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twistedcharismaaa · 4 years

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Lost & Found Pt. 6

Summary: You’re living a suffocating life and you finally find breath in Masego.

Author’s Note: Hi guysssss! I hope you all are doing well! Due to life getting in the way, it took me forever to update. I love you guys so much!!! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Please leave a comment for ya girl!

You laid in bed comfortably letting your curls freely rest messily on the silk mustard yellow pillow beneath you. You subconsciously hummed the music that played softly in your bedroom as you closed your eyes briefly to only rest them for a mere moment. Absentmindedly, you placed both hands on your stomach letting your thumbs twiddle around each other creating an eternal dance. You were treading your thoughts like still water utterly and gracefully failing at every attempt of trying not to think about Micah. It was another night where the overwhelming sense of longing hovered over you. You tried to reason with yourself that in less than 24 hours you would be in South Africa enjoying his company but in this moment, that wasn’t enough. You missed him and you missed him heavily. It seemed as if you ached for him in a way that you couldn’t understand. Removing you rudely from your ongoing thoughts, you felt the subtle vibrations coming from your phone as it buzzed beside you. You unlocked the phone and noticed an unread iMessage from Micah. You smiled a small smile to yourself as you sat up and relaxed your back on the headboard of your bed.

“I’m still trying to get this time difference thing down. Are you awake?”

“I’m awake, what are you doing?” you responded back eagerly.

“Missing you, thinking about you, wanting you - you know the usual,” he admitted frankly.

Before you could text back, Micah quickly sent another message.

“What are you doing?” He quizzed.

You bit down on your lip and rubbed your hands on your bare thighs repeatedly before texting back.

“I was thinking about you too …” you responded.

“Is it cool if I call you?”

“It’s more than cool.” You texted back.

Immediately your phone began to ring revealing an upcoming FaceTime call from Micah. Quickly, you ran towards the mirror in your room looking yourself over to make sure that your appearance was decent. After you deemed yourself suitable for the call, you answered the phone.

“Hey,” you whispered warmly. “I’m all packed for my flight tomorrow.” You added as you sat on your bed casually resting your spine against the harsh surface of the headboard.

Smiling at you fully, Micah leaned back in his chair massaging his chin as he licked his lips. His eyes were full of pure admiration for you. His eyes slowly roamed your face gradually taking in your beauty in hopes he wouldn’t become bewildered by you. But the thing is, he was already bewildered by you. Allured in the deepest sense of the word - you pulled on his heart until it ached. Quickly, you became his torturer and his salvation.

“Since you said yes, I’ve been counting the hours,” he responded.

Unknowing to you, your timid grin grew inch by inch blossoming into a wide appreciating smile.

“Let me show you something,” you stated.

“Do I need to close my eyes first?” he quizzed light-heartedly placing his hands over his eyes while peeking every so often.

“Matter of fact? Yes,” you answered while giggling at his childish antics. After opening the door to your closet, you crouched down and pulled the step-stool out of its assigned corner. You stepped on the step-stool carefully making sure that you maintained balance. You smiled at Micah periodically as you reached for your sky blue camera. Finally, you stepped off of the stool letting your feet meet the plushness of your carpet again. You carried the stool back to its rightful station and then parted the clothes hanging in your closet creating an open gap. You turned on the closet’s light letting it illume that small area. Afterward, you took three steps back.

“Open your eyes, Micah,” you said.

Micah did as you instructed. He watched you flip the camera’s view giving him new scenery. His eyes wandered the wall of your closet admiring the scattered array of photographs formulating the perfect collage. He noticed how all the photos towards the left were shot in hues of grey, black, and white. The collage held a vast amount of life - it breathed, it flowed, and it was absolutely moving. Each picture told its own story taking Micah’s eyes on a quiet journey. He wondered how it was possible to feel so many things at once - joy, laughter, pain, and loss. Micah was utterly astounded at your ability to capture emotion so candidly.

“So this is me,” you said as you brought him closer to the closet in hopes he could get a better look with a newly brought angle.

“As I told you before, life has not been very kind to me in the past. It felt like everything about me was bleak and dark,” you said.

“The white and black photos represent that?” Micah questioned.

“Yes. Here, in the middle the colors of the photos become neutral. They’re not completely vibrant but you can see slight hints of color.” you explained.

“Representing life getting better?” he asked.

“That’s the idea,” you said while sitting in front of your closet casually crossing your legs.

“The complexity of your mind is beautiful Charisma,” he said earnestly as his eyes continued to dance across the masterpiece. Suddenly, Micah squinted his eyes and leaned into the camera.

“Thank you,” you whispered sweetly.

“Hold up? Is that me?” he questioned with much excitement.

“I was waiting for you to notice that part. I took that particular photo with this camera. This one is my favorite.” you answered while giggling and flashing your sky blue digital camera.

“Wait! Wait! I’m on the wall? My girl got me on the mothertrucking wall!” he exclaimed while patting and rubbing his chest theatrically as if he was evening out stubborn wrinkles. Flipping the camera back to your face, you smiled widely as your giggles shifted into boisterous laughter.

Micah leaned back in his chair with a permanent beam on his face. “Wow, my lady is a photographer,” he said as he stared at you willingly letting his mind run away with him.

“My lady? As in I’m yours?” you asked feeling butterflies form in the pit of your stomach.

“Only with your permission,” he explained.

“You’re unfair you know that?” you replied as a smirk formed on your lips. You groaned and leaned on the closest wall to you.

“How so?” he responded while resting his chin in the palm of his hand as his elbow sat on the armrest of the chair.

“You make me ache. I really miss you,” you admitted.

“You make me ache too. But first, tell me how can I soothe yours?” he asked calmly.

“I just want to feel you,” you said lowly.

Micah knew that the words that are most potent are often not spoken. He read between your parallel lines and inserted the words that needed to be there. Micah stood upright and closed the door in front of him. He dimmed the bright lights in his hotel room and sat back down.

“Where do you want to feel me the most?” he asked. He felt himself awakening and hardening by each passing moment. Again, willingly letting his mind run away with him.

“I want to feel you everywhere right now,” you answered boldly staring at him.

“Show me,” he demanded.

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Part 5 Part 7

@l-auteuse @ghostfacekill-monger @thickemadame @soulfood-fics

@nizzle-mo @jamielennkeeler @pineappear @miss-nneka @thadelightfulone @qweentbh @bigbrows-biggerdreams @rosemilage @sarcastic-sunshines @justanothernerdgirl @cyntgefel01 @libbylivliv @theboldlady @geriixox @seffyn @errin261 @migosis @cocogodess15 @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @kemkem101 @peacefuldesiress @babbyaangel @mooon-berry @just-peachee @teardropzih @highasfantasy @shaekingshitup @savagescorpion @xxariaxxaxx @themajesticnigerian @theonlytrinity

#masego #masego music #masego fanfiction #masego x black reader #masego fic #masego imagine #micah davis #tadow #uncle sego #lady lady #veg out #king of the garden #king's rant

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twittytelly · 4 years

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An Unexpected Gain

Chapter Four - Once Upon a Time

Colin Shea X Female Reader

Previously…

Series Masterlist

A/N: So this is the end of the main story, but not the end of the road. I am planning on writing a little epilogue, plus once I get it off my old laptop I'm going to edit my first first draft of chapter 3 and turn it into another side chapter. I just want to thank you all so much for your feedback on this story, it really means the world to me – I will definitely be writing more Colin stories alongside fic for some of Chris' other pre-Cap roles in the future. Also this chapter would probably not exist without @southerngracela read this to see why.

Warnings: Sexual references, swearing, bleeding in pregnancy, miscarriage scare.

Mood board by@imanuglywombat

Colin didn't sleep that night, paralysed by the guilt that had flooded his veins. He was desperate to find a way to make things better, to make things right. He knew that things could not go back to how they were before, but he didn't mind. Deep down he had always wanted the traditional rituals, pumpkin carving, Easter egg hunts and Christmas tree decorating; but he figured that being raised by his father, who's only method of father-son bonding was to bring him along to a stakeout coupled with his selfish nature meant that fatherhood was not for him.

The blinding sun that invaded through the crack in the curtains informed Colin that morning had arrived. Forcing himself out of bed, he had a new resolve. Colin figured that he may have blown his chance with you, but he could never forgive himself for fucking up his chance with his kid. Besides, you deserved far better than he could ever give you.

Things had gotten better between yourself and Colin in the weeks following the showdown in the hallway. While that night was not mentioned again, Colin had gone above and beyond to show that he wanted to be as involved in your pregnancy as possible. The day after the confrontation, you had arrived home from work to find a big bouquet of your favourite flowers alongside a hamper full of crackers, hard boiled sweets, and all the ginger flavoured snacks and drinks available with a note saying:

If none of this works or you get a weird craving, let me know. I'm at your beck and call. C xx

But that was just the start of it. Colin seemed to have obtained every baby book in Boston, and then set up a shared iCalendar so he could be there for every appointment. There was also the extensive research he'd done into midwives, antenatal classes and even hypnobirthing. Not a day went by without Colin sharing a link to a baby product, stating that he would have to buy most things for himself to keep at his place anyway – as much as that stung you were pleased that he was prepared to step up for the sake of the baby.

