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bobbile-blog · 5 months

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Not sure if anyone’s said this yet but now that we have Laterano events plural I’m fascinated by their (imo) very deliberate choice of protagonists, and there are almost a couple of layers of narrative going on there. I struggle a little figuring out how to get this into words but specifically I think they’re chosen to be people who can carry a narrative without contradicting the orthodox morals of the church. There’s a LOT of vaguely anti-authoritarian rambling below the cut so please kindly bear with me and my English major brain.

I can’t really start there though. One of the reasons this is so brain hurty is how deeply it’s woven into the storyline, so to start, I have to verbalize how Laterano and Arknights writing more generally is different from other, similar settings. Because like, I hear the words “morally negative church in a grimdark setting” and my brain immediately shuts off. Come on, that’s so far beyond low-hanging fruit, if you’ve seen any grimdark setting ever you know exactly what that looks like. And sure, it was fine the first two or three times you saw it, depending on your tolerance for that kinda thing, but it gets boring quick and even when it was new it was kinda uninteresting story-wise. “Religion is always fake because it inspires hope which means everyone who takes meaning from it is either a corrupt grifter or naive and misled” isn’t just edgy nonsense, it’s also basically useless as an actual critique. It tells you absolutely nothing except how to tune out a particular kind of story, and a story that tries to get you to hear less is doing its job wrong.

So, Arknights does something different. Instead of denying the premise of the church entirely, it actually takes it at its word. Laterano is, in almost every definition of the word, a paradise. It is basically unmatched in terms of actual quality of life, with its only competitors being the Durin cities and maybe Aegir, and is worlds apart from now much the rest of Terra sucks. More than that, though, the paradise is specifically tailored to the worldview of a religion with a strong central authority - when I say it takes it at its word, I mean the authoritarian bits too. Laterano is a city that lives in perfect order and peace because everyone follows the law perfectly and they all understand each other and never fight. Empathy is really important for this, as it allows for a believable amount of superhuman societal order. Laterano has very little crime, political drama, or quarrels in general. It’s the promises of a strict higher authority actually taken at face value: everyone follows the rules and that means they have effectively unfettered freedom, because they don’t want to break the rules and therefore they can do anything they want.

Laterano is specifically written to be a believable paradise in a setting that has none, so that when the story then turns around and criticizes that setting, it has significantly more weight. Even when the promises of paradise are taken at face value, there are still issues that cannot be addressed because the system is inherently flawed even in the imaginary scenario where it works. Even worse, the problems that poke holes in the imaginary perfect scenario are the same problems that they face in the real world, like “how do you deal with the interpretation of scriptures” and “hey there’s this racism thing I keep hearing about should we be worried about that or what”. Because of the way this imaginary perfect system works, we then look back on our real world in a new light and understand it a little better. It’s good critique.

Okay so how did we get here and what does this have to do with the protagonists? Well, this starts with Fiametta in Guide Ahead, because she’s a really weird protagonist. This is a cold take at this point but despite being the character on the front of the box, she has very little to actually do with the central conflict of the event. Most of the conflict is handled by Ezell first and Andoain second, and Fiametta mostly putters around putting holes in people until the finale where Andoain receives the answer he’s been looking for, he turns to explain it to the world, and he runs into the only person in the whole of Laterano who does not care about his motivations or his revelation. Her role, in other words, is to replace the climax of Andoain’s story with her own, and in doing so she makes it much harder to actually get a resolution and a meaning out of the story (this should not be taken as a criticism of her character, let me cook). Guide Ahead’s ending is hazy, with only small piecemeal resolutions to its conflicts, and for the longest time that was just the way the event was written and it stood on its own.

But now, Hortus de Escapismo is out and the monkey brain see patterns. Specifically, with the choice of protagonists. Because Executor is definitely different from Fiametta as a protagonist, but there’s one particularly important connection between the two, and that’s that as I mentioned in the beginning, they allow for stories don’t contradict orthodox morality. Fiametta we went over, as she’s uninterested in any of Andoain’s morality and just wants him dead. Executor, though, is purely focused on his mission and views the world through that lens. He only wants to achieve his objective, and while helping the needy is in line with the stated objectives of the church and he does do so when able, it’s secondary to his assigned task. He does change as he gets further into the story, and we’re not gonna ignore that, but we’ll be back to it later. What I mean is more that he is designed as a person who is able to lead a story that doesn’t contradict with the morals of Laterano. He sees the injustice and suffering around him, but that’s not his job, so he doesn’t need to solve it to have a complete story with a happy ending.

This is where it really gets complicated, so I apologize if I don’t explain this very well. I see this as us dealing with multiple layers of fiction: the events of the story, the perspective of the church, and our perspective as readers. Back to the first point - authoritarian institutions almost always use stories to sell people on their brand of order. Simple stories, simple enough that even calling them myths seems like overselling it a little, your “Saint George slays a dragon” kinda thing. This is the point of the second layer, the perspective of the church. I don’t really have an in-world justification for this layer - maybe you could make the argument that it has to do with Law’s perspective on things, but I don’t totally buy that - I think it’s more in a weird narrative transition space for people who don’t read very carefully. Regardless, Fiametta and Executor’s shared indifference to the questionable circumstances surrounding them is designed to let them tell a story to prop up the existing order. Their protagonist status and their missions are specifically constructed to allow them to ignore the suffering around them, and as such ignore the larger questions that might poke holes in the larger order. They’re both playing out the story of Saint George, where they go and find a bad guy and kill them and that’s all there is to it. The story is designed and told specifically for that “that’s all there is to it”.

But, as we said earlier, this is a good critique, and as such it intentionally undercuts this story with the third layer: what we actually see as readers. We are shown the suffering and the injustice, and then get to see our protagonists ignoring that to pursue their goals. This is what gives Guide Ahead’s ending its unique texture, which sets it apart from every other event with a vaguely unresolved ending. We have seen the actual issues with Laterano, and also watched our protagonist explicitly ignore them in favor of her own story. It’s unsatisfying in a way that only really makes sense to me if we as the readers have an understanding of intentional authorship. Whether it be Yvangelista XI or Law or The Actual Real Life Pope, there are issues here that we want to see a resolution to but people are choosing not to address them. Again, it’s good critique. Not only does it push the reader to unpack and understand the actual real-world technique, but it also helps blunt it. You have just seen a plot and protagonist ring uncharacteristically hollow. You then look around to see why that is, and you realize there are many things that should have been resolved that weren’t. The next time you see a story resolve with that same hollow-ness, you know where to look. Surprise! Harry Potter was propaganda the whole time. It’s okay, it was never good, you were just twelve.

I guess the last thing is where we go from here, because Executor’s story breaks this mold somewhat. In Hortus de Escapismo, he has to deal with a mission that isn’t actually bounded by his normal rules, and because of that he actually does have leeway to help the people around him. He starts as someone who is totally mission-focused, but by the end of the event he’s done a total 180 and is blocking Oren’s attack, which makes the mission harder but helps the non-mission-critical civilians of the monastery. He breaks from the rigid thinking of “kill the bad guy and that’s all there is do it”, and gives his attention to the people he isn’t supposed to see. I think this is an indication of the direction we’re going to be headed in the future with Laterano events. The events aren’t going to get better - they’re going to keep being just as morally murky and complicated as in the past - but the characters are going to get better at handling it, and when they do, they’re going to actually start to change things for the better.

Goddamn that was a lot of writing for 1 AM. I still have a. Lot of thoughts on this event with stuff like empathy and Lemuen and Federico being an autistic icon(my beloved) but I’m going to leave things there, I think, because if I write for any longer my phone is going to crash when I try to post this. Anyway if you actually made it to the end thanks for listening to me rambling and I hope that made sense. Cheers.

#arknights #arknights thoughts #hortus de escapismo #laterano #fiametta #executor arknights #I deadass had to ask folks to proofread this one #to make sure I didn’t sound like I didn’t sound off my rocker #also don’t mind my random Harry Potter slander that’s an entirely different rant

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nqmonarch · 3 months

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Valentines Day w/ HSR Characters!

Doing Calc homework and am very stressed, i can feel it everywhere in my body. the math is just not mathing mentally today (i looked at trigonometric identities today so maybe thats why)

Just writing out some messy ideas to take a break

Btw if u sent in a request and I haven't answered it yet I am working on it thank you for your uh question ask thingy i appreciate it, i like to know what people like to read bcus tbh i like to write anything altho jingyuan gets like +10 points cus he fluffy

Valentines Day With Some HSR Characters (Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng, Stelle)

Jing Yuan

Jing Yuan is old school romantic. You cannot tell me he wouldn't arrive home with a big bouquet of roses (does HSR even have roses?) and 20 other gifts, including but not limiting to boxes of chocolate, teddy bears, and at least one gag gift. There's gotta be at least one, he'd make a dad joke out of it too.

Then he'd reserve one of the best restaurants on the Luofu and bring you there. He'd probably have booked a private room, thank goodness because no one wants to hear the general continuously compliment you until you're a puddle on the floor. What he is best at is attacks. But if he gets a compliment in return he'll freeze up for a moment before playfully returning it.

Jing Yuan doesn't put on his normal coy facade today, instead he just embraces how much he loves you because he's happy to still have you in his life.

Blade

Blade does not know it's Valentine's Day. It's not his fault, cut him some slack. Anyway Kafka probably reminds him that it's Valentine's Day about half way through the day to which he goes into a silent panic. You can't tell he's panicking he's just staring at the wall with a blank face, he actually looks like he wants to murder someone.

The two of you end up celebrating though! He... pulls something together, it really is something. Sure he smells like blood and the waiters are scared, and taking over this restaurant for a Valentine's Day dinner was definitely not in the script but... It could be worse. He's trying his best, really.

Afterwards you and Blade share lots of cuddles! Something he's pretty good at! Holding you just tight enough, and keeping you close to his side-- you just won't be able to get up if you want to get water or anything. He doesn't say too much but you can feel the love in each caress.

Dan Heng

Dan Heng doesn't really like going out, why would he when all he needs is right by his side? So the two of you stay on the express in the archives. What matters isn't where you are but the company. He'd probably get you a few trinkets from different places he's collected over the years, a necklace, a sick looking compass, whatever fits your vibe.

Dan Heng would probably also write you a love poem, and make you read it or awkwardly recite it in front of you. If you read it out loud though he will get unbelievably embarrassed and snatch it away from you. He'd give it back but he'd take some coaxing, be nice okay? His face is already red.

Then when the night draws to a close the two of you would curl up together on that sorry excuse of what he calls a bed. The majority of your body would be on Dan Heng's using him as a pillow, and his arms would be wrapped around your body keeping you still and warm.

Dan Heng's bed is not it man. Personally, I'd get back problems.

Stelle

"You are the one who deserves the golden trash the most," Truly romantic words from Stelle as she hands you a golden trashbag. That is just the first of the gifts she gives you tonight, and the one that's most valuable to her. It's the thought that counts right? You still have no idea what she's talking about when she mentions fighting Sampo as a trashcan...

The two of you spend a romantic night together, walking down the quiet streets of Belobog, and-- did Stelle just investigate a trashcan again? You should be used to this. On the bright side, every time she gets something cool she comes up to you with the biggest smile on her face, it's beyond adorable. Sometimes the trashcans even have good stuff, like a scarf Stelle lets you wear that thankfully doesn't smell like trash.

It's just good to spend time with the person you love. She spends her time catching you up on everything new from her adventures, and when it's too cold to stay out any longer the two of you head to the Astral Express. Where you shower together and then doze off on one of the Express' couch cushions while playing games. Your head rests against Stelle's reminding you, you're never alone.

Okay I need to get back to homework, fun break thanks guys. Imagine being alone on Valentines Day couldn't be me, I have my Calc Homework. It told me I was integral to it <3 legit peak partner material.

