conversations with her he hadn’t yet learned how to have with himself.

As he watches her body rise and fall with her breaths, it’s all he can think about.

Maybe he should’ve said the truth, he thinks: that he had it beaten into him to never care for another, that he’s bitter with her for saving everyone except him when the Gods never answered any of his prayers, and that he doesn’t know how to dig out of this grave of resentment he’s buried himself in despite how hopelessly charmed by her he is.

Every conversation they ever had starts to feel like it wasn’t enough, going all the way back to the night in the Underdark when he’d given her his coat. Though the truth of it is that he had plenty of time every time, and he chose to squander it.

It hurts to see her like this, with her body battered and bruised and too exhausted to wake…

It’s his own fault, he’s decided. He accepted an offer from Raphael and now she pays the price for it. Oddly, that’s all he ever thought he wanted: for someone to suffer in his stead, but he didn’t mean it like this! Not her.

Even worse, he pushed her into this—he questioned her when she tried to talk their way out of the fight (if only he’d ever learned how to have trust or faith in anyone) and he felt so off-balance during the fight he picked, allowing his mind to be clouded by a daft eagerness to get the shit over with and reap his reward.

Merregons got the better of her, crowding her and beating her bloody. He shouted when he noticed, calling for Karlach, Lae’zel, Gale, anyone—but they were all surrounded and by the time anyone made it to her, she was already down and out. None of them came out the other side entirely unscathed, but she was the only one who couldn’t carry themselves back to camp.

They remained settled at the Last Light Inn, trapped with nowhere else to go, and he fucking hates it here. Despite their efforts to clean up, every direction held some reminder of what used to be: blood stains they couldn’t get out, strewn about possessions, and an eerie emptiness that forced you to picture how it’d been when it was bustling and happy. Astarion doesn’t grieve for their lives, but he can’t push out the image of how distraught she was that night it all happened; how she wept and begged him to give her purpose will be burned into his brain for eternity.

Already, two full days have passed with her in this bed and Shadowheart and Halsin taking turns caring for her and breathing life back into her body little by little, while Astarion sits in his chair and simply waits.

Raphael came and went, fulfilling his end of the deal promptly. He paid Astarion a visit the same evening the orthon appeared in his humble abode and told him everything he’d asked for: details of Cazador’s deal with Mephistopheles and the tale of how poems carved into their backs bound them to a vile ritual that would sacrifice their souls for a higher power never seen by his kind before.

Ascension.

Astarion received his reward, but he couldn’t find any satisfaction in it. Not like this—not standing outside the inn alone, and even though only a thin wall sat between him and the room Tav lay unconscious in, he felt halfway across the world from her. Raphael left him there and it all felt like a cruel mockery: the price to be paid for his deal wasn’t even paid by him. He dragged Tav along for this and forced her hand and he never thought twice about it.

Until she couldn’t walk anymore.

He remembers it so clearly, hauntingly vivid—how he tore apart his foe and ran to her bloodied body, how he held her and shook her and she didn't wake, how he was nothing more than a useless bystander, watching hopelessly while Karlach carried her and Halsin tended to her…

He needs to be by her side, he needs to be in that chair when she wakes, and he hasn’t moved since Raphael left him here.

He’s deep in trance when she wakes, startled into consciousness by her tugging weakly at the fabric of his shirt; he jumps in his chair and looks over to her, pausing for a moment as he fully comes back to the present and processes it.

“Gods, you’re awake,” he says, relief washing over him as he sits up and starts to stand. “Let me get—”

“No!” she protests in a low mumble, slowly sitting up and leaning against the headboard. “Tell me what happened first.”

Astarion stops in his seat and starts to speak, “You—you were surrounded…”

“Not that,” she scoffs. “The deal!”

“Oh, don’t talk to me in that voice of yours,” he retorts. “You should be mad at me, you should chastise me! I took the devil’s deal all on my own, without even giving you a choice in the matter.”

“You’re wrong,” she says. “Just tell me what Raphael said.”

Astarion hesitates, taken by surprise; even after being bloodied and bruised and bedridden, she insists on hearing about his deal, first thing…

But he tells her everything, powerless to resist her demands.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“I think it’s time for you to get Shadowheart,” she says with a cheeky smile.

He’s obviously miffed by her dodge but he does it regardless, returning Tav’s grin with an annoyed sigh as he gets up from his seat and fetches Shadowheart.

When he walks out, Tav eyes her clothes by his chair, neatly folded and washed clean.

The door creaks as Shadowheart enters, carrying a tray of food; stew and bread, the standard fare lately. The shadowlands have so little to offer for fresh food, but Tav feels her mouth watering the moment she lays eyes on it, stomach growling, and lights up as Shadowheart takes Astarion’s chair.

“How are you faring?”

“Sore, but well enough for poking the fire,” Tav answers.

“You know,” Shadowheart starts once Tav’s stuffed her mouth, “outside of talking with Raphael, he hasn’t left this room for a moment.”

Tav swallows hard.

Shadowheart picks up the mended shirt by the chair and turns it in her hands, looking it over. “Skilled with his hands,” she notes with a hearty laugh.

“Gods, stop it,” Tav chokes out, quickly swallowing the last of her food and laughing, too, and it aches her body but hells, a real laugh is what she needs right now. “I don’t know what’s happening with us.”

“You’re softening his cold heart, and dare I say he needs it.”

“No,” she replies. “His heart’s already soft… in some places, anyway. He just doesn’t know it. Or maybe he doesn’t want to believe it.”

When Shadowheart opens the door and leaves, it’s made very clear to both of them that Astarion was standing right outside, arms crossed and waiting to trade places. He picks her shirt back up when he sits, feeling a bit antsy and in dire need of something to occupy his hands, but he’s already mended every hole; now, he’s started carefully stitching her name in curved script into it, much like he did for his own shirts on long days and nights spent in the Szarr palace.

“So—”

“I think walking in the sun is very important to you.”

“And the power!” Astarion’s face livens instantly as he talks, giddy at the prospect of seizing the Ascension for himself. “I’d never have to fear anyone… and I could walk in the sun without fear of turning into a mind flayer.”

She can relate to that more than he knows. She chased power once too, and it cost her a sibling. The worst part of it all is that she’d do it all over again given the choice. Her patron bestowed her with great, elder powers after living as a street urchin, spit on and ignored by society for so long—and even with an illithid tadpole shoved into her brain, even after being surrounded and taken down in battle, even after questioning it that night in the cemetery, she remembers what it was like before and she wouldn’t give it up for nearly anything.

Besides, if she hadn’t chased the deal, it would’ve been something else. He would’ve left either way, whether it be the stealing or the pact or the souls she slaughtered in the name of revenge. He’d always been too gentle-hearted, and every time Astarion spits on her for being ‘too generous’, she thinks of how much she always hated her brother for the very same.

But even Raphael called the ritual diabolical, and he’d have to kill his brothers and sisters to do it… the brothers and sisters who endured the same punishments and torture as he had. Astarion pretends to care only for himself, but when he told her he pitied them with him gone, it was beyond evident how much he cares—he just wishes he doesn’t.

Astarion seems to be well-trained in confidently presenting himself as how he wishes he feels.

Tav would support him in completing the ritual himself in a heartbeat if she wasn’t so certain he does care and that he would regret it later. It would change him, she thinks, and not for the better.

But now’s not the time to dwell on that. They don’t even know what the ritual entails. Not yet.

She shifts over to the very edge of the bed and rests her palm on his forearm, prompting him to drop the needle and thread and set her shirt back aside. As he does, she spots the start of her name on it, in lovely gold thread on navy fabric.

“Will you kiss me?” she asks, hopeful to drag him away from dwelling on the ritual now. “It’ll make me feel better.”

“Oh, will it now?” Astarion gives her a half-smile and holds her face in one palm with a gentle—thoughtful—touch. “Then who am I to deny you?”

Tav lightly grasps at his upper arm as he closes his eyes and captures her mouth in his; this time, his kiss is sweet and tender and deliberate, not wary, not heated, not anything but what feels like a true labor of…

…love?

“The other night when you asked me what’s between us,” Astarion starts as they part, eyes fixated on her mouth as he speaks, “What would you like it to be?”

“What do you want it to be, Astarion?”

“I-I don’t know,” he says, taken aback. “It’s never mattered what I want. No one ’s ever asked.”

It’s better that way, though. It’s always easier when he can’t remember their names or faces after, and he only ever remembered the ones that were sweet.

“I’m asking you now,” she replies.

“It’s complicated.”

“Well, it appears I have plenty of time to sit and listen. So please, go on.”

Astarion brushes off her hand as he folds his arms, turning his gaze away from her and towards the ceiling, and they sit in silence for a moment as he considers what to say. Part of him hopes she’ll say something else and move on, but the rest of him knows that it’s finally time to have this conversation that he’s been neglecting.

Especially after spending the days and nights in this same fucking chair thinking about how he should’ve said it all months ago.

“I wasn’t just a slave to Cazador,” he says with a notable lack of confidence. He shuffles nervously and takes a long pause, inhaling deeply before continuing. “For two centuries, my purpose”—he practically hisses as he begins to recount it—“was to bring back pretty things for the master. Seduce them, lure them to the palace and leave them for Cazador to dine on… It never mattered what I wanted. if I didn’t obey, he’d have me beaten, impaled, or worse.”

His eyes pace around the room, gnawing for anywhere else he can look and digging for what to say. He doesn’t feel like himself, he almost feels sick. It’s too much, but he has to say it all now or he’ll never say it and it’ll loom over his head and the next time she takes so much as a single scrape in battle he’ll be distracted by it all over again.

“It was instinctual for me… to fall back into old habits and charm you, gain your trust, manipulate your feelings and ensure your loyalty. I needed you on my side to fight him, and I did that the only way I—”

“I am on your side. No matter what.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’ll be as ridiculous as I like.”

“Gods, you’re stubborn. Look,” he continues, “I must’ve gotten on my back ten thousand times or more, and none of them meant anything at all; most didn’t even grant me a temporary bliss. But you…

“It was different with you. I’ll never forget the time I spent with you. I want—fuck, what I want is for this to be something real.”

Manipulating someone, getting them in bed, using them for his own benefit—all things he can do, things he is very well-versed in doing, at that. Losing himself in her was a complication. He is not so well-versed in complications.

“I do, too,” she says quietly.

“Truth is, you make me feel alive again,” he admits, anxiously wiping his brow. “But I don’t know what real looks like, and I can’t give you what you deserve,” Astarion says, turning to face her; and whatever she may have expected to see, it wasn’t this—this awful, gloomy look he wears, like he’s in pain just thinking about this and admitting to it all. “Even though I know things between us are different, it still brings up all these feelings of hatred and self-loathing…”

“We don’t have to sleep together, for as long as you need. For forever, if thats what you’d prefer,” she says. “You’re important to me—however you are, whatever you’re dealing with.”

A small relief, but Astarion hopes for it to somehow come and fix it all like magic, and it never happens. Relief doesn’t make it any easier to get through this this. Relief doesn’t organize his thoughts or teach him how make someone happy. Without sex, what does he have left to offer? He never did figure that one out.

“I never learned how to care for anyone but myself. Cazador always made sure I knew that,” Astarion rebuts, as if he’s searching for any reason to send her away—get her to set her sights elsewhere, maybe back on Gale…

He can’t help but do it; much as he’d like this to be something real with her, he’s certain it’ll end in nothing but disappointment and he knows that’ll hurt worse than not having her at all.

“Oh, fuck Cazador! It’s not true, you know,” Tav protests. “If it were, you wouldn’t be in this room right now. Gods know I don’t know what the fuck real looks like, either, but it doesn’t matter. We—we can figure it out together, can’t we?”

Astarion’s brows lower and he looks at her in disbelief for a moment; ‘figure it out together’ is… beyond what he could’ve anticipated coming from her mouth.

Oh, she is stubborn, but perhaps that’s what he needs in a partner. Maybe he’s not even ready for this, he doesn’t know, but he does know that he’s in it too deep to back out. Not having her at all is a path impossible to take now, no matter how hard he could keep trying to shove her out.

“We—we can try?” he questions with an indecisive tone, though it’s really more of a surprised agreement. “If that’s truly what you want.”

The freedom to choose your own path is a foreign concept—fuck, is that really what he’s doing? Choosing his own path? He always thought it would feel different from this, that it would be more controlled and comprehensible; like he’d have a plan, some sort of routine to reference for his life, as with how he’d memorized and carried out the plans for his conquests, just… a little different.

“It’s what I want. More than anything,” she says, sniffling. “Fuck, sorry.”

“What’s…” Astarion’s voice trails off as he considers what to say next. Navigating this is beyond any of his expertise, and he almost feels like he did in the early days of Cazador sending him out to find victims when he was still learning how to just—just be fucking normal. It was decades before the master let him out, and after so many years stuck inside and subjected to punishment after punishment, he’d nearly forgotten how to speak. “What’s troubling you?”

“I’m fine. Gods, I’m more than fine,” she says, giggling as she wipes the tears from her cheek. “Will you lay with me? I understand if—”

“Move over,” he orders with a shooing hand gesture.

His heart would beat out of his chest if it could; there’s something about lying together in a bed in an inn, however decrepit and dreadful to reside in, that’s far more intimate than the nights she slept in his tent. Trepidation pumps through his body like blood.

And then, after he lifts the covers and settles in beside her, it simply dries up.

Tav starts to reach out for his hand, but stops short of it. “Can I touch you?”

“You don’t have to ask,” he answers, though truthfully, he loves that she does. It’s sweet. It’s unusual.

“I want to,” she says, prying apart his fingers with hers and interlocking them.

He could live in this moment forever. When she looks at him, there’s a special, heavenly look in her eyes that he never wants to lose. A pity for the lives lived without ever experiencing it. No one would ever look at someone like Cazador the way she’s looking at him now.

It’s hypnotizing and makes him want to give her the fucking world—and ascend, for more than himself, because this is so, so much bigger than him.

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #tav x astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #my fanfic

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scover-va · 2 years

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Hex polycule (Bryce, Rust, Lazarus, Chandrelle) thoughts?????

