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glamaphonic · 11 months

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i don't post a ton about izzy hands bcs, being real, i just don't care that much about him, and frankly, i find the obsessive fixation on him both predictable and annoying.

but it's my blog and i have thoughts that, because of the person that i am, are going to be expressed in the form of a character breakdown. i promise it is as discourse-free as i could possibly make it, but obviously if you don't want to read my examination of izzy hands' motivations as a character then...don't.

i feel like there's a very widespread misapprehension of said character and motivations, and indeed it's a misapprehension that i predicted way last year, and one that helps contribute to a wealth of repetitive arguments and discourse about the character that i am assiduously attempting to avoid in this post. (i am not, btw, proposing any sort of "solution" here; people can argue about whatever they want.)

in short, there's a tendency in meta and fic to take a singular aspect of subtext (izzy is into blackbeard) and center it as the character's primary (and often sole) motivation. and then, to work from there to recontextualize and reimagine and reinvent everything around that assumption.

but the show and the character straight up stop making sense when you do that. because izzy's primary motivation is categorically not desire for blackbeard.

his primary motivation, textually, is that he wants to be captain.

if i was at work and breaking down his GMC as an antagonist in s1 it would be:

g(oal): get rid of stede so that ed can retire

m(otivation): become captain

c(onflict): he is continually prevented from getting rid of stede, primarily by ed

and as happens in well-constructed narratives everything he does for most of the season revolves around this gmc.

to slide into the character section: izzy is, fundamentally, both hungry for power and bad at actually wielding power. izzy cares, more than anything, about his job and being at the top of the field in that job.

in 1x04, he tells ed to his face that he thinks ed's a washed up has-been who izzy has only continued to work for because of the clout that comes with working for the legendary blackbeard. this is because, as we've seen him mention to fang and ivan, he reads ed's increasing disinterest in and boredom with his job, and potentially the attendant depression, as ed having gone "half-insane" and no longer living up to that ideal. izzy later takes this back when ed has once again proven himself capable of pulling off a typical blackbeard miracle, of being the master of the work that izzy venerates. and then ed dangles izzy's heart's desire before him. if ed can retire, then izzy no longer has to suffice with being second-in-command to the biggest, baddest pirate. he can have the mantle passed to him. he can be the master of the work.

but of course, necessary to this plan, as ed presents it, is that stede must die.

and that's what izzy spends the rest of the season trying to accomplish.

to suppose that izzy is primarily acting against stede out of jealousy over thwarted romantic hopes, as the point of a love triangle trying to get rid of his rival, as someone who is desperately trying to have ed's attention redirected at him, is to suppose that he is actively seeking an end-state directly in opposition to his own goals.

because if stede dies, things don't return to the status quo, izzy doesn't get ed "back" to continue alongside him in perpetuity, and he certainly doesn't get the affection and adoration that ed has never before demonstrated towards anyone (nor do i think he even wants it, but that's a whole other analysis). the terms as they were laid out and as izzy continuously pushes ed to fulfill are that stede dies, ed goes away forever, and izzy gets a boat and a captaincy. that is what izzy explicitly wants.

and yes, as ed falls in love with stede, izzy is disgusted by what he sees as ed being corrupted by someone beneath him, turned into some "thing" that deserves to be put down. and yes, he wants to avoid the legendary blackbeard being brought low, be it by stede bonnet's influence or an english ambush. and, yes, repressed gay jealousy is definitely an aspect of izzy's overall dislike of stede, in particular.

but these things are secondary and tertiary, respectively, to izzy's immediate motivations and goals.

he stays in 1x04 because ed offers him a captaincy. he pushes ed to kill stede in 1x06 because it's the plan that will lead to him being captain. he narks to the english because they will give him a boat and a captaincy for it (plus he swore to make ed regret not following through with the original plan that would give him a boat and a captaincy). and he's happy as a clam in 1x09, even though stede isn't actually dead and ed has undermined the legend of blackbeard by signing the act of grace, because his primary goal has been fulfilled. izzy is now captain of his own boat.

and in 1x10 the sole alteration in izzy's motivation all season occurs. he realized his power-hungry dreams, but his regrettable incapacity at wielding power comes back to bite him. after he's mutinied in short order, and his life is saved solely by ed's presence and authority, he's left with limited choices (within the scope of his characterization).

he can leave and go it alone; attempt to climb the ranks again elsewhere, and eventually perhaps meet that same end he just narrowly avoided.

or he can try to go back to how things were before, try to once again achieve the highest strata he ever had: right-hand man to the legendary blackbeard. secure in the knowledge that not only is this a top position in the field, but that, barring all else, blackbeard's power and authority are sufficient to keep him safe from the machinations of the crew.

but of course, in izzy's mind, for all that to happen blackbeard has to actually be blackbeard. and well we need not rehash his opinions on that.

so yeah, gay jealousy over ed? definitely a thing izzy feels, imo, if deeply repressed.

but is it his actual motivation for almost anything he does throughout the season? demonstrably not, or else he would've made some very different decisions.

anyway this is all basically just a rehash of this conversation, but i was noodling on it so.

#ofmd #ofmd meta #izzy hands #long post

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stupidtowrite · 15 days

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Birthday Girl (excerpt) Misa Rodriguez x OC (Original character)

Hi Hi I was writing this story for some time, it's not exactly an imagine since it has original characters, but I wanted to release an excerpt from it here so you can have an idea of what it will be and whether I should continue and post it or not. Remember to give feedback please, and if you have any questions, just ask. And yes, I made Misa play for Barcelona, forgive me for that.

Chapter 1 is ready, and this is a fragment of the second chapter that I think is incredible and that better demonstrates what the story will be like, so I hope you enjoy reading it.

— You know you could have saved that goal, don't you?

— But it was a good game, wasn't it?

— If you had won 3-0 it would have been better, what were you thinking they were Japan?

— I already told you to stop saying that, we won the fucking World Cup and all you care about is this fucking game.

— Someone has to remind you, otherwise you will play mediocre for the rest of your life.

The woman says goodbye to Misa with a kiss on the cheek, and leaves the room with a smile for the goalkeeper, who bursts into tears when the woman finally leaves. She couldn't believe she went through the same humiliation again, she couldn't believe she was making this a vicious cycle, a roundabout that she couldn't get out of. Her sobs were getting too loud when she felt a familiar hand resting on my arm, and another on her back, while the figure of her best friend sat next to the goalkeeper, who without asking too many questions, grabbed Leila's shirt and started I cry on your chest.

— I promise, everything will be fine — Leila whispered in Misa's ear.

Misa didn't want to go out that night, she had already experienced too many emotions in a short period of time to consider getting drunk and ending up messing up everything that was already ruined. However, she was too apathetic to care about all of this and Leila managed to convince her friend that the best thing to do at that moment was to calm down and celebrate the victory that she and her teammates fought to achieve.

The goalkeeper was sitting at a table in the corner of the bar watching Pina and Patri sing karaoke and playing with the straw of her drink in moments of boredom when a tall girl with black hair and a banner saying “birthday girl” appeared.

— Hello, are you Misa? Misa Rodriguez from Barcelona? — asked the birthday girl.

Misa was upset, of course, but she would never stop serving a fan, no matter how strange and perhaps even inconvenient the moment.

— Yes, nice, are you?

— Joane, I'm very happy to meet you, can I buy you a drink?

#misa rodriguez #woso #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni #leila ouahabi

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cody-00 · 9 months

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Immortality and Boredom: Euclase Analysis

Note: this has been taken from my Twitter thread, but there's some edits I've been wanting to make, and generally multi-platform access is a good thing, especially here with how tags work on this site as well the amount of Euclase metas already present here.

It feels a bit academically awkward to base this analysis off of Western philosophy knowing the series' Buddhist influences, but the former's concise terminology helps illuminate the series without any evident conflicts. Conveniently, I have only needed to base this thread off of one source: "Immortality and Boredom" by John Martin Fischer and Benjamin Mitchell-Yellin.

If one believes that immortality necessarily causes boredom, Fischer and Mitchell-Yellin have observed two notable ways in which one could make this argument. One way, coined as "content-boredom", argues that immortality would eventually exhaust the supposed finite amount of desires that would drive a person to live (Fischer and Mitchell-Yellin 355). This is partially shown through the Lunarians. Their desire to pass on stems from the resignation that they have done everything that could bring any sort of pleasure. The Lunarian's problems regarding immortality do not stem from content-boredom, for there is a more existential component present, but it is a real factor. Content-boredom is limited to the Lunarians, for they, outside of Kongo, have lived much longer than anyone else.

The other way to argue immortality that causes boredom is to say that an immortal life would not be constrained by time, and, therefore, lack a certain urgency. Lacking the energy to actualize one's desires and complete projects would make life dull. This is labeled as "motivation-boredom" (361). While perhaps not as intuitive argument as content-boredom, motivation-boredom is an application of the common practice of procrastination at its most extreme. Where one may put off a task until the last possible moment despite wanting and knowing that they should have started that task earlier, people who support the idea of motivation-boredom believe people can and will put off everything indefinitely since there is no last possible moment. Motivation-boredom is best substantiated through the Earth Gems, but most importantly, through Euclase, an elder gem who displays more apparent control over the Earth Gems as the series progresses. Showing how this is the case is what the real meat of this post is.

First of all, Euclase's role in demonstrating motivation-boredom is something only Euclase can properly do. The other elder gems (i.e. Yellow Diamond, Padparadscha, and Alexandrite), are caught in problems regarding immortality that are outside of boredom. The same reasoning applies to Kongo.

Ironically, they acknowledge the idea that immortal existence fundamentally differs from mortals in a psychological sense, but they (through their own admission) ultimately seem unaware of how motivation-boredom affects their judgments. Before any budding criticism comes to mind in how the previous tweet is phrased, Euclase does only mention that an immortal being's sense of danger being distorted—not necessarily an immortal being's sense of urgency being distorted. However, the following paragraphs should demonstrate the compatibility and sometimes interchangeability between the two traits. Euclase's distorted sense of danger is actually rooted in Euclase's distorted sense of urgency.

Relative to other gems in the series, Euclase's conversations take a lot of focus on temporality. There are many examples. In fact, Chapter 4, their first major appearance, foreshadows this tendency. The third image shows a juxtaposition between Euclase and Phos in valuing time.

