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moon-lixie · 3 years

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"Were you this touch deprived?" The amusement could be easily missed in between the calm of your voice that threatened to melt under his fingertips.

"Yes," he answered immediately, no time for thinking needed, "when it comes to you I'm always touch deprived, I can never get enough of you."

word count: 1.970k

genre: fluff, Hyunjin x gn reader.

song: Wrong About Forever - Jeff Bernat

Every great waltz has its spins that make you feel like you're flying as the music pushes you further, Hyunjin wasn't a stranger to this concept, nor was he ignorant to the part in which the two people dancing move apart, stretching their arms as far apart as physically possible while their hands stay clasped together.

He, more than anybody, knew what it was to dance, to give yourself to music and get lost quicker than he could even realise.

What he wasn't familiar with were the matters of the heart, at that he had always been clumsy and hesitant, comparing love to a dance.

That's exactly why he could never understand when you walked away; his mind couldn't wrap itself around the concept of you leaving for good, in his heart there was always hope for a last dance.

Your face was carved into his memory, he could draw your every feature down on paper as easily as he could dance with his eyes closed.

Loving you wasn't a rational decision, it was an impulse, something he had grown to adore despite the difficulties it brought along.

The music filling the room suddenly faded, leaving behind the thrumming of his heart reverberating in his eardrums.

He had to admit there was always a bitter taste when that moment arrived, his body not being able to push any further and the music coming to an end.

If it was his decision then he would spend every second of his life doing the things that he loved, without the need of a break, without knowing what an ending meant.

But wishful thinking only ended up hurting his heart, bruising it carelessly as if he wasn't the type to hope on behalf of the entire world.

With a loud exhale he allowed himself to relax, shoulders loosening and eyes opening slowly, as if rushing through the process would be a mistake.

The first thing he saw was his reflection, the rolled sleeves of his shirt, hair clamped together on the front of his face because of his effort, lips parted and chasing an extra breath.

His surroundings were one of those places that gave comfort due to the long time it had been the background of his happiness, his passion for what he did had been sprawled all across the room.

Dragging his feet across the wooden floor, he scrambled to gather his things, barely remembering to grab his phone that had been discarded on the couch when he arrived if it hadn't been for the light buzzing sound coming from it.

The device loomed like a threat over his heart, having the ability to mend everything or put an end to one of those things he loved with an inimaginable fervor.

An unseen message had been sent in blue, waiting impatiently despite not being the first one sent between the both of you.

You had contacted him first; after two weeks of radio silence you had sent four words his way, typical of you.

'Can I call you?' It was unknown to him how long he had spent staring at the dark screen, forcing his eyes to trace the eleven characters that shaped your unorthodox way of asking for forgiveness.

Forgiveness for what? That he no longer knew, perhaps this time you had gotten scared of how ever so well you two worked together and that's why you had decided to walk away, or maybe there was a chance you had just gotten tired of him, again.

The game the both of you played didn't feel like the typical love he saw portrayed in movies but he couldn't find it in him to care, after all, dancing around you had never bothered him in the slightest.

With trembling fingers he had typed an answer, one word, three letters, a simple affirmation.

He tried to be quick, direct and concise; searching the deepest corners of his mind for the answer that could please you the most and immediately regretting the dry response.

But what had been done already wasn't something that should trouble his mind, even if it came to you, the person he craved to have by his side the most.

So, he had abandoned the mobile as soon as he stepped foot in the dance studio, leaving it screen against the couch in hopes that would soothe his anxious heart if only for long enough to enjoy his dancing.

Now that it buzzed with the call that could be the one he couldn't help but walk cautiously forward and take deep breaths before picking up.

"You're done with dance practice, right?" If he had ever wanted to get high on something, it was your voice, along with every single detail about you.

His lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Oh, so you do remember my number?"

A dry chuckle resonated on the line, forcing his mind to picture the scowl twisting the features of your beautiful face, portraying the guilt you never owned up to in front of him.

"Are you free?" Of course you would dodge his comment, but yet again, he couldn't bring himself to care, simply humming in affirmation.

"Okay, then see you in a bit."

Dumbfounded, an amused laugh found its way out of his lips. "Should I know what you mean by that?"

The harmless exasperation painted itself across your every word as you answered. "Do I really need to spell it out for you, Hwang?"

He was inexperienced when it came to love, very much so, but he was an expert when it came to you, always knowing what you meant, what you wanted, the things you needed.

Walking in the direction to your apartment he answered, "I'm afraid yes, I can't know what you mean if you don't explain it, now can I?"

You laughed annoyed, staying in silence for a moment; he couldn't have pushed things far enough yet, he could never, because you happened to love him just as much as he loved you.

"I miss you, okay? Happy now?"

"Very," he said, lips curling in a lovesick grin that shielded him even from the way you abruptly ended the call.

No matter how much you tried to walk away from him, suddenly cutting yourself from his life, you always came back, always stayed in the tiniest of details around him.

Perhaps that had been his mistake, to accept you even with that quirk of getting cold feet, because if only he had stopped it at once then it wouldn't have become a habit, a necessary routine.

But to love is to get tangled so awfully that you can't find your way out, only further falling into the mess of affection and longing.

The two of you just had your special way of working and tackling things, for instance, you hadn't talked to him for half a month and still your spare key remained under the pot of his favourite flower of yours.

Victory grin plastered on, he reached for the metal piece, opening the door of your apartment as if it were his very own home.

Alerted by his steps at the entrance you came to greet him, arms crossed over your chest as if to keep a final barrier between you and the man that owned your heart.

"I missed you too." Was the very first thing he said once he found your eyes staring right at his; it made you smile and he felt accomplished.

"Of course you did." His words melted you in an instant, making you move closer to him and take his hand in yours. "You always do."

And how could he not? How could he bring himself not to miss someone like you? Someone whose mere presence was intoxicating, seeping inside his muscles and veins, putting his being at ease.

Gently, he allowed the pads of his fingers to trace the outline of your nose, your lips, your chin, before leaning in towards you.

A firm hand against his chest stopped him on his track, causing a question to paint his face with confusion.

"You're all sweaty and you stink." You scrunched your nose adorably, as if actually bothered by his smell. "Go take a shower."

"But I want to kiss you first." A pout made his lips stand out, well aware that it sometimes worked wonders with convincing you.

"Nope, no kisses while you're all smelly." And just like that the both of you were back to normal, not caring to drag things for longer than they should with explanations or apologies that fell into deaf ears.

Against your petition he moved forward and embraced you in his arms, suddenly set on stone in making you squeal in complaint.

Moments later dragging you towards the bathroom despite the verbal refusal that didn't match with your eager steps trailing behind him.

Leaving his things forgotten on the entrance along with whatever fear he had harbored in his heart about this time being the time you would leave his side for good, he closed the bathroom door and kissed you.

Your lips felt unfairly soft against his, warm as a blanket that shielded people from every possible unfavorable outcome life could have prepared for them.

Sure hands moving to clasp on the hem of your shirt, slowly moving it upwards the further he got lost into the kiss.

Piece by piece he undressed the both of you until you were down to heart and soul, truths lying bare for eyes to pry and discover the biggest vulnerability in them.

Knowing the place as well enough as his own home, he turned around to set the water into the perfect temperature for the both of you, never cold.

Then he led you like you needed to be held, careful and attentive, eyes never leaving yours in a new attempt to learn every detail embedded in your pupils.

He turned you around, pressing your back against his chest and hugging you close until there was no space in between, his lips finding the way to your shoulder, pressing soft kisses meant to fix any remnants of doubt.

"Were you this touch deprived?" The amusement could be easily missed in between the calm of your voice that threatened to melt under his fingertips.

"Yes," he answered immediately, no time for thinking needed, "when it comes to you I'm always touch deprived, I can never get enough of you."

He couldn't be more honest even if he was asked to testify in court and make a pledge that allowed him to say nothing but the absolute truth, because he loved you with an intensity that sometimes could be mistaken as meek due to it's soft and innocent nature.

Hyunjin loved you the way someone loves something unobtainable, innocent and patiently, willing to wait entire lifetimes for stars to align and give him the pleasure of being in your presence.

Your hands moved to rest atop his where they were clasped together against your bare torso, thumbs escaping to rub soothing circles into your skin.

Trailing kisses up your neck he allowed himself to hope that every one of his touches reverberated with warmth all the way to your heart in the same fashion that yours did to him.

For you he would learn how to love properly, he would even understand to let go if that was what you truly wanted at some point in the future.

"I love you." The words felt like dripping honey as they slipped in between his lips for the very first time.

"I love you too," you answered, not even leaving time for him to panic at the sudden frankness with which his deepest sentiment had been revealed.

For a love like yours, he would always wait, always fight to make things better.

#straykidsland #kpop #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fic #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #hyunjin #skz hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #hyunjin fluff

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cappymightwrite · 3 years

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What are your thoughts on Ned Stark ?

Hi!

I have conflicted feelings on Ned. Probably just below Stannis, he's the Westerosi man most in need of therapy, in my opinion. Actually, that's an interesting comparison — Ned and Stannis, which I know has been commented on before. They're alike in many ways, in terms of reserve etc., which makes the fact that Robert saw Ned as his true brother all the more painful to Stannis (though of course this is never explicitly stated). But anyway, back to Ned.

There's certain things I struggle with in regards to Ned, even though I understand the reasoning behind his actions, or rather, inaction. So, it makes thinking back on him in a wholly positive and fond light somewhat difficult, as I suppose it must be for Sansa in a way, as well as for Jon, once his parentage is revealed. I don't wholly dislike him though, I actually value him a lot, I just take issue with:

Him never apparently trusting Catelyn enough to be honest about Jon's parentage (+ the way he avoids telling Jon, to some extent)

No matter how loving they were... there is this unresolved (and now forever unresolved) barrier at the heart of their relationship, an unequal exchange of trust, which was within Ned's power to lift, to make fully mutual. But he didn't. Now, he had his reasons, self-sacrificing and seemingly honourable as they may appear, and certainly the narrative required this secret to be kept. But even so, in terms of how I regard his character? It rubs me the wrong way because he never gave her the opportunity to sympathise and fully understand him, he cut himself off from that. And yeah, maybe it might not have improved Jon's situation all that much, but he never gave Cat the opportunity to think of him differently, in a way that wasn't dictated by the social mores of their world:

It had taken her a fortnight to marshal her courage, but finally, in bed one night, Catelyn had asked her husband the truth of it, asked him to his face.

That was the only time in all their years that Ned had ever frightened her. "Never ask me about Jon," he said, cold as ice. "He is my blood, and that is all you need to know. And now I will learn where you heard that name, my lady." She had pledged to obey; she told him; and from that day on, the whispering had stopped, and Ashara Dayne's name was never heard in Winterfell again.

Whoever Jon's mother had been, Ned must have loved her fiercely, for nothing Catelyn said would persuade him to send the boy away. It was the one thing she could never forgive him. She had come to love her husband with all her heart, but she had never found it in her to love Jon. She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned's sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him. Somehow that made it worse. – AGOT, Catelyn II

"It was the one thing she could never forgive him" — yeah, me too honey! Ok, sure, we don't know for sure if Cat might have "overlooked" Jon's uneasy place in their household "for Ned's sake", if she knew he was actually her nephew — the world would still believe him to be Ned's, so to outward appearances the awkwardness is still there. And yeah, we don't know if she could have "found it in her to love Jon", but the truth certainly would have made it far more likely! But Ned decided that it had to be this way, that only he could participate in carrying this secret. So, I hurt for Cat AND Jon really.

I get why he doesn't tell Jon the truth. I understand his warped logic, how the trauma of his past informs this sort of self-punishing mentality of I must keep this honourable promise made of love till the day I die even though to the outside world it will appear as a stain upon that very honour... and to punish myself further for failing Lyanna I will never unburden myself to anyone, this is my cross to bear alone. I understand that, it's very manpain-y. But the problem is... it doesn't just punish Ned, it punishes Cat and Jon, and his other children too! Because they are by no means blind to this elephant in the room of their parent's marriage, and it's hard to rationalise:

He looked at her uncomfortably. "My aunt Allyria says Lady Ashara and your father fell in love at Harrenhal—"

"That's not so. He loved my lady mother." – ASOS, Arya VIII

Your father loved your mother, but he also had a child with another woman, whose identity he would never talk about. Your father loved your mother, but his dedication to this secret ultimately trumped being fully honest and open with her. It's hard not to feel that Ned's present came second to making up for the "sins" of his past. This is why he desperately needed therapy, lol, because (to take a line from my Byronic Hero meta) Ned's "traumatic past informs his present life," and to the detriment of that present life and those present relationships as well. But hey, that's the tragedy.

Also, I think his whole I'll tell you the truth when I next see you to Jon is really sketchy, because when exactly might that be, Ned? An avoidance tactic if I ever saw one. But really, I don't think he'd be emotionally equipped to have that conversation anyway... he might have said he'd tell him someday, but deep down, I'm sure he hoped he may never have to. And then he conveniently dies, taking the secret with him (or so we think)!

Allowing the death of Lady

Bran's wolf had saved the boy's life, he thought dully. What was it that Jon had said when they found the pups in the snow? Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord. And he had killed Sansa's, and for what? Was it guilt he was feeling? Or fear? If the gods had sent these wolves, what folly had he done? – AGOT, Eddard IV

"And for what?" Yes, quite. I don't really have much to say on this... I think this passage speaks for itself. There's probably some other things I could talk about, but those are my main two gripes.

That being said... what I value about Ned are his words of wisdom

The thing about Ned, for me, is that despite the unmaliciously meant pain he inflicts on his loved ones (which I do understand the reasoning behind, the trauma that informs it etc)... he's still ultimately a figure of hope to me, a notably flawed, but no less significant, ideal within the narrative too. And I think you need that — we need the memory of Ned as readers, and so do the Starklings. So, I love him more for what he represents, rather than his parenting and lacklustre husbanding skills. I value the fundamental truths he emphasises through his words, and the legacy of those words, embodied within his children.

For example:

"Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm. Septa Mordane is a good woman, and Sansa… Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you… and I need both of you, gods help me." – AGOT, Arya II

Honestly, people can "squabble" about which Stark sibling is more important, more this, more that, till the cows come home. But that's what it is... "squabbles", and it misses the mark completely about why the Starks are the heart of the series. They are the Starks, plural. They may be different from one another, but they are "pack", and come winter, (TWOW, to be exact), once reunited they will "protect one another, keep each other warm, share [their] strengths", because those are the values Ned taught them.

These are the things to remember, despite all the hellishness. This is why Ned's death wasn't in vain, it wasn't an edgy twist, or the first whiff of grimdark... because his legacy didn't end with him, it lives on, it is felt throughout the series, right up until the most recent book:

"Be that as it may. My father sat where I sit now when Lord Eddard came to Sisterton. Our maester urged us to send Stark's head to Aerys, to prove our loyalty. It would have meant a rich reward. The Mad King was open-handed with them as pleased him. By then we knew that Jon Arryn had taken Gulltown, though. Robert was the first man to gain the wall, and slew Marq Grafton with his own hand. 'This Baratheon is fearless,' I said. 'He fights the way a king should fight.' Our maester chuckled at me and told us that Prince Rhaegar was certain to defeat this rebel. That was when Stark said, 'In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true… but what if we prevail?' My father sent him on his way with his head still on his shoulders. 'If you lose,' he told Lord Eddard, 'you were never here.'" – ADWD, Davos I

I love this line so much, and I love that it comes from Ned, that just as we are gearing up to head into the darkest parts of the series (because Winds is apparently going to be very dark)... we have this light, this hope, this "what if we prevail?" And it's connected to this repeated refrain about the certainty of winter — "in this world only winter is certain" vs. "winter is coming" — which is closely tied to Ned as a character. So, yes, "winter is coming", but don't be decieved into thinking that that spells disaster, that no warmth can be found, for there is always darkness before the dawn, just as there is always a winter before the spring... and in the winter the wolves shall "keep each other warm", they will "prevail."

In conclusion

Whatever his flaws and mistakes, and there are several, at the end of the day... I will love Ned for giving us hope, for reminding the readers, and characters, of what is really important — to take strength from your loved ones, to give them strength in return, and to not give into despair, no matter how harshly the snows might fall and white winds blow. Yes, it's not certain whether they'll live, but likewise, it's not certain whether they'll die either... and that's where you find the hope, the light against the grim dark.

So, for me, he's a character who makes my heart sink, but then he makes it swell again. That's the duality, and it's a choice which you put most stock in... I'll choose the hope he inspires every time ;)

#ned stark #eddard stark #cappy's thoughts #starklings #anti grimdark all the way babeyyyy

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mxgilray · 3 years

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Loki Season 1 Thoughts

Overall, I really liked this series. It has some issues without question, but I sincerely don't think it's the dumpster fire so many viewers on this site treat it as. Did it go how I expected? Not at all? Did I enjoy the heck out of it and look forward to it every Wednesday? Hell yeah!

Loki's Good Guy Personality

A big complaint many have had with it is how much Loki's demeanor has changed and how his emotional growth feels rushed or his personality is ooc. Truth is, he saw his entire future, saw what his angry, power hungry, I-work-alone persona would get him in the end, and it snapped him back to reality. He has always been shown to be quite emotional and craving attention and lacking in self assurance, it's just in the past movies he's masked it with violence and fake narcissism, and he's always been a secondary character so his perspective is rarely shown. But if you really pay attention it's obvious he isn't truly villainous; we all know that, it's largely why he has such a huge fan base.

Right after meeting Mobius, Loki got an infodump of his future, saw his parents both die, found out that free will means jack shit, and learned he's absolutely powerless in this realm. On top of that, this is 2012 Loki, fresh off of being under Thanos' control, suddenly being shown that the guy who controlled him is going to end up killing him. Frankly,, I think it all broke Loki. He was too shook up by it all and by the sheer helplessness he found himself in at the TVA that he let all his barriers down momentarily. Just long enough for him to open up to Mobius about his motivation and his lack of self confidence. And you know what I bet? Loki felt relieved after talking to Mobius. A weight was lifted, because he bore his heart to someone and wasn't rejected or laughed at or treated like a psycho. And after letting his walls down fully, Loki didn't feel the need to put all of them back up. He stayed guarded around other people, but he didn't need to pretend around Mobius. Mobius has seen under the mask, so Loki doesn't feel pressure to perform as an all knowing, all powerful God around Mobius. That freedom is life changing.

People who gravitate towards broken, pseudo-villain characters do so because we relate to their internal conflict, their mental illness, their need to fake it around everyone close to them. Their turmoil and depression and self destructive behavior are familiar and we see ourselves reflected in their actions. Now, when a person really truly let's their guard down, drops all their layers of facade, and embraces themself, they tend to change demeanor and even personality pretty drastically. It's jarring in real life, so of course when it happens to a fictional character who you usually relate to it is going to be jarring, maybe even more so because it feels like a change you yourself would never go through. I know this sounds bad and people might get at me for it, but...

I believe the issue here is that a large part of Loki's fan base doesn't want him to get better. They don't want him to move past his mental illness, to learn how to cope with anger and disappointment in healthier ways, to be happy. They like his damaged persona, they like the internal conflict. Maybe it's because they're still at that low place themself and feel like a relatable character is getting taken away from them, maybe it's because they don't understand how much being at peace with yourself can alter a person and to them it feels like he's been changed too much. To those of us mostly on the up and up from battling depression and mental illness, it's comforting to see Loki getting a chance to be genuinely happy and accepting of himself.

Sylki and Lokius

First things first, I'm not anti anything. Ship what you want, idc. Personally, I do not see the Sylki dynamic as romantic, but I get why people read it that way. I thought the series did a good job of showing unrequited love, namely Loki falling for Sylvie and Sylvie feeling zero romance towards him. This was aware of his attraction and in the end used it as a distraction so she could get the upper hand. The show played up the potential romance because we are viewing things from Loki's perspective and he's become smitten as a kitten. I do think in the long run they'll have a more sibling-like dynamic, one Loki realizes that you can feel extreme love and care for a person without it being romantic. I enjoyed how the show explored their relationship, though I do wish they hadn't had every character under the sun mention their moment on Lamentis-1 like it was some big deal to bond with someone you're about to die with.

I'm bitter towards the development of Lokius. It had a strong start in the beginning, and in ep 5 had some potential reignited, but then they had Mobius not know who Loki is at the end. I'm still hoping they're playing the long game with this ship and that it'll come to fruition partway through season 2. The chemistry is there, and Mobius knows Loki very intimately and isn't put off by his past. Loki also feels much more at ease around Mobius than he does around Sylvie. It's the comfort of a deep loving bond with Mobius verses the nervousness of a new crush that he feels for Sylvie.

I don't think Loki is quite aware of his feelings for Mobius, simply because it's based in friendship and mutual respect and isn't a hot and heavy lust. Plus, as soon as he was away from Mobius he was thrown into a near death experience with Sylvie and developed a surface crush during their heart to heart. Since Loki's still figuring out what genuine feelings are beyond anger and sadness, he sees the simplistic crush he has on Sylvie as love and the intimate bond he's been forming with Mobius as friendship. He doesn't understand his own feelings yet, but I think he'll figure it out next season. I mean, he was probably already rethinking his feelings for her after she kissed and betrayed him, mentally kicking himself for expecting her to not pull a Loki betrayal like he would've in the past.

The Time Variance Authority

I really like the concept of the TVA, the structure of it, the methods they use, the deeply fucked way they recruit employees, the cult like motto, shady Miss Minutes who is definitely playing her own long game, and the blind acceptance TVA agents have of the Time Keepers' will. It's all very well done... until your dig into the core, aka He Who Remains. They built up the idea that the Time Keepers created the TVA to prevent a multiverse war and that they created agents to enforce their will. Then the creating agents turned out to be fake, the Time Keepers were fake, I expected the reason for the TVA's existence to be fake to. It felt too simple to have it genuinely exist just to keep the multiverse in check. Why the anonymity, unless it's to keep from having agents target and prune versions of himself which.. songs like a decent solution. HWR made it sound as though the multiverse war was just a bunch of versions of himself screwing shit up, so why isn't the TVA's focus on eradicating every other variant of this guy? Sounds a lot easier and nicer than fucking with the free will of every other living being. So either Marvel made a bad call when choosing what HWR's motive was for creating the TVA, or he was lying about it all to cover up something sinister.