#hsr #reader insert #hsr x reader #gn reader #jing yuan x reader #blade x reader #dan heng x reader #stelle x reader #valentines day #me x calculus homework

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kurooo-is-here · 5 months

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Head cannons for Drayton and Kieran (separate) taking care of a sick reader? Thanks!

Just finished watching an Undertale Yellow playthrough when I got this ask, I'm in shambles 😭😭😭

Anyways, these were super fun to write! Enjoy :D

Warnings: The boys are very protective.

Notes: I actually got pretty sick recently myself, so I resonate with this lol. I'm doing better now :)

Drayton caring for sick reader

Depends how sick you are. If it's mild, he still worries about you, but he's mostly chill. Tries to crack a few lighthearted jokes to cheer you up, but doesn't let you push yourself until you recover fully.

He understands if you need space too, being sick makes you feel crummy.

If you're REALLY sick, he's SO worried. Doesn't let anyone else come in to check on you unless he trusts them, he just can't risk your health getting worse. If someone he didn't trust insisted on seeing you, they can expect to deal with a protective, hostile dragon boy. He will guard you with his life.

He brings you medicine, blankets, water... whatever you need. Just.. please be okay. You're his treasure, he could never bear to lose you.

If your health gets any worse, he pulls all the stops. Calls his family or anyone he knows, begs them to treat you. Anything to make you feel better.

He's basically back to normal once you recover, but he's a liiittle more on the protective side for a few weeks. Very clingy and cuddly too. You won't be able to leave your bed without him for awhile-- he's not letting you go.

The rest of the BB Elite Four says they've never seen him so worried and ... hardworking. He just chuckles and says, "If the most important person in your life was that sick, wouldn't you worry too?"

Kieran caring for sick reader

Even if you're mildly sick, he's super worried!! He panics and does his best to give you what you need. If he has to, he will reluctantly call Carmine for assistance. She may tease him later about relying on her, but she's equally worried about you, and you'll make a speedy recovery with them taking care of you!

If you're REALLY sick, Kieran doesn't mess around. He calls the ER, gets you to the hospital ASAP. Even if you insist it's not that serious to warrant a hospital visit, he's sending you to emergency care. He cannot afford to mess around or make mistakes or bad judgement calls right now, you're sick and he can't lose you.

Kieran is by your side whenever possible during your hospital stay. He's constantly checking in with the doctors and nurses, asking questions and making sure you're okay. He comforts you. He cries a bit too. Poor boy is so, SO worried about you.

If anyone dares to mention your absence, he's immediately defensive. He's already worried sick about you, so having to deal with other people asking where you've been is gonna press all of his buttons. He just wants you to be okay. If anyone even peeps a bad word about you, they can expect his Hydrapple to take care of the body. (Joking... hopefully.)

He cries when he hears you've recovered fully. He's all over you-- showering you with hugs and kisses (while making sure he doesn't hurt you himself), getting you home safely, and taking care of medical bills. He doesn't want you to have to worry about money right now, what matters is that you're safe and sound.

Carmine comments that she's never seen him worry like that, and that you'd better not get that sick again! She can't bear to see either of you in such bad shape.

#pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon drayton #pokemon kieran #pokemon drayton x reader #pokemon kieran x reader #yippee!! another ask #i have so much fun with these :3c #kuro writes

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val-cansalute · 6 months

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PICKING UP THE ———- PIECES -———

ch. 1

ch. 2

ch. 3

ch. 4

ch. 5

ch. 6

a/n: short first chapter 🫤 also BORING AS FOCK but the next few will be longer and better, just stick with me cw: implied depression/ptsd, dark themes, not too heavy but please don’t read if this might trigger you, angst, no smut in this chapter but there might be some later on, creds to cafekitsune for dividers, MDNI 😡

Six months ago today, your gaunt figure limped through Jackson for the first time, arms scarred and trembling, and face adorned with a vacant expression. You’ve been here for a while now.

You heard Maria say, with time, you’d come out of your shell - actually speak to the others. But, no, you still stay holed up in your decaying room, recalling what happened that day obsessively, and only ever leaving to go on patrol. Only when you absolutely have to.

God, you don’t even know if you can call this grief anymore. Seems as though you built a nest in the sorrow. Would it still be considered missing him if you desperately want to stop seeing his face whenever you close your eyes.

Fuck, don't say that. Never say that.

Promise I still love you, big brother. Promise I'd do anything to see you again.

Well, nobody really pays you any mind; you just sink into the shadows of the shitty little apartment you've been put in. And it doesn’t matter to you because the thought of getting close to people again makes you sick anyway.

Never wanna feel this pain. Never again. Fuck, just go away, please.

I'm so sorry, Soren.

You’ve waited it out for months but, at this point, you've given up hope. Feels like maybe it’s time to go be on your own. You know it’s dumb, but you haven’t got much to live for now that he’s gone.

Late night, you crawl into the comfort of misery, chaining yourself to each painful memory; you cannot leave a single shard behind. Not one.

You will carry this with you for the rest of your days.

Somewhere along the line, dark fades to light and your mind goes blank for the first time in an eternity as you get up to follow that same routine.

Today, same as yesterday, and yesterday's yesterday, and yesterday's yesterday's yesterday, etc., etc., your partner is Ellie.

Maria seems to think the two of you are acquaintances, especially since the extroverted people around your age hadn't been able to drag much more than a few words out of you, but you don’t really talk, you stay out of each other’s ways.

You struggle to keep the smile up against the pushback of your aching cheeks when you’re talking to other people. Can never let them see.

Not even for a good reason. God, it’s just such an effort to talk about. It’s better for it to just nestle in your mind, where it’s made it’s home, where it’s comfortable.

Maybe part of why you stay out of each other’s ways is because you'd inadvertently come off as a dick during your first encounter, which would've been enough to push the already closed off Ellie to not interact with you at all. You weren't actually being rude though; she's hopefully figured that out at this point. She probably just got used to the interactions between you; silence dusted with passive aggressive remarks.

But, she doesn’t say much when you freak the fuck out if a clicker comes at you in a way that brings back memories. You’re grateful, regardless of her reason for doing so.

Perhaps it's the thought of leaving that is the spur to prick your sudden violence and, now, even you can tell you're getting worse. The feeling - it ensnares you like a bear trap when you see a clicker, so you fire frantically at its head. Blood splatters all over your front and you pull at the hem of your shirt to get a better look, mumbling, "Shit..." when you see the white fabric soaked through with the clicker's blood; cold water to the face.

Among the chaos, you must have turned on your foot weirdly, because your ankle feels like a stake has been stabbed right through it with each movement and you don’t know if you can walk.

Ellie finally manages to trace the sound of the gunshot to you after calling your name in worry for the past couple of minutes, running over to you. She pulls you around and looks over your jittery body for anything to worry about - brushes a thumb over the wet material, jerking it away before you can notice; you’re hyper aware, so you always manage to anyway - and then furrows her brows at you.

“Can you stop fucking around?”

You nod apologetically,

"Sorry. Feeling a bit out of it today..."

She sighs, still clearly angry, and turns away, "Let's go. We’re done here.”

You watch her figure retreat as you mount your horse with shaky footing. The ride back is a silent one. Once you reach the gates, you get off and pat the horse’s side. It has a name; you never cared to learn it. Maybe you knew you couldn’t stick around for long.

“Come on. Why are you just standing there?"

When your eyes meet hers, you feel utterly pathetic, but you don't have much of a choice.

“Can you… find, like, a stick? A big one...”

She stays quiet for a moment, seemingly thrown off by your question, so you're quick to add,

“I would do it but... I don't know, fuck, never mind...”

Ellie raises an eyebrow at you, her line of sight flicking down to your ankle as she takes note of your awkward stance and mutters with a sigh that makes you feel small, "Pain in the ass," before shaking her head.

"Yeah, it looks pretty bad," Ellie says after she crouches down and touches the wound, eliciting a pained wince (and a farewell to your last shred of dignity) from you.

She rises to her feet and brushes herself off as you wait for more of a response.

"Stick, right? You want a stick?"

You nod with a clenched jaw. She keeps looking down at you and the constant anticipation is starting to piss you off.

"No, you gonna ask for what you really need?" she says. "And drop the whole ‘tough guy’ act?"

You chuckle dryly, turning your eyes to the floor.

"You ever considered that maybe I actually am just a tough guy?"

“Ha ha,” she states in monotone, “Think you gave away the fact that you're not when you started crying over a twisted ankle," to which you raise an eyebrow at her.

“Uh, okay, nothing you just said was true, but, sure. Sure.”

“Yeah? Come over here and say that with some heart then, tough guy.”

You manage to take a few steps before falling.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought. Gonna need to be carried back," Ellie says.

“What about the big ass stick?”

“What is i-Fuck. Listen, even if that helps, which it won’t, you’d wreck your ankle even more and everyone’d be on my ass about it. So, quit talking and get over here," she says, reaching over to lift you off the floor.

You grimace jokingly, but Ellie doesn’t pick on the humorous nature of your words, “Oh. No piggyback?”

Ellie sighs, turning and crouching in front of you before you get on.

"I swear to god, you're infuriating," she sneers. "Now put your arms around my neck."

You’re acting slightly outside the confines of your silent, gloomy self again, and pretend to strangle her, “Since you asked so nicely.”

And you laugh at your own joke as you properly wrap your arms around her neck

"I'm glad you're having a good time; at least one of us is enjoying ourselves,” she grits out but you can hear the repressed smile in her voice.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

"Good. Now shut up and enjoy the ride." Ellie says before turning her gaze back to the front.

As the two of you make your way through the fairly empty paths of Jackson, Ellie remains silent, her expression unreadable.

You keep your eyes focused on her, the small puff of air that leaves her mouth with each step, and staying quiet as your chin finds itself resting casually upon her shoulder

After a few minutes of walking in silence, Ellie finally speaks up again. Her voice is so close, the warmth of her breath and heat.

“You got them girls off your ass yet?”

“Who? The ones that are trying to... befriend me?”

“Mhm, the ones that you’re kinda friends with.”

“Yeah, they quit trying.”

"Don’t blame you… I mean, I can understand, but don’t make it too obvious.”

“I’d rather not-“

“Right, it’s just- well, if you want to be alone, fine. I… can even… make sure those assholes don’t bother you, or whatever- but, not on patrol! Don’t go wandering around on your own like that ever again. It’s dumb."

“I know, I just got caught up in the moment. Sorry.”

"Good."

A heavy silence befalls the two of you as she trudges on.

"Why are you so damn heavy?" she eventually mutters.

You lift your head off her shoulder reflexively, aware of your weight pulling her down all of a sudden,

“Sorry.”

Ellie looks over her shoulder at you, her eyebrows knitted in unexpected concern,

“Hey… I was kidding.”

“Right… I knew that…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever," she says. "Hm, look at that, we made it," gently patting your thigh before pushing the doors open. "Time to get off."

You slowly slide off her back, making sure to land on your good leg as you watch her search the area curiously in a waiting, one-footed stance.

She returns after a second, picking you up to place you on top of one of the quaint, makeshift hospital beds before she begins rummaging through the supplies. You watch her muscles flex and then, the sight of a woman you'd seen around captures your focus.

"What happened to her?" the woman asks, causing Ellie to lift her head, looking down at you.

"Twisted my ankle."

"Well, obviously," her tone is laced with sarcasm. "My question was how you twisted your ankle."

"Turned weird."

Your response earns you a bemused raise of her blonde eyebrows, "Alright, whatever," she says, pulling up a chair and sitting before you.

After a short, boring while, she lets go of your leg and looks up at you again,

"So, you got a sprain. I'm gonna have to wrap your ankle up, alright?"

A lock of her hair continuously pesters her as she begins carefully tending to your ankle, pulling fresh bandages taut around the injury.