Another example early in the series (one in which credit goes to Shamu, for he pointed this out during our note-taking process of this video) takes place during Chapter 7 when Jade reports that Euclase dropped their schedule and is in need of more time to reassign roles for the future. The reason is indirectly linked to Phos, which hints at how Phos will impact Euclase’s future.

Euclase, contrasting from the Lunarians, values the benefits that come from the lack of urgency. With infinite time comes the infinite opportunities for conflicts to resolve. The earliest moments where this sentiment shows itself is through Chapter 41 and Chapter 58.

While a bit digressive for this analysis, Euclase's word choice incorporates time once more to compliment Phos' condition by returning from the moon in Chapter 58. There is an irony here in that Euclase's support for the idea that a lack of urgency eventually will towards positive outcomes through patience is vindicated through Phos. Euclase's encouragement to Phos could have only happened through the systemic neglect that Phos is under.

Chapters 60 and 61 display where motivation-boredom's consequences start to directly impact the plot. Euclase recognizes the threat Phos poses but fails to enact any action outside of sharing their suspicion to Jade and expressing an ambiguous threat towards Phos. Euclase failure here stems from two reasons. One is that Euclase misreads the identity of Phos. Lapis is a gem known for their analysis paralysis. Euclase, by believing Lapis has the most control over LaPhos, assumes that Phos would not follow through any plans with such haste. Furthermore, by predicting their actions through the Lapis-colored lens, they fail to consider what would happen if really is Phos in control, a gem that carries human-like tendencies to carry out tasks with an urgency.

The second reason originates from Euclase's inability to detect time constraints. Notice the juxtaposition between Euclase and Phos here: the threat not only fails to prevents the gems departing for the moon but actually hastens the result.

Even though Euclase manages to prevent a few gems from leaving the moon, it's a pyrrhic victory, suggesting once more how Euclase's inability to feel urgency causes negative results. Consider Rutile, whom Euclase successfully prevents from going to the moon. Rutile could have served as a pivotal piece in preventing the departure to the moon, for they were the only one to consider disseminating Phos’ plan to Kongo. Instead, Rutile’s psyche starts to take a turn for the worse in the series. Euclase’s failure here is multilayered.

Euclase starts to recognize urgency more due to Phos. Kongo's pending request for a self-imposed exile forces Euclase into action. Why Euclase feels compulsion to stay on Earth is slightly outside the scope of this post, but Euclase's argument for staying on Earth lies in identity and its connection to time. Note that Euclase's urge to make up each other's shortcomings results from Phos' actions as well as Kongo's response being tied to the relationship future life forms and the present day.

The scouting mission in Chapter 69 implies that Euclase's natural state is one that tries to maintain a state that avoids urgency when they can. Pad's analysis, considering their constant state of inactivity, suggests that Euclase's character has been unchanging for a while. The threat of Phos does urge Euclase and the Earth gems to respond with a defensive plan, however, as seen in Chapter 70. The following interaction between Phos and Euclase centers once more on time.

Euclase's decision for everyone to rest after the night raid lies upon the premise that relationship between Phos and the Lunarians is currently one of dysfunction. Urgency to act only comes when the danger is immediate and the time constraints are evident for Euclase.

When Phos is separated for 220 years, Euclase once again approaches the problem under the assumption that the amount of time to solve all the conflicts with Phos is not constrained by time. The following chapter shows Euclase's belief that Phos no longer endangers their safety; the small amount of motivation they have to ask Kongo to pray is caused not out of sympathy for Phos but instead of out consideration of the possibility that that Lunarians might invade.

While Euclase's reasoning to delay cleaning up during Kongo's birthday party may have justifiable reasoning, it does show how motivation-boredom even plays a part in casual situations.

Upon recognizing danger from Phos' imminent invasion, Euclase's response is to buy time, which seems rather indicative that their response to urgency is infinitely delay whatever causes urgency.

Through Alexandrite's action sequence, due to the positioning of Euclase at the start of the sequence compared to the other images, it almost seems as if Euclase is trying to delay inevitable danger by using their companions to buy time.

Based on Euclase's previous actions, their reasoning for their negotiation plea towards Phos expresses sincerity. However, as time has proven before, Phos shows that they need to be the danger in order for goals and desires to be reached. Euclase's shortcomings show that becoming immortal does not mean everything can be put off until later.

When wondering why Euclase fails to get anything done later in the series, a serious factor to consider is the influence of motivation-boredom. Euclase's passivity may not be entirely based on intentional callousness, for their existence and their relation to time distorts all decision making, and living as they have distances themselves from a perspective like Phos' and reinforces those distortions.

To wrap everything up, Houseki no Kuni frequently criticizes immortality. Does the depiction of both kinds of boredom claim are aspects that necessarily happen to those who have immortality? No. In a sense the two types of boredoms oppose one another, yet they coexist in this story. However, having these two kinds of boredoms correspond to a respective immortal species shows how these criticisms could happen to those who are immortal. Additionally, unlike content-boredom within Houseki no Kuni, motivation-boredom does not directly lead to unhappiness for reasons concerning the lack of energy to fulfill desires like its supporters suggest. Instead, the manga shows that those in power who lack urgency due to their immortality can lead to excessive and idle conservatism and eventual, destructive consequences by not recognizing and responding to time-sensitive issues. To me, that sounds more like a warning rather than a criticism.

The paper summarizes both types of boredoms, but interestingly, they reject these two concepts as sufficient reasons to oppose immortality. Originally, before making this post, I did not think either forms of boredoms had any merit, but analyzing Euclase has shown me that immortality would, while not necessarily causing motivation-boredom, a distortion of urgency within projects that would require it, thereby risking to harm one's quality of living. Furthermore, for supporters of content-boredom, reading "The Makropulos case: reflections on the tedium of immortality" by Bernard Williams may interest you. For supporters of motivation-boredom, I cannot say I have read them, but Fischer and Mitchell-Yellin's response on content boredom is based off of Todd May's "Death" and Martha Nussbaum's "The Therapy of Desire".

Fischer, John Martin, and Benjamin Mitchell-Yellin. “Immortality and Boredom.” The Journal of Ethics, vol. 18, no. 4, 2014, pp. 353–72. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/43895884.

#euclase #land of the lustrous #hnk #phosphophyllite #kongo sensei #houseki no kuni #rutile #hnk meta

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specialagentlokitty · 5 months

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Castle x teen!reader - I’ll look out for you

Castle x teen neighbor it takes a village type of thing. R leaves their apartment without a coat. Prompt 6. - @witchreporter 💜

6: “Remember to put a coat on, it’s cold.”

Running out of the apartment, you ran down the stairs and outside, stopping just before the large patch of ice before you slipped.

“Hey Mr Castle. What’s up?”

“I got a letter from your principal asking if I would be able to attend a meeting today about something, I came to pick you up.” He smiled.

You grinned a little.

“Awesome, I’m running a little late.”

Castle chuckled, nodding his head and he opened the car door for you and he held his arm out so you could get across the ice.

“I got you your favourite, and some breakfast because I know you haven’t eaten yet.”

“How?” You asked.

“Because it’s you, and I know you never actually eat breakfast.”

You grinned a little again, taking your breakfast from him, pulling some of your homework from your pockets.

“Mr Castle?”

“Yeah?”

He glanced over at you.

“I have this project thingy, and I did my report on it for natural disasters, like tornados and that crap, but I don’t really know how to do a practical demonstration.”

“Well, that crap isn’t my specialty, but I think Alexis might be able to help you if you want her to, we can make a day off it.”

You nodding your head, taking one of the bagels that were in the bag and handed it to him, taking the other so you could eat it.

You guys held light conversation as you got to the school, and you jumped out the car holding your travel cup.

“Do you want to come to the meeting?” Castle asked.

“Nah, not my thing. Thanks Mr Castle!”

He smiled, waving at you as you ran off somewhere and he walked towards the front of the school.

Castle attended the meeting, then he was called back to the precinct.

But that doesn’t mean he didn’t forget what he needed to do as your school finished for the day and he stood outside by his car waiting.

You ran over, running your hands up and down your arms with a little bit of a grin on your face and a small laugh.

“Cold?” Castle chucked.

“Yeah, heatings bust at school and it’s like the artic out here man.”

He reached into the cad, and he pulled out a jacket, holding it out.

“You’re a lifesaver!”

You took it, quickly pulling it on and you turned to your friends that were shouting at you.

Turning back to Castle, you smiled a little.

“Sorry Mr Castle, I have to go, but will you take me to school again tomorrow? I have an early trip and don’t wanna miss it.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be there bright and early.”

You grinned, running off to join your friends.

Just like he said the next morning Castle was at your apartment early, and you came stumbling out of your room and you wondered into the kitchen.

“Morning…” you mumbled.

“Ah look who’s finally awake.”

He set a cup and a plate in front of you on the counter.

“I got you some food for your trip, and I spoke to your case worker who agreed I could also give you some money to spend and buy anything you need while you’re out.”

“Nice one.”

You took your food over to the living room, sitting on the couch so you could eat it and you were still half asleep.

“Don’t fall asleep (Y/N)!” Castle called.

You made a noise he couldn’t understand.

Finishing washing up, he walked over and shook your shoulder.

“Don’t sleep. Go on, you need to get ready I’ll get your bag sorted sleepy.”

You nodded, heading back to your room to get ready for your trip and castle packed your bag for you.

He packed food, some things for you to do on the journey so you wouldn’t get yourself into any trouble out of boredom.

He also packed some gloves and hand warmers in case you got cold.

You came back out and he handed your wallet to you, then your bag.

“Good to go?” Castle asked.

“Yup!”

“Awesome, let’s get going then before you miss that bus, got everything?”

You checked your pockets before nodding your head, making your way towards the door.

“(Y/N)?”

You turned around and he smiled, holding up your coat, gesturing to your jacket with a shake of his head in disapproval.

Walking over, he held it open for you.

“Remember to put a coat on, it’s cold.” He smiled.

You moved your bag so you could slip the coat on, and you zipped it on, grabbing your bag.

“I didn’t have a coat.”

“Well, you needed one, so I got you a new one. We can’t have you freezing now can we?”