*cracks knuckles* hcs time babey! All under the cut bc it's a long post

Lazarus and Chandrelle were obviously the first ones in the polycule to catch feelings since they've been friends the longest, liking each other during SoL but neither actually properly doing anything about it

Since Chandrelle and Bryce were at the inn the longest though, they had plenty of time to bond. Nothing romantic, but boredom led to them opening up to each other about a lot, both of them disguising it as just casual chatter when it's like "Yeah aha I punched my grandma while trying to punch Irving and now she's permanently injured" "Oh cool Irving tried to fucking murder me"

Rust is the third one to come to the inn, and Bryce is making plenty of attempts to talk to the poor guy, despite Rust being a huge weirdo. Chandrelle wanted to stay out of it, but Bryce kept insisting the three of them sit together to chat

Then when Lazarus finally comes along, things are. A little awkward between him and Chandrelle for a bit. Understandable, given what happened the last time they saw each other

Bryce has heard plenty about Lazarus though, and welcomes him with open arms, happily introducing himself. And once again, as the extrovert, Bryce has Lazarus sit with the trio

Though with things still weird with Laz and Chan, Bryce decides that it'd be best if Laz sits with Rust to keep him company, since neither Laz nor Rust have a super high social battery. So basically Bryce accidentally got all the seating arrangements set up bc adding on, FPP and SWK had no tables to sit at, only left with the bar

So Laz and Rust chat a bit when they're both feeling up for it. Rust can't remember much thanks to the mind control serum, and Lazarus has a lot of repressed memories thanks to trauma, so most chats are about simpler things. Favourite foods, fighting techniques, stuff like that. Rust ends up learning a lot about sword terminology

Post game, Laz and Chandrelle finally properly talk about everything that happened, since everyone can now go anywhere they please again. Small argument, but it's more of just Lazarus having no one else to get angry at now that Irving's dead

They kinda sorta awkwardly hug it out, but none of their prior hugs have been super duper comfortable anyways thanks to Chandrelle's people issues anyways, so it feels more like home than Lazarus would care to admit

Meanwhile, with the MC serum wearing off, Bryce is helping Rust with his Rocky issues. The bonding leads to Rust developing feelings, not that he's emotionally stable enough to acknowledge that nor act out on it

Bryce also does his best to bond more with Laz, having been curious about him for quite some time now. Laz is a bit confused by all the questions, but answers them the best to his ability.

Bryce pretty much starts setting up proper time for him to hang out with the three of them. He drags Chandrelle into cooking/baking with him ("Maybe it could help with your anger issues?" "I don't fucking have anger issues!"), he and Lazarus work out together (nothing intense or anything, just simple stuff), and basically just having a book club type thing with Rust (Which also leads to them figuring out that Rust very badly needs fuckin glasses)

Sometimes the hangouts overlap. Rust will help Bryce and Chandrelle cook, Lazarus will invite Chandrelle to work out with him and Bryce, and Lazarus will go sit with Bryce and Rust so he can read with them.

Lazarus accidentally tells Bryce and Rust during reading time that he's had a long-time crush on his best friend, which even an idiot could figure out is Chandrelle, and Bryce encourages him to go for it. Well then lazarus starts talking abt how he'd feel bad, because he doesnt wanna leave Bryce and Rust for Chandrelle

Which also serves as an accidental confession to the both of them

It takes a lot of talking about it, especially since Rust's still a bit emotionally stunted and Lazarus is very, very new to romance despite the long time crush, but it basically becomes a case of "Let's go kidnap Chandrelle into the newly formed polycule"

Chandrelle's a lil hesitant at first, being even more emotionally stunted than Rust, so they all agree to take it slowly. Small dates, like going out for walks or Bryce cooking everyone dinner, stuff like that. They slowly ease into more romantic stuff

It takes Rust and Chandrelle the longest out of everyone to start doing anything romantic, both from a lack of a close bond and also emotional constipation.

Bryce convinces them to hang out more, so they do. Rust gets to learn more about Chandrelle's magic, though he doesn't really understand it at all, no matter how many times Chandrelle explains it to him

Luckily, she's moronsexual. Exhibit A: Lazarus

They basically only end up properly getting together because they both start accidentally talking about emotional stuff without realizing. And it was like "...Ah okay guess we can kiss or whatever :/"

They take turns with who's on the outside and who's on the inside of cuddle piles. Though the most frequent order is Rust > Bryce > Lazarus > Chandrelle

Lazarus also isn't invited to help out in the kitchen. Hes mistaken salt for sugar and vice versa at least ten times each. He burnt an oven mitt by placing it directly on top of a hot stove ring. He accidentally knocked over a beer bottle right into a hot, greasy pan. He didn't take offence to being kicked out.

Chandrelle has made it her life mission to get Rust to shave. She's failing.

And finally, they all use a weighted blanket when they're cuddling. Rust likes the extra pressure because he got used to sleeping in heavy armour, Bryce just likes being warm, Lazarus has the neurodivergent crave to get his bones crushed, and Chandrelle needs to be kept down so she doesnt have a complex kick in and try to run off

#i'll answer the other asks tmrw bc its like 2am and i gotta wake up at 6 #ig i'll be answering them later then huh #but yeah tmrw morning for sure bc im ahead in my first period class #the hex #the hex game #stormbleeze #i still dont have a laz and bryce ship tag yet #oh well regular ol ones will have to do #chandrelle x bryce #chandrelle x rust #bryce x rust #bryce x lazarus #scov.txt #i now understand why people do really long and rambly hc posts in this format its fun and easier than writing a fic #i'll come up with an overall ship tag for the polycule on the bus tmrw. hopefully

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taliaglitch · 2 years

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💣 and 💔 for everyone or just anyone you'd like to answer for!

under the cut - only went with my 4 favorites because i do not love all my children equally, but its still very long ghfbgh

💣 BOMB: What sets them off? Do they have a short temper?

briar: the answers here are very easy: "what doesnt set them off", and "yes absolutely". but seriously: their biggest berserk button is being lied to. or i guess more accurately feeling like they were lied to, lies of omission very much included. they can't lie to 10% of the population even if they wanted to, and even with the other 90% they're just terrible at it - they're unfailingly honest, despite their Everything, and they get very upset if others aren't the same. baby sally not immediately telling baby briar she was a ment made them very mad, and the same thing played out with kenzie (except, yknow, not really). any time their family says they love them? feels like theyre being lied to. and so on and so forth. they have no choice but to tell the truth with everyone, and it feels deeply unfair that others *do*

nova: nova is bitter and resentful about plenty of things, but they dont have much of a temper? they almost never get, like, yelling-in-your-face levels of angry. they really, really hate people giving up, though, themself included. being given up on by someone they love could also work for their broken heart answer. but like - they refuse to ever give up on anything. theyre as much of a stubborn idiot & determinator as any button. they do their damn best to Make An Effort of some kind, no matter how much they dont want to or how little they think it matters, and everyone else should too. they feel like their parents gave up on them, and that's a big source of their resentment

angel: angel has godly amounts of patience - they get annoyed and frustrated as much as anyone, sure, but them actually getting *angry* is a pretty rare occurrence. the biggest thing you could do to make them so is hurt someone they love. they will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and demand an explanation, an apology, *anything, you asshole*, and if its something bad enough (like, say, blowing up nick's office and almost killing him in the process), they won't ever forgive you. they're only slightly more forgiving when they themself are the only one hurt (unless youre hope, but even then forgiveness only came with so much therapy), but either way: doing something that hurts people and never truly making up for it will forever land you in the category of "bad person" in angel's mind, and their endless well of patience does not particularly extend to those people

cecil: cecil's too repressed and emotionally numb at this point to ever get properly Angry, but the closest he gets is if his intelligence + ability is doubted. he's Smart: this is one thing he knows about himself, and also one thing he likes about himself. he places a lot of stock in Being Smart, and he really hates having that denied or doubted because of his youth, inexperience, zero, or whatever else . he'll start arguing with you and he'll be pretentious enough about it that you apologize just to make him shut up

💔 BROKEN HEART: What would break their heart? What’s the worst thing a significant other or a close friend could do to them?

briar: as i said up there: lie to them. its why they were so disproportionately devastated with the kenzie ""reveal"" - they had some tiny sliver of hope with kenzie, and it was immediately crushed because they ""lied"" about ""not being a ment"". one of many reasons their relationship with hope is so bad & they refuse to talk to her is because they no longer trust her to be honest with them about how she feels. etc etc. being lied to makes them angry, but it also just makes them really deeply sad

nova: reject or invalidate them when theyre vulnerable. they go to great pains to Not be vulnerable - their humor and resentment both are shields of a sort. they try to make others (and themself) laugh, and if that doesnt work, at least they can be bitter and... act tough i guess is what im looking for there. be as resilient as everyone says they are - if theyre smiling, or if theyre angry, or failing both of those feeling nothing at all, no one and nothing can really hurt them. if they let themself be vulnerable and sad and weak around you: it's a gift, hope that they can trust you enough to put their armor down. and you have to handle it carefully. if you deny it, or mess up, they might not ever show that side of themself to you again

angel: not believe in them. their relationship with their parents is incredibly good, all sunshine and rainbows compared to the rest, but john & hope not supporting their enrollment at aeon really hurts. they know logically its just because their parents think it wouldnt be safe & want to protect them, same as any parent would - but they feel like they just dont believe in them (because of their zero), and that really, really stings . im not sure they really talk to their parents about it, more likely they just avoid the topic as much as they can

cecil: betraying his trust. like nova, vulnerability and real trust is a rare gift from him - though if he places that gift in the wrong hands, he's more upset with himself than anything. he'll be angry and upset with himself for ever being stupid enough to trust someone in the first place. just... sorrowful and self-flagellating about it until the end of time. decent chance he won't ever actually get over it: at best, he'll numb himself to the hurt, keep people even farther than arms length than he already did before, and keep going with his life

#ty chrissy for always sending these in ur a real one #oc ramblings #oc: briar wiseman #oc: nova wiseman #oc: angel wiseman #oc: cecil wiseman

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lostfanboy · 3 years

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Dude!!! Please enlighten me about your OCs!!!

God... I've got so many..... But!!! I'll start with just my main five boys that occupy my every waking thought because I love and adore them Gonna yeet this under a readmore

Okay so quick side note, all of my ocs for the most part are for roleplays with friends, and if their not their for video games or dnd lmao so they tend to have a bunch of different varations/storylines and stuff like that. I've always wanted to make a actual like, comic or book out of a lot of the stories but I've never managed it, so none of the characters have like, a base storyline currently asdfjnasd So their motivations and personalities change/shift based on the story their in.

But! First off we have my baby boy and the oldest oc out of this group, Grech

He's just... my emo disaster I love him very much. He's very quiet and a bit shy, he tends not to show much emotion most of the time? But he just... wants to be friends with people and he wants to be around the people he loves and he's such a good boy and I just -breathes in- love him lots

He's also an absolute idiot this bad boy can fit so many bad decisions in him-

He has a twin sister named Flare who he loves and adores, and he's also got a giant black fluffy cat named Twilight who's his emotional support animal who's... so good.... He's just. Struggling along. Getting angsted by me constantly. He's a big comfort character for me, playing him is like wearing a big cozy sweater sometimes. I just... really love him.

Then we've got Carter!!

Carter is my disaster child, he also may or may not be my whump character, he's just constantly getting into trouble but he tries so hard and he loves people so much and so hard and god ahhh

His whole thing is like... being really compassionate/always trying to see the best in people, which can land him in hot water sometimes because he tends to ignore red flags because of it. He has really big abandonment issues and is just always struggling emotionally and is like... usually feeling shitty but he tries not to let it show. He's snarky and sassy, he tends to try and get a rise out of people he doesn't like and just isn't afraid to Cause Problems On Purpose occasionally. He's super cute, playful, and friendly, he calls his favorite people 'cochise', and... like he's a relatively new oc, I only made him about three years ago, but I feel like I've had him forever I literally love him so much. He also has a cat like Grech, his cat is a syphnx named Sage and she is wonderful.

I could talk about Carter for hours, I have so many feelings about every version of him I've written, he just fills me with feelings. He was meant to be a temporary throwaway character that only showed up for a bit but he just instantly stole my heart and I haven't stopped loving him since.

In the interest of time however let's move on to Damien

Damien, similar to Carter, was actually meant to be a throwaway villain character and then I, you guessed it, got fucking attACHED-

His first appearance had him dramatically draping himself across a chair in a dramatic entrance and he's ruled my life and my RP partner's life ever since

(Aforementioned dramatic chair sitting)

Damien is very much so the 'I don't care about anything except oops now I care about you' trope, he has trouble being emotionally open but he's so sweet once he does open up. He shows his affection through things like gift giving and acts of service and he's really tender and just... an absolute hopeless romantic. Simp. Dumb pining gay.

I just... I love playing Damien so much. He's so fun and dramatic and pretty, I love thinking about him and his motivations and just aaaaaaa he's a good fucking boy dude

Then we have the apple of my eye Jared!

Jared is an absolute sweetheart, just a bouncy lil fella, filled with warmth and also trauma because all of my characters are sad akdfjnaksjd. Jared is just!! Always doing his fucking best man, he wants the best for people. He tries to be really optimistic and like, sunshine-y, even when he's not feeling that way, and he tries to be really caring. He also represses allllll of his anger which is like... y'know... not great.....

But he's fine, probably.

He's actually the only one out of these characters that only has one consistent love interest (My rp partner's character Isaac, who I'd die for) and they are um....... fucking precious I love them so much.

P much all of these characters are ADHD/Autistic bc,, I play them but Jared was the first that I intentionally played that way and as such has consistent hyperfixations and special interests (Namely Tangled, Mulan, Fall out boy, and most of all, spiderman) so I really love that about him.

And, last, but definitely not least, is the chaos son himself Seth

(tungle will only let me use ten photos and I don't like his character sheet anyway so only outfit ref for him akjsdfasdj. As a quick rundown, his full name is Seth Laurens, he's 4'11, he's trans and gay, he's got adhd, autism, and ptsd, and he is a bastard)

Seth is probably the most recent out of any of these characters tbh? I only started getting really into him as a character over the past year or two but god... He's fucking fantastic. Pure chaos. ADHD embodiment.

