#which is - once again - difficult to parse how much of that is him and how much of that is his spysona
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To Always Having Each Other's Backs
As requested, here is a part 2! Sorry if it isn't super great, I am still trying to get a feel for writing these! :)
Part 1 here:
I will be writing a Ghost version to this as well, and will have that out soon!
As always, if anyone has any ideas/ requests feel free to send them my way!!
Warnings: tears, angst, mentions of death
K/F/N-means Konig's first name!
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You awoke to blinding white lights, and the sounds of machinery beeping. You slowly opened your eyes, and moved your right arm to shield your eyes from the bright lights. As you adjusted to the light, you were able to better take in your surroundings. You were in the hospital on base, that much was clear. What wasn’t clear to you however, was how you got there. The memories leading up to your current state were a bit hazy, and difficult to parse through.
A soft snore startled you from your thoughts. You looked to the source, and saw Konig asleep in the chair next to you. His dirty blonde hair was disheveled, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in weeks.
In admiring your lover, you failed to notice Ghost sitting in the corner of the room. He cleared his throat, and stood up from the chair he was sitting in.
“Hey there kiddo, how are you feeling?” He asked quietly as to not wake the sleeping giant next to you.
“Oh you know, just peachy.” You whispered, trying to find your voice. It felt like you hadn’t used your vocal chords in forever, your throat greatly protesting your efforts to speak.
Ghost must have noticed this, as he reached for the cup of water on your bedside table, and walked over to your side helping you take a sip from it.
“God that helps, thank you. How long have I been here?” You asked, nervous for what the answer may be.
“3 weeks, it was touch and go for awhile, bastard barely missed a vital organ, but the damage took a toll on you, Y/N. Poor lad over here has barely slept since the ordeal, and rarely leaves your side. Price had to beg him to go take a shower the other day, and nearly lost an eye for it.” Ghost chuckled, recalling the memory.
“Would’ve liked to see that argument.” You said laughing softly. You looked over at your sleeping lover, and smiled to yourself. Your heart swelled at the fact that he hadn’t left your side, though you wished he would’ve taken care of himself a bit better.
“I’m going to go let the boys know you’re awake. They will be elated that you're back to the world of living.” Ghost said, starting to walk to the door.
“Thank you, L.T.” You replied, giving the man the best smile you could muster.
“I’ve told you kid, it's Simon off the field.” His mask moved up slightly once he said this, letting you assume he had a matching smile under his balaclava.
“Copy, Simon sir.”
Ghost rolled his eyes and chucked, walking out of the room. You took this opportunity to look back at your lover. You shifted slightly, to get a better look, and in doing so a sharp pain emitted from your abdomen. “Shit.” you gasped loudly, unable to hold the groan of pain in.
At this, Konig’s head snapped up immediately. “Liebe? You’re awake!” he said immediately reaching out to touch you. “Don’t move too much, you’re still healing.”
“Hey, you. Sorry I didn't mean to wake you.” You said reaching out to grab his hand which was resting on your leg.
“Nonsense, you should’ve woken me the minute you were up. How are you feeling?” He asked.
“I’m as good as I can be, and you?” You asked, knowing there was something he wanted to say.
“Y/N, you scared the shit out of me. Never do that again. You could’ve called out to me, I could have taken care of it. That was just…liebe.. That was too close. I truly thought I was going to lose you.”
At this, you remembered everything. The mission, the clearing of the building, and the man that was going to attack your lover. You took the knife that was meant for him.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think at that moment, it was pure instinct. I saw him going for you, and I needed to protect you.” You said tearing up. “We promised to have each other’s backs, that’s what that means.”
“NO! Not like that, you could’ve called for me! You could have used your gun? Why didn’t you use your gun?” He yelled, his voice booming.
You shrunk into yourself at his words. You knew there had been other options, but in the heat of the moment, none of those options came to mind. You saw your lover's life being threatened, and you had to jump into action to save it.
“K/F/N, I would do it again. I am sorry it happened the way it did, but I will not apologize for protecting you.”
At his real name he looked over at you, the anger in his eyes suddenly diminishing. He understood why you did it, he truly did. He just could not forgive himself for being the cause of your potential death. It was an emotion so overwhelming for him, he was having a hard time getting through it.
“Y/N.” He said, unable to form any other words that would express what he was thinking.
“Come here, schat.” You reached out to him, wanting him closer to you.
He leaned forward and kissed you softly. You could feel everything he was trying to say to you, in the way that he kissed you. You cupped his cheeks and pulled away slowly.
“I love you, Konig.”
“I love you too Liebe, always.” He said, finally smiling for the first time since you had woken up.
You were about to pull him in for a hug, when Soap, Ghost, Gaz and Price came barreling into the room.
“THEY'RE AWAKE!” Soap yelled, coming over to your bed.
“Poor kid probably doesn’t need you bursting her ear drums, Johnny. Has enough to deal with.” Ghost scolded the scotsman.
You smiled to yourself at this. You were happy to finally be awake, surrounded by the men who have come to be your family.
“Glad to be back in “the world of living” as Simon lovingly put it.” You said chuckling lightly.
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*TWO WEEKS LATER*
You had been discharged a few days after waking up, and you were glad to finally be out of that stuffy hospital room. It felt good to stretch your legs, and get fresh air you were so desperately craving.
Konig had insisted on taking you out on a date tonight. You didn’t get any specifics, other than he got permission to go into the city with you for the night. He told you he’d pick you up at your room at 7pm sharp.
Looking in the mirror, you were finishing up putting on some light makeup. Your skin had lost some of its natural color from your time in the hospital, and you wanted to brighten up your face, and look a bit more recognizable again.
You heard a knock at your door, and looking at the clock on your vanity, you saw it was 7PM exactly. If Konig was anything, it was punctual.
You opened the door, and he looked down at you beaming. “ You look beautiful, schat.” He said leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek.
Blushing, you grabbed his hand, and let him lead you to your date.
He took you to a little diner that a few members of his team had told him about. He knew you loved comfort food, so he figured this would be the perfect place to take you. You both were there for what felt like hours. Conversation flowing naturally, and you felt yourself falling even deeper in love with him. This night was just what you needed to get back into high spirits, and to introduce a sense of normalcy into your relationship again.
After dinner, you guys were strolling alongside the river hand in hand, enjoying the night sky, when you guys stopped before a small bench.
“Thank you, for tonight. It was nice to get out and enjoy your company, away from the hustle and bustle of base.” You said squeezing his hand.
“Of course, Liebe.” He replied, suddenly getting nervous.
You smiled at him, and looked back up to the night sky. You felt his hand let go of yours, and thinking nothing of it, you continued looking up.
“I always loved looking at the stars. Makes me feel so small, but in a good way? If that makes sense?” You asked, chuckling.
Receiving no response, you looked over to your lover, only to see that he was on one knee on the ground.
“Oh! Oh my god!” You cried, throwing your hands to your mouth. Tears started to prick at the corner of your eyes.
“Y/N, the love of my life. If the last month has taught me anything, it’s not to take anything for granted. The moment I thought you possibly would be taken from me, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer to ask you this. I love you more than words could ever express. You have made me a better man, a man that I truly always wanted to be. If you’d give me the chance, I promise to always have your back, and make you the happiest person I can.. Y/N will you marry me?”
You were fully crying at this point, so overwhelmed with the love for the man kneeling before you.
“YES! Of course, of course I will marry you. YES!” You exclaimed. You threw yourself into him, knocking the two of you fully on the ground.
Smiling possibly the biggest smile you’d ever seen on him, he pulled you into a passionate kiss.
“I love you, always Y/N. I can't wait to marry you.” He said breathlessly as he pulled away after a few moments.
“And I love you, Schat. To always having each other's backs.” You said cupping his cheeks.
“To always having each other’s backs”
#konig imagine#konig x reader#konig mw2#konig cod#cod imagine#simon riley x reader#mw2 imagine#simon ghost riley x reader
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I wish you would write a fic where asmo is just sobbing and throwing up clinging to the mc and how much he loves them and just him being obsessed w them and not wanting to physically separate from them
Selfishness
Asmodeus/Gn!Reader
Word Count: 594 words
A/N: Asmo's a freak *makes out with him*
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Asmodeus’ nails were quite alluring: long sharp, and always sporting a dazzling array of colors. It was interesting to see what design he’d show off next, and which trends he would start.
You liked his nails a little less when they were digging into your shoulder blades.
“Ah, Asmo!” you hissed, “You're hurting me.”
Asmodeus clung to you harder, closing what little gap that was between you two. He trembled, as he buried his face into your chest, his body wracked with sobs. You leaned against your bed frame, and Asmodeus followed suit, laying down on top of you.
“You can’t–you can’t–” It was difficult to parse what he was saying through his crying. “You can’t do this to me!”
You patted him on his back, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of your moist shirt. “Do what, exactly?” You didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about.
He didn't clarify, only screaming out, “You can’t!” over and over again until his voice was starting to sound raw.
“Asmo, come on. Look at me,” you said. You held the side of his wet face, brushing your thumb against his cheek. You intended to wipe away his tears, but your thumb became soaked, instead.
Asmodeus seized your wrist and gripped it in a manner that was harsher than necessary. You winced, sucking in a sharp inhale through your teeth. “No,” he hiccupped, “I don't want to see my face.”
You tried to shake your hand out of his hold, but he wouldn’t budge. “Then, can you at least tell me what’s wrong?” You tried to readjust yourself, but Asmodeus' grip tightened, refusing to let you move an inch.
He whimpered, seemingly mulling over what to tell you and how much. Then, he spoke, “I love you…I love you so much…” His voice sounded stilted, like he was trying not to break down into tears, again. “I never felt like this before…to love someone without wanting them just for sex or treating them like a plaything to discard once I got bored.” Asmodeus let go of your hand to allow himself to hug you so tightly that it took your breath away. “I care about you more than I care about myself, so that’s why you can’t…you can’t…”
“I can’t?”
Asmodeus wailed, “You can’t leave me for anyone else! I wouldn't be able to take it!” He screamed, his breath becoming more and more ragged with each choked sob. “Don’t you get it? I'm obsessed with you! I think about you all the time. I need to spend all of my time with you! You can't love anybody more than me! You can’t do that or else I'll! I'll!”
His words became incoherent babbles, as they became lost in his sobs. He was shaking.
You kissed the top of his head. “I love you, Asmo. You're the most important person in my life. I would never leave you for someone else.”