You grinned a little, tossing him your keys so he could lock the door and he handed them back when he was done.

You waddled, walking weirdly.

“I feel like a penguin.”

“You look like one, come on you penguin.”

You laughed and he grinned looking back at you as you waddled your way down the stairs, and he laughed even more, putting his hands in his pocket so he could copy you.

Now you were just a couple of penguins heading out into the cold, the penguin dad and his adopted penguin child.

And as you both walked out like that and saw Beckett giving you both disapproval looks all you could do was grin sheepishly at one another

#castle #castle x reader #castle x you #castle imagine #richard castle imagine #richard castle #Richard castle x reader #Richard castle x you

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lokifromvalhalla · 1 year

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What's the fun in that?

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Ivar The Boneless x Reader Genre: Comfort / Light angst Words: ± 3 800 NOT proofread

Ivar is captured by Oleg. (Y/n), the Rus' army commander, is both interested and interesting.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

“Are you a devotee of Odin or a Christian?” The heavily accented voice cut through the atmosphere and put ground under (Y/n)’s feet again, making the heavy presence in the corner of the room known. (Y/n) silently turned around to glance at the viking that stood in the training area with a grin tugging on his lips, reflecting an entertainment that he only allowed to demonstrate whenever he was around them.

The training yard (Y/n) preferred to use was near a stable—it was covered from the sun or the snow and gave them the privacy they wanted to hit the log and targets as much as they wanted to.

A heavy puff of air escaped (Y/n)’s flush lips as they ran a hand through their hair. Sometimes Ivar caught himself lost in observing (Y/n)—the way their skin was littered with scars in some areas, telling stories he didn't know, in an opposite to the rough sunburnt skin of the Vikings. Even Oleg’s skin was thinner than the Norwegians’, but (Y/n) commanded the army. They were Rus’ main warrior.

“Does it matter to you?” (Y/n) carefully put their sword back on its scabbard that hung from their waist, walking past Ivar to serve themself a glass of the water jar that sat on the barrel in the corner.

Ivar ducked his head, shrugging a little, as he turned around slowly to face (Y/n). “I don’t think I have enough power to demand something from you. I am just curious. ‘Never seen you pray.” He blinked under the intense gaze of their eyes and let himself observe them once again—(Y/n) was wearing one of their most basic armors, a gray one, but it didn’t hide the warrior’s elegance and high rank, with all the embroidering and details that decorated their shoulders and chest.

“A person’s faith matters only to them,” (Y/n) said, leaving the now empty cup where it once was. They returned Ivar’s mannerism, eyeing him from head to toe without bothering to hide their curiosity. “Why are you here?”

Ivar almost chuckled, humming instead. He looked around until dropping himself on a bench—a sigh of relief escaped his lips whilst he let his crutches rest together against the wall, next to him. “Well, I like being around people who don’t treat me like an animal, and Igor went for a walk with Oleg or something. Y’know, it can be tiring, and Oleg seems to have a certain liking for me.” He raised his eyebrows lightly. He didn’t expect (Y/n) to react. Of course not, they were faithful and fair; Ivar never heard them talking bad about an enemy, even. “I remembered when you mentioned your training schedule, so I thought I would come... see you...” He shrugged.

Silence took over, thickly, only interrupted by the voices of other soldiers talking in the distance and the horses snorting in the background.

“It’s not allowed, Ivar.”

“Oh?” He snickered, teeth catching on his bottom lip for a moment. “Since when do you care about rules or anything? Y’know, I caught you going against Oleg’s orders when—”

“It’s dangerous.”

Ivar pressed his lips together, shaking his head. “Nothing is dangerous to you. You could overthrow Oleg if you wanted.”

This time, (Y/n) was the one to laugh. “I’m not saying I’m the one in danger.”

A breath was caught in the Viking’s throat, compelling him to stop in the middle of the argument and look at the ground in a defeat that was laced with pure amusement. In some way, it was a cure to the chronic boredom that pestered him since Oleg had decided to keep him captive, but it also stirred him up in other ways. How much did Oleg’s right hand hate him? How far could he get against Oleg until he was noticed? Or would he win? By chance?

Reality swallowed Ivar again at the strong feeling of fingers sinking into his jaw to tug his head up. “That’s why you keep getting yourself into problems. Never thought of deciding to keep everything in order?” (Y/n)’s breath fanned over his ear, making a shiver run down his spine as his fingers tightened around the edge of the bench.

“And what would be the fun in that?”

(Y/n) blinked slowly as they observed Oleg and Katya from across the table, with boredom clear in their half-lidded eyes, struggling to keep their attention on Oleg's specifications for a war strategy request while he insisted on exchanging affection with Katya.

"Reaching them through the woods would be the best. Do you wish for any other details?" Oleg smiled, never stopping caressing Katya's hand that rested between his.

Shaking their head shortly, (Y/n) hummed as they looked around. Their fingers traced the details of their golden cup of wine, following among the images of saints and crosses embedded with stones. "About 5000 men might do it? For a beginning, I mean, to prepare the area for a battle."

"Of the best?"

(Y/n) scoffed. "Something under the third general's power."

Oleg raised his eyebrows with a hum, his eyes resting on a spot on the table for a moment before he slowly nodded. "Ivar?" He called—the Viking promptly looked up from his food. "Any opinion that might help?"

"Nothing that I haven't told (Y/n) already." He nodded toward the warrior.

A chuckle came from the Rus prince as he nodded. "Right. Glad to see two great war leaders working together."

(Y/n) breathed a chuckle, almost humorless, something Ivar couldn't quite read, in an opposite to Oleg—his eyes lingered over (Y/n) before he returned to his food.

The rest of the meal was animated by Oleg and Katya's constant comments that would leave (Y/n) eyeing the two nobles in disdain or pretending they didn't exist, something Ivar hadn't quite mastered yet. Plus, that, well, he wasn't as important as (Y/n) to have such freedom with the two. A comment that would earn (Y/n) a snicker maybe could cost Ivar’s life.

Time dragged by slowly until Oleg finally declared he had finished and ordered the servants to take his plate, but he never stopped talking with (Y/n). Ivar could feel the anxiety crawling under his skin the more he tried to invent excuses, so he would leave along with (Y/n). He could feel the words tingling in his throat, '(Y/n), can you follow me? I think you'd like to know more about Kattegat's defense,' he almost said. Did Oleg know? Was he doing this on purpose?

"If you were cornered in a battle," (Y/n) said as they approached Ivar, slowly walking towards the stairs to the next floor to make sure the Viking followed them, "what would you do?"

Ivar shrugged messily, not having much freedom due to focusing on climbing up the stairs. It took him a moment to answer, only doing so when they were near the end of the stairs. "Depends, but I think a shield wall until getting the situation under control would be the best. In a case, of course, because if—"

"You can shut up for now," (Y/n) yawned, seemingly oblivious to the glare they got from Ivar. Still, the Viking remained silent, letting only the sound of the flames burning in their holders on the wall, and their steps resonate down the hall. Ivar’s crutches created sharp noises as they met the ground, but it was something (Y/n) had learned to get used to.

With Igor still being in the lower floor, the concentration of guards on that one dropped significantly. (Y/n) didn't even bother rushing Ivar into their room, standing beside the doorway until he walked in so they could follow.

(Y/n)’s room was something like Oleg's and Igor's, but with their own touch, mainly on the rich golden and red tones of the bed covers. What seemed like repaired swords hung from the walls while a couple of paintings decorated the walls—a reminder of victories and defeats. Ivar couldn't help but always look for a cross or an image of Odin, maybe even Thor, on the wall; however, he never found anything. Maybe the crosses on their armor would mean anything.

A long sigh of comfort escaped Ivar's lips as he let himself fall on the bed, firstly sitting down on it and letting his crutches fall to the ground, then lying back on the cushion. He seemed tired.

The sight was enough to have a smile tug on their lips whilst (Y/n) locked the door. They internally debated whether they could say anything or not, just to decide to remain silent while taking off the heavy winter clothes until their thin tunic was all that rested.

(Y/n) couldn't deny it, though—resting on such comfortable covers felt like heaven after a long day.

"C'mon." They poked Ivar with their foot.

Ivar got up to get rid of his shoes and most of his clothes, only keeping his bottoms, but not without complaining during the whole process. The groans turned into a soft hum as (Y/n)'s arms wrapped around him at the moment his head hit the pillow.

The feeling of (Y/n)'s lips running against his cheekbone had his skin rising with a shiver as he leaned into their embrace, hands closed around their arms.

"I would pay to have Oleg quiet for at least a meal," Ivar said quietly like the slightest wrong detail would ruin the situation, following (Y/n) with his eyes as they propped themself up on an elbow. It had been a matter of seconds until the room attained the most comfortable atmosphere in the world. It was warm and filled with something he couldn't quite place. He allowed himself to close his eyes, enjoying the safety he felt even if it wasn't genuine. How was he supposed to fight against the sensation of (Y/n)'s fingers delicately undoing the braids that held his hair?

A soft chuckle came from (Y/n), quiet and almost humorless. "You don’t know how much I relate to it."

Ivar smiled, sighing deeply at the feeling of the tip of (Y/n)'s fingers pressing down against his scalp, on the back of his neck. He instinctively leaned into where he thought they were, humming in satisfaction at the feeling of warm lips meeting his. (Y/n)’s kisses were soft, awakening a feeling in Ivar’s chest that was difficult to explain—it felt too good to be worried about, what bad could it cause?

The kisses got each time deeper as if they were seeking something, maybe wanting something from Ivar, which he was willing to give. A sigh escaped his lips when (Y/n) finally gave him a few seconds to breathe, only to drown him in kisses once again, holding firmly onto his hip.

His eyes fluttered as Ivar threw his head back, mumbling words that (Y/n) couldn't really make out while their lips worked on their neck.

The safety Ivar felt, unfortunately, didn't extend itself to everything. It wasn't even voluntary—his body just jumped at the moment (Y/n) adjusted their fingers around his hip.

"Shhh, I know," they whispered against Ivar’s lips, almost making him want to curl up and die.

The way (Y/n)’s warmth towards Ivar would turn into plain coldness whenever they weren't alone together would always amuse him. He almost caught himself questioning whether the last night was true or not whenever (Y/n)'s eyes would linger over his form with a disdain that always got Oleg smiling smugly.

