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silverskye13 · 2 years

Note

I love how all the hermits and hels have different relationships with each other!! Like the hels are all mirrors of their respective person and how the different hermits interact with them is so cool! Also Tango straight up snatching his hels is hilarious, imagine if ren or wels walked in on them building it would be fantastic. Or tango just randomly yoinking tanguish when he needs help escaping something. They seem like a fun duo! :D

Tanguish was a bad helsmit. That wasn't opinion, or conjecture, or bad self-esteem or even really up for debate. It was just a statement of fact. He didn't mean to be. Really. It wasn't a decision he made one day, though liability was in him somewhere. He hadn't admitted it to himself yet, and probably he would someday. The fact remained though. For better or for worse, he was a bad hels. He was just made that way.

---

"Get back here you little thief!" Helsknight screamed, pounding after him down the street. Tanguish flinched and dashed around a corner, clutching the knight's coin purse tight in his claws. He laughed, but it was less the exhilarated thrill-laugh of victory and more the odd-squeak shrill of barely contained panic. This was bad? Yeah, this was bad.

(He definitely shouldn't have stolen from the second scariest helsmet he knew of. But he couldn't help himself! It'd been right there, out in the open. Helsknight should know better. You don’t just leave your coin purse dangling on your hip at perfect stealing height! It’s like putting a wallet in your back pocket: you’re not exactly asking to get robbed, but you’re sure as hels not making it hard!)

Tanguish skid down an alley, vaulted nimbly over a wall, and let out a horrified gasp when the crash of armor told him Helsknight was still right behind him.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Tanguish gasped. "You can afford to lose it though!"

"You'll be losing your head when I catch you!" Helsknight snarled from, really, unacceptably close behind him. Tanguish had about half a breath to think, ‘Oh, he runs faster than me,’ before Helsknight tackled him from behind, and they went tumbling to the ground. The offending coin purse slipped from Tanguish’s hands and scattered diamonds onto the dirty cobblestones in a way that reminded him of someone muddying a stained glass window - mildly blasphemous, but still kinda pretty, all things considered.

(This was, in hindsight, a very dumb thing to be paying attention to when there was a large, angry knight shoving an armored knee into his left kidney, but he had his priorities).

Helsknight braced a hand against Tanguish’s shoulder and pulled the other back for a punch, “I’m gonna--!”

“Heyyyyy Tanguish!” a familiar, chipper voice piped up in Tanguish’s head. “Buddy, pal, you doing anything right now? I could use a ha-”

“Yes I’d love to help!” Tanguish shouted, shielding his face from Helsknight’s fist. The steel gauntlet arched towards him and Tanguish screwed his eyes shut. A hand, all claws and no gauntlet, clamped on his arm and yanked. His stomach leaped into his throat as he felt himself suddenly falling.

If Tanguish hadn’t just disappeared through his barely-present reflection in a facet of one of Helsknight’s diamonds, he would’ve watched Helsknight punch the nether brick of the alley floor so hard it cracked the tile. He would’ve watched Helsknight snarl and shake his fist, and curse as he tried to unbend the metal of his gauntlet from where it was now shaped to every knuckle. Then he would’ve seen Helsknight stand, kick a nearby trash can so hard it crumpled like a can of soda, and pick up his diamonds and his spilled coin purse. (Or, more realistically, if Tanguish hadn’t just fallen through his reflection guided by Tango’s hand, he would have instead been punched so hard in the face he’d lose six memories, three ounces of his dwindling common sense, and his claim to having never broken his nose. As fate would have it though, Tanguish was pulled through his reflection from the hels dimension straight into Hermitcraft at his double’s behest, so he saw none of these things.)

Most of the other helsmets knew when, why, how they were made. There was, for example, The Red King. He was made during Third Life, a last-ditch effort to protect something precious, a sacrifice on a black altar. There was Helsknight, made when Welsknight’s many fears and shortcomings finally grew a spine and started walking, because he wouldn’t confront them any other way. Cleo was made to honor a death game, and split from her hermit when that death game ended for her, and now she stood as a monument to ZombieCleo’s losses. JoeKills was… well… he was a lot of things. There were many more helsmets and hels denizens and dark mirrors and evil halves that lived in hels, and all of them seemed to know what they were about.

Tanguish didn’t know when, or why, or how he was, really. He knew what he was - he was a helsmet. There was nothing else he could really be. He knew some of Tango’s Last Life memories, but he didn’t think he was made because of them. He remembered helping Tango with Decked Out, and that had certainly happened before Last Life. It was more like, those memories brought Tanguish into focus, like he was a list of shortcomings simmering in the background before suddenly stumbling into the light. If he thought about it really hard, and guessed as best as he could, he might say he was born from Tango’s sacrifices. His unwilling sacrifices. From playing second fiddle to everyone else’s more compelling volitions. Tanguish thought this made the most sense. He was, in fact, very good at playing second best to Tango.

Tanguish tumbled out of Tango’s reflection in an ice pillar and fell with a startled ‘oof!’ onto cold stone. He opened his eyes, took a breath to say something, and then slammed it shut again when a loud roar reverberated around the artificial cavern. Tanguish looked at Tango backing away in the snow, looked to the towering creature lumbering towards him, and thought maybe he would’ve preferred the broken nose waiting for him in hels. Most people preferred broken bones to facing down an entire Warden. (Tango wasn't most people.)

Tanguish scrambled to his feet and ran, snatching Tango’s wrist as he did so. The pair of them sprinted wordlessly, which didn’t really matter, since the Warden had immaculate hearing, and the sound of their breathing and footsteps served it just fine. The Warden howled, an ear-splitting noise that shattered shockwave lines in the icicles and columns Tango had spent weeks building. They gonged and crashed like the world’s deadliest wind-chimes over their heads, and Tanguish tracked a few to their left and right as they fell. This was their only saving grace; the falling ice was much louder than Tango and Tanguish were. The Warden, confused, hesitated as it tried to track the different sounds.

“Hey man, thanks for comi-”

“Shhhhh!” Tanguish interrupted him. Tango gave an exaggerated nod and a thumbs-up and focused on running.

They were good at that: running. It was one of the things they shared in common. They were both terribly good at running from things. (Tanguish got his practice stealing, and Tango got his wrangling dangerous creatures, but practice was practice no matter where it came from.) They were also terribly good at avoiding the fact that they were hels and hermit, and that wasn't really supposed to make them friends. They ran so fast together, so often, they'd gotten quite good at running from what they were supposed to be (not friends) and you tended to grow fond of the people you kept pace with. (They kept pace well.)

Tanguish couldn't remember why they first met. It was in much the same way he first spawned in hels: wholly accidental, a bit sudden, and mildly inconvenient. He hadn't asked to be created. He didn't particularly mind that he was, but it also wasn't exactly expected, springing into consciousness from random emotions and void. But he did.

When he first met Tango, it was when he was minding his own business, counting a collection of coins he'd stolen from someone in the main market. The person was from a place called Pixandria, or they were the hels version of someone who'd been to Pixandria at some point, and they had the most beautiful copper coins Tanguish had ever seen. He took them onto his favorite roof - a tall steepled thing made of deepslate and burnished iron that he thought might be a church, or some villain-y builder's lair. He'd never been inside. He didn't care about interiors much. He liked things. He liked those pretty little copper coins. He flipped each one in his hand, marked their faces, cataloged their iconography, sulked a little that he hadn't stolen more. And then a voice interrupted him.

"They used me, and I got selfish."

Tanguish looked around the roof, confused. There was no one else here. No one else had his claws for scaling buildings, or his tail for balance, or the ice that sprung to his touch that his skin liked to stick to for just a few seconds before it melted, helping him cling to things.

"I mean, I was trying to be cool, and I blew it. Hah - literally. That's a pretty pathetic way to go."