You were trying your best to overcome your feelings for Colin, but his actions had caused the opposite to happen. How could you not be in love with your handsome neighbour who rubbed your back as you vomited and looked at you as if you were most amazing person on the planet; who would always get you whatever you were craving after a gig, even if it meant going out of his way; who you could talk to about anything and everything, from absolute nonsense to your deepest fears about motherhood?

Colin was tearing his apartment apart looking for the right cable for his amp. Band practice may have only been taking place on the roof, but he didn't want to make his bandmates wait around. While he was rooting around his desk, he knocked his mouse, causing his computer monitor to come to life and your face lit up the screen. Colin remembered snapping that moment months ago, when you found him alone on the rooftop after one of your dates had gone wrong. You had weasled Colin into playing one of your favourite songs and began dancing in the moonlight. Colin recalled how he had to capture the look of pure unadulterated joy on your face as you swayed in the glow of the city. Colin could still hear you giggling as you raced down the stairs to his apartment and he realised then that he was done for. He didn't fuck you that night: for the first time in Colin's life, he had made love.

Colin was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear the frantic banging on the door. He looked away from his computer and sighed.

“Hang on I'll be up in a s-”

“Colin I'm bleeding!”

Colin would never remember how he had gotten you both to the hospital, but he could never forget the tension that filled the air as you sat in the waiting room in the maternity ward. Colin was trying his best to stay calm for your sake, but his insides were still twisting and turning. His heart shattered as he felt you tremble in his arms. He did his best to soothe you by delicately running his hand along your back, your face buried in his shoulder. If Colin had his way he would pull you onto his lap, however he knew that now more than ever he had to respect your boundaries. Colin noticed his shoulder moisten as your trembles turned into sobs, he tightened his arms around you and placed a chaste kiss to your temple.

“Hey, hey you're gonna be okay” He said desperate to comfort you. “Whatever happens, I'm here.” You hands tightened on his plaid shirt as you looked up into his eyes. In that moment, Colin swore that he would do anything to take away the fear that was in your eyes and used his thumb to wipe away the tears on your puffy cheeks.

“I'm just so scared Colin.” You said in a voice barely above a whisper. Colin leant down to place another kiss on your forehead.

“I know sweetheart, me too.” Colin confessed. Colin opened his mouth to say something else, but before the words could come out your name was called out. Once again your destiny was calling you, except this time you were hoping with every fibre of your being that pregnancy would be the result. Colin rose from his seat and turned to you holding out his hand.

“I promise that we're in this together.”

Once you had heard your baby's heartbeat, it was explained that it was likely a sub-chorionic bleed and you were still likely to have an healthy pregnancy. As the nurse explained that you needed to take it easy for a few days, you couldn't help but zone into Colin's demeanour. As your twelve week scan was still a couple of weeks away this was Colin's first scan. When you saw the look on his face as he heard his child's heartbeat for the first time, you knew that no matter how abnormal this whole situation was; you could not be happier that you were doing this with Colin.

You felt that you should have been excited or at least relieved, but you were numb and exhausted. As you climbed into the passenger seat of Colin's van, you barely registered him speaking to you; luckily he didn't press you for an answer and he began to drive. Instinctively you placed your hand on your belly, where your warm hand brushed against the strip of skin that was exposed after your top had ridden up slightly.

You were still preoccupied when Colin made an unannounced stop and so you didn't notice that he had gotten out of the van until he was getting back in. He passed you a warm paper bag that smelled of fries. As the engine came back to life you noticed the excitement was rolling off Colin in waves and for the first time in what felt like decades a small smile crept across your face.

Soon enough you were outside your apartment block, where Colin escorted you inside with one arm slung protectively around your shoulders. Once you were inside and settled on the sofa, Colin retreated to the kitchen, but within seconds was back and handing you a plate of your exact order from one of your favourite burger places. Without saying a word, you inhaled your meal like a lioness devouring her prey. You noticed Colin sit beside you as closely as possible and you both ate in silence.

You couldn't help but think of the parallels between now and that night a few weeks ago; especially as Colin was there for you in the exact same way. It was as if he intuitively knew what you needed. You knew that the pair of you were committed to having this baby as friends, but you couldn't help but feel that he was acting more like a boyfriend. You knew that once the stupor had worn off you had to bring it all up again.

When you both had finished eating, Colin took the empty plates into the kitchen. As he returned you noticed that the excitement had evolved into nerves as he tried to calculate his next move. He stood to the side of the sofa and fidgeted about, until you stood up and made your way to him. Taking your hand in his, you looked up into his beautiful blue eyes.

“I don't think I can sleep if I'm here on my own, please can you stay until I drop off?”

“Of course I will sweetheart,” Colin answered. “You know I'd do anything for you.”

Once again he let you lead him into your bedroom, but Colin looked away as you kicked off your trainers and socks. Not bothering with your pyjamas, you shimmed out of your jeans and bra. As he heard rustle of your quilt Colin lay on the bed beside you, staying above the duvet.

“Sorry for being such a misery guts, I know I should be more excit-”

“Don't be silly Y/N.” Said Colin sympathetically. “God knows you've been through the ringer tonight, of course you're exhausted.”

You nodded gratefully. “I know this may sound a bit silly, but could you just – I don't know – tell me a story or something – I need to take my mind of tonight for a bit.” Colin gave you a thoughtful look, before kissing you on the forehead again.

“I know just the tale.” He said jokingly as you made yourself comfortable and closed your eyes.

“Once upon a time, just down the corridor lived a jester. The jester was handsome, smart and sexy as hell.”

You did your best to suppress the snort that broke free, of course Colin would use the opportunity to talk about himself.

“The jester was a gifted musician, who would often use his talents to enchant a wench back to his chambers: where he would demonstrate his other mind-blowing capabilities.”

“Colin if you're gonna use this as an excuse to brag about your sexual escapades then I'd rather be alone.” You said in faux annoyance.

“Of course not and if you stop interrupting me, you'll see this is an epic love story.”

Sighing, you indicated to Colin that he was free to continue.

“One day the most fair and beautiful maiden moved in opposite the jester. The jester tried with all of his might, but the maiden was immune to the jester's charms; for she dreamed of being swept off her feet by a handsome prince and the jester believed that true love was not his fate.”

You opened your eyes and looked at Colin as he was staring at the wall. Was he talking about you? A past conquest? Some made up fantasy woman? As Colin turned to look at you, you quickly closed your eyes and hoped he didn't catch you staring.

“The maiden found many suitors, but they did not appreciate the maiden's beauty and kind nature. One fateful night, the jester saved the maiden from the clutches of a troll disguised as a prince. The maiden thanked the jester by letting him spend a magical night in her chambers.”

Your heart started to pound against your ribcage. Yes, he was talking about you, but why? What was Colin trying to achieve?

“The next day the jester promised to help the maiden find her true love and would satisfy her needs in the mean time. However, as the jester spent more time with the maiden, he began to enjoy her companionship and as the weeks turned to months the jester realised that he had fallen in love with the her.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and your heart skipped a beat. Colin was in love. With you... But when? How? Why the fuck didn't he say anything?! You noticed that Colin's breathing had changed and as his fingertips tentatively brushed your across your face to move a stray hair, you opened your eyes to see the azure of his eyes looking right back at you with the boldness to take down a dragon. Before you had the chance to say anything, Colin continued to speak.

“The jester knew that he was not good enough for the maiden and believed that once she had found her prince charming he would have to do whatever it took in order for her to be happy.”

“Colin I-”

“Sh!” Colin interrupted, pressing his index finger to your lips. The story isn't over yet sweetheart.” You decided not to argue to see where Colin was trying to go. As Colin removed his finger, he took a deep breath.

“One day the jester decided to visit the maiden to find that she was most upset. The jester did his best to comfort the maiden, but he found something that did not belong to him... something that... I assumed that it wasn't mine.”

You sat up, your heartbeat accelerating. “Colin wh-”

“The week before, you brought home that James guy home.”

“He missed the last train home and I offered him the couch, but he tried to get into bed with me so I kicked him out. Anyway Colin I was six weeks along when I found out.” You explained as you tried to figure out if you were angry or hurt. “You were the only person I was sleeping with for a while. Colin we could have been together weeks ago, why didn't you say anything?”

“Because I'm not the guy girls want to end up with, I'm just the slutty neighbour. All everyone wants from me is a second round in the morning.”

“Yeah and you proved that when-” you started feeling more agitated.

“If I could take that back then I would!” Colin almost snapped, hurt filling his eyes. Colin went to look away, but you reached out and put your hand on his cheek, forcing him to keep eye contact. “Y/N don't forget that you hid from your feelings for as long as I did. You deserve to be swept off your feet and to ride off into happily ever after with your prince charming, and that's not me.”