In a way, Ivar hated the position he was automatically forced into at the moment Oleg showed interest in him. Rus wasn't a country he was used to, and he still didn’t have a complete notion of his boundaries there despite already being there for a few months. Something about all of that messed up with him. He looked forward to slipping into (Y/n)’s bedroom; in their presence he felt... something else. It wasn't like being back in Kattegat or with his family, but it was something he could hold onto, like a guarantee he would get out of that alive. Of course, it was something dumb to think about—(Y/n) didn't have any obligation with him or major interests aside from the ones he had sought with them himself, which still weren't that significant.

"Have you ever been to Scandinavia?" Ivar raised an eyebrow at (Y/n); they hummed questioningly, compelling him to repeat himself.

(Y/n) raised their eyebrows, shaking their head. "Not really, not in a while."

Ivar paused for a moment to observe (Y/n) cleaning the blade of their sword, which had already mercilessly impaled a Viking earlier once they found a place to settle down in Scandinavia. The Rus settlements weren't much different from the Viking and Saxon ones, but still had their differences, differences that were fun to watch while he wasn’t busy tolerating Oleg or observing (Y/n).

“In a while...” He repeated.

No response came from (Y/n) for a while, almost like they didn’t hear his question, only continuously rubbing the bloody rag over the silver blade until it was shining again. (Y/n) went through a quiet debate in their mind whether they should or not tell Ivar about that—not because Oleg could find an issue in it, no, but because they didn’t know how much they wanted Ivar to know about their life. “Since the last battle.”

“For who?” Ivar wasn’t dumb, and Oleg did mention it was his first time putting his plans of invading Scandinavia into practice.

(Y/n) paused under the gaze that burned against the side of their head, pressing their lips together for a moment. “I’m Rusian, but I didn’t spend my whole life here.”

It made sense, of course. (Y/n) didn’t fight like a Saxon, though it wasn’t like a Viking either—it was something in between.

“How did you get to be the army’s commandant, though?” Ivar tilted his head a little. “I don’t...” He paused, thinking whether he should say it or not. (Y/n) wasn’t someone he wanted as an enemy. “You don’t seem like a Rus noble.”

A smile tugged on the corner of (Y/n)’s lips as they hummed. “Yes, because I’m not.” They put their sword inside its holder again, setting it aside on the ground along with their other stuff. “But it isn’t like Oleg found me in the trash either.” The humor that played among their features wasn’t exactly genuine, so Ivar didn’t dare to mess with the matter any further. They knew (Y/n) had enough knowledge of his bad past and not enough mercy to refrain themself from dropping sharp words whenever needed. They didn’t owe him any kindness, but Ivar still had some sense of self preservation. And will to take risks.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “Something like you.”

A crease showed up between (Y/n)’s eyebrows as they breathed a laugh, shaking their head. “If I were you,” they whispered as leaning closer to the Viking, “I’d be a little more careful.”

Ivar raised his eyebrows in a light questioning manner, almost daringly, but whatever (Y/n) planned to do while staring at him with narrowed eyes was interrupted at the moment they heard Oleg’s voice.

“I hope there is no fight going on!” Oleg announced over the sound of his heavy steps and Katya's delicate ones, having (Y/n) immediately stand up whilst Ivar straightened his posture. “I wouldn’t like to see my great war leaders on bad terms with each other. It would affect our plans immensely, and I hope you’re aware of it.”

“You’re the only one I bother fighting with,” (Y/n) replied with such disdain that Ivar had to hold back a chuckle.

Oleg raised his eyebrows, shaking his head, about to say something when Katya cut in; she held onto her husband's arm, stroking it lightly. "Well, maybe they weren't fighting." A small smile played on her lips as she glanced at (Y/n) from under her lashes.

Breathing deeply, they hummed quietly. "I'm afraid you, Mistress, don't know me well enough."

Katya gave the warrior a light raise of eyebrows, slowly nodding, but (Y/n) doubted she believed a thing. It wasn't like they should care, though something about this situation had a chill running down their spine, a feeling among the urge of pulling Ivar away from Katya's view. After all, of course (Y/n) would get attached to Ivar at some point. It was almost like keeping a little pet if Oleg also weren't so protective of the prize that fell into his hands.

"Anyways," Oleg cut in, "I'm here to tell you we should send at least a couple of men forward tonight to analyze the area before we attack tomorrow."

(Y/n) seemed to think for a moment before they nodded with a sigh and took their scabbard, setting it around their waist. "Let's go."

Night fell fast. It wasn't long until the warm night meal had settled down in their stomachs and the only illumination across the field was of dancing flames under the starry sky of a new moon. One of (Y/n)'s direct subordinates took care of the expedition into the outskirts of Kattegat, excusing themself with the need of a full night of sleep that instead meant, secretly, having the viking slip into their tent.

Ivar lay down among the pillows with a smile on his face as he watched the warrior make sure their weapons were all placed in strategic places, just in case. They didn't know how unaware of their attack that the Vikings were. (Y/n) sighed, organizing in the corner, just like their own, the clothes Ivar had tossed to the ground.

"Undo my braids," he said softly, eyes following (Y/n) climb on the bed and hover over him. He blinked a couple of times, fingers curled around the edge of the covers that went up to his bare abdomen until they were pulled down by another pair of hands that soon started to trace Ivar’s chest. The feathery touch of (Y/n)'s fingers against the tattoo on his chest made him shiver, slowly letting out a breath that almost got caught in his throat. Soon, their hands met the base of his jaw, carefully holding his head up to press their lips against his whilst slowly and thoroughly letting themself sit down on his lap, encouraged by his hands guiding their hips.

"Be careful tomorrow," (Y/n) whispered against his lips, letting their fingers trace his jaw and dip to the back of his neck to play with the loose strands of hair.

Ivar hesitated a little, but scoffed. "Why do you care?"

Putting it into words seemed harder than piercing a sword through a man's chest. (Y/n) decided to remain silent, closing their eyes briefly as they slowly shook their head. Whatever Ivar tried to say was silenced by another kiss, which he quietly protested about with a soft groan, and the issue slowly fell into the back of his mind.

A shaky breath escaped Ivar's lips, followed by a soft noise according to how (Y/n) kissed down his neck, a hand pressed to his chest.

"(Y/n)!" A heavy voice called, belonging to none of the two. It had (Y/n) sighing and complaining under their breath—they gave Ivar a last kiss before moving away. Hiding their displeasure wasn't anything they even bothered doing, moving to the entrance of the tent and observing the soldier standing there. "Soldiers have been sent to the recognition. Prince Oleg wants to know if you've seen..." He paused, taking a step to the side as if to see something over (Y/n)’s shoulder, just to have his view blocked by them. "If you've seen Ivar Lothbrok."

"He was going for a walk the last time I saw him." (Y/n) rubbed their face, letting out a heavy breath. "Why me, tho? Send someone after him, if he's so worried, not to mention it wouldn't be the first time or anything. Ivar knows he would be killed on sight if anyone from Kattegat showed up."

The soldier's eyes peeked over their shoulder again, but his breath was caught in his throat at the sharp gaze he met. With a quick bow and some rushed words, he returned to where he had come from, the metal of the armor filling the silence of the night along with the cracking of the torches.

"What was that?" Ivar asked at the moment (Y/n) walked back in. He now sat on the bed with the blankets pooled around his hips, curious eyes following the warrior.

"Oleg. Nothing important, though," they sighed, sitting behind Ivar on the bed so they could undo his braids as asked.

"I heard my name."

"Oleg noticed you weren't in your tent."

Ivar hummed, thinking for a moment about it, but opted for falling silent as he closed his eyes briefly and leaned his head back into (Y/n)’s fingers. He would deal with that later. It wasn’t like Oleg would want to do anything right before the war and risk an inside collapse—he was crazy, but not dumb.

A soft sound was snatched from Ivar’s lips, having him open his eyes and tense up at the feeling of lips nudging under his jaw at the same time (Y/n)’s hands trailed up his chest.

“I hear you’re not following orders,” Oleg’s voice was tense and almost caught in his throat as he spoke without looking away from the battle that started before him. Not Ivar, not (Y/n), not Oleg himself, none of them were being risked in an invasion like this. (Y/n) stood in the backline along with the Prince whilst the Viking had disappeared to God knows where—genuinely, this time.

(Y/n)’s expression didn’t change a little bit; Oleg would’ve thought they didn’t listen to him if he didn’t know them any better. “I’m not crossing any line, as far as I know. Not disturbing this war in any manner nor lacking respect with Your Highness and Her Highness, Katya.”

Oleg huffed a discreet chuckle. “You know really well what I am talking about.”

“I’m not a slave.” (Y/n)’s eyes observed the ongoing invasion. It wasn’t that easy; they had warned Oleg, just to be ignored and force to used a strategy that was clearly not working well at all. The Russian way of fighting wasn’t prepared for the hostile Viking way they found in Bjorn’s hold. “I expect not to be treated as one anymore.”

“We have an agreement, dear.”

“And it includes me not being a slave anymore,” they sighed. “I’m not one of your mistresses either.”

“God knows what that Viking can put in your mind,” Oleg muttered as he slowly shook his head with a scoff.

“I’m stronger than that. I have principles.”

#fanfic #vikings #fan fiction #ivar the boneless #x reader #x female reader #x male reader #x gender neutral reader #ivar x reader #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #imagine #oneshot

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reflections-in-a-critical-eye · 4 months

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i keep telling myself to quit checking up on KM spaces cause there’s literally nothing but bickering and going out of the way to find things to be mad at but I keep ending up coming back 😓 it’s so hard, I still think about them a lot and I generally enjoy doing so! They make me happy to think about, genuinely. it’s been a force of habit for so long but the vibe with no new content (I try and avoid military updates but they waft into my view every so often and I’m glad they seem to be doing ok at least) is just so nasty it’s just like can’t everyone just relax and be happy knowing they’re together??? Obviously I am the problem here and I need to stop but it’s a struggle….do I need to just go completely cold turkey on bangtan? 😂 is that what you did when you took a long break? It’s not like I don’t have hobbies and a job and stuff, but for a long time they’ve occupied a special nice place where I just think of them and generally enjoy reading people’s thoughts about them, but over the past year especially w the solo stuff it’s just gotten kinda rancid

Hello, anon

I understand you completely. If something has become part of your daily routine, on top of other activities and interests, it's normal to get the urge to check up on it. Cold turkey might not help because it increases the chances of going back to it. I'm going through the same thing nowadays. I'm aware that right now, there's barely any point in keeping up with that part of my interests online. KM have enlisted and despite seeing some military updates, I'm not excitedly/anxiously looking forward to it. Like you, I think it's nice to see that they appear fine, but personally I could live without those updates as well. Consequently, I barely discuss it even on my blog, I don't find it necessary.