Tanguish looked down at the coins in his hand, at his reflection on the red-orange surface, and was not ashamed to admit he thought the coins were talking to him. It took awhile for him to realize it was his reflection, and not the odd face of the coin, speaking. It was a reflection he could barely see, a black silhouette with tired, despondent eyes.

"I bet no one cared, either."

Tanguish tilted his head at the coins in his hand, waited for them to speak again, and when they didn't, tossed them one-by-one into a fountain far below. All of them, except for the shiniest one. That one he polished and slipped in his pocket. Talking coins were pretty rare, he figured. (He was right.)

"Okay," Tanguish breathed, hiding behind a half-finished wall, "we're pretty far away now."

"Are we out of its hearing range?" Tango squeaked, louder than Tanguish (that was the only way he knew how to talk: just a few decibels louder than Tanguish at all times). "I mean that thing is scary good at hearing."

The two of them fell silent. They strained their ears to listen. In the distance Tanguish heard the quiet clicks of sculk sensors listening for noise, but nothing else. Finally, he nodded.

"Okay," Tango whispered, "so first of all, sorry for not warning you-"

Tanguish shrugged.

"-but I figured you wouldn't be too-- yeah, exactly. You're not mad. Of course you're not. I get mad at things."

Tanguish wasn't entirely sure he'd ever been mad before. Tango told him it was the kind of emotion you didn't forget once you'd felt it. Tango tended to be right about these kinds of things. (He got mad at redstone all the time - or at least, Tanguish figured he did. Redstone seemed like something you'd get mad at, and Tango was, in part, made of the stuff.)

"I thought we weren't catching Wardens until Decked Out was closer to done?" Tanguish asked him, a little annoyed, but still sort of favoring this to Helsknight's wrath.

"Well, you know, we did say that. But I wanted to just test some shriekers-"

"Tango."

"Good news! The shriekers definitely work!"

Tanguish chuckled. "Good news."

Tango shot him some finger-guns and grinned. "Well it's gotta be good, if it's even got Grim McGee over here laughing."

Tanguish found himself chuckling more. He shook his head.

"Anyway, so I was thinking-"

The Warden's growl sounded suddenly, bouncing off every icicle and snow bank in the foundling Decked Out cavern. Tango and Tanguish moved as one, slapping their hands on each other’s mouths to shut each other up. Eyes wide, they watched each other. They listened. The Warden sniffed twice, groaned in exasperation, and wandered further into the ice.

The first time Tango met Tanguish, it too, had been by accident. One moment Tanguish was leaning into the fountain by his favorite spot to drink some water. The next, he was sputtering and clawing his way out of a beautiful bay. His claws grabbed a cartoonishly built boardwalk and he hauled himself out of the water, ice smoothing the surface at his touch. He found himself staring at the reflection he’d heard talking to him for the past… well… he didn’t know how long.

It was funny, really, looking back on it. They were like a pair of scared cats who thought each of them respectively was the only cat in the world. They tumbled away from each other, all bristles and spines and fire and ice and redstone and skulk and it was a calm night from anywhere else on Hermitcraft but there. They blinked, they stared, they recognized what each of them were. They were perfect mirrors of shock and confusion.

Tanguish didn’t know what was going through Tango’s head. (He never knew what was going through his head, if there was anything going on up there at all besides the impulses and whims that drove him.) For his part, Tanguish spent the moments thinking hermits and helsmits were supposed to hate each other, eat each other up like fire and ice, burn and hiss like redstone and skulk. They were supposed to fight maybe, or at least bring out the worst in each other. And Tanguish thought if he’d known he’d meet his other half so soon, he’d maybe have spent less time stealing, and more time learning how to properly handle your double.

Then Tango held his hand out to Tanguish, and flashed him a dazzling smile that was equal parts nervous and excited. “Hey! Oh man, uh -- well, I guess you already know who I am, huh? It’s nice to finally meet you!”

Tanguish had expected treachery (as he should, given who and why and what they were to each other). But the thing about Tango was he was friendly, and transparent in that way friendly people are when they’re trying to make new friends. His red eyes were scary, shielded by impractically large glasses, and his hair sparked and flickered, and the freckles on his skin were charged with redstone, and Tanguish thought by nature of who and why and what they were, taking Tango’s hand should hurt.

“We’re supposed to hate each other,” Tanguish pointed out to him.

Tango shrugged. “Why should we? Opposites attract, right?” Then he’d flashed another dazzling, teeth-barred and infectious grin. “Besides, I was never that great at doing what I was supposed to.”

A proper helsmet would’ve refused. Scratched his hand away maybe, or done some other dramatic thing that set them apart as enemies. He should loathe the voice he’d been hearing in his head, always talking down to itself, or despairing over troubles and failures. At the very least, some primal helsmet-y thing should drive him to be cruel and self-righteous.

Instead, Tanguish took the hand extended to him, and found it was pleasantly warm. Tango winced, obviously fearing his ice would sting and freeze, and when it didn’t, he pulled Tanguish to his feet.

“I’m Tango,” Tanguish had introduced himself, because Tango hadn’t given him anything different yet.

Tango smiled at him, close-mouthed and melancholy. Tanguish preferred his other smile, despite how sharp his teeth looked. “Yeah… you really are, aren’t you buddy?”

“You got a name tag on you?”

“Yep! I had it all sorted out,” Tango said proudly, and Tanguish shushed him. Tango continued only a little softer this time. “We just gotta nametag him and lure him into the glass box I showed you. Easy-peasy! And hey, then that’s one less Warden we gotta wrangle when Decked Out II is fully operational. This is less work in the long run.”

Tango is saying this like he’s trying to convince Tanguish it’s a good idea. In reality, he’s trying to convince himself, but Tanguish lets him talk. He would probably follow Tango down a dragon’s throat, if Tango told him it was a good idea. This wasn’t a dragon’s throat. It was a Warden’s crushing embrace (Tanguish was more scared of falling than small spaces, so this was for him the lesser of two very bad things. Tango probably felt differently).

“I’ll name tag it,” Tanguish told him.

“You don’t have to do that,” Tango laughed nervously, and it bounced off the icicles and out into the cavern around them. Tanguish looked out into the field of ice like he could track the noise. All he saw was the quiet glitter. That, and skulk. There was a lot of skulk in here already. Tango had been busy. Really the whole cavern was impressive. They’d planned it together. The icicles were Tango’s idea - the better to make you feel like you were walking into the mouth of something big and scary. The floor was slick, and every surface was hard in a way that amplified noise, except where the sculk creeped, listening and feeling and crawling like skin. Tanguish thought it was pretty, but then again, he probably would.

“You brought me here to help you.”

“Well I was thinking you’d be moral support,” Tango lied. Tanguish knew he was lying, because his nose scrunched up a little like the words tasted funny (Tango always did this when he was lying). “But hey, if you’re offering, I mean--”

Tango motioned in a mock ‘after you’ sort of bow. Tanguish grabbed the name tag from him and started walking. The skulk clicked. The shriekers chirped. The Warden was silent, and Tanguish hoped that meant it was waiting on noise, and not that it had burrowed somewhere. The ice showed him his reflection, because Tango was here beside him and not in a mirror somewhere.

“This is huge,” Tanguish grunted, clambering up a wall to get a better vantage point. He reached for Tango and pulled his double up beside him.

“I know right?” Tango beamed pridefully. “Dug out the bottom of a mountain for it! You should see upstairs. The snow biome’s almost done. Just gotta make a few more ice spikes.”

They looked, they listened, they hopped down the wall and kept going.

“That was a good suggestion by the way,” Tango grinned, “the ice spikes.”

“I like tall things,” Tanguish told him.

“Aren’t you scared of heights though?”

“Falling.”

“Huh. You ever used an elytra before? I think you’d like it.”

“Do you fall with it?”

“Sometimes.” Tango chuckled in that way people did when they were remembering something unfortunate. “Mostly though, you fly.”