Overall Storyline

I'm fairly happy with the plot as a whole. There were some pacing issues and I think a few missed chances for deeper conversations between various characters. While I enjoyed the Loki variants, I honestly would've been happier seeing Tom playing most the variants (except Kid Loki and Classic Loki since they are clearly different age ranges). If there is supposed to be one sacred timeline, it seems off to me that Lokis would be allowed to vary so extremely without it causing a nexus event(an alligator, whose nexus wasn't that he's an animal who obviously can't do any magic much less command Thanos' army, but that he ate someone's cat) and not just in appearance but in life path (ie boastful Loki collected all the infinity stones but it wasn't till he had 6 that he caused a nexus event even though him gaining control of the Soul, Power, and Time stones should've each caused nexus events since on the sacred timeline he never interacts with those 3 and taking any one of them would've fucked up a lot of other timeline parts)

I love the display of Lokis raw power, and 2012 Loki coming to the realization that he's way more powerful than he ever thought. And it wasn't just Classic Loki who spent thousands of years alone honing his skills, 2012 Loki reversed time on a goddamn falling building! I also liked the small magic, the fireworks, the tablecloth blanket, Loki yanking Sylvie away from HWR with just magic.

As someone who is both bisexual and genderfluid, I would've really loved more concrete representation. The comment about there never being another female Loki hit me in the gut; it undermined the Easter egg "Sex: Fluid" on Loki's TVA file. With how big a deal Sylvie being female was made out to be throughout the season, I expected her gender to play a key role in taking down the head of the TVA, like it was foretold that only a female Loki could end it all or some shit.

I don't mind the idea of Loki finding love in a straight passing relationship. I don't even mind the selfcest all that much. It just feels so obvious to me that Sylvie is written as not having any romantic inclination towards Loki, while Mobius is clearly written as falling in love with someone he shouldn't and trying to maintain an heir of professionalism to keep from wrecking his bond with Loki. I really really hope they come through on season 2 and give Lokius the canon relationship and proper representation they deserve.

Mmkay I thinks that's all the thoughts I've got right now. If you've been feeling cheated or clowned by how things went this season, maybe my perspective of things can help ease your pain.

#loki spoilers #loki series #loki #mobius m mobius #sylvie laufeydottir #lokius #sylki #tva loki #time variance authority #marvel #mcu

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roguishredaxion · 3 years

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My BnHA AU List

Sorry for the length. Fics that are currently available to read have links. To those of you mentioned in this post, I wanted to make sure people knew where the ideas originally came from. (And you’re all awesome anyway!)

Can't See The Forest For The Trees - Genderbent Midoriya Izuku who became a vigilante known as the Forest in Musutafu. Has been operating for five years dealing mostly with information gathering and dispersal and some smaller situations that crop up on the streets. Todoroki Shouto is on patrol in the area and takes an interest in the unknown vigilante after she helps out with a situation where he got in over his head. AO3

A Piece of Patchwork (Improperly Placed) - AU where Izuku and Aizawa swap places in canon. Izuku fights the hero system to become the first quirkless hero, graduating alongside Present Mic. He gets called in to help in a situation where the villain has the ability to steal quirks, five years before the start of canon, providing part of the back-up team for All Might. Part 1 is the battle against All for One, part 2 is an alternate ending to the fight. Part 3 is Izuku learning to use One for All, which was forcefully given to him by All Might at the end of the battle. Part 4 is the other half of the role swap, where Aizawa grows up alongside Bakugou and is trying to get into UA. AO3

The Fallacy of Greatness (AKA Tenth, in my files) - AU where the whole first year class of UA in canon is born 4 years later than in canon. All Might encounters a 10 year old Izuku who asks if he can be a hero. Even after rescuing Bakugou and proving his heroic spirit, All Might elects not to give One for All to a child as young as Izuku. Izuku, desperate for someone to believe in his dreams, realizes that he has to be his first believer and decides to take matters into his own hands and prepare for a future in heroism on his own. AO3

The Capture Scarf Caper - Based on an idea from @terrible-my-hero-academia-aus Izuku finds Aizawa's capture scarf discarded in an alley and takes it home. He figures out how to use it and becomes so proficient that it accidentally gets mistaken for a quirk. Deciding to capitalize on the strange bias he's come up against, he uses the capture scarf to get into Class 1-A. Unfortunately, this means his teacher is the original owner of his scarf. Suddenly his deception is a lot more desperate and precarious. Meanwhile, Aizawa is trying to figure out why his instincts are telling him to pay such close attention to this anxious kid. AO3

The Better Part of Valor - Suspected Traitor Izuku AU a la @gentrychild. After Aizawa discovers one of Izuku's hero analysis notebooks, he drags Izuku to an interrogation room trying to get him to confess to being the traitor in UA. Izuku comes to realize that several of his classmates were also made aware of this theory and have been feeding information on his movements to their teacher for a while. Betrayed, he starts to pull away from class, falling back into some of the same habits from middle school to go unnoticed and fall off of people's awareness. At some point, his classmates realize that he's no longer staying in the dorms, they only ever see him in class, and All Might is the only person he will voluntarily interact with.

Civil Disobedience - All Might doesn't track Izuku down after the slime incident, but Bakugou's parting words cut far deeper after the day he's had. Realizing that everyone talks about how great of a hero Bakugou will be, Izuku comes to the conclusion that he wants to be the exact opposite of what Bakugou is. He elects to become a villain who goes after and exposes corrupt heroes. Adopting the username Wasureta for his villain work, he collects information on heroes who aren't performing their job as they should and releases it to the court of public opinion, taking away the support that has kept them from being exposed before this. As he digs deeper into the cesspool of rotten heroes, he manages to collect enough information to rake Endeavor over the coals and ends up with an interesting new follower. Dabi, meanwhile, is shocked by the ruthless but polite teenager he found when he tried to find Wasureta and he's not sure if he's impressed by what the kid has accomplished on his own, or horrified by the scope of what he controls.

Hunting Prometheus - There is another quirkless student attending Aldera Middle School, but she wasn't born that way unlike Izuku. When she was seven, her quirk was stolen from her by a man with a smooth voice and a forgettable face and she's been existing in a state of carefully cultivated rage since that day. Before, she never even considered becoming a hero. Now her only goal is to become a hero so she can find that man and punch him in the face. (OC fic, obviously)

Lost Stars in an Indifferent Universe - Leverage AU, five parts, origin for each member of the team. Izuku is told to be realistic and he tries to be following his disastrous encounter with All Might. But realistic means that he has already exceeded the life expectancy of quirkless individuals, acknowledging the fact that no amount of studying or work will let him join a remotely helpful career, and he is stuck living with his mother while he wastes away as a janitor at a nearby middle school following the completion of his high school education. When he returns to a tall building he hadn't managed to convince himself to jump off of yet, he finds that the abandoned space has been taken over by a black market of sorts and gets folded into a world of grey morals and an underground economy based on merit instead of quirk. When he becomes aware of an illegal quirk experimentation operation and tries to blow the whistle, several attempts are made on his life in order to shut him up. Instead of disappearing, he gets angry and decides to collect a team to strike back and prove the shady shit the lab is up to. (Izuku=Mastermind, Shinsou=Grifter, Hatsume=Hacker, Shoji=Hitter, Eri=Thief)

Love and Other Things Not Bound By the Laws of Time - Mr. Peabody and Sherman AU. Nezu adopts a young Midoriya Izuku whose mother died shortly after he was diagnosed as quirkless. Determined to show his new son that one's quirk or lack thereof means nothing in the grand scheme of things, UA's principal develops the WABAC machine to travel through time and prove just how capable people were before quirks manifested. He indulges Izuku's passion and curiosity, encouraging him to look into as much or as little as he wants on any subject. It becomes clear that, while not supernaturally intelligent, Izuku is a genius whose ability to make connections and strategize is by far his greatest asset, especially as he still holds onto the goal of becoming a hero.

The Quiet Revolution (collab w/ my sister) - The Todoroki siblings need therapy. Instead of getting that therapy, they decide to meet up for dinner every Saturday night, begin a tradition where they burn their father in effigy each week, accidentally start a highly successful Minecraft YouTube channel, and generally cause the downfall of the existing hero system through the power of networking.

You Can Tell What I Am By The Lines In My Skin - BnHA/Naruto AU. Naruto dies in his own universe and is reborn into the My Hero Academia Universe as Midoriya Izuku. He remembers who he was, but his chakra, which followed him into this life, is always out of reach. He trains as best he can to keep up his regular ninja skills but can't break through the barrier separating him from his chakra. He still meets and trains under All Might. When he receives One for All, however, the sensation that fills him is entirely familiar. It breaks through the barrier as though it isn't even there, and settles inside like it's always been there. Honestly, he had been missing the angry furball anyway, so he was glad Kurama managed to follow him to this world. With access to his chakra again, the world is about to discover just how effective one shinobi can be in a world of heroes.

War Games - (Inspired by RogueDruid's Hero Class Civil Warfare and others similarly inspired by it.) A year-wide hero class exercise is announced. Bakugou is announced as the Hero leader while the villain leader's identity is kept secret. Izuku knows it's him before the letter appears in his room. The students are allowed to pick whichever side they want, but most choose the hero side, which has won the exercise every time it has been run. This year is no different. Todoroki realizes that Izuku is the villain leader and signs up with him. Izuku goes and recruits Momo and Monoma to his side. Then, after consulting the rules, he folds in Shinsou and Hatsume as well. Monoma plays decoy villain leader and attempts to collect a few more people, but they've already signed up for the hero side. Izuku, without explicitly saying that he's signed up with the hero team, gets folded into the hero strategy sessions since no one expected him to make a different choice. He proceeds to get "taken out" in the first villain assault, and most people don't realize what's happening until it's far too late.

Life's A Game (And I'm Player One) - AU in which Izuku realizes that he does have a quirk but can't tell anyone about it because a) he can't prove it and b) it could be dangerous if he talks about what he can see. His quirk, which he privately calls Stat Check, freezes time just for him in order to open up what looks like a video game character bio that explains a person's quirk, as well as containing vital statistics. It only works in person or on unaltered photographs with a person's face or a distinctive enough feature to identify them. As he gets older, more tabs are added to the bio, and he starts to notice signs above certain people's heads telling him what level he needs to be to fight them (he stops seeing these after receiving OfA, until he sees AfO in Kamino Ward). In pictures, only the first tab is available unless he took the picture while time was frozen, in which case all the tabs are accessible. Because of this, he has accordion folders filled with photographs of people instead of analysis notebooks.

Of Unpainted Fences and Raw Ingredients - Smart Izuku AU. He has been writing essays about hero society, morality, and several other issues since before UA, but he doesn't realize how much people are paying attention to them until the essays start becoming required reading for certain classes. Meanwhile, the teachers are desperate to get in contact with him, not expecting that the essayist they have been gushing over is sitting near the back of the class, trying not to blush.

In A Mirror Darkly - Aizawa is out on patrol with Shinsou and Midoriya when they are attacked and the boys are apparently obliterated by an enemy quirk. The rest of the class attempts to help Aizawa, but he blames himself for their deaths. It doesn't help that he keeps seeing flashes of them in the mirror out of the corner of his eye and could swear he heard one or both of their voices in the middle of the night. Meanwhile, Shinsou and Midoriya are stuck out of sync with the rest of the universe and can't communicate with anyone except Aizawa, and only through mirrors. Izuku figured out that they have maybe two weeks before they waste away since they can't interact with anything being stuck in this in-between space. The only way they can get out is for Aizawa, who was there when they de-synced, to touch them and bring them back in sync with the rest of the world.

Guerilla Tactics - Vigilante Class 1-A AU. After the slime villain debacle, Izuku runs away from Bakugou and the heroes. He literally runs into Todoroki Shouto and they commiserate about how the heroes have failed them. Realizing a bit late exactly who Shouto's father is and why he's trying to run away, Izuku offers to come up with a plan to help him get away cleanly. (This is sort of the worst timeline, where most of the good teachers aren't employed at UA, Nezu is not the principal, and the HPSC is in charge of almost everything.) The plan they come up with involves Shouto failing the recommended exam, then disappearing the day results arrive home. Izuku, meanwhile, attends the regular exam and sees how the whole points system benefits those with flashier quirks and easily aimed egos. He gets to talking with a lot of hero hopefuls and sort of steals them out from under UA when their applications are rejected. They move into an abandoned sector of outer Tokyo and start working as vigilantes. Dadzawa makes an appearance, as if summoned by the horde of teenagers with no form of parental guidance to speak of.

No Rest for the Wicked (Or The Damned) - Person Of Interest AU. Instead of apologizing to Izuku when he asked if he could still be a hero without a quirk, Inko points out the other ways he can be a hero, by building the things they would need to fight crime. Figuring that one of the main problems with villains is that no one knows when they're going to attack, Izuku creates an intelligent program that can assess a high volume of data and extrapolate when and where a villain attack will take place, and who the villain will be. When his mom is killed and he's badly injured in an attack his AI predicted, Izuku realizes that no one is taking his information seriously because he's quirkless. He decides to take matters into his own hands and reaches out to an unlikely helper. Dabi doesn't know why this kid decided he was the best option to stop a lot of the more violent crime he somehow knows is going to happen, but he promised and then delivered Endeavor's fall from grace, so he's willing to see where this goes.

Binary Stars - Slight Megamind AU. Before their respective planets were destroyed, Izuku and Bakugou were placed in small space pods and sent towards Earth. Bakugou's people were warriors who looked enough like humans that they intermarried (unbeknownst to humans), thus bringing about the first quirks. Izuku's people, however, are survivors. Their planet was populated by predators so their greatest asset was their ability to camouflage themselves. As Bakugou's people often hunted Izuku's people, they gained a sort of sixth sense for them, which is why Izuku's very presence pisses Bakugou off. (All for One is from Bakugou's planet. He was exiled for stealing power. The last power he stole was what he gave his brother, and the brother always resented him for getting them both sent away.) Izuku still receives OfA, and is the first of his species to have a quirk/power like that.

The Wings of Icarus - Spy AU. Todoroki Shouto works for Yuuei, an espionage agency run by his father. He's been training practically since birth, no thanks to his father, and is second in the spy business only to a person known as Icarus. When something goes wrong on a mission, he is rescued by a short man with freckles and deep green eyes shortly before he passes out. He is found at one of the entrances to Yuuei with a note from Icarus to the tune of "I think you lost this", making Shouto the only person to have actually seen Icarus. Meanwhile, Nezu is running a small but successful info brokerage out of a bakery with three kids he picked up off the streets years before: Izuku, Shinsou, and Hatsume. Codenames: Icarus, Psyche, and Daedalus, respectively. Nezu is known as Zeus.

Dark is the Night (Momo is Batman: version 1) - Based on an idea from @terrible-my-hero-academia-aus . Momo loses her parents in a villain attack when she's eight. She throws herself into her studies in earnest, determined to be a hero. In the meantime, however, she has a hard time ignoring all of the hardship she sees on the streets, all of the crimes that go unanswered. However, to duck the vigilantism laws and disguise her identity, she wears a suit that covers every part of her body (think Cassandra Cain as Batgirl) because no one would assume that someone with a creation quirk that needed exposed skin to function was under it. She produces everything she needs at home. Aizawa notices that there's someone off about Yaomomo, something fake. It isn't until he runs into her on patrol that he figures something out.

Used to the Darkness (Momo is Batman: version 2) - Based on an idea from @terrible-my-hero-academia-aus . Bruce Wayne was reincarnated as Yaoyorozu Momo. She remembers everything about her previous life, but she has adapt all of the fighting training she knows to her new female body. The intelligence and detective skills are useful in this new world, especially since a good portion of logic and deduction has fallen by the wayside for the majority of those in law enforcement. The quirk is something else to get used to, but it's highly effective at producing materials of various things needed for vigilantism. She's interested to see how far she can take the limits of the superpower this universe had given her. At the very least, she's more than capable of recreating the gear she had. Even though her parents haven't died in this universe, she still ends up going out at night and trying to help in whatever way she can. Upon meeting and befriending Todoroki Shouto, she realizes the good she can be in this universe. She attacked the corruption in Gotham wherever she could. Why shouldn't she be able to do the same here? The night is still dark and the people who hide in it are the same cowards they've always been. It's about time someone reminded them that the dark hides more than just their actions.

A Rose By Any Other Name (AKA the Haruhi AU) - Based on a prompt found on @rayshippouuchiha‘s blog. Midoriya Izumi is having trouble staying in uniform after starting middle school because her bullies have decided to step up the abuse a little bit and keep burning them. She had three sets of uniforms, and all three are burned by the third day of classes. What's more, the nurse doesn't have any spare girls uniforms and her teacher insists that she needs to be in uniform and not in her gym outfit. Since the nurse does have a boys uniform that would fit her, Izumi elects to follow her teacher's instructions and shows up in a boys uniform as she doesn't care as much about the clothes she's wearing as she does about following what her teacher said. Cue a gender identity crisis. AO3

Nothing But The Truth - Izuku is hit by a truth quirk while out on patrol and Aizawa is made to babysit him until it wears off. Although he tries to avoid more sensitive lines of questioning, Aizawa asks about his analysis notebooks and ends up accidentally learning about One For All, Izuku's life prior to receiving it, and what his Problem Child's true goals regarding heroism are. (Might become a series with this as a oneshot, or a multi-chapter story as originally planned.)

Panacea - Izuku has a hidden quirk his whole life, one that people didn't even consider could be a quirk. He has a super-powered immune system, and it can and will treat damaging quirks as an infection to fight. His burns from Bakugou's quirk heal faster and faster, emitter quirks used on him start to be less effective after the first couple of times until they don't work at all. He has the ultimate cure in his blood and no way to share it. And then he receives One For All, a powerful stockpiling quirk with a secondary aspect that makes it capable of passing from person to person regardless of heritage. Izuku doesn't realize it, but his invisible quirk got a free pass to start changing the world, one touch at a time. (Possible Dad For One) (Just had the stupid thought that Izuku's quirk is basically Cure For All)

Prototype - While getting scolded after the Slime Villain incident, an underground hero known as Prototype shows up and forces the other pros on the scene to back off. They then walk Izuku home (accidentally forcing him to miss All Might's offer). During the walk, Izuku confesses that he is giving up on his dream of being a hero since everyone says it's impossible. Prototype points out that Izuku was the only one on the scene who was thinking about a solution from more than one angle, which is a useful skill for an underground hero to have. They offer to take him on as their apprentice in the underground, promising that if he still wants to be a hero, an apprenticeship would be more flexible and faster than trying to become a hero through one of the heroics schools. They advise Izuku to think about it and discuss it with his mom, since he would probably be spending a lot of time training out of the house and not every parent is willing to let their child basically move in with someone they barely know. Izuku, after talking things over with his mom, decides to go for it, embarking on a totally different journey to being a hero than he ever expected.

Yesterday's Sunshine (A Storm On The Rise) - Based on @hey-hamlet's End of An Era AU in which the mind of a 19 year old Izuku fighting a losing battle against Paranormal Liberation Front and the League of Villains is sent back to his 14 year old body, a mere month after he started training with All Might. He is traumatized and trying to hide the fact that he is shocked to see the people he knows died walking around again, untouched and whole. He's determined to make everything better this time, to keep his loved ones from dying or betraying him in the worst ways. He also needs to try and stay ahead of the people around him, who are trying to figure out why this child who shouldn't have encountered many villains in his life, is so terrifyingly good at putting them down hard. (I'm considering adding an aspect of DFO.)

Searching for Tododeku - Or Five Times Shouto Tricks Midoriya Into A Date and One Time Midoriya Asks Him Instead. Featuring semi oblivious Izuku, Shouto stealth-competing for the title of supreme memelord with Kaminari, and a cameo of Endeavor's crippling addiction to tabloid magazines.

Planar Shift - An All For One-Izuku body swap just weeks prior to a fight that would have left AFO and All Might both greviously injured. Izuku is quick to realize that the person he ended up in doesn't seem to be a nice person (and he tries not to think about what it would mean if the person is in his body around Kacchan) and has a lot more quirks than a person should have. His childhood doctor is there, as is a strange boy with delicate skin, a disintegration quirk, and a love of video games but little else. Then there's the purple mist person who reads as both alive and dead to one of Izuku's new quirks. When he figures out that All Might is trying to track this villain down (and will probably think it's a trick if Izuku tries to explain his situation), he decides that he should get himself, the kid, and the not-dead-but-not-alive person out of there. He doesn't know how long he's going to be in this body, but he wants to be the hero those two need, even if he's technically a villain.

Environmental Damage - Hitman Izuku AU. When Izuku's mother is killed when he's young, he manages to track down the killer but the police won't take him seriously because he's quirkless. Neither will any of the heroes he approached with it. So instead he goes back to the criminal underground where he found most of his information and talks to an assassin who had a soft spot for him. Izuku agreed to become the man's apprentice so he can take out the person who killed his mother himself. After that, he starts selling his services to people who can't get out of bad situations, offering a much reduced rate compared to other contract killers. Then a kid his age with red and white hair approaches him about killing the Number Two hero.

Summertime and Seaglass - Aizawa keeps running into this mute homeless kid on his patrols. He's not sure what to make of him, except that he needs someone to care for him, especially as the nights are getting colder. Treating the kid a bit like an abused and feral cat, he starts taking food with him to offer the kid when they meet up. It's more or less an accident when he learns the kid's name is Midoriya Izuku, a child thought to be dead and burned three years before when he and his mother were caught in a villain attack that was ended violently by Endeavor. Aizawa wants to give Midoriya and all of the other victims of Endeavor's carelessness the justice they deserve, and maybe by the time he's done the kid will let him bring him in from the cold.