“Listen here, Jester.” you said as your thumb stroked Colin's cheek. “I don't want that bullshit. I want Once Upon a Time with you; the guy who never fails to make me laugh, who filled his cupboards with the exact brand of ginger tea that I like, who always comes to my rescue when I need him most.”

Colin's eyes widened like a child on Christmas morning as you leaned in closer and dropped your voice to a whisper.

“Also don't tell the little one, but the sex is pretty mind-blowin-”

Before you had a chance to finish, you felt Colin's soft lips on yours. Bedsheets were shoved to one side as arms wrapped around each of your bodies, pulling you both as close to each other as possible. You deepened the kiss, allowing Colin's tongue entrance, where you both tried to disclose the feelings that words could not define. Eventually, the kiss came to an end, and you both parted for air. Resting your head on his shoulder, you watched as Colin hesitantly placed his hand on your belly. There was no bump yet, but you couldn't help the goosebumps that appeared as Colin stroked your stomach. Colin looked up, with the biggest grin you could ever imagine, excited for what the future had in store.

“I love you Y/N.” Beaming back at him, you replied simply with the only four words needed.

“I love you too.”

Taglist: @whiskey-cokenfanfic @mrs-captain-evans @ransomsweatersandcappuccinos @southerngracela @katiew1973 @supersoldiersruined-me @kelbabyblue @amiquette @feelmyroarrrr @patzammit @daydreamerinadazedworld @denisemarieangelina @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @bellaireland1981

#mrs-captain-evans writing challenge #mce writing challenge #colin shea #colin shea x reader #Chris Evans #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction #what's your number #captain america #Steve Rogers #miscarriage scare #bleeding in pregnancy #TwittyTelly writes

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disasterbialert · 4 years

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So, I finished The Untamed and ok ok I think I have collected most of my thoughts about it. (I’m late, so I guess these thoughts don’t really matter, but I wanted to put them somewhere and here seemed like the place.) SO here’s a post absolutely NO ONE WANTS and imma do it anyway cool cool.

Firstly: love. This entire show is about love. Obviously other things too ok I’m simplifying for the sake of my point. But importantly it is about love. The love for our families, found, made and blood. The love of soulmates, romantic and platonic. The love of humanity, of the people known and unknown, love for them purely because they are human and are therefore deserving of love. The love inherent in honour and duty, the sacrifices made for that love. Loving someone—bravely, in the face of every adversity, despite being told it’s wrong. Learning to be true to that love, learning to love faithfully, learning to love, to show love, to be loved.

Bless the tireless translators. Y’all. The work you do is often thankless but y’all are so valued. Thank you.

The music. I actually don’t have the words for this, I can only thank the composers and musicians for the gifts they have blessed us with. My heart my heart my heart.

The costumes, set, props and cinematography are all so exquisite. I’m not an expert in any of these fields but I can see the care and detail paid to each facet of this show. What an absolute visual joy. Stunning.

And now, the characters.

I’ll start with the ladies. They deserved so much more. We deserved to have more than just one by the end, but I understand this wasn’t their story (still hurts tho).

Jiang Yanli. Proof that kindness is powerful. Her heart holds entire worlds. She is not weak (don’t even try me I swear to the gods). She holds her family together. She takes care of her siblings. She feeds their bodies and their souls. WWX is right—JZX does not deserve her but that’s because nobody does. But Jiang Yanli deserves to be happy, therefore her marriage to the Flower Peacock is valid purely bc it makes her happy. She stands up for what’s right, she will not compromise her morals, she will defend her family to her last breath (and so she does💔). She does not harden herself, she does not have to. Her patience and kindness, her softness, her gentleness—things that are seen as weaknesses or inferiorities—are what put her above all around her. She is gracious, she is strong, she is loving, she is determined, she is brave. She deserved better.

Wen Qing. A queen. A powerhouse. The most brilliant mind. A lightning-quick and sharp-bladed tongue. She loves Wen Ning so much and her love is powerful, just as Jiang Yanli’s. Her dedication and devotion to her people, her true family, not just a name, is incredible, inspiring. Why? Because she’s not perfect. So she learns. She grows. She becomes herself. When she’s at the Burial Mounds, she essentially adopts WWX as another younger brother, caring for him because she knows he won’t care for himself, and she does so out of love and respect. But she never replaces Jiang Yanli. She is keenly aware of all she perceives WWX loses because he aids them. Hence the pivotal, crucial: I’m sorry and thank you. She walks to what she knows is her own death with her head held high and her hand in her brother’s, offering love and support and what protection she can to the end. She does not flinch. She does not bow. She fights with all of her and surrenders with grace not reflected by those she surrenders to. Honestly I could write an entire thesis on Wen Qing but I’ll cry too hard so I’ll just leave it here that she deserved better, she deserved to live, she deserved to be free.

Mian Mian. Mian motherfucking Mian. Here is a woman who stares injustice full in the face and says no fucking way, says over my dead body, says you and what army old man. Strips the robes of the hypocritical off her own damn body, throws them at the feet of a false god and walks out, back straight, head held high. She makes her own way in the world, carves out her own life, finds love and happiness and lives. She does not compromise. She does not bow. She fights and she wins and she is glorious. And she lives she lives she lives.

Yu ZiYuan. I may be in the minority here but that’s ok. No I don’t approve of her abuse, just gonna nip that one in the bud right out of the gate. Was she fair? No. Was she cruel? Yes. Was she an incredible fighter who fought for her family, for her home? Who showed raw courage and furious strength in the face of insurmountable odds? Who loved a man with her whole bitter heart, loved her children with that same fractured heart? Was clearly the subject of spiteful rumour and vicious gossip and did not let it defeat her? Refused to bow to anyone? I do not like her, do not like how her bitterness made her cruel. But seeing her wield her blade, take wound after wound, witness the death of her love, then take her own blade and rob the monsters invading her home of the satisfaction of taking her life, took her own life with her own hands because that’s how she did everything in her life so why the fuck wouldn’t she do it in death too, who crawled her way to the man she loved, laced their fingers together so he wouldn’t die alone, so they could both die held? How can I not respect her.

Ok. The lads.

Jiang Cheng is a man-child idiot with the emotional expression range of a loquat, an inferiority complex the size of the moon and self-worth issues going back farther than the Big Bang, and I love him, ok? He loves so hard and so much and it is heartwrenching that he cannot communicate that. Some of his best moments are actually in the background, which is both funny and terribly sad. His rage is at times ridiculous, at times frustrating, at times all he has left, his joy is bright but brief, his grief is devastating. Watching JY greet WWX after the 3 months in the Burial Mounds. The entire temple scene. Crying on his knees. We were to be the Heroes of Yunmeng. Take care. Fuck me right in my feelings ok.

Wen Ning is so fucking precious and I would die for him for all eternity. What an absolute gift his character is. I honestly can’t write much more about him because I’ll cry. But special mentions to his interactions with A-Yuan/Lan SiZhui and the incredible scene where he reveals to Jiang Cheng the truth about his/WWX’s golden core. Unparalleled emotional intensity. The equal parts tenderness and fierceness of his love is breathtaking.

And the loves.

Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen. There is a lot of tragedy in The Untamed. There is great sadness in the main plot line and even in the small side plots. The Ballad of Song Lan and Xian Xingchen (as it’s come to be known in my head) is for me the most devastating and poignant. They just wanted to do good, to wander the world together and do their part to make it a better and safer place. It’s noble, yes, but it’s also so human, so close to home. Because we all want that, to know that we can do some good before we leave this world. They do not want to be involved in the petty squabbles, the undignified and cruel vying for power and dominance. They simply want to live and be. The fact that both of their deaths are pointless, could have been avoided, are the faults of poor timing and terrible terrible luck and cruel turns fate is almost what makes it sadder. Xue Yang screams that XXC is not better than him, that his righteousness and the righteous way he has attempted to live his life is all for naught. And then he is immediately proven wrong—XXC’s heartbreak means he can’t become XY’s puppet. SL is free from XY’s control and avenges himself and XXC. Which is also somehow just as devastating. That XXC and SL were so close, so very close to being together, to living, to making it, but didn’t. Nothing grand or heroic about their deaths—just the unknown and unpredictable nature of life. There is no rhyme or reason, no big important plan, no fate or destiny. They both simply die as we all one day will. And it is their potential cut short, the love and life they could’ve had, that hurts the most. They are not Lan Zhan and Wei Ying: they do not get their second chance, their reunion, their happily ever after. The look shared between SL and LWJ—the shared grief, the recognition, the understanding—and LWJ’s brief and unelaborated-on comment to WWX ‘how fortunate’ speaks volumes. How fortunate you came back/I found you/that’s not us when it could’ve been. That final shot of SL walking away and the brief out-of-focus moment of XXC walking beside him—particularly when it’s echoed with the parallel of WWX and LWJ—chokes me every time.