“Oh. That sounds nice.”

“It’s a parasite.”

Tanguish took a bite of a muffin he’d stolen off his favorite pastry cart and shamelessly eavesdropped. He didn’t have much else to do but sit on rooftops and eavesdrop and steal things - unless he was running from someone he’d stolen from. He did that often as well. The muffin he’d stolen today had nuts in it, which wasn’t his favorite thing in the world, but he’d take it over nothing any day. The couple he was eavesdropping on were a guard and a butcher, judging from their clothes. The guard, as people tended to do when they were bored and procrastinating getting somewhere, had started reading the newspaper her beef cuts were wrapped in. The butcher listened, sharpening his knife. There was no one standing in line at the stall, so he let her talk.

“It spreads when it eats,” she continued. “That’s probably how it took so long to find it. Growing up by the bedrock like that, it could only really eat ghasts if they floated too close.”

Tanguish looked at the nether ceiling. It was high and well built here, a rare gift from Evil Xisuma. There was a plaque about it somewhere, how he’d helped terraform the ceiling to make it look like a kaleidoscope of stars. Tanguish had never met Evil Xisuma, but the name suggested they probably wouldn’t like each other. Evil people didn’t like most people.

“What are we going to do about it?” the butcher asked the guard. “We’re not in danger, are we?”

“Not as long as no one gets close,” she explained. “Skulk mostly feeds on corpses anyway. But wander around it too long and it’ll find a way to get you, and with how dangerous hels is anyway, well--”

She spoke like the danger was thrilling. To her, it probably was.

“There’s only one way to deal with a parasite,” the guard continued, “you’ve got to starve it of what it wants. Otherwise, it’ll spread until it’s the only thing that’s left. That’s probably how it got here in the first place. It ate out everything else on some world somewhere, and some hels from that place tracked it here when they couldn’t find their other half.”

Tanguish frowned at his muffin. He broke apart a piece of it and watched as frost hardened the bread. He wondered how long he’d have to hold it for the skulk on his arms to leap to it.

“Oh shoot.”

“What?”

Tanguish turned to look at Tango, who’d stopped in his tracks abruptly. He stared wide-eyed ahead of them, unblinking. Tanguish was on the edge of asking what was going on, when Tango waved a hand in front of his eyes, blinked, and did it again. He mouthed the word ‘blind’. Tanguish mouthed a wide, “Oh” that Tango couldn’t see. He forgot the Warden could blind people. It didn’t work on Tanguish. He was made of ice and skulk, after all. Something about the way he was made didn’t care that the Warden ate the light. Tango did, though.

Tanguish grabbed Tango’s wrist and pulled him along, leading him through the maze of ice and skulk. They crept as fast as they could past sensors and shriekers, wincing at the little noises so dangerously close. Tanguish was starting to hear the Warden now, its grumbles and groans as it walked, the loud huffing of its breath as it drew closer to them. It was tracking Tango. His smell probably bit its nose like redstone, and it followed relentlessly. Tanguish could ditch him, leave him stranded in the ice as bait. He could tag the Warden while it was preoccupied and run, leave Tango to deal with the fallout, dive through his reflection somewhere. That was probably what a good helsmet would do. Leave their hermit to suffer, steep in feelings of betrayal and ill-deserving. It’d make him stronger, turn him into something that wasn’t hiding in his hermit’s shadow.

Tanguish was a bad helsmet, though.

Instead, he pulled Tango along, and Tango trusted him blindly. Literally blindly, but he’d probably trust him blindly anyway. Tanguish shoved him at the corner where two half-finished maze walls met.

“Don’t move,” Tanguish breathed in his ear, and Tango nodded and froze. Tanguish stood in front of him bravely, bristled like a startled cat. He grabbed an armful of skulk off the ground, stuck his tongue out at the way it pulsed against his skin. He could feel its little roots creeping on his arms, whatever odd plant-flesh it was made of reaching to infect him. Parasite. But Tanguish was made of skulk and ice, and while the skulk that wasn’t his felt uncomfortable, it certainly couldn’t harm him.

The Warden growled and emerged from behind a pair of ice columns. It took two deep breaths, sniffing for Tango, and shambled in their direction. Its footsteps were heavy. They didn’t shake the ground, but Tanguish still felt like he could feel them in his toes. It was like the skulk under his feet responded to the movement, saying through tiny motions and flashes and pulses here, what you’re looking for is here. Come get it. Come kill the thing that isn’t us.

The Warden rose like a dark tower in Tanguish’s vision, blocking out the rest of the half-built cavern that Tango had made. It leaned over Tanguish, breath whooshing in heavy huffs as it smelled for its prey. Tanguish only pressed himself a little closer to Tango and hugged the skulk in his arms tighter, and held his breath. He felt a little lightheaded, because he was scared and not breathing, and doing his best to pretend his noisy, living body was instead a statue of some kind. With one shuddering hand, Tanguish reached forward and gently hooked the name tag on one of the Warden’s exposed ribs. Its heart was loud and close, mesmerizing in the way it moved, in the way whatever soul-stuff swirled around it pulsed and flickered its eerie blue light. If it weren’t such a dangerous, fruitless endeavor, Tanguish would try to steal it. Pluck the pretty, flashing, pulsing thing from its home in those grinning ribs and hang it up on one of his favorite rooftops. It would probably stop glowing though, just as soon as it left the Warden’s chest.

The Warden let out one more long, low, growling groan. It turned and lumbered away.

“I’m a parasite,” Tanguish informed Tango matter-of-factly from his reflection in a broken window.

“What? No you’re not.” Tango scowled. “Don’t say things like that about yourself, man. It’ll kill your self-esteem.”

Tanguish tilted his head at his double, and tried not to feel grateful for the concern. Tango didn’t seem to realize this wasn’t an opinion. It wasn’t conjecture. It wasn’t bad self-esteem and it wasn’t up for debate. It was, in its simplest form, a warning. Tango should be grateful for it. Most leeches didn’t give an introduction when they attached themselves to your skin.

“I’ll just get stronger if you keep feeding me.”

Tango opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again, finding nothing to say. Tango was optimistic to a fault. He seemed to think the two of them were allowed to both be strong, to thrive. He seemed to think they were here for each other, to help each other, to make each other better. That is not how helsmets and hermits worked. At least, Tanguish didn’t think so.

Regardless, Tango kept looking at him with that odd, conflicted expression.

“I’m not here to help you, Tango,” Tanguish said quietly. “I will get worse.”

“We’re friends.”

“We’re comfortable.”

Like an old fur coat, made of long dead things but still pleasantly warm.

“We can be friends,” Tango insisted, his voice withering. “We don’t have to be like all the other hels and hermits out there. We can be friends.”

Tanguish sighed. He told Tango the only truth he knew for sure. “I will devour you, Tango.”

Tango closed his eyes and shook his head. His face in Tanguish’s reflection disappeared. Tanguish hoped they never talked again. That was the only way to kill a parasite, after all. Starve it of the thing it wanted.

Together they lured the Warden into Tango’s glass box. It couldn’t burrow through it, couldn’t despawn because of the tag. They had it well and truly trapped. Sure, it screeched and roared, and shook the walls with its sonic howls, but eventually it fell silent and submitted to its fate. It was kind of pathetic, sure, but it would be happy enough smacking around players once Decked Out II was done. Tanguish thought it was crazy keeping a pet Warden around, but Tango had a habit for keeping company with dangerous things. He had a pet helsmet, after all. A pet helsmet who had even grown to like him. Who put himself in harm's way to protect him. Who guided him through the dark when he should leave him behind.

“Where are the other hermits?” Tanguish asked when the Warden was finally still in its cage. “Why didn’t they come and help you?”

Tango winced and pulled out a shulker box full of ice so he could pretend he was busy when he talked. “Oh, you know, they were just… I mean Scar and Grian are doing collabs. Cub is making his crazy death game. The Soup Crew are all gathering materials together--”

“Did you ask them for help?”

