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#This doesn’t even have anything to do with shipping

frannyzooey · 3 days

Text

On The Green: 3

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Mature-ish? More space violence, gratuitous descriptions of Ezra’s body 🤡

A/N: thank you to both @the-scandalorian who always sets me in the right direction and gives me the best reassurance and @bageldaddy who, I’m pretty sure, is giving me more of an education than any English teacher I’ve ever had and thank god ❤️

Series Masterlist

—

For the next couple days, it rains.

Sheets of it pour down, a steady drum against the roof, trails of it sliding down the windows. It creates rivers in the rich soil, deep trenches that lead to even deeper puddles, and the world outside looks like a muted blur from your seat inside. A smear of dark green, a blot of rich brown, the watery shape of roots that distort with every drop.

Tucking your knees tighter under your chin, you give your legs a squeeze, hoping to squash the restlessness that thrums through them.

“Anything new out there?”

You sigh, knowing he’s teasing. “No.”

“Fitting, the way you can sit still for so long, Birdie. Perched there in your little nest.”

The only blanket you have pooled at your hip, your headphones on the floor, and your notebook open and face down next to them, you suppose it does look a bit like a nest. You shrug. “Not much else to do.”

Ezra fiddles with a ship part in his hand, his head bent in focus. “Always something to do.”

After days stuck inside, it doesn’t feel like it.

You’ve combed over every inch of the pod, putting it back to rights. Cleaning every surface, organizing every cupboard. The med supplies were pulled out and meticulously sorted, the food stores combined with Ezra’s meager offerings, the dash scrubbed free of every particle of dirt that’s collected on it over the years. Your fingers finding a few rusty drips of blood that were missed, you spent more time than necessary scouring every inch of the pilot’s seat until your fingers ached.

One untouched compartment remained: your father’s private belongings.

“Hand me that wrench, would you?”

Ezra extends his hand, and you crawl over to the open tool kit, rifling through it until you find the one he’s looking for. Handing it to him, you abandon your seat by the window and sit next to him. His fingers are thick and long, marred with the nicks of small scars, his fingernails short and black with permanent dirt—but his handling of the part is graceful, his touch deft when he uses the tool.

“Tell me everything he said again, from the top.”

Resting your cheek on your knee, you recite every detail you can recall, your voice monotone with boredom.

“He didn’t say much. A group of mercs hired him to help with the dig, but I don’t know where he met them. Called “The Queen’s Lair,” it’s supposed to be an untouched dig site that holds more gems than any other on this planet. A deposit the size of this pod. Depending on his source, the whole thing could be real or it could be nothing, but either way, he thought it would make us rich. He said it would be enough to retire on, that this would be our last run.”

Ezra huffs. “If the rumor is true, then he’d be right.” He passes the wrench back, looking at you. “If it’s true.” He waits a beat. “Do you think it is?”

You still had to get used to that – someone asking your opinion about something. You shrug. “It’s possible, right?”

“Sure, it’s possible,” he agrees. “Probable, though?”

You pause to think, and his expression softens into a smile. “A dreamer like myself, I see.”

“I don’t know about that,” you reply. “But as long as we’re stuck here, might as well look, right?”

He nods, thinking for a moment.

“The Queen’s Lair,” he muses, dragging the words out in a slow drawl. He looks up, wiggling his eyebrows, and a small smile pulls at your lips.

Mirroring it, he goes back to work.

It had taken you all of a couple days to tell him about the reason your father came here. Tossing in your lot with Ezra the second you agreed to his deal, the idea of a hidden cache of gems that had the potential to make you both rich was too valuable to keep to yourself. You had the location; he had the digging skills. You had, as minimal as they were, details about who was waiting, and he had the skills to navigate the situation.

You needed each other.

Cautious around him for the first couple of days, you were surprised by his geniality. For someone who appeared so ruthless when you first met him, he was…kinder than you thought he would be with you. You had remained hesitant, convinced that it was a ruse to get you to lower your defenses, but after a while, you came to see that he was just desperate for someone to talk to.

So were you, it seemed, for how easily the words slipped out once you let them.

After a lifetime of being left to wilt alone in empty apartments, or being dragged around the universe only to be ignored until your father needed something from you, it felt good to have someone’s attention. His curiosity about you was endless, his questions never ending, and when you answered, he really listened. Not like he was searching for anything to give him a leg up on you, but rather just openly interested. His face was expressive, his eyes fixed on yours whenever you were talking, and even when you tried to shy away from the direct attention you weren’t used to, he never faltered.

He was patient, a gift you’d never been given from anyone.

Unfortunately, along with that came a blossoming attraction to the man, but you pushed that down. The pod was a tight space with two people, and he was broad. You couldn’t help but notice his presence. Especially at night, when it was just the two of you.

When a blanket of tension seemed to build across the small space between your cots.

When it was just you and him and the darkness; the steady sound of his breathing over the thrum of your restless limbs.

Squashing down the nagging shame that surfaced every time you remembered that he was a stranger and also a murderer, you ignored that logic and leaned into the warmth of his companionship instead.

