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theancientdarkbeauty · 8 months

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Payday 3 theory for New Character Designs

This is hella long, so the rest of it is under the cut, but if you want to see why that "Collar" is on Wolf and Dallas, from a lore and character design perspective, please click the "Read More"

Alright, you clicked, so you wanna know, what do I think the metal collars on Wolf and Dallas's necks are. For Wolf, you might think he was committing to the Dog Bit TM, but then you see an identical one on Dallas's neck, and he has no associations with canines of any sort in all of his years of being The Face of the Payday Gang (except for, of course, liking dogs on a casual level, he was on a team with John Wick after all, which could be counterargumented (Not a real word I know) by "but Jacket was on that team as well, and in his games, he is known for killing a good score of Doberman Pinschers" which is a bit of a theory for a different time) So the next thing you can assume, as you dirty minded Tumblr users, and as I've seen some other people say, is that they're just kinky bitches, to which I say BEGONE THOT! But in all seriousness I don't think Starbreeze would intentionally add something so noticeable to two of their most beloved characters and their only reason being "The tumblr and 34 community can logically go ApeShit now) Oh no no no my friends, if I can entertain your eyes for perhaps a paragraph longer, I'll tell you why that kinky shit in that google doc for Payday 3 with WolfHox using that collar thing would quickly devolve into more of a bloody angst story, logically.

You see, in short, these collars are helping them breath. Weird, right? But let me explain! Because, when you think about it anatomically, it will actually make a lot of sense. Lets take a look at our heisters in question real quick:

Wolf and Dallas respectively. Now, do you notice anything? (Besides, Dallas being bugged, this game works as intended) The collar is on the same place on both of their necks, right in their jugulars (yes you have 2, one for each side) Right on the Interior Jugulars/ Internal carotid arteries, though, considering the circumstances, probably the carotid arteries. This is common place knowledge, but for those who don't know, Wolf is very close to Hoxton, shown in game through various nicknames they give each other, and Dallas is the oldest of the OG four, being 44 at the time of Payday 2 (since I don't know the exact gap in time from 2 to 3, but if it is 10 years, like rumored, that means he is 54 as of "today") For reference, the other oldest character, Chains, was 37 at the time of Payday 2, Wolf 34, and Hoxton being a fucking child at 32. So, Dallas is an old man, and he's been smoking since... well the first game (that is 100% confirmed.) so his lungs are fucking WRECKED. But, why is this related? If Dallas's lungs are heavily damaged, running, vaulting, sneaking around, and doing normal heistery stuff, his lungs wouldn't be able to keep up with the oxygen needed to run his brain/other body functions. So, Dallas's lungs are wrecked, yeah, duh, but why would Wolf, the second youngest little man, need this "collar"? Also simple, he's a heartsick bastard.

Wolf lost his best friend, Hoxton, for 2 whole years, do you really think that this man, who basically lost everything, his company, his wife, his kids, his sanity, and now his best friend, wouldn't take to some pretty destructive habits? 2 years of chain-smoking and drinking and doing whatever he could to get his mind off it (be it committing violences or building machines) wouldn't take a toll on him? His lungs would be 100% destroyed, even after only 2 years, because, if I had to take a guess, he started those bad habits when he initially lost his job and went on a rampage. That man has probably been smoking for at least 2 years casually (with periods of mental breakdown chain-smoking) and then 2 more years of hard chain-smoking, non stop, destroying his body. Though, statistically, it takes 15-20 years to fuck up your lungs as bad as maybe Dallas's would be, so whatever Wolf was doing to get himself on that collar device thing must have been pretty hard core.

BUT I'M GETTING OFF TRACK!!! You clicked read more because you wanted to know what I thought the collars did! My thoughts? They artificially pump oxygen into our beloved heisters blood streams, to give them the stamina and brain function they used to have, but still probably being cheaper than a lung transplant. (A quick google search will show you that, for both your lungs transplanted, it would be $1,295,900 in America. Crazy shit, especially for 2 people. Also, if the lungs and heart were damaged, the collar things would be basically a necessity if the guys wanna run around as much as they do in game (don't ask me why you can sprint for like a minute in a half straight in a light ballistics vest when they are all old men, I couldn't tell you). Why doesn't Hoxton have one? Probably because he's a stubborn bastard. Why doesn't Chains have one? He's just built different. The fact that these things are adding extra oxygen to people's blood would mean that the collars are imbedded in their necks, which means if some pulls on them, major ouchies (plus theirs a lot of nerves there and it's really just a whole mess of a time)

THERE YOU GO! This took me 4 days to write, off and on, so for the love of god I hope I got everything right. My area of expertise is reptiles, not humans, but story writing and character development were my first things studied. But this is all head cannons, nothing concrete yet! Anyways, thank you for sticking with the ramblings of a mad lad, and have a wonderful day/night!

#payday 3 #payday wolf #payday chains #payday #payday hoxton #dallas payday #payday dallas #This was unreasonably long I'm sorry #BUT I'M SO PROUD OF MY THEORY CRAFTING GUYS!

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pointyearedelvishprincling · 2 years

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Strike Three For Dr. Sexy

For @emeraldcas 💚💚💚 happy birthday bestie!

Read below or on ao3

3.3k | Part 1/3

Twelve years of barely concealed pining, heartsickness and the terrifying ordeal of vulnerability aside, turns out falling in love with the angel was the easy part.

Happiness is in just being, my ass, Dean thought, as he tore out another page etched black with ink. He’d been sitting in the diner for hours now, scratching out every dumbass idea he’d had so far to approach The Cas Problem.

Cas was back. Cas was gay? And Cas loved Dean.

Even now, the weight of those words hit him fresh every time like a Looney Toones acme ton that left twittering birds circling the comically sized bump on his head. And when the shock dissipated, well, Dean had seen stranger things than anatomically incorrect hearts beating out of his chest, but that’s exactly how it felt. His best friend was back, and he loved Dean and it was far more than Dean could ever hope for.

He tried not to think about life before Cas had come back to him. How Dean had tried to barter his own life – his own brother’s life, for fuck’s sake – to get his angel back. To tell that adorable, stubborn ass dork that Dean loved him, too.

Always had.

Dean took a sip from his mug, hardly noticing that the coffee had long gone cold. Balls of paper littered the diner table, and his small notebook of big dumb ideas was wearing thin. Dean tapped the pen rhythmically against the blank page with no Sam around to tell him he was being obnoxious. He stared at the lines on the page, chewing on his bottom lip as if that would give him any other ideas.

How do you tell an angel- scratch that: How do you tell your best fucking friend you’ve ever had that you’re in love with him? That it’s been eating you alive for years and sometimes you swear that the only thing that kept you trucking all this time was every passing touch and stupid fight and those rare, precious moments where there was more hope than fear filling the space between them?

So many times, those words had been on the tip of Dean’s sharp tongue. So many times, he’d felt the burn of them forcefully swallowed back down his throat and tucked away in his weary heart for another time, another day that might never come. It was different before, when the end of the world outpaced the urgency to tell the truth. There’d always been a sick kind of comfort to it; the chance that he might die before anyone had to know that Dean had wanted something so selfishly.

Everything was different now.

Except nothing had changed. Not really.

Dean hadn’t spoken much in the weeks it took to get Cas back. It was an empty kind of silence, like the familiar beating of his heart was muted somewhere he couldn’t reach anymore and without the rhythm, nothing made sense. He’d dreamt every night through fitful sleep about the dungeon; how his words had failed him even then.

He’d been ready then to tell Cas the truth of him. With Death literally knocking on the door, it didn’t matter if Cas didn’t feel the same. Those claws squeezing the life from Dean’s heart had been a warning from Billie: she was going to hit him where it hurt the most before he met his own end. So, Cas had to know – had to understand what he meant to Dean. Why it destroyed Dean so completely to lose Cas every time. For years he’d been building a home, building a cathedral to love and worship Castiel. He’d never even got the chance to pray.

Dean sketched absently on the page, not really comprehending the shape the ink took on with his mind far away.

He’d almost said it in purgatory. There was something about that place that put everything into perspective for Dean. There was the terror of losing Cas again; that his truth would be no more than static noise in a sunless world. It mattered more that Cas knew how sorry Dean was. How stupid he’d been to let Cas think he meant nothing to him beyond his usefulness. Every last son of a bitch in that cruel place knew the truth. “Your angel,” they’d say when Dean hunted and tortured his way to find Cas.

His angel.

Dean looked down at the scribbled pair of familiar eyes now staring up at him from his notebook. From memory, he sketched the crease between Cas’ brows. Shaded the darkness beneath his eyes and the crook of his brow that held more judgement and absolution than heaven ever could.

This wasn’t helping.

A warm hand settled on Dean’s shoulder. The touch was all wrong; it felt too light, too small. Held none of that lightning that skittered along Dean’s skin, raising the hair on his arms and setting his heart on fire. The waitress’s hand ran along Dean’s bicep, coming to a stop at his elbow.

“Thought you might need another cup,” she smiled in that way Dean was all too familiar with.

Muscle memory had him painting on the smile he knew she wanted to see, but Dean knew it didn’t meet his eyes. “’preciate it.”

“You’re very welcome,” she said, eyes dropping to the notebook as Dean handed her his dirty mug. She placed a hand on her hip, eyes sparkling through dark lashes. “You an artist or something?”