Tango grimaced. He rifled uselessly through his shulker box.

“You should ask them first next time.”

“I knew you’d be available,” Tango shrugged. “Besides, you want something done right, you do it yourself.”

Tanguish nodded. He liked the praise, the idea he was the only one who could help Tango in a tough situation. It made his back a little straighter. The skulk, like bioluminescent freckles on his arms, glowed a little brighter. He felt warm. He felt fed.

(Maybe Tanguish wasn’t such a bad helsmet after all.)

#the barking writer #tangotek #hels!Tango #Tanguish #this was supposed to be a lot funnier #but also i like where this went so #[shrug]#you win some you lose some #just realized maybe i should elaborate a little in the tags here #hello the idea of Tango dragging Tanguish along on a harrowing escape is what jump-started this #that's why the ask is attached #also thank you anon very much for the kind words #they are a fun duo! i just write dark things

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maedhrus · 16 days

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dear helen if you would like to do so: I am obsessed with your domestic joplittle and would love to hear more abt that au of an au with twins Susan and David, this is totally an invitation to just ramble about it! I love Dadward Little, you have them so right, I can’t stop thinking abt these two as adorable exhausted first time parents

OH i'm so glad to hear that because my brain is absolutely consumed by them!! it's very flattering to hear that someone is obsessed with these kids i forced into being!

the au of an au is really just my excuse to give joplittle kids because i am similarly possessed by the idea of edward and thomas as parents. i vary between an a/b/o setting and simply transing thomas' gender (because genderqueer thomas jopson is so special to ME) but either way, susan and david little are twins born in 1852, susan being older by eight minutes. david's middle name (michael. if yk yk) is just one that edward and thomas liked because there are Too Many male friends and relatives to choose a name from. susan's middle name is jane for edward's sister (who i hc as his twin after reading it in a couple of other fics and falling in love with edward as a twin.)

susan is a Mini Edward except for when's she's angry wherein she is possessed by thomas jopson sensibilities and guard-dog behaviours. david is a mix of both parents, but looks like edward when he frowns and thomas when he laughs. he's also got a bit more of a temper. despite being fraternal twins, they very much look like siblings, sharing dark but wavy hair and pale eyes. they have their parents absolutely besotted from day one.

i usually hc thomas' home life being pretty troubled growing up so he frequently can't believe that he gets to have a stable family unit; he teaches them both needlework but susan takes to it more, partially due to her greater patience. for edward, he can hardly believe that someone wants to marry him never mind have kids with him so he's occasionally struck with disbelief over how incredible his children are, but attributes this mainly to thomas. david absolutely idolises edward and aspires to similarly become a commander in the navy when he grow up (he does join the navy, but eventually becomes disillusioned with it). also Dadward Little is CORRECT he's very good at it!! he carries them on his shoulder and reads them stories! thomas sewed all their baby clothes himself

susan had a really bad bout of pneumonia when she was around ten and the doctors weren't optimistic about her odds. david completely withdrew into himself during this time, not even wanting his parents to hold him. edward and thomas were similarly distraught, with thomas refusing to move from her bedside. luckily, she recovered, but never really seemed to regain her full strength. less traumatically, david was once racing a friend to climb a tree, slipping and breaking his arm. he was more embarrassed than anything.

they live in ashford and are a happy, stable family and i love them all!

(occasionally i do have thomas and susan dying as a result of birth complications but that's mainly to feed my own personal angst enjoyment. in this au, edward is at his saddest and dampest and loves david with everything he can possibly, humanly offer. i do have some stuff written for this au.)

#after a pretty unpleasant day i had a lot of fun talking about these guys so thank you for that anon!#one day i might actually write a fic for them #the terror #joplittle #joplittle kids #is the tag where all my insanity will now reside #asks

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presiding · 7 months

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What is your favourite thing about Billie Lurk?

(Answers are obvious possibly but i love when people talk about her👍)

thanks for the ask!! YEAH ME TOO I love when people talk about Billie! I can't say I have a favourite thing specifically, but I can explain why she's my fav. apologies for not taking this qn literally, but -

short answer: she’s really cool

& you can stop reading there, or, for the maybe 2 mutuals who might have time to read this my thoughts on her as a character, her meta, and her character as raw potential...

long answer:

i considered making this entire thing a gush so you could read a gush about Billie. but, part of what draws me to her is that she’s not always well written, and in fandom she’s underrated for a literal protagonist.

since you ask...

billie is a cool character

when I played Dh2 (hadn't played Dh1), I was excited to see a black woman with disabilities who was captaining a massive ship by herself. wow.

then I discovered Billie’s backstory with Deirdre, the way she responded to that, then having to survive while living on the run, and her bisexuality. as well as her history with daud & delilah. fascinating!

she’s an outsider who has so much to lose, and knows what it's like to lose everything - having lost everything not once but three times - but nevertheless speaks truth to power. she's so brave! she went and helped Emily & Corvo and she must have known they might kill her! plus, she’s smart, she’s funny, she gets shit done, she’s gorgeous.

but... the meta

mild critique of fandom & arkane incoming.

skip this bit if you want - you've been warned twice now - jump to tired Hayao Miyazaki and read from there if you'd like my thoughts on writing her.

i thought Death of the Outsider was going to be amazing and then... well. *sad trombone* i've written about that before so i won't keep banging on. i figured others must be disappointed too, so I joined a few fandom spaces in hopes of finding camaraderie.

most people with complaints about DotO didn’t like how the Outsider and Daud were handled. which is valid & I agree. but it seemed like most paid no attention to Billie; when people talk about her it’s with respect to Daud, as opposed to in her own right. you could argue for fandom misogyny because people don’t talk about adult Emily Kaldwin that much either, but in Billie's case, it’s misogynoir (compare & contrast with the popularity of thomas, particularly the popularity of thomas portrayed as a white man for no particular reason that i've been able to discern - i keep asking around, is it in the books???).

i think this is a LOT better now than it used to be, which is fantastic. or perhaps i have found the correct echo-chamber? ha.

ultimately, The Fandom is a fraction of the entire picture, and not even the important bit since The Fandom is not who these games are made for. you can't make money relying on only your hardcore fans even if all of them spent a fortune on merch, this is true for any AAA game.

while it's true that Billie is underrated from a fandom perspective - but Billie as an underwritten protagonist is squarely Arkane’s fault.

it was reasonable when she was a side character - the lack of info in Dh2 makes perfect sense (if anything there was more lore in Dh2 which is kind of wild)-

- but as a protagonist in Death of the Outsider?

.... there’s lousy writing, and there’s whatever is going on with Billie Lurk, a black woman who mostly exists as a foil or saviour for light-skinned characters. In her own game there’s barely any of her own lore except where it's relevant to saving two dudes.

lore hints at, but barely touches on what race means in the Dh universe (xenophobia is stronger in Dh1; separate essay i guess), but Arkane has patted themselves on the back for portraying non-white characters, which feels like the same thing as the aesthetic of diversity we're seeing in advertising currently because it’s in marketing trend guides. it's self-congratulatory and it's a missed opportunity for deeper storytelling.

you can see an example of diversity at its most shallow in the way that Billie’s written: there’s little engagement with her as an entire person with history & wants & preferences, and the world she walks through in that game feels like it has nothing to do with her. you could make a case for alienation as a theme, but then, how do you handle the titular premise of 'Dishonored' without ever letting Billie make changes in an environment without a chaos system? it's disappointing from that angle too.

in my opinion, whatever it's worth, it was an accident Arkane created such an awesome character - they needed someone to betray daud. congrats billie.

all this said, it makes her an underdog as far as characters to enjoy & create art & stories for. it's nice to find so many like-minded, switched on people! <3

billie's character potential

she’s got a wealth of unexplored lore, being deeply intertwined with both Karnaca & Dunwall’s fates & criminal underbellies, as well as her connections to the witches & whalers, and three Empresses.

she’s lived a few distinct lifetimes and in the games we get to meet her at two peaks (KoD & DotO) & a low (Dh2 as Meagan).

her voice is very distinct, her dry & often dark humour is entertaining & fun to write. her perspective is really interesting - she’s had the widest variety of void-powers of anyone canonically, and she’s also lived through the highest highs and lowest lows.

she's got everything going for her :) i couldn't really pick a fav thing!