Besides, even if he was planning on taking advantage, what could you really do about it anyway?

“You mentioned a map?” he says, his brow furrowing in concentration.

You tilt your head towards his cupboard. “I haven’t checked, but it should be in there. I remember him looking at it.”

Knowing you’ve been avoiding that particular cupboard, he nods.

“How many mercs are waiting for him at the dig?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“What terms did he negotiate?”

“He didn’t say.”

Ezra shakes his head to himself, looking up. “The more you tell me about this old man of yours, the less I’m impressed with how he treated his partner.”

“I was never his partner,” you correct. “Just his daughter.”

He gives you a level glance, and you look away. Fiddling with the leg of your thermals, you change the subject. “Do you think it’s safe to leave the pod unattended?”

“I’m not assured that she’s fit to fly in the state she’s in, but just to be sure, we’ll take this with us wherever we go.”

He holds up the part in his hand with a smirk, and you give it a closer look, huffing a laugh when you recognize it.

The starter.

He stands with a soft grunt, stretching. The muscles in his shoulders shift underneath his threadbare thermals, and you keep your eyes on them when he tucks the part away in his case.

“I’ll need a digging partner out there, if this opportunity is what you say it is,” he says. “I think we should practice some, to get you ready. Is that amenable to you?”

You bite the pillow of your lip. “He never taught me that. How to dig,” you clarify.

“Course he didn’t,” Ezra frowns, his voice sliding low with unamused disappointment. He shakes his head clear of whatever dark thought seems to pass through his mind, his expression softening. “All the more reason.” He bends, peering out the window. “Looks like it’s tapering off. The sooner we get some practice under your belt, the better.”

A swoop of relief flowing through you at the thought of leaving the pod, it mixes with excitement at the prospect of learning something new. Your father never trusted you with the actual digging – you had been brought along to carry things, made to follow for “assistance”, but he never let you touch the blade. You’d once thought it was a father’s way to protect his child from the dangerous job but quickly realized it was born out of impatience.

Unfurling your tight limbs when he holds his hand out to help you off the floor, you grab your suits from the closet. Slipping them on in silence, you click your helmet into place while he secures the connection of your filters, and hunching to get through the door, you follow him outside.

The ground is saturated with water, your boots leaving clear impressions in the soil as he leads you into the forest. He’s broad, even more so with his suit on, but the trees that surround you are still big enough to conceal his entire body, not to mention yours. The canopy of lush growth glistens with droplets, shafts of misty light piercing through it to highlight the floor of moss and growth underneath you. Vines and tree roots spread and crawl underneath your feet, no visible path that you can see.

You follow the beacon of his worn yellow suit, his voice carrying through the comm into your helmet.

“So, Birdie,” his voice sounds deeper through the link, scratchy with static. “If your father never taught you how to dig, what did he teach you?”

You huff under your breath. “A lot of things.”

Missing the low tone of your sarcasm through the radio, he continues in his conversational tone. “Anything useful?”

“I know how to navigate.” You think of using your father’s last coordinates to find him in the seedier part of town. “I’m resourceful.” Rationing your vouchers, making sure they bought you enough food to last. “I’m actually not a bad mechanic.”

“Oh yea?” He turns to look to peek back at you for a moment.

You immediately backtrack when you see a glimmer of hope on his face. “I mean, nothing like we need. I can try to help though, if you show me how. My father used to bring me with him everywhere but always left me behind, so I got pretty good at fixing things around the ship. He always wanted me to do the wiring because my hands were smaller than his. He said my fingers were more precise.”

You remember the rest of it silently: the way his hands trembled and shook between doses.

Ezra hums in acknowledgement. “And yet he never taught you how to dig?”

The moss softens your footsteps, flakes of dust floating through the thick air.

“No,” you reply. “He tried, but…I don’t know. He was too impatient, I think.”

Memories of his harsh words come back: the biting clip of his reprimands, the disappointed yet dismissive tone he always had when it came to you.

Ezra’s voice pulls you back. “Seems like a waste to me. If I had access to those fingers of yours, I would have made use of them.”

Your steps falter as his unearned praise catches you off guard, at his automatic assumption that skills he doesn’t even know if you have were wasted. Warmth unfurls in your chest, the edge of your mouth unconsciously lifting. Feeling slightly foolish and young at your reaction, you look down at your feet.

You’re still thinking about it when he pushes through dense bush, halting you with his arm.

Peering over his shoulder, you see a dark, gaping pit of disturbed earth obstructing your path. He creeps closer, toeing around the edge of it, and you follow, taking in the size and depth. Shallow but with steep sides, roots bulge out from below the soil, extending into the sky with gnarled fingers. Looking closer, you note pockets of earth gaping open just underneath each one. The whole site is eerie, appearing abandoned – though Ezra seems to know what he’s looking for.

Standing on the edge of the pit with a narrowed gaze, he crouches, studying the crater.

You watch with curiosity as he eases down the slope, into the dig site. Sitting on your butt, you carefully slide down the embankment to join him.