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan. Soulmates in every sense of the word. Their song. Their bunnies. Their child. The years they were robbed of. The yearning. The pining. The loyalty. The growth. The love the love the love. The loss the loss the loss. Every Lan Zhan. Every Wei Ying. Every glance. Every soft breath. Every gentle touch. The tenderness. The intimacy. The quiet acceptance. Their love story is one of the ages and, on a personal note as a queer person, what a gift it is to see a queer love story like this. (even when censored as a bromance, which like I mean, they tried but the glances alone are +9000 gay pining but whatever and yes I am making a joke because I’m crying don’t look at me)

TL;DR: I am so thankful The Untamed/CQL/MDZS and all of its adaptations (the source material included obvs) exists. I am so thankful to the writers, translators, casts, crews, creators. I am thankful for the community of fans that exist that love it as I do, who share that love and passion—whether through passionate discussion, rich fanfic or mind-blowing fanart. I am thankful I live in a time where content like this exists and can be shared. I learned a whole lot and I’m so grateful there aren’t even words. Love y’all. I’m gonna go be soft now. 💙

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okietokiee · 5 years

Text

Fic: Söt (Ch. 1)

Summary: Skwisgaar comes to terms with some extremely un-metal, disgustingly mushy feelings he has for the new kid. (Pre-Klok, right after the audition)

Rating: Teen

Chapters: 1/5

Pairings: Skwisgaar Skwigelf/Toki Wartooth

Notes: This is my first Skwistok fic and it’s basically an excuse to make Skwisgaar suffer badly over the fact that he finds Toki insanely, irredeemably fucking adorable and he can’t stand it LOL

Also, apologies for any mistakes!

Skwisgaar Skwigelf was not a man known for being overly emotional. He was an absolute charmer to the young and old groupies alike, but he kept a definite distance between himself and his bedmates, ever the polite, handsome, closed-off gentleman that always sent off his multiple lovers with a suave kiss to the hand and a non-committal wink, hinting at a second round that was unlikely to ever occur.

His blase, cool-tempered nature did nothing but draw even more blushing ladies to him, each more provocatively-dressed and seductive than the last. Even the GMILFs often primped themselves up a bit for him, wearing their silkiest, shiniest nightgowns and bonnets.

But no matter what, Skwisgaar kept a certain air of nonchalance around him and he knew exactly how it drove the ladies wild.

Skwisgaar would’ve been content living his days like this forever; known as the golden, emotionally-constipated adonis that could fulfill every woman’s ultimate fantasies, as long as those fantasies included nothing about a relationship or commitment.

He’d never even felt much emotional pull towards anyone in his life, not even the sexiest groupies that loitered around after a show.

Skwisgaar attributed it to the fact that no one was interesting enough to catch his eye in any way. He was a God of guitar and sex, and regardless of how much the groupies’ skimpy outfits and embroidered aprons tugged at his loins, they never tugged at his heart.

At least, that used to be the case.

Hell, it would be so much easier for Skwisgaar if it would stay that way because he’s extremely happy with his life, thank you very much. He’s a handsome, collected gentleman with refined tastes and raunchy habits.

And these are the reasons he can’t fucking wrap his head around whatever it is he’s started feeling whenever he’s around his band’s new rhythm guitarist.

The audition for the new rhythm went a lot more unpredictably than he’d originally expected, and he ended up going against his own whims and hiring some kid on the spot.

And that’s the perfect description for the guy. He couldn’t be older than 16, which was practically a child in Skwisgaar’s opinion when compared to his 25 years on earth. Toki was his name and he was young, naive, and as hilariously out of touch with American culture as Skwisgaar once was when he first immigrated.

The kid normally wouldn’t even cause a blip in Skwisgaar’s radar, let along change his course completely. Now, in the comforts of his small, dingy room in his tiny, rundown apartment, Skwisgaar rapidly fingerpicking his guitar, questioning his sanity.

He wouldn’t lie and say that he was completely oblivious to his reasons though. Shocked and appalled, yes, but regardless of what his broken english suggested he was not completely daft to the inner workings of his own mind. The kid had something about him. It wasn’t just ambition and it wasn’t just talent. There had been plenty of those types who had auditioned before him that Skwisgaar completely blew out of the water. Boring mechanical techniques and overconfident arrogance was no match for the brilliant and dexterity Skwisgaar could exhibit with his eyes closed.

No, the kid was special somehow. And it was driving Skwisgaar crazy trying to put his finger on what, why, and how this Toki seemed to shine brighter than a blazing star when he played. He can honestly say without a doubt that he’d never felt that intoxicating burst of pure energy while playing in his life.

The guitar is his heart and his music the blood that flows through it and keeps it beating. It’s the only thing that he can say, with no hesitation, brings him pure unadulterated joy and satisfaction.

The feeling of playing his music was a feeling he never thought anything in the world could top; the best drugs or hottest groupies in the world would never best the feeling of his explorer in his hands, creating the godly music that effortlessly flows through his fingertips

He never thought it could possibly get any better. At least, until that kid showed up and showed him exactly what it meant to rise to the highest precipice of his art, experience the exhilarating speed of music pouring out of his soul, and for once in his life, experience this with a kindred spirit, the first person he’s ever met who could so closely match him riff for riff. Regardless of Toki’s abrupt downfall, Skwisgaar was still awestruck at what the boy was capable of.

The fact that this short, half-starved runt that looked like he’d been living off the streets can just waltz in with his beaten up Gibson and push Skwisgaar to higher limits he did not even conceive as possible; it was infuriating and intoxicating all in the same breath.

This young boy with his familiar accent and friendly demeanor. His big, blue eyes and his soft chocolate hair.

Fuck, his existence alone was doing something to Skwisgaar and he couldn’t stand it.

Those eyes were just too blue! He’d never seen anything like them before, even in Sweden, he didn’t remember ever seeing such big, icy eyes that did something to him he felt too disturbed by to acknowledge.

Suddenly, Skwisgaar was interrupted from his pensive musing by a hesitant knock on his door.

“Comes in.”

Slowly the door opened and the pair of blue eyes driving Skwisgaar mad with something he can’t explain peeked through.

“Um… H-hellos Misters Skwisgaar, Nathans told mes I shoulds asks you if I can sleeps in here tonights... Is that alrights with yous?”

Toki, the poor lad, was tensed up and visibly nervous, bracing himself for a rejection and scolding for bothering Skwisgaar after strict instructions to leave him alone and find something to entertain himself with the rest of the band in the living room.

Skwisgaar was exhausted after a long day of battling mediocre guitarists, he wanted some reprieve from everyone and everything. If any of the other members had bothered him when he was in one of his moods, that would be grounds for a litany of angry, barely-understandable curse words, but this was different. Skwisgaar sat up from his bed, setting his Gibson down next to him, and gave Toki a slight, indifferent nod.

“Fines. Just donts be makings too much of the noises. I’m tryings to write a new solos.”

“Yes, Misters Skwisgaar! Toki will be quiets! You won’t evens knows I’s here!” Toki smiled widely, making a move to presumably leave and retrieve his meager belongings.

“Toki.”

Skwisgaar spoke too fast to stop himself. Toki gave him a confused look and Skwisgaar was internally facepalming.

“Justs… calls me Skwisgaar. I’m nots a olds grandpas yet!” He tried to laugh off his mistake.

Toki’s smile brightened even more, something Skwisgaar didn’t think was possible. “Yes Skwisgaar! Tank yous!”

And with that he was off.

It was apparent that Nathan had decided to pawn off the new kid to Skwisgaar for tonight and likely every other night in the foreseeable future until they can figure out a better living arrangement.

Out of every member of the band, Skwisgaar was the only one who had his own place. It was a ratty one-bedroom on the bad side of town, but it was his. Pickles and Nathan rented a considerably nicer place together as roommates, where they did most of their recordings, and Murderface crashed (lived) on their couch more often than not.

After they discovered Toki was basically homeless, it made sense Nathan would lump them together. The two matching Scandinavian guitarists, of course Nathan would force them together like two peas in a pod. Didn’t mean Skwisgaar couldn’t complain about it.

“Tsk. Fuckins racist.”

“Whats you say Skwisgaar?”

Skwisgaar was startled up.

“Eeuugh! Toki, don’ts comes in without knockins.”

Toki looked sheepish. “Sorries… I just wants to says I gots a sleepinks bag from Pickle! It’s… uh… okays if I sleeps now?” Toki stumbled through.

This made Skwisgaar pause. He took the moment to give Toki a long, hard look, something he hadn’t done since the kid completely changed his perception on guitar playing completely. Looking closely, he saw the obvious signs of exhaustion on Toki’s face, his sunken cheeks and dark, baggy eyes. Skwisgaar assumed its been a while since Toki had a comfortable place to sleep and a roof over his head. And a shower too now that he thought about it, seeing Toki’s clean hair and skin which was hidden under a layer of grime just a few hours ago. Did he eat? Surely the rest of the guys would’ve gotten something, though Skwisgaar was prone to skipping meals. Because the kid was definitely in desperate need of a meal-

“Skwisgaar?”

Snapped out of his train of thoughts, Skwisgaar forced himself to regain a mask of indifference.

“Yeahs, go aheads Toki. I was abouts to bes sleepinks too.” Skwisgaar waved to a plush white rug parallel to his bed to signal for Toki to take that spot. “Turns off the lights.”