Seth just has so much energy and rage and very little impulse control, he's constantly wrecking shop and not even meaning too. He's a tiny 4'11 himbo, not a fucking braincell in his lil head. He's very awkward and bad at making relationships but he tries so hard and once he does he latches on so hard to people and just loves them so much. He doesn't really think he's worthy of being cared about most of the time tho

He still has plenty of, sometimes unearned, confidence though. Nothing can stop this stubborn boy once he puts his mind to somethin he's fucking GOING. I love him.

But yeah!! Those are my boys!!! If you wanna learn more abt em I've got a lot more information and stuff on their toyhouses bc I have a,, hyperfixation on my ocs and I can never stop thinking about them. Thank you so much for letting me ramble a bit Tea!!! I really appreciate it ssfdiasask

#ocs #talesfromthebandgeekmafia #asks #it me #this probably isnt the most coherent my brains not working with me but i really wanted to ramble abt my kids sjddmfnena #thank u sm for giving me the opportunity to do so 🥺❤

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abi-cosmos · 3 years

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I’ve finally finished my fic!!

It’s an angsty destiel fix it that takes place after 15x19. Implied smut, is that a thing? Oh well. No real smut but plenty of Dean and Cas failing to communicate with a happy ending. Yay!

Chapters: 12/12

Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester Additional Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Dean Winchester Has Realizations, Idiots in Love, First Kiss, Heavy Drinking, Sexual Tension, Castiel Wants Dean Winchester to be Happy, Voice of Reason Sam Winchester, Mutual Pining, Confused Dean Winchester, Fix-It, Emotionally Repressed, Happy Ending, Established Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Jack Kline is a Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words Summary:

Dean Winchester processes his feelings after Castiel's sacrifice, but that isn't their ending.

An angsty, destiel fix-it that takes place after 15x19.

#destiel #deancas #slow burn #fix it #my fic #finally finished #lots of angst #bit of fluff

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calliecat93 · 3 years

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Seriously though, the thing that annoyed me most about the Kelvin Timeline films is how is really did not understand Kirk, McCoy, or the Triumvirate dynamic. I don’t want to rant on the AOS films too much, they’re perfectly fine movies and being a newbie fan maybe I just don’t have the understanding of things tat I thought. But after spending two months watching all of TOS and loving it so much because of that dynamic... it just irks me. I know that reboots have to do things differently. Things have to change or you get an urban copy with no identity for value on it’s own. But at the same time, you have to understand that original property and put in the time and effort to make it work. Reboots like Ducktales 2017 worked because that effort was make. Reboots like The Powerpuff Girls 2016 failed because no effort was made at all. The AOS films made an effort, don’t get me wrong. But aside form Beyond, it just feel like they either didn’t understand how The Triumvirate and their respecitve dynamics worked and hwy it was so essential (and even then Beyond ain’t perfect int hat area) or decided that it was better to stick to pop culture interpretations despite those almost ALWAYS being exaggerations.

Kirk is a risk-taker and could be reckless and arrogant at times. But he was also perfectly level-headed and responsible as well, and no him being younger (if anything TOS said he was kind of a serious, overly studious person int he Academy so shouldn’t his arc be int he opposite direction?) or this being an alternate timeline (with the films doing NOTHING to explain/justify the changes the event that triggered it made) is NOT a valid excuse. This was the film going by the pop culture interpretaiton of Kirk. A reckless, arrogant, rebellious, womanizing idiot who has a heroic soul, but is a pain int he ass. Which sure it’s fun to joke about, but that is a shallow reaidg of James T Kirk. He was brave, responsible, charming, and VERY dedicated to his duty. Sure he’d go against Starflee’s orders sometimes, but he knew when to judge whenw as the time, hece hwy he needs Spock AND McCoy with him. He needs the logical half (Spock) and the emotional half (McCoy) to find the balance. To make the right choice. Sometimes it may be best to be logical. other times it’s best to be emotional. Sometimes it’s a combo of the two. But Kirk had the ability to take those options and make the right choice and f he makes the wrong one, find a way to make it right. Sometimes it meant going against Starfleet’s orders, sometimes he abided by it. Sometimes he could be rational, other times his emotions or circumstances got the better of him. But regardless, this was a man who proved over and over why he is a Starfleet Captain and one of the best. AOS Kirk got there eventually, but... let’s just say that he never should have gotten that captain chair in 2009.

McCoy has always pretty much ben given the shaft compared to Kirk and Spock since the former is the main character and the latter is the breakout character. Event he TOS movies are guilty fo sidelining him, though at least those tried to keep him involved. TOS is guilty of it too, but they also put a lot into his character even if not everything made it onto the screen. My point is... what is McCoy’s role aside from Chief Medical Officer? He is the one who gets Jim to took at the emotional/human aspect of situations. He is the who challenges Spock and his repressed emotions. If Spock is concerned about the needs of the many, McCoy is the one concerned with the few or the one left behind. He’s a doctor. A psychologist. A caretaker. It’s his JOB to look after the well-being of everyone especially Kirk physically, mentally, and emotionally. Essentially, he is the opposite of Spock. Spock is the logical one. The big picture person. The one whose roll is to keep Kirk on task and remind him of what’s truly at stake depending on their success or failure. He’s not emotionless, but logic will be what he leans towards first unless certain circumstances forces him otherwise. They are the opposite ends of the spectrum. Because AOS made Kirk the opposite end of the spectrum compared to Spock, McCoy loses his roll nor does he take up being the balance between the two ends. Essentially Kirk and Spock have to sort it out on their own, which... well if you read my watchthrough post you know I didn’t care for how it was done. McCoy’s part was sorely missing. He was just...t here. he filled the sarcastic best friend spot well, don’t get me wrong and he DID feel like McCoy because Karl Urban is a great actor who cared about what he was doing. But the narrative clearly didn’t feel the same way.

Here’s what I think, and again as a newbie fan maybe I just don’t have the proper understanding. I apologize for that. But TOS was at it’ best, imo, when these three were together. They were great on their own. Their respective broken up dynamics (Kirk and Spock, Spock and McCoy, McCoy and Kirk) were all also great. But went they were together? Even during the show’s lowest points, they were at their best. heck Final Frontier, while NOT a good movie, was enjoyable because of these three being together and doing their thing. Sure TOS might not gave given McCoy the attention he deserved and maybe Kirk and Spock hogged too much of the attention due to their main character (and Shatner’s ego) and being the most popular character respectively which affected EVERYONE else, not just Bones. But you can tell when the writers realized what they had with The Triumvirate, and they took advantage of that. I can only speak for myself but while I was liking ST TOS alright, it was near the end of S1 when they began focusing more on these three with the finale seeming to be when it truly clicked into place that I went from liking it to becoming a fan. Because the dynamic was just that good.

AOS just... didn’t seem to get it. Beyond did, but even then they spend most of the movie part so it can’t really shine fully. Now they are films. They get two hours a piece at most. TOS had an hour runtime, but got over 20 episodes a season and six films. It had PLENTY of hours to form and showcase the respective characters, relationship dynamics, and the three together. But tbf again, the films were made when TOS was about 40 years old. But they ultimately decided to go how they did, and it just... missed the mark. Kirk wasn’t Kirk and given McCoy’s most emotional traits without his common sense. McCoy lost hi importance and relegated to side character. Spock... honestly he got it the best of the three, through given a LOT more unnecessary angst when his TOS story already gave him everything he needed to be sympathetic and relatable. Seriously, Amanda dying still pisses me off especially HOW she died. But he at least maintained his role and played it mostly well. The dynamic that made TOS so great was broken, and I highly doubt that was the big change that was supposed to signal how this timeline is broken. Which, sorry to say this, but it is just an easy excuse for whatever changes are made without having to put the work in to justify it. Which when it comes to reboot, is one of my biggest issues.

Again, I don’t mean to bash the AOS films. I don’t hate them. I liked watching them. It took a bit but the characters did grow on me. Whether it continues or not, there is potential in it and I can see fanon getting very creative with it especially because there’s so much that allows so much creative freedom. Plus they DID bring this era of Star Trek back to popular conscious, hence why Spock has likely been brought back in Discovery and soon Strange New Worlds. But I just feel so... annoyed by it because it took the thing I loved most about TOS, and cowered away from it. I was so excited to see these three together again after being so sad when I finished TOS, and it just... wasn’t there. I expected it to be different, not essentially non-existent. But ah well, guess I have fanon at least. I can only hope that if this reboot continues or a new one emerges, they will do better there. Because I want to see them again and it’s okay fi they’re different form TOS. I just want those differences to come with the understanding and respect of what came before. And AOS, at least int his area, did not until it was arguably too late. It’s not even close tot he worst reboot I’ve ever seen though and like I said, Beyond showed signs of hope. But only time will tell if they lead to anything.

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pleasemrdarby · 4 years

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What if Daniel took his son to gamble and he gets a piece of the action and wins money Daniel would be so proud

This is Daniel we’re talking about; the man would be proud of his son for pretty much anything. Also, it’s been awhile since I’ve written for the gambler man, so I’m really rusty (pretty much, don’t hate me if this sucks). That said, I sort of maybe totally absolutely took this idea and ran.

As soon as his son is old enough, Daniel would regularly be taking him to casinos, bars, and any other type place where he could gamble. Even before then, possibly to S/O’s disapproval, he’d still bring them along with him (it’s not breaking the law if you’re not caught, right?). Believing that you’re never too young to gamble, the elder D’Arby would have plenty of connections with people to ensure that they don’t get caught for underage gambling.

At first, Daniel has his son only watch, making observations during his games; eventually, when his father thinks he’s ready for it, he’ll have them move onto being more involved with the game itself. As it’s in his careful, calculative nature, Daniel has a fairly well-planned out roadmap of how he wants to pass on everything he knows, albeit at a very slow pace. He means well and only wants to make sure his son fully understands all the intricacies to gambling; however, his approach ends up restrictive.

Reclining in his chair at the poker table and passively taking a sip of his beverage, Daniel would be fully prepared to hear his son bet within their agreed upon range. He’d look over to them just as they pipe up from beside him, raising to an excessively higher wager.

After nearly choking from the initial surprise, which would win him glares from around the table, his eyes would flick first to the just-moved stack of chips, then over to the unbothered expression of his son. Recognizing that he should follow suit, Daniel quickly (and somehow gracefully) collects himself, having to curb his dadlier instincts.

As the hand plays out, the older D’Arby would try his best to remain indifferent so as not to disadvantage his son. Despite his attempts to repress any and all nervous tics, he ends up taking noticeable amounts of short, brief sips of his drink and digging into his pockets to fish out a piece of chocolate before noisily fumbling with the wrapper (let’s be honest, he probably has some sort of emergency chocolate for moments like these).

In the midst of his distress, possibly as he’s enjoying some bites of his emergency chocolate, Daniel would take a few moments to consider why he was feeling the way he was. He was the Great D’Arby after all, so why did the poker game of someone many years his junior make him so uneasy? Don’t get me wrong, Daniel loves his son dearly, but gambling was gambling; if his son lost, then he lost, and that was that.

As far as he was concerned, the bet didn’t directly affect him. Any amount of money lost was easily replaceable. Sure, he did have some pride on the line as he was the one who taught his son everything he knows; although, it isn’t unexpected for someone so young to be inexperienced. Besides, gambling is merely a metaphor for man’s relation with one another, a dance in which the loser cries first. So then, why did the outcome of the game matter so much to him?

He would never figure out the root of his anxiety for, despite his tendency to deny it, Daniel had gotten softer after becoming a father. Of course, any and all of his fatherly softness is saved for whatever family he has for himself, conventional or not; however, pieces of it found itself seeping out into other aspects of his life.

Occasionally, even if it’s just for a moment, he’d almost feel a small tinge of pity when someone loses against him; considering whether they knew any better instead of resorting to believe they truly deserved it for being so foolish as to bet against him. Other times, he’d have to stop himself from feeling sorry and completely at fault for someone so emotionally distraught by the knowledge that their loved one’s soul was taken from them. Though, Daniel stifles these thoughts immediately.

Having given himself some time (and some chocolate) to calm down, he’d glance back at the table and instantly be dragged out of whatever funk he was in becaUSE OH HEY LOOK AT HIS SON

The older gambler would have to fight to keep that dopey proud dad smile from his face when he sees his pride and joy surrounded by a mountain of chips. Now that things have proven to be going well, all of Daniel’s worries would be lifted.

Getting nerves from any high stake like that was natural, wasn’t it? Of course, he should have remained fully confident in his own flesh and blood! Perhaps he had inherited some of his skill alongside his good looks?

Daniel could easily flip the situation to see it as a sort of test, an unexpected detour in his roadmap for teaching his son the art of gambling, perfect for seeing whether or not everything he taught him had really stuck. It also acted as a show that he had been holding back his son; seeing him so capable and adept in this situation would certainly change Daniel’s approach to teaching him.

From that realization onwards, watching the game unfold would have become fun, and Daniel would never fail to be thrilled by seeing that amassment of chips grow larger and larger. Although, he’d decide to remain silent; he had virtually nothing to do with the game.

Every once in awhile, he’d notice behaviors and turns of phrase reminiscent to how he would act: continually taunting his opponent, boasting over any slight advantage, making shvictory (premature or not) in their face, and generally, for a lack of better words, being a massive bastard. Overall, alongside how proud and impressed Daniel would be, recognizing similarities between him and his offspring would only be the cherry on top.

As the game comes to a close and all’s been said and done, the older gambler, no longer needing to suppress grinning like an idiot, would quietly watch as his son cashed out his chips. Once the two were out of whatever establishment they were in, Daniel’s in full dad mode, clapping them on the back, singing praises, making comments on every little thing they did right (with very few minor, almost glossed-over, critiques sprinkled in), and, obviously, telling him how proud he is. If any of his remarks was met with how they “learned from the best” Daniel wouldn’t be able to stop himself from ruffling their hair and letting out a hearty “Good!” (I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself). He might receive some teasing for his initial reaction as well; although, now that it was over, it became something he and his son could easily laugh about.

Maybe a congratulatory hug was in order?

When it came down to how to properly celebrate, Daniel was completely willing to go along with whatever made his precious offspring happy. Though, he did have a preference for things such as the two of them purchasing custom-fit suits or even getting ice cream together.