#i assume my followers are cool enough to let me give a brief measured critique on fandom trends and DotO #thanks for the anon question!! what fun!#i love billie lurk <333 #jumped on the opportunity to rant n rave #what part of billie isn't my fav! (im a guy who likes the bad stuff too. mmm interesting meta)#trying to be not unfair or mean- i'm not targeting anyone but rather trends. and it's ok to be disappointed with something you love #fuck it. make it part of the appeal! her writing sucks! plenty of room for me & other creators!#its easier for me to indulge my billie brainworms when it sorta feels like she's not getting as much love as she deserves #you know? i want stories where her history is explored and her agency is important so i guess i'll roll up my sleeves #tumblr is a terrible place for this sort of critique IMO- lots of nuanceless empathy-free guilt-trip-ish rhetoric #so i hope i avoided that. but not so much that i seem forgiving.#that said i'm not tagging this one with fandom tags! no thank you.#i am blaming arkane yes. but that is also not without games industry context #i could complain about amateurish writing but that also never happens in a vacuum. industry problem(s) for sure.#people love to blame writers for things #and yeah a couple really fucking good writers can push a boulder uphill #but its usually a company problem #hire lots of diverse people in your company. give them authority and respect and reasonable workloads. and no crunch.#ah fuck this is a separate essay in tags. again #THIS WAS A SIMPLE QUESTION #*clutches head in hands*#uh if you're still reading at this point im SO sorry and thank you and i love you

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renlyslittlerose · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Day 9 - Felching

Today’s kinktober prompt: Just read your latest Kinktober fic and I'm just *fans self aggressively* Now I'm here to do the Lord's work by prompting "felching"! As a follow-up scene or completely different scenario!

May I? - 1,131 Rated: E Content: Felching; Rimming; Come Eating; Bottom Anakin; Top Obi-Wan

---

Anakin bit into the meat of his arm and suppressed a groan. Breath, hot and stuttering, fluttered his curls, hair tangled and spread out across his temples and cheeks as he arched back into the touch offered to him. Beneath him his cock stirred though he’d already come twice before, body overstimulated but still needing more - always needing more.

There were few things as exposing as this: spread and pulled apart, his hole studied and inspected - admired - by the intense gaze of Obi-Wan. Anakin could practically feel his eyes on him, scorching hot as steel-blue tones slid down his back and long the curve of his ass, hands dug into the meaty underside of his thighs as Obi-Wan pulled and pushed him apart. His hole was already so sensitive to the slightest touch, stretched apart by Obi-Wan’s thick fingers and heavy cock, slick with spit and come and lube, hair matted down and tugging uncomfortably as his cheeks were pulled apart and held open.

He waited for Obi-Wan’s instruction, keeping his hole clenched, the whorl of muscle squeezed tight. A moment passed, Anakin sensing a tremor through their bond as Obi-Wan indulged in the sight, his usual patience bleeding into this moment. Obi-Wan would take his time - he could take his time - dragging out every torturous moment so that he could indulge in the sensations for just a little longer.

Anakin still hadn’t figured out how he did it.

“Relax,” Obi-Wan finally said.

Doing as requested, Anakin smiled into the pillow as he heard Obi-Wan’s soft gasp as the hot, slick dredges of his seed spill out from Anakin’s hole. Turning his head he looked over his shoulder, watching Obi-Wan’s expression shift and curl - one moment hard and hungry and the next soft and supplicant. Tensing before he lost all of Obi-Wan’s seed, Anakin locked eyes with Obi-Wan and smiled.

“May I?” Obi-Wan asked.

He always asked - always requested, even when he was fucking Anakin hard and fast, hand in his curls, shoving Anakin’s face down into the bedding or the floor or the wall. It was as if he needed permission to let himself go; take what he wanted of his former Padawan without resistance from his inner shame. And Anakin loved it - loved that he was able to give Obi-Wan that. Loved that he was the only one who could. Loved that he would be the only one who did.

Obi-Wan shifted then, slipping down on to the bed. Anakin rested his cheek on his arm and sighed, toes curling as he felt the first puff of air against the furl of muscle and damp hairs. He felt Obi-Wan’s tongue against his perineum first, long and flat and hot as it slid up and back down, Obi-Wan collecting what had already spilled out. Anakin cock swelled between his belly and the mattress, hips stuttering down before pushing back up, wanting more of Obi-Wan’s tongue on him - along his hole and inside, licking and lapping, taking back what he’d given.

But instead Obi-Wan laved at his balls, Anakin’s breath hitching as Obi-Wan pressed his nose against his taint and sucked one ball into his mouth. He made a little noise in the back of his throat, heard over the drumming in Anakin’s head, needy and focused as hot breath gusted across Anakin’s slick skin. He took Anakin’s other ball and gave it the same attention, hands harsh against his legs, keeping Anakin spread.

And then he moved back up. A moment passed, Anakin still keeping his hole closed up tight despite the ache. He waited until he could feel the ghost of Obi-Wan’s lips on him before he relaxed, and moaned loudly when Obi-Wan pitched forward to catch what was offered. His hole was still sensitive, the rim stretched and the muscles tense as Obi-Wan tongued him quick and fast, lapping up his seed before sucking at the sloppy rim.

The sensations were both pleasurable and painful, Anakin’s body rocking into Obi-Wan’s mouth while bucking away, cock throbbing between his legs. He let out a sob as Obi-Wan wiggled his tongue inside, slipping the tip in to clean him up as thoroughly as he could, his beard rubbing harshly against Anakin’s over-heated skin. But the sensations were nothing compared to the sounds Obi-Wan was making, desperate little hitches slipping past his usually composed facade, mouth hungry and wet sounding against Anakin’s hole, breath skittering along his sweat slick skin, hot and demanding.

Obi-Wan was squeezing the muscles of Anakin’s ass, keeping him spread, wide open and exposed to his hunger. Another moan slipped past Anakin’s lips when Obi-Wan’s teeth grazed his puffy rim, muscles fluttering beneath the manipulation as Obi-Wan ate his come from him. Pain and pleasure fanned out from his groin and up into the back of his skull, making him delirious once more, mind blissed out and body going limp and then tensing with each rub and stroke of Obi-Wan’s tongue.

Lifting his head Obi-Wan caught his breath, leaving Anakin’s hole abandoned for a moment. But before Anakin could ask or demand his return, Obi-Wan was ducking back down, tongue and lips once again covering Anakin, tongue flicking before flattening, movements at once hurried and fiendishly slow. There was a creaking in the bed, a subtle motion of movement that Anakin recognized was Obi-Wan shoving his cock into the bedding, hips fucking up into the soft fabric as he pushed his face between Anakin’s cheeks and devoured him whole.

There was no come left to taste yet he continued and continued until Anakin was spilling out on to the bed, the only friction needed that of the fabrics of the sheets and blankets, soft and harsh all at once against his over-sensitive body. There was a spasm in their bond - quick and lashing - and Anakin knew Obi-Wan was coming as well. He could feel it in his touch as he gripped Anakin’s thighs and squeezed; in how he wiggled his tongue and kissed and sucked on the rim like a man possessed; how he huffed and grunted, breath wet and desperate against Anakin’s ass as he rode out his orgasm.