Toki happily obeyed and curled up on the soft faux fur rug Skwisgaar was oddly attached to.

A few minutes ticked by in complete darkness and Skwisgaar was tense in the dead silence. Then, all too abruptly, Toki broke it.

“Ah… Skwisgaar?”

Skwisgaar forced himself to relax and apathetically replied, “Yes Toki.”

“Toki just wanteds to says… tank you. I am sos happies I mades it to the audiktions. Toki promiskes you won’ts regrets this. Good nights.” Toki said gratefully with an obvious smile in his tone.

Skwisgaar was speechless. And he remained speechless, until he heard Toki’s soft snoring fill the room. Of course he deserved to be thanked. He was the lead guitarist of Dethklok, a master of his craft. It was an act of true goodwill, him letting this runaway kid join them. Hell, Skwisgaar didn’t need much to fill his ego and he expected all mere peasants to be grateful for whatever he deans to give them.

But this was different. What Toki said, those innocuous, meek words, they didn’t fill Skwisgaar with the usual self-importance. They made him feel strange. Like there was a twisting in his gut and a disturbing pit in his chest that almost felt warm and mushy. The shit normal people probably feel when they see a newborn kitten. Not Skwisgaar though, he was the stone-cold adonis, even kittens didn’t soften his heart. Regardless of how soft their fur is, or how big and beautiful their eyes are, or fuzzy their tiny little paws-

“Euugh!” Skwisgaar let out an involuntary sneer which he quickly quieted. He chanced a glance at Toki’s still snoring form and breathed a sigh of relief.

Yes, fine, maybe kittens had certain characteristics about them that were pretty nice, but Skwisgaar was confused at his train of thought. Whatever it was that Toki made Skwisgaar feel, it was reminiscent of the yucky, gooey emotions small animals inspired in him as well.

Skwisgaar had no clue what to do with that fact, but his exhaustion was finally catching up with him. With a sigh, he rolled over, and fell asleep to the rhythmic snoring of one Toki Wartooth.

#metalocalypse #mtl #my fics #skwistok #my fanfic

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pan-roses · 5 years

Text

A Royal Mess Up {Moxiety/Logince}

Chapter 5

Start/ Previous/ Next

The walk was quiet as Patton and Virgil made their way through the gloomy forest. Virgil remained close to Patton, in hopes of giving him warmth that his cloak couldn't. He was happy to see it was the very same Logan gave to him years previous, with cat ears on the hood in a soft grey colour.

The evening had noticeably seized to a dark and cool night, the sky becoming the darkest blue they'd ever seen, however, the magic that night revealed was blinding in all types of astonishing ways. All around, flowers grew from the darkest of places, shining shades of blue that lit the area surrounding them. Fireflies and butterflies of all kinds came out to play, dancing the night sky endlessly with their beauty. The trees blossomed the most wonderous and enchanting buds of deep pinks and lustrous blues, the weight of them settling the branches down to create a curtain of flowers. The ground itself was dazzled by the beauty that it had to join and what once was dry, crumbled dirt became a carpet of grass, mapping out as far as the eye could see.

Patton couldn't help but be amazed by it all, lightly casting his fingers across the soft petals of each flower and brushing his hands through the branches of the tree. His smile shined brighter than every flower in sight, his eyes glowing with a similar passion and wonder. However, Virgil wasn't as amazed and more suspicious of this strange situation.

'What is that snake up to...' Virgil thought. He found it odd that despite the horrors day brought insight how night seemed so magic and full of all the life day doesn't have.

It didn't make sense. And he had to wonder if that snake had anything to do with it, their magic seemingly able to do the impossible.

______

From a place not far away, the mysterious figure from before stood hidden in the shadows, eyeing the scene before them. They watched his Virgil stayed wary of this wonder while Patton embraced its beauty. Exactly what they expected. This wasn't the first time they'd studied the two, having watched them before they'd even entered the forest. Many times they watched the parallels between each other, however, the friendship said strong, and even grew from those differences in many ways. And when he saw those meddling 5 hold the books they so desperately needed, he swore to get them back, no matter the cost. He hated them.

And yet, by all odds, they soon found their eyes lingering on Patton, taking in his sweet form, his smile and joy. He seemed-

"Beautiful..." They said to themselves, their voice deep and full of the unknown. Quite a shock. They kept trained on the males' movements as Pat felt the need to live in the wonders around him. Patton... intrigued them greatly, despite the hate they felt from years, not only with his natural appeal but also of the powers he didn't recognize he possessed. They always watched Patton the most, and never understood why. Perhaps they made the right choice following Patton and the stupid wolf around. "What do you think, Thomas?" They asked, turning to face the prince, who still was a slave under the spell. "Isn't your friend absolutely beautiful? Wouldn't you like a friend to join us?" They gently ran their finger alongside Thomas's chin. "You would like that, wouldn't you? To have a friend a play with, well, you wouldn't play with him as I would, but it's better than nothing huh?"

Who knows...

They might be in for a treat. _____

Virgil felt a chill set down his spine and he whipped his head around, spanning the area of anything suspicious. To his unease, nothing seemed to be noticed, and yet he still felt as though eyes were watching them, studying them. They need to move quickly.

Virge caught up with Patton, who had a butterfly relaxing on his nose as he softly giggled to himself, careful to not agitate it, and although Virgil ached to note on his adorable ways, he wanted to protect Patton more.

"Patton, we must move, quickly." He insisted, his low voice frightening the butterfly as it flew away.

Patton eyed down at Virgil. "Huh, but it's beautiful here! Why do we need to leave?"

"It's dangerous here." He said urgently.

The male's eyes widened, his body getting the sudden feeling to tremble and his heart hammer faster. "Is it a bad person?"

Virgil noticed his worry, and to be honest, he wasn't better off, anxiety taking over his mind. "I'm not sure, but I don't want to stick around long enough to find out. The sooner we leave, the better." Thankfully, he didn't have to tell Patton twice. He agreed and followed Virgil, who was leading them both away from that spot and deeper into the forest. To Virgil's ease, the magical world they had seemed to enter faded the further they walked, till they were faced with almost utter darkness. A whine escaped Patton's lips, which he tried to hide with a hand over his mouth, but Virgil's ears twitched to the sound. "Patton?" He called softly. "Are you... okay?"

Patton gave a smile, despite it being too dark to notice it. He held his trembling hands close to his chest and did his best to even his breathing, blinking back the tears forming in his eyes. He couldn't be scared. Not now, if he confessed his fear of the dark now, it would slow them down. He couldn't be a burden. He wouldn't allow himself to become one. So, mustering up all the mental strength he could, he responded. "Sorry about that, I almost tripped there, my eyes are still adjusting to the dark."

Virgil, sadly fooled by this, gave a slight nod. "No need to apologize. I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I'm all good, Anx! Don't you worry about me!"

Seeming pleased with his response, they carried on, this time, Patton kept his fright to himself, his lips sealed tight to prevent further whines from escaping.

He was going to be fine... He had to be. ______

On the other end, Logan was about ready to stab Roman, despite not having hands to do so. His constant humming singing, although beautiful, started to get annoying after the tenth time of the same song being sung. "Roman, would you please halt that annoying sound you call singing. I am getting annoyed." He said right out.

Roman gave an offended gasp, placing a hand on his chest as if his heart was wounded. "Logos, how could you say such a thing?! My singing is absolutely practically perfect in every way!" He argued. "And I won't take such rude comments from a bird." Roman looked over his shoulder to glare at Logan.

At the current moment, Logan sat perched on Roman's shoulder, having the issue of not being able to fly and walking being a burden for them both. "I have told you many times, I was turned into a bird, but I am human. You idiot."

"Urg, who cares?!"

"I swear, how does anyone deal with you? It seems like such an unneeded pain in the back for my sake." Logan groan.

"Uh, rude much," Roman told. "And for your information, people don't just 'deal' with me. I deal with people -deal them a world of pain, that is! Haha! Once again, I have amazed myself again with my astounding wit!"

"What about that was astounding?" Logan asked.

Roman rolled his eyes. "Um, all of it, duh." He said. "You are quite slow on the take-up, little bird man."

"It's Logos."

"Logos-shmogos, I don't care."

"You are such a pain," Logan muttered. And to his surprise, Roman reminded silent after that, staring at the ground as he walked the darkened woods, the sounds of the river nearby providing a replacement for Roman's active talking. The night got chilly and dark, and they decided it was best to camp for the night and continue searching in the daylight. Setting up a camp by the river, Roman got to set a fire while Logan went in search of food for them to eat. He found some berries, ones of which were safe for human. And Logan regrets the urge he had to eat worms he found crawling themselves from the ground. He was tempted but fought with all his might. He was a human before a bird and will continue to eat as such. He flew back, holding a small pouch of berries in his claws just as Roman groaned in frustration at the unlit wood before him.

"I swear, this will be the death of me!" He exclaimed in much anger, striking two rocks together again in hopes of getting a spark.

"While possible, I doubt that would kill you at this current moment. If anything, something will kill you before this unlit wood will." Logan added, earning a glare from Roman.