"It's gonna stay sensitive for a few days," the woman states, "And you shouldn't walk on it for at least a week."

She places a hand upon Ellie's shoulder, pulling her out of the deep-end of her thoughts, and turning her away from you. A muffled, but aggressive, hushed conversation ensues between them as you glance around the room restlessly, only making out the irritated tone of Ellie's responses. It ends with her pinching her nose bridge and mumbling a, "Fine," and they're facing you again.

The woman gives the two of you a nod before exiting the room,

"You two be safe out there."

“Alright. I’ll take you home. Now, get on," she turns, arms out, backpack on her front, as she waits for you to get onto her back again.

The route to your place is short and quiet as night blankets the world, or what’s left of it. Before you know it, she's pushing open the door and setting you down on yet another tattered bed - your own.

You hiss at the contact your ankle makes with the bed, but Ellie seems unfazed, patting your thigh in the same way she did before, the way that made your stomach twist,

“You gonna be okay?”

You nod, though her deadpan tone doesn’t leave much room for the honest truth.

“Alright, well… I’ll get going, then.”

There’s a stark contrast in life between her coming and going; the constant rustling of the fabric of her coat and the sound of her heavy winter boots against your creaky floorboards, the sound of her sniffles and low voice, and the flurry of gusts of nippy winds whistling - all shut out with the cold of the outside once she closes the door behind her. Well, most of it.

Now, you’re left with the bite of cold air and the deafening silence that haunts you as you sit still upon your mattress with darkness cast over the room, seeming to melt everything together.

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one-squash-one-end · 2 months

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I wrote a giant Raven Cycle analysis

Hi! Over the last year or so I've been working on a sort of essay about various themes in the raven cycle series, and I finally finished it a few weeks ago.

It is titled: "Why I love The Raven Cycle - An excessive analysis of the themes of friendship, queerness and growing up".

And since tumblr loves its meta (and bc I love peer validation) I've decided to start uploading it bit by bit here, making this the masterpost (if I can figure out the logistics of the linking lmao, bear with me)

(beware of spoilers up to greywaren starting at like 3b!)

Introduction

What even is the Raven Cycle?

Trust me, the characters are queer as fuck and I can prove it a) Blue Sargent b) Gansey c) Adam Parrish d) Ronan Lynch e) Noah f) Henry Cheng g) Honorary mentions

The Gangsey is a polycule

Analyzing the reoccurring themes a) Friendship b) Being a teen/growing up c) (Found) Family d) Magic (as a metaphor) e) Further themes I appreciate

Drawing a conclusion

Click here to start with the introductory parts!

1. Introduction

So here’s the thing: I love fiction almost as much as I love my friends. There’s something deeply comforting about the escapism, even if the book actually makes me want to scream and throw it on the floor (only one book has been thrown so far, I promise!). Fiction is a healthy thing to occupy my thoughts with: headcanons! Quotes being on loop in my brain! Just fandoms!

And for me, if I am hooked on a book (series), it does not even need a good plot where a lot of things happen. In fact, I would say that my enjoyment of a book is made up of 30% plot and about 70% characters and vibes. If the characters are bland, if they do not make me feel much emotion, it likely won’t be more than 4 stars (additional info: I am way too nice rating books!). I really, really need to love the characters, to be able to relate to some aspects of them, or it just won’t become an obsession.

Since I have already started explaining that a bit, let’s look at this question: What is important to make a book special to me? 1. I need to cry reading it. 2. I have to think about it often, even weeks to months after having read it. 3. Obviously, I need to love the characters. 4. I need to be in the fandom! This can be hard with some books, but the internet is a whimsical space allowing you to find at least a small number of people who are obsessed with a work of fiction to a similar extent as you are.

Now, why am I elaborating on this so much? It’s because The Raven Cycle did all that for me. It is my favorite comfort book series at the moment, for all those aspects mentioned, but of course I cannot just leave it at that. No, I wrote a whole-ass analysis on headcanons and some of its themes. You’re welcome.

2. What even is The Raven Cycle?

The Raven Cycle is all I adore and live for (next to my friends). So, naturally, it’s a book series, specifically a four book young adult contemporary fantasy series by American author Maggie Stiefvater. The books in question are: The Raven Boys (2012), The Dream Thieves (2013), Blue Lily, Lily Blue (2014) and The Raven King (2016), and yes I will admit that the publishing dates are a bit of a red flag. There is also the very relevant follow-up series called The Dreamer Trilogy (Call Down The Hawk, Mister Impossible, Greywaren), but it’s a lot less easy to get into that here as I do not know these entire books by heart, so I’ll stick to the original tetralogy here.

To stick to red flags, the books are set in the fictional Henrietta, a rural town in non-fictional Virginia, US, in the 2010s. However, that doesn’t really say *that* much about the plot, so let me summarize that really quick, because I can do better than the official synopsis! (Or let’s pretend I can.)

Blue Sargent comes from a family of psychics, yet she does not have any powers of her own. Even worse, she is a bit of an amplifier for the others, meaning she is always somehow but never directly involved in the business. As if that isn’t enough for an identity crisis, every psychic she has ever met has told her that her kiss would kill her true love. Yikes.

But because she is that amplifier, she comes to a church watch on St. Mark’s Eve, where psychics see the spirits of those to die within the following year. It’s important business, but to her it’s really just staring into the dark. Until she does actually see a spirit: That of Gansey. Of course this is not a coincidence. No, to add to this teen’s mount of problems, there are only two reasons why a non-seer would see someone’s spirit: They are their true love, or they killed them. Or, in Blue’s case, maybe both.

The aforementioned Gansey is Henrietta’s Golden Boy, the son of politicians (read: he’s fucking loaded). He does not run with the Republicans though, he runs with dead Welsh kings, meaning he has been searching for the probably dead, presumably sleeping Welsh king Glendower (*1350; †1416; yikes) for the past like seven years. Why the fuck would he do that? Well, legend says that he will grant a wish to whoever wakes him, and our favorite PTSD-ridden guy really wants that favor.

Aiding him are fellow Aglionby students Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch and Noah Czerny, plus Henry Cheng, though only a lot later in the series, but I really did not want to leave out that menace (affectionately) here. The paths of Blue and the boys cross because of Gansey’s search for Glendower, plus the fact that Blue works at a popular pizza place, but that’s a lot less whimsical. And, well, there’s the implication that Gansey might also be her true love, but perhaps she just kills him because of his bad fashion sense, it would be justified. Anyway, in true Famous Five fashion (Ronan is the dog; I won’t elaborate, the girls that get it, get it) they are of course not the only ones searching for the king, so it’s not completely a wholesome friend bonding activity all the way through.

Be prepared for: friendship and growing up, lots of treasure hunting, family mysteries, magical forests, illegal and slightly distasteful activities (our favorite of course), but most of all, heavily queer-coded (or even canonically queer) characters. Be Gay, Do Crime.

#y'all better like this it took a while #trc #the raven cycle #gansey #blue sargent #ronan lynch #adam parrish #noah czerny #henry cheng #the raven king #the raven boys #blue lily lily blue #the dream thieves #let's hope i don't forget about this after the first part #please talk to me about your thoughts

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 10 months

Text

INEVITABLE [8]

din djarin x female!reader

warnings: language, violence, death, injury, mentions of blood, angst

word count: 5,135

Summary: It was like fate or destiny had planned from the beginning for you to be on the run from the law. With the words ‘I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ adorning your rib cage you always wondered what was worse: Knowing you were bound to being wanted or realizing your soulmate was a cursed bounty hunter. You had a mission to finish and no bounty hunter, soulmate or not, was going to stop you.

[a/n: i'd like to point out that i got this out TWO DAYS sooner than i thought i would. am i patting myself on my back? yes, yes i am. again though, i am sorry it's taken me forever to update this one.]

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08: BUT YOU'RE STILL A TRAITOR

"the true pain of betrayal is that so often our love lingers on even after the damage is done. it is to both carry a wound we cannot bear and yet cannot find the heart to close. to be betrayed by one we have trusted and loved is to be drawn tight between love and devastation, and not know which way to turn." -beau taplin

Thyreps’s moon was never meant to house living creatures. That’s the conclusion you came to as you and Din braced against the whipping winds. Grogu had stayed behind with Ari and Din had tried to get you to stay back as well— a prospect you told him was not going to happen by any means. That left you struggling to cross the barren plain trying to keep sulfurous sand from burning your eyes. Din had wrapped an arm around you and chose to walk a step forward. It made it so the beskar coated man was working as a human shield against the winds. It felt odd to have him nearly wrapped around you, but you couldn’t deny the benefits. Sand wasn’t battering against your skin, and something about the weight of his arm filled your belly with butterflies. You chose to ignore the latter.

Din yelled something, you barely heard his voice, and shook your head, “What?!” He tried once more. You pointed to your ears. “Din, I can’t—”

He suddenly altered the path you were both following and the dim light filtering through the sandy wind darkened as Din dragged you into the mouth of a cave. You felt your entire body relax at the shelter.

“I said we need to wait here.” Din pulled his arm back. “Going any further in the storm isn’t going to help us. We can pick up when it dies down.”

“You won’t hear me complaining.” You shook your limbs and clothes as black sand fell around you like a halo. Din reached forward and he brushed your shoulders and back to help knock the residual sand particles off of you. “Must be nice in all the beskar right now.”

Din shook his head, “Not really.” He tugged at the collar covering his neck and you spotted the same black sand falling from the folds. “It somehow got down my shirt. I can feel it.”

“Do you need to take some armor off and shake it out?” You asked and thumbed over your shoulder. “I can keep watch.”

Din hesitated, only for a beat, before giving you a curt nod. “Thank you. I��d appreciate it.”

You turned around to give the Mandalorian his privacy and stared out at the dreary landscape. You couldn’t see far out over the plains due to how dense and wild the winds were. At least sitting where you were, the sound wasn’t so overwhelming. You could actually hear the hiss of Din removing his helmet and his muted movements as he tried to rid himself of sand just as you had been.

“Sand, uh, it’s just the worst, isn’t it?” You called out. It was the only thing you could think to say in the moment and you realized it had been a desperate attempt to hear him speak sans helmet.

“Yeah.” Din grunted and you took in a quiet, sharp breath at the sound of his smooth voice unhindered by modulation. You liked the way he sounded at baseline. It hadn’t even dawned on you how much you might like his spoken word raw and unfiltered as it was now. “As many times as I’ve been on Tatooine, I’ve never had this much sand collected in my gear.”

“The wind is intense.” You commented. The fact that the conversation was focused on the weather seemed rather silly to you, but you’d continue this small, pointless talk for hours if it meant getting to hear more of him. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Have you?”

Din hummed, “Hoth is pretty bad sometimes, but at least there it’s just snow and ice.”

“That sounds just as bad if not worse than sand.”

“It isn’t. Trust me.”

Finally, you heard the hiss of his helmet being locked back into place and he called out for you that it would be fine for you to turn back around. Din leaned against the cave wall with one knee drawn up and an arm resting on it. You wandered over and sat against the same side as him only a few feet away. Far enough that you weren’t touching him, but close enough that you could if you just reached out to him.

“How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?” You asked.

“Hopefully only for a couple hours.” Din shrugged. “I’m not too familiar with this place’s weather habits. I had hoped to go the rest of my life without stepping foot on this kriffing moon.”

You shot him a sheepish grin, “Sorry I got you dragged here then.”

“No, no.” Din stiffened and shook his head. “I didn’t mean⏤ I don’t mind it now. This is actually nice.” He paused then cleared his throat. “Not the storm or being stuck in a cave. I just meant, I find it… easy to be with you. Socially speaking, of course.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how flustered he had gotten himself worked up, “Don’t worry, bucket head. I think spending time with you is easy too.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence just listening to the howling wind. It lasted until a thought occurred to you and the words fell out of your mouth before you had the forethought to stop them.