It took a while for Asmodeus’ tears to die down, but they did eventually. He rested his hands against the small of your back. You were grateful that he was no longer harming you, at least.
He sniffed. “Really?”
“Really.”
Asmodeus hummed, not saying anything else. He tilted his head to the side, and you got a good look at his tear-stained face. His mascara streaked down his cheeks in large clumps, his eyes were red and puffy, and his lips were pulled into a pinched expression that you couldn't quite place.
He looked awful.
You leaned down and kissed him. He kissed you back.
#obey me#obey me asmodeus#obey me mc#Asmodeus x Reader#Drabble#Ask#I think I have written a couple of fics with a similar premise#haven't I?
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hiiiiii, i just found your blog and saw you talking about how pete and porsche aren't the besties in the show that so many people see them as which is a thought i've had for some time; like, don't get me wrong, i like peteporsche being besties (and maybe being besties that kiss each other) and i love when people write them that way (especially post-canon) BUT i personally just never thought that they were that close in show-canon, idk......i have trouble putting my thoughts into words but when i rewatched the show at the beginning of the year i was actually kinda surprised by how these two don't really feel like bffs, and yeah i know pete went into hell specifically for porsche but then again, porsche just kinda forgets he did that? and then the bathroom scene(s)? idk i just feel there is so much complicated mess.....so yeah, my thoughts are pretty much jumbled and difficult to parse, lmao, i'm sorry
also sorry for just coming into your inbox like this, lmao, but i would love to hear more of your thoughts on them and how they interact in the show (if you are willing to share, of course)!!!
Hi there!
Firstly, thank you so much for reaching out to me. I love talking about KP in general - VP and Pete more specifically - so your message was very welcome.
Now, Pete and Porsche's relationship is such a fascinating thing, I could really talk for hours about it. On the surface level, they seem close but upon further inspection, it turns out that - as @therealblessedaffliction mentioned - Porsche is closer to Vegas of all people than to Pete.
There are reasons for this of course. Pete is part of the main family, the family that basically forced Porsche into working for them. He's loyal to Kinn, a person Porsche was at first wary of/mad at. He doesn't believe Pete when he tells him he's the most normal person in the house and he generally ignores his advice until the incident with the minor family happens, when Pete tells him about how Kinn saved his life and to basically get his head out of his ass.
They have their cute moments throughout the show but even in those, it's all surface level; Porsche doesn't trust Pete with the information of kissing Kinn or of what Kinn did to him. He doesn't trust him with the information of being in a relationship with Kinn. He doesn't think twice about him when he's rescued by Kinn and the gang in ep 10 and when Kinn is worried about Pete due to his odd behaviour, Porsche doesn't even consider the possibility of sth being off, even though he should have.
Cue the Hum Bar scene, in which Porsche just brings Pete along to give to Vegas as a bargaining chip without (evident) remorse and that solidifies the belief I have that Pete and Porsche are colleague buddies, not actual friends. They work well together, they have good platonic chemistry, they totally understand each other, even if they don't show it, but they aren't friends.
(Porsche is oblivious to this, just as he's oblivious to the fact that punching the guy who caused his supposed friend physical and psychological harm, as well as threatening him to not do it again, means jack shit when he's the one giving Vegas the chance to hurt Pete once more)
That brings me to Pete who, god bless his kind soul, decided to risk his life for Porsche when it wasn't even that necessary? One thing that had confused me about ep 10 and Kinn's plan is that he said he needed the proof of Tawan and Vegas cooperating but in the end it was kind of pointless? Maybe he needed the proof to give it to their partners or sth but whatever the case, it doesn't matter.
What matters is that Pete embarked on a mission with high probabilities of failure (and death) because he trusted Porsche and he wanted to help him. We're talking about a man that gave his grandma's food to a stranger the first time he saw him, a man who tried to push back against Tankhun to spare Porsche of his humiliating punishment, a man that risked angering his scary boss by giving him advice to help fix their relationship.
What I'm trying to say is, Pete is empathetic af and for those he deems worthy being a sacrifice for, he'll gladly do it. Porsche was one of them.
Btw, I totally believe Porsche thinks him and Pete are friends. His attitude towards him is friendly, he's teasing him and their conversations are those you have with friends, not someone you're not that familiar with. He calls him everyday in the 1 month we never saw to ask how Vegas is doing, encouraging Pete that he'll get better.
I just don't think Pete believes the same. Porsche has shown that he's oblivious about many things in the series and this fact, I believe, is one of them.
I hope my answer satisfied you, I'm just rambling at this point and I repeated myself a couple of times. They're so fascinating though so my enthusiasm got the better of me haha.
P.S. It would have been cool if Pete and Porsche had actually kissed in episode 4 but that would kind of go against Pete's philosophy of "Kissing is for people that we like only" and it would go against the headcanon I have that Pete doesn't like being touched/isn't intimate with anyone before Vegas (sth I'll write meta about soon :3)
#Love how each relationship in this show can be analyzed so thoroughly#It's incredible how much PetePorsche content we got and I still wanted more#I fucking love exploring them#And watching them be goofballs as well as serious#The bathroom scene in ep 13 is the best scene in the whole show#I stand by that belief with all my heart#kinnporche the series#pete saengtham#pete phongsakorn#porsche pachara kittisawasd#kinnporsche meta
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Hello!
Choosing only one was difficult (I really want to read what you have to say to every question!) but 8 for the OFMD ask game :)
feel free to double dip! i want to answer all of them anyway, i apparently will never run out of shit to say about this show.
there’s a whole LIST so i might come back later to yell about another answer since i’m being lazy and getting takeout but for now: it’s the slow, horrible space between lucius rolling up all ED. I HAVE TALENT SHOW NEWS. and ed shoving him over.
because there’s so much going on, there. lucius is finally seeing ed in his entirety, and treating him like a friend and equal: he’s still on the page ed was on before izzy came in to poop all over the party, where ed is learning how to live again and lucius is now friends with the coolest guy he’s ever met— even better, he’s realized that behind the cool guy is a big soft-hearted nerd who wants to sing his sad breakup ballads in full view of god and everybody.
literally: lucius is the most honest friendship ed has ever had, in this moment, because chauncey rolled up to play the part of eyeball ex machina and send stede spinning off in the other direction before they could reach this level of open communication.
which is the heartbreaking thread, here: stede left. ed thinks stede lied.
then izzy went all NO! TOXIC DOOMSPIRAL, TABLE OF TWO, FOREVER OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL GO GET THOSE CDS FROM THE CAR FOR REAL THIS TIME and then the crew called him eddie and sounded like the french fucks, and because the difference between laughing with and laughing at is often very hard to parse until the laughter is over ed went into damage control mode.
so ed is standing there in the dark, still in the goddamned robe of sadness, and lucius is like: i love you. we are friends, we are in this together, you have never been more beautiful or more real to me than this very moment.
so ed has red silk, moonlight, and a man who loves him: lucius doesn’t love ed exactly like stede loves ed, but it’s real and it’s not even just on offer— lucius is sure of his fucking welcome.
and ed is… ooof. ed is emotionally time traveling to a million places, a million instances of violence and humiliation and pain at once, and he looks at a man who loves him and can only see a threat to his safety. not a physical threat, but a threat nonetheless.
so ed is standing there, breathing in this horrible choice he is about to make, and lucius is confused and then he’s wilting, just a little, and then he’s starting to wonder: um, what the fuck? this seems… not right.
and then he’s falling and then he’s screaming, and ed ducks his shoulders and heads inside to armor up name himself the kraken so like. jesus fuck, you know?
and sure, lucius is alive and eating paper rn, but FUUUUCK.
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This covers chapters 6, 7 & 20 mostly, and in a very small measure chapter 5, too:
I lightly skimmed the egwene pov - I definitely remember why I got such gay vibes from her and avi.
also I was definitely not misremembering why I enjoyed the series so much for all its flaws - I really didn’t vibe at all with sanderson’s writing style and his priorities - which are on the opposite spectrum of RJ’s priorities (and my priorities!). every dialogue exchange is purposeful and pulls its weight with characterisation and character development; RJ also manages to do a shit ton of worldbuilding in every other passage, and does such a great job of immersing you in the setting and the culture he’s currently writing about. I really missed his writing style - but the joy the books brought definitely wavered while I was reading CoT, I think, because you could tell that the series was starting to really drag at that point. I was thinking of rereading the series only up to book 8* next year, maybe, but I’ll probably try to extend it up to book 11 because I don’t remember those last 2 books very well.
*in another post I said I’d advice people to stop reading the series at book 12 - but that’s still a very long way to go so I think book 8 feels like the better stopping point since it’s midway through the series. I mostly say that because it ends on a high point for every character except mat, but mat doesn’t have any high points after book 8 until book 9/11 anyway. rand understandably faces the consequences for ignoring the black tower at the end of the book and I feel kind of bad about negating his accomplishment at the ending of book 9, but getting into book 9 would mean immersing yourself in new plot angles for elayne, egwene (off-screen) and mat. (book 7 is also a valid cutting off point but TPOD is short, so. you could as well read it anyway, tbh.)
anyway. back to the book.
Striding to the center of the room, he planted himself atop the mosaic there, the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai, ten feet across. It was an apt place. “Under this sign will he conquer.” That was what the Prophecy of Rhuidean said of him. He stood straddling the sinuous dividing line, one boot on the black teardrop that was now called the Dragon’s Fang and used to represent evil, the other on the white now called the Flame of Tar Valon. Some men said it stood for the Light. An appropriate place to meet this attack, between Light and darkness.
rand fully has a thing for theatre and performance and silly little symbolisms that matter to him alone - we also see it when he picks jeade’en’s name, puts callandor back in the stone of tear, starts carrying around the seanchan spear to remind himself of the threat they pose, etc. his middle name is drama, and I love it that he chooses to do some of these things purely for himself. it’s such an interesting character thing. he’s also a nerd (affectionate).
darkhounds are as big as ponies???
oh he’s channeled balefire before? I’ve forgotten the details, but I somehow thought he first used the weave in TFOH - was it in TSR/TDR then? Hm, I don’t think so - I’m inclined to believe it was lews therin’s memory making him misremember stuff because I remember rand using balefire and its consequence and benefits being a major theme in TFOH.
from rand’s POV there’s definitely a lot more affection and concern for mat than it seemed like there was in mat’s POV! he also seems a lot more boyish than he did from mat’s perspective, obviously - and once again I’m delighted by how RJ does POVs so well. the problem is, rand is growing colder & more distant and mat is increasingly finding it difficult to parse out his friend in the midst of everything - mat’s question to rand, constantly, in this book is, “Won’t you stop me from leaving? Won’t you ask me to stay? Will you just be sorry to see me go and not do anything about it?” and rand’s answer is, “I want you to have a chance at not being trapped by fate like I am so I’m not going to stop you from doing what you want.” He doesn’t realise just how subtle and reserved mat is with his affections. I think mat is generally very embarrassed by the thought of being affectionate with people he actually really cares for - but he doesn’t mind being easygoing with random strangers - and I relate to that, lol. I get it. But rand has very demi vibes for a reason - he needs people to be more communicative because he never makes the first move + he also has that “I’m the dragon reborn and it’s better for everyone if they don’t want to be friends with me even if I’ll miss them” thing going on.