The Importance of Being Batman - (Based on an idea from @terrible-my-hero-academia-aus .) Izuku spends a lot of time on forums for quirkless people, getting support and advice from other people like him who don't have a quirk. He gets the attention of an old Admin, Toshinori, and they talk about heroics, pre-quirk comic books, and the importance of representation and symbols in modern media and culture. After failing to get into heroics in the entrance exam, Izuku shifts his focus slightly. Batman didn't have any special powers in the comics, but he was one of the best heroes in his universe. Izuku decides that if he can build the skills, knowledge and (most importantly) money to become his own version of Batman, that would be almost like being a hero. It's time that society learns that 'useless' is a matter of choice, not birth, and even someone who doesn't have a quirk can do incredible things.

#MHA AUs #BnHA AUs #My AUs #BnHA AU list #MHA AU list #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #fanfiction #my fanfic ideas

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citiesalight-writes · 3 years

Link

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Characters: 31 (Original Male Character/Danny Phantom Clone), Guys In White

Rating: G

Tags & Warnings: Science Experiments, Cloning

Summary: Waking up suspended in green is not something he felt should be happening, but it was all he'd known. Everything he'd known came to him from nowhere, the ether, given meaning through an unknown source. But even this mysterious well of knowledge left some questions unanswered.

Based on @13thcat‘s Danny Phantom 31 AU

---

His first taste of consciousness was brief. Weightless, harsh light bleeding through his eyelids, sounds he couldn’t yet understand.

“Sir, we’re detecting an increase in brain activity in the cerebral cortex and thalamus.”

“Subject’s heart rate has also increased. We believe it m…”

His mind faded back into darkness.

The second and third times were much the same; his consciousness barely able to cling to awareness for more than a few seconds. Hearing the same muttering voices as before, he felt his mind stir briefly before slipping back under.

However, the fourth time things began to change. His mind managed to shake off the deep fog, and awoke to the same weightlessness he’d come to recognize, the same bright lights, the same distorted noises; all things that he couldn’t quite comprehend. Summoning his limited energy, his heavy eyelids fluttered open and he took his first look at the world.

It was blurry; tinted green.

His brow furrowed. What was green?

He didn’t understand where this knowledge came from; mind producing the word without a clear point of origin.

Movement caught his attention, pulling him out of his mind. Shadows— people, his mind supplied—rushed around; the warped sounds increasing as they scrambled.

“Sir! The subject appears to be awake!”

“Status?”

“Oxygen levels and blood pressure stable.”

“No signs of cellular decay.”

“The ectoplasmic to fluid ratio appears to have zero negative effect.”

One of the figures walked forward, a blur of white and brown. It bent down, eyes meeting his own, but still too blurry to be clear.

“Hope this one can hold itself together then.”

His eyes darted around, new instincts screaming at him to not allow a single shadow out of his sight. The noise levels rose as more and more of the white blurs scattered around. It was so much—too much; his mind trying to keep up with the unfamiliar and oh so new sensory inputs bombarding him.

“Subject’s heart rate is spiking! Sir! Destabilization risk rapidly increased to 37%.”

“Sedate it, agent! If all we have to show for our effort is another puddle of slime the Commander will have our heads!”

“Yes sir, injecting sedative.”

He felt fuzzy as the green surrounding him pulsed brightly—turning a vivid neon before he faded back into the darkness.

“The subject appears to be conscious again, sir...”

He wasn’t sure how long he had been unconscious, but the thing that roused him made his face scrunch up in confusion…or was it disgust? He could taste something...bitter? The word came from nowhere, but it felt right, somehow. Something was bitter, but not unbearably so. The new sensory input probably had way more to do with waking him than the taste itself had.

He tried to open his eyes once again, but the next words stopped him cold. A sense of...something rushing up his body like a chill.

“Put it back under, we don’t want to risk any complications at this late of a stage.”

He understood. Somehow his brain linked the sounds to words with meanings, slotting them into his mind like a puzzle he didn’t know he had the answers to.

He understood, but his mind was still slow to grasp what they meant. Any attempt to try and string the meanings together into something that made sense was brought to a halt by a pulse of light before he was yet again pulled back under the haze of unconsciousness. But for the first time, he was looking forward to waking up again.

The cycle repeated. Drift into consciousness, listen to what the figures were saying, maybe even discover some new sense or word before he was sedated and the process began anew.

Although the green tint still persisted, his vision had cleared somewhat. Eyes now able to see, every person that crossed his field of view was unique yet similar. Each wore long light green coats, those with longer hair had it tied up and out of the way, and many wore glasses. They all had one thing in common though; dark bruising shadows under their eyes.

Strange…

The (shadow?....no that was a person...) person that caught his eye most was the one referred to as Sir. Their lab coat was rumpled, long brown hair wrapped in a messy bun. Their most noticeable feature was the muddy brown squares always seeming to slide down their nose that did nothing to hide the dark circles bruising their eyes.

He’d figured this was probably the person in charge. He also thought they should probably be the one sleeping instead of him. He didn’t understand why he thought these things.

During his stretches of awareness in the cyclical dance of sleeping and waking, he realized a few things. One; his word comprehension had improved leaps and bounds, mind no longer lagging behind as he listened in on the chatter around him. Two, he had more knowledge about the world than he knew to do with, words and tastes and concepts he couldn’t place an origin to flitted about in his mind. It was strange to him, but he didn’t understand why.

According to the scientists whose bags were almost as deep as Sir’s, he should be ready for the “final check” within the week, “so long as no more complications arise”. He didn’t know what that meant, but he’d overheard them talking about a procedure. He was to be kept awake for longer and longer durations as they monitored his vitals, all to ensure there would be no issues.

Even with this knowledge, waking up to the green tint—the light and color that always surrounded him (ectoplasmic fluid he’d heard someone say)—being drained from the world around him was jarring. It made him feel a slight twist in his chest, and he didn’t know why.

He blinked, once...twice, and then the feeling of weightlessness left him.

He fell.

The instant his feet touched the ground, his arms shot out to try and steady himself. He collided with a clear barrier—glass? He was in a tube—doing nothing as his legs gave out from under him. Thick liquid bubbled up his throat, his body thrown into a coughing fit as lungs worked to expel the bitter green goo from his airways. After a few tense moments of wheezing, he finally was able to take in greedy lungfuls of air. He was still adjusting to the shift in perspective, and had to close his eyes when a warm clear liquid—water, perhaps?—started spraying him from above. He heard his breathing rattle his chest as he felt the shower wash away the last of the green solution he’d been submerged in.

In, out. He wondered why he hadn’t needed to breathe before. In. Out. The water surrounded him in a strange sort of comfort, the ectoplasm in his...room? was all he’d ever known. After what felt like hours the water shut off. He opened his eyes, blinking away any lingering droplets out of his lashes. He saw the strange people standing before him.

The coats weren’t green, they were white .

Everything, it seemed, was white. From the spotless floors and walls to the shiny tables and chairs and even the computers. Everything was a blinding white. He thought it strange, but didn’t know why. He missed green. The only specks of colors were the people themselves—the scientists, his mind told him.

The sound of hissing shocked him from his thoughts, the mechanical clicking louder than anything he could ever remember hearing. A chill breeze ghosted over his skin from behind as he snapped his head to look over his shoulder, and his mind registered what had once been a room constantly enveloped in shadows was currently as bright as the lab in front of him.

But that wasn’t what caught his attention most. No. Along the wall of the room there were several more pods exactly like the one he was in. Most were empty but a few seemed to be filled with the same green he’d been held in. He blinked a few more times. Those containers... he looked carefully and could just barely make out vague humanoid shapes of varying sizes submerged within.

He didn’t have any time to think before two people in white hazmat suits stood tall before him, their forms blocking the other pods from his line of sight. With stiff movements, they lifted him up and out, gently carrying him to the singular piece of furniture in the room: a tall white bench. They set him down carefully, as if he might shatter with the slightest breeze, quick to place small white squares on his forehead. They repeated this with his wrists, chest—most everywhere on his thin body. He wanted to lean into the contact, but before he could even comprehend what was happening, they pulled away. A large holographic screen appeared beside them, filled with so many numbers and symbols and lines that it made his head swim.

“Vital signs seem stable. Heart rate is holding steady.”

He looked at them, blinking in the bright light of the room, still trying to decipher the information. He startled for a moment as one of the hazmats carefully gripped his chin, tilting it up towards their faces. They produced a strange metal tube and swept a blinding light across his eyes. He tried to pull away, blinking rapidly, but the grip held strong.

“Photopupillary reflex is good.” A snapping sound by his ear made him try to jerk his head, unable to break the strong grip. “As is its response to auditory stimulation,” they said with a sigh, finally letting go of his chin with a glare towards the other hazmat.

He turned his head quickly to try and keep both of them in his field of vision, wary of what they would do if he took his eyes off of them for a moment. His worry was broken after what seemed minutes when one of the hazmats finally spoke again.

“Alright, I need you to nod twice if you can understand me,” said the one who snapped by his ear earlier. There was a moment of hesitation before he complied, turning most of his attention towards them. He couldn’t see the figure’s smile, but their eyes—warm and brown—crinkled in happiness, crows feet more pronounced than before.

Next to them, the other hazmat—he thought they had hazel eyes—seemed to be taking notes.

“That’s wonderful. Now, we’ve got a few questions for you as well as some sensory and motor control tests we need you to do for us. Think you can do that?” He nodded hesitantly. “Perfect,” the person responded with a smile in their voice.

He was directed to lean back until he was laying flat on the bench, his exhausted body still not used to the continuous movement, let alone being awake for so long. He grimaced after he’d collapsed not three steps into a walk around the room; a test to gauge balance and fine motor skills. He felt a tugging, squeezing sensation in his chest, not wanting to disappoint, but Brown-eyes just laughed and told him it was fine, setting him back down on the bench.

They instructed him to follow a finger left to right, another test of holding his arms up and outstretched for a count of ten. That one was harder than he’d thought, arms shaking after only a moment. Deep breathing was another thing they wanted to test, and his heartbeat. He thought he had one at least? He followed the instructions and felt himself tiring further, a small yawn slipping out of his mouth.

“Well, aside from suboptimal muscle mass, low stamina, and some minor dexterity issues, your test results were good—Great even! Miles better than we expected, in all honesty.” Hazel-eyes removed the white patches from his body while Brown-eyes talked to him, praise in their voice. He saw as the lines of the strange screen went flat and the numbers dropped to zero. Brown-eyes continued, “Now I’m sure you’re tired so w-”

There was the click as the door unlocked, followed by an airy woosh. Both hazmats stood up, ramrod straight, looking to the entrance. He felt cold, a shiver finding its way down his slight frame. Brown-eyes was the one to respond first. “Sir, we were just finishing up the testing.”

He followed their gazes, his eyes widening as Sir walked into the room with an air of authority and a heavy step. Their coat was also pure white, no longer stained with a green tinge from the ectoplasm. Their bun had more fly-aways than usual, but what really caught his attention was their glasses—no longer were they a muddy brown but rather a bright, bold, fire engine red. Their dark circles seemed more pronounced too. They looked tired.

“You can leave then,” Sir called with a wave of his hand. Instantly the two were rushing out the door, leaving him alone with Sir. He watched as they circled around him, their icy blue eyes sending a rush of...something through him. He felt like he was being analyzed, a calculating glare hungrily staring at all the data he could provide...

He liked Brown-eyes better, he decided.

“Its muscle tone is minimal, suggesting inadequate strength, with a minor twitch in the left hand, but that is not unusual… Some cosmetic defects present, but that can be overlooked for now...” They spoke aloud but he understood the words weren’t directed towards him. Sir circled around him like a predator with its prey for a moment longer before speaking with a slight grin. “Overall, acceptable.” Coming to a stop in front of him, Sir held their arms behind their back, standing tall and proud. “Usually we’d wait before testing vocal patterns and supernatural abilities, but I already have the commander breathing down my neck, so we need to hurry things along.” Another grin. Their eyes didn’t match their smile like Brown-eyes’ did.

A nod to indicate he was listening, signalling Sir to continue. “Now, ask me any questions you’d like and I will do my utmost best to answer.” The light reflected dangerously off their glasses.

Any questions? Any at all? So many flooded his mind. Who are you? Where am I? Why are there more tanks filled with green stuff? How long have I been asleep? The questions kept rolling, overlapping, and turning into a jumbled mess of chaos, but one stood out among the rest. One he figured needed answered before all others.

A question he felt like he’d choke on if he didn’t ask it.

“Who,” he cleared his throat, voice soft as he spoke his first words, “who am I?”

Sir scoffed, blue eyes sharp as they looked down on him. “Not a who, a what .” Pinned by their gaze, his mind absorbed the new information. “Experiment number 31. Classification: Clone.” A wide smile stretched their lips.

He gave a weak nod as the meaning sank in. A what. Not a person, but a clone, a copy. Inhuman, a thing, a tool. A part of him fought against those words, but it was small and easily quieted.

Sir canted his head up with a single finger, their glasses reflecting 31’s wide green eyes. “Now don’t disappoint me.”

#danny phantom #danny phantom au #dp 31

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stillebesat · 3 years

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Christmas Eve (2/5)

Sanders Sides: Janus, Patton, Roman, Virgil Pairings: Past Roceit (was toxic), Familial Moceit (Dad Janus, Son Patton) Blurb: Of all the barriers that Janus expected to have to overcome in order to get his son a pet for Christmas, encountering his Ex, Roman, working in the pet store had never once crossed his mind. Fic Type: Christmas!Eve Fic, Past Lovers to Enemies to ??? trope, Dad!Janus, Kid!Patton, MythicalMin!AU, Frogmin!AU Overall Fic Warnings: Past Toxic Relationship Talk, Manipulation/Lying Talk Taglist in Reblog To Catch Up: Part 1

Roman had seen his fair share of Christmas Eve chaos through the years. The fights, the tantrums, the frantic gleam in a person’s eyes as they stand nose to nose with you demanding that you check the back because they don’t believe you can run out of something despite you telling them twelve freaking times that you don’t have any more Centaurmins or Mermaidmins in stock.

No, there had been many a day where he wished he could actually stab those particularly awful customers through with a physical sword and be done with them forever instead of having to rely on his silver tongue to diffuse the situation. It was dealing with people like that that had had him seriously considering walking out of those gilded glass doors and never coming back.

But then he’d see a world weary customer come through the door. One whose quest to make their beloved spouse’s or child’s dream come true had seen setback after setback. The ones who looked at him like he was their last hope in the world….it was those people that Roman stuck around for. He lived for the moment when he saw hope rekindle in their eyes. Saw the excitement blossom in their wide smiles. Heard the never ending gratitude spring from their lips for his aid in finally seeing their long arduous quest completed. He never minded helping the ones who deserved to have a happy ending.

Keyword. Deserved.

And Janus Dameon hardly deserved anything. Let alone a happy ending.

Roman shut his mouth with a click. His welcoming greeting dying on his tongue and leaving a bitter aftertaste as he locked eyes with the one man on earth-no the one man in the entire universe- he never wanted or expected to see again, let alone help on Christmas Eve.

From the way his Ex’s face paled before going carefully blank, Dameon hadn’t expected to see him here either.

That helped to relieve some of the tightness in his chest.

This at least, wasn’t a planned encounter.

“I…” Dameon cleared his throat, surprisingly breaking eye contact first as ducked his head and for the first time Roman realized that the lying scumbag wasn’t alone as he knelt, placing a hand on the shoulder of the small boy who’d been hiding behind his leg, peering around the store with wide and very familiar golden eyes that were unfamiliarly soft like warm honey as he clung to the slimey snake’s hand. “I don’t think they’ll have any Frogmins here either, Pattey. I’m sorry.”

The boy--Pattey?--glanced to Roman, those bright eyes flashing to a very familiar hardened calculating gold before softening to warm honey once more. Honey in a rainstorm from how those eyes now shimmered. “But we haven’t even looked yet, Daddy.”

Daddy?

That one word shouldn’t be as earth shattering as it was, and yet Roman found himself taking a step back in surprise. Dameon...Janus Dameon...the man who hated kids...was a Dad now?

He could see the indecision warring in Dameon’s own cold golden eyes as they flickered to him, searing him to the bone, before focusing back on his son. “You remember the Dragon Witch?” He asked, cradling his palm against Pattey’s cheek.

Dragon Witch. Roman clenched his hands, fingernails digging into his palms. That was HIS thing. How dare Dameon take--

The boy nodded, a wide smile lighting up his face. “Yah! The Prince always defeats him!

Wait. What?

Roman frowned. That wasn’t how the original story went whenever his Ex had told it. Dameon had never allowed any other outcome than total annihilation of the evil Prince and his dark and dreary Kingdom full of greedy power hungry nobles.

It had taken Roman a long long time after everything...ended...to actually feel comfortable with writing and portraying a Prince as a good guy again. To rediscover his love of all the positive aspects that such a character could have rather than all the negative ones.

His Ex smirked, a small brittle thing as he tilted his head in Roman’s direction without making eye contact. “That’s the Prince, Pattey.”

Pattey blinked, a small ‘o’ of surprise on his face as he turned to Roman. “You’re the Prince!?” He practically screeched, eyes lighting up like the star on top of a Christmas Tree. “Cool!!!”

Talk about whiplash--shouldn’t the kid be mad at him? Why in the world was he excited to meet him? Roman offered his own uncertain smile at the unexpected adoration. At how--how Dameon had apparently told positive stories of a Prince--of him?? Stories about him being a hero instead of the villain.

That’s not at all how he would have expected his Ex to portray him to his kid.

“Very cool.” Dameon confirmed, pulling Pattey into his arms, kissing his forehead as he stood. “But as the Dragon Witch, I can’t be here.” He turned them away, back to the front doors. “We’ll have to try to find a Frogmin after Christmas I’m afraid.”

Roman should have left it at that. A brief unwelcome encounter with his enemy. Let the Ex leave without buying anything and finish the last ten minutes of the store being open in peace.

And yet.

It left him feeling...icky. If he was supposed to be this good Prince that Dameon told his kid about--then shouldn't he-- He took a step forward, finally finding his voice. “Now wait a minute!”

Dameon shot him a look over his shoulder, freezing him in place as he shook his head. “It’s fine, Prin--Ro--” He grimaced, shoulders hunching as Pattey held tightly to him, the kid looking at Roman with soft honey eyes that were sad, but understanding.

“It’s fine.” His Ex repeated. “You’re closing. I get--we get it. It was a long shot anyways. We’ll be going. Sorry to bother.”

That was the second time he’d heard the S word leave the snake’s lips in five minutes when he hadn’t ever managed to get one from him at all during those two turbulent years in college that they’d been...together.

And now he was leaving. Purposely creating an unhappy ending, expecting Roman to be complacent in this--this farce of a failure. To want him to leave.

Which he did! He should--GAH. Roman growled, surging forward to grab Dameon’s wrist, ignoring the electric current that pulsed between them as he jerked him back.

“Our Frogmins are down this way.” He said stiffly as he turned on his heel, refusing to let go as he practically dragged his Ex down the aisle. “I don’t have many left, but I still have them.”

To Be Continued. Part 3

#Christmas Eve #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Roman #Janus #Patton #Creativity #Deceit #Morality #Frogmin!AU #PetStore!AU #MythicalMin!AU #Past Toxic Relationship talk tw #Manipulation talk tw #Lying talk tw #Dad!Janus #Kid!Patton

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poptod · 4 years

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hello! can i request something romantic with either ahk or snafu or really any rami character where y/n has round dark brown doe eyes? like so dark brown they look black if you’re not looking at them in sunlight? and he’s just flirting with them and he says something nice about their eyes? i have round dark brown eyes and i’m kinda insecure about them cuz they’re so common, and it’s been one shit-show if a week for me and i really just need to feel good about myself

notes: damn, i can totally do that for you. hope your weekend is much better than your week :) thank u for requesting and i hope you enjoy it !

WC: 2k

Life never worked naturally to your advantage. You were born average looking – nothing special on either side of the spectrum, with average hands and common dark brown eyes. You grew up poor and worked your ass off to get into a good college on a scholarship, eventually getting kicked out for something you didn't even do. You auditioned to be part of an orchestra, but there were too many violinists already, and you just 'didn't fit the profile'. You tried to be an artist, but no one liked your creations. You tried to pick up another instrument, but you couldn't afford a good one, and the last time you tried to buy a cheap guitar, the neck broke on the third use.

Because of these many happenstances (and the many more, less mentionable ones), you considered yourself unlucky. It was a fact of life for you as much as the sun's existence in other peoples lives, or that the superbowl was too long. Or guacamole wasn't good. Fortunately, the years of nothing ever coming naturally had made you into a fantastic worker, and by some rare stroke of luck, you found you were rather good at physical labor jobs. You weren't strong by any standards – in fact rather weak – but your attention to detail made you the janitor of a prestigious museum you visited twice as a child.

It wasn't a fantastic job, and the poor pay led to having five roommates, but you enjoyed yourself. You tried to do that in every aspect of life; finding the joy in menial tasks, or solace in duty. After all, you got to see wonderful recreations of history in the still wax figures, and learn heaps of knowledge from the many information panels you came across when making your way through the museum. The only truly unfortunate part of your job was the time – right after closing, but you had to finish quickly, as you weren't allowed inside at night. A stupid rule, but the night guard and Dr. McPhee were insistent on it.

They thought you didn't know about the exhibits.

They were, obviously, wrong. You knew, and you adored the magic behind it all. While you hadn't actually ever seen any of the exhibits come to life, you watched the news on an evening where the exhibits broke out, and with your knowledge of the Tablet curse, you pieced the mystery together.

You hadn't meant to take this long. McPhee was already pissed at you for 'accidentally' skipping over the men's restroom yesterday, and taking too long at your job would land you on thin ice, something you couldn't afford. With a hurried pace you finished sweeping the floors in the last room, storing the broom away and moving on to mopping. Checking your watch once more, you noted the time, mentally checking if you would be able to finish before closing hours.