"Thanks for the input I never asked for, Specks."

Logan blinked in confusion at Roman's nickname, a name he only called, well, himself. But Roman doesn't know he is Logan, so why call him that? "Excuse me, Roman, but why did you call me specks?"

Roman gave another sigh, dropping his arms into his lap and falling back to sit properly instead of kneeling. "It was a name I called a dear friend of mine by. You remind him of me, to a fault it seems." He gave a ghosts smile, zoning out as he talked. "His name was Logan, and he was as intelligent as they come, but also straightforward, and viewed things in a blunt fashion. But, he was reliable. You could trust him with anything, didn't matter the subject of what was said or needed. He would follow you so long as you trusted him, and I did... I do." Roman's voice faded off and his expression turned cold. "And I let him down..."

Logan was left speechless at his friends' words, never knowing this was how Roman felt.

"I'm sure he doesn't view it like that, Roman," Logan said. "You seem like the type of person who blames themselves for anything that goes wrong, but has you ever thought that there are some things that couldn't be helped, no matter how hard you try? It sounds like you did your best given the situation, so why focus on what you couldn't do and more on what you did accomplish."

"Guess I... never thought of it that way." Roman gave a small smile at the bird. "Thanks, Logos."

"No thanks necessary," Logan informed. "Tell me about your other friends. What are they like?" Logan asked, wanting to change the subject to something more lighthearted.

Roman let out chuckled. "Well, there's Virgil, my sworn rival and best friend since forever it seems. We grew up together and yet we constantly argue, but it's not in anger, more of a way to vent. More so for him than me. He holds a lot of stuff inside, but never reaches for help. So when we let out steam, it helps. And I'll always be there for him, as I know he will for me."

"Then there's Patton, dear sweet Patton. Despite being the youngest, he is truly a father to us all, continually taking care of us and giving us a stern talking to when we deserve one." He gave a smile, remembering the good days. "But I know he sad a lot of time and has deep insecurities that he always tries to hide and never show. And I want to help, but he hides it so well under this happiness he always shows. But, when he's really happy, he has this smile, one that reaches the eyes and comes from the heart. It's such a sight to see if only he could show it more."

"And Thomas, the reason who I am today was because of him and his kindness. He allowed me to become my dream self, and I'll never forget that kindness as it's forever stained on this cape given to me by his father," he said, running his hand over the red cape upon his shoulders. Despite their travels, it has stayed intact, without a tear or blemish, against all the odds. "He is stubborn, sometimes for the wrong reasons, but if you open your mind to the possibilities, you'll find yourself agreeing. He has that way with people. It's amazing."

"Sounds like it."

"All of them are my world, and I wouldn't trade it for the rarest gem people had to offer, because of those four, Thomas, Virgil, Patton, and Logan, they could never be bought or traded, they are the rarest gems, and I'll protect them for as long as I can keep my breath."

"I'm sure you will," Logan said, a fondness in his voice. "Without a doubt, I am sure."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Taglist:

@romanasanders @daughterofsomnus @amazinglissawho @entitydark @lamp-calm-sanders @combine-the-kitchens @anxiously-unsatisfied-world @waywordwriter @youtoo7481 @residentanchor

#sander sides #prince thomas #thomas sanders #chef patton #patton sanders #knight roman #roman sanders #advisor logan #logan sanders #messenger virgil #virgil sanders #medevial au #sander sides au #moxiety #logince #a royal mess up #deceit sanders #tw deceit #my work

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pomegranate-salad · 6 years

Text

Seeds of thoughts : Wicdiv #36

Hello everyone ! Sorry for the lack of SOT last month. What happened was… I didn’t know what to say about the issue that hadn’t already been said. Sorry. Happens to the best of us. Anyway, we’re back with an issue that’s practically begging to be analysed, so that’s good. And just a reminder, if you’d like to help me not be broke, you can make a small donation here.

Thoughts and spoilers under the cut, you know the drill.

THROUGH METICULOUS ANALYSIS OF HISTORY

As expected of our wonderful fandom, some of my fellow bloggers (hi, @twatd and @myfirstsearchengine) have already started doing god’s work and untangle the absolute deluge of information we get in this issue. Bless their souls. But for me as always, especially when it comes to formalist devices, I find myself more interested in how things feel than what they say. That doesn’t mean we should bypass the analysis of the construction to get directly to a resulting, all-encompassing feel of the issue (otherwise, what would be the point of these posts ?) but I think it’s always a good start, especially with information-rich issues like this, to wonder what may be the big picture that’s so painstakingly painted through this abundance of individual elements.

So, how do we emerge from this issue ? Of course, everyone’s feel will be different here, but I think one popular realization will be just how fucking long six millennia actually is. On first read, as I flipped through the first half of the issue with increasing speed, I kept reading dates so far away from anything I could conceptualize they meant nothing to me until we thankfully reached the Anno Domini part of the program and I regained footing in time. Add to that the fact that I would be unable to point on a map to a good dozen of the places mentioned and you get… a recipe for emotional detachment. Of course, one of the joys of this issue is to go back and pick out the multiple details hidden in each panel, to cheer every time Persephone retaliates, to unravel patterns, to marvel at the outfit design and background changes, all these elements that actually allow us to connect with what’s going on. But as always, the interface between a reader and an issue is its whole and not a sum of its parts. Our emotions express themselves faster than our thoughts, meaning when we go back to identifying those parts, our connexion to the issue is already formed. As it happens, this connexion is to a gallery of nameless, often headless figures that have nothing in common if not for the pattern they’re repeating, and not to the individuals that form this pattern. A state of mind that’s probably very similar to the one Ananke entertains during all those recurrences. A state of mind she HAS to keep in order to maintain her own pattern.

Is the message this repetition has to impart us just that, a form of numbness to these killings, the taste of an endless battle and the suspected pointlessness of it all ? I think there’s a bit more going on here. Let’s try to connect the first half of the book with the second one. A priori, they seem disconnected. But the fact that Mothering Invention’s device seems to be the juxtaposition of past and present storylines means the creators are trying to establish some sort of echo between the two. In issue #34, the creation of the head sacrifice is paired with its discovery by the main characters in present time. Issue #35 is a study of two Minervas, and the circle of plotting and murder they’re trapped in. Issue #36 is the study of two monsters.

Is the wheel page in the middle of the issue describing Ananke or Baal ? The ambiguity is definitely not accidental. And if the construction of the two halves seem to be complete opposite, that probably not a coincidence either. The most obvious mirroring are the red pages, an entire page for a death, compared to the first half which crams six or more deaths per page. But really, that’s just the beginning of the parallels. The first half is made of a regular grids of small panels in which you can barely distinguish faces, while panel disposition in the second half is as irregular as they come, but focus on large, detailed panels, with Baal’s figure in particular blown out and dominating each page. The first half is all variety of colours and tones, while the second one is painted in an overpowering red. In the vast majority of panels, Ananke is depicted from the side, entirely focused on her task, while Baal is always facing the reader, sometimes almost as if he was addressing us directly instead of Persephone. But the most textual opposition is of course how much justification and explanation there is on Baal’s part, while Ananke, past the first page, doesn’t say a word. In his first apparition, Baal is even doing the Hamlet routine of holding a skull before starting his monologue. These two characters seem like they couldn’t be more different, yet the comic links them through this middle wheel page. Baal is all justification and self-aggrandizing, Ananke seems content with her selfish motivation. Baal gives an entire page to the weight of taking each life, while Ananke rarely expresses anything. Which is better ? It doesn’t matter, I think is the takeaway here : they’re both killers. And if you peel off the surface, they’re both exactly as selfish, cruel and inexcusable.

This doesn’t say great things about Baal. But I don’t think it says great things about Ananke either. Baal is arguably being manipulated into killing – does anyone buy the reality of the Great Darkness at this point ? – and is not nearly as jaded as Ananke is after six millennia. Is the only thing separating them time and experience ? If we come back to this first half, many people have noticed that Ananke seems to be consolidating some techniques and get more efficient overtime. But is that really true ? I’ve pulled the numbers : in the first third of her career, Ananke screws up about 13% of the time ; in the second third, 18% ; and in the last third, 9%. Those are remarkably similar odds. Can we even say she’s getting better at this ? Even if that’s true, the present recurrence seems to demonstrate that she’s never safe from a major setback. Nothing separates her from junior murderer Baal. She would have Minerva – and so, herself – believe that it will always be okay. That she’ll always win, in the end, even when she fails. But that’s simply not true. When she’ll fail for good, she’ll be done, just like Baal. And then these millennia of deaths, hers and Persephone’s, will mean nothing.

It’s remarkable that both Ananke and the comic would have us looking for more than there is in this litany of murders ; dumping truckloads of apparent information on us and inviting us to raid them for parts. And there is a part of me that definitely wants to do that. Because information and particularity gives meaning, it hints at more explanations, as a way to make sense of it all. But deep down I know that there will never be enough meaning in those panels for me to be satisfied.