“What’s it like not having a soulmate?” You asked. Din’s head snapped to meet yours and you only realized then that it could be deemed a ‘sensitive’ topic to some. You shot him a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I just remembered you said you didn’t have one and I got curious.”

“No, it’s okay.” Din replied. “I don’t mind the question. It just caught me off guard.” You waited patiently for him to speak once more because you could tell he was lost in his thoughts. A small chuckle slipped from your lips. It was funny you knew that so easily. You hadn’t spent all that much time with the Mandalorian in hindsight, but you understood his silences. Finally, Din spoke up, “I have a soulmate.”

Your eyes widened in alarm. “What?”

“I… I didn’t mean to lie to you.” Din replied. “Saying I didn’t have one came easier than admitting the truth.”

“Did you lose them?” Your voice took a softer tone. You had your own issues with the concept of soulmates, but you wouldn’t wish that kind of loss on anyone. One of the girls you had been stuck under Viktor’s thumb with had met her soulmate and lost her. The Twi'lek woman said it felt like a piece of her had been demolished— as if an actual portion of her soul had been burned to ash and all that remained was a gaping hole in her chest as a reminder of what was once hers.

Din paused. “In a way.” He shook his head. “I lost them before I ever met them.” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He clarified, “I decided a long time ago that I was better off without a soulmate. I never gave it a chance.”

“We’re more alike than I thought.” You said with a forced chuckle. The knowledge that Din had a soulmate sat bitter in your belly. It shouldn’t. You had no claim on him. He was your first real friend outside of your life as a slave and that held significance to you. That must have been the reason why a weird jealously crawled up your spine.

“Mirdala runi.” Din said, calling your attention back to him. He had shifted closer you realized, so the two of you were side by side. “I want to talk about—” He came to an abrupt pause and you watched his entire frame stiffen as he stared out the mouth of the cave behind you. You called his name, but it was drowned out by the sound of blaster fire. “Down!”

Din had grabbed you with ease and shoved you to the ground with his heavy body covering your entire body. His beskar plated form enveloped every inch of you and you could hear his quiet, modulated grunts as flashing red bolts of blaster fire pinged off his armor.

You began to pat at his sides, barely able to move with how firmly he had you pinned with his body, but you found his blaster and pointed it blindly to the mouth of the cave to fire a covering shot. It must have been enough to slow the onslaught of incoming fire because Din shoved up and rushed for the mouth of the cave. You flipped over onto your belly, pausing in your firing, in time to see Din draw the hilt of his saber. It came to life with an eerie dark glow. He had mentioned he carried the dark saber which honestly hadn’t meant much to you at the time, but now you could see why it had the pomp and circumstance it did.

You jumped to your feet and rushed back out into the storm to help as you could. The wind made it difficult to see, but you could make out Din tearing through three smugglers. Blaster fire opened behind you and just barely clipped your arm— burning through the sleeve of your jacket and singeing your skin under it.

With a cry of pain, you whirled and fired Din’s blaster. It took you a moment to see the smuggler with sand stinging at your eyes, but when you did you fired a bolt directly into his chest. Another smuggler was approaching, you spotted him struggling through the winds searching for his friend, and without preamble you lifted your weapon and fired at them as well.

Hands clamped down on your shoulders and you screamed in alarm. Din’s voice in your ear immediately calmed your panic. “It’s me. Are you alright? I heard you cry out.”

“I’m fine.” You shook your head and called out over the howling wind. “But I have sand in my eyes. I can’t see shit.”

“Bury your face into my shoulder.”

You didn’t understand his instruction until Din suddenly scooped you up into his arms. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck, your wound screaming pain, but you listened to his previous orders and buried your face into his shoulder. Even with your face down, you still closed your eyes in hopes to relieve a bit of the stinging. Din began to walk, you could feel the swaying of motion, and you assumed he was taking you back to the cave. Moments later, the hissing of an airlock caught you off guard.

Din set you inside a covered land speeder designed for the terrain. He closed the door behind you and momentarily you were reprieved of the sound of the wind. With stinging eyes, you watched Din walk around the vehicle before sliding into the driver’s side. When you were both settled, Din turned to you.

“Jacket. Off.” He grunted.

He must have seen the blackened hole in your jacket. While you struggled to shrug out of it, Din tore off his gloves. Half out of your jacket you paused in surprise and stared at his hands. His naturally tan hands were large and you could see calluses on his palms. It wasn’t until he was pulling you closer that you snapped out of it.

“It really is fine.” You commented.

Din shuffled around the space until he grasped what must have been a canteen. He unscrewed it, sloshing it a bit, then held it up to your face. “Smell. Is it water or something else?”

You took a whiff and caught no real scent. “Water, I think. It’s definitely not alcohol or anything.”

“Good.” Din’s hands suddenly settled on the side of your face and the contact made your breath hitch. “Tilt your chin up.” As he said the command, he used his hand to help you do so. When Din was satisfied with the angle of your head, he held the canteen up. “Try to keep your eyes open I need to wash them out.”

“Do they look that bad?” You asked.

“Keep your eyes open.” He simply repeated.

Din began to splash the water over your eyes and you hissed at the worsened stinging. The gritty feeling that had lingered under your eyelids began to wash away and with it so did the burning. Din set aside the empty canteen and you let your head fall back to a neutral position. Before you could wipe at the wetness on your face, Din cupped your face and used his fingers to carefully wipe away the sand particles that clung to your damp skin.

You stared into the t-shape of his dark visor and found yourself wishing you could see his eyes. His warm hands on your skin brought a comfort you had never felt. Nobody save for Viktor had held you like this before, and this was entirely different. Viktor would hold your face in his hands and peer down at you with a possessive ownership. His grip had felt suffocating. You couldn’t even see Din’s eyes yet you knew that wasn’t the case here. His grip was soft. He cradled you like something precious to hold⏤ tenderly, as if you would shatter if he was not too careful.

“Din…” You said in a voice softer than you meant.

“I’m sorry.” He replied quickly, almost like a knee jerk reaction, but he didn’t release you.

“For what?”

Din paused for what felt like an abnormally long time, “I…” He shook his head a bit. “I don’t know.” Your lips twitched up as a laugh bubbled out from your chest. At the sound, Din’s hands seemed to marginally tighten around your face. You felt his thumb drag over your cheekbone. It left a trail of fire against your skin as he drew lines down to where the curve of your bottom lip sat. You sucked in a short, quiet breath at the firm feel of his thumb tracing your lower lip back and forth. If you didn’t know better, you’d say Din was trying to memorize the shapes of your face with his touch alone. “You’re beautiful, ner mirdala runi.”

The compliment caught you off guard entirely, but you couldn’t deny the warmth that filled your chest at hearing it in his voice.

“I know I shouldn’t say that, but…” Din’s voice trailed away.

“Why not?” You asked. “Why shouldn’t you say that?” Din didn’t reply, and you continued to just gaze into the endless void that was his visor. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your mouth suddenly very dry, and then added, “Because… Hearing it from you, I… I don’t quite mind it.”

You had spent a lifetime being objectified by men and women you crossed paths with. Years being ogled at by Viktor. There hadn’t been a moment of it you didn’t hate. But, just like the act of holding your face in his hands, Din was different. The words, when they fell from his lips, felt like a comfort. It wasn’t about a claim or a method of seduction. He said it like a man in awe⏤ like a man in the midst of worship on his knees before a deity.

“I… I want⏤ I need to talk to you about something.” Din said suddenly. He paused then shook his head. His hand fell from your face and you missed the touch almost immediately. “But we should finish this mission first.”

“Um, okay.” You nodded curiously. As much as you wanted to know what was on his mind, or where that had been leading, you acknowledged that he made a good point. The longer the two of you stayed on this maker forsaken rock the more danger you’d be in.

Din turned in his seat and began to flip switches and buttons on the dash to start up the speeder. You settled in your own seat and kept an eye out the front window searching the horizon for any sign of danger. It didn’t take long to get to what must have been the raider’s base and Din drove the speeder into a makeshift garage.

“I don’t see anyone.” You said. “Do you think we got them all out in the storm?”

“I doubt it.” He hummed. “Stay alert.”

The two of you climbed out of the speeder and began to search the stockpile for what it was that Ari had asked for. You weren’t entirely sure what you were looking for, but you read the crate labels aloud for Din to judge while he searched his own side. You spotted a label that used the word ‘core’ which was a good sign. You cracked open the lid to see a series of blue glass orbs sitting in a stack of soft crate filling.

“Hey, Din.” You called out. “I might’ve found them.”

Din hurried over and tugged you away from the box with a nod. “Yeah. That's it.” He pushed you to stand behind me. “I’ll load them up. I don’t want you to touch them.”

You resisted the urge to remind him that if one of those volatile orbs did get activated and go off, standing behind him wasn’t going to save you. Beskar or not. Din locked the crate and picked up the box, which was longer than it was tall, and carried it over to pack into the back of the speeder. Din motioned for you to climb back into the vehicle, and you glanced around before doing so. This seemed much too easy. The second the thought drifted through your head, you cursed yourself for allowing it to come to life. Din climbed into the driver’s seat and you forced your mind to any other topic. The last thing you wanted to do was jinx the two of you on the home stretch.

The Razor Crest was in view and you began to feel hopeful. You were so close to accomplishing your goal. More than just finishing your personal mission, for the first time in ages you were thinking of what happened afterwards. You wondered if Din would let you continue to travel with him and Grogu. It felt silly and foolish to actually place trust in someone you hadn’t known for very long, your life experience told you it was a bad idea, but from the beginning Din had felt different.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a sudden flash of red. It took only a second for you to register the familiar sight of blaster fire, but that second was a second too long. The speeder’s front right tire exploded and Din turned the steering wheel hard to offset it, but the speeder hit uneven terrain and then the rough winds aided in flipping the speeder over.

It happened quickly after that. You blinked and suddenly you were hanging upside down in your seat. Another blink and your world was spinning as the speeder flipped head over tail repeatedly. Luckily, the vehicle landed upright and your seat belt had managed to keep you tied to your seat relatively safely.

“Are you alright!?” Din yelled. His hands were ripping off your seat belt frantically. You didn’t necessarily feel injured, which was a miracle in itself, but you were still dazed. You offered a small nod, and Din wrapped his arm around you to drag you out of the speeder.

It took a moment to realize Din wasn’t sticking around for a fight. He was dragging you through the whipping winds as far away from the speeder as he could. “Din! Din, the cores!” You cried out. “We need to⏤”

“We need to get further. Can you run??” Din cried.

You glanced over your shoulder and could see the shadowy shapes of whatever raider who had fired at you digging through the smoking carcass of the speeder. “Din⏤” You began again, but Din grunted and scooped you up and began to run. He activated his jet pack, using it to speed over the terrain rather than in the air, but the winds were working against you. “Wait⏤”

Behind the two of you, the deafening sound of an explosion took you off guard. The cores. The volatile cores. Fire filled the air, and even from the distance you were at the blast still knocked you and Din to the ground. The second the two of you hit the ground, Din lost his grip on you. You groaned against the ground. Sand filled your mouth, mingling with the metallic taste of blood from where you had bit down on your tongue, and your ears were ringing so loud that you couldn’t even hear the sounds of the roaring wind.

Shakily, you pushed up onto your elbows and sucked in a shaking breath. Gloved hands wrapped around your arms and helped pick you up. “Thanks!” You yelled, all the sound still muted. “Din?” Your eyes were narrowed to try and block out the sand in the air. The Mandalorian was wavering in front of you. You reached out to grasp his arm and that’s when you noticed it. A large, twisted shard of metal from the speeder had pierced Din in the side⏤ right under the edge of beskar armor on his back. The ringing in your ears faded just in time for you to hear a groan of agony, even over the winds, before Din collapsed in front of you. “Din!?”