Mopping the Egyptian room usually takes five to ten minutes, and closing is in two, you thought, despair settling in your stomach. What would you do if you 'found out' about the tablet? What would McPhee do if he found out you knew? He wouldn't fire you, would he?

You truly didn't know. He was a bit of a loose cannon when it came to those things.

As fast as you tried to move, the hours of night came faster than you could mop, and the tablet began to glow behind you. Bewildered you turned, watching with your mouth slightly parted as the glow grew to the radiance of the sun. You knew the tablet brought the magic, but you didn't know about the glow – now that you were witnessing it yourself, the only thing you could feel in your pounding heart was fear. A fear that only grew worse when the Pharaoh's sarcophagus began to rattle.

You'd thought about the wax figures coming to life. You thought about the dinosaur. You, however, did not think about the 4,000 year old mummy.

Needless to say, you bolted. Leaving behind your supplies, you ran as fast as you could, wind pounding past your ears as the sound of a lion's roar came from the neighboring hall. You grit your teeth and made for the main entrance, but by the time you got there many of the exhibits had adjoined in the main room. Pressing yourself against the locked door, you watched with wide eyes as the Teddy Roosevelt statue began to talk to Attila, and in that moment you realized that perhaps magic was not always good. Not when you were spiralling into a panic at least.

It took a couple hours of you staring into space before anyone actually noticed you. To your surprise, it wasn't the night guard, or even McPhee – it was a Pharaoh, skin and everything intact. His crown remained polished upon his head, a stark difference from the crowns on exhibit, whose colors and carvings had faded long ago.

"Hello," he said with a pleasant, polite smile as he knelt, matching the height of your seated position on the floor. "Are you a new exhibit?"

You looked down at your clothes. Janitor clothes.

"No," you said, and instantly his demeanor changed.

"Oh dear," he said, and though you agreed with that statement, you certainly did not agree with him grabbing your wrist and dragging you into the crowd.

"I don't really want to be doing this," you said in a shaky voice, but he did not answer.

As he dragged you through the crowd you kept your eyes closed, wary of overstimulation of both ears and eyes. He eventually stopped at the top of the stairs, where you opened your eyes to find the night guard, Larry.

"What are you still doing here?" Larry asked almost frantically, looking between the dancers below and you.

"In my defense I didn't want to be here, I knew about the magic and I don't – I didn't ever want to actually see it," you half-lied.

"How the hell did you know?!"

"You don't do a very good job of covering it up, Larry," you said flatly, your voice still cracking from nerves.

You didn't have very many friends. Your roommates didn't talk to you much, and the life you had outside of work consisted mostly of quiet, indoor hobbies you could do just about anywhere. So, once the whole of the situation was sorted out (with input from McPhee), you took your drawing pads and notebooks to the museum with you, working for the first few hours and drawing into the hours of night while watching history come to life.

Despite your original discomfort of being in the presence of a 100% authentic, come-to-life mummy, you became rather good friends with him. Not fantastic, and he didn't know very much about you, but he was kind and handsome. You hated to admit it, but he held your avid interest. Another one of those unlucky things in your life – of course you had to fall in love with an immortal, reanimated mummy who only came to life at night.

"Why don't you ever come dance with us?" Ahkmenrah (his name, apparently) said as he sat down beside you on the loft, the only barrier between you and a fifteen-foot fall being a stone rail.

"I'm afraid I'm not all that good of a dancer," you said, not bothering to look up from your sketchbook. You couldn't ever bear to look at him that long anyway.

"Neither am I," he laughed. "That's the point."

Instinctively you looked up at him, holding eye contact with his grey eyes for only a second before you looked away, a blush already making its way to your cheeks. He had the opposite of your life – lucky beyond belief. The favorite of his parents, completely immortal, completely beautiful, almost too wealthy, and many, many friends, including yourself.

What got you the most however was his eyes. Cold eyes were already praised in modern society – people loved grey, they loved blue and green. But in Ahkmenrah's society, the one that existed thousands of years ago, blue eyes hardly existed. The mutation for the new color was one in a billion back then, making him one of the (probably) three people on the planet with blue eyes. And now that lucky mutation stood before you in its purest, oldest form, and you couldn't bear to look at them for any longer than a solitary moment.

For some reason, it hurt you. Maybe because you were boring. Dull. Brown in a brown society. Sure, they looked beautiful in sunlight – you knew that. They turned into swirling gold and the taste of chocolate, but Ahk couldn't see them in the sunlight. That made you dull.

Now, Ahkmenrah was not a man to point things out about people. If they were being a dickhead, yes, but most of the time he noted things and dismissed them. But you'd been doing this for so long that he grew weary of the dance.

"Why don't you ever look at me?" He asked, a question that had your eyes widening and your back straightening, alarm bells ringing all over your brain.

"I look at you plenty," you said while avoiding his gaze like a 15th century doctor avoids respecting women.

"No, you don't," he said softly. "Not even now. I wish you would – you've got such beautiful eyes."

Your sketching stopped at his words. At your silence he placed his hand on your jaw, tilting so you looked at him. Instead of meeting his gaze you looked to the floor.

"They're very common," you got out weakly, still unable to make eye contact, but he kept you where you were, in the easy sight of him. "They only look good in the sun."

He shifted closer, keeping his hand on your jaw in hopes of you changing your mind and meeting his eye.

"Even in darkness they're beautiful, voids as empty and long as night," he hummed, drawing closer yet till you could feel the heat off his body on your still fingers. "I've noted them quite a lot. Eyes are a beautiful thing, aren't they?"

"Yours are," you mumbled, barely catching the meaning and insinuation of your words before they came out.

"As are yours. Remember when we snuck into McPhee's office? The lamplight bounced off of them and they practically glittered like the embers and smoke of a fire," he said with a small smile. "And the bright lights in the hallways –"

Florescent, you thought.

"– and the candle lights that Nick brought, those flicker with that same spark within you. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

You couldn't move, stuck in place and stuck in your own head.

"The golden fireplace, Christmas lights – and the light of the moon, a dim, faraway light that can only be admired from a distance... like you," he murmured.

Sometimes you forgot his people were poets and admirers of nature.

"You have blue eyes," you whispered through the knot in your throat. He listened carefully. "And... I can see reflections in them. They're soft, like velvet. Despite everything, they.. you seem... happy. You always seem happy, and your eyes give it away."

"Have you ever kissed anyone?" He asked quietly, and in that moment you realized his nose was almost touching yours.

"No," you answered honestly. Another unlucky aspect of you.

"Neither have I," he said before he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a tender embrace you weren't at all expecting.

From both the view of the first kiss and of a Pharaoh's kiss, you weren't prepared, but the plush of his pink lips against yours sent sparks of delight into your heart. He moved slow, taking his time to map out your aspects just as you began to trail your hands over his open palm, memorizing the creases. You were reluctant to part, but he ran his hand through your hair and your brain short-circuited into placitude.

"You have the softest lips," he murmured, hand coming to cup your cheek once more.

You never applied aquaphor or did anything to make your lips soft.

Maybe it was luck.

Didn't really matter to you, because he kissed you again, and your eyes fluttered shut as everything in the world but him faded away.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

Text

Ducktales Treasure of the Golden Suns Reviews: Wronguay in Ronguay (Paid for by Patreons)

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to the genesis of magillicutty Ducktales with the second part of my months long look at Treasure of the Golden Suns, the mini series that kicked off the series. These reviews are a result of me hitting my first patreon stretch goal. I just did a LONGGG post outlining those here on tumblr so hit that up and help join my patreon so I can reach them and make some more moolah to help keep this my primary job.

So speaking of that job we’re back to The Treasure of the Golden Suns and the first chapter, while not bad, was a tad disappointing, especially since I really liked it on first viewing. So will the second chapter fair just as bad or be a massive improvement? The only way to find out is under the cut.

Previously on Ducktales: Donald shoved off with the navy leaving the boys with Scrooge, with both growing to care about one another... both out of nowhere

The boys ended up embroiled int he Beagle Boys theft of a wooden ship for a mysterious gentleman named El Capitan whose preferedd method of dealing with enterlopers.. was to use a chair like a lion tamer. After being falsely blamed for the theft, the boys ended up chasing the beagles to Scrooge’s candy factory, were vindicated and fought them off with Scrooge’s help , ending with the boys getting covered in choclate. while El Capitan escaped vowing to find the gold. Now knowing the wooden ship was a map, the family prepared to set off

And that’s where we pick up. The reporter from last episode comments on the beagle bust and while the Beagles are hauled off, with Burger asking if they have any milk after eating his chocolate prison. Because his only character trait is that...

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The camera does linger on an impression the ship made in the chocolate... hmmmmmm.

Meanwhile we meet FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD. As I said with Catch as Cash Can, he’s not BAD, just not NEARLY as memorable as the triumphantly insane 2017 version. He’s sitll a good villian and we’ll see why soon, he just has the unenviable task of competiting with a far more iconic versoin made decades later whose far more my type of bad guy. El Captian calls him and offers to make him the richest duck in the world, which he naturally is happy to hear him out on. El Captian as a character i’ll get into more.. but for now let’s talk about his weird fucking voice. For some reason, Jim is doing a Dr. Claw impression, to the point I thought this was Frank Welker. I will grant it’s better than a horrible latinx sterotype, and given the grand kishke and a minor character in this very episode, they were NOT above those, but its’ still just.. weird. He just sounds like he’s possesed with about 80 or 90 demons for no explained reason.

Back at the mansion, Scrooge and the Boys are both preparing to go after the treasure on the boat map: Scrooge is practicing vacuming it up using the pool and a sea safe vacum likely invented by Gyro, while the boys find the right coordinates to the treasure. Scrooge naturally.. is a bit of a dick about it, refusing to take them along despite them having found it, and saying they can stay with Duckworth. Duckworth’s response is about what you’d expect:

However before they can argue about this, there’s a bang at the door: It’s Flinty and here’s where the parts of this Glomgold I DO like, that do make him standout, if not as much sa his succesor shine: He plays scrooge, offering him 2 million for the Candy Factory. Naturally not realizing what Flinty’s getting out of the deal, Scrooge jumps at a quick and easy 2 million, since he knows it’ll cost MORE than that just to fix up the place. Flinty then proposes a contest: the two of them try to make as much money as possible from scratch in two days. No rules, no barriers, just whoever dosen’t have more money than the other by the end has to eat Flinty’s hat. Scrooge accepts.. but then realizes he has to eat crow and allow the boys along. With Scrooge sufficently blackmailed, the boys reveal where the treasure is: Ronguay, a made up south american county. Why they did so.. well just wait a second. And no it’s not just for the tile... but your close.

No we find out why as they take the cheapest flight avaliable to Ronguay, only for the boys their going the Wrong way to Ronguay.

Yeah I love a good pun but I draw the line at desinging an ENTIRE COUNTRY for a really obvious one. I have standards on this blog! Standards that include thirsting after Keith David , DBZA refrences up the whazoo and posting this gif of David Byrne at every given opportunity.

Look my standards are weird, but their still standards. I draw the line at making a stupid pun when there’s a rich number of countries in South America. I’m not saying Carl Barks was ever against making up a country, he probably did, could be wrong, but more often than not he did his homework instead, as did his succesor Don Rosa. It feels lazy to just make up a country when you really don’t have to and could’ve just found one with a massive rainy season for your children’s cartoon. It’s not hard. I mean it’s harder than now: now I could just google “what south american countries have torrental rains”.. but it’s not like you guys could’n’t just go to a bookstore and buy a refrence book or a library and rent one. I mean if they ran out of time to do anyresearch fine, but even for the 1980′s it wasn’t that difficult to at least TRY.

Regardless it turns out the pilot is a robot pilot.. who looks amazing but as it’s a flintheart glomgold company joint is purposfuly tring to keep them off path. Look they didn’t have to unplug the poor guy. I know what he wants.

So now on the right way to Ronguay our heroes lan only to find the locals all fleeing in terror of something. Scrooge heads in for suplies anyway and finds... a VERY racist sounding clerk. Seriously just to picture this.. picture say .. Michael Scott trying to do an mexican accent. You good and cringing? If not, adapt that to your doofus sitcom character or republican senator of choice There you go. You see my point. It’s not the WORST i’ve seen.. but only because I sat through the Rediculous 6 with my best friend, one of three, Cory, for a podcast we tried doing a year or two ago. I’ve seen Rob Schinder do this for an entire movie. In 2015 no less. So my threshold for HORRIFCALLY offensive is vast and deep. But this is still garden variety racist and should not have been okay then or now.

And it really SHOULD have the warning label on it. I’m fully in favor of the content warnings Disney started using, and it’s why I got so fucking annoyed during all the talk about it when it happend to the Muppet Show, ESPECIALLY when the republicans got a hold of it and accused them of “Canceling the muppets”. This is NOT fucking cancelation, this is a way to have the past there for posterity, while acknolding it sucked and was NEVER okay. It’s the best way to do this in my opinon, and it bothers me a LOT that a bunch of jagoffs coopted it and threw a hissy fit about Disney trying to do the right goddamn thing. And i’m also okay with leaving some media out. Disney + is a family platform. While keeping classic movies and shows on there with a proper warning is one thing, it’s another to not put song of the south or that episode of the muppets where the host later turned out ot be a pedophile on there. Some things just don’t have nearly enough worth to outpace the harm they can do. And it’s up to companies and consumers to figure out what fits where.

Anyways our heroes find a llama for transport and that the map is seemingly a dead end to the desert. But Scrooge is determined to press on... and while he does El Capitan and Glomgold are following him, though the two clearly don’t agree on whose in charge, or if El Captian sounds like dr claw or not. They followed with their own copy of the map taken from the chocolate.

As things progress the rain starts.. and our heroes find out via the JWG that this is what the citzens were all running from. They loose the llama, though are able to salvage some of their suplies it was carrying, and Scrooge nearly gives up to dispair. It’s a good, if sudden, character moment: Scrooge genuinely laments that he was worried one day he’d loose his step.. and stop being one step ahead of everyone. It shows some much needed vunerablity.. that beneath his boisterious and cantankerious usual personality he’s deathly afraid his age will eventualy mean he’ll have to stop..and having to stop adventuring and stop working and stop doing eveyrthing that makes him Scrooge McDuck is a fate worse than death.

Thankfully he dosen’t as via a figure on the ship, Huey, Dewey or Louie figures out, in a REALLY amazing twist, that the desert itself was the ocean: the ship that has the treasure simply sailed here and hid it. So while our heroes reflect, Glomgold decides to take them out NOW while he has the chance over El Captian’s protests, as the good captain only cares about the gold. But Glomgold is right.. from a villianous point of view at least. leaving them alive is a waste.. granted he does so.. in a way that makes my brain cry out in pain and want to run. He lights a stick of dynamite. In a torrential rainstorm.

I mean i’d expect 2017 Glomgold to try it and have it fail.. not to have the actually clever 87 version not only try something this stupid BUT HAVE IT WORK. THE FUSE LIGHTS. IT’S READY TO GO OFF. HE ONLY STOPS IT BECAUSE HIS MAP GETS EATEN AND THEY NEED SCROOGE’S IN TACT. JUST HOW DO YOU WHY DO YOU AUGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

Okay i’m.. i’m good now. So after that bit of nonsense and some taking my medication, our heroes take shelter in a cave. The grusome twosome try to sneak in while their asleep.. only to trigger the alarms the boys set up using their pots and pans, a “junior woodchuck alarm”. Clever little bastards.

The tables quickly turn though as Thing one and Thing Two trap our heroes in the cave.. as i’ts flooding. Scrooge has them press on in hopes of finding a way out, and it rises further and furthe ran excenelty tense scene. But eventually our heroes manage to find somewhere safe in time: the shipwrecked boat with all the gold. Scrooge even puts on a nifty golden conquestador’s helmet.

Naturally since we have minutes left in the episode the bad guys show up and have a gun... they never had before.

Regardless our heroes are lowered into the lifeboat at gunpoint as the ship goes out to sea and i’ts revealed el captain worked on teh ship as he knows the full manifest.

However both villians personal flaws end up doing them in: Glomgold’s need to gloat means he gives Scrooge a golden coin as he mocks him about winning the bet... only for El Captain to fly into an insane rage demanding he swim out and get it despite just how LITTLE he really needs the coin. He and Glomgold struggle over the ships canon, both no longer needing the other and eventually fire off a ball that capsizes the ship. El Captian seemingly drowns while Glomgold is forced onto the life boat with the McDucks.. and finds out he lost as while he and Scrooge both lost the treasure the coin he tossed scrooge means Scrooge still has made more money. So Glomgold prepares to eat his hat and El Captian prepares for vengance and to get his gold back.

Final Thoughts on Wronguay in Ronguay: The iffy bit with the store clerk aside.. this episdoe is easily the best 87 Episode i’ve seen. It captures the spirit of barks perfectly with plenty of intresting twists that kept me engaged the whole time, some great jokes, and two great villians who are done in soley by their own greed and neurosusi> it’s really great stuff and what I expected more and remember more from the 87 Series: top notch adventure in the barks style but wiht it’s own unique touches. While the pilot was a bit rough due to all the ground it tried to cover, this episode, now having the basic formula of the series pretty much set, is allowed to just be a fun, daring adventure story that brilliantly builds off the last episode but can be wholly enjoyed on it’s own. Hopefully this momentum keeps because I don’t remember being the fondest of the next two episodes.. and given that content warning I think we’re in for a rough time next month.

If you liked htis join my patreon, etc etc, I went into that mor eup top. Till All Are One, See you at the next Rainbow.

#ducktales #wronguay in ronguay #ducktales 87 #scrooge mcduck #flintheart glomgold #huey duck #louie duck #dewey duck #el capitain #duckworth #reviews #disney plus #the disney afternoon

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dolphindiluna · 4 years

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𝗜 𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗡𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗕𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗮𝗺𝗲 The cell continued to ring. He should talk to Sam, let him know that he was alive. He laughed bitterly at the thought, was he really alive? He didn't feel that way. He was flesh, bones, tears and blood. But alive? No. Living had just taken on another dimension. The point is that he died so many times that he lost count, but for the first time he knew what it was to really die, this death that people talk about, death in life.

How many important people fell on the way?

His mind returned to the day of his mother's death. Even though he was not in his room that day, his father had counted on so many details, on a night of drunkenness, that he didn't even need to see with his eyes, his mind "saw" much more than he wanted.

Then the father. That father obsessed with killing the damn demon who took the life of his beloved wife. The father who raised his children to save people, hunting things, the family business. The father absent for loving too much.

And Ellen and Jo. Pamela, Bob, Kevin, Charlie. And so many others. Many…

And again the father and mother.

And Sam. Each time he lost his brother, a piece of him died together. Sam, who kept calling over and over.

- Sam, I'm fine.

- Dean! What happened? Why did it take so long to answer the phone?

- Sorry, Sammy. Are you ok?

He heard the sound of his brother swallowing the words, those few seconds hanging over them like a sharp sword. Dean knew, he always knew.

- Sammy?

- Dean, everybody's gone, everybody. Charlie, Bob and even Donna. It's just me and Jack.

The brother's voice was weak. Sam who was so dedicated to protecting everyone, even with the weight of Eileen's loss on his shoulders. He wanted to hug him. He wished he could go back in time when he carried Sam in his boyish arms and rocked him, promising to protect him from danger. "Take care of your brother, Dean" had been the main task his father had given him, and he, as a good soldier, never deviated from his mission. Taking care of Sam, protecting him, was what gave him the strength to get up every morning.

- Sammy, come home.

- Dean, is everything okay? What happened to Billie?

- Billie is dead. You and Jack, come home soon.

- Okay, Dean.

He hung up the phone and put his hands on his face again. He was not able to tell Sam the whole truth, because telling what happened was having to face reality, and he was not yet ready to say goodbye.

The silence in the dungeon choked him, but he didn't have the strength to leave. Maybe he didn't want to leave. Somewhere in his heart, a fragile flame continued to resist. He looked at the wall, hoping the black hole would regurgitate what The Empty had stolen from him.

"I annoyed an ancient cosmic being so much that he sent me back."

Dean remembered those words as if they were said yesterday. He clung to them in despair. But deep down, he knew, he knew that The Empty would not give up again.

Why didn't he tell the truth? Why?

Why did he push his feelings into some dark corner of himself, not even allowing himself to think?

Why didn't he give himself the right to believe that he could be loved, be happy?

All that fury that has weighed on his chest since childhood, that anger that he thought defined him.

"Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love."

Even now he couldn't see himself that way, because that meant he was always a coward for not having struggled to take on what he felt.

Coward. He had been a coward until the end. And now he paid the price for being afraid to say the same words he had received.

The chest pain increased. He needed to get out of there, he needed to breathe. Shivering, using the wall as a support, he stood up slowly. The first steps were unstable. He managed to reach the chair in the middle of the room, held it in search of something solid to keep him on his feet until he felt he could walk without fear of falling.

When he finally reached the door, he couldn't resist and looked back again. That flame in his chest had just gone out. The pain increased, crushing his heart.

"You changed me, Dean ... I love you."

He ran out of the room, his hand over his mouth to stifle his sob.

He didn't want to be that anymore. He no longer wanted to be the Dean who assumed all the responsibilities and suppressed any feeling that his enemies could use against him. He was tired of being strong, of trying to be invincible.

He heard Sam calling for him. He needed his brother, needed this time to reverse logic, needed Sam to take care of him, to protect him from pain.

- Sammy.

Your voice so weak, so different from your voice of thunder.

- Sammy, Sammy!

He arrived at the library without strength. His brother was near the big table in the lobby.

- Sammy, please.

Sam ran towards him, followed closely by Jack. His frightened eyes were filled with concern. There, in the center of the library, the two came face to face.

He couldn't take it anymore, everything around him spun. He saw Cass in every corner of that place. Cass hugging him when they met after Chuck and Amara left. Cass sitting next to him in one of the few moments of peace, celebrating Jack's life.

Cass, smiling through her tears, saying goodbye to never come back.