Through this issue, it’s as if the comic is pulling all the stops on itself : it doesn’t matter how much it goes back in time and gives us fragments of this “big mystery” it’s set over the course of the previous arcs. Because it can give us everything, every recurrence there ever was, and all those murders will never mean more than what they are : murders. It doesn’t matter if it’s your first, your tenth or your sixty-fifth. It doesn’t matter if it takes you a whole empty page or get crammed into one-sixth of one. It’s still murder and you are still a murderer. And when you fuck up, everyone will cheer. And if you know it, that doesn’t make you nobler or more experienced, it just makes you an even bigger asshole.

I said one thing about this issue was how much it gives us ; yet, at the same time, it’s the comic’s admission that it gives us nothing, or at the very least not what we’d really want, because it doesn’t exist. What we see is all there is. The only thing separating Baal from Ananke is that they are fooling themselves in a different way. And again, there’s a part of me that’d really want to fool myself with them. With almost ten issues of Wicdiv remaining, I feel bad for giving it an early conclusion, but here it is : whatever is “really” going on, whatever the bottom line is, it doesn’t matter and never has. All there ever was is a desperately, cruelly simple tale of scared people. It doesn’t make them excusable. But it certainly makes them human.

WHAT I THOUGHT OF THE ISSUE

As I said, this issue stands out by how rich and poor in content it simultaneously is. As is often true of high concept issues, in terms of analysis, it immediately gives you something to discuss, but it doesn’t necessarily give you much more than what you first saw. What’s good about this issue is also what limits it, and makes it a nice, but also kind of one-note experience. As such, it compares unfavourably to other highly formalist issues like issues #14, #23 and especially #27, all of which were more evenly structured and solid in concept. I almost wish this issue had taken its premise further, and given us a cover-to-cover wall of Persephones. The parallel with the Baal scene is thematically rich, but it does give the feeling that the main storyline is stumping a little bit, and that the main reason we’re getting all those flashbacks is to artificially lengthen the comic.

That said, I’m not particularly disappointed by this issue either. It always takes a Wicdiv arc a bit of time to find its footing, and with the high concept flashback out of the way, the rest of the arc should set about its cruising speed. Plus, you can absolutely feel the amount of work that went into those pages, and while the result should be able to stand on its own, I really don’t feel like badgering on what was clearly hell on earth to build. Yes, it’s a borderline masturbatory nerdfest that saw the point of diminishing returns and blew it at full speed while laughing maniacally, but I think we can allow at least one of those in the Wicdiv run. It’s the kind of issue that I don’t see myself forming a strong attachment to, but I’m still glad it exists. And for what I’ve seen, aside from isolated opinions, that seems to be the general wisdom.

So let’s turn to the one part of the issue that DID attract the wrath of the Tumblrdom : Laura’s pregnancy. Boy, did you kick the hornet’s nest with this one, guys. I find it funny that as the fandom’s resident grump, the first big outcry we get about the Wicdiv run is one in which I find myself standing firmly with the creators. And since it seems I’m kind of alone on this one, allow me to make the case that as a story development, Laura’s pregnancy is… OKAY.

Let me first be clear : I’m not saying I’m happy with this development. Until we get the full picture of how it’s been handled, I’ll really have no opinion on the matter. What I do believe is that at this point, there is no reason to condemn Laura’s pregnancy as an inherently wrong move for the comic. I absolutely get why there was such a knee-jerk reaction from the fandom : it’s so, so very rare for a pregnancy storyline to be well done, to say nothing of a teen pregnancy storyline. For every one of us, the very mention of peeing on a stick is enough to bring back to mind dozens of female characters ruined by such a creative decision. So I get why people are being cautious ; I am too. But on the other hand, I find it really premature to set ourselves for outrage and disappointment.

From what I can tell, a lot of “oh HELL NO” reactions are rooted in the belief that this twist diminishes Laura’s characterization and strips her of agency. But personally, I see this development as completely in line with her character as previously established, and I don’t think she’s less of a subject for it.

For a start, we have to consider how much has been going in Laura’s life aside from her pregnancy. We don’t know how long she’s known about it, but reasonably it should have been around the end of January. She did a LOT of shit in-between, and none of it played as a direct consequence of her being pregnant. The way she describes her state is almost tangential, a Colombo-esque “oh, and one more thing”. Rereading her actions in light of her pregnancy doesn’t mean we should interpret it all as revolving around it ; if we do that, we are the ones stripping her of agency.

@immoralitea made another interesting argument : that the pregnancy was cheap cope-out to Laura’s suicidal behaviour by giving her a reason to live, thus derailing her entire battle with depression that’s been established as key to her character ever since the first act. That’s a compelling point, but I read Laura’s pregnancy completely differently : as another profoundly self-destructive behaviour. And I don’t know if that’s controversial to say, but in my opinion many storylines would benefit from addressing head-on how much self-destructive tendencies are a component of teen pregnancy. Pregnancy will put your body through the grinder, alter the course of your life, and alienate you from many people. And that’s if you’re lucky. If you aren’t, it’s also going to saddle you with an abusive partner or make you dependent on exterior resources for many more years. The last thing to get you through a depression is pregnancy. Of course all of this would be moot if the author didn’t realize it, but I think he does : nothing in Laura’s behaviour indicates she’s willing to change it for the sake of her potential child. On the contrary, she’s endangering it and herself by engaging in more self-destructive behaviour. That’s also why I think the “some of you will hate me for it too” line that also got some readers upset shouldn’t be read as the author’s opinion that Laura is to be shamed for her pregnancy ; for me, it reads as Laura’s opinion about a behaviour she sees for what it is : another way to destroy and hate herself. And just like she said before, she wants people to hate her ; it validates her suicidal behaviour. She’s doing everything she can so we will hate her, including getting pregnant.

Another clue in that direction is the way she discloses her state to Baal : when she says she “wants to live” it isn’t because she’s pregnant, but because every person battling with depression is torn between compulsions of life and death. And I may be mistaken, but I don’t think she wished to reveal her pregnancy to Baal at all ; I think she’s simply appealing to his “man of the house” self-image in order to be spared. From beginning to end, this is about her. Hell, she still has over two months to decide if she wants the baby at all.

Now I’m not going to lie, I’m not a fan of the over-symbolism of the goddess of death and rebirth being both suicidal and pregnant. And yes, if you ask me, I’d much rather have Laura get an abortion, because I don’t see how carrying her pregnancy to terms would benefit her in any way. But if Laura’s previous characterization taught us something, it’s that characters in Wicdiv rarely do what we want them to do and what’s objectively better for them. The gods have made the wrong decisions on drugs, cheating, dating, killing, trusting, overworking, and everything else under the sun, and we went with it, even if we weren’t happy about it. As I see it, pregnancy shouldn’t be over the line just because so many hacks have poisoned the well.

Again, maybe this storyline will develop for the worst and all I’ve said here will read as ridiculous wishful thinking in hindsight. But as of now, this plot development is simply this : a plot development, one that’s believable, in character, potentially interesting, and I think we should give it a chance. And if I end up being wrong… I promise I’ll write the mother of all takedowns.

#wicdiv #seeds of thought #oh look i'm early

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davidmann95 · 7 years

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This Superman guy's pretty great, huh?

Okay. Figured I’d write this at somepoint, seems like as good a place as any to do it.

Yes: Superman is pretty great. The character’s great,the costume’s great, the cast is great, the powers are great, the scope of thekind of adventures you can tell with him is great, the mythology’s great, thepower he has to inspire on the page and in the real world is great. I’ve known that since I was…I dunno,three? Two? I’m told he was my first three-syllable word. I’m not sure what myfirst exposure would have been; Supermanthe Animated Series was airing when I was a kid, my dad had the Fleischercartoons on tape, we’d watch reruns of TheAdventures of Superman whenever they aired, I had some odd issues of Superman Adventures, I had picture bookslike The True Story of Superman, Superman: Slippery When Bad and I Hate Superman!, I even had an abridgedversion of John Byrne’s Man of Steel manyyears before I would change my tune on it. It was well past the whole nineyards of lunchboxes and Superman-themed birthday parties - mom and dad wereLois-Mom and Jimmy-Dad for a bit, who got a call one time from a teacher inpreschool that I had dramatically taken off my shirt to show the temporaryS-Shield tattoo I’d gotten on my chest. My dad ended up having to drive toevery Burger King in the area asking for any spare Superman toys because Icouldn’t stand that they had been discontinued before I could get them all andI was making life hell for everyone in the process. I couldn’t play Supermanwith other kids on the playground, because I’d demand we recreate the scriptsof adventures verbatim.

Around seven or thereabouts though,while I never developed any of the disdain towards him that so many seem tohave, I drifted away for a while towards Batman and Spider-Man. Purely bycoincidence, this is also the age I was diagnosed with Asperger’s.