You’re not experienced enough to know for sure, but everything about this looks barren to you.

“Is there anything left in here?”

He flashes a smile your way. “If you know where to look.”

He paces the length of the pit, studying it. “Many sites were depleted during the Rush, but carelessness left some treasures behind.”

He squats next to a thick, gnarled root, his helmet tilting in study.

“Come here, Birdie.” His voice slipping into something softer and quieter, he motions you closer. “Here. You see it?”

His gloved fingers splay over the earth, dusting along tiny pin-prick holes that pierce the rich dirt, and he brushes away the crumbling top layer to reveal a deeper set. As if whatever is buried underneath needs access to the toxic air.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he coos.

Blinking, it takes you a second to understand he’s talking to the hole he’s gently unearthing. He hums to himself, one of satisfaction when the earth tumbles away and an involuntary shiver of pleasure at the sound surprises you by rolling down your spine. Shifting your crouch, you push it down.

“Hand me my kit?”

You reach for it, watching as he preps his tools.

“I’ll go first, and then teach you how to do it. Watch my fingers.”

Bracing his hand on the side of the site, he uses the strength in his other one to scoop into the pocket of soil until it completely opens. His arm disappears as he reaches into the dark pit, and trepidation spreads through you. He searches for something, his eyes lighting up when he finds it.

"I knew somebody oughta give her a go,” he says with a smile.

His hand wrapped around the root like a rope, he tugs with a soft grunt of exertion, and a thick, milky white root pearl spills from the hole. He keeps pulling, coaxing everything out and a bulbous pod covered in mucus emerges, sliding out onto the ground by his feet. Shifting onto his knees, he picks up his knife.

“You want to be careful when you cut,” he starts to explain, motioning you to scoot closer. “Easy does it, with delicate things like these. One wrong move and the whole thing will go to shit.”

You hold your breath as he makes a careful incision, his knife slowly drawing across the top of the pod. Your eyes widen in half revulsion and half curiosity as it splits open, strands of thick mucus connecting each side.

“I saw my dad do it once,” you say lowly, mesmerized by his deft movements. “Mess it up.”

The dark crown of his shorn curls shakes under the dome of his visor. “It’s a shame to waste it. All the effort it takes to get her to give it up, only to be ruined with a misplaced touch.”

A hissing sound slips through the thick air, and his fingers form a vee to hold the slick seam open.

“That's the price for a dry breach,” he explains. “My chem will calm the brine.”

You have the bottle of pre-mixed chemicals ready in your hand, and he gives you a nod in thanks, taking it from you. Pouring it slowly into the crack, the pod disintegrates into a steamy cloud, a slimy puddle forming underneath. A core remains, and setting the bottle down, he holds up the unpolished gem.

“Small, but still worth it.”

“You made that look so easy.” Clear experience in every movement he made, you’re still looking at the gem when he speaks.

“Your turn.”

You look up at the words, unsure, and his gaze is steady and encouraging. “I’ll be right here. If you slip, it’s just a trial run.”

You frown in hesitation, and he chuckles. “Don’t look so serious, Birdie. The stakes are about as low as they can get. Come on.”

He jerks his chin towards something behind you, and crawling over to it, you follow.

“Just there,” he says. “You can see her. Look.”

You follow his finger, and reaching your glove out, start to brush the crumbling soil away from the side of the pit. He guides you through every step with a patience you’ve not encountered before, every instruction murmured in a cadence so soothing that would be distracting if not for the intensity of your concentration on the task.

Watch it, girl. Straight finger.

You got it?

Hold it nice and tight.

Oh. That’s perfect.

The sense of accomplishment you feel when you hold up the gem is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. All of your other skills discovered through the lens of isolation, forged by way of necessity without the luxury of help, this one feels different. A safety net beneath you every step of the way, you know if you were to mess up, he would have saved you – but you didn’t.

The faith he placed in you when he handed you the knife suddenly feels so much more earned, and you beam up at him with pride.

“Not nearly as daunting as you thought now, was it?” He smiles back at you, holding his hand out for the gem. “Your father was right, by the way. Your fingers are nimble. The most precise and steady I’ve ever seen.”

You know he must be humoring you but the flush of validation flourishes in your chest as he tucks the stone carefully into the soft foam padding of his case.

“I would have us stay out longer, but we didn’t charge the filters as much as we should have. Let’s head back and admire our loot in a more hospitable environment.”

Clicking it shut, he climbs the slope of the pit before turning to help you out.

“Your first gem,” he muses, leading you back into the forest. “How does it feel?”

“Good,” you breathe, a small smile still on your face and you follow him, his constant stream of words fading into the background.

Entirely dependent on the whims of your father, you’d been existing inside of an isolated bubble until now. You hadn’t been lying when you told Ezra you had no idea what you wanted to do, because the freedom to choose your own path was something that had never occurred to you. You’d been self-reliant, but always within the shadow of a burden. Your dad forced you into a caretaker role, and for the first time in years, as Ezra’s voice flows into your helmet from his, you feel the possibility of something else breaking through the fog.