- He's gone, Sammy.

Finally, the heavy tears broke through the barrier and he fell to the floor. The weight of defeat weighed on his body. He punched his chest several times in penance.

Sam didn't know what had happened, but he suspected it had to do with Castiel's absence. He knelt in front of his brother, pulling him into his arms. He always feared that this day would come, the day when Dean would accept his own feelings, but that Cass would not be there to receive them.

- He's gone, Sammy, gone. And I didn't say. I didn't say, Sammy.

- Put it all out, Dean, don't keep it anymore.

The brother's words allowed him to be the Dean that Castiel once loved.

- CASS!

The aching cry tore at his chest.

Jack watched his parents' pain and felt powerless because there was nothing he could do. All he wanted to do was bring Cass back, but he had no more powers. He no longer had Castiel. His father had died.

The strength with which the angel's name was said in that place full of magic, had the power to transcend the walls and resonate beyond that plane. In heaven, the angels wept for the loss of yet another of them. Castiel had been a friend and also an enemy, in the end being just another puppet in the hands of God.

In hell, Rowena stopped in the middle of a lustful laugh. His eyes watered. After all, the angel also became his boy.

But it was Chuck who was pierced by that spear of pain. He, who in his arrogance despised his own creations, who played with their lives, now felt the agony with such violence that it surprised him. In her mind, Amara's voice, full of bitterness, prophesied:

- Brother, you can lie to yourself as much as you want. But the truth is that you lost your most loyal son, the one who loved you so much, the one you wickedly despised. And I know it hurts you. We feel Dean's pain. And as long as we exist, we will carry that pain as a reminder of how bad we can be.

Chuck turned his eyes to Dean and for a moment hesitated in his firm intention to destroy everything. The weight of loneliness as a reminder of your choices. Sitting on his mythical throne, he was the image of a defeated god.

In the library, Dean continues to cry hugging his brother, his face buried in Sam's chest. It was sad to see that they had switched places, Sammy was taking care of Dean as Dean had always done for him.

- Dean, you need to vent, you can't have all that feeling with you anymore.

The pain, like fire, rose in his throat and was finally released.

- Cass, you are the only one I want to have, my true happiness. Cass, I love you ...

Words can transform. Words heal.

In The Empty, where angels and demons rest, dreaming eternally of their past, Castiel, in his serene sleep, dreams of the words he wanted to hear so much. His lips curl in an affable smile, while a tear escapes his sleeping eyes.

- I always knew, Dean … ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- I wrote this story a few days after the episode aired, listening to "I Will Never Be The Same" (which became the title of this story) by Melissa Etheridge, because this song, for me, is the synthesis of what happened to these two characters. These were, as they have been ever since, days of sadness and anxiety. The question the fandom keeps asking itself: is it really the end? Did the series make Destiel canon to kill Castiel soon after? As a fan, especially as a fan of Destiel, I am still waiting for the return of our beloved angel in the last episode, to finally find happiness with the man she loves. Because these two definitely deserve to be happy after everything they've been through. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- English is not my first language. Please forgive any mistakes I may have made. And I don't know whose illustration it is. If anyone knows, please let me know so I can give the artist proper credit.

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land-of-classpects-and-analysis · 3 years

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The Witch Class Analysis

Witches are one of the most well-known and recognizable figures across countless pieces of mediums of media. From the tales parents tell their children in the dark to frighten them, to the pieces of art depicting old, ragged women in dark dresses, pointed hats, and whose skin is boiled and green. They are something that has been around for centuries, though often are left to either be whispered about in hushed tones or written into the skins of trees with the finest of ink. Witches are those who have a reputation for being ruthless, conniving, tricky people who only exist to bring torment and loss to others. They are the voices who sing so lovingly from the darkness of the woods, luring away the yearnful hearts of adults and the curious minds of children. They are the ones who live where no man dares to tread, whether it is in the darkest of woods or the marshiest of bogs. They defy all odds, as well as go against every last expectation the society they are born into. Witches live to be rebellious, to be their own person, and to achieve what cowards are far too afraid to even imagine. Do not think for a second that the Witch Class is exempt from any of this stigma, either, as the people, characters, and fanbase themselves have proven that Witches are still those highly polarized figures. Many have heatedly debated as to whether those attached to the Class of Witch are good in their intentions, or if there is always another motive at foot - if they are serving and bringing everyone along towards a higher purpose.

If you think the easiest solution is to merely walk up to a Witch and ask them what their intentions, motives, and/or reasoning is, then you are someone who will be sorely mistaken. As bubbly as a Witch’s personality may be, they are still people who value their privacy from time to time. For some Witches, it is a fun game of surprise when they reveal a part of their personality no one else had ever suspected for them. However, for others, it is often a type of dagger hidden within their boot - and if the need so arises, the Witch is one with such an agile spirit that their foe won’t even have time to blink before that dagger has flown its way at the foe. Witches are not capricious, though; quite the opposite, really. While some may try to claim that Witches are unpredictable, their identities ever-shifting and inconsistent, this is rarely ever the true case. The fact of the matter is that when a Witch is not talking to others, they allow themself to become lost in their thoughts - their own mindscape - wherein they will be plotting their next move, rehearsing what to say next, how to respond and continue whatever their situation is in that moment.

Witches are those who enjoy making plans, just as much as they enjoy daydreaming about the end goal of all their efforts. A Witch may daydream about overthrowing the unjust government they are in, and how they will be recognized and loved as a hero for countless years to come afterward. No matter how outlandish a Witch’s daydream or goal in life may seem, there will often be no way to ever properly talk a Witch down from even attempting to achieve their dream. In fact, it is often wise to try and not stop a Witch from doing anything, as it will often only lead to one being put onto a long list of grudges - something Witches can be quite infamous for having. A person could try to preach from sunrise to the darkest of dusks to a Witch as to how unlikely, or even impossible, their dream is; however, this will only often make a Witch dig in their heels and attempt to find even more ways for them to make it come true. Although Witches are not miracle-workers like that of a Time-bound, they are still those who often manage to prove that there is no such thing as impossible. There are no rules or laws to a Witch, but rather just simple barriers, obstacles, and suggestions put forth by those far too afraid to step out of their comfort zone.

As mentioned earlier, Witches are those who often have large personalities - especially ones that dip a little more into the extreme level than anything. There is very little one can do when a Witch is in such a mood, even if that extreme feeling is one of negativity. If one seems to find themself in the presence of a Witch at their worst, or at least seemingly slowly descending into such a state, then chances are it would be far wiser to give them the space they need until all negativity has subsided. Even for the most bleeding-heart individuals who may wish to try and help a Witch who is struggling emotionally, do not be far too surprised if you are met with gnashing teeth with venomous, hissed words slithering out from between them. Indeed, a Witch at their worst is never a pleasant sight, for when a Witch has truly gone off the edge there is often very little someone can do to bring them down from such an elevated state.

Now, this may make you confused, or even question how this can be possible. After all, Witches are more often than not kind-hearted people, if only slightly trickster in their jokes and japes and may occasionally jostle a few elbows here and there. While that is true, this is often because one has only seen the very surface of the Witch themself. It isn’t that Witches hide who they are really out of any malicious intent, but it is more often so that they can gain the trust and attention from others, perhaps even going as far as to make a friendship or few with those they meet over time. The reason why Witches often put on these facades of joy and kindness is that they are often afraid as to how people will perceive them - especially if it is in a negative fashion. If one wished to go deeper, one could even say that a handful of Witches are even afraid of themselves and/or what they are capable of when it comes to their extreme bouts of negative emotions. Chances are that most, if not all Witches have one or few people they have hurt in some fashion, whether it is directly or indirectly. When one becomes friends with a Witch, it should most certainly always be kept in mind that there may be days, or even weeks, at a time where there will be the potential of becoming harmed by the Witch you so dearly love and care for.

For those experienced in the way of Witches and how they may act, these occasional bouts of intense emotions are merely another facet in their life and relationship with the Witch. However, what these people may also be just as quick to announce is how truly devoted a Witch can become to any type of relationship they find themself within. Due to the fact they are often brushed off or viewed through intimidated, skittish glances, the Witch is someone who most likely has some rather tough luck when it comes to relationships - or even maintaining them. Nevertheless, though, it can be seen time and time again that Witches are those who are more than willing and ready to throw themself into all crooks and crannies of companionships they may encounter in their life. Which is to say, when a Witch falls, they fall hard - platonically, romantically, or otherwise. As hectic and nasty a Witch can be when they are in a rather negative mood, their good, more positive moods can oftentimes be just as boisterous and rowdy - if not more so. A Witch’s personality can often depend on what they think of a person - how they perceive them - but even if you are to find yourself on the naughty list of any Witch, chances are that some of them may allow for you to try and redeem yourself to them. Do not mistake this as them fully forgiving you for any harm or grievances you may have put them through, however, as Witches are most definitely ones who can hold grudges until they day they die. If there is an afterlife, then it may be quite likely they will continue to hold on to such feelings, as well.

On the outside of a Witch’s life and social circle, Witch’s can often present themselves as rather mysterious figures of an unrecognizable nature. As outward and bubbly as a Witch may show themself to be, their personalities are still ones that could arguably fall into a type of metaphysical uncanny valley. It’s easy to see that there is always some subtle force causing them to act and look the way they do, and as such, many outsiders may be quick to go about and label a Witch as two-faced, deceptive, or any other nasty trait. Although there most definitely are Witches out there who put on these loving and caring facades to trick others, there will be just as many Witches who merely are hoping to play the game properly so as to win the ultimate prize - friendship, companionship, and, ultimately, love. While their semi-obvious facades may be off-putting to others, more often than not will Witches find themself in the true traveling company of souls left with great weight on them, who have their own demons not yet conquered, and who may eventually give the Witch a taste of their very own bitter, twisted medicine that the Witch occasionally delivers to others. As dedicated and loving as a Witch may present themself to be, this is something that can often land them in hot water. Oftentimes when this happens, it is simply best for those in support of the Witch to allow things to unfold with little to no outside influence. As hard as Witches are known to fall for those who show them love and care, they are just as capable of falling like that of a nuclear bomb - and when they hit the Earth after falling from their Cloud Nine, it is often a good idea to find the nearest bunker from the emotional fallout about to happen. No one involved in such a travesty can escape completely unscathed.

However, do not mistake these moments of destruction as a hint to the Witch’s powers. For it is the Witch that has the powers of being able to manipulate their Aspect, or manipulate through it - oftentimes in an Active manner. This power, along with their personalities and facades, is often why Witches are judged and scrutinized by the people in their life. There are many ways in which the powers of a Witch can manifest, whether it is with their Aspect or not. As quick as Witches are to put on their bubbly, unassuming facades so as to gain the trust of those around them, they are just as quick to try and use their words, the emotions of others, their very own actions and goals to manipulate the world and people around them. For better or for worse can easily depend on the Witch and what their exact goal in mind is, but nevertheless, if the Witch ever so wishes to gain something they want or execute a plan they have in mind but are missing one crucial person or detail, it is highly likely they will find one way or another to twist and squeeze it out of the source it comes from. People may fear any Witch they encounter in life, but it depends on what they exactly fear in regards to the Witch as to whether that fear is well placed or not. For instance, it is not the uncanny facade of the Witch one should fear, but rather how easily a Witch could get away with any terrible act of violence if they so pleased.

None of this is to say that all Witches should be feared - goodness no. What has been written and stated here is merely to highlight how truly powerful Witches can become, whether they are aware of this or not. Granted, they will never become anywhere near as powerful as a Page could become, but they still are figures that one should always think twice about, especially if any plans would involve double-crossing or harming the Witch. Witches are smart and clever people, perhaps far more than even they may believe. They are the ones who are naturally equipped with their Aspect, and they are well aware as to how they should go about using it to their advantage. Depending on the Aspect, this can be seen in the form of, say, a Witch of Rage being able to twist or win any argument by becoming overly aggressive - oftentimes in a physical or otherwise intimidating behavior that will show itself to be a pattern in the Witch of Rage’s life. However, it could also come in the form of a Witch of Mind who merely uses all of their skills in philosophy and grand-thinking to prove how others are wrong, that they know what they are doing, and also how to create and execute the most perceivably brilliant plan out of anyone. Witches are not to be trifled with or oftentimes even questioned in what they are aware of, even if their plans or actions are morally questionable at times.

When it comes to their friends, Witches will often use their powers to try and aid, help, or even benefit their friends - even if it means bending the rules of their Aspect or whatever environment they have been placed within. Life has felt like a near-constant uphill battle for the Witch, and as such, it should be of no surprise that they are often the ones who will be more than willing to try and make things far easier for those they love and trust. These acts of heroism and spoiling will often be accompanied by the Witch’s rebellious nature - as they are often ones to simply sit down and shut up when ordered, commanded, or even threatened to do so. With this rebellious nature, it may come to some surprise that with the powers of a Witch, they are often known to weaponize their Aspect to its utmost greatest capability. This can often be observed by a Witch manipulating their Aspect - twisting, turning, folding, molding, shaping their Aspect into whatever they want it to be. A Witch of Light could manipulate their Aspect so as to prevent important, life-altering information from falling into the wrong hands. On the same note, though, they are also someone who could turn that information into a source of insecurity, destabilizing the very foundation of the group they find themself within. If a Witch saw it better to make their Aspect into a source of chaos and anarchy, it will be a tough time trying to convince them otherwise.

Even seemingly harmless Aspects such as Space, Life, Hope, Breath, and more could become some of the most devastating forces in a group of players - if only because something - a broken heart, a false truth revealed, betrayal - a switch being flipped inside the Witch brought them to go and manipulate, to change, their Aspect into something it never should have been. Witches are powerful players for they have just as much power and capability to be the most powerful allies one could ever make, yet are often only a few missteps - a few more shoves - away from falling off the deep edge and becoming some of the most foreboding, dominating entities one could ever imagine. After all, Witches are the ones who often feel their emotions in great extremes rather than a subtle gradient. One other thing to keep in mind when it comes to the Witch’s powers of manipulating their Aspect is that it can come in one of two forms - a Witch can either manipulate the external instances of their Aspect, changing the properties, make-up, form, source, target, what have you. On the other hand, they could manipulate it on a far more internal level, and it should not be surprising to be told that this does mean the internal nature of the Witch themself. If a Witch cannot use their words to get what they want, to change the course in which they seek to mold into something different, if someone is far too stubborn as to not listen to the Witch - then there will be very little one could do to prevent the Witch from reaching into one’s own mind, heart and soul, and pulling them into a dance of strings and puppeteering. Witches are not fools, they are not capricious, they are not flighty. A Witch is always fully aware as to what they are doing, and what they want out of every step they take, every word they say, and every gesture they make. Witches are aware of themself and who they are - who they want to be.

As for the power of being able to manipulate through their Aspect, this is a skill that often takes far more practical, along with a personal, active approach than the Witch may like. After all, there will always be the kind-hearted Witches - the ones with a far higher moral code than others. However, the ability to manipulate through something as bold and rigid as one’s own Aspect is quite possibly the strongest power a Witch could ever acquire. In order to manipulate through their Aspect, the Witch must allow themself to become fully engrossed in the ins and outs, flaws and perfections, ups and downs of their Aspect. They have to fully dedicate themself to their Aspect - become one with it - if they are to ever wish to manipulate through such a core part of who they are. For some Witches, this task will be of no big deal - especially if they have an Aspect that seems far more “practical” to approach and manipulate through. Of course, that means there will be just as many Witches - if not more - who will find countless struggles in their journey to unlock this power and become fully aligned with their Aspect. Although they will never be on the same level of embodiment as their counter-part of Heirs, or of the Master Classes, the power that will come with this process is often enough to justify the trials that the Witch will inevitably have to go through. As for what these trials entail entirely often depends on the Witch and their Aspect, but the end game will forever be the same.

Once the Witch has become one with their Aspect and knows all of its angles, perspectives, and properties, they will finally be able to manipulate through it. This can once again be a far more personal, internal means of manipulation, as well as an external - perhaps even metaphysical - approach. As for the internal approach of this power, this could come with the Witch being a near master with their words, as well as their actions. While before they had a fairly good chance of being able to prove a point or win over some people with their words, these Witches are almost guaranteed to get their way in any situation they find themself within. These are the Witches whose Aspect often revolves around people than anything else, though more importantly how their Aspect affects the people than anything else. By being able to manipulate through such Aspects, the Witch could quite easily sway the minds and opinions of even the most stoic, rugged minded of people in their life, perhaps even going as far as being capable of convincing others that their entire identities and philosophies are wrong and flawed.

As for the Witches who have the Aspects that reflect a far more metaphysical and/or external factor, they are the ones who could be argued to embody the role of a puppeteer than anything else. They are the Witches who pull the strings from behind the curtain, orchestrating all that they can from within - or rather through - their Aspect. It is because of this under-the-table method of manipulation that their actions often go unchecked, unquestioned, or even unnoticed. By the time anyone may come to realize who is the one to have built up the crescendo of a song they find themself within, it will always be far too late as the Witch is allowed to wander off before any consequences can come knocking on their door. It could be argued that these are the Witches with the most corrupt, twisted, or even shallow morals out of any of their fellow wicked siblings, but it once again truly comes down as to why the Witch would do these actions - what their motives are. In a way, it could be argued that, if one were to present a question that embodied the entirety of Witches, it would simply be one question - “Why?” Granted, if one wanted to dive deeper into a far larger question, perhaps it would show itself as “What is their motive”, “Why are they doing this”, or “What is their end game”. Nevertheless, though, one thing is for certain: there is simply no way to know when it comes to a Witch.

Witches are a Class that has quite a split audience. They are those who are loved, adored, and admired by their fans and friends, and yet they will often have just as many, if not more, people who will hold great scorn and fiery judgment for them. Whether it is because of the fear of uncertainty, the discomfort that comes from their uncanny overly joyous attitudes, the opposite in regards to how explosive and loud their negative emotions can be, or their occasionally gray and questionable morals, the Witch is one who undeniably will have collected a few rivals and enemies throughout their life. Nevertheless, the Witch is one who will try to hold their head up as high as they can while still being mindful not to accidentally look down at people past their noses. As rambunctious and rebellious Witches can be at times, and how they may fail to contain their composure when put under a lot of emotional and/or mental stress, it could be argued that most Witches are simply people trying to do what they feel is right - both for themselves and the people they care for.

Having a Witch as a friend may appear to be both a blessing and a curse at times, but it could never be discounted that when one has a Witch as a brave and loyal ally, it is often best to always follow in the Witch’s footsteps. Which is to say - always looks on the brighter side of things, even when the world, or even friends have turned around and hurt you in one way or another. The Witch may be a polarizing figure to have in a group, and yes, they most certainly will bring trouble to the table every once in a while, but they are still the people who have seen and experienced what it means to be an outcast - to be different and judged by the rule followers in society. Although their powers may sound scary, and their words may occasionally hide daggers and venom within them, the Witch will always be someone who has a passionate soul, and a kind heart ready and willing to dish out countless love to those in need, and those they deem fit. A Witch is one who will always remain loyal unless proven wrong in their placement - so hold on tight to any Witch you may know and may even have the privilege of calling them a friend. Hold on tight and treat them right, for as kind and caring as a Witch can be, the warnings of their vicious and cruel nature should never be taken too lightly, either. Witches are no fools, after all.

#Witch #Witch Class #Homestuck #Hiveswap #Witch Analysis

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lastxviolet · 3 years

Text

The Assistant - Ch. 4

Description: Summary - Her sixth year at Hogwarts was supposed to be relatively peaceful but after an incident on the Hogwarts express, Violet Wilkes finds herself the newest target of the Weasley twins. This, combined with a dark family secret, and the Triwizard tournament, makes her first few months back more exciting and stressful than every year before.

pairing: George Weasley x Original Female Character

warnings: pg-13. slow burn, eventual smut hehe

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28218804/chapters/69148695

Mom's face.

Green flash.

Dark mark.

Bedroom ceiling.

Violet fully opened her eyes and pawed at the silk sheets around her, clawing to drag herself back to reality.

The bed. She was just in bed.

Her family was fine.

It was just a nightmare.

She repeated it over and over again but eventually, it was a loud snore from Sadie across the room that fully brought her back to reality.

She rose out of bed and glanced out of the high glowing window between their beds. The terror from the nightmare practically vanished at the sight of an incredibly bright fall day.

Agitation clawed at the nape of her neck during breakfast and she only made it about ten minutes before the desperation for fresh air became too much.

The brittle fall breeze nipped the exposed skin above her knee and at her wrists. The walk to Herbology was cold enough to be noticeable, but not entirely uncomfortable. Although, it made her a bit more thankful for the thick Hogwarts uniform now. Surely the Beauxbaton girls would freeze come winter. Without the barrier of cities or skyscrapers, frigid weather always came so soon. Without fail, frozen air managed to appear early, and linger well into the spring months.

She followed the familiar stone path to a small clearing on the side of the castle, obstructed only by rows of greenhouses, bursting at the seams with interior vines, and flowers. She'd never been particularly enthralled with herbology or plants, didn't call to her but it was better than divination or astronomy, both of which she had elected not to take this year.

Clad in yellow and black, a sea of cheerful Hufflepuffs welcome her inside, uncaring about her own lonesome green and silver tie, or noticing that she gagged a little on the musty stench of wet dirt and trapped photosynthesis. It was a relief to finally be around peers that weren't as judgmental as her own house. She didn't mean to generalize but the evidence was clear and overwhelming.

Professor Sprout instructed them on how to clip Sneezewort correctly and she absorbed every detail of the small white flower that held the ability to befuddle even the most sound minds but offered little to the discussion, letting her much more invested peers take over. Sneezewort was a key ingredient in the Befuddlement Draught, the first potion they'd learned last year.

She tuned out the lecture to go over the recipe and instructions in her head, just in case Snape wasn't finished testing them and it came up in potions tomorrow. She wouldn't put it past him to make a further example out of her. He was the sort of sadist who enjoyed making students feel underprepared and stupid, not that it had ever applied to her. It was one of the many characteristics that he did not share with any other professors at Hogwarts, but she didn't mind. It was probably some deep-seated ambition or need to be better than the rest but she had enjoyed earning his tolerance, and praise, especially when it was withheld from so many.