With great effort Anakin rolled on to his back as Obi-Wan crawled up the bed. Thought he was hot and sticky and sore, Anakin rolled on to Obi-Wan and shoved his face against his neck, breathing in his scent and the smell of sex.

“Thank you for letting me do that, darling,” Obi-Wan said, fingers idle in Anakin’s messy curls.

Anakin smiled against Obi-Wan’s neck. “Any time.”

#obikin #lemon fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #kinktober 2023 #lemon does kinktober #this one was a lot of fun to write anon #thanks for the prompt!

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zeroducks-2 · 1 year

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So I know that all the apprentice Dick stuff isn't really canon and it only happens in tt03 and that in 'reality' there was a Renegade arc... But I dont know anything about Renegade beside the fact that its a thing. Maybe you could tell me more about it?

It would be my pleasure! Sorry it took me so long to answer, tumblr ate my post and I had to rewrite it >_>

The first thing to know is that despite fanfictions/fanarts tend to portray Renegade!Dick as the "follow-up" to the Apprentice Arc, or anyway conflating the two stories (kind of mashing up stuff from tt03 and the comics), the two situations couldn't be more different from one another. They are in fact completely unrelated both thematically and narratively speaking.

In the comics, the Renegade idea comes from Dick, Dick is the one that insists on sticking around Slade, and Slade never forces/coerces him into doing anything (he has barely any participation in the whole thing). It's actually more about Dick and Rose than Dick and Slade, and in fact the "Renegade" alias itself is very nearly a thing, in the sense that Dick comes up with randomly it at some point, Rose uses it once and that's about it. Slade never even calls him that, sticking to "Nightwing", "Grayson" or just "kid".

A quick sum-up: Dick needs info about the society of supervillains but can't infiltrate them, because Slade is on their roster and he knows Dick's real identity, therefore he would recognize (and out) him easily. So he comes up with the idea of trying to convince Slade that he's a bad guy now and he can be trusted by villains - really Slade never actually trusts him, but in the process of testing him Rose grows very fond of Dick, and eventually Dick manages to thwart the society's plans and kick Slade out of Bludhaven. More or less.

That's not my favorite iteration of Dick, and especially not my favorite iteration of Slade and Rose, but all in all it's a fun, enjoyable story that's very in line with the overall mood and style of the (in)famous "Nightwing 1996" run.

Since we're here I'll go on to provide a more lengthy explanation of the plot with screenshots for poignancy (and because they're fun), but if you're already satisfied with the answer and you don't want more spoilers, go ahead and click away :)

The "Renegade" arc.

I'm going to start out with Issue #110 which opens with Dick leaving Sophia Tevis, the daughter of a mob boss, and her mother in a safe place for Sophia's safety.

Dick is having a rough time with just about everything in his life. This happens soon after the whole situation with Blockbuster and Tarantula and the aftermath of that, also he recently broke up with Barbara, lost his job as a cop and has gone no contact with Bruce. Tim drops by to check on him, and during their conversation, Dick finds out that Bruce was going to adopt Tim.

Dick is very bitter, and Tim keeps justifying Bruce this or that way, as usual enabling his behavior (no hate towards Tim whatsoever btw, that's just how their dynamic tended to function). At some point Tim goes out of his way to reel Dick back in the situation...

...And Dick gets understandably very upset

I love how he's about to yell at Tim but then tones it down. He keeps doing it throughout the whole story, swallowing his emotions and then apologizing when "he sounds too much like Bruce".

Despite everything Dick insists on doing his job as Nightwing and refusing everyone's help, at the point that he's embittered enough for it to be believable that he'd be in a "I lost everything, I want to try a new path" situation. The problem is, as I mentioned before, Dick can't infiltrate the society and uncover their nasty plans because they have Deathstroke on their payroll.

So Dick decides that the only way he has to do this is convince everyone, especially Deathstroke himself, that he's done being a hero, he wants to be a bad guy, he's been slapped in the face one time too many and he'll prove it to him. Only Dick has to talk to Slade for this to happen, and this leads to what's surely my favorite two panels of the entire story:

The infamous "message received" text on the mirror of Dick's bathroom as he showers. Dick is totally unfazed by this btw, makes me think this isn't the first time it happens

Slade, dramatic motherfucker that he is, decides to show up in the middle of the night together with Rose (I'm sharing the panels again cause they're really cool)

A fight ensues but Dick is outnumbered and in his civvies, so it's brief enough. Have I mentioned that Slade is also an idiot? I think I didn't, so here's Slade being an absolute idiot:

I love this panel. I want to print it and eat it I am so normal about it

By saying "undercover with the bad guys" Slade is referring to the fact that Dick has been cooperating with the Bludhaven mafia, fact that actually helps Dick sell the whole "I'm a bad guy now" narrative. Which is what Dick insists upon, saying that he has no more reasons to fight the good fight. Slade isn't impressed, but he still offers Dick a bargain:

Basically the idea is that Dick will prove himself trustworthy by watching over Rose, teaching her, and making her involved in his own things, and so he does; what follows is a number of short episodes in which he and Rose go around doing apparently random tings, bantering in the meantime.

The reason why I say this is not my favorite iteration of Rose Wilson is because she's VERY BABY. Which isn't bad per se but I prefer a version of Rose which is less naive. Also, "Nightstroke".

In the meantime Dick has found out that the place where Sophia Tevis was hiding for her safety wasn't safe at all - her mother has been killed by cops and the kid has been put in a state home. Dick promised to go get her, and this is what he brings Rose along to do.

They rescue Sophia and Dick hides her in yet another place, and makes Rose promise that she won't say anything to Slade about Sophia and what they did. The first thing baby does when she sees Slade is tell him everything.

Basically Rose is trying to make it so Slade will love her, or something like this. I'm actually not sure, their relationship here is a bit confusing to be honest.

So what keeps happening is that Dick brings Rose along - since he does not have a choice on that - while doing his things, pretending it's bad guys things while it really is good guys things. But, he does give her some valuable lessons and the two do grow quite close in the meantime.

The issue is that Slade isn't easily fooled, and to make sure he's got Dick under his thumb, he kidnaps Sophia Tevis to use her as a bargaining chip, and to make sure Dick won't do anything that goes against the society.

The brown haired kid is Sophia, but really this looks more dramatic than it actually is since nothing really changes, or maybe we could say it even backfires - Dick keeps doing his things, and if Rose wasn't convinced initially, now that she knows Sophia is being threatened (and she knows Dick cares for her since Rose helped him save her), she believes Dick more easily when they investigate the society's business and Dick says "it's all part of the plan I swear I'm not doing anything detrimental to your father, if I did he'd kill me and he'd kill Sophia".

And finally we have Dick calling himself Renegade: Rose insisted on calling him Nightwing since there was no alternative, so Dick comes up with Renegade just to get her to stop using "Nightwing"

Soon Dick finds out that the society is planning to use the Bane toxin to create supersoldiers or something like this, and in the meantime he bumps into Arsenal who's legitimately concerned about him (especially because there had been news circulating about Nightwing cooperating with the Bludhaven mafia, and he's been pushing his friends and family away). Dick is forced to knock him out, and eventually Roy tells Oracle, who tells Superman, and it ends up with everyone really worried for Dick.

I'm not really sure how Slade knew Superman would have been involved (I might not remember about it but yeah, Slade knew Supes was going to get involved) and devises a plan to neutralize him: He fixes Dick's glove with a radio transponder and surgically implants kryptonite in Rose's missing eye. During the following confrontation with Superman, Dick nonchalantly says "yeah I'm a bad guy now fuck you", knowing that Clark can hear his heartbeat and can therefore tell that Dick is lying - but Clark reacts in a very upset way, Rose gets scared and jumps him.

A brief scuffle follows but soon enough Superman lets them go, and Dick goes confront Slade with Rose, informing him that he uncovered the society' schemes and that his plan backfired.