Most likely, the upcoming show will be the only relevant content that makes me still keep an eye on them right now and that's because the announcement might drop at any time. By not knowing exactly when, it's enough to keep at least a part of the fandom waiting and participating online. Not a bad strategy, but a frustrating one for us.

Likewise, by still checking up tumblr/twitter, I'm also exposing myself to daily fights, endless debates on relationship dynamics and so on. I find it pointless and I'd say a sign of boredom if this wasn't the modus operandi of the fandom anyway.

I made a vague comment recently, but it is terribly annoying having to read left and right troll anons baiting bloggers who then are bringing receipts to demonstrate that KM are close. Really? We're still doing that in 2024? People are talking in circles to demonstrate something that doesn't need more proving. Twitter is worse because they fight like idiots under the guise of defending. The knights in shining armour fighting for the princesses.

As to solo stans, I don't have an issue with the idea of only liking an artist and that's it. If only that would be the full definition. Anyone acting like not only a fanatic, but writing like some miserable 4chan user is someone I really can't stand. It's slowly becoming standard stan behavior and I see this in other fandoms as well, including those of western artists. It's nasty and embarassing.

When I took a break, I unfollowed almost all KM and JM focused accounts. The ones remaining I muted so I had to go to my following list and check each individually if I wanted to see what was up. My point was to not have any of that on my timeline. I think it worked for a while. Now I'm back to how it was before and I don't know how that happened. I should make some changes again.

#m thoughts #jikook #bts fandom #solo stans #fandom behavior

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pacinglikeghosts · 4 months

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happy new years eve and happy birthday nancy wheeler (according to my headcanon)! as yall have seen, i have been plagued by percy jackson brainrot as of late, but i also missed writing ronance, so i combined the two! this does not have a title yet, and it's still a ROUGH draft, but here is a percy jackson-ish ronance au, with some homoerotic sparring, a date by the lake, and lots of weird pacing <3 godly parents are mostly based on simplytomh on twitter's assignments.

Robin had been at camp for just about a month, and she was convinced she had broken nearly every bone in her body—twice. Every day, she woke up with her body aching and new bruises littering her skin. Apparently, there wasn’t enough nectar and ambrosia in the world to help her.

Frankly, she felt like no matter what she did at camp, she was destined to fail. Sure, she had been claimed by her godly parent, which was…nice, she supposed. Glad to know her father wasn’t just some deadbeat that left her and her mom alone for seventeen years, but rather a deadbeat god who did all of that, and gave Robin a messed-up brain. It was a bit of a relief to find out her talent with languages wasn’t sparked from sheer boredom, but a trait from her dad’s side of the family, though it was a bit insulting to find out her half siblings are typically athletic and skilled at lying—though she could fib her way out of some small issues, she certainly wasn’t athletic.

Even as half god, she was still a fuck up. Great.

“Well, good morning, feather-feet,” Steve greeted with a grin far too cheerful for nine in the morning.

Robin glared up at him through her bangs. “Never call me that again.”

Steve laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, Rob…are you ready for sword fighting?”

“Against Nancy? No way.”

He shook his head, bending down to tighten the laces on his sneakers. “C’mon, Nance isn’t that bad. She’s just…she’s got a thick skin and she’s one hell of a fighter, but she’s not the emotionless bitch everyone makes her out to be. She’s got a big heart,” he insisted. “Besides, I know you’re into her.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t need you mettling,” Robin muttered as she tugged on the bright orange collar of her camp t-shirt, her face growing warm. “Don’t you have some crafts to do with some of the younger campers? Or some flirting to do with a certain child of Apollo?”

Steve’s ears tinged pink, his own turn at embarrassment taking force. “Shut up,” he mumbled as he hid his face behind a poorly disguised cough. “See you at lunch. Let me know how sword fighting goes.”

Robin rolled her eyes and headed towards the arena, her body aching with every step. No matter how much her new-found best friend attempted to will it otherwise, there was no way her encounter with Nancy in that arena would end up as anything other than positively terrible.

***

“It should be simple for most of you at this point,” Nancy Wheeler, Athena’s golden child and head counselor began as she grabbed a glittering gold sword from the pile. “Combat is all about strategy. You need to be two steps ahead of your opponent at all times. Now, to demonstrate, I need someone to come help me. Robin, I think you’d be a good fit for it.”

“I definitely do not think I would be,” Robin protested. “Unless you want everyone here to watch me fall flat on my face and embarrass myself.”

Nancy loosened her grip on the sword ever so slightly. “Hermes kids are naturally good fighters, you’ll be fine,” she reassured. “Just trust me.”

“Oh, I trust you fine, I just don’t trust myself. I mean, have you seen me try to do the climbing wall? I think half of these bruises are just from that, but yeah, let’s add a deadly weapon, and I know Hermes kids are usually naturally good fighters, but we’re also supposed to be naturally faster and more agile than most others, and I’m clearly not, seeing as this bruise on my knee is from tripping over a branch yesterday and this one is from—”

“Robin. Just get up here.”

Robin trudged to join Nancy up front, wincing as she grabbed the bronze sword from the top of the pile. The weapon felt heavy in her hands, and awkward in her grip, as though she was not the person to be holding it. In fact, she could probably name ten other people in the group that were better swordsmen than she was.

“As I was saying,” Nancy continued and squared up. “This is all a matter of strategy. Just watch how Robin reacts to my motions.”

Robin, unsurprisingly, did not react well to Nancy’s advances, as within minutes her sword fell to the ground with a metallic clatter. “Sorry, I just—it looked like you were going to kill me,” Robin forced out as she scrambled to pick up her weapon.

Nancy shrugged off the comment, and instead turned back to the group. “When my sword hit Robin’s, the angle of contact made it so the tip of my blade seemed incredibly close to coming in contact with her chest. Thankfully, I wouldn’t ever kill Robin, but that isn’t to say other people wouldn’t try to—and that goes for any of you. However, had Robin repositioned her angle of contact, my wrist would have been twisted at such an angle that she would have had the upper hand,” she explained, before turning back to Robin. “Let’s go again.”

Though every part of her told her to run, Robin grabbed her sword off the ground and squared up, attempting to level with Nancy despite being a few inches taller than her. It was all a matter of strategy, she kept reminding herself after the first strikes. Watch the wrist, and her stance, and it would finally make sense.

All of a sudden, it was like the instincts that had been asleep for so long finally awoke from hibernation, and Robin found herself tapped into a secret sixth sense. It was as though she was pulled out of her body and given superpowers; replaced with a version of herself that could hold her own in battle. Every hit towards her was blocked, and Nancy seemed to be fired up with a new sense of determination. It was…almost attractive? If such a word could be used to describe a girl at the other end of a deadly weapon. The glint in her eyes and the mid-morning light reflecting off her ponytail made Nancy seem like the paintings and drawings Robin had seen in classes of ancient warriors (which she supposed made a bit of sense, given Nancy’s parentage)—powerful and authoritative on one hand, but ethereal and other-worldly on the other.

Then, the cool pressure of Nancy’s sword pressed against Robin’s throat, the tip of the blade landing right below her chin and knocking her out of her thoughts. “You…said you wouldn’t kill me,” Robin forced out, swallowing heavily against the point.

Nancy dropped her sword, the fiery gleam in her eyes glowing brighter. “I did,” she acknowledged. “Always have to be two steps ahead of your opponent, Buckley,” she added as she placed the weapon back in the pile.

Robin grumbled out her response, hoping that Nancy couldn’t hear how she was distinctly mocking her, before taking off her armor one piece at a time. “You know there were people actually willing to help you, right?”

“I did,” Nancy hummed. “But I knew you could do it.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “You could have killed me!”

“I wouldn’t have,” Nancy insisted, her formerly monotonous voice softening. “Will you meet me at the lake tonight before lights out?”

Robin scoffed, bending down to tighten the laces on her boots. “So you can kill me once and for all? Or leave me for the cleaning harpies?”

“Robin,” Nancy sighed. “Do you trust me?”

Robin looked up from her boots, staring up at Nancy. The iciness in her eyes had melted, the cool blue becoming more like the color of a sunny day than that of bitter cold, and the hardened expression on her face had faded almost entirely.

Robin bit down on the inside of her cheek, before nodding. “I already told you, yes.”

When Robin told Steve about Nancy’s proposal at dinner, he seemed all too overjoyed for his friend to be thrown to the metaphorical wolves—trust or no trust. He insisted—several times—that he had no stake in the matter, nor had he mettled in the happenings between his two friends. He simply wanted to see the happiness between Robin and Nancy, and saw the potential for the two of them to bond.

Like Robin believed that.

Still, she let Steve fix her hair and critique her outfit, fine tuning everything from the way she tied her boots to the haphazard way she buttoned her shirt. “You’d think I was going out on a date,” Robin remarked with a laugh as he gave her one final look-over, but Steve remained silent and focused on his task, tongue wedged between his teeth.

“Good luck,” he said finally, nudging her towards the lake. “Don’t freak out.”

Robin’s eyes widened, her head whipping back to face Steve. “Freak out? Why would I freak out? What’s going on that would make me freak out? You told me this would be fine and she wasn’t going to kill me and I could trust her and—”

“Just go! You’ll see!” he insisted, giving her another push. “Good luck! Have fun!”

Robin bit back a scowl. “I hate you!” she called over her shoulder, before heading down the hill to the beach.

When she reached the beach, she was stunned to find the terrain not set up for her inevitable doom, but rather a candlelit spread of a blanket and strawberries, with Nancy sitting on one end. Robin once again considered the fact that she may in fact be on a date, but given the way Nancy was idly studying her knife, she couldn’t be too sure.