I was also maybe wrong about rand seeming cold and distant in mat’s POV because he probably mostly sees the leader in him, the more I think about it. I think rand seems cold because he’s consciously choosing to front an emotionless part of him even in front of mat. the same thing happened with moiraine and egwene - and I’m honestly blown away by the number of times we see rand try to maintain an expressionless face/remain cool/look calm and composed/try to give away as few emotions as a rock etc. it’s a lot!
Not only a friend. Another ta’veren, and perhaps a key to victory in Tarmon Gai’don; anyone who wanted to strike at Rand had reason to strike at Mat, as well. But Mat always tried to deny both things.
so…. yeahhh. the loops and holes mat jumps through to hide his personality and feelings really does a number on the people around him.
“You watch your tongue with me,” Moiraine told Mat, getting up, “or I will find Nynaeve and put her in charge of you.” But her heart was not in it; she could have been talking in her sleep. She was trying not to stare at the foxhead as Mat hung it back around his neck. “You will need rest,” she said absently. “Stay in bed tomorrow, if you feel like it.”
Mom! antagonistic mom-son relationship! also further confirmation that moiraine likes nynaeve even if the latter dislikes her - I just really hated nynaeve’s weirdness around lan and her trying to get him to choose between her and moiraine while reading the books? a platonic warder relationship shouldn’t count as competition with a romantic relationship. I’ll see how I feel when I reread those stuff next year - as much as I love the wondergirls, I think egwene’s character suffered because of her romance-heavy plot & nynaeve’s hate of moiraine seemed to descend into caricature levels of weird in the first few books. I’m not sure how RJ went from writing such a great platonic relationship between moiraine and lan to feeling the need to insist that romantic relationships should necessarily involve warder bonds.
rand asks the maidens to give mat some space and also admonishes them about essentially not respecting their boundaries - fair! but also he’s fully referring to how the baby him indirectly. let them baby you, rand.
“Maybe I’ll ask if I can borrow it from him.” He turned away from her. There was still one he had to check on, though one way or another the urgency was gone; the Darkhounds would have done what they intended by now.
I didn’t get it then, and I don’t get it now - if I were rand I’d be anxious to figure out if the only person capable of teaching me to channel was dead! maybe the logic here is that rand doesn’t mind if one of the forsaken dies, but also… this passage just goes such a long way in showing us rand’s true priorities - he really, really cares for mat. I miss the road trip and I hate that I didn’t finish rereading it before I stop my teotw reread.
(like obviously, a best friend is always a greater priority than a useful enemy, but that shouldn’t have stopped him from immediately checking on asmodean anyway)
[Moiraine to Rand] “I have given my entire life to the search for you, to find you and help you.”
Yeah, this was the line that fucked me up while reading the books! moiraine really did sell her life away to finding and guiding the dragon reborn, at great personal risk. in the end, siuan paid the price for their scheming. plus moiraine didn’t hesitate at all to sacrifice herself to kill lanfear to save rand even if she had good reason to suspect that 1. he was consorting with at least one of the forsaken behind her back 2. he was starting to go mad. at the end of the day, for all her complaints, I think she trusts his heart and for him to do the right thing.
this is unrelated but moiraine is the one who approves of balefire, rand using asmodean as a teacher and generally utilising questionable methods of achieving your goals that would horrify other aes sedai - cadsuane is notably stuck up about such stuff, and therefore, in my view, doesn’t make a good advisor, tbh. I think RJ even knew that - I don’t get what he was trying to do when he was criticising how old-fashioned she was while simultaneously worshipping the ground she walked on.
The White Tower forbids us even to learn it. In the War of Power, the Forsaken and the Shadowsworn themselves used it only reluctantly.
#ReasonsIHateAMOL - the forsaken are tossing around balefire everywhere for some reason! what the fuck. This is why I don’t vibe with egwene’s death or that stupid flame of tar valon weave - it’s lacking any sort of creativity or nuance and tears up established canon.
“That sounds just fine to me,” he told her. “Mat’s alive because of it.”
it means SO much to me that rand listens to moiraine list out all the reasons why balefire is dangerous and then follows it up with that response.
rand makes sure to protect mat here - he makes moiraine promise he won’t take mat’s ter’angreal away. I really like that, but I also think RJ sometimes went too far with making aes sedai so territorial about ter’angreal to the point where they act like they naturally have a claim over another person’s belongings? anyway.
Moving close to the bead curtain, he peered through the doorway. Moonshadows filled the room, but one of them was Asmodean, tossing in his blankets. Wrapped in the Void, Rand could hear his heartbeat, smell the sweat of troubled dreams.
this is what I meant about their relationship being so sensual - there’s something so illicit about the whole thing. rand visits him in the night, looks at him through a curtain, and notes that he’s sweating and having troubled dreams! these are all very intimate details to note about another person. somebody really needed to introduce him to the concept of queerness.
The male figure could link him to a huge replica of itself, the most powerful male sa’angreal ever made, even if he were on the other side of the Aryth Ocean from it. It had only been finished after the Dark One’s prison was resealed—How do I know that?—and hidden before any of the male Aes Sedai going mad could find it. The female figure could do the same for a woman, joining her to the female equivalent of the great statue he hoped was still almost completely buried in Cairhien.
huh, the strike at shayol ghul said that the access keys were located in a territory controlled by one of the forsaken at one point during the war and couldn’t be retrieved? Oh! and the wiki says that these are just two access keys among several others and that egwene discovered a damaged one in tanchico when she went dreamwalking! obsessed. maybe the access keys were unfinished at that point? or rj maybe forgot what he’d written, lol.
rand is still thinking of impractical things like healing death with sa’angreal. some arrogance, there, maybe, but at its heart it’s a very pure kind of desire. he does get to reverse death at the end of the book though - mat and avi with balefire! - I suppose rj manages to wrap up that particular plot point by giving him a workaround for healing death. I love it.
I love that rand admits that he can’t be trusted with the vast amount of power various sa’angreal grant him. I love him, and I love egwene for trying to poke at the boundaries of what’s considered abuse of power and what is not - they’re both such fascinating characters to read about. they’ve both come into power having never expected such a thing, grapple with what it means to be responsible for so many people, and slowly come to realise that even if it’s a burden, it allows them to do good things.
also as a random thought, elayne haters don’t deserve rand because rand would hate them for hating elayne. and so would mat, actually.
I just remembered how annoying lanfear could be with her nonsense about loving lews therin. I love the idea of one of the forsaken being a very close friend/lover/companion of lews therin’s and having complex feelings about killing and/or allying with rand but lanfear was not it.
anyway, it didn’t make sense to me in the beginning that she would try to ally with rand when she knew he’d potentially betray her (although right now, I do think it’s very stupid of lanfear to believe that rand is allied with her and dreams of achieving power with her when he hasn’t ever done anything to prove he’d like that) but I think it’s a good idea that she’s a renegade and doesn’t really care about the dark one - she did create the bore. of course she’d try to replace him.
He dreams of you triumphing over the Great Lord and putting him up beside you on high.
yeah, even asmodean is weirdly obsessed with rand!
[Rand] He pushed away a sudden memory of this woman [Lanfear] in his arms, both of them young and just learning what they could do with the Power.
help, did lanfear and lews therin use the one power during sex? is that what this is implying?
sex jokes aside rand is struggling SO hard with lews therin’s memories. I didn’t remember it being this bad. I think him sort of growing used to lews therin later is what makes this really go hard? his only safe space is his head - he had to eventually ward his dreams to keep the wise ones out - so the fact that he isn’t allowed even that to himself is very tragic! in general, rand is just continuously having his body violated in several different ways. and because I can’t help paralleling rand and egwene, it’s interesting how loss of agency marks such a major point in both their arcs - it’s being made a damane for egwene, and dumai’s wells for rand. it doesn’t make them stronger people, and it leads them to commit questionable acts sometimes and act irrationally but that’s okay. that’s how trauma works. unfortunately, rand learns zero coping mechanisms while egwene has a healthier arc because of her training sequence with the wise ones.
speaking of rand and egwene, I don’t know exactly what I feel about the relationship they have. I didn’t see it before, but I do understand why people were saying they’re like siblings - and I don’t know if I ship them exactly (I mean, it could have been incredibly romantic if they’d sort of fallen apart and fallen in love again at the end of everything - I think that idea just really stuck with me while I was still reading the early books - egwene choosing rand over the aes sedai in the early TGH chapters made me very weepy) but a sort of soulmate bond that transcends romance and friendship is something I probably vibe more with. the latra/egwene parallels have me in a chokehold - and now that I think of it… it would’ve been thematically such a great thing if egwene had joined rand in shayol ghul? or if she’d at least broken the seals herself? insert obligatory AMOL hate post, I guess. I’ve read very few books in my life that managed to make me as angry as it did - I think it even manages to beat ACOSF for the Bad Books title (I think I made 160 posts when I was live-blogging it and had zero complimentary things to say about it).