A glimmering edge of potential, the hue of an amber colored gem.

The shift inside you sparks to life, a realization dawning on you: a life you never thought possible. For the first time since you landed on this planet, you see opportunity stretching out in front of you instead of a dead end. Pride kindles in your chest as you walk back to the pod, and you think about sharing it with Ezra, but stating your excitement over something as routine for the competent man in front of you seems foolish. Like something you should keep to yourself, in order to protect it against the power you know other’s words hold.

You make it to the edge of the clearing before it spills forth from your lips.

“I can’t wait –” you start, your words interrupted by Ezra’s arm whipping out for the second time that day to stop you in your tracks.

“Hello, stranger.”

Your head snaps up, both at the greeting itself and the tone his voice has slipped into: something colder than the easy geniality he’s been using with you all morning, an edge to it that you can sense without seeing his face.

“Can I help you?” Ezra’s hand rests on the thrower attached to his hip, and from your place behind him, you slowly reach for your own weapon strapped across your back. Peering over Ezra’s shoulder, you spot the edge of a man.

Sneering through the visor of his dirty helmet, he looks starved, almost feral underneath the dome, his eyes dead with hunger. Dangerous is the first word that comes to mind, and when the man’s gaze settles on you, you shrink back behind Ezra.

“Pretty ship,” his voice crackles through the comm link. “Pretty girl.”

Your stomach bottoms out, but Ezra remains still.

“Both of whom belong to me,” he replies, steady and sure.

Your fingers bury themselves into Ezra’s suit at his side, and you feel him straighten, standing taller in front of you.

“Seems like a lot for one man.” The man’s chin tilts up in a challenge, stepping closer. “Maybe I can take one of em’ off your hands.”

“As generous as that offer is, I will have to decline.” You can hear the casual smile on Ezra’s face, meant to disarm. “I’m partial to both, you see. I wouldn’t be able to choose.”

The stranger takes a step closer, testing. When Ezra doesn’t move, he takes another.

“Actually,” the stranger confesses, “I’ve got a ship. It could use some parts, and I intended to take them from you…but I’d be willing to walk away.” He pauses a beat, tilting his head to look directly at you. “For her.”

He smiles, and the sight of his rotted teeth causes bile to rise in your throat.

“That is a bold offer,” Ezra drawls. “Unfortunately,” his voice dropping into a firmer tone, “She stays with me.”

The man’s greasy smile disappears, replaced with a menacing frown.

“I’m not gonna ask again,” he growls.

Ezra stands firm, shifting to cover you with the whole of his body and a tight tension fills the air, crackling amongst the slow floating dust.

“Then I guess I’ll have to take her by force,” the man says, taking another step forward.

Without any warning, Ezra whips the pistol from the holster attached to his hip and fires. You shrink at the first shot, scrambling to hide by the pod at the sound of a second one, and by the third, your ass hits the ground with a thud. A cold sweat soaks through your thermals, your pulse pounding as you watch Ezra saunter closer to the dead man with a relaxed gait and aiming his gun right between the man’s vacant eyes, you flinch when he pulls the trigger again.

A crash echoes through the field, followed by silence.

–

“It’s really a thing of beauty, isn’t it?”

Still reeling from the confrontation outside, you blink numbly at the refresher.

“Um,” you swallow, taking a seat. “Sure.”

He seems so unbothered it’s disorienting, and you tug your boot off, placing it on the floor next to the other one. Needing him to go somewhere else so you can process what just happened alone, you attempt casualness. “You just gonna stare at it, or are you gonna shower?”

“You just gonna watch me, or are you gonna turn around?” he mimics.

You pause, and he grins.

“Either way suits me just fine, little bird. Just fine.”

He crouches to dig through a bin of his belongings, and you turn your back to him, your body slipping into the rote memory as you take off your suit. The difference between who he’s been the last several days with you versus who he just turned into is jarring, a slap in the face, a stark reminder of what he’s capable of.

“You want to bathe first, or do you mind if I have the honor?” he asks from behind you.

“Go for it,” you reply.

You hear him pause behind you and turn to face him. A frown pulls between his dark brows as he studies you. “Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting for you to get your own relief. In fact, I’d prefer it.”

You shake your head, just wanting him to give you space. “I’m good. I’ll wait.”

He nods and before you can turn back around, reaches over his head to strip his shirt off with a tug. Marks of rough won survival litter the skin of his back. A gouge here, the thin stripe of a scar there; some cleanly healed, some not. He leans forward into the fresher, turning the water on to let it run for a moment and you eye the dark curls that edge the nape of his neck. The wings of muscle that make up his broad shoulders seem so much wider with his suit off, so much wider against the small opening he stands in front of, and your eyes follow the strong plane of his back down all the way down to the dimples on either side of his spine, just above the waistband of the pants he’s already working open –

Turning, his face registers surprise when he sees you’re still looking – yet he makes no effort to cover himself. Instead, he stands taller, confident in his bareness. His chest is covered in the same marks as his back, visible strength held in his arms, and dark hair collects in a swirl around his belly button and leads down, his hand obstructing where his pants hang open.