Then Dick tells Slade something something along the lines of "Rose loves me and listens to me, while you implanted toxic kryptonite in her eye socket, so if you don't go away from Bludhaven I'll put her against you".

and somehow it works, Slade "admitting defeat" and letting Dick go, but threatening him with "you don't know what you're messing with".

Which actually is what happens soon after with the destruction of Bludhaven, Slade dropping chemo on it and all of that. But that's another story.

So here you have it, the brief story of Renegade and how it existed as Dick's alias for a short time. It's not much something that comes from Slade, more like it tangentially involves Slade while Dick is doing his thing. Again for whoever is interested in reading it first-hand, it spans from issue 110 to issue 115 of Nightwing 1996.

#long post #Nightwing #Deathstroke #Renegade #Nightwing 1996 #my asks #thanks for asking Anon I had a lot of fun researching this and writing it down #my meta

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zuppizup · 6 months

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i am so excited yet terrified for that dark magic Tio fic

I have so many WIPs. I need to wrap at least one up, okay?! 😭

#the end is nigh #I've had a lot of fun writing *redacted*#honestly... the most evil fun #anon asks #thanks for the ask!

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enchantedchocolatebars · 8 months

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Oh my Titan, I need a short story about Philip with baby Luz in his satchel.

What if he lays her in it and pulls on his satchel like he's getting ready to go somewhere?

More Beardo Philip and his satchel adventures (this time with Baby Luz)!

Yay!

Those are always fun and silly!

Enjoy, anon (AND I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭 😭 😭).

Hide And You Shall Be Seeked

With his satchel by his side, Philip was nearly ready to depart from his cave for the day.

That is, until he came to the realization that something was missing.

Or rather, someone.

Luz.

Where could she be?

"Luz?" He called out to her as he began to search around his study. "Oh, Luz? Luz? Luzura?"

As he continued, his search became frantic as he checked all the places he believed she might be in.

Luz couldn't have crawled out of the cave, could she?

Philip only hoped that wasn't the case.

She was so small.

Suddenly, the sounds of a baby's giggles echoed off the cave walls.

"Luzura?"

The echoey giggles are heard by Philip once more.

Instantly, he feels relieved, exhaling a sigh as the worry he felt fades away.

Thank God Luz was still here, he thought to himself.

"Are you hiding from me?" He spoke sternly, a playful frown on his face as he crossed his arms and tapped his foot, resulting in a third giggle.

Looks like Luz wants Philip to find her.

He'll do just that.

"Oh, Luzura? Where are you? Come out, come out," Philip said in a singsongy tone, looking for Luz.

She had to be here somewhere.

From her hiding spot, Little Luz peeks her head out some to see Philip's back turned.

With a small giggle, she quietly crawls away, but immediately stops when Philip comes in to catch her.

As he lifts her up, Luz begins to happily babble.

"Found you," Philip chuckles at the baby, the bearded man amused by her adorableness.

"Now, young lady, into my satchel."

Gently placing her in his bag, he leaves the cave.

He now has everything he needs.

#(rereading this to myself)#(this was pretty dang good)#(and a lot of fun to come up with)#(thank u nonnie!)#the owl house #owl house #toh #emperor belos #belos #philip wittebane #moldy crumpet husbando #luz noceda #ask #asks #anon #anonymous #writing #my writing

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marvus-xoloto · 1 year

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Hi, it kind of came out of nowhere but do you think that Marvus's music would be actually good ? Like I can't imagine some 14-15 yo kid, supported and working for other kids, being professional (not that teenagers can't be great artists, but in the context of Alternia it's just different). It just kind of cracks me up if IRL he really made shitty mixtapes that hypes everyone up lmao and Teals would just work as some weird ambassador for purples/artists that resolve teenage drama haha

What do you think ? Do they have enough cultural background to compose things for themselves or Condy gave them just enough space but not quite so things can't evolve?

great blog btw i like tour writing :)

Hi!

This ask got me deep diving haha. I'll get to some more, long, rambling headcanons under the cut, but here's the short of it:

Canon tells us he has a huge, cult like following, so his music is likely "good" (which is subjective, but we'll get to that later).

He already had a background (loosely speaking) in entertainement before he got famous by being a contestent on Slam or Get Culled (which keeps him relevant; most contestant series bing back previous winners, so he's very present in the entertainment sphere). In my opinion (and this is entering headcanon territory), this means he's had plenty of relevant training regarding... hmm how to put this. Finding and keeping an audience? Putting on the entertainer's face and saying the right words? Public relations stuff, you know? Does that makes sense? This does imply that his music is somewhat commercial and easy to sell, however (although I choose not to headcanon that. Popular fanon and I agree on one thing: I like the idea that his music is kinda silly yet clever with excellent samples a la young gravy).

The idea of teals being the auspictices between the music/ entertainment industry and like, just the general population is a super fun world building element haha! I love that. I've always seen certain castes being culturally predisposed towards certain quadrants, and teals have always read as ashen-predisposed to me. Might be the neurodivergence speaking, though, haha.

That being said, the entertainment industry- both on earth in real life so likely on Alternia- is the forefront of propaganda. And while Marvus styles himself as a musician, he's actually somewhat more of a politician.

Before I deep dive under the cut, the TL;DR is: imagine if Hatsune Miku worked for, idk, the CIA. That's... kind of how I see Marvus lmfao (although not a super literal parallel obviously; I don't think Marvus works for anyone beside himself). I'm at work so this post is pretty rushed, but hopefully you can get my jist.

So here's the thing that has always stuck out to me: Marvus and the music industry are kind of one in the same, you know? Made to get stuck in your head haha.

This puts him in a very powerful political position. It's noted in his friendsim that his music is "super woke and definitely not casteist at all." As MSPAR attended that concert with Zebruh, it's important to note that weirdo castists were on their mind. To me, this says that Marvus's music is so open for interpretation that people will always hear exactly what they want.

(I know the popular opinion is just that he's psychic pulling psychic fuckery, but honestly that's no fun for me. Marvus is very intelligent and conniving, and I'd prefer to deep dive into that.)

You know what Marvus has that most seadwellers don't? An audience, an opinion, and the means to make it all happen.

I think it's worth noting that when I say "politician" on Alternia, it's honestly more like an influencer? Cridea, for instance, strikes me as someone with a political agenda and political pull (and I don't think it's a coincidence at all that they're linked in act 2). They are, after all, young adults at best (I see Marvus as 19 on Alternia).

Do I think Marvus went into the inustry with politics on his mind? No, not at all. He was- in my headcanon- just a sixteen year old kid with no delusions of grandeur at all. He simply was that good.

The only problem is that he doesn't really hve anyone he's working for. He's religious (canonically, and imo to an extent), so it's very possible all of his power plays and messages have a subtle religious tie-in. Mostly, though, I think he's in it for himself. Mirthful Idolotry: he's an idol. This isn't sustainable in the long run, though, so I always wonder about what might cause his downfall in the future.

I think he's intelligent enough to come up with clever word play, and frankly there's the caste element as well.

Anyway. Because politics are involved, I'd be shocked if off-world trolls (trolls who are like Tirona for instance) aren't involved in the effort.

So do I think his music is good? No.

I think it is evil :o)

Anyway, random headcanon: I think music on Alternia has a slight buzzng sound to it that only trolls can pick up the subtlties of. For humans, it sounds like that cicada buzz sounds of flourscent lighting.

Hope that was anything haha.

#hiveswap #marvus #marvus xoloto #i'm sorry i know this is pretty unorganized and half of it is irrelevant to your ask haha. i did my best #but anyway thanks for the ask anon! i've been feeling especially insane these past few days #so this was fun for me!!#i wish i had more time to talk about the music industry itself. if you have an hour to kill check out barelysociable's video on it!#it's on my mind a lot when I write for marvus

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actuallyitsstar · 22 days

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jake “hangman” seresin + 12, 21, 22?