“Uh…hi,” Robin greeted awkwardly, approaching the blanket.

In the dim light, Nancy’s face brightened. “Robin, you came!” she smiled.

“You invited me, and I said I would,” Robin answered, her gaze shifting from the knife to Nancy’s face. “You…aren’t going to kill me, right?”

Nancy frowned, then remembered the weapon in her hand. “What? No, I’m just looking this over for my brother and forgot to bring it back to him. Something about aerodynamics.”

“Wouldn’t that be the job of the Hephaestus cabin?”

“You’d think so,” Nancy laughed, “but here I am,” she added, before gesturing to the blanket. “Come sit.”

Robin settled onto the other side of the blanket, her limbs awkwardly pulled into her body. “That’s good to know, at least,” she breathed out. “But…why exactly did you invite me here?”

“Steve didn’t tell you?” Nancy asked. Robin shook her head. “Figures…son of Aphrodite’s all for romance except when it comes to his friends. Or his own life, I guess.”

Robin laughed, stretching out her legs and leaning back on the blanket. “I know! I mean, seriously. He’s been pining for—I don’t even know how long and he still refuses to make a move,” she grinned. “Wait…romance? This—this is a date?”

“Is that okay?” Nancy asked hesitantly. “I’ve had a crush on you since you got here, and I know how stupid that sounds, but I’ve just been trying to figure out a time to talk to you since you seem to be actively avoiding me, so I planned to spar with you and ask you to meet me here. Steve, uh, actually suggested it. Not everything, just the set up.”

Robin exhaled, staring out at the water. “Figured,” she noted, before turning to Nancy. “I was only avoiding you because I’ve thought you were so perfect and smart and gorgeous since I got here, and every time I was around you I made a fool of myself. You didn’t do anything wrong, I was just trying to avoid embarrassing myself around you more than I already had.”

“I see,” Nancy said softly, her gaze fixated on the water. “If you’re still hungry, you can have some of the strawberries. I had to bribe the satyrs into giving these up, crops are relatively scarce this time of year.”

Robin frowned. “They can’t use magic to make them grow all year long?”

“I guess not.”

Robin turned back to face Nancy, her figure shadowy in the dim light. It would be so easy, Robin realized, to kiss her. But she hadn’t kissed anyone before, much less anyone like Nancy. What if she did the wrong thing; went in the wrong direction and ended up hitting her head against Nancy’s so their once romantic moment is ruined by her clumsiness? Or what if she uses too much tongue, or too little, or her kisses are too wet, too dry, too sloppy, too tense, too everything that could go wrong?

“Are you okay?” Nancy asked suddenly.

Robin blinked, her attention drawing back to reality. “What? Yeah, I’m fine…I’m good.”

“Are you cold? We can head back,” Nancy offered.

“No, I—“ Robin forced out, before turning sharply and grabbing Nancy’s face. Without much reconsideration, she slammed her lips against Nancy’s, taking in the sweet taste of strawberries that lingered on the skin like the last bits of sunlight in summer. To her surprise, kissing was natural—incredibly so. Nancy relaxed into the gesture, moving against Robin in effortless harmony. Where Robin was cautious and reserved, careful to not make the wrong move, Nancy charged ahead, reading Robin’s body language and moving along as if this was second nature to her.

“We should get back,” Nancy said against Robin’s lips after what felt like an eternity of blissful kissing.

Robin sighed, rubbing her hand over her lips. “Yeah, probably…” she frowned, looking at the smear of lipstick on the back of her hand.

“But this was fun,” Nancy said, clearly noticing Robin’s somber expression. “Maybe we can have Steve set something else up for us,” she joked, her smile bright in the darkness.

Robin groaned, picking up Nancy’s basket of strawberries and blanket before passing them to her. “Ugh, don’t give him any ideas,” she muttered. “But that would be nice.”

“See you tomorrow for sparring?”

Robin grimaced, rolling out some tightness in her shoulders. “As long as you don’t pull another stunt like today on me.”

Nancy grinned. “No promises.”

#maybe ill post this on ao3 once i have a title and revise it #but for now enjoy #i wanted to post this by the end of today so i did make my goal #sort of #stranger things #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #ronance #nancy x robin #steve harrington #melodicchaos fics

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i-hold-horrors-hand · 3 months

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Love Is A Fire (Chapter 1: Urge To Fulfill An Ever Needed Thrill)

How Allie met Mary.

(Gender weird Mary, gender weird lesbianism, reclaimed slurs)

(Also readable here)

When the two lock eyes, it's instant. Mary feels his cock twitch in his too-tight tattered jeans; he knows that he will be satiated tonight. Allie feels a shiver run through her svelte frame; she knows that she will be taking Mary home with her.

It starts out at a dyke club. A messy, punk, hole-in-the-wall dyke club, somewhere in France. The kind of place where you can expect to see french metalheads, gutter punks, butches, bulldykes, les gouines, and such folk. Not somewhere you expect to see lithe, fashionable, pretty femmes.

But what is lesbianism, what is queerness, if not subversion of expected norms?

Allie, a pretty femme clad in clothes that are just barely a step down from haute couture, sips her quirky and delicious Levrette, and looks around the dykey dive bar. She takes in the various women, mascs, and other patrons, noting mentally how each one makes her feel when she lays her eyes upon them. Checking them out, sizing them up. She arrived alone, but she's not leaving alone.

Across the bar, a messy gutter punk named Mary surveys the scene. Dressed in a ripped shirt and even more ripped jeans, he fits right in. He nurses a cheap single malt, slowly letting it run down his throat, savouring it. He originally came here to alleviate his boredom, but now he seeks something else. Satiation of another desire.

But before that, they will begin their joining of their bodies in a bathroom stall. And before that, they approach each other, introduce themselves, talk a little bit. Got to know who you're working with.

Allie is an American attending a university in this country, studying art history. She is also a model. She laughs when Mary asks her what a pretty girl like her is doing in a dump like this, shouldn't she be somewhere fancier sipping on some expensive wine? She tells him that appearances can be deceiving, and there's more to her than meets the eye.

Mary is a Swede, in a niche-yet-fairly-popular death metal band, which played a few shows nearby recently. Now, tonight, he is out on the town. Looking for action, looking for fun. He doesn't actually speak much French, and is impressed when Allie says and demonstrates that she's relatively fluent. He asks her to teach him a couple words.

"Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?" Allie bats her long, mascara-coated eyelashes.

Mary's eyebrows leap up his blood-painted forehead. "My my, who would expect the pretty little sophisticate to be so forward?"

Allie reminds him that appearances can be deceiving, and there's more to her than meets the eye.

There's more to Mary than meets the eye, too. Allie discovers this one they're in a bathroom stall, both frantically fumbling with each other's clothes.

She doesn't expect an erect cock to pop up out of Mary's jeans. Not a real one, anyway. But Mary isn't her first dyke-with-a-dick, and she's eager to take it.

And take it she does. In that grimy, graffitied, dive bar bathroom stall. And back at her apartment, in her bed.

A night well spent, for both of them.

#mary goore #mary goore x oc #repugnant band #mary goore fanfic #mary goore fanfiction #my writing #love is a fire

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gwilin-stay-winnin · 4 months

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!! wip whenever !!

i've been tagged by many folks these past few days, among them @inkoherentwriting, @stellarsightz and @v1ctory-or-sovngarde. as always, thank you for sharing your lovely wips with me!! i love being tagged. if i don't post a wip soon after i am, it's likely because i don't have one to share just yet. but today i do yippeeeee

(no-pressure) tagging @omkdear, @inkoherentwriting (since it's been a while), @bethrnoora, and @da3drat

here's a random text post i was writing that ended up turning into a ficlet. in it, gwilin recalls a weird friend he may or may not have had as a child. [on ao3]

_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–

There's a story Gwilin tells few, of a best friend he had when he was little. His name, he remembers, was Mals. Gwilin decided a long time ago that that must've been short for 'Malstar'.

Mals came sometime after the snow had thawed, when deathbell sprouts were breaking all through the ground and fungi tinted the air with the smell of fertile soil. They met at the end of a cloudy day, at dusk, as Gwilin paraded his boredom around the village stables.

"What's your name?"

"Gwilin!" Gwilin cried. He wasn't wary of strangers quite yet, nor did he find it odd that he'd been cooed at.

"No. The horse," replied the boy, and he pointed accordingly. Gwilin was a serial eavesdropper, and so was very well-versed in those matters reserved only for the most serious conversations amongst adults. Such as politics. He leapt at the chance to demonstrate.

"Ulfric Stormclock."

The boy's face had its doubts. "That's a long name," he replied, after a moment. He didn't know it was supposed to be 'cloak', either.

"All the best horses have long names."

"I'd make a bad horse, then," concluded the boy, as he rounded the beast. "Mals," he said simply, and the sliver of sleek, black hair moving into the fading rays of daylight drew Gwilin's eye, first. Then it was the boy's open arms.

A hug? thought Gwilin. Well, alright, he supposed. He looks clean enough.

They'd meet at the stables in the afternoons. Mals was never late. The few times Gwilin made it there before he did, he'd see him come out of the brush and catch how haphazardly he went about straightening his hair and wiping off his boots. He wondered how far he traveled each time he came. Asking him outright was never much help; Mals talked an awful lot like the priests at the temple did. 'Just down the road a ways', 'Close enough', 'Could be farther'...

A few weeks passed before Gwilin realized his friend never mentioned his family, even in passing. Or his other friends, if he had any. Such ties seemed foreign to him. When Mals spoke–and he often didn't–it was of far more unusual things. Where death came from, what fame is good for, what would happen when one kind of time gave way to another. And he spoke of these things as himself, in simple terms–in words Gwilin felt were meant for him to understand.

Sometimes he'd bring strange foods to share. Most were dainty, sweet things unlike any Gwilin had ever tasted. He remembered a crisp, mauve-colored wafer shell full of tangy, bright yellow paste had been a favorite of his. The day he tried to return the favor with some venison sandwiches, though, Mals turned him down. Meat made his stomach turn, he said. This saddened Gwilin.

He really liked meat. And he really liked Mals.

On a day, as he dug into a bowl of spiced nuts layered over dense, sugary cream and Mals counted the rings of a tree, there came a question. From Gwilin, as usual.