“I’m – sorry,” you hastily apologize, heat rushing to your face. Averting your eyes, you get a glimpse of his amused smile before you turn your back on him again.

You expect him to tease you, but he doesn’t. Instead, the door to the fresher clicks shut and you let a breath out you didn’t know you were holding.

Finally alone, you close your eyes.

He killed…again. Right in front of you, shamelessly, so confident in his own skills that you never sensed even a fraction of fear. Going back to the moment you both saw the man, you focus on the memory of his calmness, on the image of confidence he presented delivering that final shot. Almost lazy with it, like he was so desensitized by killing it didn’t even register with him.

Searching deeper, where you should find fear, you find reassurance instead.

He’s the one that took out the initial threat of his original partner, he’s the one who buried your father like it was nothing, he’s the one who has taught you about this place. Treating you like an equal except for when he needs to take out a threat, the way he slides into territorial protection should make you worry…but instead, it makes you feel safe.

You don’t belong to him, but you don’t find yourself rebelling against the idea as much as you probably should. The stranger meant to take you, and when Ezra told that man you belonged to him, you should have shrunk away, probably should have mentally protested. Instead, you silently clutched him tighter.

You hear him behind the door, water splashing against the tiles as he moves around and that swirl of hair above his waistband flashes behind your eyelids, along with an image of his thick fingers. The width of his chest, the rounds of his shoulders. The muscles along his ribs.

You jam the heels of your hands into your eyes, willing it to stop.

He’s a murderer. He’s a thief. He’s a dangerous man who has taken advantage of a situation in order to save himself.

And yet, you breathe out, listening to the shower – he’s saved you every time too.

–

You stay quiet the rest of the night, sitting with your thoughts.

He notices, those dark eyes resting on you every now and then over the map. He’d waited until you were in the shower to go through your father’s belongings, a courtesy you silently thanked him for.

Picking at your dinner, you finally ask him one of the questions weighing on your mind. “Am I really that much of a commodity around here?” you ask. “Is a girl that…rare?”

He stops eating, his expression turning solemn. He holds your gaze for a moment, answering honestly. “You have no idea, Birdie.”

There is a weight to the answer that gives you pause, and a clear implication that confirms the worry that you’re really not safe here – not just for the reasons you thought.

You go back to eating – or rather, picking at your food – and you feel him watching you.

“It is not my intention to scare you,” he starts, “but it is important that you stay close to me. If anyone asks, you’re mine. You understand?”

You nod, the words sparking to life an empty ache inside you, and you swallow hard.

“Not because I own you,” he continues, “but because they need to think I do.”

“Wouldn’t being your partner be enough?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I wish it was, but they…” He pauses, being careful with his words. “It’s been a long time since these men have seen a girl. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one. Your father was foolish to bring you here.” His hand splays on his chest, his thumb catching the worn collar of his thermal. “I would never hurt you, Birdie. But them? They’d do it in a heartbeat.”

You go quiet again, and he puts his fork down, leaning in.

“Again – I don’t say this to scare you, but –”

“That man today,” you interrupt. “How can you kill like that?”

He misunderstands your question, his body language shifting into defensiveness.

“It was all in the name of self-preservation, Birdie. It was nothing personal. Out here –”

“Can you teach me how?”

Your question takes him aback, his eyebrows popping up with surprise.

You let the question hang in the air between you, fully expecting him to say no. He shouldn’t help you learn to protect yourself, you know it would be in his best interest not to. Despite that, you hold eye contact with him, pleading inwardly for him to say yes.

You know he’d protect you, but you want more freedom than that. You want more, just like he taught you earlier.

Taking in your measure for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifts just a fraction, his dark eyes glinting with warmth – and pride.

“Of course.”

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect/you #ezra prospect/reader

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hellojuiceboxbaby · 2 days

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I saw a post by another user getting into the already prevalent shipping discourse about Crystal and Charles and how she’s “getting in the way” of paynland. Please read their post, they talk about how it’s a load of bullshit.

I want to talk about why Crystal and Charles work, the potential longevity of their relationship and how it doesn’t affect the paynland ship anyway. (And this is coming from a paynland shipper and someone who wanted Crystal to be crushing on Niko lol).

First of all, when I watched the show within 10 minutes (like most people did) I very much assumed that Charles and Edwin were gay for each other. I’d hoped in my heart it was going to be a potential plot line because it was so obvious the boys were in love with each other. Their already established dynamic made it easy to see that.

Then Crystal was introduced and shifted their partnership dynamic. She challenged Edwin in a way Charles never did, ultimately being one of the catalysts to his self discovery the led to paynland actually being a possibility (everyone say thank you Crystal). Edwin didn’t hate Crystal because she was stealing Charles away from him. There’s no doubt in his mind that even if Charles and Crystal were to stay together that Charles wouldn’t still love him and prioritize their relationship, and Charles reassures him of this constantly.