I don’t get criticisms about mat struggling to come to terms with rand’s ability to channel? even egwene has a very hard time reconciling the two. it’s natural and expected - it’s a common legend and belief in the westlands that TDR and male channelers are people you should fear! the belief is as instinctual as the need to breathe. how can RJ say it more blatantly than with this line:
Growing up, she had been taught that only the Dark One was more to be feared than a man who could channel.
moiraine is just *obligatory siuan mention* whenever we get her POVs. she is so gay.
on a cliff at jangai pass there seems to be a symbol of a snake curled around a staff carved onto it - this brings to mind the rod of asclepius? I don’t know if it’s not meant to be analysed a lot - I don’t think it is. but on the other side of the pass there’s a dock and a couple of ships. this makes me wonder if it was a hospital? would a hospital from the age of legend use the same sort of symbols used in the first age? if not a hospital, I’d guess that it’s some outpost of sorts. rand is guessing that the waste could have been under the ocean before.
there was a ‘silk path’ from shara to taien! yeah, I get why I thought shara was an asia analogue even silks and elephants aside. I can’t say anything about how race was handled - we don’t nearly see enough of the sharans to pass judgement on RJ’s handling of them, and from what I recall they’re not really any better or worse than the seanchan. the seanchan are probably slightly worse because of the slavery culture they have going on, but shara also treats its channelers like animals to be put in a pen so, uh. they also have this weird practice of killing their rulers every cycle or something too? anyway, I don’t like that vibe. I also don’t like the vibe of “asian culture analogue being brainwashed by a forsaken so that he can use them as fodder to fight alongside literal monsters against the side of the Light”. I blame that on sanderson, though - I think he didn’t think through the implications of how he introduced and handled sharans. I still wouldn’t have been opposed to seeing more of them if we’d had characters like Egeanin (and I did kind of like that one sharan guy we met in KoD).
rand is now reminding himself of the prophecy that says he’d conquer under the ancient sign of the aes sedai and is making asmodean carry it. I love it when he purposely tries to make prophecies work in his favour, and I love all of RJ’s interesting takes on prophecy - I need to find that post I’d compiled and rb it again. I think I last updated it with rand asking cadsuane if the pattern would kill her if he willed it in book 12 - not exactly prophecy, but prophecy adjacent and that counts to me.
rand is being very protective of egwene and avi right now, as of chapter 20.
How long now had he been doing what was necessary instead of what was right? In a fair world, they would be one and the same. That made him laugh, a hoarse wheeze. He was far from the village boy he had been, but sometimes that boy sneaked up on him.
Nothing to note about this, really, but I remember reading and rereading this specific passage when I first read TFOH - I think it definitely makes a point of highlighting how rand’s motivations work in the latter half of the series, especially maybe his choice to treat with the seanchan instead of defeating them on the battlefield because he needs their support in defeating the dark one.
as a parting note, I think mat should stop sleeping in his fine clothes. it sounds very uncomfortable.
#includes a memory of light spoilers once again#major spoilers. so don’t look.#rand repressionposting#this is a rand and egwene appreciation post#aelia reads the fires of heaven#aelia reads wheel of time#I think I only have 1/2 more posts left#since I see two more chunks of the couladin plot in the POV listing#text#wheel of time#wot book spoilers
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Sooo... some of you might not be aware, but Mine Laru received a new voicebank like a week or two ago ( a whooping 8 pitches, jesus, not even a lot of native voicebanks are that big ), and I have a lot of ( mostly positive ) thoughts on it, along with the new ARPAsing reclist made with it. I wanted to compare it with an older Mine Laru bank in my possession, thus the audio clip above. You can find the new bank here:
youtube
Now, some of you might know of the new AgO voicebank, but not know of the 2020 voicebank. Let me explain that one. There’s a bit of a story here.
A couple of years ago, Minato ( Mine Laru’s VP ) set up a website called the “Mine Laru Lab”, and it was to help test out and give feedback for a lot of new voicebanks that were made for various languages that weren’t Japanese. Among them, was a dipitch English ARPAsing voicebank based on the 0.2.0 list.
I offered to configure it in a Twitter comment, and Minato seemed to welcome my help, so I did that as soon as the site went up. After I finished, I DM’d Minato, letting him know I’d finished, and that I had suggestions. I never received a response, and in retrospect, I’m thinking he probably didn’t have his DMs open and I simply never realized. I never followed up though, because I didn’t want to bother him.
Sometime around then, the Mine Laru Lab was shut down, and access to the various voicebanks was seemingly discontinued.
I could be wrong about this, but I think this might be the voicebank that was once called “Mine Laru PRIMITIVE”. I don’t know that for certain, so that’s merely a guess.
So… I’ve basically just had this obscure completed English voicebank sitting around on my computer for the past couple of years. I’m not going to distribute it or anything, unless I get explicit permission to do so. I figure showing it off is probably okay based on what I remember of the Lab TOS, but I will delete this post if Minato asks me to, on the off chance that happens.
Anyways, the AgO voicebank came out recently, and it sounds pretty different from this older bank, so I wanted to make a more direct comparison. The 2020 voicebank is a lot more similar to Mine Laru’s more powerful voicebanks, such as his 14-scales or his “query” voicebank. The AgO voicebank sounds more like his “parse” voicebank, with a more neutral tone becoming softer in higher ranges.
I also want to talk about the reclist, because in my opinion… the AgO reclist is kind of a stroke of genius. It’s such a simple idea that I’m embarrassed I didn’t think of it first. An easy word-based list based mostly on singular words, most of which being easy to pronounce for non-native English speakers. That’s just… sort of brilliant.
And this might be controversial to say, but… it’s leagues better than the 0.2.0 list. The AgO list has just about every CV, VC, and VV diphone you could need for English. There are some exceptions, it’s not 100% complete, and it is missing a lot of CC diphones, but it’s so much more useable than 0.2.0. Reading the blog post on the process of making the list is extremely fascinating too.
I also made an experimental dictionary for AgO to hopefully rectify some of the diphones that are missing. Again, mostly CCs. This dictionary isn’t anywhere near as chaotic as my 0.2.0 dictionary thankfully. Though, there are still some rather obtuse transcriptions I had to use to get around the list’s limitations.
As for the voicebank itself - Mine Laru has always had good English. Even his old “multilingual normal and weak” voicebanks were really good. Mine Laru in English is the kind of voice where he has a notable accent, but in a good way, like how Megurine Luka and Tsurumaki Maki do, where the accent adds charm and personality to the voice instead of making it more difficult to use. The AgO voicebank is no different.
In contrast to the 2020 bank in particular though, having gone through a lot of those old samples, it’s clear that the VP struggled with the 0.2.0 list. Most people do after all, even native speakers. For all its simplicity and compactness, I cannot tell you how many times I’ve gotten a commission to configure a 0.2.0 voicebank, and the voice provider audibly has trouble in the samples - and to be clear, that’s not the voice provider's fault, 0.2.0 is just a bad list ( I’m looking at you “yamk”; that’s not even a word ).
In the AgO voicebank however, the pronunciation is so good. Like, his pronunciation is good to begin with, but with the AgO voicebank, his pronunciation sounds a lot more relaxed and comfortable. And even better, the AgO voicebank actually distinguishes between aspirated and unaspirated plosives via alternates. By default, most plosives are unaspirated, but if you cycle through its first alternate ( by typing "1" at the end of the diphone ), you get an aspirated consonant. This is the kind of weirdly specific English voicebank construction that makes me absolutely giddy. Clearly a lot of thought and care was put into this voicebank.
My only real criticism is… the oto.ini. It’s got some problems that can lead to the voicebank being rather choppy. A lot of start-phrase consonants and CC diphones have problems too.
I kinda… want to stick the voicebank in vLabeler and try to refine the oto.ini some. I might do that.
Anyways, I just wanted to dump my thoughts, in case anyone wanted to listen.
#Youtube#mine laru#ミネラル#水音ラル#みねらる#utau#english#ARPAsing#AgO#Arpasing AgO Dictionary#experimental#comparison#vocal synth#vocaloid#openutau#it's been so long#the living tombstone
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Thoughts on Jancy in ST4 Volume 2 or just ST4 Volume 2 in general? I still firmly believe in Jancy and I feel like ST4 was just a rehash on ST2. But all three characters in the dead love triangle deserve better. Steve deserves someone he’s actually compatible with and he should have been friends with Jancy instead of trying to break them up. The end of Vol 2 shows Nancy’s heart belongs to Jonathan and I wish they had just shown the strength of their relationship instead of trying to belittle it.
honestly i'm still parsing my thoughts - hence why there's been no post - and working through a lot of different things. a lot, a lot, of things happened in vol. 2 and the kinds of things that have fundamentally shifted and changed the very world our characters live in.
i think there have been some astute observations about nancy and jonathan both magnifying the flaws that murray pointed out to them in season 2, due to the strain of long distance (and this in our year of 2022 i cannot emphasize enough: long distance was SO HARD before cell phones and the internet. you sent letters, you hoped to be able to catch someone on the phone, you went much much much longer without talking and much much much longer without seeing, and it is really difficult. i lost many, many friends who moved away from our hometown because it was that difficult. the strain is real). jonathan is a ball of trust issues, yet again. he doesn't feel like he can be honest with nancy because he doesn't want to disappoint her, hurt her, but then he's also making himself more upset by hiding things from her and by not being honest about his insecurity about his family and their safety. nancy is adrift and, given the opportunity, does exactly what she did last time: she retreats to something safe and easy - steve. not as much as she did after s1, and i do think she was about to shut him down hard in the woods (nancy wheeler has never wanted a nuclear family, much less 6 kids in a winnebago, and steve once again has absolutely no idea or any curiosity about what nancy wants for herself; she is simply part of a fantasy for him, in which he gets everything he wants. again.) before robin interrupted, but it's a retreat nonetheless. and just like in season 2, i don't think it's what she actually wants. i think it's what she does when she's scared.