"Where are you from?"

"Why do you ask?" said Mals, after he finished counting. Gwilin put down the spoonful he'd brought to his lips. Mals had never responded to that question with anything other than a vague remark.

"You're my friend. I'd like to know," he shrugged. More clearly than anything else then, he remembers the sound of Mals running his hand over the bark of the log he'd been examining. A smile tugged at his lips, which the olive skin at his cheeks slowly gave way to.

"Do you know Craglorn?"

"You're Breton!" he blurted out. Gwilin had been pretty sure of it. Those ears were a dead giveaway.

"Yes. I am. But do you know Craglorn?"

"Yeah. Out by the Dragontails."

"Mhm. Everything moves slow out there. People, especially," Mals grunted out, as he lay down on the log. His head hung back off the edge of it. "This mage lived there once, you know. She was slower than anyone else. Even breathed slow. She liked writing and doing research in her room, all day and night."

"Was she a good mage?"

Mals took a moment to respond. "Paper is cheap in Craglorn. Easy to get, easy to use. And she had the woods close by if she needed souls for enchanting, so she could experiment all she liked. It doesn't really matter whether she was good or not."

"Oh. Sorry. I don't know a lot about magic..." was all Gwilin remembers saying. Mals laughed short and sweet, like a little bell, at that.

"Neither did she. But time did its work. It got to the point people would head to the inn she was staying at just to see her. Study her unconventional ways," he clarified, as he placed both arms below his head. "Thing is," he began, with pressed lips, "There wasn't anything that unconventional about what she knew. People didn't flock to the inn because she'd discovered something the mages from the city hadn't–they flocked to the inn because they didn't want to hear it from them. They wanted to hear it from an outsider."

Mals stopped then. Gwilin can only pretend to remember where those upside-down eyes looked to in that moment.

"No one wants to drink from the fountain," Mals whispered, almost to himself. "They'd rather find their own springs. Water tastes sweeter, that way."

"Which would you drink from?" asked Gwilin, thinking himself clever.

"Oh, the fountain. If enough people seek out a spring, it becomes one, anyway. Speaking of..." Mals pushed off the log and meandered over to Gwilin, gesturing for him to take his hand. He did, and he left the bowl containing his new favorite food behind so they could head to the river. That was usually how Mals signaled that he needed to head off soon. Though he never urged Gwilin to drink with him when they got there, he often did, if for no other reason than he felt weird standing on the riverbank waiting for his friend to have his fill.

This time, however, as he went to bring his cupped hand up to his mouth, Gwilin heard a splash. His head darted to the side, where he caught the sight of Mals floating weightlessly downstream. He recalls the panic that overtook him then, and the desperate leaps of his feet as they slid over and above the stones along the river bank, sweeping him ever-closer toward aiding his friend. But then he saw a slender arm calmly reach up to the sky. It waved. Panic was smothered by peace, and Gwilin stood still.

And he never saw Mals again.

#tes #tesblr #skyrim fic #gwilin #depictions

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kidgetrash · 1 year

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Drunk Kidge Confessions - Keith to Pidge!

Character: Keith Kogane, Pidge Gunderson/Katie Holt

Pairings: Keith/Pidge

Warnings!: Drunken shenanigans. Keith's lips had a workout!

Summary: When Pidge is woken by a very drunk Keith at 3am, she gets a very confusing confession!

A/N: thank you for being patient with me waiting for this today! I don't feel much better than I did earlier but I have had a little nap so here you go!

It was almost 3am when Pidge was roused from a deep sleep. She had only been in bed for maybe an hour, having got engrossed in some new tech they had discovered on the latest planet they had liberated. From what she understood, or could hear from her lab, the celebrations had gone on almost as long as her research, passing several locals leaving as she returned to her room. She had assumed, from the peace that reigned, that everyone had retired for the evening. She realised she was wrong when a rhythmic banging started up on her door and didn’t stop no matter how much she tried to ignore it. Throwing her pillow off her head she dragged her weary body out of bed and slouched her way to the door. Hitting the button it slid open and she barely dodged being punched in the face.

‘Whoa, what the hell, Keith?’ She instinctively grabbed his arm and tucked it under her own and bending his elbow backwards, her other hand holding her bayard ready. ‘I nearly electrocuted you!’

‘Why are you here?’ He demanded, the smell of Dukhivian alcohol rolling off him in waves.

‘Uh, it’s my room.’ She waved behind her as she dismissed her bayard and released his arm. ‘It’s 3am. Where else would I be?’

‘Part the aty.’ He waved, muddling his words comically and she pressed her lips together to hide her smile. She had never seen him drunk before, let alone this drunk.

‘And why would I go to the party when I had so much new tech to go over?’ She asked rhetorically, not expecting an answer but getting one anyway.

‘Mith we at the Duckhaven, Dickhoovia,’

‘Dukhivian?’ She suggested and he nodded emphatically.

‘That! You were supposed to be there.’

She was relieved he seemed to have sorted his words out for at least one sentence so far, and shrugged. ‘You know I’m not a fan of those things, and I’d rather be off in my lab. If you needed me you could have called over the intercom or come and got me.’

‘Nope. No. I needed you. There right there. With me.’

‘If you’d let me know I’d have come along, but I figured this was like all the other meet and greets; wall to wall boredom.’

His hands clamped down on her shoulders, making her jump, as he leaned down into her eye line. ‘Do you know what Dukebeehives end of a toast looks like?’

‘Like a crust?’ She wrinkled her nose in confusion.

‘No!’ He shook his head vehemently. ‘A drinky toast! Cheers!’ He demonstrated before returning his hand to her shoulder. ‘It. Looks. Like. This.’ He ducked his head and pecked her rapidly on the lips, leaving her wide eyed stunned. Well, that was her first kiss, from her crush no less, and she barely had time to enjoy it.

‘Um…what just happened?’

‘The Dackholes! They kiss the person next to them before they drink!’

‘Ohhh.’ She said in realisation. ‘Who were you sat next to?’

‘Oh, we sidn’t dit.’ He shook his head again. ‘We were jingling!’

‘Mingling?’

‘That!’ He gave her a gentle shake as she got it. ‘They made so much toast that my lips are sore and that’s not even the worst part!’

Pidge rested her hands on his wrists, gently moving his arms back down to his sides. ‘This is all great, Keith, but I’m sure you can tell me the worst part tomorrow. When you sober up. You should get to bed.’

‘Good idea.’ He pushed past her into her room and started taking off his boots.

‘Your bed! Not my bed!’ She hurried after him, the door sliding closed behind her.

‘So, the worst wort.’ He continued as he pulled off his jacket. ‘I kissed Lance.’

She pulled on his arm, it wasn’t that she hadn’t ever considered Keith taking his clothes off in her room, but it certainly wasn’t in these circumstances. ‘Stop taking your clothes…you kissed Lance?!’

‘And Hunk. And Allura. And Shiro. And Coran. His moustache is rougher than it looks. And so many Dollhousians. Did you know they have four lips?!’ Despite her best efforts he had managed to get his jeans down to his knees and he sat on the bed to shove them off the rest of the way. ‘But if you’d been there it would have been fine!’ He bounced himself back into the crumpled bedcovers before flopping onto his back with his arms out.

‘I’m going to get Shiro.’ She said uncertainly, starting to back away from the bed where the beginning of her favourite dream of Keith in just his t-shirt and underwear was laying in her bed, but he moved faster than she thought he ought to be able to, given how alcoholically impaired he was.

‘No, don’t leave me again!’ He pulled her towards him until her knees hit the mattress, preventing her from going any further. ‘You can’t leave me again.’ He said the latter quietly, as though he were truly afraid for her to go, and it made her protestations die in her throat.

‘Okay, I’ll stay.’ She sat down on the side of the bed. ‘But you know when someone makes a toast you don’t have to drink the entire glass, right? They’re not shots.’

‘If you had to kiss Lance you’d drink it like shots too.’ He grumbled, pulling on her arm to try and get her onto the bed. ‘Come on, you sleeped we have to sleep.’

‘I said you have to sleep.’ She tried to resist his pull, as tempting as it was. ‘And I still don’t get how me being there would make things any better.’

‘Because,’ he gave her serious eyes, as serious as they could get given how glassy they were, and doubled his effort to try and get her onto the bed. ‘If you had been there,’

She allowed him to pull her to him, going onto her knees before sitting back on her feet in front of him. ‘If I had been there?’ She prompted him as he seemed to have lost his train of thought, his eyes darting over her face as though looking for something.

‘If you had been there I could have stayed by your side.’ He said without hesitation, his voice low and reverberating in the close quarters they found themselves in.

‘That would just have given you one more person to kiss.’ She gave him a sideway smile, realising the flaw in his logic.

‘Not one more. Just one. Just the one I always want to kiss.’

Pidge frowned, confused as to whether what she was hearing was what she thought he was implying. ‘You’re going to need to be clearer on that, Keith.’

He didn’t reply, not with words anyway. He pulled her to him and pressed his lips to hers, a simple kiss but Pidge’s eyebrows shot up as her eyelids lowered, a soft murmur emitting from her throat. He pulled away just far enough to see her as clearly as he could manage. Her cheeks had turned a glorious pink colour that reached all the way to her ears, her eyes were still closed, her lashes resting on her cheeks, and a sigh slipping through her slightly parted lips. ‘Clear enough?’

‘Not really.’ She fluttered her eyes open. ‘All I hear is you saying you’d rather I’d been there because you think I’m the lesser of a lot of evils.’

He closed his eyes and shook his head then thought better of it as a spell of dizziness came over him. ‘No, that’s not it.’

‘Please, Keith. Just sleep.’ She whispered, her voice choked with emotion. ‘Because I can’t deal with you doing this, not when it’s just to make you feel better about what happened tonight.’

‘Not that either.’ He took a deep breath, hoping it would clear his head, but it failed miserably. ‘It’s because you’re you that I wish you’d been there tonight. That I wish you were with me every night. All the time. That I could do this any time.’ He kissed her again, still just their lips against one another but this time he lingered, his hands releasing her so he could wrap his arms around her and pull her closer.