What Edwin is bothered by is having to deal with an inexperienced human, who has no idea why they do what they do, getting in the way of them solving cases that matter to them. Which is figured out pretty quickly when she proves herself to be an asset to the agency and they enter into a sibling like dynamic with wonderful banter I love to see.

What I enjoyed most about Crystal and Charles (if I’m completely honest) is their very out in the open flirting and the way she rejected his advances multiple times but he persisted anyway. Charles gives off a “will go for anything that breaths in his direction” vibes especially when he defends Crystal by saying it’s fun to have someone their own age around.

Also it’s so refreshing to see a black girl being paired with someone who isn’t white (I’m black lol). The bwwm ship dynamic is so overdone in media. In fact the woc x white man dynamic is so prevalent in media today that I just assumed they wouldn’t actually get together. I thought the show runners were just dangling forbidden fruit in my face lol. They do work as a couple because they give off mean bisexual gf with her golden retriever bf to me.

I’m just gonna say it as well because it’s worth thinking about before this fandom gets too crowded and opinionated, but why do you see a woc (especially a blk woman) being in a relationship with one of the mmc and immediately see them as ruining your favorite ship or as causing queer erasure? If we all watched the same show you’d know that Crystal didn’t get in the way of anything. And why don’t you feel that way about Monty of the Cat Kings pursuing Edwin?

Im not gonna dissect paynland as a ship because im so bad at understanding the nuances of male relationships lol as a bi woman. I can talk at lengths about the potential for Niko and Crystal if yous want me to though.

Anyway drink water lovely people <3

#dead boy detectives #charles rowland #crystal palace #edwin payne #the dead boy detectives #niko sasaki #the cat king #monty the crow #paynland #painland

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mazzyfawn · 17 hours

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im a multishipper. i ship buddie and bucktommy. but if im being honest one side is being incredibly more hateful and toxic than the other side. (aka the one thats been around longer) maybe i’ve taken off my rose-colored shipping glasses, but seeing ppl make hate posts abt tommy/lou gives me the ick. it makes me actually realize why oliver left twt. bitterness will get you nowhere. if buddie is meant to happen then it’ll happen. you cannot force it to happen. everything i’ve seen and read tells me buddie was more of a consideration pre-s5 than it is currently. and that fucking sucks but just because things aren’t going your way doesn’t mean you need to get on the internet and be a bully. it’s truly mind-boggling to see people so intense in their hate for a character that has righted his wrongs, who is now friends with the people he wronged, is well-liked among said characters and is now being a positive influence on buck’s newfound sexuality. their dynamic is also nothing new, pessimist/optimist ship dynamics have been around forever and it’s only a problem because it’s not eddie.

i would be happy for buddie to go canon as much as the next guy. getting buck canonically bisexual is mind-blowing enough in itself, i’m glad we’re witnessing it at all. if ryan doesn’t want to do buddie because he feels its important they stay friends then so be it. platonic friendships between a queer man and straight man are important, especially one that runs so deep like buck and eddie’s. sure, their friendship could be read as romantic throughout the show, but partly because oliver and ryan truly share a great chemistry on screen which helps lean into it but also because these shows are not written with an endgame in mind. 9-1-1 is very much a go with the flow show, and if bucktommy is where the show is flowing then that’s what is meant to be. invisible string theory isn’t because ppl think it was always planned from the beginning, it’s because it’s amazing how well buck and tommy becoming a couple comes together so perfectly out of pure coincidence.

we know buck was supposed to be made queer long ago. we also know maddie originally was brought in for eddie but was put with chimney instead. if tim minear hadn’t left after s4 i truly think buddie could have been already established by now, but unfortunately that isn’t how things work. perhaps the idea of tommy and eddie was pitched but ultimately ryan didn’t agree it would work for these character nor the story being told at the time. buck was already supposed to be queer, so turning it to tommy and buck instead makes total sense.

no one is saying you aren’t allowed to continue to ship buddie. most ships in the world are ships that have never gone canon. buddie is valid even if it’s non-canon. god knows i will continue to read and write for them and enjoy them whilst also enjoying buck and tommy together. the behavior i’ve been seeing though is just weird, especially from larger creators who i understand are very passionate for buddie, but it’s weird when you flip it into tommy/lou hate instead of just talking about buddie itself.

perhaps the theories will be true. we don’t know! maybe buck and tommy won’t last and buddie will be endgame. i’m happy either way because buck’s sexuality is so important for him and at the current state of the show eddie is absolutely not ready for anything romantic because he’s still grieving shannon to a point where he is not ready to move on romantically just yet and we’re literally shown this. even if buddie is happening, it is not happening by the season finale nor is it probably happening by the beginning of s8 considering the current storylines and where they’ll be at by the end of this season. lou probably isn’t going anywhere and from the looks of it, we’ll probably be bumped up into a semi-regular character in s8 like karen. he’s easy to write into the plot, he’s got connections to people and emergencies outside of buck that would integrate him well into the plot. their romance is supposed to be “romcom” esque, they’re taking things slow but they’re obviously happy together at the moment.

im just really tired of the nasty attitudes ive been seeing. sure theres are som toxic people on both sides, but to me its obvious which side is being the bigger bully. reality checks needs to be put in place for some people, go outside and realize you are getting way too worked up over a tv show where plotlines are out of your control. if the show is ruined for you over one relationship then stop watching it.