Dean leaned over the notebook, resting his forearm atop the drawing. He didn’t miss the way the waitress’s teeth grazed her lower lip; how she tucked her long dark hair behind one ear. Her body language was screaming at him to look at her, notice her, drink her in. She was pretty. Beautiful, really. But Dean was only dimly aware of it, in the way he knew flowers and sunsets and nice clothes were pretty. He acknowledged it and moved on.

Seeming oblivious that he wasn’t taking the bait, the waitress sat in the seat opposite. There was only one other family in the building and she didn’t seem all that concerned about them either way. “Dinner menu starts soon if you’re hungry.” She pushed her hair over her shoulder and the sweet smell of her perfume lingered in the air between them.

Another version of Dean might have bought into it. Might have laid on the charm and asked when she gets off. He didn’t miss the game at all. It was weird, right? He felt none of that old instinct to push all the right buttons to get what he wanted. To pretend to be someone he wasn’t and feel the thrill of knowing he’d convinced her he was worth a damn. There was no spark with strangers anymore. Hadn’t been for the longest time. Dean could look at this gorgeous woman, drink in the smell of her perfume, and imagine how soft her skin would feel beneath his starving touch. He could. But he didn’t want it.

His stomach flipped as the realisation hit.

He’d been coming at this problem all wrong; strategizing talking about his feelings the same way he’d plan out a hunt. Even then, you didn’t throw yourself into the ring with the monster of the week without back up and a solid escape plan.

He didn’t have to fling himself into the deep end and tell Cas all his sappiest secrets in one bold, dumbass move. Didn’t have to risk drowning in his own senseless words or getting flat out rejected. They could start at the beginning, he and Cas. They could shake up the board and start a new game like any other couple, right?

It could be Cas at this table instead, his hand pressed to Dean’s shoulder as it had in the very beginning. His soft stare and tentative smiles. The smell of Cas; that heady charge of rain-soaked earth beneath roiling clouds of thunder, and the faint scent of ground coffee that reminded Dean of home.

Dean could ask Cas out. He could do that much.

“Are you... are you doing okay, sir?” the waitress asked, waving a hand in front of Dean’s face.

“Hm? Oh,” Dean said, blinking rapidly as he brought himself back to the present. “Uh, menu, yeah. I, uh, I’ll take a look. Thanks.”

“Great,” the waitress said, her tone slightly clipped and her smile long faded. She stood to leave when Dean called out to her again.

“Actually, make it two menus,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Might have a… a friend coming.”

“Sure.”

Dean hardly noticed her sarcastic tone as he scrolled through his contacts list. His thumb hovered over Cas’ name for the span of two deep breaths before Dean hit 'call'.

Cas answered on the third ring.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said in that way that instantly soothed Dean’s nerves. The angel had plenty of ways of saying Dean’s name, and Dean had every last one of them bookmarked in his brain and filed under favourites. From those two words alone, Dean knew that Cas was smiling.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean cleared his throat. His ears were burning already. “So, uh, I was thinkin’. Are you, uh. Busy? Right now?”

An hour passed since Cas had gotten the call to meet Dean at the diner that he’d been frequenting alone these past few weeks. It had been a while since it’d just been the two of them; Cas ordering Dean’s second favourite item on the menu so he could eat from Cas’ plate when he’d finished his own meal. Cas had missed the intimacy of it; the chance to sit close range with Dean and enjoy his company.

He’d hoped the fact that Dean had invited him indicated that Dean might feel the same.

Cas stared around at the empty building. The glass windows shattered, chairs scattered, and tables upended. Food littered the floor among the broken plates; the ceramic flashing beneath the swinging bulb overhead torn from the fixture on the ceiling. Cas looked down at the menu beneath his foot, frowning at a droplet of blood obscuring a cartoonish image of cherry pie.

Dean groaned as he lay back on the family sized table still somehow bolted to the wall.

“Are you hurt?”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose before answering. He cracked one eye open, his gaze falling on Cas’ blood-stained trench coat. Dean sat up quickly, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. Cas noticed the wince Dean tried to hide and hurried to his side.

“’m fine, Cas.” Annoyance laced Dean's tone, though Cas sensed it wasn’t directed at him. “How about you? You okay?” Dean tugged gently at Cas’ coat, checking for tears or evidence of injury before the angel could respond.

Cas placed a hand over Dean's own, healing his bloodied knuckles without a second thought. Dean froze at the touch, and the angel dropped his hand in an awful mix of disappointment and shame. To remove any further temptation he tucked both his hands in the safety of his pockets.

“It’s not my blood,” Cas answered quickly, recalling the spray from the creature’s pierced heart drenching his coat even from a distance.

As one, they both turned to the body on the floor. The body that could so easily have been Dean’s if Cas hadn’t shown up when he did.

“If you’d told me there was a succubus, I would have come right away,” Cas scolded. Dean had given no indication on the phone that he’d been on a hunt. If anything, his voice had wavered slightly with that new nervous energy he’d had around Cas since he’d come back from the Empty. Things had changed between them. And though Cas would never regret his moment of happiness and how it saved the man at his side, he often wondered if Dean still wanted him around.

Dean nudged a mangled slice of lasagne with his boot. “I didn’t know,” he sighed. Dean pursed his lips, staring vacantly at the body of the waitress. Something dark passed over his face before he let out a bitter laugh. “I should’a known. But I didn’t.”

Cas frowned. He fought the urge to reach out for Dean again, hating this newfound hesitation and unsureness between them. “Dean, it’s okay. No one was hurt.”

“I could’a got you killed.”

Cas smiled a little at that. “No, you could have gotten yourself killed. I was never in any danger.”

Dean glared half-heartedly. “Whatever, man. How’d you know what she was anyhow?”

“I could see the creature’s true face,” Cas said, not bothering to hide the disgust in his tone. It’d been years since they’d dealt with a succubus. It was strange – since god’s demise, there’d been a shift in the behaviour of supernatural beings. Hunts had been few and growing further between, and there’d been a running joke amongst the Winchesters that monsters were growing domesticated.

Cas studied the dead waitress. They’d have to interrogate the other staff members and perhaps a few patrons, but if nothing had raised suspicion for Dean – who was more keen than anyone for a hunt – it was likely they’d never know how long the succubus had been operating in the area. Especially since there’d been no reported victims.

Dean disappeared into the kitchen while Cas took another look at the body. The moment Cas had entered the building, the succubus had known what he was.

Since coming back, his powers had slowly been replenishing. Even his wings were gaining strength every day, feather by feather. Cas knew he was still invulnerable for the most part; it was an innate part of his being he could sense. Still, he was quietly grateful for the silence at the end of the story, more keen to write his own ending than fall prey on a mundane hunt after everything they’d been through.

He pulled his angel blade free from the creature’s chest, cleaning the blade on its skirt. The scene could have been infinitely quieter if the succubus hadn’t reacted the way it did, overturning tables and throwing chairs, fangs retracting as it dove for Dean before Cas could reach him. A simple exorcism would have made her Rowena’s problem to deal with, but Castiel didn’t take kindly to anyone who threatened the man he loved. He’d thrown the blade right when Dean jerked his body against the creature’s grip, piercing its heart before its jagged fangs could pierce Dean’s shoulder.

The smell of smoke and burning oil snapped Cas to attention. He looked up from the body to see Dean pocketing his lighter, a ringed donut caught between his teeth. Through the mouthful Dean murmured something about “insurance money” and hastily ushered them both from the building.

Sirens wailed in the distance as Cas slid into the passenger seat of the Impala. As soon as the engine roared to life, the radio blared with the melancholy tones of an artist Dean once claimed helps him think. Dean shut the music off entirely, cheeks full of the last bite of his strawberry frosted donut.

They sped off in the opposite direction of the sirens. Flames licking the roof of the diner, the streetlamps illuminating the littered glass and pieces of broken furniture on the sidewalk. Cas watched in the rear-view mirror as it disappeared behind them.

They’d been lucky to be alone. More fortunate still that no one had gotten hurt.

Cas turned his gaze to Dean as the silence strained between them. He noted the crease in Dean’s brows – the stubborn set to Dean’s jaw that could easily be read as anger. Cas knew him well enough to see there was something else lingering beneath the surface, too.

Dean’s knuckles were white on the wheel for the entire drive home. When they pulled into the Bunker's garage, the silence only swelled once the homely rumble of the Impala died out.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled to the steering wheel. “That’s not how I meant for tonight to go down.”

Cas shifted in the seat to face him fully, his head tilting in confusion. “I don’t understand why you’re upset.”

“I’m not-“ Dean scrubbed his hands over his eyes, and Cas noted the blood crusted to his knuckles. “God, why is this so hard?”

Something cold settled behind Cas’ ribs. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean dropped his hands. Blinking rapidly, he turned to Cas as he said, “why are you sorry?” He sounded exhausted and confused.

Cas couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t pretend that everything they once had wasn't changed.

“What I told you in the dungeon,” Cas said, forcing strength he didn’t feel into his voice. “I thought I was dead, Dean. I thought that was the end of us, the end of me.” He paused, smiling sympathetically at the ghost of devastation that passed over Dean’s face. “I meant every word,” Cas continued, and when he’d caught Dean’s eye, he found that same expression in them that had been there that night in November. “It’s my truth, and I’d do it all again to save your life. But I hate how things are different now. You don’t-“ Cas felt a tremor in his voice and paused to collect himself. Dean was frozen, hanging on to every word. He barely seemed to be breathing. “You don’t want me in that way, and it’s okay. I’ve made my peace with it.”