✨ send me a number and a character! ✨

omg nonnie hello !!! <3<3 i so so love my boy jake tysm for the ask !!! <3 TW for mentions of child abuse so pls skip if ur not down for that! also this might get long im so sorry 😭 i just have a lot of Thoughts ok 😭

12. what's a headcanon you have for this character?

i know this is like, decently universal, but there are different versions of it, so i would like to spit out my version with the precursor that i have read a lot of versions of jake's shitty childhood and they are ALL valid and i love them all in their own way so i don't mean this to sound like im tryinna say my headcanon is the only correct way or anything lol.

i do in fact think jake had a really shitty childhood (no surprises im sure). i think for me, it falls somewhere in the realm of overly-critical, under-affectionate, duty-based, act-perfect-for-the-public sort of behavior. the kind of parents who married and had kids out of obligation, bc Thats Just What You Do, but didn't really WANT kids, per se. i think jake has older sisters, and he is absolutely the youngest. he has youngest child syndrome So Bad. he was surprisingly straight-laced, and serious, because he had to be. it's what dear old mom and dad expected. straight As, no fucking around. better not get in trouble, and pay for it if you do.

i think the household might have been just a little bit ~physically abusive~. jake probably got the brunt of it- i think that seresin sr. probably grew bolder with time, and had more frustrations and expectations to push onto a son than onto his daughters. jake would've stood up, too, and lept in front of anything for his sisters, regardless of their age difference or the fact that they probably tried to do the same for him. it was CERTAINLY verbally abusive. nothing's ever good enough, why do you say things like that? don't speak to your father that way. i don't know what you want *me* to do about, if you treated your father with respect he would do the same for you. i think jake's mother sided with her husband often, which is complex, because seresin sr. is an emotionally abusive, uptight asshole, and she's under his thumb too, but she was probably complicit in plenty of it. it's easy to learn to perpetuate something you've known for most of your adult life. she probably married young, and she doesn't know relationships to look any different. it doesn't excuse her behavior, but it does explain.

he learned to do a lot for himself, to be competent in areas that children his age usually aren't. to cook for himself (and his sisters) because no one else was going to do it, some nights, and he was sick of living off of cereal. his sisters teach him how to cover a bruise with makeup one fateful night-before-picture-day, and they regret it later when it becomes an excuse, and jake is able to step in front of them despite their begging him not to, because it's ok, i can fix it before school (so not what they meant jake but ok).

jake probably knew javy in high school, and javy managed to pry jake out of his hardass asshole exterior, just a little. jake is an asshole, because he's learned it's the only way to get attention from his parents (and so what if it's negative attention? he doesn't know the difference). javy is the first person to give jake positive attention and jake doesn't know what to do with it or how to accept it. sometimes when the fighting is very bad at home, jake runs to javy's for a while, but he always goes back home to take his punishment sooner than javy or javy's parents would like, because he is afraid of leaving his sisters alone at home for too long with his parents.

eventually, tho, they are old enough to escape, and that means that jake is right on their heels. they check in as often as they can and things are the worst they've ever been for the years between his next oldest sister's departure and the day he turns 18. but when he does, he and javy enlist together. jake tells his parents, against his wishes. somehow it is another thing for his father to be angry about. his mother cries and cries, as if she's ever cared for his well-being before. for the first time, jake hits his father back. all the way to annapolis, he sports a black eye covered by makeup, and prays to the God of the church he was forced to attend in a suit acting presentable each sunday but does not believe in, that seresin sr. is not somewhere in texas right now talking to the police, ruining jake's chance at true freedom before it's even begun.

he must not be, because nothing ever comes of it. jake does not speak to his parents again.

if like all of this ends up in a fic in like idk 6 months or something. dont @ me. akdhfdjfghfjf it probably will even tho i have a wip list a mile long help aaaaaa

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

i have only (publicly) written for jake once, in the first half of chapter twenty-one of time takes no prisoners (you'll see), so that is my ticket to answering this lol. just know that i plan to write plenty for jake in the future, i am just swamped with mav dad and brad brad wips atm lol

i think my favorite thing about writing for jake is walking that exact line between being an absolute asshole and being a normal person, and the way that jake is somehow both entirely self aware of it, and entirely oblivious to it at the same time. the contrast between the things he thinks in his pov, and the things he says aloud, are also everything. his pov is one of my favorites in this fandom (tho ofc i have loved every pov i have written so far !!!) bc he's just so.... him. so much sharp and so much snark but so much heart too, if you can get to it. so much unresolved and unacknowledged childhood trauma manifesting all over the place. rip to jake but it's everything for me as the author lol.

one thing that sucks about this as the author tho is needing to BE these things on some level to write them. like im supposed to be witty and charming in this google doc rn ??????? say sike 😭 i spend a lot of time staring at an empty page when i get to jake's dialogue bc i can internal monologue all day long but when he has to be witty out loud its OVER for me lol

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to ths character? Something you don't like?

I GUESS THIS SHOULD COME AS NO SURPRISE. but i love the mav-accidentally-adopting-jake-kind-of trope. it is like. my FAVORITE genre of jake fic. its so multi layered too, because mav has had this fractured relationship with bradley for so long and is still struggling to fix it with him, and now here's jake, and why is jake gravitating to mav so much???? mav just does whatever comes natural in the moment, and i think it's like. kind of part of it, in a way. not a big one, but i think mav gets to interact in this way with jake and gets to A. remember how to do it, and B. remind himself that he is capable. and C. i think jake reminds mav of himself at that age and he has some inherent instinct trying to stop the crash that he sees coming. the idea of jake never having been shown like, just regular kindness or understanding from a parental-coded individual and respecting mav a lot in his career, and then after the mission its awkward bc its like oh shit. this is roosters dad basically???? thats fucking weird. and the next thing you know you are hanging out with roosters dad on the weekends when rooster is deployed and you are not ?????? what is going ON. WHY does he speak nicely to me. why does he praise certain things that i do. why does he listen attentively to things that i say. why does he keep trying to hug me when i am leaving. what is this strange interaction.

that being said, i think we all agree jake has some kind of unresolved childhood trauma, and i LOVE to see him have to face it, but sometimes it can just... go too far. i think something i don't like seeing happen to jake in fic is if he kind of.... gets his sharp edges rounded down??? or like, his claws filed away??? jake is a fully grown adult man, who HAS parents out there somewhere in some worlds, or HAD them in others, and he is bold and brash and sharp and quick-tongued. it's easy to reduce him to kind of an extreme position emotionally, and don't get me wrong. i love to put my blorbos in extreme emotional situations. but idk. i think with jake especially its hard to imagine him in a soft situation, and we have a tenancy to warp his character, or make him too teary, too honest, too direct, too sad. for me i feel like the sweet spot is right in the middle, trying to make sure he stays a little depressed and a little angry with himself all the time and a lot disillusioned, while still staying flippant and charming and evasive. it's easy to bend the character to fit the situation instead of the situation to fit the character, but it's important, i feel, to try and do the latter and not the former, with any character, but especially jake, in this fandom.

THANK U SO MUCH FOR GIVING ME A CHANCE TO RAMBLE NONNIE......i hope u enjoyed and i didnt bore u too much akdhdjdhfjf. i love jake and i love u. that is all. 💕

#star unasks #Anonymous #top gun #i feel so bad tagging asks in the tag but im an idiot who made my only blog organizational tag the literal movie name #so theres rly no going back lol so sorry everyone in the tag welcome to my wall of text #THANK U SO MUCH ANON FOR THE ASK #I LOVE IT I HAD A LOT OF FUN GETTING TO ANSWER AND I LOVE TALKIN ABT JAKE SM OMG #i wanna write for himmmmmmmmm aaaaaaaaaaa #mine #if u see a fic with this exact premise of jakes childhood happen on ao3 assume its me lol skjdhjfhfjg #stars scribbles

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