#911 abc #bucktommy #buddie #venting #maybe some will read it and actually reflect on themselves

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watchyourbuck · 13 hours

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I am mad annoyed that the fandom is just becoming "Eddie this." "Buck that." I hardly see anyone engaging with the story we are shown anymore it's all speculation for one thing only. No one even wonders what these characters are about outside of romance anymore. It's all just an irrelevant narrative that will guide them eventually to the right path, aka their relationship.

Maybe it's who I follow but I try to keep it as diverse as possible but still. I want people to get back to discussing Athena and Hen and Maddie and Ravi without them being linked to Buddie. I want people to discuss anything without linking it back to Buddie.

I hear what you’re saying anon, but this season in particular it’s kinda hard to not discuss character’s sexualities, considering we got a pretty big arc involving Buck’s.

I understand and I share the point that it shouldn’t always lead back to one ship or the other but you also gotta understand how much this storyline means to the fandom. Not just because he’s making out with other man on screen — it doesn’t revolve around that (which doesn’t mean it’s not amazing to have that kind of representation. I’ve talked extensively about how grateful I am to Oliver and Lou for their willingness and gentleness).

My advice would be that just the way fanfic writers usually write what they wanna read, you should open the discussions that you want to have. Make posts, talk about Hen and Maddie and Ravi and all the storylines that are not ship-related. I, for one, would love to engage in those (and I do, whenever I get the beans), and I’m sure other users would, too. But also let people have their fun? As long as they’re not hurting anybody else or harassing anyone, I see no harm. This is the place to have fun, at the end of the day.

#911 #911 fox #911 abc #911 tv show #evan buckley #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #911 spoilers #henrietta wilson #karen wilson #ravi panikkar #athena grant #maddie buckley #ship discourse #bucktommy #bi buck #canon bi buck

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pjo-fan17 · 2 years

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how can you not see how ableist some of you guys are? can we stop dehumanizing El and using her trauma as “proof” that Mike and her don’t work out? can we stop using El’s trauma as an excuse to say she’d be better on her own? can we stop using El’s trauma to say she can’t be in a romantic relationship until she is healed? can we stop using El’s trauma to say she can’t be independent and in a relationship? can we stop using El’s trauma as an excuse to hate both on her and Mike? can we stop using El’s trauma to “prove” your ship is canon? can we please! can we please stop using her trauma!!! Please!

I have trauma because of years and years of being bullied and gaslighting/manipulative friendships, and I’m still healing. Does that mean I should stop forming friendships until I’m completely healed? (which isn’t going to happen bc trauma doesn’t just go away).

*read tags please*

#Mileven #I understand she’s a fictional character but still that’s not okay #And there are many traumatized people in the fandom including myself (and even some who see themselves in her) who don’t appreciate it #And those people who do see themselves in El you realize how hurtful your comments are right?#To say a traumatized girl needs to heal before being loved romantically #To say a traumatized girl is better on her own #To say a traumatized girl doesn’t deserve love #To say the boyfriend of said traumatized girl is only using her #You don’t see how screwed up that is?#El being in a relationship with Mike (or anyone!) does NOT take away her independence #You can be independent and in a relationship #And El proves her independence every single season #Yet you all just focus on that she CHOOSES to be with a Mike #Please leave her alone and stop using her trauma to prove Mileven is bad and your ship is canon #This doesn’t even have anything to do with shipping #I could care less you you ship or who you think should be with who or who you think is canon #I could care less #this is about using El’s trauma as ammo #So stop #please

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wontbyers · 2 years

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if byler is not requited then i’ll probably begrudgingly accept the facts, but i’m never going to rewatch seasons 3-5 again. i’ll just watch 1 and 2 and let myself enjoy that as its own contained story. but i’m not sitting through mike telling will it’s not his fault that he doesn’t like girls, will destroying castle byers, will spending s4 playing relationship counselor for mlvn and giving away his own heart to fix their relationship, and whatever bullshit happens in s5 if byler is not to be endgame. it will just hurt too much.

#byler #byler doubt #not byler doubt bc i do believe it’s going to be endgame #but in the case that it wasn’t i don’t think straight shippers understand it’s more than about losing a ‘ship war’ to us #it’s about one of the only lgbt characters on the show never being allowed happiness #his whole sexuality arc in s4 being just used to push the straight ship forward #i just want to make that point bc it’s not a ship war to us it’s us fighting for actual good representation #for mlvn truthers it’s just about winning and being right #if byler ‘wins’ mlvn shippers don’t lose anything besides a ship they put a lot of time into loving #if mlvn ‘wins’ then queer byler fans get a huge slap in the face for ever thinking we could have a gay storyline that doesn’t end in pain #in a mainstream show that’s even about outcasts and people who are different

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wintercosmicskye · 1 year

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I designed Halkenna a spaceship! Say hello to the Midsummer Meteorite!