In a panic, you tried to visualize his wound, but with the sand storm you could see nothing. You hooked your arms under his and began to drag him toward the Razor Crest. Between the weight of his broad body and the heavy beskar he wore, it was a slow process. With every pull of him, visceral fear crawled up your spine and latched itself into your mind. The last time you felt fear like this you had been kneeling over the dying body of your best friend⏤ a man that Viktor had killed in front of you just because your friend had the audacity to care for you. Not again. Please, Maker, no. You couldn’t lose another person. Not like this.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to drag Din up the Razor Crest’s ramp and into the cargo hold. You wasted no further time and began to strip Din of his beskar. You’d leave his helmet on, but you need the area around the wound to open so you could work. You scrambled to grab Din’s first aid kit and dove back to the ground. Your hands were moving on autopilot. After giving him an e-bacta injection, and then pulling out the shard to fill the wound with the bacta gel, you knew you were overdoing it. Rather safe than sorry though.

It was only after the fourth application of the bacta gel did he stop bleeding. Din laid on the ground motionless, but his breathing was even and his heartbeat was steady. You fell back on your ass and sucked in a shaky breath of your own. Your hands were trembling, stained with his blood, and it felt like all your nerves were frayed.

“It’s okay. He’s okay.” You whispered under your breath to try and convince yourself of the fact. Still, he needed better medical care than you could provide. You pushed to stand, closed the ramp, and then climbed up to the cockpit to get the Razor Crest off the ground. You were by no means a pilot, and in these kinds of winds it was even more difficult, but you managed to get up and off the damned rock. Once in space, all you had to do was set Ari’s address into the system and the ship did the rest.

Being in motion made you feel better. You were on your way to a city that would have an actual Healer. Someone who could ensure Din’s injuries wouldn’t leave him with permanent harm. You rose and hurried back down to the cargo hold. He looked miserable lying on the cargo hold half undone. You cleaned your hands, then took a clean rag to begin to clean his skin. You hoped that wiping away his blood would make you feel better about his state.

This was the most skin you had ever seen of him and it felt like a violation. Once you got him cleaned up enough, you'd lay a blanket on top of him to preserve his decency. Midway through cleaning, your eyes landed on a string of scribbled words against his skin. His soul mark. A part of you urged you to look away. Soul marks were personal, and he had never given you permission to look at this. Hell, he had only just admitted that he had one. However, familiar words gave you pause.

You read it once. Twice. Three times.

‘Would you really arrest your soulmate?’

It felt like someone had picked up the twisted metal shard from the speeder and shoved it through your chest. A storm of various emotions swirled in your mind and suffocated you. Liar. You were crying, and you didn’t even register it until you tasted salty tears trail down your face and reach your lips. He lied to you. You scrambled back from his body and tried to suck in air. You couldn’t breathe. Din lied to you, and you couldn’t breathe. Your lungs were pulling in air, but none of it was satisfying.

Liar, liar, liar.

Anger was burning through your veins, but it wasn’t at Din. No. It was toward yourself. This was your fault. You knew better than to trust someone.

When Din’s eyes blinked open, the first sound he was able to produce was a groan. His body ached. Every inch of him was sore and miserable. The last thing he remembered were the cores going off. Din had tried to get you far enough away to avoid the blast site but based on his injury he had failed. You. Maker, please let him be the only one hurt. He tried to shift, to rise, but it occurred to him that half of his aching came from the way his arms were twisted behind him.

Din lifted his head. He was on the Razor Crest, in the cargo hold, and he was sitting up against the ladder up to the cockpit. A beat of confusion passed before he tried to move again and realized his hands were locked behind him and wrapped around the metal of the ladder. Dank ferrik. Had the raiders caught them?

He glanced around and his eyes landed on you. You were sitting on the floor by the closed ramp door. Din released a sigh of relief. You looked relatively unharmed, and you weren’t tied up as he was. Wait. He shook his head, “Mirdala runi, what…” His groggy mind was beginning to connect dots that had been vaguely floating around in his mind. He had been injured. Din remembered the hot pain of metal tearing through his skin. His beskar chest piece had been removed and his flight suit peeled away. A blanket rested on his shoulder covering him up, but under the blanket his entire torso was bare. His torso was bare. Oh no. “Wait, please, I⏤”

“Stop.” You said in the coldest voice he had heard from you.

Even in the beginning, when you were nothing but snark and sarcasm you still had warmth in your voice. Din felt his chest ache. “Please, just let me explain.”

“Explain what? That you played me for a fool?” You asked.

“No, I⏤”

“That you lied to me this entire time?”

“Please⏤”

“I trusted you.” You snapped. The words were filled with agony, broken and hoarse, and it felt like he had been stabbed all over again. Regret, shame, and guilt filled every atom of his body. You shook your head, “Why would you⏤” Your voice cracked and you forced yourself to stop. Din leaned forward, but his restraints held him back. You pushed to stand and shook your head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”

He could feel you slipping away. He could feel himself losing you. And though he knew it was well deserved after his lie to you, Din still couldn't fathom it. He called out again to you, “It was a mistake. I wanted to tell you the truth. I⏤ I tried to tell you.” Din thrashed against the restraints. It caused his injury to flare and burn, but he had to get free. “I should’ve told you ages ago, I know that.”

You walked over to the control panel and opened the ramp. Light filled the cargo hold and Din recognized the tarmac of Thyreps. No, no, no. You were going to slip away. Worse, he knew where you would go. You were going to find Viktor and the thought of you facing those monsters without any backup filled his soul with ice water.

“Don’t go.” Din was thrashing more desperately now. “You can hate me. You deserve to hate me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but please let me help you. Don’t go alone. Please!” You paused in place and Din thought maybe, just maybe, his pleading was getting through to you. Suddenly, you began to walk toward him and for a brief second Din felt a flutter of hope in his chest. You crouched down in front of him. “Ner mirdala runi, gedet'ye.”

You reached forward and he felt your fingers brush against the words fate drew on his skin. Din sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation. Goosebumps raised on his skin. You traced the words with the tip of your finger. The feel of it was addicting. “What does that mean? What you’ve been calling me.”

“My clever soul.” Din answered softly.

You chuckled, but the sound was one of devastation. With you this close to him, Din could see how red your eyes were from crying. You pulled your hand away from his skin and Din tried to follow only to be stopped by his restraints once more. “Apparently, I wasn’t clever enough to see through this charade.”

“No, please, don’t⏤”

“You were right, Din.” You said with a voice of finality. “You're better off without a soulmate, and so am I. Consider me dead and gone. Don’t come after me.”

You shoved up to stand and without another word or a backward glance you walked out of his ship and out of his life. Din screamed after you. He roared until his throat was hoarse, and he knew the metal of the restraints were digging into his skin and rubbing it raw but he didn’t care. Din was devastated, and he only had himself to blame.

mando'a translations:

Ner mirdala runi: My Clever Soul Gedet'ye: Please

TAGLIST (closed):

@onceinamando @hrtsforpascal @lil-dragon-draws @harriedandharassed @aheadfullofsteverogers @elfamosotoga @the-anchored-sailor-girl @garbo-lesbo @moonlqghts @stokeholdsblog @morks-watermelon @http-onie @chonkercatto @xalphafox @pedrojoe @zarahbronstein @cockscombkingdom @ale0m @shelbyteller @fallinallinmendes @grandtheoristpeach @perilous-pasta @love-the-abyss @kneelforloki @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @marvelouslytrekking @lady-winchester @liadamerondjarin @vampseddie @guccistardust @smexy-bucky-waifu @mayaaaaah @theway-thisis @keepingitlokiii @catharinaroxastova @andreasworlsboring101 @theclassicvinyldragon @your-slutty-gf @i-cant-write-for-shit @ponyboys-sunsets @honeybug-victoria @godesspsyche @cookielovesbook-akie @adoringanakin

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert #mando x reader #mando x you #female reader #soulmate au

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bestboysaiki · 5 months

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BUCKET LIST ☆ 13

It’s been a month.

Thirty long dreadful days, you picked up the cigarettes again and a bit of alcohol drinking with your mother. Everything has gotten worse in every aspect in your life, no wonder you drank with your deadbeat of a parent. Atleast you had your group of friends, even though it was painfully awkward with Saiki present. He still couldn’t glance at you, not even in the slightest. It feels as though everything is falling apart, it’s gotten so bad to the point where you even began hanging out with Toritsuka. After that encounter in the hallway, you been seeking him out to hang out. Although, you are aware he is pretty pervy but he hasn’t done anything to really disturb or make you uncomfortable.

You’re on the rooftop of the school, sketching on your notepad as Toritsuka sat next to you, eyeing your drawings. He suggested you’d draw someone, so you took his suggestion and decided to draw him. “\Where did you learn to do art?” He asks with genuine curiosity. You look up at him, leaning in closer and staring at him intensely. You watch his face turn a into a bright color of red.

“You have nice features, Reita” You mumble, poking his nose with your mechanical pencil. He moves his face back, he looks like he’s in awe of you.

“T-thanks, Y/n” He says, clearing his throat as he scoots closer to you. You notice this, sighing in devastation. You know maybe asking Toritsuka to hang with you wasn’t good, he might get the wrong idea. You give him a small smile, adding a few lines to the drawing.

You pull out a cigarette and show it to Toritsuka, raising an eyebrow. “You smoke, Tori?” You ask, knowing that this might ruin the reputation you have going on for you.

“I don’t actually” He answers, grabbing the cigarette from you and twirling it between his fingers. You nod, going back to your drawing and noticing you forgot his eyelashes.

“That’s good, forget I even asked okay?” You smile again, to which he returns the smile but he seems a bit excited.

“So.. what are you and Saiki?” He wonders outloud, your pencil stopping at the same rate as your thoughts.

What am I and Saiki?

“We’re just friends” You reply, and you feel a stinging pain in your chest as if you just told the biggest lie. Toritsuka seems to be thrilled by what you said, and he ruffles your hair.

“You think you’re just friends, huh?” He laughs a bit after his question, shaking his head.

“Better tell that to Saiki” He adds on.

You tilt your head in confusion but rather not ask, you nod in response and focus on your drawing. Toritsuka continues watching you draw as he tries to further the conversation. Though you don’t really seem to be into the whole idea, as you mindlessly think about what Saiki must be doing.

Please just forgive me , Kusuo..

Saiki is devastated. Not even an exaggeration, he is quite literally depressed. This is all his fault, of course, not talking to you for thirty days. He actually feels quite empty, not being able to be around and to hear your voice has taken a toll on him. I mean hearing your voice everyday for endless weeks was a bit excessive to him but .. Why does he feel cold inside when he hasn’t heard you make you a joke for the last thirty days?

He always sees you pass by in the halls and jeez, sitting next to you in class not only makes things even harder, he cannot help but sneak glances at you. The way your purple yet reddish eyelids hang low as you attempt to not fall asleep during class. Your hair that is not thoroughly brushed. Your freshly sticked on bandages with bears on them.

He sees it all, he really does. And he’s about to forgive you with his own audible words when he sees you up on the rooftop with Toritsuka. He asked everyone around where you were and everyone laughed and said, “Dude, they’re with Toritsuka”. Now this made him panic, knowing Toritsuka can be a pervert sometimes. So, Saiki decides to go up there and see what is going on. What he did not expect was to see you giving the purple haired freak a small smile. The one you make when you’re tired and want to sleep. Saiki’s breath hitches as he watches you both behind the door.

“So, what are you and Saiki” Toritsuka asks outloud, and Saiki’s heart begins thumping like crazy at the sound of his name.

Saiki stays still until he hears your answer, his palms becoming sweaty but holding the door steady.