Lunch was a rather somber affair without Sadie so she settled at the end of the Slytherin table, content to read.

With their schedules out of synch with one another, she was staring down the barrel of an entire year of lunches alone, not that she minded. She glanced up at the rest of the hall, admiring the lax nature of the other tables and houses, completely fine with sharing tables during more informal meals. She glanced down the length of her table, unsurprised by only a few green ties littering the dark wooden seats. She wouldn't have minded some more house mingling but the trend makers in Slytherin were quite territorial.

She quickly helped herself to some soup and flipped through the book to find where she'd left off. The train ride had only allowed her to get halfway through The Princess Bride and she'd barely had any time for personal reading over the weekend between brushing up on textbooks and unpacking.

Finally, he rested far below her, silent and without motion. "You can die too for all I care," she said, and then she turned away.

Words followed her. Whispered from far, weak and warm and familiar. "As . . . you . . . wish. .."

It was inevitable, tears pricked her eyes and she broke into a big smile, unable to contain it. This part, no matter how many times she read it, always made her emotional.

The complex mixture of devotion, love, and sadness between the two protagonists was so raw and powerful. It was entirely unrealistic, which was the only reason she found it intriguing at all. Not that she'd know anything about love. The last boy she'd liked seriously was someone long since graduated from when she was a fourth-year. But from what she had seen from the other clumsy, short-lived couples at Hogwarts, this kind of romance didn't exist in real life. There had been a few boys in her hometown who'd taken her out on dates over the years but they'd amounted to nothing, not even a kiss. She couldn't talk about the things she likes from the wizarding world with them, and couldn't talk about muggle things with anyone at Hogwarts so it was, in her view, pointless to even try. She doubted that any sort of satisfactory love would come for her at all though because she was an avid fiction reader, so her standard for men was way too high.

She blinked back her tears and sniffled the rest of her emotions back into her head. Thankfully, the Slytherin table was almost empty except for a few lone diners like herself. Most of her lazy oaf housemates opted for afternoon classes so that they could sleep in. Even the head table was practically empty except for Hagrid, who was chatting away at Madam Maxine, who towered over him. She blamed her sudden tenderness on the chapter she'd just finished but they would make a sweet couple.

One other seat at the table was occupied by an unfamiliar, rather large blonde man whose face was mostly obscured by his goblet and furious fork movements. She could just make out a wonky blue eye but…not the rest of him. His tousled blonde hair and rather red complexion seemed out of place. She squinted to make out his features a little more. Was he a professor from one of the international schools? No, he looked quite familiar, she thought. She'd seen his face before.

She looked back down at her own table. "Parkinson, who is that? The blonde one."

Pansy Parkinson followed her gaze and then half-whispered back down to her.

"Professor Moody, new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Thanks," she responded mindlessly. Moody. Why did that name sound so familiar?

She stared unabashedly at the man, struggling to make out any more details.

He stood briefly, to reach the pumpkin juice and she caught a glimpse of metal where a leg once was.

She'd seen him before.

Moody.

Her mind whirred.

She scrambled out of her seat, trying not to look as dizzy and sick as she felt.

Moody. Mad-Eye Moody. The auror. That's where she knew him from.

A cold shiver passed over her as his eyes met hers. He lingered for a moment due to her sudden rise and then returned to his meal.

No. It couldn't be him. He must be someone else.

She didn't hide her urgency as she ran through the halls towards the library.

Panic lodged itself into her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

With every step she took, she prayed, wished, and hoped that she was mistaken and that it wasn't him.

He must be someone else. But she had to be sure.

The library doors opened with more of a bang than she'd usually allow, drawing more than one disgruntled look from other students but she didn't care.

The bookshelves on the way to the history section flew by.

Accio

A book documenting all the issues of the Daily Prophet from 1981, the end of the first wizarding war, flew to her.

There was no time to reach her alcove, she had to know now.

She leaned on an empty wall in an abandoned corner and ripped through the pages, feeling her heartbeat on the tip of every finger.

Please be someone else, she chanted in her head. Please be someone else.

Please don't be him.

Please don't be —

The headline looked the same as it did when she'd first found it during her second year at Hogwarts when she'd simply been curious about the war that her peers sometimes chatted about. Her father hadn't told her any of it. Only that someone had died and the world was a better place because of it.

DEATH EATER KILLED EN ROUTE TO AZKABAN

The photo underneath the black words still moved.

The same Moody she'd seen at lunch stood over a body, his face still bleeding from the altercation.

She slammed the book closed and squeezed her eyes tight.

It was him. He had done it.

Moody.

The photo flashed behind her eyelids; his lost leg, rolling eye, matted hair - standing over her uncle's dead body, eyes- lifeless, dark mark- still, face- reminiscent of her fathers, and thusly, her own.

Her heart pounded in her ears. Silencing the hustle and bustle around her.

It was him. And he was here.

She felt her legs give out and sunk to the floor in a flustered heap.

No, no, no. Why did he have to come here?

She'd tried so hard, for so long to forget it and now she was forced to reckon with the truth.

Her eyesight narrowed to tunnels.

What if he knew? What if he could tell just by her hair or face?

Her vision became hazy and the bookshelves and carpet blurred into one reddish-brown clump.

Tomorrow. She would see him tomorrow. Not only was he here but he was her professor.

Her stomach churned.

He would read her name on the class roster tomorrow. He would know then, if he didn't already.

What if he stood up in class and said, "I killed Death Eater, Rupert Wilkes and his niece is in this very room."

She tried to calm her breathing but her brain was static.

Then everyone would know. It'd take a few class periods to get around and Malfoy would tell them all the rest of the story until she formally became the evil that she feared so much. Death Eaters taunted her dreams because she couldn't help but see one every time she looked in the mirror.

The room was spinning.

No one could know.

No one could see that when they looked at her. She would make sure of it.

Despite her best efforts to calm down, severe panic and a lack of oxygen blacked out the world around her before she lost consciousness.

"Violet."

A soft voice coaxed her back to reality. She slowly came to, feeling lightheaded and confused. She opened her eyes and panicked when all she saw was black, before realizing that her face was pressed to the floor. The carpet scratched her cheek as she turned to acknowledge the voice.

"Violet, are you ok?" A familiar voice cooed anxiously next to her.

She looked up and found Madam Pince's face looming over her. She concluded from the horrified, concerned expression from the librarian that she must have passed out and fallen over.

"C'mon dear, up you come," Madam Pince said, pulling her to her feet. "We need to get you to the hospital wing."

She found her footing but dropped the book to the floor, rushing to pick it up before the librarian could see what she was reading. The movement nearly made her fall over but the bookish witch's grip on her arm was incredibly tight and dependable, not even allowing her to sway.

"Oh no it's alright," she assured the older witch breathlessly. "Really, I'm fine I just was…erm… lightheaded is all and um sat down. I must have just fallen asleep." She tried to hide the wobbling of her legs and flashed a confident smile to deter her nerves.

Madam Pince regarded her with suspicious eyes but slowly released her arm. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes I promise. Thank you, I'll just go straight to my room and lie down, I promise," she rambled, making a break for the front door, her legs still feeling like jello. "Um thank you, sorry."

"Alright," Madam Pince called after her. "Be more careful."

She stuffed the book into her bag and sprinted back to her room. The sunset shining through the windows on her way back to the dungeon signaled that she'd been out for the entire afternoon and some of the evening. She guessed that she'd missed dinner, not that it mattered because her stomach was too tightly wound with nerves to eat anything.

As she moved through the halls, her thoughts raced to remember why she'd passed out in the first place. She rounded a corner and caught sight of the doors to the Great Hall and it all hit her again, in an instant. She fought back panicked tears and considered changing her trajectory to the owlery to message her father about what to do but stopped, remembering that he wasn't aware of just how much she knew and that the revelation might give his sensitive soul a shock.

She focused on steadying her breathing and regaining the feeling in her legs, ignoring the countless peers she passed. She swore that she heard someone calling her name, but her heartbeat filled her ears, blocking out most sound, so she couldn't be sure.

It was a lonely feeling, keeping a secret for years on end. The truth of the situation would be more of a prison than the secret itself and so she kept it buried and let it fester into a deep loathing of those around her who were unburdened by the evils of the world.

She spat the common room password with more fervor than she ever had and raced through the dark furniture and scattered students, anxious for the safety of her room.

Her thoughts were interrupted when an inconsolable Sadie greeted her as soon as she opened the door. She hastily wiped a tear away from her cheek and collected herself, not that Sadie would've noticed between her sobs.

"Sadie," she croaked out.

Her sniffling friend looked up at her in surprise. "Where have you been?" The tone and volume of her voice made Violet jump. After hours of begin unconscious on the floor, her head was pounding. Despite the ache, she scurried over to console her friend, thankful for a distraction from her distress.

Apparently, Graham Montague had been caught sneaking a Bauxbaton girl into the boy's dorm earlier in the evening and Sadie had been the one who saw them.

She whispered countless reassurances, and encouragements but most came out half-hearted, not that she'd meant them to. What did Sadie expect from a pureblood git? Of course, she'd never say so and nodded along to her friend's rant, despite her groggy head and sore limbs from a terrible afternoon spent crumpled on the library floor.

"He seriously thinks that I care," she yelled, tossing a pillow at their closed bedroom door. "Please, he can fancy whomever he likes. It's a relief to be rid of him. His constant worshiping at the temple of my twat was getting old anyway."

Sadies high cheekbones glistened from her tears. She'd finally stopped crying but her deep brown eyes reflected her pooling sadness, ready to rerelease at a moment's notice.

"He's a leech and you're entirely too good for him," she said in an attempt to match her friend's anger while scanning the room anxiously for a place to hide the book.

Thankfully, Sadie didn't sense her distraction and ranted for a few moments longer before opting to sob herself to sleep on her bed. Violet rubbed her friend back, trying to focus on Sadie's much simpler problem but she could feel the book burning a hole through her bag, and her own problem searing itself into her subconscious. When Sadies soft snores filled the room, she peeled herself from the bed opposite of hers and finally laid her head on her pillow.

Despite already being lightly sleep-deprived, she tossed and turned all night fighting off worst-case scenarios and sorting through her emotions.

Terrifying, she decided sometime around 3 AM. It was terrifying.

It was terrifying to be in the house that raised almost all of the dark witches and wizards in history.

To be so close to those whose families still had loyalty to a Dark Lord.

To have Death Eater blood running through her veins. It felt like a sick joke, being terribly afraid of something inside of her. It was a cruel game of cat and mouse except she couldn't figure out which one was which. Scared of herself, and even more afraid of those around her who had the same story.

But those feelings of fear were all expected. She'd sorted through them thousands of times and lost more hours of sleep over them than she could count. These were things she'd already resigned herself to, but Moody was a bomb. He was unexpected and quite frankly, entirely unwelcome and she didn't know how to react.

He'd been here a week and she hadn't even known. She kicked herself for leaving the welcome feast early. She could've recognized him sooner and planned ahead but now she only had a few hours to organize her thoughts and come up with a plan of attack that didn't get her outed, or worse.

She turned over and stared at the wall, begging into the dark for sleep to take her. Tomorrow she'd be a tired, useless mess.

Tomorrow.

Not only would she feel exhausted but she'd have to see him tomorrow and there was no way around it. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a graduation requirement, and further, than that, something she was actually interested in learning, seeing as her fear of the topic occupied her thoughts more and more each passing day.

Her stomach wound itself in a tight knot at the thought of walking into class and facing Moody in front of her peers.

The way she saw it, there were only two options. Ignore him, and hope he didn't recognize her or face it head-on and let him know that she knew. She mulled it over and over hopelessly flipping between worst-case scenarios.

Ignoring him hinged on his inability to recognize her name or face, which she doubted. She knew nothing of the emotional toll that killing someone left a person with but surely it wasn't easily forgotten. On the other hand, if she confronted him after class, maybe they could come to an understanding. Maybe he would be glad to know that not everyone who bore her last name was evil. Maybe he even harbored some guilt, and was just as nervous about her, as she was about him.

It wasn't the worst plan, and exceedingly better than skipping DADA a year, not graduating in time, and having to explain everything to Snape and her parents.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the canopy above her, surprised to feel tears prick the corner of her eyes.

There was a hole in her heart.

She had to see him. She had to learn from him.

There was no way to avoid being in the same room as the man who had caused her father so much grief and pain that he hadn't spoken about his brother in nearly thirteen years.

The pain was what lingered. Behind every smile, every laugh, glint of his eyes, she always saw that pain. Especially when he was looking at her. It was only natural of course. He'd never say it but she could tell he worried about her being so close to where her uncle was corrupted. Two roads certainly diverging and she couldn't blame him for wondering which one she would take.

Despite wanting to, she couldn't blame him. It wasn't Moody who had caused that pain. It was the uncle who'd sought fame and glory by standing next to he-who-must-not-be-named and ended up getting himself killed. He'd chosen instantaneous death over a slow and torturous one in Azkaban and she didn't feel bad for him.

It wasn't just her pain, or her father's pain, or her family; but the entire wizarding world.

There were other articles too, ones right before and right after her uncle's death that she could hardly bring herself to read. She hadn't been able to make it more than a paragraph into the front-page article announcing the boy who lived. Its cadence desperately tried to give respect and solemness to Potter's parents but failed miserably. The one that haunted her the most though cited the torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom, Nevilles parents. She'd never spoken to the boy but knew his tragic story well. If the news of her bloodline ever did get out, he, above anyone else would have a right to despise her.

She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to forget the black and white pictures.

None of it was her fault but she felt the burden regardless.

Countless other families had lost so much more, even some at the hand of her uncle. That was worse than his death.

He had helped the Dark Lord rip families apart, and set the world on fire. Because it was his job.

And just like him, Moody too had done his job. He had sacrificed an eye and a leg to make their whole world safer. It probably meant nothing to kill someone to ensure the safety of those you love, and deep down she knew that true safety and peace had required his death. The thought made him less intimidating but the worry remained the same.

She let a silent tear fall for the resurgence of the dark mark, her father, the confrontation tomorrow, and the uncle she never knew, and finally fell asleep.

Violet didn't wait for her alarm clock to lull her awake on Wednesday morning.

The early rise gave her time to shower and dress slowly. Breakfast tempted her but she opted to head straight to the potions classroom where another annoyance awaited.

She found her seat and ignored the peers trickling into the room around her until Lee sat down a few minutes later, with George in tow. The panic of yesterday had pushed him, and his smug demeanor far out of her mind but unfortunately, hadn't made him any less real.

She kept her eyes on the open textbook in front of her and tried to tune them out, as well as her murderous thoughts. She didn't have the energy to deal with George today. Any fire inside of her needed to be conserved tense conversation she was hellbent on having in just a few hours.

George must have sensed her annoyance because he leaned over the table and set a hand in front of her book.

"Morning Violet."

She glared at him but his smug smile didn't budge.

"Merlin, you look terrible," he leaned forward further, faking concern.

Lovely, she thought. What an absolute gentleman and a delight to deal with this morning. She squinted, trying to hide her anger, and fighting off the blush creeping onto her cheeks. What an intolerable person. If Lee wasn't sitting between them, she might've hexed him right then and there.

"Reckon I'm still better looking than you. It's a wonder why God decided to make your ugly face twice."

He squinted back and chuckled. "God? Didn't take a heathen like yourself to be the religious type."

"Only started recently," she said, scolding herself for giving into his back and forth. "I found myself in urgent need of something to pray to."

She hoped he'd take the bait.

"Don't leave me in suspense Violet, whatever do you pray for?"

Like a mouse with cheese. "Your painful demise."

"And you need God for that? Don't have the courage to hex me yourself," he half cooed, egging her on.

Nothing dark look today. If anything, he looked like he was having fun.

"Don't tempt me. A cell in Azkaban would be much more preferable to seeing your ghastly hair every week."

He smiled and tucked a lock behind his ear.

"Violet, no need to be so cruel. I feel as though we've gotten off to a wrong start. Let's start again shall we?"

She shot him a sarcastic smirk. As if.

"Good morning Violet," he said, with an even toothier grin.

She smiled sweetly. "You look terrible."

Maybe a few more back and forth's and he would've dawned on the more sinister look that she'd grown quite fond of, but Snape's entrance interrupted them, and George scampered off to his seat without another word.

Snape tapped on his podium. "Weasley; scarab beetles, ginger roots, armadillo bile, newt spleens."

Everyone in the class turned to watch George dawn a frantic look on his face before resigning to stare daggers into Snape.

"What…" he said.

Their professor him a few more seconds to answer and then smirked.

"Pity. Five points from Gryffindor. Wilkes?"

She jumped a little at the sound of her name and quickly shifted her gaze to Snape.

"Oh um Wit-Sharpening Potion, sir," she responded dully, ignoring the collective class sigh at her once again outing herself as a teacher's pet.

"Sounds like something you might want to invest in," Snape sneered, turning back to George. "Five points to Slytherin. Davies; spring water, alihosty leaves, billywig wings, snarl quills, puff skein hair, horseradish powder."

He was quizzing them. He'd done it last year before finals but he seemed to be taking a rather cruel approach to weeding out those who didn't have their textbooks preemptively memorized.

"Um… erm…. Dreamless sleep?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Five points from Ravenclaw. Wilkes?"

Oh Godric, again? She really was the most unlucky person alive today.

She kept her eyes on the desk. "Laughing potion, sir."

"Five points to Slytherin. Warrington, name one potion with porcupine quills."

"Erm…Cure for Boils?"

"Five points to Slytherin. Stimpson; daisy roots, shrivelfig, caterpillars, rat spleen, leech juice, cowbane, wormwood."

"I….I don't know sir."

"Five points from Ravenclaw. Wilkes?"

"Shrinking Solution, sir."

There were only so many students that he could pick on before she was stuck reciting the entire textbook. Hopefully, he wouldn't take the entire class time to make his point, but she wouldn't put it past him.

"Five points to Slytherin. Jordan; moonstone, hellebore, unicorn horn, porcupine quills, valerian root."

She let the quietest gasp escape her lips and whipped her head to look at him. He knew this. They had made it on Monday and he'd been the one to gather the ingredients. He looked a little panicked so she gave him a soft kick under the desk and watched as the lightbulb went off over his head.

"Draught of Peace!"

She bit the side of her cheek to stop a smile from forming on her face. It was an easy question and it meant nothing but regardless, she couldn't help but feel proud that he had remembered.

"Congratulations on paying attention to Miss Wilkes' work. I will deduct no points from Gryffindor, as a reward."

Dissatisfied at the Gryffindors correct answer, Snape finished his quiz and instructed them all to study the first chapter in the textbook for next week when they would begin brewing.

She skimmed over the words and mindlessly flicked through the pages, ignoring her heart thumping and stomach swirling. It was only about thirty minutes now until she'd be in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She blinked back the moving photo from the book and tried to conjure any happy image.

"Psstt."

She turned her head to Lee a second time.

"What?" She hissed.

He grinned at her. "Thanks for kicking me in the right direction."

Over his shoulder, she could see George staring at them curiously. She wondered if Gryffindors ever did anything without moving in a pack and moved her eyes back to the book.

"Don't mention it."

Much to her surprise, he didn't. He even pushed George back out the door when the giant redhead waltzed back over, looking like he wanted to pick up where they left off.

She watched them leave and lamented to herself as one nightmare ended, another began.

A few minutes later, she stopped at the entrance to the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower. A couple of her fellow students pushed past her, glaring back as they ascended the stairs but despite their sour expressions, she couldn't move.

The adrenaline from last night was waning and the plans she'd come up with no longer seemed like the right thing to do.

The stairs took forever, and yet not long enough. She scurried to a corner desk in the last row and took a seat next to an inconspicuous looking Durmstrang boy, who might have said something when she sat down but her ears wouldn't stop ringing.

The bell tolled. This was it. There was a 50/50 chance that her reputation was about to be ruined. News like this would take little to no time to get around the school and everyone would know before dinner. She'd be the girl that Professor Moody threw out of his class for being related to a Death Eater. For the rest of the year, she'd have no choice but to sit with Malfoy and all the other children of suspected Death Eaters, but even they might not take her.

Moody's office door banged open and he trudged down the stairs.

Sadie might not hate her forever, but any hopes at remaining cordial with friends from other houses would be thrown out the window, she thought. Hermione wouldn't be able to look at her. She didn't know if she could take it.

"Alastor Moody," he was scribbling at the chalkboard with his back turned to the class. "Ex Auror, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

He turned to look at them.

She winced. His normal eye floated over their faces, but his other eye, held to his face with leather and metal, moved furiously as he called out names from the roster. Her breathing grew shallow as the eye moved to the back of the class, and towards the end of the alphabet.

"Wilkes," He bellowed.

"Here," she squeaked out, on the verge of passing out.

His eyes grazed over her one second, and then… they were gone.

She blinked, squinting to be sure that he wasn't staring in shock or reaching into his pocket to pull out his wand and hex her but he was continuing with the last few names on the roster as if nothing had happened.

There hadn't been even the slightest bit of recognition. Not a flashback. No acknowledgment. No chill down his spine or look in his eye.

Nothing.

Either he didn't know or simply… didn't care.

She felt her muscles unfurl one by one, and nearly laughed out loud with relief.

"The unforgivable curses," he blurted, starting his lecture.

She stared at him in disbelief for a few moments before tentatively accepting that, at least for now, she was in the clear. It was astonishing and completely unexpected. She suddenly felt silly for panicking so much.

Her relieved mood didn't last long though, as he spoke ominously about the world they would step into upon graduation. Any small doubt in her mind that the Dark Mark in the sky hadn't really meant a second war, vanished.

"The Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight."

His face contorted with passion and his eyes urged them to see the horrible things he'd seen. His pleas were honest but terrifying.