(and honestly, y'all, they needed to work together this season. big threats require big numbers. it wasn't just her and steve the whole time - in fact, it was mostly her and robin. just because she gave steve some glances or whatever doesn't mean she's in love with him. platonic affection for a friend a buy. but even if steve isn't over nancy, i think nancy has well moved beyond steve.)
i think s5 is going to be a return to showing the strength of jonathan and nancy's relationship, but i also think i'm still wrapping my head around just how fundamentally the world they're in has changed. like i haven't seen a ton of discussion about this yet but: the upside down has cracked into the real world. there are 4 rifts running through hawkins. the library at the center of town has been taken by vines. it has started to snow ash.
this is apocalyptic shit. and in the middle of that both college and six kids and a winnebago are RIDICULOUS things to focus on. there is a monster who wants to destroy the world and recreate it in his own image, and all of our heroes are at the top of his kill list. they have however much time it will take him to heal from the wounds nancy and robin inflicted on him, and then he's out for blood.
for me, these are the moments jonathan and nancy shine most in because their relationship is built on such a strong foundation of trust. maybe it's a little shakier when it comes to their emotions and feelings, but when it comes to trusting each other to protect each other and their families, they're solid as concrete. and i think that will help them find their way back to trusting each other emotionally next season.
and honestly, i truly hope steve gets brought into the fold as their friend. he should have been their friend all along. they should have been more of a team for years now. and they are going to need to be in s5. i hope jonathan and steve get to do some things together and finally reconcile that they're not enemies. i hope that line from steve in vol. 1 was foreshadowing: "we should all hang out sometime; me, robin, you and jonathan, when he's back."
but truly, the threat our heroes are under is almost incomprehensible to me right now. i'm still thinking it through in my head. it changes literally everything.
also the only people i see belittling jancy's relationship are stancy stans. i was not fully in this fandom between seasons 1 and 2 and so this is really my first encounter with this level of stancy nonsense but i have seen some naaaaaaaaaaaaaasty shit out of that corner of the fandom so i will impart the same advice i am using myself: don't interact and use your tag blacklist and block button liberally. let them fester in that nastiness themselves, and also let them have their own fun. i love jancy with all my heart and i will never be convinced they're not soulmates, but this is fandom; there's room for everyone.
just be fucking respectful about it *hard looks to the whole room*
in the meantime, this is what fanfic is for.
#stranger things spoilers#stranger things speculation#hey nonny nonny#idk this is a big ass ramble i hope it makes sense
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I actually managed to finish medaka box after a while of putting it off because of you mentining it, and it was, weird to be honest? Some of it in a good way, but there were many parts that just, didn't really fell like they click all that well. There are stuff that just hasn't aged well and were annoying but mostly sometimes it really fell like who made it didn't really had much idea in what direction they wanted to take it or how to get there in a satisfying manner. It wasn't really bad overall, I stick with it to the end after all, just like I say, weird. (Hope you don't take this the wrong way, just wanted to share my thoughts since you are the only one I know of who read it).
That's a shame, but it's not for everyone. I've never really thought of Medaka Box as a perfect masterpiece that would appeal to everyone
That said, it is definitely up for debate where a lot of its flaws come from, whether they were from the Jump editorial department, translation issues, or Nisio Isin just being Like That
A lot of Nisio Isin's opining about philosophy comes off as pretty obtuse a lot of the time, like the whole thing about Medaka "killing her father" and it turning out to be that Fukuro a) wasn't her dad, b) killed himself because Medaka's personality was too extreme for him to handle, and c) wasn't even actually dead. Ajimu and Medaka both jumped through some pretty serious hoops to reach the conclusion that Medaka was at fault, but Nisio Isin is also the same guy who wrote a story about a disease that curses you to die at age 12, meaning that you're immortal until you hit 12. That's really just the kind of ridiculous logic this man uses, and I had three full years to get used to it while reading it during its original run
I do think there were a lot of points that Nisio Isin wanted to go a different direction, though, or where he wanted to expound on certain concepts a bit more, but wasn't able to because of the pressures of the editorial department. While the table of contents isn't a reliable indicator of popularity, it's undeniable that Medaka Box was consistently closer to the back of the magazine, averaging at 14th across four years, so it seems pretty likely that it was a heavily divisive series among fans, which could result in things being cut or trimmed just in case of a sudden cancelation. The final arc in particular feels like it was missing a lot, as multiple fights either occurred off-screen or were ended instantaneously (i.e. Medaka vs. Kakegae or Tsurubami vs. Fukuro), and the ones we got to see often had their explanations reduced or completely omitted (i.e. Torai being an artificial Abnormal without us ever learning what her Abnormality even was or Nienami telling Medaka that she's using Styles incorrectly without actually explaining what's wrong with her approach)
Again, though, a lot of what Nisio Isin has to say is difficult enough to parse in Japanese, so god only knows how much is lost in translation. I personally caught CXC making mistakes constantly, and the group currently translating the full-color version is, admittedly, not much better. Sentai Filmworks' subtitles were fine, but that was also the first two seasons where things hadn't gotten too out of hand yet, as Kumagawa hadn't even shown up until the last episode
The best advice I can give is to remember that Medaka Box is, at its core, a deconstruction of a lot of popular Shonen Jump tropes. It becomes more obvious once Kumagawa and Ajimu start literally talking about Jump, but once you know that, even the early chapters are clearly themed around that concept. Most notably, the Flask Plan and the differentiation between Normals, Specials and Abnormals are an indictment of the Jump ideal of "Effort," stating that anyone can achieve anything if they put in the effort, only for most Jump protagonists to have some kind of advantage like being the secret descendant of a deity or the spiritual host to a powerful monster or some such nonsense that automatically makes them different from the everyman. Medaka herself is meant to be almost a parody of the typical Jump protagonist, while Hitoyoshi is the Jump ideal, brought to its logical extreme when he is given the Devil Style Skill to completely erase any benefits he could receive from fate or luck, forcing him to rely solely on his own efforts and ridding him of the ability to make any excuses should he fail
Of course, Medaka Box being so parodic of Jump does beg the question: was the ending what Niso Isin intended? Medaka Box ended much more neatly than most Jump properties get to, but its relatively sudden conclusion would also feel right at home among all of the other "the story goes on" or "well that sure was convenient" or "whoa that's a lot of information to take in all at once" style endings that you so often see in canceled series. Was Medaka Box actually canceled and forced to rush its conclusion, or did notorious mad lad Nisio Isin construct the perfect simulation of a rushed ending? It's absolutely something he would do, especially when you consider that there weren't too many dangling threads or unanswered questions, just things that the fans would prefer to see given more focus
To address your point, I am absolutely certain that Nisio Isin knew exactly where he wanted the story to go, the main question is whether or not he was just unable to overcome his own Nisioisms, if the editors wouldn't let him do what he wanted, or if the translators just found a way to botch his intentions. Maybe it was a little of everything, but we'll most likely never know for sure
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Trying to parse out the romance plot lines and possible future intentions for the sequel when it comes to the LXG film is fucking difficult tbh bc honestly, it very much feels like yet another problem with the script and editing where there's a good film in there, but the studio wanted to hedge their bets and leave things open to make creative decisions based on financial considerations - and that just leads to a problem where there's no conviction or strong direction in many areas, including the two potential love interests for Mina once Dorian is out of the picture; there are obviously romantic storylines going on for both Jekyll and Tom meant as set up for the cancelled sequel, but by the end of the film, I don't think you can conclusively say which direction the next film was going to take bc both are kind of present, but also just sort of there and really uneven, and it's like, just pick one and follow through with it.
My guess is that the original direction was Mina choosing Tom, especially when Tom was supposed to be the teen heartthrob character and American audience surrogate set up as the second protagonist, next team leader, and most likely male romantic lead in the sequel, and both Peta and especially Shane were rising hot young actors at the time while Jason is one of those talented, but low-key British character actors who's always great, but not a box office draw - though it's funny bc as someone who was in the fandom back in 2003, I would say Mina and Jekyll were easily the most popular characters, and I think Jekyll got the most horny on main reactions, along with probably being one of the most consistently praised parts of the film while Tom was very polarizing.
Anyway, on the Tom side of things, we know from the DVD commentary that there was a much bigger plotline of Tom having a crush on Mina that was cut down for the final print, but they didn't elaborate on why exactly; what we do see is generally Tom trying to flirt with Mina and her initially being nice, including vouching for his joining the team, but firmly turning him down, and later, we do see her smiling at Tom he's being an action hero in Venice and later when he mentions the villain will assume they're dead - though interestingly, Mina's weirdly disproportionately impressed reaction to the latter is actually repurposed from her reacting to a deleted big rousing speech marking him out as the next leader, where it made more sense (but also not really bc why is she accepting authority from him?); we also get her checking on him after the chase and him asking her if she's okay, and it's Tom who offers to kill Dorian for her; at the very end, it's Tom and Mina who share glances at each other during the funeral and walk away together, almost like a couple; on the other hand, the scene where she basically says she wants to be with him was deleted, but again, we don't know why.
On the Jekyll side of things, we know that during filming, they were deliberately shooting them exchanging fleeting glances (not sure how much made it into the film though) to set up a potential romance, and Jekyll is obviously in love with her, but too repressed to act on it, and Hyde as his less restrained self is also interested (since they're the same person); the film ends up doing a nice storyline in the second act where he goes from only being able to watch her from afar to becoming more confident after his big heroic moment, enough to at least look her in the eye, say something, and almost touch hands, and she seems interested - but then the film just drops everything; the only interaction they have after that is her snapping at him when they're in the cave, and as mentioned earlier, it's Tom she ends up walking away with instead of him.
So what basically happened was that they didn't commit to developing either potential romantic storyline as strongly and consistently as they could have in order to hedge their bets for the sequel that got cancelled anyway, and it's frustrating bc we just ended up with two storylines that feel awkwardly half-assed; on the other hand, it could be a monkey's paw situation where as someone who admittedly preferred the Jekyll set up, this was the only way to at least gets scraps if based on the deleted scenes, it was much more likely they would have gone for Tom as the only love interest if they chose one to focus on.
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Once Again Working on The Enigma off Ornette Coleman
February 28, 2024
By Kim Kleinman, Contributing Writer
When he invited me to this birthday party for Ornette Coleman, Fritz wrote, “…I’ve loved his music since I got the ears to hear it correctly, and now I’m convinced I’ve underestimated his brilliance and the sheer beauty of his music.”
“The ears to hear it correctly” captures my efforts too. I dutifully read Martin Williams as a new jazz fan in the late 1960s or early 1970s and saw that Ornette Coleman was not only NEW, but IMPORTANT. I think I snatched up the Atlantic Best of collection from the Columbia Record Club. It was new, important, but not really much fun. Still, it would come out for at least one side from time to time in those days of vinyl LPs as the soundtrack to underaged beer and the deep but tedious thoughts of young people trying to figure out the world. Like the world itself, this music was mysterious, challenging, and a little scary.
I kept returning to Coleman, though far more often than other avant-gardists, even late-era John Coltrane. There was brilliance and sheer beauty, plus a vulnerability that kept drawing me back. A.B. Spellman’s Four Jazz Lives showed Coleman to be shy and brave, thoughtful and enigmatic. Later I saw Shirley Clarke’s documentary “Ornette: Made In America,” which conveyed an overwhelming sense of loneliness. It was with that impression in mind that I walked into the green room after a 1981 concert with Prime Time when I began to get the ears to hear him correctly. Shy myself, I shook Coleman’s hand to say thanks, for that night and all the years before. It was easier to talk to bassist Jamaaldeen Tacuma, who asked what I played. We both heard me blurt, “Er, stereo.”