Pidge could taste the alcohol on his lips, the fervour of his actions making her resolve melt. She bunched his shirt up in her hands, not knowing what else to do, as so many new feelings and emotions scorched through her. His fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head to one side and the new angle had her stomach and lower things clench. She could never have guessed that such a simple kiss could have this affect on her.

Keith continued to kiss Pidge for some time, allowing her to catch her breath before going in again, kissing her senseless. Eventually, even through her scrambled synapses, common sense reared its ugly head. She tapped his chest and leaned back, staring at him in disbelief as he tried to get back to her lips.

‘You gotta hold your horses for a minute there, Keith.’ She managed, trying to ignore the way his fingers were stroking through her hair and trailing up and down her spine. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here.’

He huffed out a huge sigh, as though he were frustrated with her confusion. ‘What’s going on is you ruined what could have been a perfectly good evening of me kissing the girl of my dreams and now we’re making up for it.’ He leaned in but she put her hand over his mouth.

‘Just pretend I’m, like, Lance level intelligence when it comes to this kind of thing. Spell it out.’ She removed her hand slowly, giving him raised eyebrows of encouragement.

‘I,’ he kissed her beside her lips, ‘am,’ her cheek, ‘madly,’ by her ear, ‘deeply,’ her jaw, ‘in love,’ moving back towards her lips, ‘with you.’ He fit his lips to hers as he said the last and she let him, allowing herself to enjoy this, even if it was just for the moment and through drunk ramblings.

The thing that brought Pidge back to reality with a bump was when Keith’s tongue brushed against her lips and she knew she had to stop. She didn’t want either of them to regret this, and if he were serious they could talk once he sobered up, but this had to stop.

‘Keith?’

‘Mmm?’ He kissed at her lips again and when they didn’t respond how he wanted he moved to kiss across her jaw towards her neck.

‘Can we just leave this until morning? If you still feel the same in the cold light of day we can work things out then?’

He stopped his path across her skin and leaned away from her, giving her a considering look. ‘If we sleep you’ll let me kiss you all I want?’ He asked, his eyes pleading for her to say yes.

‘If that’s what you really want, then yeah.’ She nodded, certain he would change his mind. ‘But I have to say this once. I love you too but if you wake up and want this to just be something that happened that we both move past, then that’s fine too. No regrets.’

‘No regrets.’ He agreed with a smile and a nod before pulling her down with him into the covers and settling her against him. ‘And I’m going to tell you that I love you again in the morning, but you have to stay right here to sleep.’

‘Deal.’ She sighed, knowing this might be the closest she ever got to Keith being her own and that she doubted that confession would ever come. It didn’t take long for them both to fall asleep, cosy in one another's arms.

#kidge #kidgetrash #voltron #keith kogane #pidge gunderson #drunk confessions

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salamanderz13 · 1 year

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TBB Episode 10

Spoilers for the day's episode will be discussed below, so proceed at your own risk!

I was MIA last week, but thoroughly enjoyed the episode and I have lots of thoughts about this week's episode. Last spoiler warning!

The first thing that came to my mind after watching was how inconspicuous it felt. It just seemed like there was a horrible undercurrent of dread and evil veiled behind the "adventure of the week" format. I know others have mentioned this might have been the deep breath or pause before shit starts to go down, but I don't know that I even took a breath. I felt very on edge afterwards.

But first, a few thoughts:

Last week Tech had his moment to shine as a neurodivergent cloen and I love every second of it. It added so much freaking depth to his character!

It was probably a "blink and you'll miss it" moment, but Wrecker absolutely demontrated his neurodivergence at the very beginning while they worked on the speeder. His expression of boredom and utter exasperation over something that could literally save their lives was trademark ADHD. If it's not interesting, it's not interesting and it doesn't matter that Wrecker knows how important it is. He's bored out of his mind. Similarly, Hunter reiterating that Wrecker should have preserved his rations but Wrecker replying that he was hungry was also demonstrative of ADHD. Wrecker went for instant gratification rather than the "rational" option. I struggle with both of these things myself, even when medicated, and I just really enjoyed the nuance of something that was maybe dismissed as "comic relief" by neurotypicals but was readily identifiable to my personal experience.

Hunter, man. HUNTER. My god he was smooth as silk this episode. I just can't with him. He's really out here competing with Rex for number one clone in my heart!

The writer's 100% knew what they were doing with Mokko's metal arm...the bastards.

On to speculation!

Benni has to play a role down the road or at least make some kind of appearance. His whole "I owe you" line stood out too much not to be a sign of things to come. I also find it ironic that Hunter is so deadset on keeping Omega "out of the life" but willing takes her on missions like this and treats her as one of the squad. Like, my guy, she's going to choose this path for herself and you'll have to come to terms with why you're really choosing to work for Cid if not for Omega. A reckoning is definitely coming.

I also get the feeling that TBB might be setting up Omega for an appearance in The Skeleton Crew. The focus on children in the galaxy is just too apparent to not be significant and I would absolutely love to see Omega in future content outside of The Batch. She's really grown into a compelling character this season.

Earlier I mentioned a reckoning and I definitely left this episode feeling like things are going to come to a head within The Batch and I'm genuinely starting to wonder how long they'll remain together as a squad. Many people (myself included) suspected that Echo and Hunter would butt heads (and they did briefly) but I think it'll end up being Omega and Hunter who clash. It's been said elsewhere that The Batch aren't really heroes and that it's Omega who drives them to do any sort of good when they're on missions. After her conversation with Tech, I think Omega is going to start being Echo's voice in the group, pushing them to do more, to help people.

It's hard to say what the catalyst will be that drives them towards that. The obvious one is that one of them dies. I sincerely hope the writer's don't go this route because, again, it's just too dang obvious and not satisfying (imo). Particularly with Rex/Echo. Everyone knows Echo isn't with Rex in Rebels and that Rex initially refused to fight, so something has to happen to drive that narrative. But I would argue that the death Echo is the easy way out. It would be far more interesting to see something more sinister happen to push him over the edge.

But I have seen some compelling arguments regarding Crosshair, Hunter, and Tech dying. I still think that would be the easy way out. I'm not a huge fan of the "kill a character because X needs motivation to do Y." The Walking Dead did it and I absolutely hated that kind of lazy writing. There's absolutely a time a place for killing a character, but it's used too much for shock-value in a lot of scenarios.

Given what we know of the Imperial Era, though, it wouldn't be out of the question that the show is building up to another Order 66-level tragedy. That is Star Wars afterall.

#tbb spoilers #tbb s2 spoilers #the bad batch #tbb hunter #star wars #captain rex #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb omega #tbb tech #the bad batch spoilers

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yakultstanreblog · 11 days

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This is likely not a new perspective or anything (may be obvious) but personally, I’ve found a new use/appreciation for ai/chatgpt as a tool to enhance academia/school/college/uni, that I think is quite beneficial for a lot of people (and if you disagree, then it’s likely that ‘some people’ are not you). I only mention this because as someone who has never cheat throughout their entire academic life and enjoys the process of writing essays on their own (and am lucky enough to naturally gain success with ease in doing so), I’ve previously steered clear completely of Ai until this semester, not realising how it could be utilised as a tool to enhance my originality.

I am neurodiverse and fluctuate between verbal/non-verbal, so while some semesters I don’t shut up, this semester I’ve rarely said a word in class at uni (literally, I’ve spoken two words in one class and that is all), but I’m also chronically ill so I rarely turn up to class in general anyway (which is optional at my uni, but we all know even just listening in on class discussion can be at least slightly beneficial and is preferred).

Anyways, as an alternative (or in addition) for class discussion, I highly recommend just yapping away to chatgpt.. the reason I find this works well is because, well, ChatGPT isn’t going to come up with anything revolutionary.. and in my experience neither do most the other students in my class (respectfully). I tend to try to go to class just to listen in on the general consensus/surface level understanding of a concept (which ChatGPT tends to offer) as my neurodiverse mind tends to skim over the obvious and instantly attempts to delve deeper, but it’s important to understand the general or surface-level understanding, so then you have a clear understanding where the marker is coming from/their biases etc. (I know they say it doesn’t matter but in my experience it slightly does but I won’t go on another tangent right now) which then allows me to integrate my own often differing perspectives whilst also additionally demonstrating I have the same clear understanding the neurotypicals gained ( I promise integrating both will get you extra marks, at least in my experience - embrace your neurodiversity here, because you’re able to offer something new which often excites a marker as it drags them out of their boredom).

I find this super beneficial because 1. Obviously there is less anxiety involved asking any question you want/making any statements to a bot with no judgement (though Ai is something sassy) 2. I am actually outputting much more than I would if I just went and sat in (non-verbally) on a class discussion and getting out your thoughts on a concept helps you to clarify in your mind your own understanding/interpretation/perspective; with ChatGPT’s average ass responses to your ideas, giving you an idea of how they may be received/refuted by basic bitches, allowing you to strengthen your ideas and so on.. basically you’re actually finally engaging in discussion(congrats!) even if it is with a bot lol 3. you don’t have to talk out loud 4. you can engage in the discussion at your own pace!!!! if you’re not ready to move on in discussion you don’t have to. Spend as much time back and forth until you properly understand the differing perspectives.

BUT if you’re going to utilise this here are a few tips to remember:

1. Make sure you provide ChatGPT with all the relevant background info/somewhat direct the conversation yourself/be specific.. this is because most the time there’s no point having an understanding on a general topic if it doesn’t relate to the specific content of your course/what your lecturer teaches.. markers are almost always looking to see if you can demonstrate an understanding specifically of what THEY taught, so your understanding/essay or whatever should not be able to be written by any random intelligent person who has used to ChatGPT.. you need to make sure it relates specifically back to your course content!

2. ChatGPT is also really great for summarising text from way back in the day that’s barely comparable to modern English such as philosophical text(the main reason I turned to ai lol) etc. I highly recommend utilising it for this to have concepts put into plain English but again, make sure you keep referring back to the original text you are studying and analyse comparisons, pinpoint ideas etc. so your marker believes you drew these key ideas directly from the text and what they taught you.

Again, all this might be obvious and I’m the last to the party but honestly I’m just having a quick study break right now so I thought I’d yap away about reasons ChatGPT doesn’t have to be completely demonised in academia :,)

#adhd study tips #asd study tips #neurodivergent #studyblr

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