"You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance," he concluded, before dismissing the class in a huff after an hour and a half of passionate ranting.

She didn't give her original plan another thought, and was the first one out the door, her mind running through the warning he'd just given them.

Vigilance.

If she would have stayed for the entire feast, and been vigilant, she would have known that he was going to be here. She cursed herself for letting something like this sneak up on her and affect her so harmfully, especially now that none of her worst fears about him had come true.

Vigilance.

She wasn't at the Quidditch World Cup but judging from Moody's ominous lecture, that was just the beginning. There would be more whispers, more threats, maybe even attacks, just how it started last time. Even without the return of he-who-must-not-be-named, his followers were surely tired of waiting in the shadows, biting their tongues, and watching muggle-borns, and half-bloods receive equal treatment. If they were back, her family would be a target.

She had to be vigilant.

The full Slytherin table almost deterred her from sitting down for lunch but she couldn't get Moody's words out of her head. She caught a glance of Malfoy laughing with Crabbe, and Goyle, all with family ties to Death Eaters. She was quite literally in the snake pit.

She boldly took a seat at the middle of the table, a few empty spots away from Malfoy and his crew.

Vigilant.

If there was indeed something brewing, maybe they knew about it, and maybe, just maybe, they'd be dumb enough to let something slip.

Moody's face looming over her uncles flashed in her mind once more but she didn't flinch. If her uncle had survived, surely he would have come for his blood-traitor brother and half-blood nieces. How could she have been so stupid to think that Moody would out her, even if he had recognized her name? He was capable of bad things, yes, but clearly, only for a good cause. He'd done what he had to do, not only for his safety but also for her father's safety, her mother's safety, and ultimately, hers.

She cursed the tear she'd shed for such an evil man last night.

Malfoy's cackle tore her from her thoughts. She watched him sneer at a group of Gryffindors with his friends, his white hair unmoving as he tossed his head backward and wondered if anyone else had seen him at the Quidditch World Cup.

#george weasley #george weasley fanfic #george weasley x original female character #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley smut #dating george weasley #weasley fanfiction #george weasley fic #george weasley imagine

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itswildwinters · 3 years

Text

Ask for writers

Thank you @theisolatedlily and @soldouthaz for tagging me, I really appreciate it! This lovely tag was created by @soldouthaz, which I think is brilliant to get to know other writers!! I love it, so thank you Sarah!

This is quite long, but I still hope it’s entertaining!

1. describe how you first started writing and when you first posted: I’ve always wanted to write. I know that I only began publishing this year (January 2020) but years back, I always would open up a blank document and just... write. Lack of confidence and language barriers (I wanted to write in English, but it isn’t my first language and I only became fluent three years ago) have made it so that I would never finish a story. I think we all had our wattpad moment but even on there I would never really publish because the platform just wasn’t right. But then I discovered ao3, where I’d read fics and also improve my English. Then I found out about fests, and I decided to participate in one last year (2019 BLFF) and my first fic then came out!

And ever since, I’ve been able to write and finish what I start. It’s as if the lock that had been put to block my creativity had been destroyed; posting my first completed fic has acted as a turning point. I was extremely nervous when I first posted, still am, but now I have this need to write and I love sharing what I write and ever since I became a writer, my life’s been a lot better!

2. which of your characters do you typically resonate most closely with? do you base any characters off of yourself?: I switch between Louis’ POV, or Harry’s POV depending on the story; I tend to sprinkle a bit of myself in the characters I write, but then again they’re also completely different from me! I’ve never based a character completely on myself, which I find quite boring (haha); sometime unconsciously, I’d write a character based on someone I knew. I think some examples on how my characters can look a bit like me, is Hamlet in a sea of mist which has gotten his clear-headedness from me; or in my Murder Mystery fic, the way I describe Louis’ fear is heavily based on how I feel whenever I’m faced with something that makes me uncomfortable.

3. where do you often find inspiration?: art (paintings, music), books, quotes, poems and movies!

4. has quarantine helped or hindered your writing process?: having so much free time on my hands has definitely helped; I would seek refuge within my stories, to spice up quarantine!

5. do you listen to music/noise while you write or do you prefer silence? I love love love playing classical music (Chopin, Saint-Saens, Debussy, Yiruma, Einaudi, Faulkner, Schumann, Tchaikovsky, Mozart to name a few) while writing. I can’t write when it’s anything else. But I can also write when there’s nothing; hearing the rhythmic clicking sound of the keyboard as I press over its keys can be relaxing to me.

6. what is your biggest writing pet peeve in your writing or in general?: hm in my writing I guess I tend to write very long sentences, and also I still do grammar mistakes. I hope to work on those points. I also find the way I space my fics very annoying (which is why I’ve begun making outlines!).

7. describe your ideal writing setup: in a couch or a bed with several pillows piled up behind my back, classical music in my ears and a steaming cup of tea next to me.

8. favorite time of day to write?: I love writing when it’s very early, usually after I’ve woken up and freshened up. I don’t like writing when it’s too late because I’m not a night owl; rather an early bird. I especially love when I write and it’s still dark outside, then slowly dawn breaks in and the sky becomes tainted in warm hues of orange, yellow and sometimes even purple and pink.

9. favorite genre to write + one you’d like to try writing in the future?: I love writing fantasy, horror, suspense, action, thrillers. Especially angst and hurt/comfort, as well as slow burn. I’d like in the future to explore sci-fi and magical realism!

10. do you struggle with writer’s block? how do you typically overcome it? I haven’t suffered from writer block so far, which I’m glad!!

11. what is the easiest part of your writing process and the most difficult? writing is the easiest, but outlining (as in, coming up with plot ideas) is quite difficult for me. Also dialogues can be a bit of a problem to me.

12. how do you come up with original characters? (if applicable): I just make them up in my mind, and create them when they’re necessary to the story, giving them personality traits that will help the story develop.

13. what is your favorite and least favorite word? it’s hard to choose cause I have several but favourite: petrichor and least favourite: big

14. what is one thing about your writing that you’re really proud of and one thing you hope to continue working at?: I am proud of the way I describe, which allows me to really settle the story in its verse. I love describing, giving importance to the ordinary. Also feelings; I love describing them and exploring how I can translate them into words, so that the reader can feel them. But I have to work on my dialogues methinks.

15. what work of yours has your favorite ‘verse/world building? how did you come up with it?: those who from the Pit of Hell, roam to seek their prey on earth. I’ve always wanted to begin writing thrillers/Murder mystery fics and with that one I think I managed to? I had read an article on forensic medicine back in the 19th century and it sparked this fic’s plot!

16. what font and size do you write in? single spaced or double?: Arial, 11pt, single spaced

17. what is a typo(s) you find yourself making consistently?: I don’t know if this can be considered as a typo but I tend to repeat, within a paragraph, A LOT my character’s name instead of using pronouns. This is because I’m afraid of confusion when another character arrives in the scene.

18. (if applicable) do you separate fic writing from fandom?: I don’t know if I understood the question properly, but yes? When I use Louis or Harry in my fics, they’re completely different from real-Louis or real-Harry; they’re my characters, they only have the same names, but their personality reflects in nothing real-life Harry and Louis.

I think to answer this better: I do separate fic writing from fandom, but I still think that fanfics are important to a fandom; I haven’t heard of a fandom without fanfics! Fanfics spice up fandoms, I reckon, they’re important to bring people together.

19. what emotion is your favorite to write? which is the most difficult?: Angst is my favourite thing to write, as well as fear. And I struggle with writing humour, I’m not a funny person to be honest

20. what is one thing you hope readers always take away from your works?: I always hope they like my writing and the plot, also the way I portray my characters. I want my readers to feel the writing, and the story in general. I just want my readers to truly enjoy what they read from me <3

21. what is the best and worst writing advice you’ve ever received?: I was told to always write very specifically and to fit my writing into a mould — don’t write ‘he’s’ but ‘he is’, or write shorter sentences, or stop describing so much. But in the end, there isn’t one way of writing — write the way you want.

22. which one of your works would you most want to see turned into a film/television show?: only one? ahhh this is hard! But I’d love to see those who from the Pit of Hell, roam to seek their prey on earth be turned into a movie. There are also a couple of wips that I could see on-screen but I’ll stick to that!

23. do you write scenes chronologically or out of order?: chronologically. Haven’t explored anachronies (analepsis/prolepsis) at all, but I might soon!

24. how do you handle criticism?: really well!! As long as they’re constructive and not mean, I love hearing what people think. Criticism is the best way for me, a person whose first person is not English, to improve!

25. what is the advice you would give to someone who is looking to start writing?: DO IT!! Honestly, don’t tell yourself, ‘I’m not good enough’. Just do it. Open a blank document and write your heart away, even if it’s not a story; just begin it. Explore your writing style, then maybe try to mould it into a plot. Writing is not limited to a certain category of people; it’s not just for those who can write. Writing is for everyone, and like most things, one must begin before improving (practice makes perfect!!) <3

26. what kind of feedback on your work always makes your day?: anything!!! Just the fact someone clicked on my story, read it, and took time to leave a comment — just that is enough to make my heart bursts with joy. I am so so grateful to every single person who’s ever read something from me.

27. which fic ‘verse of your own would you most like to exist in? which fic’s characters would you most like to befriend?: The verse I’m talking about is still a wip, but the siren/mermaid one that I’m currently building! I’d love to live in it.

28. what do you always enjoy getting asks about/wish people would ask about more?: Anything, really, my inbox is open to anyone and for everything! I love discussing books, movies and poetry as well as quotes, and maybe I wish people would come forth to ask me more about my fics or my wips, if they have any inquiries! Or I’d love to write drabbles!

29. what has writing added to your life? how has it changed you?: It has made my life so, so much better. Writing has stitched up a gaping hole in my chest. It’s permitted me to improve in English, has made me more confident and has allowed my creativity to flow. I just... I love writing so much. It has also allowed me to meet some incredible people on tumblr, which I’m very grateful for!!

30. why do you write?: for many reasons; to spice up my life, to help me develop my creativity, and because I love it. I’ve always wanted to be a writer.

boost yourself + tags!

1a. share the last sentence you wrote:

The words echo around his head and collide with his temples like truncheon blows.

2a. describe the wip you’re most excited about:

I’m excited for all of them, but I’ll go with my third BLFF fic. It’s very angsty, post-war, ABO, exes to lovers. It tackles heavy topics, it’s such an emotional fic. I’m so so excited for her (she comes out in January).

3a. share the piece of dialogue from one of your works you’re most proud of:

This is hard. But I’ll go with one from in a sea of mist cause the way Louis answers Harry... I love it:

“I feel like you want to kill me,” he pants out, using his right arm to hold himself up while his other hand comes up to rub at his burning cheek and nose, where Louis had hit him with the sole of his shoe.

“Before our date? No, never,” Louis blinks sweetly, chuckling and climbing up as Harry smiles to himself.

4a. share the best first and last lines from your work(s): I will do only those that are already published:

best first lines are from the hope that warbles in my fluttering breast: There, against the window, was stuck millions of snowflakes, their see-through quality no more as they huddled together, pushed against hard surfaces by the merciless wind.

best last lines are from in a sea of mist: It takes a while for Harry to go to sleep, elation pumping through his veins so fast that the previous tiredness he felt has flown out of the window. But when he finally focuses on Louis’ heavened out breathing, and when he breathes in Louis’ natural perfume that always acts as an ambrosia over him, he manages to close his eyes, and for the first time in a while, he dreams of a future that’s devoid of any darkness.

5a. link the last fic you read: currently reading sweet like honey by @falsegoodnight and Spoonful of Sugar by @zanniscaramouche and they’re absolutely amazing!

6a. link the last work you published: in a sea of mist

7a. link to your ao3 (if applicable): tomlinvelvet

8a. someone that inspires you: Louis <3 his music and just his personality overall leaves so much scope for the imagination. There are also so many writers (both non-fanfic writers and fanfic writers) that inspire me daily.

9a. a comfort fic/work that you’ve been grateful for this year: even the best laid plans and just a flicker in the dark both by @falsegoodnight as well as eyes off you by @soldouthaz ... these fics are just so amazing, everything about them is top tier

10a. other writers that you’d like to tag! @falsegoodnight @scrunchyharry @hadestyles @mercurial-madhouse @youreyesonlarry @raspberryoatss @jacaranda-bloom @soldouthaz @behisoneandonly @vintageumbroshirt @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @lougendarey @quelquesetoiles <3 no pressure ofc!

#tagged #interaction

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

Text

i lost a friend (i lost my mind)

Criminal Minds Fic Part One

| PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 |

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: character death, canon-typical violence, mental instability (I’m reluctant to name a specific disorder or condition)

Notes: cross-posted on Ao3, and this was my first whumpfic in this fandom so forgive me if it sucks. this is canon-compliant until after 12.01 The Crimson King

everyone has a breaking point. especially those who have been at war with the demons in their mind for their entire life.

“Hotch? There’s a lead… ” Rossi knocked on the door of the office he had taken over in the station, having come to let him know of a new lead they got on the child abduction-murder case they had been working on for the past three days in Colorado, only to pause in the doorway. Instead of seeing him wide-awake and sitting at the desk with the case file and piles of paperwork spread around him, the senior profiler was treated to the sight of the unit chief pacing around the room and twisting his hands, a nervous tic he usually hid and rarely gave into.

His concern grew as he took note of the phone that was tossed unceremoniously onto the ground and the papers that were strewn all over the floor and desk. He went to close the blinds to give them some privacy.“What happened?”

The unit chief stopped pacing but didn’t respond, only placing his hands on the edge of the desk and hunching over, trembling and breathing heavily.

“Aaron?”

He looked up, the pure terror clear in his eyes causing an icy, foreboding feeling to creep up Rossi’s spine.

“Jack collapsed at school.”

A bolt of understanding shot through Rossi. He walked into the room, taking a closer look at the panicking father (—he wasn’t the hardass unit chief right now, he was a single father who had no other biological family left apart from his son, who he almost lost to the machinations of a madman—) when he noticed the shaking arms, clearly struggling to support his weight. He made it to him just in time to prevent him from crashing to the ground as his legs gave out.

Rossi held his shaking form, allowing him to try and gather his bearings. Hotch took a shuddering breath in. “Jessica called me about ten minutes ago, the reception’s been really bad and apparently she’s been trying to reach me all day…Jack’s in the hospital right now. They think—” he swallowed, voice breaking. “They think it’s because of the pulmonary valve anomaly he was born with.”

Hotch looked up at Rossi, eyes glassy as he rambled on. “The doctors said he’d probably never have to worry about it much, especially with how well he dealt with the stress of—” his breath hitched and he looked down, unable to force the words out of his mouth. The older agent knew what he was talking about immediately and held him tighter, trying to give him some measure of comfort.

“You should head back,” Rossi said firmly. “Jack needs you more than we do.” He was surprised to feel him shaking his head.

“Oh, believe me, I’d be on my way to the airstrip right now if I could,” he let out a bitter laugh, “but the unit is already facing more budget cuts, I can’t—I won’t—take the jet. Besides,” he cut off his protest, “no sane pilot would fly in this weather, not even for a father whose child might be dying for all he knew—” he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut as a few tears slipped out.

Rossi internally raged at all the deities he could think of for putting his former protégé—practically his surrogate son—through the works. First, he had lost his marriage, then lost Haley to a psychopath obsessed with making his life hell. Not even a year had gone by after that when he had to fake a teammate’s death and accepted a laborious assignment on the other side of the globe in order to cope with the secrets. Then came Foyet’s return from the grave via his torn internal adhesions, Mr. Scratch, the DOJ fiasco, and now this—

Hotch suddenly stood up, having regained tight control over the storm inside. “You said we had a lead?” he asked, his affect completely transforming as he moved to tidy the room.

Had Rossi not known Hotch for as long as he had, he wouldn’t have been able to pick the stress out of his standard clipped tone or the tension that was coiled in his upper body. He stood up and gave him a look behind his back, sighing when he remained unwaveringly silent as he waited for an answer.

Rossi knew there was no point in trying to force Hotch to stay, well aware of his history with being rendered helpless and unable to do anything while a loved one was in danger. “Yeah, one of the parents got an angry phone call from an unknown caller, and you know Garcia set up the trap-and-trace a few hours ago…”

~~~

The team immediately noticed something was off when Hotch and Rossi walked into the conference room half an hour later than they’d expected. The concern grew even more as they noticed their unit chief being more short-tempered and single-mindedly focused than usual—which really was saying something, as he had always pushed himself and the team harder when children were involved.

When they turned to look at Rossi in the rare moment that Hotch wasn’t there for a few moments, however, they only got a serious shake of his head. This and the unit chief’s transformation into Mr. Hyde prevented them from expressing any verbal concern in front of him.

The profiling team spent the next hour trying to maintain a stable connection with Garcia through repeated power shutdowns. The two hours after that was spent outside in the darkness and snowstorm, working with local law enforcement raiding the house Garcia had tracked the call to.

They got there just in time to save the child from dying of hypothermia after being buried in the snow as the other two victims had been just prior to their death. Hotch went after the fleeing unsub with Reid while the others stayed behind to comfort the child and accompanied them on the (thankfully) short drive to the local hospital.

By the time the whole team came back together, the storm had died down and the sun was rising. All too eager to leave the horrific case and weather behind them, it took no longer than twenty minutes for them to be packed and on the way to the airstrip.

The profilers were reminded of Hotch’s strange behavior, however, when they noticed his hands were clenched on the steering wheel and his stoic expression starting to give way to stress as he sped towards the airstrip—that Rossi was busy shooting worried looks at him also added to their suspicions.

On the plane, they watched as Hotch got up to take a call, only to return looking paler than he had been before. He clutched his phone tightly between his hands, rubbing at his knuckles in some measure of self-comfort while trying to control the storm of emotions he was struggling to hold back.

After a few minutes, Rossi went to sit opposite Hotch in the corner. He didn’t say anything, just observed Hotch as he resolutely avoided looking at the other profiler in favor of looking outside the window.

“I’ve called ahead,” Rossi began in an undertone, knowing the man could hear him. “There’s going to be a car right where we land, and I will be driving you straight to the hospital.”

Hotch flicked a scathing look at him. “I can drive myself,” he snapped.

“You are in no condition to drive,” Rossi retorted, raising his voice over his protests, “without harming yourself or others. Jack needs you alive, not wrapped around a pole somewhere along the way to the hospital!”

The silence that was in the jet was deafening as Rossi belatedly realized that the others had heard him and were trying to act as if they weren’t eavesdropping. Hotch looked away from the older profiler, who was looking at him apologetically; there was a moment of silence.

“I don’t know what I’d do if he—” he trailed off, not wanting to think about the worst. Pain and fear broke through his weakened barriers and showed plainly in his expression. “I can’t lose him.”

He had felt the team’s eyes on him from the moment he stepped out of that office at the promise of a new lead, and he could feel them on him now. While normally he would have shot them a look to get them to stop, right now, he couldn’t find it in himself to care as the statistics remained the forefront thought in his mind.

Hotch was all too ready to leave the plane when they landed after two hours of tense silence and worried looks. True to what Rossi said, there was indeed a car waiting for them next to the plane. Hotch didn’t bother grabbing his go-bag, only taking his smaller work bag before practically sprinting out of the plane, Rossi following close behind. The team was left watching the car speed away, worry about their unit chief and the boy who had grown up around the BAU weighing heavily on their minds.

~~~

Hotch was back in his office the next morning as if nothing had happened—only something had definitely happened, as he was even more closed off, colder than he had ever been before. Any attempts to get him to open up about what had happened were rebuffed, even with Reid and Rossi’s individual cajoling attempts. The attempts lessened by the next week with a sudden influx in requests for consultation, and they completely died down when new leads on the escaped serial killers came to light.

They all noticed, however, how their unit chief remained closed off, how he was more single-mindedly focused on the job than he’d ever been before—which was really saying something.

Things almost came to a head two months after the child murder case when they had a married victim who was leaving behind a husband and a stage 4 cancer-ridden child. Hotch had taken the lead in talking to the husband and came out advising that he be surveilled, glaring at the weakly protesting officer until the officer finally conceded and agreed to put him on watch.

The unit chief then completely threw himself into finding the unsub, barely stopping for coffee and bathroom breaks as he analyzed the crimes over and over again, creating and tossing theory after theory. It took Rossi and Luke’s manhandling and JJ’s mothering to get him back to the hotel as the clock ticked towards midnight on Night 1.

Sleep was clearly the last thing on his mind that night, however, as he came back into the station the next morning looking as haggard as ever with what must have been his tenth cup of coffee in the past twenty-four hours held tightly in his hand.

They all breathed an internal sigh of relief when a lucky break in the case led them right to the unsub later that day; they managed to take him into custody and the team was in the air by sunset, all settling in for a quiet flight.

About an hour in, Hotch moved from his seat in the front corner to the back of the plane to take a call. The rest of the team, preoccupied with their relatively quiet poker game, didn’t try to eavesdrop.

The team was pulled out of their focus a few minutes later when out of nowhere, a muffled thump came from the plane bathroom, followed by Hotch brushing past them and sitting heavily in his seat. The profilers exchanged unsure, worried glances—Hotch rarely, if ever, lost his cool—and stared back at the man, who had broken the blank facade he had maintained over the past few months and was hunched over the table, head in his hands.

Feeling the eyes on him, Hotch sighed. “That was Garcia,” he said, rubbing his face before leaning back.

“The kid succumbed to the cancer today, and his father was found in the house,” he swallowed, looking up at the ceiling. “There was a gun in his hand and a bullet entry wound on the roof of his mouth.”

The plane’s machinery became the only noise filling the air. No one moved as each profiler turned inward and digested the information. Their thoughts turned to a sinking realization when they remembered Hotch telling the locals to watch the father—the unit chief must have seen this possibility when he was talking with him.

The rest of the plane ride was spent in subdued silence as they slowly drifted away from the poker group they had formed in the center, turning to their personal methods of self-comfort.

Hotch immediately sent the profilers home for some time off after they landed, ordering them to not think about the BAU for that time. They complied without protest, going home to process and take comfort in what they had.