It’s a flying saucer-esque ship but more rounded. I actually got the name for it from animal crossing new horizons, its what i made Halkenna’s passport title lol (i might show that in a another post sometime). Forgot to mention this in the ref itself, but the windshield is what open and closes and how he gets in and out.

I think he was around 13 when he found the ship in the scrap yard, and almost 15 when he first went to Earth. I think the spaceship lasted until he was roughly halfway between 17 and 18 when it became too busted up to just keep repairing over and over like he had been until that point. (These are only rough estimates and may be adjusted as needed, I haven’t completely figured out my timeline yet). It lasted a surprisingly long time for something he found in a scrap yard that he repeatedly repaired over the years with various odds and ends. Despite already being a bit obsolete by the time he found it, the technology is still leagues better than Earth’s, as going 80,000 light years away is a fairly reasonable task for it. If that spaceship’s considered old and obsolete, makes you wonder just how advanced the newer and larger ships are.

For awhile he wasn’t sure what to name it, but he thought of it a little awhile after he started visiting Earth. The first time he went there was during the summer, and his landing was a bit rough. A few people (his soon to be girlfriend and her friend) had briefly seen it while it was in the sky, but from where they saw it it merely looked like a meteor/shooting star, granted a little brighter than usual (I’d like to think to she saw it first and made a wish, immediately followed by a hmm uhh wait that shooting star looked a little different actually, further followed by a loud but distant thump). He had luckily landed in a forest and not in the middle of civilization heheh, probably would have caused quite a few problems otherwise. Did she investigate that night or the next morning? I haven’t quite decided that part yet, I’m leaning towards that same night. I got from Bug Spray (the song) that her dad doesn’t like it when she’s out after dark. Either the friend she was with seemed mature enough to him for some lenience to stay out later and watch the stars, or it was a snuck-out situation. Or maybe she just managed to see the meteor and hear the thump from her window. Like I said before, there’s definitely still a few things i need to work out.

The Midsummer Meteorite had its pros and cons. It was fast and agile, but it had no built in weapons and had a lot wear and tear over time. Due to its small size, it would often be overlooked, and it was easy to hide away if need be as well as easily fit on larger ships. Friends he made over the years would sometimes tease him about his ship being “dinky,” but he didn’t really care. Halkenna is used to piloting defensively and a bit unpredictable, because of this he was often described to pilot “like a lunatic/maniac/idiot” (depending on how they each preferred to phrase it) and as such the majority of his friends refused to let him pilot their own ships.

He was devastated when the Midsummer Meteorite did inevitably kick the bucket. It was of course a long time coming, not only because of the damage and age, but since he had gotten it when he was only 13 he had grown taller over the years and the little ship became more confining and awkward to use (it was likely initially designed for a species a little smaller than himself). Like how a hermit crab eventually outgrows its shell and needs to find a new one, Halkenna too outgrew the ship on top of the damage done to it, and had to find something new.

It almost pains me a little to have had so much fun designing this spaceship only to ultimately decide it eventually has to be replaced, but not only does it ultimately make sense but it also kinda matches some of the themes present in the music project. Yknow like moving on and stuff, best summed up by Jami Lynne’s quote in the description of Ultranimboy A Letter to a Dying Star. Despite working fine earlier, for some reason im not able to paste things on tumblr so I can’t put the link to it, so here’s a screenshot of it instead:

I actually wonder now whether it might work even better if he decides to to move on from it before it officially kicks the bucket.

I like to think he keeps a few parts of it to add to his new ship maybe. Speaking of his new ship, im actually not sure what it would look like yet, and before you ask nooo its not gonna be the Mercury Retrograde from Omori. The Mercury Retrograde is cool and all, but the vagabond vigilante Galactic Love Defender Space Boyfriend and his newly adopted little brother Little Jack dont need a ship THAT big for just the two of them or any guest they might have, and there’d need to be a whole crew to man all that. I’m thinking there’s maybe a few separate rooms, at least a separate cockpit and bedroom to sleep in unlike before where Halkenna would either sleep in the seat or on the floor of the Midsummer Meteorite in a sleeping bag.

I’ll elaborate more about some of these things later, this post has already gotten quite long

I actually rambled a lot more than I meant to, especially considering all the stuff i already typed in the image itself lol. Anyways, I hope you like it ^v^

#halkenna fairway #space boyfriend #Midsummer Meteorite #definitely had fun designing this!#i hope the buttons and levers make sense…#if not i guess i could either fix it or just have it be one of the ship’s odd quirks #if there’s too many buttons maybe at least one of them doesn’t even do anything lol #he lies and claims its a self destruct button as a joke #(also yes it does in fact not have a self destruct lol)#it was initially inspired by an old sbf fan art i came across once #but i changed and added a lot of things to the general idea #the general idea being ‘watermelon spaceship’#cosmic word vomit #here’s to hoping my rambling is coherent

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