#Aaaaaa don’t hurt me I’ve never gambled before #I didn’t proofread either #I have no idea how long I’ve been holding onto this for #That’s legit a textwall oh god #Ask #anon #Daniel J. D’Arby #headcanon #I forgot how I usually tag my posts

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lachlann-macnab · 4 years

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BDRP 2020 QUESTIONNAIRE

Your Name: Jean

Characters: Lachlann “Launchpad” MacNab

Pick one of your characters and talk about their growth. What about their story has surprised you? What are you proud of? How have they changed from their original inception to now?

Well, Launchpad is relatively new so he’s still pretty much the same as I envisioned him from the start-

-though I’ll admit that the idea of him having an enormous crush on Seamus/Scrooge was a surprise. I think it only took a couple of little chats with Sav and familiarizing myself with Seamus’ story for him to go “yes!! that’s the one I love!! let me at him!!”.

The funny thing is that it just kind of happened but also has a degree of canonicity to it; Granted, Ducktales ‘17 (the canon that got me into the Duckverse) didn’t delve a whole lot on the relationship those two have...but Ducktales ‘87 does and it’s fucking beautiful.

But I didn’t know that! I was just familiar with the newest canon -exploring the relationship led me to the older canon and I absolutely love it! I love the way the older version of LP is equal parts silly and capable and I try my best to express that nice balance on my interpretation.

And I wouldn’t have found that sweet spot if it hadn’t been for Sav and Seamus!

Pick another character (or the same character if you only have one) and talk a little about where you WANT them to go. What are your plans for them going into the new year?

Oooh man, this is probably going to sound rude of me, but I want someone to call Launchpad out on his shit.

He is a happy-go-lucky man, he is positive, he does think the best of everyone right from the start, he is honest with that, but there’s also a degree of performativity to the way he interacts with people: he is a people pleaser and he’s also someone who avoids problems/confrotation when possible.

That leads to him having a hard time actually voicing what he thinks when things were serious. Launchpad will default to what he thinks is the most noble/the best option even if he actually hates it. He tries his best to be a reliable dude, but that pushes him to his limits every now and then -and he hates it, but will do it anyways.

I’d love for someone to notice that and point out his marthyr complex to him, or how hypocritical he can actually be when noone is looking.

Jun did an amazing job at that, with the whole Moon Market incident and that is part of why I love his characterization and- I could rant about how Jun and LP are actually similar, yet different, but I won’t.

Someone please bitchslap my idiot son and tell him to be honest with his feelings, maybe get him to confront his feelings of inadequacy, maybe get him to actually face his problems instead of running away from them, kthanxs.

Pick a thread or a plot that you’re proud of and talk about why you loved it.

I have three threads I absolutely love, each for different reasons:

*Cleanliness is next to... with Jun: Jun called my idiot son out on his ‘noble man’ act. Jun was not impressed with his efforts and pushed him to an actual mini-meltdown because Launchpad didn’t know what to do or say to try and make things better: Launchpad is so used to having his way around people that the moment someone was inmune to all his tricks he...lost it. Big time. And I loved it.

*Untitled with Eilonwy: Both of them clicked instantly and- oh, man, I can’t really express what I feel about it, but:

Launchpad feels an actual, honest, connection to Eilonwy in various ways: both of them are a little bit weird, both of them are learning, both of them were kind of kicked out their comfort zones, both of them love adventure, both of them are fearless (in different ways), but there’s also a curious father-daughter dynamic to them. Eilonwy lacked not only a father figure but also a general actual caring adult one and I guess that’s part of what draws her to LP, while LP is a naturally caring man who also, (betweem the two of us), loves feeling like a good-ish role model instead of the dude people tell you to avoid because he’s an idiot, he loves looking out for people, he loves being understood -and Eilonwy, surprisingly, understands him without even trying.

They are so very sweet, they just clicked and both of them learn new things with the other: both about themselves and the world. And I love it.

*Dressed to the nines with Seamus: a.k.a “the one in which Sav let me go absolutely fucking ham”: It began with a chat about the need of gratious fanservice involving Seamus wearing (and getting out of) a suit -but soon became something else thanks to the Halloween task.

We soon got the ball rolling and Black Annis happened in a stupidly organic way (her very modus operandi, I discovered kind of late during the creation, ties way too well with the thread’s title itself and I’ll never get over it), and the mix of terror and action just naturally pushed the rest of the plot into the catharsis Seamus needed after all the stuff he’s been through.

The thread gave us the opportunity to write some mindless comedy, some yearning, some tenderness, plenty of gore, blood, trauma, legit PTSD, then back to tenderness and silliness -while also mentioning and showing a good deal of the things that have made Seamus the man he currently is, with the pretty and the ugly of it.

I just think it was an amazing character exploration for both Seamus and Lachlann, and I enjoyed every bit of it. I love Sav’s writing, I love Seamus’ characterization, I love how naturally it all evolved, I love how Sav can casually bring something up while plotting and the thing just clicks into place, I love how we just kind of understand where things are going or where we want them to go. Sav’s just amazing at brainstorming and general writing and I feel really, really lucky to have the chance to write with her.

I have no choice but to stan, really.

And I could go on and on about how the thread pushed both Seamus and Lachlann towards some big character development, but I really don’t want to rant -so I’ll leave it like this.

In terms of your own writing, identify 1-3 strengths and talk about why you think it’s one of your strengths.

Gee, that’s a difficult one. I guess my strongest suit as of now would be Launchpad’s voice as a character -and I’m not only talking about dialogue.

I think everyone that has read any of my threads has noticed by now that the flow of the narration is an extension of how Launchpad himself feels and thinks: it’s chaotic and emotional, it can get self-conscious and snarky when he, himself, can’t, it brings some exposition while not breaking the simple, chaotic rythm of Launchpad per-se.

In terms of your own writing, identify 1-3 areas of improvement.

This is way easier for me to pinpoint, hah! I definitely need to work on the length of my posts: I know seeing paragraphs upon paragraphs upon paragraphs can make people tired or make them feel intimidated to interact.

I also need to work on organizing Launchpad’s chaotic thoughts. The narration does get long-winded and sometimes the progression from point A to point B is way too chaotic -so much so that actually erasing it all would make no impact on the overall narration.

Pick one of your plots, or even just a character, and come up with a list of 3-5 “mentor texts” where you can look for inspiration or research, then write a short (2-4 sentences) why you picked those texts.

Not texts per-se, but I think a good way to get a feel of Launchpad’s general vibe is to watch “Top Duck” from Ducktales ‘87 and/or “The Duck Knight Returns” and “Double-o-duck in: You only crash twice”; Those episodes do an amazing job in expressing his insecurities and passions.

Now, leaving the source material behind, I think a book he resonates with is “Oh, the Places You'll Go!” by Dr. Seuss -it’s fun, it’s simple and it has an overall heartwarming message: It kind of captures that sense of wonder, discovery and positivity Launchpad both has and wishes to offer other people.

Another inspiration of sorts for Launchpad is Ferry’s “Parties are for losers” series: First of all, I’ll admit I’m a sucker for the Strugatsky brothers and СТАЛКЕР, so it’s no surprise I’m in love with Ferry’s interpretation of the story; I see a little bit of LP in KT’s story, but also in Yura’s and, surprisingly, in Olga’s.

PAFL’s setting is different, yet similar, to the Soviet sci-fi original: it deals with some disenchantment, it’s far from idealistic, it’s rough, but it’s also full of wonder and adventure: there’s big risks, but there’s also a good deal of things that make things, if not better, a little bit less miserable for the characters -and sometimes that something that keeps them going is other’s presence. PAFL is, for me, the inspiration for adventures that aren’t always glamourous, simple, or happy, taken by characters that are far from perfect, that have the odds against them, that carry a whole lot of baggage and, yet, prevail.

And, finally, a last inspiration for Launchpad, my lovable idiot son, comes from probably the place one would expect the least: God of War (2018).

I’m also a sucker for God of War, sue me.

I know it may seem bizare, but the message of the game just clicks with LP -and before you start wondering how in hell Kratos could possibly inspire Launchpad just let me tell you: he doesn’t. Because it’s not about Kratos I’m refering to when I talk about that story! I’m actually thinking of Mimir!

I love him so much.

Mimir’s role on the game is multifacetic: he brings exposition and ocasional comedic relief, sure, but I see him as the heart of the interactions between Kratos and Atreus (Kratos’ son, for those who may not know). Kratos is emotionally repressed and keeps to himself a lot while Atreus is a bundle of joy, energy, curiosity and someone that doesn’t think ‘because I say so’ is a valid answer to things; Kratos and Atreus clash during the first part of the game even when they love one another in their very particular ways.

In comes Mimir.

Mimir(’s head) joins the party and takes upon himself to act as a bridge between emotional distant father and young naive fearless son and...things start working for the three of them! Kratos starts understanding Atreus! Atreus slowly understands his father’s worries and needs! They begin the story as (almost) complete strangers but by the end they have an actual bond thanks to Mimir’s constant pushing and interventions: Mimir is soft with Atreus but bold with Kratos, the man knows when to joke and throw some riské comments for the chaos of it, but he’s also the first to offer words of comfort and understanding.

The man becomes part of the family even when he isn’t related to them by blood, even going so far as to give a ‘no, take me instead!’ when presented with the opportunity by a pair of enemies, even when his whole story tells us that he thinks of the idea of dealing with those people (won’t say who, because spoilers) as worse than death -the man hates the mere idea of going back but doesn’t hesitate a second to offer himself as a sacrifice for his new family.

And, damn, that’s what I base my interpretation of Launchpad on. He’s not a part of the family per-se but he constantly acts as a bridge between the youngest and more idealistic parts of it and the jaded, older, tired one; He’s happy to be comedic relief but will also sit and give anyone a pep talk when absolutely necessary -he knows his limitations but keeps trying and offering his best for those he cares about. He tries to be the heart.

I’m emotional about a disembodied head, don’t touch me. Play God of War (2018), it’s fucking amazing.

And now, a wishlist!:

I’m...actually up for everything and anything, really. I’d love some adventures, but I also love the more mundane interactions, I love the heavier topics but also the silly moments.

I guess, as I said before, the one thing I’d really love is for someone to push Launchpad to be honest about his feelings. Also a plot about him either considering to or actually flying again -those, however, will happen in due time and I have no rush to make ‘em.

Why do you RP?

Short explanation?: I love writing and reading.

Longer explanation?: I love writing and reading, I love complex characterizations, I love exploring new ideas and seeing how little plot bunnies become full fledged plots and/or character explorations or bring some character development, I love how that creates a domino effect with the rest of the cast. I love to see things happen: I love watching from afar as other’s characters learn lessons, create and conect-

-also, I write and read all day, everyday: that’s my job. I do script revisionism and organizational comunication. During work hours I have to check the flow of words, tones, and overall intentions; I have to do my best to make sure someone’s idea fits the box, but RPing gives me the opportunity to take the box and toss it out of the window. RPing gives me the chance to write freely, to write silly, to be imperfect and not worry about going from A to B or dealing with a checklist or tones, intentions or other’s ideas.

It’s just freeing. And that’s why I do (and love) it.

#bdrptask #/warning: long read ahead #/80% of this is me fanboying about other's writing; tbh

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strawberry-skies-xx · 4 years

Text

you wingless thing

C H A P T E R N I N E

tags: rape/non-con, dead dove: do not eat, geralt / jaskier, original female character, original male character, angst with a happy ending, angst, angst and feels, rape, past rape/non-con, implied/referenced rape/non-con, implied/referenced abuse, emotional hurt/comfort, psychological abuse, emotional abuse, emotionally repressed, fae jaskier, fae magic, hurt jaskier, torture, revenge, past torture, hurt/comfort, past abuse, jaskier whump, feral jaskier, creature jaskier, inhuman jaskier, eventual happy ending, love confessions, idiots in love, wing kink, homoerotic wing grooming

author’s note: wing kink! wing kink! wing kink! (and pining, and feels, because geralt and jaskier are just like that all the time)

and me, making fae soup with actual fae traits + my bullshit

second to last chapter, then happy ending!

scheduled monday

main masterlist | story on ao3 | next chapter >>

Geralt smells the anger before he smells Jaskier.

He walks out of the bathroom just as Jaskier walks in, swinging the door open harshly and letting it slam behind him. Geralt frowns at the state he’s in - he smells strongly like sex, with his makeup smeared and hair disheveled, skin flushed red and a faint scent of blood on him. His dress is torn in several places, and he smells like at least a dozen other people along with the blood, sex, and anger. His own natural scent is buried beneath it all, barely noticeable.

The anger isn’t even anger - it’s wrath, deeper than anything any human could feel. It’s the wrath of a fae - infinitely stronger and harsher and darker than a human, with a thousand more possibilities and a darkly creative imagination when it comes to vengeance.

Jaskier leans against the door. “I’m going to kill her,” he says. He slides his back down the door. “I’m going to kill her, I’m going to kill her. ”

Geralt stands still. Jaskier tangles his fingers in his hair and instantly takes them out, shaking them and staring at them. The scent of sex grows stronger when he does. “Fuck, it’s in my fucking hair!” Jaskier nearly yells, and then he pulls at the dress, roughly tearing it over his head and throwing it across the room, wings appearing when he does. Geralt inhales sharply at the state he’s in beneath the dress, too worried to be surprised at the sudden nudity.

There’s cum and blood dripping down his thighs, he doesn’t have his smallclothes on, and there’s cum in at least three other places on him, spread generously over the pale skin. Jaskier glares down at himself for all of a second before his head thuds back against the door and he starts shaking, anger draining out of him.

Geralt takes a hesitant step forward. He doesn’t know what to do, or how unstable Jaskier is. Fae are known for their moods, which can switch on a dime, and while Jaskier has never seemed like the type of violent, malicious fae Geralt was taught about, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the traits of them, or that he actually is one beneath the optimism and almost human kindness.

“Jaskier,” he says when the fae presses his hands over his eyes, still shaking. “There’s a bath drawn,” he continues quietly, because he’s never been good at comforting with words, but he is good at acts of service. It was going to be his bath, but Jaskier needs it more now.

Jaskier groans and pulls his hands away from his eyes, which are tired when they look up at Geralt. His eyes flick past him, to the entrance to the bathroom where steam drifts from, and he sighs. “Fine. Okay.”