“We’re just friends”. That answer feels like a hit to the face when Saiki comprehends you say it. He swallows hard and breathes out shakily, closing the door to the rooftop and standing there a bit to process. ‘

“Just friends” Saiki repeats, nodding and hitting his head on the side with a fist.

“Of course, we’re just friends, just friends, just friends..” He repeats with the goal to stitch it into his brain. To hammer it into his brain. What was he thinking? That he could actually develop romantic feelings for someone? There’s no way in hell.

Saiki trudges down the stairs, now he’s even more devastated.

“I guess this could be worse” He mumbles. The rooftop door swings open, Tortisuka runs by Saiki with your sketchpad in his hand. “Yo Saiki” Toritsuka waves at him before jumping down the stairs.

“Tori!” Saiki hears you yelp from behind. He feels a hard nudge on his shoulder when you pass by and realizes you bumped into him hard. Really hard. You spun your head towards Saiki, you look him up and down in boredom before running after Toritsuka again. Saiki swears there was a slow motion between you spinning around and you two locking eyes. He swallows hard again, his heart thumping once again.

“Why do you make me feel this way, Y/n?” Saiki sighs and sits down on the stairs, receiving stares from other students who were passing by him.

Just have to apologize to them..

He has a plan.

Not really a plan but he just thinks this will make you forgive him for ignoring you for the past month. During class, he decides to repeat what you did a month ago and write you a little note.

He writes down on the note, “can we talk?” and passes it down to your desk. Honestly, he should’ve expected this but it stung even more when you actually did it. You give a death glare, crumble up the paper and throw it at his forehead. Okay, maybe your throw wasn’t as accurate as his but he knows you were trying to repeat what he did a month ago.

His mouth twitches in annoyance yet in amusement. You could be petty sometimes, yeah. He looks outside and notices the weather is definitely getting worse. He knows how you feel about bad weather and he hopes your condition does not worsen by your mood.

After school, Saiki decides to do one of the lamest things to do when you need to reach your friend.

To call you.

So, there he is. Leaning against a locker, his thumb playing in midair as he contemplates whether to call you or not. His mind is spinning and really does not know what to do. His body is shaking and he’s not sure if it is due to his nervousness or the cold air that is coming inside the building.

He’s about to press the button when he hears a feminine voice behind him.

“Saiki?”.

To his disappointment, it's just Teruhashi. He nods at her, and she gives him a smile while glancing down at his phone.

“Oh! About to call L/n, huh? It’s about time you both made up” Teruhashi admits with an awkward smile as Saiki simply just nods at her again.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow again then!” She exclaims, stomping away in a manner that seems.. frustrated?

“Silly girl” Saiki mumbles under his breath, shaking his head and tapping the call button without hesitation. He’s not sure where he got the confidence from but now he’s sure, he has to call you up.

The phone picks up and all he can hear is your deep breathing, hesitsation hinted behind.

“At the entrance” Saiki breathes out, then hangs up as quick as he could to not hear you protest.

He has to apologize to you now! At this moment he has to. He cannot waste another day without hearing your stupid little jokes that poke at him.

He sighs, slightly panting from the running he just did. He’s not exactly fit. He looks down at his feet and genuinely starts hoping you’ll come, you have to. He stands there for what seems an eternity, in reality it is just seven minutes. Saiki sighs again, his heart skipping a beat whenever he thinks he sees you but it’s just another student that looks similar to you. He cannot seem to see clearly, he squints and .. oh.

Saiki feels his heart stop, his hearing becomes clear and his vision suddenly becomes clear as well. You’re walking towards him so painfully slow, a blank expression shown on your face as you near him. Saiki’s breath hitches as he watches you come his way.

He scrunches up his nose as he feels specks of coldness on his nose. He looks towards you and notices small white balls falling upon you. He glances up at the sky.

Snow?

He looks back towards you and almost yelps, you’re right infront of him. He examines your face, your soft skin and sickenly looking eyes. Your red, swollen lips and wandering eyes.

“You came” Saiki speaks out breathlessly, his voice slightly cracking at the sight of you. You burst into a light laugh, the sound of it just music to Saiki’s ears. He has not heard that laugh of yours in forever.

“You called” You say with the same breathy voice, coming closer to Saiki and staring up at him.

“I’m sorry” Saiki chokes out, his hand reaching for yours in your pocket. “I’m so sorry, Y/n, I should have never spoken those words to you”. You blink away a few tears, shaking your head and smiling brightly at Saiki.

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you”. Saiki pulls you in for a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around as you hide your face in his shoulder. The snow slowly piles up on both of your heads, but it doesn’t bother you neither of you. Not at this moment, not right now.

All that matters is that you’re together again.

Now, you have a bucket list to do, and you really hope Saiki remembers.

And he does, of course.

#the disastrous life of saiki k.#kusuo saiki #saiki k #saiki x reader #saiki kusuo x reader #saiki kusuo x reader fanfic #kusuo saiki x reader #saiki x reader fanfic #saiki no psi nan

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garfinkelstingle · 1 year

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matthew's letter to james

hi, i was bored and decided to transcribe the additional letter from matthew to james from the waterstone edition of chain of thorns!

thanks to the peeps out there posting pictures of it, you're the true heroes!

Dear James,

When we talked about my trip, and the places I wished to see, you may recall that--while I wished to be beholden to no agenda or itinerary--I did say there were three cities in Europe I would die rather than miss: Vienna. Berlin. And of course, Venice. Your eyes lit up when I mentioned the latter, and I promised to send you word of the City of Masks when I arrived.

Well, I have been here for three days and I wish to share with you my impressions of the city. As one wanders, one discovers quickly that there are two modes of line in Venice: wet and quiet, or wet and loud. I have, as you would imagine, kept myself to its loudest parts.

It is a city beloved of mermaids, obviously, and in general Downworld is dominated by the fishier side of Faerie. You may ask, do I mean the aquatic parts, or do I mean the dodgy parts? And to that I say, sir, I mean both. Never have I seen so many mermaids, and never have I seen more complex scheming. Within moments of arriving at one of their fames half-sunk tavernas, I was drawn into three assassination plots, two blackmails, and a plot to steal a large sapphire owned by someone named "Il Granchio," who turned out to not just be named after but to actually be himself a giant talking crab. What marvels I have missed by remaining in sodden old London. I have never been threatened with having my head pinched off before, and I daresay it has fortified my character.

As with every other city I visit, I have had to spend half my time dodging local Shadowhunters. The local Institute is always very welcoming, and by "welcoming" I mean they wish to put me on patrol. But this is not my travel year and I am not visiting the world's most interesting places in order to patrol them, or to fight their demons at all, really.

(Obviously if a demon crosses my path, I will dispatch it posthaste. I am still a Nephilim born and bred, and thus feel a certain amount of demon-focused violence is good for the blood. Nevertheless, I have found that one does not need to wander the streets of a city to encounter its dangers. Instead I have followed the strategy of going directly to a city's most unsavory places, where trouble will regularly appear without much fuss on my part.)

The only thing worse than Shadowhunters who want to hunt demons with me, are Shadowhunters who want to Put a Word in My Ear because I have "access" to the Consul. As though when I speak to my mother she wishes me to convey the minor grievances of a bureaucrat from Turin. No, she wants to know if I am eating enough (I am) and whether I am wearing the scarf she knitted for me (I am not). If the Continental Shadowhunters wish to politic they will have to wait for Charles to come through. That's their punishment for taking life too seriously.

On a slightly more sober note--as it were--it is difficult to debauch through the world without the social lubrication of drink. I suppose I knew that before I set out, but the reality can be hard to bear. Everywhere I go I am plied with drink, which I must decline, explaining that I have come not for the alcohol but only for the gambling and the perversion. Even on the rare occasion when I have been unable to avoid visiting an Institute they inevitably drag out the dustiest bottle in their cellar and I must rush to stop them before they open it for a guest who cannot appreciate it.

The problem is that nobody seems to understand why one might not wish to drink. It is very frustrating. Everyone recognizes that one can drink to excess and need to stop for the sake of one's health, but to encounter such a person in reality bewilders them. And I can hardly order water in the sorts of places I am visiting. As a result, I have become a great consumer of black coffee, which I down by the ucketful so as to be seen imbibing something. Unfortunately, this means I now require several large cups of the stuff a day just to keep myself upright. I suppose a dependency on coffee is much less debilitating than a dependency on drink. At the very least it is less dangerous to one's health, by which I mean I have never yet drunk a pot of coffee and awoken on the cold stone steps of a baptistry wrapped in the Union Jack, which I cannot say is true of my time as a drinker of liquor. It nevertheless makes me a bit of a figure of scrutiny, the Englishman who turns down drink. I have begun to tell the especially insistent that I am under a faerie curse and if ever liquor should touch my mouth I shall transform into a badger. I tell you, I look forward to later in the year when I shall be in countries where the mundanes' religion prohibits alcohol. Although I imagine the coffee consumption will only rise.

But I was speaking of Venice, somewhere on an earlier page. You shall have to tell Pickles at the Devil that here there is no need to bring a tub with you to soak in, for the Downworld bars are mostly half-sunk into the lagoon and one sits with one's lower half in water and one's upper half at a table. This is an excellent arrangement for the mermaids and a terrible arrangement for anyone else. The werewolves go around looking like drowned rats half the time.

In addition to the continued popularity of drink and debauch, Venice is also mad for seances. (In this it resembles most other places I have visitied; the whole continent seems mad for ghosts these days. What a career Jesse could have had had he remained disembodied.) I ran into Madame Dorothea yesterday while in a dimly-lit lounge of poor reputation playing Trappola. (Because what goes better with card-playing than dire warning and demands from one's dead family members?) This is not the first time I have seen her on my travels--like me, she appears to be touring. I encountered her first in a brown café in Rotterdam and then again at a floating cabaret on the Rhine a few weeks ago. Both times I could barely see her through the tobacco smoke, but I did get to witness her admonishing a vampire that his late mother was very disappointed in him because she had expected him to become a lawyer.

By this our fourth encounter, Dorothea and I nodded knowingly to each other as fellow-travelers, and she asked me directly if there was anyone I wished to speak to. I demurred, but she was insistent, and having singled me out the crowd demanded I follow through. I searched my mind for anyone whose messages would not be potentially harmful to my good mood, and finally asked her if I could speak with Oscar Wilde. (The man, not the dog, of course; Oscar Wilde the dog awaited me loyally at the pensione as usual.)

At this point I had no doubt about the genuine power possessed by Dorothea, and so when a gruff but cultured voice emanated from that lady's mouth I knew at one it was him. Of course I immediately went off my head and said the only thing I could think of, which, foolishly, was that I thought he would sound more Irish.

Rather dryly he informed me that he had deliberately put aside his accent while at Oxford, and that he hoped I had not called him back from sailing beyond the sunset in order to complain about his diction. (He got quite enough of that from the ghost of his sister, apparently.) I told him no, but that I wished him to know that his House of Pomegranates had been a formative text for me in my youth. Which was a terrible understatement of the importance of his writing to me, but I could think of nothing else. I felt a fool the moment I said it.

Rather acidly he told me that he no longer concerned himself much with notices or reviews, being dead. At this point Dorothea's body-language showed that the spirit was becoming restless, and the crowd was on his side. More politely than I deserved, he suggested that I might wish to ask him for some advice, or at least wisdom, that he might provide from his side of the veil.

Struck, I blurted out, "In the past I have made so many errors, have caused so much hurt. Can I make up for them? Will I carry them with me forever, or can they ever be left behind in the past?"

At this the crowd became hushed. This was not what they had come to see, but at least it was more interesting than my telling a specter ripped from beyond the void that I liked his work.

Oscar gazed at me--I had no doubt it was him, behind Dorothea's eyes, and I will not soon forget the frisson I felt as he sized me up. Finally, he spoke, and his voice was gentle.