“Cas-“

“I mean it, Dean.”

Dean dropped his chin to his chest, his shoulders shaking. Cas thought for an awful moment that he might be crying, before Dean looked up with the biggest smile on his face. Dean shook his head in disbelief. “I asked you out tonight, dumbass. What d’you think that means?”

Cas stared silently.

He replayed the night twice over in his head. Three times.

“No, you did not.”

“Yeah, man, I did. On the phone?”

Cas was no stranger to getting lost in translation, especially when it came to Dean and the pop cultural riddles his speech was made up of, but he was certain Dean had done no such thing.

“You asked me to meet you at the diner.”

“Exactly.”

Cas stared incredulously. “The diner run by a whore of hell.”

“Semantics,” Dean waved his hand flippantly.

“Dean,” Cas said, as if the word conveyed every unspoken thought running through his mind. “You didn’t say it was a date.”

Dean’s smile faded as a blush bloomed bright along his cheeks, flushing his freckled neck and ears. “Are you sure?”

The doubt in his voice told Cas that he was right. This time the misunderstanding wasn’t his fault. “I’m sure.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.” Cas said, feeling a bubble of laugher rise in his throat. The righteous feeling subsided as the meaning behind Dean’s words took root. Cas studied Dean; his blushing face hidden mostly in shadow in the darkened garage. The smile on Dean’s lips a vulnerable thing; more holy to the angel than all of heaven.

Dean scratched the back of his neck and Cas noted the slow, practised breaths Dean took before he next spoke. “A’right, um. Cas… buddy,” Dean paused, frowning at himself. “Would you wanna go on a date? A date-date. For real this time. No monsters, no killer waitresses – none of that crap. Just… just you and me?”

For years, Cas had been mystified by Dean’s smooth talking. He’d watched Dean flirt himself out of even the most ridiculous situations, and while Dean was beyond the modern standard of conventional attractiveness, it was maddening how easily it came to him. Cas had spent many years cloaked in shame, wondering how it felt to be at the other end of Dean’s pantomimed affections. Now, he’d never seen Dean so worked up with nerves.

Joy flooded through Cas’ veins, sweeter than any rush of grace. His wings stretched out; stronger than they’d been in years as he smiled bright and brilliant at the stubborn, pain in the ass, beautiful man he’d fallen for in every way he could.

They should have been a footnote in Chuck’s story, and instead they’d outlasted the creator of Heaven and Earth, surviving to write their own epilogue.

“Yes, dumbass,” Cas grinned. “I’d like that very much.”

#this got way out of control so i had to split it up lmao #anyways happy birthday (day 2) 😌 mel!!#it’s cas’ fault this is late but he’s just a lil guy!!! he cannot be blamed :’)#destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #destiel fic #fanfic #gardenforcas #angelscas #user4x01 #becauseofthebowties #chapeldean #spxcekya #offbeattraxx

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radiojamming · 8 months

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seein all those little gay wrestlers professing their love like heartsick maidens in a rainy regency movie might just make a bitch tune in and get hyperfixated

hfsdjghkfdhshdk

#SCREAMS

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admiration-obsession · 1 year

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meet your personal superhero,

Incredible!

<3 He's everything the world's ever needed. A hero, one without discrimination for who he saves. Wholly righteous and the epitome of justice!

<3 Until he meets you, that is.

<3 For you see, Invincible was created to be a safeguard against threats. Countries could call upon him when something big went down and he could do more than what an entire army could do, all without even taking a breath. He was Earth's only true hero, a man who broke the mold and who has been replicated, but never to the success of the original.

<3 He was truly Incredible! But he was extremely alone.

<3 Flying off around the world, meeting and saving foreign dignitaries, giving speeches and stopping disasters was fun and all, but he was given anything he could possibly imagine, except for the one thing he wants...

<3 Domesticity.

<3 Built as a grown man, he's never had a family. Sure, he refers to the head scientist as his mom and her former lover as an ever elusive dad, but he's an adult without real roots. A man with memories, emotions, or connections that have been completely fabricated by a team of world leaders in an effort to make a singular killing machine, or many if their plans weren't foiled.

<3 But, he's found the domestic all on his own. And it comes in the form of you.

<3 In disguised, he heads to a local coffee shop. The grand hotel suite this country put him in is nice and all, but a place is best explored by where the locals hang out. He's been in enough cities and on enough tours not to trust the tourism industry.

<3 And he's been to countless places, but after a death-defying save and fancy celebration dinner held by the country's leader who shoved countless women to his face, Incredible didn't expect to find someone that actually caught his eye, you.

<3 You, working on some work in the middle of a coffee shop in a city he hadn't even heard of before jet setting off to here. Oh but does he know it now! Does he remember everything about this place, aiming to eventually recreate it brick by brick so that he can always stand in the place he first saw your beautiful face.

<3 He gets himself an obscenely sugary drink and slides into the seat across from you. He keeps the hood on his head, but demorphs from his disguise, showing you his true face as he asks for your number. After all, all relationships, are built on a bedrock of honesty and trust—his pseudo mother told him that, over a wine and bitch night, where she talked about the man who made sure there wouldn't be another version of Incredible!

<3 Incredible whispers. His voice is recognizable, after all. He talks to you like any other person would, getting to know you and slipping you the number world leaders contact him with. He asks what you're doing and what you're working on and if he can catch you for dinner sometime soon.

<3 And when another phone call comes through, he hangs up the phone. Because getting to know you and walking the steps of every couple before is worth letting however many people die, waiting on a hero who's suddenly heartsick.

#yandere oc #incredible oc #yandere superhero #<3 incredible oc

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flowerflamestars · 2 years

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Robin fic snippet

“I just,” One hand emerged from the too-big sweater sleeve, palm smooshed over Elle’s right eye. “I got used to him, I guess. Stupid. Three days of him being all warm and close and right there”- “Making bitchy faces.” Eleanor flipped him off, and Dick’s soulmate laughed, the sound rebounding into his own chest, edged around in worry as an achy old scar. “S’not an insult,” Dick said, sliding out of the kitchen and moving to curl up along Llewellyn's side. A warm hand climbed his neck, urging him closer until they were both comfortable, a tangle of limbs. “Jay is absolutely proud of what a bitch he is.” Garbled, Eleanor made a horrible noise with her throat, and rolled further beneath the coffee table. “I don’t think I can explain this to you two.” Dick opened his mouth, but Wells shook his head, absolutely correct as words started to tumble from Eleanor anyway, uneven and grouchy, heartsickness soaking right through. “I had all this time to think about it,” Elle said, unkind hand shifted from pressed too hard on her eyes to grounding her own chest, “Years. He’s allowed to think about it. I’m already like, invasively far in his life in a fucked away. He’s not doing anything wrong.” Considering the current arson rate in Gotham, Dick though Jason was doing at least one thing wrong. Two, if he’d believed for a single second that his brother didn’t want a soulmate, wasn’t still his Little Wing, hoping and waiting for one person who’d chose him above anyone else. “Magic is bad enough,” Elle continued, voice rising, “Immortality. God, he doesn’t even know about the entropy shit.” “Maybe you should blow something up,” Wells offered, with a crooked smile, grey eyes flashing to Dick’s face, “Seems like a regular pastime in this fine village of yours. Your zombie is a pyro, love.” “Your zombie is sitting on your lap, and I hate you.” Dead bird soulmark club, welcome to the family. It said something, that the whole conversation filled Dick with warmth. “You’re not invasive,” Dick said. “Elle, c’mon. You think I haven’t run a background check on every person Steph has ever dated? That Tim’s never surveilled me? That Cas doesn’t know where we are and what we’re doing and if we’re okay, half the world away?” “It’s one thing to know B saved my life,” Elle grumbled, “It’s entirely another to have see his semi-estranged parent try to parent me.”

#babes I am behind have a huge snippet #me looking at Dick Grayson: yes this man needs a Husband #but also me writing Jason Todd: this man is Horrible ROMANTIC who is going to run at the first sign of real feeling yes correct #DEAD BIRD SOULMATE CLUB MY LOVES #the batfam have zero normal boundaries #none #Jason watching Elle be herself: I'm gonna marry that girl #Also Jason: I need to. not be here. goodbye forever #minus the goodbye #Elle meanwhile: well I FUCKED THAT AND EVERYTHING UP-#Dick is going to smash their faces together and yell KISS #shoutout to Jay's bitch face #it's canon #it's gorgeous #bat's invading her life in every direction and Elle's truly out here like:#you know who is huggable as HELL? the red hood #Migration Patterns of Turdidae

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thesungod · 2 years

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for director's commentary:

“Oh dear,” Melpomene ( fitting , Will thought) whispered, “you truly did need that, didn’t you?”

Nico nodded. “ Thank you,” he breathed, with an intensity he rarely held in his voice. “Thank you so much . Please-“ he hesitated, “please thank Apollo too, if you happen to see him before I do.”

The goddess shook her head. “Love, that would be thanking the wind for blowing and the rain for falling down. Apollo is music. There is no need to be grateful to him for writing it.”