He walks past Geralt without looking at him, and the Witcher sighs. Even if they do get out of here, he has no idea what sort of toll it will pay on them - he’s exhausted, keeping his guard up, playing these mental and emotional games with Nyla, and he can only imagine what it is for Jaskier. They might not make it out in one piece at this rate.

Geralt follows Jaskier into the bathroom, and casts Igni before Jaskier throws in a few salts and oils and gets in. He sighs, sinking down into the water, submerging himself before rising and brushing the wet hair out of his face, and Geralt stands there awkwardly. Jaskier always washes his hair when Geralt takes a bath, but Geralt isn’t sure if Jaskier wants the same done to him - especially by a Witcher. He isn’t sure he’d be good at it, anyway.

Geralt turns around, taking all of three steps before Jaskier’s soft voice comes from behind him. “Where are you going?”

Geralt turns back around, tilting his head. “Leaving you to bathe in peace?”

The resulting look that fills Jaskier’s eyes is something Geralt doesn’t understand, and Jaskier reaches forward. “Stay. Please?”

Well, he can’t resist that. Geralt walks back to Jaskier and crouches down next to the tub. “What do you want me to do?”

Jaskier hesitates, eyes flicking down to the murky water, before his blue eyes meet Geralt’s again, clear and determined. “Wash my wings,” he says quickly.

Geralt’s eyes widen. Jaskier has never asked him to do that - even on the road, even when Jaskier couldn’t change out of that turquoise doublet because of his wings, Geralt was never asked to help him; he barely even saw him wash his wings. And Jaskier has taken plenty of baths here, but never once has Geralt been asked to stay, let alone touch his wings.

They’re- they’re intimate. If I had my magic, I wouldn’t even make them visible to anyone but who I trusted. It’s not- they’re not supposed to be seen, or touched, unless I want them to.

Geralt frowns. “Are you sure?”

Jaskier shifts so he’s facing the side of the tub with his back to Geralt, legs pulled up against his chest. He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees and his head on his arms, and spreads all what seems like twenty feet of white feathers, wingtip to wingtip. He lifts them so they stretch across the room, over the tub, nearly touching the wall on either side.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Geralt takes a breath, and tries very hard not to focus on the way the light shines over the feathers, and Jaskier’s pale, smooth skin as it melds with the wings. “How…?”

Jaskier sits up and turns to look over his shoulder. “Just set the feathers back in place, like this,” he says, fingers moving delicately over the feathers to right them, before digging his fingers in, “and get all the dirt underneath them, too.”

His voice is oddly strained, but Geralt doesn’t smell anything weird on his scent, so he pays no mind to it and Jaskier leans forward again when he reaches out hesitantly.

He’s scared, most of all - of all the monsters he faces nearly daily, weekly, the thought of being allowed to touch something as fragile and intimate as Jaskier’s wings is the one that scares him. He doesn’t want to break them, he doesn’t want to lose Jaskier’s trust.

He lightly skims his fingers over the feathers, watching the way the afternoon light shifts and makes them almost glow, flicking his fingers gently to right some feathers as he goes. Jaskier shivers, body nearly melting into the water, and he lets out a soft sigh.

Geralt shifts. “Are you sure I’m-“

“Yeah, you’re doing it right,” Jaskier says quickly. His wings flutter towards Geralt, who pulls his hand away quickly. “Keep going. They’re not made of glass, you know.”

Geralt reaches out again, slightly bolder at Jaskier’s reassurance, and straightens several feathers before he works his fingers beneath them, feeling the dirt there. He cups his other hand in the water and brings it up, pouring the water over the feathers and rubbing at the dirt caught there, slowly loosening it and watching it fall down into the water.

Jaskier smells like dandelions, like happiness and contentment, so Geralt keeps going. He works out a rhythm, going row by row of feathers, cupping water and rubbing the dirt just rough enough to loosen it, but not enough to hurt.

He gets to the inside of the left wing and digs his fingers in there, near where the wing meets the skin, and Jaskier, who had only been giving shivers and slight hitches of breath before, gives a full-body shudder. Geralt pauses, and Jaskier’s voice sounds strained and breathy when he talks next.

“No, no, keep going,” he says. “You’re almost done-“ Geralt starts rubbing his fingers again and Jaskier gasps.

He pauses a second time, listening to Jaskier’s breaths come heavier, and the spicy cinnamon scent of arousal reaches his nose several moments later. Geralt freezes, hand still buried in his feathers, feeling heat rise to his face and his own body respond.

“Jaskier,” he says, voice slightly rough with arousal, “do you want me to stop?”

The fae shakes his head, wings fluttering and dislodging Geralt’s fingers. “Don’t stop. Unless- unless you’re uncomfortable.” The spice of arousal quickly changes to the sweet-sour of worry, and Jaskier looks over his shoulder, blue eyes wide and filled with worry. “You can stop if you’re uncomfortable, Geralt.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to do. His fingers, though not buried as deep, are still lodged in Jaskier’s soft feathers, and if he doesn’t do this, then how will Jaskier? Plus… there’s something in him that takes pleasure at causing Jaskier pleasure, and yet another part wants to see Jaskier squirm while Geralt touches his wings.

Geralt gently arches his hand and pushes his fingers back where they were, hearing Jaskier gasp softly and bury his face back in his arms. It’s then that Geralt notices Jaskier’s body trembling finely, and now he jerks his hand back as if it’s been burned. “Jaskier,” he says urgently, while trying to hide his slight panic at wondering if he did something wrong, “what’s wrong? What did I do?”

Jaskier shakes his head. “Not you. It’s not you,” he says quietly, not lifting his head from his arms. “It’s just-” He paused. “You’re so gentle, and you don’t have any ulterior motives, and it’s all what I want. Of my own free will.”

Geralt relaxes slightly at the reassurance that he didn’t cause Jaskier to shake, though he simmers with anger at what others did to Jaskier to make him have such bad memories of touching his wings. In Geralt’s opinion, they’re beautiful, something to be treasured. Not mistreated, and not treated as if they’re his own - because they’re not.

Jaskier lets out a quiet breath. “Keep going. Please,” he whispers, and his voice is so pleading that Geralt can’t resist it even if he tried. He continues cleaning the feathers, working his way to the inside of the left wing, and moves to the outside of the right.

Half an hour later, Jaskier’s body is nearly limp in the tub, and Geralt thinks he’s dangerously close to falling asleep. He keeps working his fingers through the feathers, as gentle as he can be while still cleaning them, and finishes the right wing fifteen minutes later.

He lightly smacks the back of Jaskier’s neck and the fae hums, definitely sounding nearly asleep. Geralt lets his lips curl up in half a smile. “Jaskier.”

“Mmmm,” he gets in response, and Geralt grabs his shoulder, lightly pulling him back before letting go.

“You’re going to fall asleep.”

“‘nd?”

He gives a long-suffering sigh. “You really want to fall asleep in a tub filled with water that’s dirty with cum?” he asks bluntly.

Jaskier lifts his head and looks over his shoulder, blinking at him sleepily. “Damn you and your logic,” he mumbles. Geralt laughs softly and waits for Jaskier to slowly - ever so slowly - lift himself out of the tub. Geralt turns around, listening to the rustle of cloth on skin as Jaskier finishes cleaning and dressing, and follows the fae when he walks past him into the bedroom in his smallclothes, the water draining behind them.

Now, the dim lamplight cast on Jaskier’s clean white feathers makes them shine, and Geralt can’t stop looking at them. He’s so distracted, he doesn’t know Jaskier has turned around and is holding a bottle of oil until the fae waves his hand in front of his face.

Geralt’s eyes snap to him, and he gives a low growl at the knowing smirk on Jaskier’s face.

Jaskier’s smirk widens to a grin, blue eyes lighting with mischief. “You’ll deny it to your last breath, but you were staring,” he says triumphantly. “How is it that I found Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier purrs, stepping forward, and for some reason he decided to put a dress on over his smallclothes, and it hugs his curves quite unfairly, Geralt thinks, “the White Wolf,” Jaskier loops his arms around his neck and Geralt thinks the contact isn’t all that bad, “ staring like he’s a horny virgin teenager who’s never had sex before?”

Fuck. All Geralt can smell is the dandelions of happiness, spicy cinnamon arousal, all he can smell is Jaskier and it’s intoxicating. He’d happily drown in that scent, let himself become addicted to it like a drug. It may as well be; Jaskier is the worst kind of temptation in the best way, and Geralt would take him up on his blatant offer, but he’s been taken advantage of by too many people already and Geralt is not going to add himself to that list. Besides, Geralt doesn’t think he can handle only a one-night fuck, and it’s inevitable that Jaskier will realize what kind of mutated monster he’s decided to bed and will run away from him like so many others.

It doesn’t matter that Jaskier is his own kind of creature, because he’s beautiful and graceful and everything Geralt isn’t.

Geralt steps back and turns around, walking to his side of the bed. “I wasn’t staring.”

The scent of disappointment is slightly sour on Jaskier, but it’s there for all of a second before his scent returns to dandelions and sweet lemongrass. “Whatever you say, Geralt,” he says teasingly. He opens the bottle of oil he was holding and spreads one wing, spilling oil onto his hand and spreading it through the feathers. Geralt rolls to his side and watches him, watches his long, pale fingers work methodically through the feathers, and can smell the faint scent of lavender from the oil. It’s not too strong for his senses, but it’s still noticeable. Geralt finds he likes it.

Jaskier finishes one wing. Geralt suddenly has an urge to help him; he wants to take the oil and spread it through Jaskier’s feathers for him, feel the softness and make Jaskier go soft and pliable in front of him, like in the bath.

But he can’t. His chance to clean Jaskier’s wings before was just a fluke; the fae surely wouldn’t want him to help with the oil too. And Geralt won’t ask, either; he knows when he’s wanted and when he’s not, and inviting himself to touch Jaskier in such a way again would certainly be part of the latter.

Geralt rolls to his other side, studying the pattern on the blankets instead, and fifteen minutes later he feels Jaskier slide in next to him, lavender-scented wing draping over him. Geralt wants to push him away, wants to get rid of the temptation that is Jaskier, but that’s the whole problem - the fae is irresistible and Geralt finds his self-control rapidly dwindling around him.

And… Geralt isn’t sure he wants to get rid of Jaskier, because despite his frustration, he finds the slight lavender scent, mixed with his natural sweet lemongrass, lulling him to sleep faster than he thought.

Geralt decides he’ll deal with that in the morning, and lets the darkness - scented with lavender and lemongrass - pull him under.

next chapter >>

#the witcher netflix #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier

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adorajoon · 6 years

Text

stalked. (epilogue)

> epilogue of stalked

> an au in which you find a thirst account dedicated to you

> word count: +4k

—

4 Hours after Jung Hoseok’s arrest

You can’t specifically recall the details from the day it happened. It felt like a hazy dream that you were on the verge of waking up from. In a regular situation you would have joked around about astral projecting the entire time, which in itself is funny to think about. But let’s be honest this was probably going to traumatize you for a few years, if not more. Even your primary coping mechanism, humor, wasn’t enough to protect you from the horror of reality. Somehow you had the seedling of a thought, that maybe just maybe this really was your fault.

Breathe.

You took a deep breath and rubbed your eyes. The potholes and constant bumping were doing the opposite of lulling you to sleep. The sky was dark and full of stars that whisked by. You moved around some to get in a more comfortable position but found your efforts fruitless. Again you sighed.

Your huffing caught the attention of Jungkook who had been your personal chauffeur. Even with your back turned to him you could feel his concerned stare. You felt bad about asking him to do this favor after leaving the police station, but he seemed eager to please. Not that you were complaining or anything, it was endearing.

Your destination was home. Home sweet home where you could leave behind the weighing thought of Hoseok and Uni homework you had yet to catch up on. Your house was about a 35 minute drive on a traffic free day. Far but not too far.

You looked through the window watching the stars go by again. The moon like always, was following the two of you. It took you back to when you were a kid when your parents told you about the rabbit on the moon. ‘Tokki’ as they called him would pound rice cakes on the moon. In a funny way, the story reminded you of Jungkook. In some ways he was like a rabbit with his big round eyes and cute bunny teeth. You made yourself laugh as you mused the thought of Jungkook being the rabbit on the moon.

“Hey Jungkook,” you shifted in your seat to look at him. His figure was illuminated by the street lights and moon. “Thanks for agreeing to take me home all late and stuff.”

He shrugged as if it was nothing, “Like I said, don’t worry about.” Jungkook spared you another glance. He put his hand on your hand which had been resting on your thigh. “You went through some Future Diary shit dude, it’s the least I can do.”

He gets a giggle and then a laugh out of you. ”You goddamn weeaboo.”

“Says the person with an anime profile picture.” His hand squeezes your hand but you retract it, indicating your (fake) offense. He continues on with his anime rant “All I’m saying is that Yuno was like ‘I wanna protect you’ and then homegirl nearly destroyed two universes just to be with Yuki...Also give me back your hand coward.”

You could see his point yet you continued to keep the banter/discussion going on. Anything to get your mind off your guilt.

5 hours after Jung Hoseok’s arrest

“Hey, I really don’t want this to come off the wrong way but...I haven’t brought a person home for my family to meet,” You looked down at the glove compartment, feeling a little bashful. “I want you to meet them under better circumstances and when yknow… we’re actually official?”

He nods understanding the position you’re in, “Oh I get you, it’d be weird of me to impose anyway.”

You offer him a weak smile and reach over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Be careful on the way home.”

“Y/n, don’t even worry about it, I have a black belt in kickassology.”

“Sehun’s thread says otherwise.”

—

You flop onto your bed with a defeated groan. You had spilled your guts to your parents all in one go and all that you really desired was to just sleep or at least forget about your day.

Feeling simultaneously frustrated and exhausted you grabbed your pillow and put it up to your face. You screamed into your pillow with all you had. And it went on for awhile before your tired yourself out. Flipping your body over you stared at the ceiling fan, you didn’t want to feel anything. Yet! Those intrusive thoughts of Hoseok came racing into your mind. His look of despair and pained face printed itself into your mind.

‘This is your fault.’