"I see from your cravat," he said, "that you are a man of the world."

I allowed that his observation was accurate.

"And I see from your eyes," he went on, "that you mean to live a grand life. That you have already begun to do so, in fact."

"I do," I told him. "I have."

"To live magnificently," Oscar said, as though carefully choosing his words, "means that your joys will be magnificent, but so too will be your pains. You will celebrate grandly and you will suffer grandly. Such is the covenant of such a life."

"Is it worth it?" said I.

He appeared to shrug. "You can see how it has turned out for me," he said. "Nevertheless, I would not exchange my fate for another. Epictetus said that a man is not made by his circumstances; rather, his circumstances reveal him to himself. I may be paraphrasing," he added, and I thought I head him mutter something to the effect, "Look at me. Dead and still quoting."

Now he took in his surroundings. "Next time you seek me out," he said, "pray do so in a place less chill and damp. I may not feel it, but I still appreciate a decent ambience."

And then he was gone.

I tell you, James, I had little expectation when I asked Dorothea to call upon him, but I left that chill and damp taverna greatly inspired. I share these words with you because, while you are not one to descend into the damp and chill places of the world for the sake of a party, as I am, your life is also grand, and like me you are destined to love grandly, to suffer grandly, and to celebrate grandly. I want you to know that Oscar Wilde says it is worth the trouble. And that I believe him.

The only real sorrow of my travels, of course, is the pangs I feel in being absent from you. Parabatai separated are always missing a bit of themselves, and I carry that lack with me wherever I go. I continue forth to seek more experiences, but I promise to return to you in time, and, I hope, the wiser for it.

Pray give my love to Cordelia, to Lucie, to Thomas and yes, even to Alastair. I miss you all very much, and hope that you are keeping London well for me while I am away. Be well and the Angel protect you.

Love,

Matthew

#chain of thorns #chain of thorns spoilers #chot #chot spoilers #matthew fairchild #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #lucie herondale #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #christopher lightwood #grace blackthorn #jesse blackthorn #herondaisy #cassandra clare #cassie clare #will herondale #tessa gray #jem carstairs

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lace-coffin · 4 months

Note

Hii! I hope your having a good day/night so far, but I js now thought of this and I lowkey cannot stop having brain-rots over it… so yknow how like, men are sometimes called ‘bears’? I was wondering if you could write a fic abt Asa getting his hands on a so called ‘bear’ of a dude who’s much beefier and taller than him, but still submissive asf? 👀

How would Asa Emory feel about a gay bear s/o? (Nsfw)

Asa Emory x male!bear!reader

Tw for kidnapping, power exchange/power dynamics, general Asa Emory things

Requests are open!

I was literally about to go to bed when I saw this request and I was like I NEED TO DO THIS NOW OMG. Safe to say I absolutely love this idea and loved writing it💖 hope you enjoy!

Asa didn’t think he had a type until he met you..now he’s sure he couldn’t ever go back.

You were the lecturer in the classroom next door, sure Asa knew of you but he didn’t know you personally, never caring enough to go introduce himself to other lecturers like some kind of newly moved in house warming party, he was solely interested in teaching his classes, getting out, and tending to his collection, hopefully managing to cram a few hours sleep in until he has to wake up and repeat it again.

The class had finally began to pick up as all the students had settled and the lecture was underway, until a timid knock sounded on the door. Asa was pissed. If he has to sit through his students fussing again he’s going to lose it.

That was until he pulled open the heavy wood door and revealed you, looking professional but still boyishly handsome. Your tucked shirt pulling taught where the largest part of your belly settled, folding softly over your belt. Sleeves rolled up to reveal thick arms, spattered with an ample amount of dark hair, knuckles equally hairy to match. Asa’s face heats up and he curses in his head, only making matters worse as he drags his eyes over your ample chest subtly, well as subtly as you can when your practically eye fucking the bear of a lecturer that just interrupted your class.

“-came to ask if I can borrow some empty work books…excuse me..sir?” Asa’s head snaps back up to the stranger’s face, realising he hadn’t been listening to a word the man was saying, completely lost in eyeing him up. “Ah, my apologies, I’m a little out of it today, this way.” Asa tries to recover the interaction and guides him to the empty work books, picking up a load with a grunt and placing them in your hands, not missing the way your knuckles brush his during the exchange.

You take the books from him like it’s nothing, not even a strain or flinch, fuck, that was hotter than it should’ve been. You thank him and leave, presumably back to teach your class, whatever it is you actually teach, he’d been to caught off guard to ask anything of importance.

For the rest of the day Asa can’t forget the way “sir” sounded coming from your lips.

He wants to find out more about you and he does, under the guise of bumping into you in the teachers lounge or offering you a ride back to your house. he now knows you teach English, it’s not really what you wanted to do but it pays the bills. He knows you usually wear suits apart from on Fridays when you choose something more casual for the end of the week. He knows you live alone and your daily schedule, knows when the best time to strike is. He knows no one will look for you.

It’s Months later and everything has changed, Asa has more of a spring in his step as he returns home, the weight of the day not affecting him as harshly when he knows he’s coming home to his favourite pet.

It wasn’t hard to gain your trust, easy to believe in peoples kind words and actions, it was almost laughably easy to find out where and how you live, oblivious to the turtle neck clad figure trailing a few blocks behind. You hadn’t gone down easy into the box but that’s the way he likes it, likes a bit of a struggle.

Now Asa has you at his beck and call, only needing to snap his fingers or say one word to have you scrambling to follow, eager to impress. You would think due to your large structure that you would be in control, no questions asked but it was obvious to any onlooker that wasn’t the case. Asa had you wrapped around his finger, always following his heels like a well trained attack dog willing to do anything for his masters approval.

Now Asa had you where he wanted he wasted no time in admiring you, all soft curves and dark hair, masculine and sexy. Your daily wear now mostly consisted of leather harnesses, loving the way the straps wrapped around you, making your flesh spill over them but constricting you at the same time. He could stare at the way the harness pushed forward and presented your hairy tits to him for hours, now adorned with two shiny barbells to Asa’s liking. Tugging on your harness when he needed to move you was always a plus in the design, and always and excuse to run his hands over your warm skin.

Despite what anyone may presume you actually turned out to be naturally submissive once broken down, “the bigger they are the harder they fall” as they say, Asa’s not sure that applies to kidnapping grown men but he can’t find it in himself to care. Your doe eyes look to Asa for guidance in even the simplest things, loving the attention and not having to think for yourself. Just wanting to be a mutt for your master and nothing else.

Asa thought you were perfect, the way your eyes water as you drool dumbly behind the bone shaped gag tightly in your mouth. The way your hairy thighs wrap around him as he fucks into you obscenely. The way you sit at his feet obediently and keep his cock warm in the back of your throat as he works at his desk, only making small noises of complaint when you run out of air. Nothing asa can’t fix with a sharp slap on the cheek and a kiss on the forehead.

You take well to the cage, having just enough room to stretch out and sit up but that’s it. You crawl back in when ordered, letting sir lock you in with one last kiss on the lips and a request to be good and sleep well. You’re always excited to see him again in the morning, pressed against the cage needily and wiggling your behind in a cute imitation of a dogs wagging tail.

“Bark” you let out a sound similar to a woof, not completely the same as an actual dog but you’re not completely confident in it yet, still humiliated by the action. Asa’s lips thin out into a straight line, not completely satisfied with your effort.

“Again, put your voice into it” you let out a sigh of embarrassment and close your eyes, breathing in and letting out a more solid bark. Asa smiles this time, running his gloved hand over hair, abruptly grabbing a handful and wrenching your head back so you can meet his dark eyes. “Good boy, always so eager to please master, aren’t you my mutt?” You make a weak noise at being grabbed so harshly but reply “y-yes sir” Asa tugs your hair harder causing your scalp to sting in a way that makes your thighs rub together. “Again, louder.” He orders back, not making any room for excuses. “Yes sir! I love being a stupid mutt for you! Love following orders and making you proud!” You pant back, a lot louder and more desperate this time.

A satisfied smile slips onto Asa’s face as he releases your hair from his grasp, easing the pain in your scalp. Your master tugs the ring of your collar, pulling your chin up with it to look at him.

A moment passes and looks are exchanged, yours of need and Asa’s of smugness. Your lips meet in the middle for a searing kiss, lips and teeth clashing. “Good dog” Asa mutters in between kisses.

#slashers #slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collection #writing #my writing

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alicefromwhichplanet · 29 days

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I’m going to voice my opinions on G1 Elita One here for a reader asked me this on ao3 at my fic Heroic Nonsense. I want to keep a record here as well for my future references and maybe find someone with similar ideas. So I still decided to use tags for content classification. Anyone who might feel irritated about me deconstructing this character may leave. But if you resonate with me or are interested in my analysis feel free to discuss.

I guess my view on G1 Elita One is basically negative, both in terms of her characterization and her representation of women.

If we genuinely talk about characterization, I think G1 Elita One is a very one-dimensional and uninteresting character. Because: 1) She doesn’t have a consistent personality or motivation of doing things. Of course you can say that her motivation is to save her boyfriend and lead the “femme bots”, but these don’t look natural, with the lack of a background story. She looks like a puppet squeezed into the show to be the protagonist’s girlfriend.

2) Also about her role. I feel that Hasbro made Elita One a shadow of Optimus Prime, giving her exactly the same position and constantly stressing her importance, when actually she contributes zero to the overall plot development. The “femme bot squad” in the show is an awkward duplicate of the male team, with every femme bot assigned to the male bot at the same position as their girlfriend/love interest(Elita One—Optimus Prime-leader, Chromia— Ironhide-second in command). I do not know the reason why “femme bots” in the play need to fight alone, and I do not know why Elita One is the leader except the fact that she is Optimus’s girlfriend. So what is the play implying by making such a character? Honestly I think this is even worse than having no female characters in the play.

3)Her plot is totally predictable. It’s a classic Hollywood hero-saves-damsel in distress story. From the moment when Alpha Trion asked her to go on a mission on her own (for what? Why? Till today I still think Alpha Trion is doing this simply because he is an avatar of the playwright) I know she will be caught and rescued by Optimus Prime. Such stories are easily guessed and easily forgotten.

If we talk about gender representation, I have to say Elita One hardly represents any pioneering thoughts of feminism or gender equality. To begin with, I want to clarify that feminism/gender equality aims to question and overthrow patriarchy system, which includes breaking the gender stereotypes and challenging fixed gender roles, heteronormative relationships included. Unfortunately Elita One just repeated/ reinforced the stereotypes/ the fixed model of heterosexuality. She is in bright pink, an assigned color to represent females. She is abruptly introduced as Optimus’s girlfriend, without any background information (how they fell in love, why Optimus chose to have a relationship with her in particular, without the biological need to reproduce, what kind of person she is before she met Optimus). It feels like the playwright cannot bear an action hero not being able to “win over” some pretty chicks. She is made/resurrected by Optimus’s parts, which is just like Adam and Eve and confirms her position as “the second sex”. All of her plots are rigid and boring and she lives like a duplicate, or a moon revolving around Optimus. What’s worse, in her very short debut she is still portrayed as “sweet, understanding, and loves her boyfriend so much that she becomes irrational when he is in danger”, the most typical stereotype of a hero’s wife under male gaze.

Judged from my analysis, I think she is basically a functional character. This means she is created to fulfill a purpose in another character’s characterization, rather than existing on her own. In particular, the purpose of her creation is to add a girlfriend to Optimus Prime, so that he fulfills some people’s fantasy of a “normal” male action hero. With this function as the very beginning of her characterization, the playwright will not be able to make her a round character, or give her any believable motivations. Nor does the playwright actually care.