In 1981, over the two drums, two basses, and two guitars with the leader, I heard just how Ornette sang, not just on alto but on trumpet and violin. Somehow the lack of technical prowess on the latter instruments expressed that vocal element of his art. That’s what he’d been doing all along; I finally had the correct ears to hear him singing brilliantly and beautifully.
With that insight, I could go back to those early Atlantic albums and really hear them for the first time—the coherence and poignancy of the melodies, the rich interplay of the voices, the harmonies that are there even without a chordal instrument to frame them. The previously daunting “Free Jazz” had a logic and opportunities to triangulate Coleman’s music with the more familiar voices of Freddie Hubbard, Eric Dolphy, and Scott LaFaro, a chance to hear how they played this music.
Coleman composed some wonderful tunes—my favorites are among the obvious ones: “Ramblin’,” “Una Muy Bonita,” “Peace,” “Lonely Woman.” Other musicians have covered these and a few other gems, but they aren’t really part of the canon. Still, the lead sheets of his that I’ve seen in fake books are straightforward, but his highly personal concept of “harmolodics” was not widely developed by others. He certainly contributed to the shape of jazz that came along in the 1960s with terse snarling lines and swoops of sound, but to parse out the Coleman from the Shepp, the Ayler, the Dolphy, the Coltrane, in an adventurous young saxophonist of today is difficult.
Yet his sound is distinctive and I do revisit it often enough. Usually it’s the Atlantic albums from the early 1960s, though I have a selection from the late-sixties Blue Note sides and I paid attention to his work with pianist Geri Allen in the mid 1990s.
As part of the Jazz Spectrum birthday bash for Ornette, I once again have listened to those favorite early albums this time around, including the one standard that Coleman covered, which is included in this week’s Song of the Week segment, “Embraceable You.” It’s a chance to test his approach with a recognizable point of reference. In the same vein, I also returned to his contribution to “Sonnymoon for Two” from Sonny Rollins’s September 2010, 80th birthday concert at the Beacon Theater in Manhattan, which is collected on Road Shows, Vol. 2. It is, in the end, not all that good. For one, it is way too long, though to be fair Coleman doesn’t start playing until the nine-minute mark. They solo only serially in two- or three-minute segments over the remaining 12 minutes with little direct interplay. They certainly listen to one another but the interaction is passive. Coleman does invoke the theme at least tangentially in one solo, but more revealing is the way his improvisatory approach rooted in melody and theme has an affinity to Rollins’s and yet is so different. They each hear those intersections and lean into them.
It doesn’t quite work, but I am glad I listened. Coleman’s music does work, brilliantly and with sheer beauty. I am glad I have listened to it again and again and again.
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kick me when I’m down (something only cowards do)
Written for Respectfulshipping 2024
Prompt: Courage | Cowardice
Title: kick me when I’m down (something only cowards do)
Ship: Respectfulshipping | Ryoken/Spectre
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains
Word Count: 1,236
Rating: T
Tags: Missing Scene, Whump, Hurt/No Comfort, Crying, Assault, Nightmares
It wasn’t the darkness which bothered Spectre but rather the loneliness.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been suspended in this state of darkness. Hours? Days? Weeks? It was difficult to parse time as he drifted in and out of consciousness, all by himself with the worry that he may never awaken gnawing on him but he was better company than… than, well, Ai.
And Ai did pop in and out on occasion. Very rarely. Just to make him want it, then revile him. Made sense. Ai was the one who had put him in this noxious comatose state, after all. He wanted Spectre to suffer. Fair enough.
But this was different.
“Hello again.” Ai smiled, it was a sharp and pointy V-shaped smile with bright eyes.
Spectre roused. He floated, endlessly, and looked down over his body at Ai.
Ai snapped his fingers and thunk. Gravity existed once more. The darkness had solid form and Spectre landed on all fours: his knees and hands taking the brunt of it, jarring his joints. He spitefully looked up at Ai who bent down over him.
“How’s it going?” Ai asked.
Spectre glared.
“Not a very chatty guy, are you?” Ai mused. “Better change that, I want your opinion on something. You’re going to love this.”
The emphasis that Ai put on “love” made Spectre’s skin crawl. He started to get up. Ai side-stepped him. No offer of help, not that Spectre would have accepted it anyway but he kind of appreciated the fact that Ai wasn’t even going to pretend to have goodwill around him. After all, it was abundantly clear to Spectre that this was all to taunt him.
Spectre stood tall, but with his hand on his other arm, shoulder away from Ai as Ai snapped his fingers and there was, at long last, a light in the darkness. A picture into a world beyond the amorphous blob of blackness that Spectre had found himself languishing within the however long he had been forced this fate.
“Look who it is?” Ai gleefully asked. “Your favourite, your beloved, the man you claim you have dedicated your soul to.”
Spectre looked into this portal. It was in the shape of Ai’s head as an Ignis - bulbous with a flourish at the end, because of course it was - and revealed not much. Not at first, anyway. Long grass. A scene which was cloudy and murky with rain. Then Spectre saw exactly who Ai meant.
“Revolver-sama.” he exclaimed.
The picture moved like it was following a documentarian’s camera. It moved through the long grass and rain and showed two other people. Playmaker. And Soulburner. Spectre glanced warily at Ai and Ai encouraged him to look again. To look closer.
He saw it. In front of the rim of a verdant forest was a plain and unassuming building with a chain-link, electrified fence around the perimeter. It was a cement box and one full of precious memories. For Spectre at least.
This was the Link VRAINS - he could tell from the costumes that his master and two allies donned - and yet there it was. The building which was host and home to the Lost Incident.
“I wonder what they’re doing…” Ai mused.
He snapped his fingers a second time. There was audio now.
Not that he wanted to listen.
No, Spectre refused to listen.
Just a couple words from their exchanges, he understood immediately why Ai wanted to show him this. Make him experience this. It was worse than a nightmare. Spectre grit his teeth and did everything in his power to ignore the scene, he tried to drown it out with his own thoughts, own denial, own anything but with Ai by his side.
He was smothered. Ai was rubbing him in it.
“All these nice sentiments and wonderful exchanges, talk of the future and moving forward. I’m sure you find it nauseating, don’t you?” Ai asked. “Because, oops, where are you? No mention of you… You don’t even exist to Playmaker, to Soulburner, not even to-”
“Shut your mouth.” Spectre snarled.
“The man who you have dedicated your soul to.” Ai sneered.
Spectre stood up and he stood eye to eye with Ai. Of which, they were eerie and unnatural. Gleaming in yellow and orange. He smirked.
“You really are a ghost, aren’t you?” Ai taunted him. “You’re dead to them, even the man you love. Otherwise, surely, he would carry your spirit for you, hm?”
Spectre’s brows twinged.
“He’d be including you.” Ai continued.
Spectre bit his lips. Ai didn’t know anything. That didn’t make it hurt less as his heart constricted. He was fine as is. Ryoken-sama knew he was fine as is.
Like yes, of course, he was just like the others. He wanted to be heard, listened to, validated but he had transmuted his pain into pleasure and he didn’t want to back down from that. Spectre had steadfast belief in Ryoken because Ryoken understood him when and where no one else did or want to. Spectre held onto that as Ai bore his fangs as he watched this duel in the rain and steam.
“He would be striving for you, as well, not just his favourite victims of the Incident.” Ai said.
That.
That hurt. That got under his skin and pierced the blood vessels, set his nerves alight. Spectre twitched, he quivered.
But the fact he was such a fleck to any of them. Sure, it was understandable. He and Playmaker did not see eye to eye. He didn’t exist to Soulburner. But to Revolver? Ryoken…? That opened an old wound that had been in Spectre’s psyche for as long as he had been alive.
He loved Ryoken and Ryoken loved him. This duel didn’t prove anything contrary. Despite how Ai would provoke him, that’s what Spectre turned into a mantra.
“Shut up.” Spectre snapped. A tear in the corner of his eye.
“Ooh touchy.” Ai laughed. He leaned in, too close to Spectre’s face, “I learned from the best.”
Spectre made a strangled noise. He always knew, deep down, that the consequences of his actions would catch up to him. He just thought karma would leave him alone when he was dead. Comatose and dreaming was close enough as he tried not to budge but with Ai all but literally breathing down his neck, it was hard.
“Go away.” Spectre hissed.
“I will.” Ai said.
And he wasn’t lying.
But that didn’t mean that he didn’t have a parting gift either as Spectre listened to more of this duel between Revolver and Soulburner waged on with Playmaker as an adjudicator. All three of them unaware that there was another spectator at all. Another victim yearning for catharsis regarding the Incident, too…
He was swift to strike Spectre down. Physically. Not just emotionally. He kicked Spectre down. His breath got caught in his mouth as Ai winded him and beat down on him. Viscous kick after kick. He couldn’t help himself, a violent glee on his face as he delivered what Spectre had coming to him.
Spectre girded his stomach, taking Ai’s boot over and over again. He curled up foetally, hands behind his head to protect his neck and clenched his eyes. Tight. He choked back sobs with every thump, thump, thump that he endured under Ai’s assault.
At least some of them were getting catharsis.
It just wasn’t him.
#kick me when I’m down (something only cowards do)#respectfulshippingweek2024#yugioh vrains#vrains#yugioh#spectre (vrains)#ryoken kogami#ai (vrains)#writing tag
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𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃
౨ৎ . . . in which jean and connie have had enough of you and ARMIN ARLERT'S mutual pining for each other.
warnings: swearing, arranged marriage, sexual content, mdni, w.c 4.8k
♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ don't blame me — taylor swift ꒱ ˎˊ-
𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃, long and hard, at the rushed handwriting scrawled over the piece of paper in your gloved hands. Blinking, you read the words again, tumbling over them in your mind — trying to parse them, to make sense of them.
[Name],
I really need to see you. Meet me in the military study as soon as you get this.
My warmest regards,
Armin Arlert.
The final quartet was reaching its crescendo, the violin strings producing quick, exciting notes that instructed the ballroom dancers to jump and spin. From your little corner of the dancefloor you had so graciously managed to escape to — away from anyone who wished to take your hand to dance — you studied the letter. It had just been handed to you by a waiting boy, informing that it had been left on his tray.