‘Wait no. Stop thinking it’s your fault because it’s not it was just the circumstances. Ok but wait, maybe-‘

You close your eyes for a few minutes before you suddenly feel the need to text. Typical Millennial. The person that jumps into your mind is of course Jungkook.

You smile at his response and throw your phone at the pile of stuff animals at the foot of your bed. He was a dork.

1 day after Jung Hoseok’s arrest

You sat at kitchen table eating cereal across from your teenaged sibling. They had been typing away carelessly on their phone while you watched cartoons from their laptop. You guess they felt bad for you because they would have never trusted you with it otherwise. You put another spoonful into your mouth as you watched on. Your parents had left for works hours before hence their absence. You had to go back to campus later that day anyway so there wasn’t a point for them to stay and worry.

“Y/N.” They say all of the sudden. You look up to see urgency in there eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What do you mean?” You narrowed your eyes at them. It was rare of your sibling to extend to olive branch. You supposed they were emotionally constipated, unlike yourself, so moments like these were rare.

“Well.” They tried to elaborate the best they could, “You went through some stuff, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone...I guess.”

The sentiment meant a lot to you. You needed to hear that. A fond smile found its way to your face and retracted your hand. You leaned over the table, “This is the shittest week I’ve ever had.”

You begin to tell them about how everything started but you end up stopping midway because your phone vibrates on the wooden table surface. Your eyes glance at the screen and you see a notification from Jimin. For some reason your mouth goes dry.

The look of dismay on your face must have been too obvious because your sibling picked up on it right away. “What’s wrong?” They asked peeping up from the other side. Thankfully it was a sincere question, not one of annoyance. Your sibling was (usually) an insufferable dick sent from Hell.

You frowned, “Check your Twitter, I’m everywhere.”

They quirked an eyebrow at you and began scrolling through their own phone. You bite at the inside of your cheek anticipating their reaction to it. “Damn...Better start calling yourself Dick Wolf because you just produced an episode of Law and Order.” They said holding back their shit eating grin.

There was the sibling you hated.

You stood up from your chair, creating a jarring floor to chair leg screech. “I’m not taking this slander from a freshman in highschool, good day to you.”

You had completely pushed the issue of the media getting ahold of your story aside and put it in your repressed feelings box. You would worry about that later.

—

The train ride back to campus was uneventful to say the least. Save for the fucking part when Seokjin, someone you previously regarded as a good friend, texted you from out of the blue.

You sat in your seat staring at his message. In all honesty you didn’t want to talk to him, it would just make you feel awful. But at the same time you wanted some closure, more information. Hesitantly you texted him back, saying you would call him after you got off your train. He of course complied and that was that. Well not completely because your stomach started to feel queasy.

Kim Seokjin, is- no was the boyfriend of your longtime friend Min Yoongi. He just sort of crashed into your life about a year or moreso ago. Your first impression of him was not exactly good, even if he had made your friend happy, you had found him irritating and nosey (particularly in your affairs and gossip about you). You never voiced your annoyance of course and overtime Jin started to grow on you and the rest of your little group. In hindsight you should’ve seen his betrayal coming but again, being the overly forgiving idiot you were, you still saw the good in him.

You didn’t call him immediately, in fact you actually went back to your dorm. When you opened the door you half expected Yeri or Jisoo to come and attack you with questions but that was not the case. It was the middle of the day so no one was there.

You closed the door behind you and took a deep breath. It still smelled like Jisoo’s lavender lotion, for which you were grateful for. Slowly you kicked off your shoes and pushed them aside. As you walked to your bed you saw a little banner hanging across your wall saying, “We Missed You <3.” You had no idea how long it had been hung up but it made you crack a grin. Somehow you’d pay them back later for the cute message. Despite everything they were probably the most patient and understanding.

But you digress. You came in to relax...and call Jin. You sat at the foot of your bed and scrolled through your contacts. Upon finding his name you pause and take a moment to compose yourself.

The phone begins to dial him up. You sit alone in anticipation, you had no idea what he would tell you. You hoped he wouldn’t answer.

“Hey y/n...it’s me um.” Jin wasn’t usually one to stutter with his words, he was usually proper with his speech, “thanks for calling me.”

“What did you want to tell me?” You ask cutting to the point. Small talk would just make you feel awful.

He paused. “Everything.”

6 years before Jung Hoseok’s arrest

It was a month into freshman year, you would say that you adjusted pretty well despite your initial thinking. You had plenty of new friends and acquaintances, mixed in with some old. You were particularly fond of the boy who sat by you in biology. His name was Kim Namjoon, he was pretty cool for an NHS kid you figured. The two of you had plenty of interests like anime and...copying off each other's homework.

Anyway, one day during a free period you decided to stray from the usual group of people to focus on your work. You didn’t know that would be your big mistake.

You saw him from across the room. Jung Hoseok. The boy who everyone told you stay away from. The boy everyone avoided. The sad little boy you would come to know as your stalker.

Now you were never one to buy into rumors, you liked to judge people for yourself before jumping head first into conclusions. You gave him a look over from where you were. Not sugarcoating anything, he looked like shit. Yes, he wasn’t bad looking-not in the slightest. It was just the fact that he looked like he had just gotten in a bad fight and lost. The bruise marks on his neck were what really got your attention. Without thinking you walked over to him.

“Are you okay? Do you need to talk to someone?” You stood over him with a concerned look.

He looked up at you partly startled at your presence. His face contorted into a variety of faces but eventually found itself in a mesh of shock and fear. Hoseok said nothing as his eyes began to gloss over with tears. You cocked your head to the side a little confused by his silence. His eyes locked with yours as a tear ran down from cheek. It was your turn to be startled. He began to cry more and more. Not knowing what to do in the situation you did the first thing that came to mind and that was pat his back. You didn’t know how he would react to that but you definitely didn’t expect him to cry harder. In a panic you looked around to see no one paying attention to the two of you, figures. Not knowing what else to do you gently wrapped your arms around him.

Yes you didn’t know him and you thought he would push you away but to your surprise he weakly wrapped his arms around you and began to cry in your shoulder.

You wish you could say that it escalated into a beautiful friendship after that but it didn’t. Though more friendly towards you Hoseok was still pretty much the same, he kept to himself. You respected his space and let him come to you, it wasn’t your intention to overstep boundaries.

He grew out of his ‘emo’ phase near the end of freshman year and by the next year his personality took a subtle turn. Suddenly everyone thought he was much more cool—not weird. By this time you already had your established friend group but you stayed on friendly terms. Homecoming was evidence enough of that.

3 days after Jung Hoseok’s arrest

When Jin said everything he meant everything. He told you about how long Hoseok had been planning to talk to you outside of high school, how he would shift his schedule to yours, how many pictures he had of you in his room. He told you about the elaborate past plans the two had come up with. Hoseok’s motivation for becoming a cop, which was not to get close to you like you suspected, but for another. Jin disclosed your stalker’s family ties and how his father abused him and his his own mother didn’t even want him. Hoseok wanted to be a police officer to help others like him, or at least that what he told Jin.

The first thing that you had concluded from the conversation the two of you had was that Hoseok had been in fact emotionally manipulating Seokjin even before you had met. It disturbed you to say the least and made you feel disgusted. Disgusted towards him and somehow yourself. You knew it wasn’t healthy to think that way but the thoughts just came in and in.

Anyway.

It unsettled almost as much as the people dming you about your situation. You knew very well that they were news outlet people or just snooping around. Your assigned police officer Sooyoung had told you about being weary of who messaged you over the course of the next few days. It was understandable to be honest, you were the center and cause of the investigation of the Seoul Police and a stalker case. In addition to that she kept you posted on any new developments in what she called the ‘Jung Situation’.

The two of you corresponded through text mostly on the account of the Incheon Police Department going into maximum overdrive.

You stared at your phone for the longest time looking over what you had typed. It was out of your control.

You sighed and put your phone in your jacket pocket. You were at the front door of Jimin’s place. He alongside Taehyung had invited you over for dinner (he had ominously said dress ‘hoe formal’ so you assumed it would be just more than that). Not that you minded or anything, and it was probably better that you got out the dorms. (Especially when you spent the past few days making up as much work as humanly possible).

Before you even got to knocking he seemed to have sensed your presence and dragged you in. There wasn’t a point in protesting he was about as stubborn as he was small.

To your surprise you see your group of friends huddled up in his tiny living room. Their focus shifts from the TV and onto you. Yoongi, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Namjoon (with his patched up nose) give off varying degrees of excitement.

“Surprise y/n! I figured you needed a distraction from everything so we’re going out tonight!” Jimin held onto your shoulders as if you were about to book it and never come back. He was absolutely beaming.

“Where are we going?” You raised an eyebrow and tried to pry yourself away from his small hands (baby hands as you called them). It proves useless to struggle.

“Yeah I would like to know too.” Yoongi grumbles from the corner of the couch, basically drowning in his winter coat. You don’t blame him it was actually really cold. “You promised meat.”

Jungkook’s eyes lit up at the mention of food and he sat completely up from his spot, “Hyung are we...getting meat with y/n?” He says meat as if it’s a sacred word.

Jimin pouts and takes his hands off of you. He takes a few steps away from you to hold Taehyung’s empty hand (odd flex). “Well I was gonna tell you guys myself, but yes I’m paying for us to go eat and then we’re going to karaoke.” He seemed to squeeze Taehyung’s hand after making his last statement, “Yes I will pay so don’t worry about it.”

—

For the first time in what seemed like awhile you felt like a normal college student. Everything felt okay, and untouched by the heavy reality that was unwraveling around the six of you. Time seems to slow down as you all enjoy your dinner together, the table is filled with boisterous laughs and beer. Even Yoongi who had looked glum before had appeared to be in good spirits. You sort of thanked the alcohol for that.

All sitting around the table you all grabbed pieces of meat from the center of the table. There wasn’t a particular topic in the conversation it would just jump around from school to memes to the time Taehyung brought his dog Yeontan to school with him. And so it goes on like this right up until you all go to karaoke.

It was all shits and giggles by then but you were starting to feel the affects of drowsiness kick in. It was a shame that you were a sleepy drunk.

While they went ham in karaoke you sat next to Yoongi who was taking a breather because he was partially tipsy. You watched everyone have a good time in front of you. Not that you minded you were perfectly content with watching man-children make a fool out of themselves.

A little bit into it you saw Yoongi looking more or less sad. “...Are you ok?” You asked Yoongi, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He didn’t give you an immediate response. “As long as I have you guys I think I’ll be fine.” His voice was soft and his eyes were locked on his shoes.

1 week after Jung Hoseok’s arrest

“Y/n.” Officer Sooyoung Park sat across from you at her desk, she looked tired and run down from the overtime she had been working, “I’m glad you could make it on such short notice.”

You nodded, “It was no problem...”

She let out a huff and supported her head on her hands, “So I’m going to be one hundred percent with you, we worked hard for you to get justice while also keeping in mind the circumstances.” she continued to speak, “The judge found Hoseok unfit for trial due to his mental state so he’s going to rehabilitation where hopefully he can improve.”

“And what happens if he doesn't?” You sat on the edge of your seat.

“They’ll keep him as long as he needs to be there.” She took a sip of her coffee while reading from a manila folder filled with papers on papers. Her eyes looked up at you with an unreadable expression. “I’ve done all I can.”

It was out of your hands now. You get up and thank her for her services.

“One more thing.”

You stopped, your hand resting on the door handle.

“He told me to tell you that he’s sorry. He was annoying and insistent that I tell you or else he wouldn’t comply with the other officers.”

You just nodded and opened the door.

Feeling bittersweet about the entire thing. you didn’t intend on looking back.

“Take care of yourself y/n.”

2 years since Jung Hoseok’s arrest

You sat next to Jungkook awkwardly adjusting the top part of your dress. It was hot and sticky and absolutely disgusting outside. You mentally cursed at Jin who insisted on having the outing outside in the first place. Jungkook wouldn’t stop squirming around in his seat either, it was easy to infer that he felt just as hot in his tux (as if his sweat didn’t give it away either).

“Who decides to have their wedding in the middle of May anyway?” You ask making sure to keep your voice to a whisper. “My thighs are melted to the chair.” You weren’t even being dramatic, if you tried to get up your skin would most definitely peel off the plastic chair. Graphic but you lived a sad life indeed.

“We both know Jin is...unique.” Jungkook crosses his arms and slouches in his chair. “And knowing him he probably planned it all without Yoongi.”

The wedding venue was nice enough, it looked expensive and elegant like you expected. White flower petals were littered everywhere you walked and decorative designs adorned any and all inanimate objects. Seokjin was a man of elegant taste what could you say.

There was a brief pause, you could hear the hushed murmurs of the other guests behind the two of you. You took a quick glance around to see some familiar faces mixed in with some not-so familiar faces. In the front you can see Yoongi standing awkwardly in his little suit. Namjoon and Jimin stand to the side as his best men laughing at him. You smile fondly at the sight. Yoongi notices your gaze and sends you a nervous smile. Of course your reaction is to send him an over enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Y/n, do you think the emergency gummy bears are melted?” Jungkook asked you quietly while searching through your purse. You didn’t notice he had been snooping around until he said something.

Jungkook hadn’t changed a bit since the two of you decided to start seeing each other. He was still a dweeb who annoyed you by calling you mommy. Which was fucking disgusting. You relished your time spent with Jungkook even if you hadn’t officially started talking until the incident.

Finally he retrieved your shared stash of gummy bears and began to open them. Soon after he did that the traditional wedding song from the organ began to play. Both of you froze in place and waited in anticipation for the other groom to come out. Quietly you both stood up and watched as Seokjin appeared at the beginning of the walkway. He took long strides with the music up to his husband to be.

You watched with bated breath as Jin approaches the altar. Yoongi had the biggest and most child-like grin on his face. 2 years prior you would have never forseen the two of them pushing through their relationships problems. It was almost laughable, the entirety of two years ago felt like a bad dream.

It took a lot to get to this point you were not going to lie. It took therapy, confrontation, and acceptance of the circumstances, but you were finally glad to say that you and your friends were in a better place. Just a few days back you had heard Hoseok had requested a hearing to be discharged from the institution.