Now that I think about it, this kind of character may work for some people, because they genuinely believe it is necessary for heroes to be paired up with an opposite sex, or like to imagine themselves as “the lucky chosen girl” through this character (this might be harsh). But I just want to say, it doesn’t work for me. In years of reading and using feminist criticism, it has become harder and harder for me not to be picky about characters, or not to be sensitive about gender issues in any show. Repulsion is not the only way I feel about her. She is my least favorite character.

#transformers #writing #tf g1 #maccadam #elita one #optimus prime #character analysis #transformers femmes #feminism #discourse #my thoughts #deconstruction #gender equality #women’s representation

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mean-scarlet-deceiver · 4 months

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Daisy & Mavis?

Or maybe Sir Handel & Peter Sam?

Ooooh, Sir Handel and Peter Sam have a fascinating dynamic. However, I don't really have much to say that others haven't already said, and probably said better. To the degree that I'm tempted to talk about their Trauma Responses, I have another ask about Sir Handel & Skarloey, so I think I'll fold these thoughts into that post.

So, Daisy and Mavis — love 'em — only wish they got more screen time!

("Screen" time. Do they ever have a significant interaction in the television series? I really want to be told if they do.)

Actually they only have one page in RWS where they exchange a word. But it's such a good page. Posting it here for the uninitiated:

Look at this mess. Look at this absolutely perfect bitchfest. There are a total of zero brain cells in this conversation. Venting to your work bestie and and letting loose your inner mean girl. A classic RWS dynamic! It's just the diesel (& the female) version of the Thomas and Percy relationship: They make each other worse.

But, they need each other.

But, they make each other worse...!

Despite their lack of screentime following this, you cannot convince me that these two don't remain peas in a pod, just like 1 and 6 after 6 is transferred to the branch line.

I do think it's rather sad that Mavis is holed up in the quarry. :( There's a real bummer of a line when she appears in a later Christopher story...

"Besides, she sometimes finds it dull up at the Quarry with no one to talk to but trucks." I know it's realistic, but I want better for her. LET 👏 HER 👏 OUT 👏

Once smartphones became a thing, I like to imagine that they videocalled from the quarry to the carriage shed every night. (Annie, Clarabel, and Henrietta are very understanding about this when the call lasts half an hour. If ever the workers try to indulge Daisy and Mavis with a longer call, however, the coaches start murmuring...)

One great thing about this convo is that it's the first time I feel like I'm really, genuinely looking at lasting steam/diesel coexistence on Sodor's 'big railway.' Coz this is a target Awdry has been trying to hit for at least a dozen books now, yeah? Due mostly to his publishers' pressures, he's been trying to have beloved diesel characters while keeping his 1920-cosplay steam railway too, and this is where I think he finally hits the target. Daisy's first appearance was hamstrung because the turning point where she changes her haughty new-engine attitude and where the others accept her despite all the shit she's already pulled is off-screen, we're just told "they're friends now" and have to be all "right. sure." Probably because he got negative feedback on his Daisy hash, Awdry played it suuuuper safe with BoCo and Bear — less so Bear, but that's another post; for now I will just say that in contrast to Daisy they are presented as very clean-as-a-whistle, and their acceptance by the railway is made so much of that it doesn't feel natural, they both feel like one-offs. But then, ahhh. Now we've got Mavis, and Awdry has the bright idea to let her talk to Daisy, and BANG. Now we're here. This doesn't feel Informed, or starch-and-stiff, or tokenistic. You read this and you're like oh, yeah. Even the sleepiest branch line on this railway is now part dieselised. They're acting like characters! Everybody is acting like squabbling coworkers! It's like sinking at last into a warm relaxing soak. Ahhhhh. Here's the good stuff.

Because they don't need to be Representatives of dieselkind? They can just kinda suck for a moment, without being villains? When TVS subs out Daisy for Diesel, it automatically gives this conversation a sinister air. He's the devil on Mavis's shoulder. But in the original, there's nothing sinister here; it's homey. They're just venting to each other. Their behavior is kinda crappy, but also very normal and recognisable. New work besties fr. They are both three drinks in.

Daisy: He said what to you? Omg babe. I cannot believe that old garden shed said that to youuu.

Mavis: Right?????

Daisy: raising a glass Anything steam engines do, we diesels can do BETTER!

Mavis: hauling herself a bit unsteadily to her feet so that her gesticulation can be its most dramatic and sweeping You are RIGHT and you should SAY IT!

(Narrator: mildly ... Daisy was not right and, being probably the most specialised and least versatile engine then on her railway, she definitely should not have been saying it.)

(Above: The quintessential moment. Mavis & Daisy are commiserating/carping, and Annie & Clarabel are trying so hard to not hear their shit.)

Now, I've always had a question here...

Did Toby really say that only steam engines can shunt trucks?

The text indicates only that he was annoyed that she kept re-arranging things, they had a tiff, she rejected his input and left.

Then again, the text doesn't reveal that Percy calls Mavis's shunting "a ---- ------ ------ mess!", so, y'know. We get the minimum detail necessary in these stories. ;)

We never see Toby express any such sentiment about diesel engines. I'm inclined to think he never said this — and I suspect we're not supposed to believe he said this, only that Mavis is in stroppy teen mode and exaggerating and embellishing her grievances to the point where she's straight-up making shit up.

Still, I'm not sure. Usually in the RWS if a character is lying they are slyly or explicitly called out for it in the nearby text and this time the claim is just... sitting here.

Ultimately, I don't think he ever said that to her, but (considering how salty everyone on the Ffarquhar line can get: some have quicker fuses than others but they're all so provoke-able) I don't think Mavis just made this up completely. If she were making up stories from whole cloth, that would be... well, that would be 'Devious' Diesel behavior! I suspect, however, that Toby and Percy (comparing notes on her shunting) are at least thinking it, or have said it to each other, and Mavis has picked up on these vibes. All of which would be incredibly realistic.

Anyway, I bring this up because the answer does color my read of this conversation a little. If Mavis is completely making up attitudes that Toby never dreamed of having, and Daisy just eats it up and eggs her on, that makes this conversation somehow even 10x messier (and somehow I'm still rooting for their friendship). If this is a sentiment that is real or implied when Mavis or Daisy annoy the other Ffarquhar engines (and they can both be annoying, no question) then the bond between these two characters, with their very different personalities, just becomes even more 'understandable.'

Anyway, about those differences. Mainly, Daisy is ultimately very conventional. (This reminds me I have a nearly-finished essay about Daisy lying around somewhere. For now...) Mavis is the original, creative one, the mover-and-shaker. All Daisy's initial behaviors, as Hazel observed recently, are things we've seen from proud new engines before! She wants lots of attention, she boasts, she tries her damnedest to get out of work that she thinks is beneath her. What Mavis wants is to improve things, to have more responsibility, to get to stretch her wheels. Furthermore, Daisy by nature is keen to avoid work that's too heavy (she's a railcar with limited pulling power, so, you know, understandable); Mavis doesn't mind work — she just doesn't like being told how to do it, and she doesn't like being bored!

A point where they can be contrasted is in how they accept Toby's help and friendship at the end of their initial... "arcs." (All right, Daisy's "arc" is ended so clumsily that you can barely call it that, but you get me.) I'm not saying Mavis is devious or calculating, but for her Toby's offer of friendship is just as important as a pathway to her getting out of the quarry sometimes as it is for his forgiveness. It is her ticket out. For Daisy, Toby's offer of friendship was important because she wants friends, now she's making a friend yay!! — and I think that was pretty much it. Daisy just wants positive attention; that's what all her 'modern and right-up-to-date' stuff was about, but that failed to get her the positive attention she wanted and it turned out that being a team player did, so she had little trouble re-orienting herself. She resisted the pressure of everyone on the platform for her first train because she clung to the memory of her friend the fitter, but I don't think she's one to resist peer pressure in general, and as time passed and the Ffarquhar line residents became her peers, it was completely inevitable that she start to conform to their ways.

So (although, again, annoyingly — we aren't shown) I reckon that Daisy panicked after Percy's accident when she realized that she would be in trouble too (all right, someone probably had to point it out to her). And so for the first time she pitches in and does some hard work. Toby can't help but own "you did well to get all your half cleared, Daisy" and Daisy's entire system lights up because compliment, baby!!! That's all she ever wanted. She's Toby's man now (so to speak).

I can also easily imagine that, in trying to get adjusted to Mavis, Toby remembered how thing went last time. He must have tried from the first to tell himself, through slightly gritted teeth, "Just find something to compliment the new engine on, just anything. Helps build trust." But he was stymied twice over. 1) She keeps re-arranging the trucks in some crazy-ass unapproved way and he can't find ANYTHING nice to say! 2) It wouldn't have worked, anyway. Mavis wouldn't have been satisfied with just some friendly attention. Mavis wants to do. shit.

Mavis is bright — possibly has little common sense, but she's bright. I do wonder sometimes if her shunting arrangements are actually bad, or if they're just different and Toby and Percy can't adjust. (The text does own that due to the siding arrangements it's inefficient to put the trucks where Toby expects them. She probably does optimize things — from her point of view, anyhow.) Either way, though, here is an active and creative mind at work. Plus, her ploy to slo-o-owly expand her pathway down the line in "Toby's Tightrope" shows long-term planning, which is hardly something we've ever seen any vehicle do! So yeah, she's well above-average bright for an engine.

Hilariously, in Their Own Scene she is easily impressed by Daisy's lofty confidence (another classic RWS dynamic — it's giving Duncan staring amazed at James's boasting), but she's also super young, hasn't been Toby-fied yet, and in short I expect that as the years go by Mavis is likely to see Daisy as less of a role model and more of a crony/partner-in-crime. Daisy might instigate things sometimes — but she needs Mavis and Mavis's bright ideas before she really makes much headway! And I expect Mavis is often the instigator anyway. In her literary-device role of Second Coming of Thomas (Dieselised Flavour), she probably continues to want all sorts of things that engines aren't supposed to pine for (silly stick-in-the-muds!) Daisy is quite content to grumble but put up. Mavis will find a way to make stuff happen.

(Which is the only explanation we're going to get for how Mavis is at large on every quarry and some not-remotely-a-quarry sets on the island, come TVS!)

That was a light rap on the TVS there, but not a very hard knock; at least TVS insisted (in spite of all logic) on using her character for stuff. Christopher lets me down, personally, by finding so little for Mavis to do — and never having her and Daisy interact! I want more of this shit so badly.

However, in the Author's Note of Thomas Comes Home, Daisy apparently has a bee in her bonnet about fans who think the series has no female engines and is like 'me and Mavis tho!!!!!!' Which... I like seeing Daisy mention Mavis. That's all. It assures me that they’re still a duo (although I prefer Wilbert's interpretation that they bond over being The Two Diesels On This Line vs. Christopher's implication that their bond is being The Two Girls On This Line).

#i want them to have more adventures in making things 'better' (worse)#like the lucy and ethel of the ffarquhar maybe?#(i haven't actually seen i love lucy... this is just osmosis)#i would also be all right seeing them kiss #highly acceptable #just give me more daisy & mavis content. please.#d1+fqc #great ask!#thank you #chatter #ttte daisy #ttte mavis #ttte toby #wilbert awdry really said 'someone on the ffarquhar needs to civilize these headstrong young half-feral engines'#' ... and it ain't gonna be thomas lmfao'#i think he's WRONG to discount thomas and percy but i think it's very funny that his attitude is just 'they're toby's problem coz no one #else is qualified'#'thomas and percy are out there causing wrecks and playing dress up and being chaos gremlins themselves'#ttte analysis #ttte headcanon #also 'no one to talk to but the trucks' IS big 'i was desolate. all alone in the empty manor. me and a staff of eighteen servants.' energy #the SOLITUDE mwahaha #... but yeah i get it #get 👏 her 👏 out 👏

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