Me? You thought, and the creases on your face deepened. You looked up to scan the dancefloor. But you had just seen him, flocked by a gaggle of women, merely a few moments ago. Of course, you would have liked to say you hadn't been spending nearly every moment of this Queen's Ball tracking the Commander with your eyes wherever he went. But you couldn't, because that would be a lie. And you also could not deny the aching in your chest, the flutter of your pulse, when you would glance over at him and briefly — briefly, catch his bright eyes already watching you.
But that is as far as you would allow it to go. You could not let yourself to dream, to imagine what it would be like to have him as yours. For you were already engaged to be married. A loveless reunion, it was, but that did not matter. What mattered was how it bolstered the family ties, how it kept your noble blood strong and pure, how it guaranteed your future with stability.
I really need to see you.
My warmest regards.
When your eyes could not find him among the throng did you glance back to the letter and read it for the umpteenth time. Perhaps, if you turned it upside down and read it from that angle, then you would find your common sense among the strokes of ink. It had to be a mistake. Of course, it did. The recently adorned 15th Commander had never had any reason to reach out to you before — why would he start now? With a letter that had so much urgency and intimate undertones, at that.
You bit your lip. Heat was prickling under your cheeks, warming your fingers underneath the satin gloves. Return it to the waiter, a small voice belonging to your rational side hissed, it it clearly meant for somebody else. Do not make assumptions.
His sapphire-blue eyes were in your mind again, looking at you with that calculative intensity which came so naturally to him. That smart stone-grey suit he had worn tonight, one which hugged his lean body so tantalisingly, making it so gods damned difficult not to stare. Suddenly, your tailored ballroom gown was much too tight, the lace ribbons of your corset aching to be undone.
Suddenly, you could barely remember your promised suitors face.
Suddenly, you had folded the little piece of paper at the seam and slotted it neatly into your hand purse. The only evidence you had left of your departure was a slim, half-emptied champagne glass bubbling on the refreshment's table and the echoes of your quick heeled steps departing the ballroom floor.
Armin Arlert had learned, through both years of being suspended in a constant fear of his life, and recently, an upgrade of rank to Commander, to hold his composure. Like anything, once he had broken it down to the fundamentals, exercising the skill had become almost second nature to him.
It was funny how, with just a few simple words, that such intricately woven composure could be shred to mere ribbons.
Armin,
I really need to see you. Meet me in the military study as soon as you get this.
My most affectionate regards,
Lady [Name]
He had excused himself from the main ballroom floor the moment a small, petite waiting girl had shyly passed him the letter — informing him it was addressed with his name. Not his title, like so many other exhausting correspondence he'd had to get used to, but his name.
Like a reflex action, his quick mind was already flitting through the possible people who could be behind the mysterious letter as he cracked its wax seal and unfurled the page. Mikasa, perhaps inviting him over for dinner. He hadn't had a chance to go visit her and the new baby these past couple of weeks, with all of the work. Or it could very well be Gabbie, or Falco, or another one of the settled soldiers far from the Capital.
When he saw your name, signed in a quick script at the end of the small piece of paper, Armin Arlert almost tripped over his own two feet.
He gasped, holding the letter in his two hands and raising it closer to his face. Reading it again, reading it for a third time, each word making his blond brows raise higher over the lip of the page.
His attention kept snagging on one sentence — your voice blooming in his head like a sweet song, forming around the words, making his blush explode from the nape of his neck all the way to his ears.
My most affectionate regards.
"Oi, Commander!"
Armin jumped out of his stupor and whirled around, plastering the letter to the small of his back.
"Y-Yes!"
Jean Kirschtein was leaning out of the glass doors which led to the Palace Gardens, nursing a bottle of expensive wine to his chest. He regarded his friend for a moment, taking in the red glow on his cheeks and the tousled hair — evidence of his hand raking through it.
Jean smirked, drawling, "Uh oh, looks like someone's had too much to drink. You feelin' okay there, Fifteenth? You gonna start trying to kiss me, again?"
Armin narrowed his eyes. "When did I ever try to kiss you?"
"Whoopsie. Sorry," Jean shrugged his shoulders. "What happens in Marley, stays in Marley, huh?"
Acutely aware of the letter held in his almost vice-grip, Armin's mind was reeling, trying to think about two different scenarios at once. The most immediate; how to steer Jean's attention away from what he was hiding, for the Commander knew and knew well how perceptive those honey-gold eyes were. And the most serious;
What was he going to do about this letter?
What could the man do, when it was sent by the woman who was the object of all his deepest, most darkest desires? The very noble lady he could never muster up the courage to face — hell, he has battled with man-eating monsters, has been burnt alive and reborn, and yet still — the very notion of asking for your hand just for a dance arrested him to the spot.
It was more than just a simple infatuation. These feelings he had for you, they were colossal, bordering on almost obsessive. Enough to contest with the overwhelming connection he had with Annie. All that existed in his head, his fantasies, was you, you, you.
Really, what other option was a man in love left to take?
"Ah, you know what," Armin faked a pained sound. For extra theatrics, he made sure to sway a little, holding his palm to his forehead. "Maybe I did drink a little too much. The wine was really good."
"Well, you ain't gettin' any of this." His friend said, hugging the bottle more protectively. "Come on, get back in here. Your fans miss you."
At the mention of all the well-decorated ladies lying in wait for him to return, only to barrage him with marriage proposals and how good of a wife they would be for him, the wince Armin experienced did not need to be faked.
"Actually," He interjected when he passed by Jean. After, with a quick slight of his hand, shoving the little square page into his suit pocket. "I think I might... find somewhere quiet to sit down, for a while. Could you tell the guests I will be back soon?"
Jean cocked a brow. Then spluttered, shaking his head. "You never stop surprising me, Armin. There's a whole army of pretty ladies out there ready to jump your bones and you're scurryin' off somewhere. I mean, man. You're killin' all us, here!"
Armin gave a weak chuckle, the fleeting thought of they may be pretty, but they are not the lady I want rushing through his mind. With a little bow of his head to Jean did he slip by him, politely excusing himself from any stray women flagging him down for a dance.
Jean turned to watch him disappear amidst the sea of people — his golden hair unmistakable amongst them all. He curbed an eager group of military soldiers, then ducked underneath the shallow alcove which brought him to the main halls of the Palace.
Hook, line, sinker!
There was a rustling of fabric from behind when someone emerged from the heavy, luxurious curtains that would be used to draw across the balcony door. A head of stone-grey hair popped out.
"Did they bite?" Connie Springer hissed, his eyes wide, excited. At the answering smirk tugging at Jean's lips, he knew their little operation had been a success.
"Like two damn idiots in love." Jean said. Then jerked his head in an urgent gesture towards the alcove. "Come on. We gotta be quick."
"I bet 20 bucks he doesn't make a move."
"I raise ya 30 that he does."
Connie's grin was wide and toothy. "You son of a bitch. You're on."
And the two smartly-dressed soldiers made haste, ducking and weaving through the spinning dancers after their so-called drunken Commander, something metal glinting in Connie's pocket.
You had never dared venture the halls of Queen Historia's Palace on the rare visits you had made to the very inner walls. There was practically a member of her private guard stationed at each corner, under every painting, leaving no inch unwatched. It was just fortunate for you that the military lounge had not been far from the main hosting ballroom. The filthy stares those soldiers had been subjecting your way would have probably made you burst, if otherwise.
The little room was windowless. It was just large enough to hold an elite inner circle, with large panelled chairs stationed around a vast table displaying a map of Paradis Island. Although definitely not as grand as the one overseeing the dancers back in the hall, there was a quaint, dainty chandelier hanging from the ceiling, spreading its fingers of gentle light along the walls.
It was, altogether, a charming space.
It was also robbing every morsel of air from your lungs.
To distract yourself from your hammering heartbeat, you had begun to circle around the table, touching the tip of your gloved finger to the parchment and dragging it along. He was not here. It was an obvious fact that was becoming more and more crushing the longer you waited, the more of those dreadful minutes trickled by. You tried to breathe. You tried to focus on the ink pots and the golden compasses. Focusing with all your might not to entertain the terrifying thought;
Have you been tricked?
Was this a ploy, an awful game set up by some of those fawning women that wouldn't leave him alone all night — that somehow, knew of the depths of your feelings for the Commander? It was easy to disregard in the beginning. This was one of your most intimate secrets that you have never breathed to a soul — how could they know? But the ticking from the grandfather clock got louder, pushing you alone that little cliff of despair. With each second came a new possibility:
Did they see you looking at him?
Did they notice how you rarely spent time with your designated suitor and decided to hide away?
Did you stare?
Did they catch your hateful looks when they put their hands on his shoulder?
For five long minutes, you circled the room. Until the racing in your mind became too much to bare and the panic surged. Biting your lip to hold back your tears, you decided you have had enough of this, and crossed the room to retrieve your purse—
There was a whine of metal, a click of a latch unpinning, and the oak door to the military study was slowly pushed open.
The crown of his golden hair poked in first as he peeked into the room — hesitant, almost unsure. You were frozen right to the spot when his blue eyes lifted to scan the room and immediately locked onto you.
You stared.
He stared.
For a precious moment in time, nothing — not the summer swallows, the airy breeze, the sway of the crystals above — nothing dared interrupt this moment.
Until both of you did. At the exact same time.
"Uhm—!"
"Commander—!"
The words died in each of your throats.
"I just—!"
"I received—!"
You stopped again, holding your hand up to your mouth. It was unstoppable, the little smile that was breaking out there against your will. The first words you have ever properly spoken to the man who occupied your thoughts, your heart, and this is what you were coming out with. Truly, it was ridiculous. Although your heart gave a painful lurch against your ribcage when you saw his soft little smile in return, too.
"I apologise," Armin tried again, and you were sure to keep your mouth shut this time. He pushed the door open just enough to slip inside, turning to shut it quietly behind him. "We're perfectly in synch, it seems."
"Oh, I would not say that." You said, taking your hand from your mouth but retaining the small smile there. "I think if I am in perfect synch with a Commander, I am doing a good job."
He chuckled a low, polite sound. It was only then that he had stepped fully into the room and you had the full, heart-shattering impact of his presence.
Oh, but he was breath-taking. Standing there at his full height in a proud, strong stance that squared his shoulders and spoke volumes about his warrior days. Everything about what he wore was tailored to shape him, but the one thing he left unruly was his hair — parted in the middle, softly resting against his forehead. You felt your mouth go dry, your tongue pasted to the roof of your mouth.