The music stopped and your attention was now fully on the couple who were starting a new beginning. Somewhere in the speech you interlocked fingers with your boyfriend who was periodically eating gummy bears from his pocket.

It finally dawned on you--You probably wouldn’t be here if Jimin had never found the thirst account. You wouldn’t be with Jungkook, but rather Hoseok who would still be dangerously infatuated with you. Jin could’ve still been pining after Hoseok,

Hoseok would have still thought of you as his galaxy.

The notion of it made your stomach turn and you disregarded the thought. Nervously, you fiddled with the ring on your left hand while looking ahead at the altar. Jungkook’s eyes shift from the couple and onto you, he stays silent however his finger runs over the outside of your palm soothingly.

You feel at peace again and your restless thoughts are put to bed once more.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts x you #bts fanfiction #jungkook x reader #hoseok x reader

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nellyofthevalley · 5 months

Text

truths, ch.7

astarion x fem!tav rating: explicit

content: piv sex, fingering, biting/blood drinking, emotionally repressed losers who can't communicate, angst, hurt/comfort, extended sickfic?

How could he resist her like this? In her little dress and warm all over, after being so cold for so many weeks, after he couldn’t do anymore than hold her tightly in the night and hope that one day, she’d feel alive again? And after the run-in with that vile drow, he wants to thank her in the only way he knows how. “Gods,” he sighs, trailing his hands further up her body, lifting her dress as he went. “I missed this.”

chapters: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | ch.6 | ch.7 | ch.8

read it on ao3 or below the cut

It’s but a few days before Astarion breaks his promise.

Exhausted after exploring every corner and every inch of Reithwin town, Tav comes to his tent as she started to do every night, and falls asleep early. Astarion carefully uncouples from her and finds Halsin by the campfire, reading. And more importantly, alone—this might be his only chance. If he has to break his promise, he’d prefer to only do it once.

“Astarion,” Halsin greets him as he sits on the log beside. “How can I be of assistance?”

“She’s sick,” he answers, shifting uneasily, and then he reconsiders and adds, “No. It’s more than that.”

“Tav?”

“She’ll stake me for telling you.”

“Then it must be dire,” Halsin notes, and what’s left unsaid between them is that now, Halsin knows the full truth of it: how Astarion’s become wholly captivated by her. Not that it’s such a shock, not after she started to creep to his tent every night; she’s never as silent as she tried to be, but most likely assumed it was physical.

It’s a weakness.

Cazador would have him brutalized for it, and he’d kill her too. No, he’d do worse than that—he’d cut her apart and put her back together repeatedly before draining her and making her his spawn and he’d make Astarion watch. And if he didn’t, the master would tear him apart and put him back together, too, over and over again until locking him away in the kennels for months or into another dusty tomb.

“What’s happening to her?” Halsin asks, bringing him back to the present.

“She’s—she’s cold, just ice fucking cold. I don’t know how else to explain it,” he says, stumbling over his words, flustered and unsure why he didn’t see this earlier. “I’ve felt plenty of people before, and none felt like that.”

“How long?”

“Months,” he answers, and his mind continues, chastising himself for letting this happen: who else could have seen it? Who else had spent so much time with her? “Can you help her?”

“I can prepare an elixir to raise her temperature,” Halsin offers. “But it’s a temporary comfort.”

Astarion hates the sound of that. If Halsin doesn’t know, who will? Will they be taken on another goose chase, desperate to find the one healer in the realm that can be of assistance, much like the journey the tadpole had sent them down?

And what happens if they turn up short even after they’ve reached the city? Death?

How cold can one’s body get before their very essence can no longer survive? How long can a person live off fucking elixirs? It’s horrid timing—they might as well be at the edge of the world. On the cusp of reaching Moonrise Towers, unable to move forward, and too far to go back. The only possibility behind them is the grove, and they’ve already acquired its most powerful asset.

Astarion’s getting antsy waiting to hear more about his end of the deal with Raphael, there’s been no trace of him since meeting at the inn. Tav read the Infernal on his back, but the words themselves were meaningless. And he starts to think that maybe if the bargain is fair enough, he’d be willing to negotiate a second one.

Raphael’s a smarmy, obnoxious devil, but he has power, and perhaps he has the power to cure this.

The most surprising thing is that Tav doesn’t question it when he gives her the little bottles of liquid fire in the morning. She doesn’t ask where he got them, she doesn’t ask if he’s betrayed her trust, she doesn’t say anything; she slips the bottles into her pack and carries on like nothing happened, eating the breakfast Gale made and donning her armor.

The trip to Moonrise Towers is… not what Astarion anticipated.

“Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?” the blood trader says, looking to Tav—the ‘True Soul’—and she ignores him completely. Araj pays him no mind at all as she attempts to negotiate with Tav for him, for what he would be trading in exchange for a promised powerful potion. She only glances at him once, when she practically drools over him and talks about her fantasy of being bitten since she was a young girl. It’s sickening.

And Tav could ask him to do it. He will, if she asks, and he’ll hate it.

But she doesn’t. She says she’s surprised he didn’t go for it, and he tenses up, fearing she’ll push him on it. He wonders, too, why she questioned it at all, though he doesn’t dwell on it; he’s used to being used anyhow, and at least if he has to do this, it’ll be for the party’s benefit.

He pulls her aside and asks, “Are you really asking me to do this?”

“What? No,” she says. “But I know you have nothing to eat out here. I thought you’d be starving.”

Tav’s right on that, he is starving. She offers herself time and time again and he refuses and he never finds anything else to sink his teeth into, not since the night in the cemetery, but he reminds himself every time he comes up short that he’s endured worse.

“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,” she says, and that’s the end of it; she doesn’t ask him to justify himself.

Astarion declines Araj yet again and he expects to feel disappointed with himself for not sucking it up—he’s endured worse, he reminds himself once more—but he can’t. He can’t feel anything but gratitude. A novel emotion. One he’s not yet grown accustomed to feeling.

“A pity,” she sneers right as the group turns to leave.

“Fuck off!” Tav shouts back, and he might’ve laughed if the whole experience wasn’t so dreadful.

“Thank you,” he finds himself saying to her once they’re out of earshot, and just like when he invited her to his tent without intending to, it feels like someone else speaking on his behalf. “I… appreciated that.”

“I would’ve killed her if the time were more opportune,” Tav remarks.

When Tav retires to his tent that night, she has his coat with her, but she’s not wearing it and she lays it on the crate. Instead, she wears her nightclothes: a thin dress draped over her undergarments that hugs her body so perfectly… Oh, he’d caught a glimpse of her in it once before, but that was months ago, before he had his eyes painfully opened.

“Come here.”

Astarion immediately drops his book and, when she crawls over to join him under the covers, he pulls her right into his lap and she’s warm. He immediately forgets anything else he had on his mind; he grabs her thighs and rubs his palms into them, just admiring her skin, admiring the blood that runs through her veins.

And after the run-in with that vile drow, he wants to thank her in the only way he knows how.

“Gods,” he sighs, trailing his hands further up her body, lifting her dress as he goes. “I missed this.”

He slides his palms further up her dress, lightly running over her breasts before settling on her back and pulling her closer, until he feels her warm exhales on his face and presses his lips to hers. His mouth is needy—no, greedy and hungry, he kisses her like he might never get to again. Tav can’t even think about where they’d found themselves before his tongue is pushing past her lips and finding hers.

On cue, her heart thumps against his chest and when his feet find leverage on the ground and he starts to rock his hips up into her, her nails dig into his chest and she moans into his mouth and he swallows it, eager for every part of her he can have. His body’s eager too, cock hardening and pushing against her cunt through the layers of fabric, begging for more; it’s been so long since he’s had any form of release…

“You missed this, too,” Astarion teases, pulling down harshly on her waist as he thrusts upwards, smirking with satisfaction when he coaxes another noise from her throat. “Didn’t you?”

“Ah, fuck you,” she teases back.

He grabs her tightly and then, in a flash, turns her over onto the bedroll and pushes her legs up and apart as he kneels before her. He guides her underwear over her ass, her legs, lingering at and kissing along her ankles—soaking in her ticklish laughter and playful ‘ah, don’t!’—before finally taking the garment past her feet and tossing it aside.

Then, Astarion hesitates, towering over her with his cock straining at his pants, twitching in anticipation of more, and he stares at her, a blank look in his eyes.

“Astarion… are you…” Tav pauses, struggling to find what she wants to say, and how to say it. “Do you want this?”

“I want to. I want this,” he assures her, flatly. “What makes you think I don’t?”

“I’m only making sure you’re fine.”

“I’m fine, darling.”

He bends forward, lifting her dress over her head and pushing up her bra, then leaves soft kisses between and over her breasts and along her collarbone before pausing at her neck and brushing his lips against her skin. He starts thrusting into her again, faster and harder as he kisses her ear and groans quietly with every movement, until he’s frantically rutting into her like he’s fucking her with his clothes still on, but he’s silent, and something’s just—just not quite right.

It’s awkward, but it’s not awkward in the way learning a new lover would be awkward, or the way Tav anticipated it might be awkward when they laid together again. It’s uncomfortable. It’s obvious that Astarion’s not himself and it happened so suddenly, like something inside him changed or like he’d woken up from a dream and found himself here.

“Stay with me,” she says.

He pulls back, but he doesn’t speak. He hovers over her with her legs pushed back and her face flushed and continues, fumbling clumsily with the buttons of his pants before Tav takes his hands in hers and moves them away.

“Astarion, please. Let’s stop.”

“Godsdamnit,” he curses, “I want to…”

Astarion rolls over and sits back into the bedroll, angrily pulling the blankets over his lower half and staring off, away from Tav, willing to look anywhere but at her. Fuck! This is even worse than performing, he thinks, this is humiliating—to start something he couldn’t finish, no matter how much he wishes he could.

And what would he even tell her, if she asks and he has to explain? Would he start by telling her he failed miserably at seducing her and most definitely piss her off? Or would he lead with the realities of what he did for his master, and then tell her he tried to ruin her just like he ruined everyone else he slept with, too?

“I know you do.” He hears Tav shuffling as she sifts through her bag, gathering her clothes, and begins redressing. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he answers. “Stay with me.”

She settles back in the pile of blankets and asks, “Can I touch you?”

After a short period of silence, he replies, “You can,” and the aggravation is beyond evident in his tone. It’s not directed at her, and yet he waits for her to lose her patience with him, certain that at any moment he’ll become too much of a drag to bother with.

Instead, Tav nudges at his shoulders and ushers him to move, silently leading him to turn and sit with his back to her. She takes the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head, and he obeys, raising his arms.

“Relax. Lean forward,” she orders.

Astarion glances over his shoulder at her and the way she meets his gaze, nervousness evident in her eyes and a lack of confidence he normally never sees, he’s sure she has something to say. He’s not sure if he wants to hear it, but not knowing would be worse; he’d never stop thinking about it, he wouldn’t be able to relax as she’d asked him to.

“Spit it out.”

“Now’s not the right time,” she argues.

“Tell me. I want to hear it,” Astarion insists. “Help clear my head of all the things I wish I could do to you right now, and share your burden with me.”

She’s silent for a brief moment and then asks, “What is this, between us?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Is that fine with you?”

“Yes,” Tav says, without hesitation.

Astarion relaxes and leans forward, and she presses her palms to his skin, firmly but carefully massaging his shoulders and neck. She works slowly, adapting to his body language—more here, or not there, his body says in the way he stiffens or slacks—and she patiently works through every knot.

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #tav x astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #my fanfic

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grandschemed · 5 years

Text

quick notes about my canon divergent john marston portrayal.

a. my john focuses on the events of the second game, meaning he’s much more volatile, wild with a lot of repressed emotion, but he’s a good person at heart despite being raised by a bunch of outlaws. he considers the gang his family and would do anything for their well-being.

b. regarding abigail marston and his son, jack: needless to say, his relationship with both of them are complicated. john loves abigail and jack without question and would do anything to protect them, but he realizes he isn’t ready to settle down with a family due to his doubts whether or not he’s capable of being a good father ( especially regarding his complications with his own biological father and dutch quite frankly isn’t the best role model either ). all of this unfortunately impacts john’s relationship with abigail ( and with jack, obviously, whom he unfortunately ignores for lack of knowledge on how to interact with him ) and causes him to lash out at her for no reason. at his worst, he unfairly builds her into a villain: a nag and a hassle, resorting to immature taunts, knowing what passive aggressive knives to stick into her to hurt her, to infuriate her. at his best, he remembers all the reasons why he fell in love with her. softens a little around the eyes when he watches her work, can’t help but smile just a little when she catches him looking at her. he feels like a boy all over again, all flush with heat. on again, off again, hot, cold.

c. regarding sexuality and fidelity: despite his nature, john falls in love with people easily. perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that john falls in love with qualities of people: an easy smile, a little attention, strong shoulders. ( there’s plenty of attractive men and women at the camp ). gender isn’t particularly important to him — he would consider himself bisexual in a more modern age. john is loyal to his wife, but it’s evident their relationship is frail and fraying. he doesn’t actively pursue other people, but is painfully impressionable and weak for physical attention and could be swayed to cheat despite his guilt and self-loathing. most likely, nothing would ever come out of his one night stands, but should he ever develop strong enough feelings for somebody else and genuinely want to pursue a future with somebody else, he would at least have the decency to properly break things off with abigail and divorce her no matter how difficult it would be for him to do so.

d. regarding arthur morgan: also complicated in nature. to put things simply, john’s a school boy who doesn’t know how to properly handle a crush and antagonizes arthur instead because john’s an emotionally stunted idiot. obviously, if other arthur morgans are uncomfortable by this, i can adjust accordingly, no problem! otherwise, john marston with a terrible, complicated one-sided crush on arthur morgan is a delicious concept and i am all for it.

e. regarding alternate universes: obligatory zombie apocalypse / the walking dead verse, modern verse ( i’m still trying to figure out what the hell john is in a modern verse ), werewolf verse ( john was mauled by wolves and nearly died, okay? he even looks like a goddamn werewolf ).

tldr: john’s a mean little emotionally stunted bastard with a heart of gold who doesn’t want to settle down and is a horny bisexual twink with a complicated relationship with his wife and son and may also possibly be a werewolf in another universe. the end!