I looooove your take on the Muses and would be thrilled to know more about how you imagine them and their powers, and their relationship to Apollo!

Ok so.

You chose A Scene lmao😭

I had a beautiful comment tell me that what Melpomene said about Apollo not needing thanks for his song (or his general greatness) was meant to be a compliment, but betrayed a certain naiveness about the way the Muses see Apollo. Like, no wonder Apollo feels so unappreciated and burdened among his fellow immortals if even his bestest friends don’t believe he needs praise and encouragement and see him as infallible.

And honestly, while Melpomene’s words are beautiful and would please Apollo greatly, they do point out something that I wanted to be noticed (however subtly) about the Muses: their view of Apollo is beautiful and loving, but also maybe a tad romanticized. Not that they don’t know Apollo has flaws, and has been and is in pain: they are his friends and companions and lovers, and they’ve been on his side throughout his entire existence. Still, they don’t get him completely, not only because Apollo is very careful not to show his vulnerability (only a fake mask of a whiny and melodramatic god) and many of his actual thoughts to his fellow immortals, but because he’s their teacher, and they actually turn to him for guidance and leadership (kinda like the Hunters do with Artemis, but a bit more on equal grounds). Therefore, it’s him who most likely has functioned as their rock and advisor throughout the centuries, rather than the other way around. I’m sure he goes to them when he’s heartsick, has lost someone he was close to or he’s had a fight with Artemis, but he wouldn’t share his deepest reflections about Zeus and immortality with them when he hasn’t even told them to his twin sister. Hearing “The worst of the Gods” (what a title!!!) was probably quite a shock for them. As much as they know him more intimately than anyone else (except for Leto and Artemis), they’d also partially fallen for his mask of complete confidence. On the bright side, I’m sure they showered him with love afterwards <3

Apart from this “misunderstanding” both parties have going on, they are besties. Apollo and the Muses go on shopping sprees together, advice each other on boyfriends (personal fave headcanon is that Apollo never married one of them because they all enjoy their freedom to have ✨flings✨ even tho they love him to pieces), create music together, have monthly slumber parties where they get updated on all the Olympus gossip (Thalia can be vicious). He has true, actual friends who not only love him and are on his side but genuinely respect him and his incredible craft and look up to him. Whereas Artemis goes 🙄Apollo’s new poems🙄, the Muses go 😍Apollo’s new poems😍 and that’s just <3333333 Artists get each other.

Seriously seriously underrated part of the Apollo lore and RR should have included them at least in the end because :((( And yes, he did date all of them. Lol. Dripping in bitches since 2000 B.C

Nico hearing the Song of Jason Grace from people who could do justice to Apollo’s art and genuinely appreciate it was very important because while he isn’t scared of death, he IS scared of people being forgotten and set aside (“not giving people a second thought can be dangerous”) and knowing Apollo made the most beautiful song in honor of Jason’s memory and that the Muses will sing it forever gave him so much comfort. He’s grateful to them and to him. Though he won’t always have kind thoughts about Apollo in my fic lolololol

#my fic #ask #🥰🥰❤️

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vvatchword · 1 year

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BioShock fic is at 207,000 words and 33 chapters. Almost solely about Johnny Topside right now, which is probably okay. Starting to realize that i need to split the Topside bit from the fall of Rapture itself, which is a strange relief, but this might expand the story from five parts to six.

Part 1 = Writing about founding of Rapture in the style of Ayn Rand following Andrew Ryan as a Randian Ubermensch. Mean-ass critique played straight. Going to emulate her style, complete with moralizing, and end the tale on a high note like, Victory :) everything is great and will be fine forever!!!!

Part 2 will either be about the fall of Rapture or Jack. Basically it's just a matter of the framing device. Do i want Jack to be our eyes and ears or do i want him to be the enigma for preexisting characters? This could be one part or two depending on what i need to say. Don't want to be redundant, whatever happens.

Part 3 = Johnny Topside and the evolution of Dr. Lamb. I don't know how to calculate how close i am to being done; Dr. Lamb and Eleanor are missing some major plot points, but Topside's story is about 75% done. Also Since Dr. Lamb is bouncing off of Andrew Ryan, i think I'm going to have to complete Parts 1 and 2 before i tackle her head on. Not to mention i have a ton of research to do about psychotherapy circa 1950.

Part 4 might end up being about Jack. Alternatively, Part 2 might be all i need.

Part 5 (or 4) is Mark Meltzer. Imma saving this boy bitches.

Part 6 (or 5) is Subject Delta. I desperately need to have Lamb's and Meltzer's stories down before i can do this. I keep trying to write it by itself and it needs more context than i can grant it. Also it's kind of awkward when connected to the vastly more complex Topside character which,,, although the point, well... they DO need to fucking connect. Idk how the fuck this will work out or even if it will at all. Maybe the disconnect will be the fucking point. Whatever

Obviously, this project is enormous, but i can absolutely do it and it's a subject I'm keenly interested in, and I've been writing a lot more than i thought i would, so... why not

Still, who knows when any one part will be finished. I'll also probably have to stop regularly to switch stories just to keep myself fresh.

I'm happy to say that the chapters are coming together very well and the narrative is interesting--at least, to me. Honestly, isn't that all i want? I'm heartsick for a big-ass sprawling Bioshock epic so why the fuck not. I can finish other smaller stories in-between.

... Lol what if Infinite pisses me off and i just keep g o i n g

#vvatchword #bioshock

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kurjakani · 2 years

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Iv been so heartsick as of late i just constantly constantly connnstantly yearn for smth and i cant get over it >:'( i cant even tell what it is. Or ig i do but like what i yearn for isnt realistic so its like. Im miserable. Theres like a constant preassure behind my heart and i just wanna close my eyes and daydream but i have to WORK is that too much TO ASK for my brain 2 stop being a little bitch

#literal heartache #its not melancholia thats the hard part #thats what it usually was for me #but now its neediness and want #and i feel so selfish for wanting #.kanimomence #vent #kinda ig

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lebrookestore · 3 years

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the one; l.ty

Pairing: Lee Taeyong x reader

Themes: exes! au, best friends to nothing, exes to nothing, college! ish au because they’re graduating, the angst is a very subtle type but its still pretty heavy

Warnings: unrequited love, heavy angst, mentions of kissing and food (ice cream)

Wc: 1.6k

Playlist: the 1 by taylor swift, closure by taylor swift, 2 kids by taemin, dancing after death by Matt Maeson

Authors note: this is a deleted scene from my fic, favorite crime! (which you should go read. please lmao but also because it will give this story even more context) i have altered it so it sort of works as a oneshot? Anyways, I hope you like it<3

You know the greatest loves of all time are over now

When you’re younger, you’re told to live your life to the fullest, to enjoy your youth. You’re seen as naive and and wide eyed at the world around you. When you’re younger you’re allowed to make those stupid mistakes and mess up, because people look past them.

But some mistakes, everyone but yourself can look past. These type of mistakes could haunt you for the rest of your life with every little thing you do. The what ifs.

And when you’re young, even though you have so much of your life left to enjoy, you can’t ever go back and fix them. They were permanent, like a life long promise, or a tattoo inked into your skin. You would never be able to escape them, even if you moved on.

At age twenty one, standing in front of your full length mirror donning your graduation cape, you had already made one of these mistakes, and it weighed you down everyday, simply because the reminder of it all was just a window away.

You glanced through your window, seeing him there, doing the same thing as you were, trying to adjust his tie. If you hadn’t been so stupid, then the two of you would have been getting ready together, you would be the one tying his tie and he would be the one teasing you about how your your cap was too big for you.

You let a smile brief your lips, before looking away. Even though you were no longer staring at him, you knew exactly what he was, the image burned into your mind. Bleached blond hair still messy no matter how much he tried to tame it, his bright eyes that seemed to hold the universe and that intoxicating smile.

Your biggest mistake was falling in love with the boy who never loved you back.

And how you had fallen, hook, line and sinker for him. Taeyong was the object of your affections, your best friend- well former best friend. That was where your mistake came in.

You foolishly let it happen, a relationship of sorts with him. At first, it was everything you had ever wanted, but that slowly started turning into a nightmare you wanted to wake up from. Sometimes you still wonder if you’re in a nightmare.

The two of you worked so well together, because you had known each other since you were four. He knew all your flaws, had seen you at your worst and at your best. You would have never thought he would be the cause of one of your worst moments.

But Taeyong, he wasn’t in love with you, but rather, was infatuated. Infatuated with the idea of love and loving you. Once he figured that out, he did the right thing and told you, effectively breaking up with you.

You lost your best friend and lover all at once. It was painful being around him, because you were still in love with him. He had been your everything, and now you had nothing at all. He slipped through your fingers like sand on a beach.

You hadn’t talked to him since that night he told you the truth. You made an effort to not look at him through your window, because it would just break your heart more. You had never known what it was to be heartsick until you experienced it yourself, and extremely violently.

He didn’t push it either, giving you your space. And while this helped you heal, it also felt so wrong. From spending almost every moment together, to spending no time at all, your lives had completely changed.

For some, love was a breeze, it gave them a fuzzy warm feeling that they wanted to hold onto forever. For you, love hurt like a bitch.

You couldn’t help but think about what could have been, if he had actually loved you. Or if you never indulged in what you wanted and just stayed friends. Sometimes- no, all the time, you wished that had happened instead. You were fine with loving him quietly.