They wouldn’t learn until much later about how Hotch had stayed behind, trying to do as much in regards to what’s required in the aftermath of a field case for the team as possible. How Rossi had stayed in the office with him, knowing that there was no way that he was going home before he got work done.

How he stayed at Rossi’s place for the next two weeks—even after the team returned to work—because he wasn’t sure if his surrogate son would be making it out of his apartment alive.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #dave rossi #aaron hotchner whump #tw character death #bau #sodone i lost a friend i lost my mind

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notquitedailyamy · 4 years

Text

Black and Yellow

Since visiting Derek Jarman’s Prospect Cottage in Dungeness last month, I’ve sat down on several occasions intending to share the experience with you. But distilling my thoughts wasn’t easy! The place left my head so full of thoughts and stirred a lot of emotion in me, and transcribing the singular magic of it into words felt beyond me. Each time I’d lose the tousle with my brain, and clap the laptop shut again.

Then I found the following starting point; a quote from Howard Sooley, photographer and friend of Derek Jarman, that described the setting I found myself in, on arrival to the cottage, perfectly.

“Pulling up on Dungeness Road, I stared out of the car window on to a post-apocalyptic nuclear vision: a long, snaking road strung with a line of black fishermen’s cottages like tar-covered fairy lights; a beach strewn in a mess of seemingly abandoned fishing boats and huts, which looked like they’d just tumbled from the sky and landed randomly among the sea kale that inhabited the beach.

— Howard Sooley for Gardens Illustrated

And now, I think, with that striking scene set, I can continue...

Discovering Derek Jarman

On one particular stay at my aunt and uncle’s house in Cheltenham years ago, there was an addition to the mantelpiece in my bedroom: a dried sprig of sea kale in a narrow white vase. My aunt recounted how she and my uncle had lately travelled to Dungeness, a headland on the coast of Kent, and how she had found the pretty bit of plant blowing across the shingle there. They had been to see the cottage and garden of a man whose name I did not then recognise, Derek Jarman; “a very special place”. And, I was told that in the front room there was a book entitled Derek Jarman’s Garden, from which I could learn more.

From my aunt’s introductory account, to each article and interview I have since read or watched regarding Derek Jarman since, I have found him only to be described in the fondest, most admiring manner. Those who are aware of his story, or who were lucky enough to have had their lives directly touched by him, laud his generous spirit and remain in awe of his remarkable array of talents, from film-maker to set designer, from optimist to activist, from gardener to diarist and author. He is remembered not only as being one of the most influential figures of 20th century culture, but also for his breathtaking humility, prolific activism for gay rights (via protest as well as his artistic output - much of which served as a manifesto for open homosexuality), inspiration and support for young and aspiring film makers and creatives. Award-winning costume designer and friend of Jarman’s Sandy Powell sums up his inherent warmth of character and contagious passion for whatever he turned his hand to in a recent interview with Phillips Auction House:

“Derek said to me that there was absolutely no point in going to work every day unless you went with the same excitement as if you were going to a party. With him, I’d get to work every morning and I would be so excited about going to work.

[...] He just immediately made you feel comfortable, and you were never ever made to feel inferior. Even on a film set, he’d be sat there, waiting for the next setup, and I remember there were times when he would ask the person who was sweeping the floor of the set what he thought. He’d talk aloud about his ideas. He’d set something up and say, "What do you think about that? Should we do this?" and he’d actually listen to what that person had to say. Anybody. He’d listen to what any of us had to say, and I think we were all treated completely equally"

— Sandy Powell, interviewed by Phillips

My aunt located her copy of Derek Jarman’s Garden for me later that day - a smallish, unassuming publication, on the verge of being swallowed up by the heaving art library that surrounded it (my uncle and aunt are both artists themselves). I was enthralled by it, poring the pages for the rest of my stay.

Having spotted a ‘for sale’ sign whilst filming close by, Derek Jarman sought refuge in his Dungeness fisherman’s cottage after being diagnosed as HIV positive in 1986. He dedicated himself to creating a paradisiacal and sustaining garden in the salty, exposed shingle which skirted his new home.

“Dungeness was England through the looking glass, not William Blake’s bucolic vision of a Jerusalem in this ‘green and pleasant land’. Stark, barren, the sun searing down or rain whipping across the landscape – everything seemed to be dying. Bleached by the sun, ripped by the wind, eaten by salt, laid bare and exposed by the enormity of the sky. A world stripped to its bones, abandoned and motionless except for the dried seedheads of sea kale blowing like tumbleweed in the shadow of the power station. The images are etched in my memory.”

— Howard Sooley for Gardens Illustrated

...a pretty tall task then . But that’s what he did. Choosing a spectrum of plants that could stand up to the testing climes of his “Ness”, largely low-lying to endure high winds, others that were already indigenous of the area, Derek Jarman transformed Prospect Cottage into a defiant monument of imagination and hope.

An unforgettable day in Dungeness

Gradually the landscape flattened, the villages became fewer and further between, then villages became hamlets, and then there was nobody, save the odd remote farmhouse - we wondered how far they must have to travel for groceries! Then human presence came almost to a standstill, and it felt like we had gatecrashed a sci-fi movie set. Fencing lined the road, periodic signs warning people away from the military firing range, still not a soul to be seen. We weren’t tempted to trespass - it was all pretty spooky!

And then, on the horizon, a giant appeared. The jagged grey silhouette of Dungeness A and Dungeness B - not one, but two massive nuclear power stations. We popped Boards of Canada on the stereo. I challenge you for a better accompaniment to such a sight.

“The nuclear power station is a wonderment. At night it looks like a great liner or a small Manhattan ablaze with a thousand lights of different colour.”

— Derek Jarman, from Derek Jarman’s Garden

We continued along the silent road a while longer, and then suddenly it was there. Years of wondering about the garden, and then there it was, right there, just by the side of the road... no fence, no gate, no borders or barriers of any kind. No separation from the outside at all.

I was relieved to see a handful of people around, though it still felt astonishingly desolate. We pulled up right outside the cottage, amazed it was that easy.

A jewel in the string of tiny rustic dwellings, and a David to the looming Goliath backdrop of the two nuclear plants, Prospect Cottage bursts with vitality and vibrance. Emanating a kind of otherworldly, magical quality, it flourishes where all else is bleak, tangerine coloured Californian poppies and sunshine yellow window frames laughing proudly.

“At first, people thought I was building a garden for magical purposes – a white witch out to get the nuclear power station. It did have magic – the magic of surprise, the treasure hunt.”

— Derek Jarman, from Derek Jarman’s Garden

Just as there are no borders, there are no strict lines or flower beds to speak of. Santolina, valerian and the odd red hot poker rise straight from the sea-worn shingle floor, while sea kale sprawls in patches. Hemispheres of gorse and vertically pegged driftwood add degrees of height, while talismanic stone circles and flotsam sculptures ensure the eye is never short of interest. Jarman would comb the beach every morning for new metal treasures, rocks and interesting things washed up by the sea. He’d always reap the biggest rewards following a storm.

“The stones, especially the circles, remind me of dolmens, standing stones. They have the same mysterious power to attract.”

— Derek Jarman, from Derek Jarman’s Garden

“The sticks and sculptures [...] also had the unexpected gift of providing much-welcomed perches for the migratory birds that navigate over the ness every year. Rare warblers from Russia would stand and catch their breath, staring in at the kitchen window. Then, without warning, they’d lift into the air, catch the wind and be off again to some far and distant land.”

— Howard Sooley for Gardens Illustrated

^ Derek Jarman also scoured the land around the nuclear power plant for bits and pieces to use in the garden, some of it detritus from the Second World War

Already I had felt the enchantment of Derek Jarman’s living legacy exuding from those pages of my aunt’s book, but experiencing it in the flesh was on a different level. It’s as though he left a message there, everlastingly poised and waiting to be received by anyone who visits.

Standing amidst such a unique and spectacular achievement, by a man who had been dealt such a cruel fate, made me feel incredibly appreciative for all that I have, all that is so easy for me. His life was cut too short, but undoubtedly lived more fully than many who have reached a much older age.

It also gave me new confidence that in my own creativity I am doing something worthwhile, and that by staying true to myself and not allowing conformity to stifle my output, I can add my own dose of originality and something truly unique to the world.

^ Poppy seed heads

“He was just really encouraging to all young people, and I think that’s what this house could be. It’s this really open house to encourage people to come and be creative and get as much as they can out of it, and I think he would have wanted that.”

— Sandy Powell, interviewed by Phillips

^ Indigenous sea kale

Long live the legacy

The future of Prospect Cottage was recently left up in the air following the passing of Keith Collins, Derek’s companion during his years in Dungeness, and in whose hands he left the cottage following his death in 1994.

The Art Fund launched a campaign to save the property from being sold off and falling into private ownership. The £3.5 million required was raised in just ten weeks.

“Securing the future of Prospect Cottage may seem a minor thing by comparison with the global epidemic crisis which has recently enveloped all our lives. But Derek Jarman’s final years at the Cottage were an inspiring example of human optimism, creativity and courage battling against the ravages of illness. In that context, the success of this campaign seems all the more apposite and right for its time.”

— Stephen Deuchar, Director of Art Fund

“Prospect Cottage will become not a memorial encased in amber, but an active memory. Not an ossified monument, but a breathing testament to a life still awaiting future collaborators”

— Douglas Fogle for Art Forum

^ The frontward outlook of Prospect Cottage

The whole place is jaw-droppingly unique, the garden itself a post-modern feat of ingenuity. Eerie, exciting, bleak, inspiring... only describable to a point. I implore you not to trust my interpretation and instead go and marvel at it for yourself! And prepare to have it stay with you long after...

Suitable Song -

Annie Lennox’s performance of “Every Time We Say Goodbye” from the AIDS fundraising album Red Hot & Blue. The video features footage of Derek Jarman as a child.

youtube

Sources -

https://www.gardensillustrated.com/gardens/country/howard-sooley-prospect-cottage-derek-jarman/?image=1&type=gallery&gallery=2&embedded_slideshow=2

https://www.artforum.com/slant/douglas-fogle-on-derek-jarman-s-imperiled-prospect-cottage-82157

https://wildabouthere.com/derek-jarmans-garden/

https://www.artlyst.com/news/derek-jarmans-prospect-cottage-saved-nation/

https://www.phillips.com/article/54833655/sandy-powell-derek-jarman-charity-auction-prospect-cottage

#derek jarman #gardens #gardening #inspiration #creative minds #art fund #derek jarman's garden #sandy powell #howard sooley #dungeness #shingle

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takadasaiko · 4 years

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In Defense of Howard Stark

The Marvel Cinematic Universe doesn’t have a shortage of layered, fascinating characters. It’s always easy to hyper focused on the ones we love most, and that’s the excuse I roll with for why it’s taken me so long to find my fascination with Howard Stark. Up until the last few months I looked at him through the lense of who he was to other characters. He was Tony’s father, Steve’s friend, and co-founder of SHIELD with Peggy Carter. He filled roles, but I didn’t look closer for a long time. I didn’t have any reason to.

Then came the Great MCU Rewatch that happened post-Endgame. It wasn’t until I had Dominic Cooper’s Howard stacked back-to-back with John Slattery’s Howard that I started to dig into him. We meet a young man in Captain America: The First Avenger, the Peggy Carter short, and two seasons of the Agent Carter series on ABC. He’s brilliant and goofy, rarely serious unless he’s discussing his work. It’s a stark contrast with the older Howard we meet through John Slattery’s version. Either there was a catastrophic miscommunication between the writers, the directors, and the actors on who Howard Stark was supposed to be, or something caused that shift. The moment I settled on the latter, Howard went from a supporting character whose only use was to help round out others around him to a truly interesting, layered and even broken man. I became fascinated with piecing together that journey. I needed to know what took this man

to a man that his own son described as cold and distant.

I had been using Howard to help deepen my understanding of others, and in the same way, taking a look at those that he keeps close to him and how he treats them helps to shed light on who he is.

Who Howard Surrounds Himself With

Howard wasn’t raised with the same economic and social privilege that he was able to provide to his son in later years. In S1 of Agent Carter he tells Peggy that he was raised on the Lower East Side to a father that sold fruit and a mother that was a seamstress in a factory, going on to tell her how he’d learned to lie to break through the ceiling society had placed for someone like him.

Yet as of S2 of Agent Carter Howard was in high demand at a club that wouldn’t have let him within a hundred feet of if he hadn’t made the fortune that he did with Stark Industries. With that background matched with the contacts he would have made after Stark Industries took off, I think it’s safe to say that Howard knew people from every walk of life.

There were the less savory types:

Joe Manfredi and Howard grew up together and the mobster had no trouble reaching out to Howard years later for help when his kinda crazy girlfriend Whitney Frost went over the edge and into territory even he was uncomfortable with.

And while we may not know how he met Obadiah Stane, the other man wormed his way so deeply into Howard’s life and career that he was poised to manipulate his son after his death.

We don’t know a lot about those other than the fact that Howard wasn’t opposed to shady characters.

There’s something interesting in the more positive friendships that he keeps though.

Edwin Jarvis is a fascinating character. Howard’s butler is that and more. We see him stick with Howard through thick and thin. Through countless girlfriends that he was the bearer of bad news to

through disagreements, and he was with the Stark family long enough that Tony was influenced by him enough that he based his AI system off of him. Jarvis himself tells Peggy the story of how he met and came to work for Howard Stark in S1 of Agent Carter, shedding light on yet another layer of the complicated man:

Jarvis met his wife Ana during the war. She was Hungarian. Moreover, she was Hungarian-Jew in the middle of Europe overrun by nazis. Jarvis fell hard, but the general that he worked for wouldn’t help, even though he could have done so easily. So Jarvis forged his signature. He was found out and would have been tried for treason, but Howard - who had had business dealings with the general - stepped in and used his influence to save not only Edwin, but Ana as well.

There was no indication that Howard expected anything in return, but Jarvis remained loyal and steady.

And then there’s Peggy.

I could go on for days about Howard and Peggy’s friendship. I love it dearly, and feel that we need more friendships like it on television.

He flirts with her, he teases her, but in the end he respects no one quite like he does Margaret Carter.

Howard is a self-admitted liar. He felt that he had to become one in order to break free from the ceiling that society put over him in his youth. He doesn’t trust easily and, even when he does, he still hides behind a quirky, playboy mask meant to obscure anything of any real depth under frivolous layers. To get to the level of success he found himself in at such a young age he had to build up an imperviousness to others’ opinions of him. He flaunts in most cases, but, for better or worse, he does care about how Peggy views him.

She’s the one he turns to to clear his name at the beginning of the first season of Agent Carter and the only one that can talk him out of the mire of his own deepest regrets at the end of the same season.

The funny thing is that, for all his determination that he doesn’t really care how people see him, Howard seems to keep people closest to him that will keep him in check. Jarvis and Peggy, especially. They don’t pull punches and they call him on his shit.

If it’s a conscious choice or even a subconscious one, Howard surrounds himself with people that will hold him accountable. I’d put good money on the fact that Maria did too.

The Way He Treats Others

One of our earlier introductions to Howard is in Iron Man 2 where Tony tells Fury that his father had been cold and distant. He never told Tony that he liked him, much less that he loved him.

Fury indicated that he knew a very different man, and through Dominic’s Howard we (the audience) meet a very different man as well, which leads me to think that Howard struggles with expressing real, honest feelings rather than actually having them. It makes sense, given his explanation at two different points in the first season of Agent Carter that, to break through the barriers society had tried to force on him, he’d learned to hide behind lies and an indifference to what others thought about him. We see that that often leads him to come across as shallow and arrogant. He doesn’t, and seems not to even know how to express those truer feelings except in very rare circumstances, but we see glimpses in the way he treats people.

Edwin and Ana Jarvis are a fantastic example, as mentioned earlier. Here were people that he didn’t really know, people that he owed nothing to, yet he went out of his way to protect them. He used a favour that he could have hoarded away for more selfish purposes and gave it to them to save their lives. In return he was given loyalty, but there was no expectation on that.

Howard holds true to his playboy persona as well as, if not perhaps better than his son would in later years, but despite the flirtation (which he always manages to work into their conversations), Howard shows time and again the respect that he holds for Peggy Carter. While she’s fighting for her colleagues’ respect in the post-war SSR, she’s the one Howard reaches out to to clear his name. She’s the one that he trusts to protect him when his life is on the line. And when she needs help, it’s hers for the taking. A flight that the Army won’t take because it’s too dangerous? All Peggy had to do was ask. Twice when she needed a place to stay, he offered his own home(s) to her, and in S2 he dove straight in to help her on her case without any hesitation.

In S2 of the Agent Carter series we meet Jason Wilkes, a brilliant scientist who works for a company that becomes the center of the season’s investigation. The rarity of being a black man in his position is used against him when his company sets him up as a scapegoat. Not only is Howard eager to help him, work with him to clear his name, and reinstate his corporeal form (long story, but if you haven’t seen the Agent Carter series I highly recommend it!), but he sets him up in Stark Industries after all is said and done to help him run the Malibu labs on a new pet project.

For all of his faults and complications, Howard has a trend of helping to support and even protect those that the society of his time is set against. A Jewish woman and her fiancé facing the nazis, a brilliant female agent fighting enemies as well as men around her that have faith in her failure, and a talented black scientist whose company has used and thrown away when convenient. We see the kindness in his actions, in the respect that he gives others that society would prefer not to be bothered with.

So how did he miss the mark so badly with his own son? He gave him things, opened doors for Tony that he’d had to force open himself, but (at least according to Tony) he missed expressing any sort of affection for him. Personally, in light of the other relationships that we actually get to see as they’re taking place, I’m inclined to think that he didn’t know how to express his love in a way that an already struggling child could understand. He tinkered on cars with him and he built an organization that would keep the world (and his family) safe. Perhaps to Howard, more importantly, he kept his distance, thus allowing his son the chance to grow into his own man. Someone not quite like him.

The thing is, even if it went against everything he wanted, there was no getting around that. Just as I imagine that Howard inherited a few more traits from his own father than he would have ever admitted to, Tony inherited some from him. Both the good and the bad.

Howard’s Personality Traits

Marvel is a parallel haven. In many ways the universe that they’ve created feels like one long, fantastical TV show with 3+ hour episodes. One of the perks of that is the multiple nods they’ve made and parallels they’ve drawn. It’s through those parallels that I found between Howard and Tony that sunk me deeper and deeper into exploring Howard’s personality. Robert said it best:

(gif made by and borrowed from @erikisright)

Much in the same way that we meet Tony in Iron Man 1, the Howard of Captain America: The First Avenger and the Agent Carter short and series secures himself behind a mask of indifference to public opinion. He has a good time and doesn’t give a damn who knows it. When focused on work, he’s focused

but as soon as the war’s over he’s living the life of the playboy millionaire. He spends his time gallivanting around as much as inventing. He flaunts it. His money, his success. It’s the mask he hides behind to protect himself from the world, and the one that he feels like he has to hide behind. Afterall…

There’s no question that Howard has his fair share of less-than-desirable traits, but as we’ve discussed, he has some good ones as well. One that I found surprising, personally, is that he takes responsibility. Maybe not in his personal life (sorry, Jarvis, but it’s on you to handle Howard’s breakups apparently), but in his work. If he feels that he’s fallen short, he owns it, repeatedly to the point of putting his own life in danger.

In the first season finale for Agent Carter, after spending eight episodes on the run to clear his name, he waltzes himself into the SSR to give the full story and offer himself up as bait. It’s his fault, he tells them, despite not designing the invention stolen to cause harm, it’s still his, and he’ll own up to his responsibility there, both at the time and the damage it had caused during the war. In S2, after an invention fails, he offers himself up to go in and switch it on manually (putting himself at exceptional risk) because he ‘designed it poorly’. He doesn’t get the chance to do it, but he’s ready and willing to.

On the flip side (and also a trait that took me by surprise) he gives credit where it’s due.

Despite having to lie and possibly claw his way to the top, he’s consistently willing to both offer a hand to those that he can as well as make sure that he’s acknowledging their contribution, despite the fact that he believes that many successful scientists steal other people’s work for themselves.

Tony must have come by his tendencies to fixate by way of his father. Much like his son, Howard shows time and time again that he leans into his obsessive personality. It ranges from a hyper-focus on work to coffee to a good time by any means he can find it, and even to the guilt that we see him holding onto in those few private, honest moments we catch a glimpse of.

We see it in the way that he held onto the guilt over what happened to the Russian soldiers at Finow when his Midnight Oil was misused and ended up killing hundreds of Allied soldiers. He did everything he could to set the situation as right as it could be set - he faced down the general that had stolen the oil only to get his ass handed to him, forced the general to step down, ended a seven-figure contract with the Army, and created a vault to better protect designs and inventions that could hurt innocent people - yet we see how it still weighs on him years later.

I think it’s the guilt at never being able to find Steve that eventually shifts him from Dominic’s Howard to John’s. That lively, goofy man is broken year after year by the failure of not being able to find or save a man that he holds up on a pedestal. He fixates on it to the point that his own son feels that he cared more about Captain America than him. Really, there’s so much in this theory that I’ve had battering around my head for the last couple of months or so that it deserves its own post. I’ll put it on the writing docket.

All in all, Howard Stark is an easy character to overlook or to flatten out with partial information. The Agent Carter series does wonders to add depth to him by giving us time to get to know him. Time that we don’t get through newsreels and the off story that Tony tells.

Part of an interesting character is their layers, both the good and the bad. Much like Tony, I feel that the more I learn about Howard Stark, the more I come to realize that he was a man trying his best. Sure, maybe his best didn’t match up in a lot of ways, but I think there’s something to be said for each generation of Starks doing just a little bit better than the one that came before them in whatever way that they can.

#Howard Stark #MCU characters #character analysis #character breakdown #Tony Stark #Peggy Carter #Edwin Jarvis #Ana Jarvis #marvel's agent carter #captain America: the first avenger

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