#( *ooc )#( *about: john )#( still sort of figuring things out ... )#( still working my way through the game !! )#( this is for my sake more than anything !! )#( *headcanon: john )#( john claims he's a top but he's such a bottom /: i'm sorry i don't make the rules )#( praise kink 4 days? )#( OBVIOUSLY I SHIP JOHN W/ ARTHUR if this post doesn't make that clear )#( but i'm definitely open to anything !!!!!!!!!!!!!! provided there's chemistry + etc etc. )#( i won't automatically ship w/ abigails either )#( NEED THAT SWEET SWEET CHEMISTRY and all that jazz )

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threadsketchier · 6 years

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sorry, but i don't really stay up to date with media or anything. I'm a star wars fan and i'm pretty excited for the new movie! in that meme you reblogged with the same reaction for fans/non-fans... i don't quite get it. Did the company do something bad? do other people just think it's not gonna be good? sorry for all the questions but i just wanted to stay informed xoxo

It’s a reference to the fact that a significant number of fans are dreading TLJ based upon their disappointment in the wake of TFA - and honestly, it’s not just limited to the major, outstanding offense of the OT characters’ arcs and achievements being backpedaled and undone. There have been other strange and upsetting things concerning Disney’s marketing and stewardship of the franchise, rumored plot choices, etc. that have marginalized characters like Finn and Rose in favor of Emo Band-Aid, or excluded Lando despite the longest running film time in the saga’s history and a plot that could have easily accommodated him, etc. etc.

I’m no cranky old gatekeeper looking to ruin everyone else’s genuine good time, and many of my dash peeps have explained this in much better fashion; I also prefer not to air my personal opinions too often to minimize Drama™ but given that we’re literally on the threshold of the film’s release, I’m a human being with feelings and I’m going to voice some of them if I feel like it.

I sincerely started out enjoying TFA and I do love the new characters. Just given where the new trilogy has gone, though, I would have preferred a different storyline or total separation between the old and new gang. As my fellow dash peeps have said countless times, there was absolutely no necessity - other than to follow today’s current depressing “everything must be awful to be interesting” trend - to craft a tale completely obliterating the happy ending of the original trilogy and the sensible character arcs of Han, Leia, and Luke:

Han Solo: selfish nerd with a deeply buried heart of gold who’d obviously seen and been through a lot of shit who needed the right people and encouragement to listen to his conscience again and stop being afraid to commit himself to both a good cause and a wider set of friends. Goes from “Better her than me!” to “[The temperature’s dropping too rapidly.] Yeah, and my friend’s out in it - I’ll see you in hell!” to “I’m sorry” to “When he comes back, I won’t get in the way.” His arc is about finding companionship, belonging, and emotional openness. He’s found a home and a family with these beautiful ragtag misfits.

Leia Organa: a fervently duty-bound young woman forged by trauma and pressed upon by staggering responsibilities into an icy diamond; she is hard and unyielding and unstoppable, and very emotionally repressed. She has lost so much and can’t afford to lose more. Yet a fluffy farmboy and a scruffy nerf herder worm their way into her heart. Goes from “We have no time for our sorrows,” and “[Well, Your Highness, I guess this is it.] That’s right.” to “I love you” to “…Hold me.” Her arc is also about emotional openness and embracing the hope and then reality that she can find love and gain a new family in spite of the destruction of her homeworld and the seemingly impossible war she helped lead.

Luke Skywalker: idealistic (yet pragmatic, in some ways) softboy who infectiously inspires everybody he comes in contact with to find the good within themselves, and has both a normal, down-to-earth bedrock upbringing and the strong personal moral compass to keep doing what he feels is right. Goes from “I guess I’m going nowhere” to “Take care of yourself, Han; I guess that’s what you’re best at” to “[I feel like I can take on the whole Empire myself!] I know what you mean.” to “I’m looking for a great warrior” to “You want the impossible” to “They’re my friends, I’ve gotta help them” to “You’ll find I’m full of surprises” to “Ben…why didn’t you tell me” to “I warn you not to underestimate my powers” to “I can’t kill my own father” to “I’ve accepted that you were once Anakin Skywalker, my father…Come with me” to “Soon I’ll be dead, and you with me” to “I feel the good in you, the conflict” to “NEVER!!!” to “You’ve failed, Your Highness - I am a Jedi, like my father before me.” He needed his dreams shattered to get a proper grasp on how to prevail in his circumstances - and the important part here is that he was already shattered in this trilogy, and put himself back together - but despite this, he kept on believing. He chose to see the humanity in his father and defy the Emperor, the ultimate representation of the Dark Side, by a moral rather than physical victory. He transcended the intentions of his teachers and became a Jedi in the truest sense by disputing his mentors and refusing to relinquish his devotion to his friends and an undeserving father. Although he lost said father, he had the satisfaction of saving and freeing his soul and finding reconciliation with him, along with gaining a twin sister and a whole lot of new friends in comparison to his former, lonelier moisture farming life, and was equipped to carry on the knowledge of the Jedi with his own experiences to renew their doctrines.

In the new trilogy:

Han is implied to be a restless ne’er-do-well who could never escape the impulse to take off and not be around for his family, rather than being grateful and satisfied to finally have a stable life and a loving wife and friends who deeply cared for him. He’s also painted as much more of an outright idiot and useless as a smuggler rather than a clever guy who just often finds himself in shitty situations

Leia is not allowed to hold on to anything in her life. She must not only bear witness to even more planets being ruthlessly and callously destroyed, her own child grows up to commit patricide and it’s heavily implied that his genocidal tantrums are her and Han’s fault for being neglectful parents, as though being a woman with a demanding career automatically makes it impossible for her to raise a child properly, and never mind the fact that less-than-perfect-parenting from two people who still clearly loved their son is the flimsiest excuse for anyone to commit any level of murder

Luke is also not allowed to pass on his knowledge and bear any fruit for his hard-won labors. His efforts to restore the Jedi go up in a flaming ruin, pointlessly bringing about a second shattering into his life for the express purpose of turning him into a grieving and bitter shadow of his former hopeful self who now abandons his found family rather than cleaving to them for support and encouragement as he always did before

The new films transform the OT into an ultimately hollow story in where there is no happy ending and nothing is learned and taken to heart. The characters are doomed to suffer forever and not grow logically from their experiences. This happens while we’re meant to get accustomed to the new team and watch them struggle to clean up the mess that apparently the older characters couldn’t fix after all. It fosters a sense of nihilism - no one will ever get it right, and each new generation will just keep wading through another war and another war while making the same mistakes their elders did.

It sounds a liiiiiiiiiitle too much like reality for a story that’s supposed to be a space fairy tale. If I want to be depressed, I’ll read the news. If I want to be happy, I’ll go watch a star war. Except oops, now I really can’t.

I’m well aware that plenty of folks don’t see it this way at all, and yes, duh, my response is biased. Like I said, if you love the new movies, more power to you; it’s still a (mostly) free world. But you asked, so I answered.

#my blabs #the airing of grievances #festivus for the rest of us #tell that to disneyklub #TLJ

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the-desolated-quill · 7 years

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The Snowmen - Doctor Who blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

The Snowmen has got to be the least Christmassy Christmas special ever, and believe it or not I mean that in a positive way. Doctor Who Christmas specials have always left a bit of a sour taste in my mouth, not just because most of them have been poorly written and just plain idiotic, but also because every year the show seems determined to drown you in slush. To its credit, The Snowmen does manage to escape that somewhat, keeping the slush to a minimum. Okay the villain is ultimately defeated by ‘a family crying at Christmas’, but it never comes off as mawkish and there is actually a decent in-universe explanation for how that worked, so I’ll allow it just this once.

So who are the villains? A deadpan Richard E. Grant and some carnivorous snow voiced by Ian McKellen. Compared to other Christmas special villains, they’re fairly good. Out of the two, Mr. Simian’s character is the weak link because we don’t learn anything about his character or the nature of his relationship with the snow, but Grant’s performance is still pretty good and it holds your attention. Ian McKellen also does a decent job with the material he’s been given, and I do like the idea of alien snow, even if the bitey snowflakes and smiling snowmen were a bit gigglesome (and the less said about the bad CGI ice governess, the better I think). It’s a bit like the robot Santas and killer Christmas trees from the RTD era. It’s silly, but it’s enjoyably silly. And as an added treat for us classic series fans, it turns out this episode is actually an origin story for the Great Intelligence. Usually you can see Moffat’s plot twists coming several galaxies away, so I was kicking myself that I didn’t pick up on it the first time. Particularly considering how the hints and Easter Eggs are so obvious on rewatches. The Snowmen as in The Abominable Snowmen and the Yeti. A disembodied voice trying to gain a physical form. The map of the London Underground. The snow is being kept in a giant sphere inside Simian’s office. And of course the initials GI. So yeah, that was a nice callback.

All in all, this could have been a fairly decent Christmas special. Nothing to write home about, but still watchable. Unfortunately The Snowmen is ruined by one thing and that’s the characters. Good fucking God are they horrendous!

Let’s start with the Doctor. After losing Amy and Rory, he has decided that he doesn’t want to travel or help people anymore and is now living above England on a cloud as a lonely old miser.

Fuck off! Not in this universe nor in any other universe would this EVER happen!

You may recall a couple of years ago when I reviewed the RTD era that I really didn’t like the Doctor’s reaction when he lost Rose. it just felt too human and it didn’t really gel with his character. He’s lost companions before. He mourns, but he moves on. Why would Rose be any different? But credit where it’s due, at least the Doctor kept travelling through time and space rather than stay in once place and sulk because RTD knew that that at least is something the Doctor would definitely never do. Here... I mean you can’t even use the excuse that the Doctor was in love with Amy. I’m not saying he wouldn’t be emotionally affected by what happened. I’m just questioning why he would be this emotionally affected to the point where he would actually refuse to help people in need. It just feels totally out of character.

Plus it really does display just how arrogant Moffat is. Of course it would be his characters that caused the Doctor to sink into a deep depression and only his character can bring him out of it. And of course his characters are what inspired the creation of Sherlock Holmes, which he will later adapt in his god awful Sherlock TV show. Christ Moffat, I hope you’ve got plenty of tissues to clean the mess up with after you’ve finished wanking yourself.

Matt Smith doesn’t help matters. His turn as a reclusive miser just isn’t in the least bit convincing, but at least it’s preferable to when he magically makes a full recovery and reverts back to his obnoxious goofy self. This is the Doctor now everyone. A man who has arguments with his own hand and sexually molests Punch and Judy dolls. (Sigh. Only 11 episodes to go Quill. Just hang on).

We also see the return of the Paternoster Gang. A group of one dimensional, unfunny cardboard cutouts that people really seem to like for some reason. Strax is by far the worst, with each bad joke and moment of incompetence driving another nail into the coffin of the Sontarans forever. (But wait, isn’t Strax supposed to be dead? Ah fuck it! Everybody knows death is only a minor inconvenience in the Moffat era. Who cares if it ruins the impact of future deaths or that it completely contradicts Sontaran lore. Just laugh at the Doctor calling him a potato, something the Doctor would also never do because I’m sure that’s racist to Sontarans). And Vastra and Jenny have the same problems as every other Moffat woman in that they have no character or agency of their own. They exist solely to help the Doctor. Also Jenny is in a dominatrix outfit for some reason, and they openly talk about being gay. Two things that would definitely have caused shock and outrage in the rigid and repressed Victorian era.

Actually that’s one thing that really pisses me off about New Who and this episode in particular. None of it is true to the period. Clara is completely contemporary in both her outlook and behaviour, and everything unsavoury about the period is dismissed with the Doctor’s sneer of ‘Victorian values.’ Yes this is the Victorian era, but it’s the Victorian era you’d find on the front of a Christmas card. It’s very easy to just sneer at a period of history and congratulate ourselves for how much better we are today, but why not actually explore the era properly? What’s that saying? The past is like another country? Let the audience see that. Why not have Clara behave like a woman during the Victorian era would and have the Doctor come in to challenge that? Have the episode be a clash of different attitudes and values.

Speaking of Clara, she is by far the worst thing about this episode. I honestly didn’t think it could get any worse than Oswin in Asylum Of The Daleks, but boy was I wrong. She is just insufferable. She’s really smug and smarmy and not in the least bit likeable or believable. She’s like River Song, but 10x worse. Also it doesn’t help that Jenna Coleman decides to give Clara this really bad ‘gor blimey guvner! Strike a light! Up the apples an’ pears’ Cockney accent. (Brief side note, why was she keeping the whole nanny thing secret?). I’m certainly not buying her supposed special connection with the Doctor. That’s another thing Moffat is guilty of. He’s so shit at writing female characters that he can’t effectively convey whey they might be so unique in their actions or behaviour, so he has to just flat out tell the audience instead. Well I’m sorry, but that shit just won’t fly. What reason does Clara have for chasing the Doctor’s cab? What reason does the Doctor have for being impressed with Clara despite the fact she’s done nothing remotely noteworthy? What reason does Clara have for snogging the Doctor’s face off despite the two sharing no romantic chemistry whatsoever? Answer: the script said so. Maybe if Moffat spent less time writing stupid scenes like the ‘respond with one word’ interrogation and more time actually developing her character, I might have actually given a shit when she died. (I mean for fuck’s sake, talk about disappearing up your own arse. How the fuck would Clara have known the word ‘Pond’ would have passed the one word test? How does ‘Pond’ convey she needs the Doctor’s help? What is even the fucking point of the one word test other than as a pathetic attempt for Moffat to try and look deep and intelligent as opposed to a pretentious halfwit? God, he’s such a shit writer).

Worse still, despite the fact Moffat had insisted that Series 7 won’t contain a series arc, it turns out Clara constantly dying is going to be a series arc now. So it looks like we’re going to be stuck with this ungodly annoying woman for quite a considerable time. Bugger!

While The Snowmen is considerably less slushy than some of the previous Christmas specials, I unfortunately have to stick this in the bad category along with the likes of Voyage Of The Damned and The Doctor, The Widow, And The Wardrobe due to its terrible characterisation and Moffat’s pretentious, egocentric bullshit.

#the snowmen #steven moffat #doctor who #eleventh doctor #matt smith #clara oswald #jenna coleman #the great intelligence #bbc #review #spoilers

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