Another part of you, the more selfish part, wished he never realized he didn't love you. You would have been fine living that way, but that was only thinking about yourself. You deserved to know, and he deserves that freedom.

What if?

Falling into love is easy, especially with someone like Taeyong. He was the most beautiful guy you had ever seen, with the kindest heart you could think of. You had fallen when you were merely seventeen, still in high school.

No, it was the falling out of love part that was harder. After loving someone for as long as you had loved him, you couldn't imagine ever loving anyone else. The sheer thought of it didn't make sense to you.

So what if you were still with him, what if you never lost him. What if he was still your best friend through thick and thin?

Snapping out of your thoughts, you made one last adjustment to your graduation cap and sighed, scanning yourself over in the mirror. Deeming yourself presentable, you walked out of your apartment, jogging down the stairs of the building and reaching the ground level.

You were hitching a ride with your friend Ryunjin, who was arguably the world's worst driver but you didn't really have a choice. If you did, you would be going with Taeyong, but well, that wasn't going time happen.

You yourself couldn't drive, simply because you were too scared of accidently killing someone. Taeyong had even tried to teach you how to drive when the two of you were dating, but it was discovered that you were probably even worse than Ryunjin.

A few traumatized minutes of the drive to campus later, you found yourself lost in a sea of students that were also graduating with you. Thankfully you had a few friends, but it was still pretty overwhelming.

The ceremony itself was a blur, of you were being completely honest. You saw your friends get called up on stage and receive their scrolls. Ryunjin flashes an awkward peace sign at the principal because she shook his hand, Ten did a happy dance after, and Renjun pretended to click a picture.

You saw Taeyong go up there and receive his scroll, a bright smile on his face, a smile you so loved. You clapped for him, a proud, yet bittersweet smile gracing your features.

And soon it was you up there, and after you had gotten your scroll and take your picture, it had literally turned blurry. You didn’t realize you were tearing up until a wave of emotions crashed over you. You had finally graduated, you were out of this place after four years.

You hated change, despised it even. Now you were thrust out into the world, gone was the familiarity of attending classes and parties with your friends. First you lost your best friend, now you’d probably lose most of your other friends. It wasn’t as if all of you were going to stay in the town, you had first hand experience of this when your friend Yeji graduated the year before and moved away.

You were so young, so naive and yet it felt as if you couldn’t hold on to a single moment long enough. How were you supposed to enjoy your youth then? You were slowly loosing everything.

Sucking in a deep breath, you composed yourself, a laugh escaping you when Ryunjin practically threw herself onto you in a hug of celebration. You quickly wiped your tears so no one saw them, smiling.

Turning around to talk to another friend, your eyes met Taeyong’s. He was much further away from you, but you knew it was him, you’d always know him. He didn’t break the contact, a small smile appearing on his lips as me mouthed something.

‘I’m proud of you’

You mustered up the best smile you could, repeating the same things silently so that only he would know it. Pressing your lips together pacified, you once again accepted that it was over. You had accepted it so many times, but you had to keep reminding yourself.

With one last look in his direction, you raised your hand up, curling your fingers into a fist before bringing it down to your chest, right over your heart. His smile only grew as he gave you an affectionate wave. Best friends after all, you knew each other like the back of your hands.

And then everyone tossed their caps into the air, as cheers resounded through the hall. Laughter and chattering filled the area, and you knew it would be alright in the end.

You accepted the fact that Taeyong would haunt all your what-ifs, even as you tried to move on. All the kisses at midnight and late night talks out on your adjoining roofs, the long drives and ice cream dates- it was a thing of the past.

And yes, it still hurt when you recalled all the beautiful things that had happened with your time with him, the way the two of you were so beautiful.

It simply wasn’t meant to be, even if you were still in love with him. Heck, you were sure you’d always be in love with Taeyong, a part of your heart would be reserved for him and him only, but it was time to let go. You weren’t okay right now, but you’d learn to be okay.

Still, it would have been fun if he had been the one.

fin.

#taeyong x reader #kpopscape #kokonomi #ankathia #nctcreations #neowritingsnet #cznnet #nct-writers #lee taeyong x reader #nct taeyong x reader #nct 127 scenarios #nct #taeyong imagines #taeyong scenarios #taeyong angst

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smaidjor · 3 years

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i know they're losing (Chapter 1)

hi mothers and fuckers of the jury, this fic is a hot mess but so am I, please appreciate it. Also, obligatory disclaimer this is about the characters not the people, all that important stuff.

Some important notes:

1. You will probably hate Scott just a little at points. He has chronic dumb bitch syndrome and there's a whole lot of bullshit going on in his life that you don't see in this fic because it's not his pov. That being said, he's still a bit of a jerk.

2. This has a lot of lord of the rings lore. A LOT. You may be kinda confused if you're not a lord of the rings fan. It's fine, Jimmy's confused too, and all of it will be explained at some point.

3. The chapter titles are from the Last Goodbye from the Hobbit films. The general title is from I Bet on Losing Dogs by Mitski.

4. General content warnings: there is a little blood, and a little violence, and a lot of mentioned death and morbid jokes. If you don't do well with themes involving death this fic is probably not for you. There is also possibly going to be referenced emotional abuse and generally unhealthy ways to raise children, though that will be talked about much further down the line. I will also put specific cws at the start of each chapter, don't worry!

5. The alternate title for this was '10k words of flower husbands being sad'. You have been warned.

Title: i know they're losing

Chapter Title: under clouds, beneath the stars

Current Total Wordcount: 3740

Content Warning: referenced/past character death, very frank discussion of death.

Snippet:

Scott whirls to face him, robes spinning behind him. “I’m fading, alright? I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy feels like he’s been smacked in the face, the words hitting him with all the force of a well-thrown trident. Dying? “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords, from arrows through the throat-” Jimmy’s hands fly to the scar on his neck, the one that matches Scott’s own- “from grief.”

AO3 Link

Actual fic under the cut

Scott’s hands are cold. That’s the first sign, the chill that’s uncharacteristic of an elf.

Scott’s chest hurts. That’s the second sign, the bone-deep ache he can’t seem to quell.

Scott is weaker than normal, and that’s the third sign, the one that confirms what’s happening beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’s fading, Scott thinks as he leans against a wall, trying to stop his head from spinning. He can’t say he’s surprised, not after all he’s been through; in fact, he’s more astonished it took so long to start.

In another world, it happens like this:

Scott’s hands are cold, and Shubble notices as he shows her around the nether. It’s worrying, a bit, how icy his skin is even in the boiling dimension, but Scott’s empire has always been cold, hasn’t it?

Katherine notices how long it’s been since Scott visited her, one of his few allies, and she worries, a bit. But Scott has always been distant, hasn’t he?

No one notices or worries enough to go check on him, and Scott fades away to nothing, cold and alone in his icy empire.

What actually happens is this:

Katherine has gotten word of the demon that haunts the server, and amongst all her worry, one of her thoughts is ‘has anyone checked on Scott?’. The answer is no, and next time she has a free day, she sets out for Rivendell. It’s not a long trip, not with elytra, anyways, and soon she’s at the doors to his keep.

“I need to see Lord Smajor,” she tells the guards.

“He’s not taking visitors right now.” is the response she gets.

“It’s a vital matter to the safety of both our kingdoms.”

They let her in.

Katherine spends far too long looking around the elegantly decorated downstairs and storage area before she realizes he must be up the spiral staircase in the corner of the room. She’s never been upstairs in Scott’s house before, which makes her a little nervous, but… this is an urgent matter, so she presses on into what turns out to be a very pretty bedroom. Decorated with bookshelves aplenty and gorgeous lanterns, it practically screams Scott.

The man (elf?) himself is harder to spot. At first, Katherine’s worried he isn’t there at all, but eventually she realizes that he’s still in bed despite the fact that it’s a quarter to one, only his pale face sticking out from under the covers.

“Scott?” She asks, cautious. “Lord Smajor?”

He blinks at her tiredly. “Hi, Katherine.”

“I came to talk to you about some empires stuff, but, I mean, if this is a bad time, I can come back later…?”

“No, no, stay.” He waves at the sole chair in the room, which is near-enough to the bed. “I can muster the energy for a meeting, just don’t ask me to get up.”

Katherine takes the seat hesitantly. “I came to talk about the corruption on the server, but- are you okay? Are you sick?”

Scott laughs, a little bitter. “In a way, yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take my hand.”

She obeys, confused, and finds that Scott’s hands are like ice despite the warmth of the room.

“Elves don’t get sick like mortals do,” Scott says. “Nor do we die of old age. But we get...heartsickness, you might call it. We call it fading in our tongue- the cold hands are a symptom of that. Our souls are fragile, and the grief of the mortal plane can be overwhelming. If an elf is too struck by it, they fade away and die.”

She gasps a little.

“It usually happens to old elves, world-weary,” Scott continues. “Those who are tired of existence. But any elf who has experienced enough grief is at risk.”

It takes Katherine a moment to process everything, and once she does, she stares at him in horror. “You’re- fading? But doesn’t it usually happen to old elves? Wait, are you old?”

“I’m fifty-five.”

“Is that old?”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fifty is the elven equivalent of eighteen for humans, the age of maturity.”