It’s not something I talk about agreat deal these days. Not because of some sense of shame, to be as clear aspossible about that right upfront. It isn’t even a matter of my especiallybeing able to pass as neurotypical - take me out of my comfort zone into anynumber of common social circumstances and that illusion falls by the wayside.But I’ve carved out I feel a pretty decent niche where I’m typically fairlysatisfied and able to function at a level that meets my own standards, and as aresult it’s usually background radiation of my life, not something that comesup unbidden until a situation demands I start thinking about it again. Even when I do, thinking about it much often leaves me feeling self-conscious and self-indulgent, and convinced I’m either being stupidly self-aggrandizing or stupidly self-pitying about it.

So naturally, even once I reallystarted to get back into Superman in earnest at 13 alongsidecomics in general and he became my favorite character in earnest, there are some associations it took me awhile to make.

I’m not quite certain when Istarted to think about it, but the structure of how I thought about it I know came about thanks to @postcardsfromspace‘s (excellent) article I See Your Value Now on learningabout their own Asperger’s. I doubt it’s an association any creators for thecharacter have given any thought (aside from maybe Mark Waid, given that in an interview on Birthright he specifically noted how his idea for Martha Kentbecoming a UFO buff in response to her son was meant as a parallel to parentsof kids with autism having to become self-taught experts on the subject), andall a Google search immediately turns up is comparing a young Clark’s troubleswith his X-Ray vision in Man of Steelto sensory overload in children with autism. It’s not something that would havelikely even occurred to me if it wasn’t for that…well, that I have Asperger’s,and Superman’s a special interest, and as a default I’m always ready on somelevel to connect any input I get back to him.

Obviously, there’s Clark himself.He screams it, right? Likely just because of a general conflation of ‘nerd’traits with ‘Aspie’ traits, but it’s all there right on the surface: shy,awkward, naïve, can’t read a room to save his life, unaware of some generalsocial conventions given his penchant for drab suits, horn-rimmed glasses andfedoras well into the 21st century, either without many friends orlocked into a rigid and small social circle, by all appearances more alivebehind a screen than he ever is to anyone’s face. Even the more confident takeson him, such as in the Reeves TV show or the New 52 Action Comics, seem to lack a social grace or two, seem to grate onthe people around him. Precision-constructed by the greatest man to ever liveto be beneath the notice of his peers in every way imaginable, of course you end up with that guy.

…except even when Clark’s purely apost-Smallville construct on Superman’s part, he’s not made out of nothing, ishe? The Kansas boy who grew up reading ATale of Two Cities as a toddler and obsessively pouring over astronomytextbooks for clues can hazard a guess of what it feels like to be a nerd. Theguy who grew up on a farm who flies and can accidentally shatter steel in hisgrip is entirely familiar with how it feels to awkwardly maneuver around in acrowded city. The square who grew up in the middle of nowhere constantlygetting accused of not knowing how the world really works can probably express a little doubt over his ownself-awareness and naiveté if he absolutely has to. Clark Kent is historicallybuilt on Superman’s own worst image of himself.

(This incidentally, along withplenty of other storytelling-based reasons, is why I intensely dislikeit when Clark’s the ‘real guy’, and therefore confident and charming and on topof things; it’s Kryptonite to the ideas in play there.)

And the shyness? The sense of beingout of place? The - let’s get right to the heart of it - alien-ness?

Superman’s pretty cool. He’sfriendly; he’s understanding; he’s clever and kind and determined. He’s alsosomething of a loner who’s often surprisingly loathe to open up to people,and even once he’s married he still needs plenty of time to himself to thinkthings through. He’s someone who when he puts on the costume always engageswith the world in a very specific context: where his natural talents are mostobviously geared towards being helpful, where so long as he can pull off Sweetand Composed and make some speeches when he has to people will accept him withopen arms. Being Superman puts him in a situation where he can show his bestself, personally and socially and morally, and be accepted for his goodness ina way nerdy, quiet Clark Kent never can.

And god, does he need thatacceptance.

That’s often applied to painfullymaudlin stories of him hand-wringing over his social impact on humanity andwhether he can save all the little children of the world from cancer orwhatever, but it’s still something else that seems to be pretty consistentacross the various interpretations. Unless he’s barreling ahead with a degreeof self-confidence bordering on flat-out arrogance, he’s always worried abouthow he seems in the eyes of the world. Whether that means Red Kryptoniteexternalizing anxieties of old age or powerlessness or throwing him intodreamworlds of hate or irrelevance, or wondering whether he can justify one ofhis two identities, or pondering his alien nature, or questioning what Supermanmeans as a symbol to the world, or being flat-out replaced, or even protectinghis secret, it’s always the same question refracted through endless prisms: Can I belong here? Am I doing well enough,being useful enough, to deserve what I’ve been given? Will they find me out?Would they ever accept me if theyknew the truth?

For all the joy that comes with who he is, that’s his life too: it’s growing up inSmallville knowing there’s no one else who’ll ever know the distinct timbre ofair-pressure changes when a hummingbird slows down its wingbeat a fraction, noone he could talk about the sight of snowflakes assembling themselves out offreezing raindrops to without sounding as if he’s out of his mind, no one whocould fully empathize with having to practice normal human reactions to theworld. It’s spending half his life trying to be a normal guy among normalpeople and failing because of his own insecurities, the other half really beingable to do his best in his own element and being the person he wants to be, butnever being sure if it’s enough for those around him. It’s finally meeting other Kryptonians orsuperheroes but realizing even their own experiences diverge so sharply thatthe communication gap remains, that as a matter of circumstance he is and will alwaysremain fundamentally other in someways, no matter how deeply he connects with other people.

His relationships seem to fit the mold too - it works pretty dang well that histwo best friends are a coworker who’s simultaneously the cool dude who takeshim under his wing and the kid whouncritically looks up to him, and someone with the same ‘hobby’ who’s himselfpretty well-known for having issues opening up to people. Or that his wifefalling in love with him is framed in terms of her looking past him at his mostvulnerable and awkward and unable to fit in to see the person he actually iswhen no one else can, while a major part of his love for her is her being thekind of person who’s pushy enough to force him out of his shell and some of hismore self-defeating behaviors.

And that his worst enemy, in spite ofhis aura of smug self-regard, doesn’t seem able to relate to other people on afundamental level or manage to work with them very well when he’s not in fullcontrol of the situation, even as he needs them to accept and validate him. Lexfails because he’ll never work to bridge that gap in the same way as Superman,seeing that as a ridiculous and unrealistic imposition, and Superman as anintruder into his personal universe trying to force his unrealistic standardsof “acknowledge other people and whatthey think about things” on him while at the same time agonizingly,bafflingly succeeding where Lex fails. He’s the embodiment in that regard ofthe frustrated, shamed instinct of the isolated that you’re already great, sopeople should already love and understand you and it’s their fault for notgetting it (hence for instance how in All-Starhe overtly sees the world and the relationships that make it up in a coldly material manner where people naturally flock to only the most outwardly great aroundthem - colored by a sexist streak that’s taken on a whole new degree of toxic prominencewhen it comes to the socially awkward in the near-decade since the book’sconclusion).

(It also works that Superman’scharacter in All-Star is defined byhis disconnect from humanity, and that his big character arc is having tobecome emotionally honest enough to talk with the people who love him aboutwhat he’s going through.)

Again, clearly none of this is theintent on the part of those who’ve worked with him over the years. This is byno means the bedrock or secret key to what makes him tick; it’s at best a componentin a much larger machine. I’m sure if you dug into it enough you could find somethingproblematic in the proposition, and I won’t pretend there couldn’t becharacters closer in every sense to my own experiences.

But none of them would be Superman.

Sure, it helps that I grew up withhim, and that he’s a character with enough detail and weird ideas and characterwork that I can delve into the minutia of him in a way I can’t with anyone elseto the same extent other than Batman, but beyond all that, he’s Superman. He’s TheGuy, the best, and that I can see myself in him in *any* way means more than itever could with any other character, because that makes him being a role modelmean something else.

For all I talked about how lonelyhe is above he’s still an idealist, still has friends and a job and weirdpersonal hobbies at his personal ice-cave and a way to express his highest,best self in a way that’s loved by the people around him. The way he seesthings differently can be accepted and shared even as he understands and caresfor the people around him. He’s happy. And that he can start from a place of being the onlyone of his kind and end up a good person, the best person, in part because he knows better than anyone what it isto be alone and why others matter so much? That has more weight to people, andto me, than can be expressed.

I mentioned before I’m not wildabout Clark being the exclusive true identity in part because of how much itmesses with this. I’ve also said elsewhere that while both Clark and Supermanare inseparable and true parts of his identity that can’t be denied as importantaspects of who he is, if I absolutely had to choose one as being the ‘real’ one I’dgo with Superman. And I can pick apart any number of storytelling reasons forthat, but thinking about how I relate to Superman in the way I do made merealize something else. I have to see Superman as the truest self becauseSuperman’s who he is at his best, when he’s not afraid or ashamed and can showhimself in all his alienness to everyone and be accepted for it. That’s thedream, right? I’m no Superman, but I’ve gottabelieve in him, ‘cause I’ve gotta believe in me.

I’m pretty sure some of you canrelate.

#Superman #Asperger's #Autism #Clark Kent #Lex Luthor #Lois Lane #All Star Superman #Analysis #Opinion #Me

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