“Oh.” She struggles for words for a moment, settling on “How can you be so calm if you’re dying?”

“I’m tired, Katherine. The world tore me away from the people I loved, and..I’m tired of fighting it.”

Try as she might, there’s nothing she can say to that. “Is there a way to reverse fading- to fix it?”

Something pained and raw flashes through his eyes. “Technically, yes. If an elf recovers enough emotionally, it’s reversible. But whatever caused them to fade the first time can- and often does- cause it again.”

Katherine nods seriously, absorbing the information. “We’ll just have to reverse it, then.”

“That’s sweet, Katherine, but I’m dying.”

“No,” she tells him firmly. “You’re not going to die. Now come on, you can show me your empire while I fill you in on what’s happening on the rest of the continent.”

Scott stares at her for a long moment, but eventually he takes her outstretched hand. “Alright.” His hand is frozen cold in hers. “We can try.”

Katherine lets him lead her around Rivendell, pointing out the sights. He’s done an impressive job decorating, like her, and an even more impressive job at uniting the elves and building an empire from the ground up. The people of Rivendell are weary and battle-scarred, for the most part, elves who have seen too much, but the children are bright and happy, and the cyan and gold banners wave proudly in the wind.

As they walk, she also tells Scott about the demon, Xornoth. “The demon’s already visited a lot of people, I think. Gem and Shubble for sure, and Fwhip and Sausage. That’s not even mentioning the corruption that’s been spreading.”

Scott nods. “There’s corruption in Rivendell too. Likely Xornoth’s work. And given that Jimmy still has Vilya- well, I haven’t been able to do much.”

“Vilya?”

“A ring of power. My inheritance from the Noldor.”

“Why does Jimmy have it?”

He doesn’t answer that one.

Katherine leaves feeling unsettled, with more questions than answers. She has new resolve, though, and a new goal: keep Scott from fading. He’s a good friend, though they don’t know each other that well yet, but more than that, he’s a powerful ally. And Katherine can’t afford to lose allies. So while they’re both rulers and busy in their own right, she promises to visit and drag him outside at least once a week.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Scott jokes, but his laugh is weak.

Katherine vows to hold herself to it.

The plan works for three entire weeks before Katherine has a week that’s so busy there’s no way she can find the time for a trip to Rivendell. Worse than that, because Scott is so isolated, he has almost no other friends, and many of Katherine’s allies are busy too. She’s a little short of options, to be honest, which is how she finds herself on Jimmy Solidarity’s doorstep that Sunday afternoon.

“Hello?” Jimmy asks as the door swings open. Katherine can see why Lizzie calls him the sweet swamp boy- his confused head tilt is frankly adorable.

“Hi! I know we don’t talk much, but I could use a favor,” she says.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need you to visit Scott.”

Jimmy looks beyond startled. “What- I mean, he doesn’t even like me! I couldn’t possibly.”

“Please?” She wheedles. “I promised him a visitor every week, but I have meetings all week this time.”

He shakes his head, hesitantly at first and then stronger. “No, Katherine. He’d just throw me right out again. I’m his enemy, for goodness sake!”

“If he hates you so much, why do you have his ring?”

Katherine knows she’s won, watching emotions flit across his face too quickly to catch. Grief is what he settles on, and she feels a little bit bad for the ring comment when his voice comes out wobbly.

“I guess I should return that, huh? Alright, I’ll go.”

“Sorry,” she says.

Jimmy brushes it off, saying there’s no need to worry, but he fiddles with the ring on his finger all the more. It’s on his left ring finger, Katherine notes. She wonders if that truly means what it implies.

“I’ll visit him tomorrow,” Jimmy says.

“I’ll hold you to that!”

Jimmy isn’t sure why he agreed to this at all, to be honest. Scott may have given him this ring in another world, another lifetime, but that doesn’t mean Scott doesn’t hate him in this one. What other explanation is there for how all his gifts have been rejected, how cold the elf is? Jimmy would be surprised that Scott’s never tried to take his ring back if it wasn’t for how thoroughly Scott avoids him nowadays. Getting the ring back would require talking to Jimmy, something Scott has made it very clear that he doesn’t want to do. Jimmy doesn’t have another use for it, and try as he might to forget flower fields and warm hands in his, he can’t bear to throw it away. So it’s remained on his hand all this time, a painful reminder of someone who used to love him.

Jimmy tries to avoid looking at it as much as possible, every glimpse bringing back the memory of Scott gently sliding it onto his hand, a faint blush dusting his cheeks and a smile on his lips. Even the faint shimmers in the blue gem remind him of how the starlight seemed to get caught in Scott’s hair when they were out at night. The ring had been one of their most valuable possessions on 3rd Life, the rare silver band and elegant forging more than proof of that. Now, though, the ring has to be one of the least valuable things Jimmy owns; on 3rd Life, they were humble folk in little hobbit holes, their most expensive possessions being their diamond armor and swords, but here, they’re kings and lords. Scott probably has a thousand treasures more valuable in his elven empire, so Jimmy’s not sure why he’s bothering to trek all the way across the world just to return this one.

Then again, it’s not really about the ring, and never has been. It’s about the way starlight used to shine in Scott’s eyes when he smiled, his rare, soft grin that was reserved just for Jimmy, how he gave Jimmy the most valuable thing either of them owned. It’s closure, in a way, giving it back. He won’t have any debt to Scott once this ring is returned, and they can both move on like Scott so clearly wants to.

Shaking off those thoughts, Jimmy slows to a stop in front of Scott’s house. It’s grand, nothing like his old hobbit hole, but still so clearly Scott in the decoration and color schemes. Jimmy would know who built it even if he hadn’t known Scott lived in these mountains.

“I’m here to visit Scott,” he says to the guard stationed outside.

They raise an eyebrow, presumably at the familiar way he refers to Scott. “On formal business or personal?”

“Personal? Sort of? I mean, I don’t have any diplomatic reason for being here.” Truth be told, he has no reason to be here at all, really, but...the ring.

“Then Lord Smajor cannot see you.”

Jimmy grits his teeth, suddenly furious at this whole ordeal. “Then tell Lord Smajor that I need to return his ring.”

“May I see it?”

He sticks his hand out obligingly, and the guard examines the ring, surprise blooming across their face. “I did not realize my Lord had lent you Vilya! My apologies, Lord Codfather, I see the alliance between our kingdoms is stronger than I had assumed. You may pass.”

Vilya? “Thank you, gentle, uh, gentleperson!”

The guard dips their head slightly as he walks by, a gesture of respect that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. He shakes off the strangeness of the interaction, though, pushing open the door to Scott’s house.

The inside is beautiful, exactly the kind of decor Scott loves...and empty. There’s no one in the spacious kitchen, the storage room, or anywhere else for that matter. Jimmy’s seconds from giving up and going home when he realizes that there are stairs up to the balcony above. That’s where he goes, finding himself in Scott’s bedroom.

Which is awkward, to say the least. It’s not like they never slept in the same room when they were married, but now that there’s this awkward, painful distance between them, Jimmy feels like he’s intruding. What’s worse is, Scott’s still in bed, laying on his side with his face tilted away from Jimmy’s awkward entrance.

“Hello, Jimmy.”

Jimmy half-jumps, not expecting that. “How’d you know it was me?”

Scott rolls over to face him, and Jimmy notes that his face is too pale for it to be natural or healthy. “Do you think I could ever forget the sound of your footsteps?” He goes on before Jimmy can answer. “What are you doing here?”

“Katherine asked me to visit, I’m not sure why, but...here I am. Say, why is she visiting every week?”

Scott’s laugh is bitter. “Katherine thinks she can save me.”

“Save you from what?” Jimmy asks, concerned despite himself.

His (ex?)husband doesn’t reply.

“Save you from what?” Jimmy presses, and gets no answer yet again.

Instead, Scott sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “You should go.” He stands, and immediately stumbles, Jimmy rushing to steady him on instinct. Scott’s hands are like ice when he grips Jimmy’s arm to regain his balance, taking several deep breaths, and Jimmy’s instantly struck by how wrong that feels. Scott’s hands were always warm, even on the coldest nights in 3rd life. Some elven thing, probably, that Scott didn’t want to talk about or have time to explain to a silly human like Jimmy.

“Scott, what is going on?”

The elf brushes him off again, heading for the stairs, but the regal effect is ruined by how hard he has to grip the railing.

“Scott, seriously! Answer me, are you okay? What’s happening?”

Scott whirls to face him, robes spinning behind him. “I’m fading, alright? I’m dying, now leave me alone!”

Jimmy feels like he’s been smacked in the face, the words hitting him with all the force of a well-thrown trident. Dying? “You- what- but elves don’t die, right?”

“We do. From poison, from swords, from arrows through the throat-” Jimmy’s hands fly to the scar on his neck, the one that matches Scott’s own- “from grief.” Scott turns back to the stairs. “Come on. If you’re not going to leave, I might as well show you around.”

Jimmy follows, reluctantly, trying to think of something to say that isn’t incoherent sputtering with a bit of ‘why do you hate me now’ added in. “You can’t just drop something like that on a man, you know!”

“You did ask, to be fair.”

Why oh why is he so stupid around Scott? “I guess so, but- but still, dude.”

Scott pushes open the side door, holding it for Jimmy. “Here.”

Jimmy nods and slips through the door. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They start along the path, Scott walking far too quickly for Jimmy’s comfort given how terrible the elf’s balance is currently. He nearly has to jog to keep up, irritatingly, but at least they aren’t snapping at each other for a few precious moments.

Of course, Jimmy has to go and ruin that. “So, uh..are we going to talk about 3rd life?” He has to hear it from Scott’s own lips that he remembers, that it affected him even half as much as it’s affected Jimmy.

“No.”

“Why not? We need to talk about it some time-”

“I said no .”

“It’s literally killing you to not talk about it!”

Scott freezes, face going icy calm in the way Jimmy knows means he’s actually upset. The elf’s hands grip the fabric of his robes tight, his back going rigid. This is a bad idea, Jimmy knows.

He’s in too deep to back out now, though, the pent-up hurt of the past few months all coming out in a rush. “Tell me I’m wrong, Scott! I dare you, tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you never cared about me, tell me you didn’t bother to bury me, tell me it didn’t hurt even a little when I died! Tell me I was just stupid little Jimmy, a toy for an elf who’d live far beyond my lifespan! Tell me whatever, just tell me the truth! ”

Scott breathes out slowly, fury gradually building on his face. “Fine. You want to know what happened after you died? You want to hear about me screaming until my throat went raw? You want to know that I kissed your face and sobbed and begged you to wake up, over and over until I couldn’t speak at all? You want to live with the knowledge that Grian had to physically pull me away from your body? Is that what you want to hear, Jimmy ?”

Jimmy’s name on Scott’s lips punches all the remaining air out of him, sounding so wrong in that angry, bitter tone. Beneath all the rage, Scott sounds wrecked , and the fight leaves Jimmy’s body abruptly. “No,” he says softly. “That’s not what I want to hear, not at all. I’d rather you be happy than love me.”

Silence follows those words, only the faint sound of a waterfall in the distance there to break it.

“I buried you on the hill above our houses,” Scott says finally. “I planted a poppy over your grave.”

“Oh.”

“Grian came over the next day. I didn’t want to see anyone who wasn’t you, but I let him in because I had to. He helped me do the straps on my armor and asked me if he could do anything else to make things easier. I told him to bury me next to you.”

Jimmy swallows hard. “Did he?”

“How would I know?” Scott’s tone softens, just a little. “Grian was honorable enough, though, loyal to his allies. I like to think he did.”

“He was a good guy,” Jimmy agrees. “A little bit bloodthirsty, I guess, but good. I don’t suppose he survived any better than the rest of us, though maybe being bloodthirsty helped.”

“Maybe.”

“Can I- can I ask you why you hate me so much now? I mean, if you mourned me in third life and all.”

Scott turns away again, starting down the path a second time. He’s not looking at Jimmy when he says “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” It’s a shock, honestly, given that this is the first time the two of them have really spoken since the beginning of empires. “But you burned the pufferfish-”

“I didn’t. I kept it.” Scott still won’t look at him. “I never hated you. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“Then why do you keep avoiding me?”

“I’ve been kind of busy dying,” Scott says dryly, and Jimmy doesn’t even realize it’s a joke until he looks over at Scott’s wry little grin.

“Scott! That’s not funny!” He scolds, aghast.

“It was a little funny.”

“No!”

Scott must hear the genuine distress in Jimmy’s voice because he drops the act. “Jimmy, I’m an elf. I won’t live far beyond you, but only because I’ll fade without you.”

“So your solution is to isolate yourself and fade now?” Jimmy demands.

“It does sound stupid when you put it like that, doesn’t it? But I lost you once, and I don’t think I could bear it again.”

Jimmy wants to argue, wants to fight him on this, but there’s nothing he can say. Instead, he puts a hand on Scott’s arm to stop him walking any further. Scott turns to look at him, seemingly startled, and Jimmy throws his arms around the elf.

Scott stiffens before slowly relaxing, arms coming up to wrap around Jimmy in return. It’s not as natural a gesture as it used to be, but it’s warm, gentle in a way Jimmy thought he’d never get again. It reminds him of the soft, starry-eyed boy who put flowers in his hair and laughed at him over a cake. Scott will never be that soft again and Jimmy will never be unscarred, but they’re here. They’re alive, that has to count for something.

Scott pulls back, his expression so achingly tender and heartbroken all at once. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.” His voice is raw, a little shaky. “I can’t. Not again.”

“But-”

He’s cut off by Scott shaking his head. “Losing you will destroy me. We dared to love, and now all we can do now is lessen the pain when it all comes crashing down.”

Jimmy’s in too much shock to speak, the ache in his heart returning tenfold as Scott turns back towards the house.

“Goodbye, Jimmy.” He sweeps away, elegant as ever, but stumbles and nearly falls as he reaches the door. Jimmy’s not there to catch him.

Jimmy stumbles home in a daze. It's somewhat of a miracle that no mob manages to kill him, honestly. To be so close to a resolution, to have the person he wanted most right there in his arms, and then to have all that ripped away- he can’t think of anything that could have hurt more. Even his deaths were less painful than this- at least an arrow through the throat is quicker than feeling like your heart is being ripped out through your ribs, Jimmy thinks, a little bitter. He throws Scott’s stupid ring in a pool in the swamp, watching as it sinks to the bottom of the shallow water with hardly a bubble.

Wait.

The ring.

It’s significant, somehow, according to a Rivendell guard, and more than that, it’s an excuse to see Scott again. One last chance to change his mind about the stupid plan that’s literally killing him.

Jimmy dives in without thinking, scrabbling around until his fingers close around the smooth stone and thin band. When he pulls it out, the gem glitters in the starlight even under the layers of dirt, and it looks like something special. It looks like hope.

#scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands #uhh #empires smp #i wont tag 3rd life since its only referenced #my writing

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seasurfacefullofclouds1 · 2 years

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I'm sorry, it's sad hour time and I'm using your blog for it but I need to get this out of my chest.

Sometimes I see Louies saying things like, "I'll love him and support him no matter what happens." And it makes me so happy. But then I see Larries be like, "If he's not with Syco anymore then why is 'babygate' still a thing? Why doesn't he acknowledge his relationship with Harry?"

And I'm like, "You ever thought that maybe he's not with Harry?"

If he's really dating Eleanor or if he's dating another man, how do you think they feel when apparently everything he does is about Harry?

We know he wrote some songs about Zayn after he left the band, while Harry only wrote one song that is implied to be about him. That one song is always used to prove how "devastated" Harry was about Zayn leaving the band. While Louis' songs about Zayn are used as Larry proof. Yeah, ignore the fact that every time Zayn was brought up Harry made it a joke while Liam and Niall turned to check on Louis. Ignore the fact that Harry continues to joke about Zayn while every time Zayn is brought up you can hear and see the pain in Louis' voice and eyes. Yeah, okay. Zarry is real but Zouis is not.

We know he wrote songs about his mom, oh never mind, they're about Harry too! How do you think he feels about that? How do you think his siblings feel about that? That song is probably very special to them as a family. But no! It's about Harry!

We know that he wrote a song about how it felt coming back home after 1D and realizing that everything changed except him. But, oh no, that's about Harry too.

Imagine that in LT2 he finally gives us a honest to God love song after all these years, imagine him writing that, showing it to the person he loves, being excited to share it with his fans, how special it is for the both of them, then people making that song about Harry.

Imagine we get the Two of Us version of his sister, another very special song for his family. No, wait! It's about Harry!

How do you think he'll/they'll feel? This man can't love anyone but Harry, can't date/marry anyone but Harry, can't have a kid with anyone but Harry (never mind the fact that's not possible). It doesn't matter how much he tries, he can't never tell the true, whatever that might be because if he does people he loves are gonna suffer.

Just let him be happy, my God! It's his life!

Do you know what I mean?

In Larryland, both positive “proof” and negative “proof” are used as Larry proof. For example, whether they’re in the same city or different cities (countries, continents)— both are used as “Larry proof.” They are never seen together— Larry proof. They have no friends in common— Larry proof. You see reblogs of timelines where both men are MIA 90% of the time, tagged “love that for them.”

The assumption that Larry is the priority in either men’s lives, the way this idea is obsessed over and fantasized, is insane.

Therefore, as you mention, there’s nothing that can disprove a negative. If I told you that Louis was watching invisible green men last night, but any attempt at photographic capture would self-destruct, you can’t disprove me.

Most of the time, this ends up with assumptions of Louis following Harry around or structuring his entire philosophical framework, work ethic, professional ambition, creativity, and artistic taste around one man— Harry.

For Larries, Harry has autonomy, career ambitions for himself, an entire staff that cares about him only. Not Louis.

Which… if you have a favorite and want to lie to people, that’s fine. But the most insidious and abusive thing Larries proselytize is that “Louis doesn’t want a relevant career anyway, because he likes following superstar Harry Styles around like a heartsick fan.”

Bitch, please.

Louis curated an entire festival for 10k people with his own money, and set a world record with his livestream. And we heard him say that he’s been thinking about giving fans a free festival since 1D.

He has a seven month tour coming up with continuous expansion during the pandemic (according to his tour management). Louis added arenas to his tour and sold them out within 24 hours. He doesn’t want an international career?

Louis tweets about writing his next album nearly every month. He comes online to interact with fans about his music. He is an enthusiastic advocate for other musicians. But he really wants to stay at home and take care of kids?? Wtf?

As a friend said, Larries better go out and date some people, because their idea of a healthy relationship is in the dumpster. Fanfiction is fantasy, not real life. It can be fun to read, but the way they fantasize about Louis and Harry is revolting.

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alirhi · 3 years

Text

This is oddly fun lol

Let's see how many of these I can churn out before I get distracted or need a break! (pff. like I need an excuse to watch the show again. Despite its flaws, I really, really love TFATWS, guys)

Without further ado, let's get down to it!

Episode 2: The Star-Spangled Man

I'm pretty sure I'm on record when it comes to my undying hate for John Walker, yes? So obviously, Bucky's grumpiness 100% stays 😂

I'm not really a fan of how much emphasis they put on the shield. I can see it as a catalyst for Bucky to go confront Sam, yes, but he wouldn't keep going "shield shield shield" like a broken record. Bucky has consistently been shown to be an empathetic man. I can't believe for a second that he'd be barking at Sam about having no right to give up the shield; he'd ask why. Sam's got shit to do, so he'd get impatient and not answer.

"Why'd you give up so easily? If you were overwhelmed, I could've helped you-" "You've been ignoring me. Like now, how you're ignoring me walking away from you." "Well, you weren't texting me about this." "You think I needed your permission?!" "No, but I was right there with Steve while he was learning what it meant to be Cap. I wouldn't mind helping you get used to-" "Then go teach him." A vague gesture toward the "Cap is back" posters. Bucky makes a face. "Steve passed the mantle to you. You fought with him. You earned it. That little shit didn't." "What do you want me to do about it?" "Just tell me why, Sam. I mean it. I just wanna understand." "Not now, Buck. I've got shit to do. You see me heading for a plane right now, right?" "This is important!" "So is this." Sam tells him about the Flag Smashers, we get our silly Big Three/Gandalf conversation.

I'm sorry, but that whole jumping from the plane scene is funny as hell, and I love all the nods they added in to jokes from the press tours that brought us this show in the first place (like ripping the sleeve off his jacket lol). I don't think I'd change a single thing from the Big Three convo to Bucky joining Sam in the warehouse.

"You're doing the staring thing again." "You're staring at your watch," Bucky points out. He knows it's linked to Redwing, he's just pointing out how dumb that line is in that situation. They're there for recon lol. They're meant to be looking around.

I don't...particularly care about the other common gripe here? Meaning, "Bucky's a civilian, so why is he allowed to randomly jump in on a military mission?" Bucky's also known in this universe as an Avenger, just like Sam, so I don't think anyone would really bat an eye at him joining. Also, I have my own agenda related to Bucky's apparent freedom to walk in and out of military/government things.

What does bug me (as funny as it is) is Bucky's animosity toward Redwing. Again... Bucky is a certified nerd. Always has been. If anything, he'd be fascinated by Redwing and Sam would constantly have to slap him away because he's leaning in too close trying to see the tiny watch monitor. "I don't trust Redwing" is just old man griping "I don't trust your newfangled technology" and that... that's not Bucky.

And that "we're not assassins" dig, and then laughing when Bucky gets upset? That's not Sam. Both of these men have shown a remarkable amount of empathy, and Sam has a background in helping traumatized vets. If he cared enough about Bucky to be texting him after Steve left, he'd care enough not to make callous jokes about his time as The Winter Soldier, whether he knows the full story or not.

The fight on top of moving trucks looks cool, but makes no logical sense. I keep trying to think of a way to explain this from a story perspective, rather than a lazy "it looks cool!" filmmaking one, and I'm coming up blank. Anyone with half a brain would have pulled over, had the fight, and then taken off. It was a fun sequence, though... Eh. I'll leave it.

When Karli breaks Redwing, Bucky doesn't say "I always wanted to do that." Again, it's funny - I love the jabs about that stupid robo bird XD - but not Bucky. In my version, he smirks and says "You're so gonna regret that."

"You were kinda getting your asses kicked before we got there." Is immediately followed by Bucky staring him down and asking, "And... how did that fight end for you?" Sam adds, "I don't see them in custody. Are-are they following in a van?" He looks around, sarcastically searching for another vehicle. Walker and Hoskins grimace at each other, grudgingly conceding that point.

credit to @dailycelebs

Seeing Walker, and having to listen to his stupid pro-government rhetoric, makes Bucky think about Steve. When we cut from the Flag Smashers back to Bucky and Sam and the closeup of Bucky's pensive face, we hear 1940s Steve angrily telling 1940s Bucky about how the higher ups in the army had already written off the POWs and were going to leave them to die. "I love our country, Buck," he laments, "but what do I do when I'm not too sure anymore about the people who run it?"

"What you always do," is young Bucky's answer, "stand for what's right, not who's in power."

Perfect lead-in to the conversation about handling things themselves.

When Sam meets Isaiah, and hears his story, not only is he horrified and heartsick for him, but he also begins to see Bucky in a new light. He's seeing Bucky's face, the way he tries to hide his emotions and not make this conversation about him, and he's putting things together. He's still upset at being out of the loop, but he's seeing more of the situation than just "omg black super soldier". When Bucky says "he'd already been through enough," Sam asks quietly, "like you?"

The racist cop comes back before Bucky can answer, to arrest him for missing his appointment with Raynor.

ngl guys, I was so moved by the difference in how that cop treated Sam (before knowing he's Important) vs how he treated Bucky (knowing that the government views him as a violent, if pardoned, criminal). He approaches Sam with his hand on his gun, eager to defend Bucky; "is this guy bothering you?" Just because they're having a heated conversation. Then, when he sees that there's a warrant for Bucky, he approaches timidly, apologizes, treats him gently and politely. By "moved," btw, I don't mean "it was so sweet." I mean "this is fucking sick, and very, very realistic." White cops see a white guy and treat him with respect regardless of his actual criminal record, while being openly hostile towards an innocent black man without even knowing who he is, just because he's black. Moments like this made me applaud Spellman.

"You, too, Sam - That wasn't a request" is Sam's first sign that there's something off about Raynor.

Look, again... The couples therapy banter is funny because Sebastian and Anthony are funny, but that scene, from a storytelling and a mental health standpoint, is atrocious. Without some underlying reason behind her actions, Raynor is just a pointlessly terrible therapist.

Rather than insulting Bucky from the outset, Sam is angry with Raynor for violating Bucky's privacy by not only introducing herself as his therapist, but forcing a "couples" session without her patient's consent. With his background pre-Avenging, he knows this shit shouldn't fly. He immediately points out how unprofessional she's being.

Raynor doesn't bother listening - the fuck does she care, really? She shrugs and casually admits it's "slightly unprofessional" but proceeds anyway.

"Whatever's eating at him?" Sam scoffs. "Did you really just say that to a WWII veteran and the world's longest-serving POW with complex PTSD? Did I hear that right? I've had, maybe, like five conversations with this man since we met, and even I know he's been through some shit and-" "Sam," Bucky tries to interrupt, looking uncomfortable. With his crushing guilt, he has an easier time dealing with insults than someone coming to his defense. "No," Sam snaps. "If the HIPAA Slayer over here wants to drag me into this, she's damn well gonna hear what I have to say!" He turns back to Raynor and demands, "Is this how you've been treating him this whole time? Downplaying what he's been through and making a grown-ass man sound like a sulking teenager?" Raynor keeps her cool, but barely. Visibly frustrated and annoyed, she ignores Sam's tirade and tries to force the conversation back onto the track she wants it on. Bucky's embarrassed and doesn't know how to react to any of this, so he still makes that little "he would talk less" jab. Sam, seeing that he's not going to get anywhere with him until they're away from this bitch, glowers and plays along. We get our silly/angry banter.

After their argument with Walker, Sam finally confronts Bucky about what really happened to him.

"He meant HYDRA; HYDRA used to be my people." "Were they?" Sam asks, stopping him and looking him in the eye, not letting him look away or deflect. "Steve was under the impression that they were your captors. I was under the impression that the Wakandans spent two years deprogramming you so no one could use you the way HYDRA did ever again." "I-" Startled, not expecting that, Bucky stutters a little and admits, "Yeah, I... That's true, I guess." "You guess?" "Does it matter? Sam rolls his eyes. "I dunno, does it matter that you were a slave for most of the 20th century?" "I doubt it matters much to my victims." "HYDRA's victims," Sam corrects firmly. "Just like you." Bucky fidgets; he doesn't know what to do or say. No one since Steve has even so much as insinuated that Bucky wasn't 100% culpable for what he did while under HYDRA control. "Look," Sam sighs, "I don't particularly like you. I don't hate you, but I'm not your biggest fan." "...Thanks?" "I just need you to know where I stand-" "Yeah, got it-" "-So you know I'm not biased like Steve when I say you had no choice. I don't know your story, but I know no one flips on a dime from docile and plagued with guilt to an unstoppable killing machine and back without some serious psychological damage behind that. I'm not saying you're an innocent little bunny, but I don't think you're a monster." "Thanks," Bucky croaks, more sincerely this time, and a bit choked up. He clears his throat and looks distinctly uncomfortable as he grumbles, "but to catch these guys, we may need to talk to a monster." Sam cringes. "I was afraid you'd say that."

#sebastian stan #anthony mackie #tfatws #tfatws critical #fan ramblings #show rewrite #if i'd written it #episode 2

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