You clasped your hands in front of you tightly to stop from fidgeting. "You wished to see me?" You said casually, but it sounded more like a squeak.
Armin's eyebrows drew a little. "Was it not the opposite way around? You were the one who wished to see me?"
Now it was your turn to tilt your head, frowning. "But you stated in your letter," You began, reaching down for your purse and undoing the ribbon holding it closed. You produced the folded little page for him to see. "That you wished to see me, so I came at first's notice."
He stared at the letter in your gloved hand for longer than you thought appropriate. Especially for somebody who had written it and addressed it to you. Then, something flashed in his sapphire eyes, like a spark to a flame.
His strong shoulders dropped a fraction when he sighed — reaching up to cover his eyes.
"I can't believe them."
You parted your lips, lowering the letter. "Pardon me?"
Armin dragged his hand from his eyes up through the tresses of his hair, letting them fall back down haphazardly. He avoided looking your way as he said, "My friends seem to have a funny sense of humour. I am very sorry, Lady [Name]."
And then, wordlessly, did the Commander reach into his back suit pocket and produce a very similar, slightly crumpled piece of paper and held it in the air. "You see, I also got a letter that was addressed to me from you, telling me that you had to meet me here."
The pin finally dropped for you.
"Oh," You said, a little dumbly. "But, why would — why would they choose me... to play their little joke?"
"Because—" Armin began, but his words seemed to lose their way, hanging in the air like an unrequited promise. You stared at him with wide eyes, blinking, wondering if the rose tinting his ears was real or a figment of your imagination. "Because—" He tried again, inhaled, then let out a very frustrated breath. "Really, I can't believe them."
He reached up to rub the back of his neck — a neck that you could see was stained a very pretty red — and turned on his heel. "I am really sorry about this." He repeated again, reaching for the handle.
Something instinctive overtook you at the sight of him leaving — of running, for a reason you did not dare hope. The pieces were slotting into place faster than you could stop them and the elation that came afterwards was a dizzying, dangerous feeling.
The words wait were almost out of your mouth, but Armin got their first. It was not with words, however, but a sharp sound of surprise following the creaking of a locked door. Trying again, Armin pulled, getting the same response.
"It... is locked?" You blurted.
Armin's broad shoulder muscles were tense — like that of a bowstring pulled taut. You watched them as they shifted with his breaths underneath the grey suit. He leaned forward to rest his head on the door panel. You could not hear the chaotic screaming of his thoughts, of course, and perhaps that was a good thing. Especially when they centred around images of Jean Kirschtein and his accomplice Connie Springer being kicked into a ditch.
He was going to kill them. No, he was going to demote them. He'd—
"Armin?"
His eyes snapped open at the shy tone — under-currented by something, something he thought he had imagined. He had to. But you had addressed him without his formal title. He turned around to face you, his eyes imploring.
"Lady [Name]," He breathed in a rush. "I'm s—"
"Why did they choose me?" You repeated.
Armin squared his shoulders and wished that the door would swallow him whole. Like he was facing off with an enemy, a beast — and not a woman he was madly in love with, looking at him with a fire in her eyes that licked wickedly up his spine.
Fire?
She had placed her bag down on a nearby chair that surrounded the main table. He stared into your eyes, your face, trying desperately to figure out what you were thinking. He could always figure out what someone was thinking — but not you. Never you, because every time he looked at you, his mind became a blissful, eddying white noise.
You were approaching him slowly, cautiously, your eyebrows slanting a little over those beautiful eyes. "Armin, tell me." You whispered. "Why they wanted to lock you in here with me."
There was a foot between you now — you, gazing up into the Commanders wide eyes. Him, staring down at you, breathing in quick, shallow breaths. As if he were readying himself for something. As if you robbed every bit of air from his body and the only way he was ever going to get it back was if he—
It was a series of rapid movements that blurred into one moment, one feeling, and that was the firm grip of a male hand around your wrist at your side and pressure on your mouth. Your eyes went wide — he was so close, you could see every fine line of his skin, his eyelashes on his eyes that he scrunched shut. So stunned, you did not have enough time to register what was going on — that Commander Armin Arlert had rushed forward to place a chaste kiss on your lips.
You gasped into his mouth, and he reeled away.
As if burned.
Armin had an expression of a man wounded. Of someone who could not believe what he had just done.
"I—" He whispered. "I—"
You did not think. You did not even move nor speak a word. But neither did he, because you had reached up with your gloved hand and pulled him back down by the nape of his neck.
The collision was sudden and clumsy. It was a sliding of two lips together that had thought of this moment together, over and over again until it drove them half mad. Armin's eyebrows pinched together in concentration. He had every sane reason to believe he had passed out somewhere in the Palace Garden and this was what his yearning brain was coming up with. But the way your hair felt when he reached a timid hand up to the back of your neck was so soft, just like he imagined. Your lips were supple. You smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla and it made this Commander's mind spin.
You inhaled sharply when he tilted his head — pressing his lips to yours experimentally. Your knees were loosing feeling as he slid those strong fingers further into your hair. You arched your body up to him, leaning up on your toes to kiss him harder — that even if this were a dream, a mistake, you would take every last bit you could have and treasure it for the rest of your life.
Armin made a muffled sound in the back of his throat and brought his other hand to cradle the side of your head. You licked at the seam of his shy mouth, and he keened, he opened his mouth for you almost instantly and pressed his fingers into your hair — drawing you closer to him.
There was a heat introduced into your kissing, a wild sort of desperation. Armin kissed like a man starved. The first few swipes of his warm tongue against yours was reserved, it was not what you needed. But after he had gained the confidence, he was leaning you back, he was tilting your head in a way that gave him full access to your mouth. To lick. To suck. To nip and bite.
You moaned, gripping onto his suit shoulders.
And for a second time, he reared back — like someone had just slapped him hard out of a daze. When he pulled his mouth from yours they were red and swollen, matching the colour of his flushed cheeks. You stared up into his eyes with desperate confusion.
"What," He panted, sharing his hot breath with you. He still had you held tightly against his hard body. "What—are we doing?"
You shook your head. "I don't know." You whispered. "But—I don't want to stop."
With a sick feeling in your stomach, you thought he would put an end to this. You thought you had made a fool of yourself and he did not feel the same way you did, did not sit up in his bed at night and think of what it would be like to be held like this. Armin gazed down at you with glazed eyes for a very long moment. Long enough for you to think of how wonderful they were — how they reminded you of crushed diamonds and the deepest levels of the sea.
You wanted to drown in them.
You wanted to drown in him.
Slowly, Armin swayed towards you. His head dipped down, inch by inch, until he was a hairs-breath away from your lips.
"Armin." Your whisper was wanton, it was the last thing you said before he swallowed it whole.
You gripped at his gorgeous blond hair you loved to stare at, wondering how it would feel, as he kissed you. It felt so smooth under your clawing fingertips. Armin's hands — so broad, so strong — were confused as to where he wanted to touch you, first. They slid from your neck to your shoulders, to roving down your back and gripping into the fabric of your dress.
It switched something on in the respectful Commander. He was always the gentlemen, but when the realisation finally clicked in his mind that you wanted him, a fierce competitiveness to please curled inside of him. It spurned him on to lead you forward, to walk you backwards until the lip of the table hit your back.
"Sit," Armin whispered against your lips. "Please."
There was no need for him to instruct you twice. In a fluid movement, you hoisted yourself up and onto the table, your dress pooling around you like a pretty satin puddle. Armin breathed heavily, and then dropped down to his knees.
"A-Armin?" You yelped, first in alarm, then in curious confusion when he gazed back up at you. His blue eyes shuttered every time you said his name, like he was hearing it anew each and every time. He rubbed at your ankles in repetitive circles that made your skin burn.
"Can I try something?" He asked, his voice a deep, attractive rumble.
You almost whined at the gravel in his tone. He was there, kneeling before you like a fantasy, the want in his suit pants evident when he spread his legs to balance like that. Gods, he was barely touching you and you were an incoherent mess, nodding clumsily, almost short circuiting when he moved that gentle touch from your ankles to the hem of your dress and underneath it.
He looked at you like you were a puzzle he was determined to solve. A muse he wished to capture perfectly. Slowly, so slowly, did Armin's warm hands push your ballroom dress up just far enough so that it bunched at your hips.
He leaned in to place a kiss on the sensitive inner flesh of your thigh, being as gentle as the flap of a butterfly's wing. Your breath hitched with each kiss he placed. Reached further and further up until—
"Oh!"
Immediately, he pulled back to look at you. "Is this okay?" He murmured.
"Yes," You nodded, needing his mouth back there. "Yes. Yes."
He flashed you this delighted smile that made him look so boyish, it melted you from the very inside. This man would be your undoing. He would be the reason you fell into depravity. And when he return to place a loving kiss in between your thighs, the place where your core was hot and aching, you lurched forward on the high of a broken moan.
Armin placed to hands to steady himself on the table — right at either side of your hips. He kissed you there, then he opened his mouth and gave you a broad, testing lick.
You choked, reaching down to hold onto his hair. To give him better access — to draw him to you, you lifted your legs up and rested them on his hard shoulders.
He hummed. His licks and open-mouthed kisses became messy, greedy. When he reached to push your underwear aside, little white stars coloured your vision when he slipped his tongue inside of you. The groan that ripped up his throat was a guttural, primeval sort of sound, and he went further. He sucked at the sensitive apex, lavishing in the noises you made and the way you instinctively rocked into his mouth. You tasted divine, like his own heady drug he could get addicted to.
Your thighs began to shake — so Armin, always the gentleman, placed his palms on either side and kept you steady. You seemed to arc up into him when he moaned, so he did so again, and again, letting the vibrations against your core drive you wild and push you close to a rapture this love-crazed Commander would go to war for just to see again.
The grip on his hair became so delightfully painful when your rocking became quicker — messy snaps of your hips into his mouth as your pleasure crested. It curved and strained until finally—
"Armin!"
The release was like a cascade of the entire night sky, falling down on top of you both. You were unsure if you had screamed this man's name, Armin, so you cried out again. Letting him lap gently at your pulsing core until the stars returned to the sky and you came back down to him.
He resurfaced from the hot vee of your weakened thighs to lock eyes with yours, once more. Just like he would across the ballroom dancefloor, in the windows of courtyards, each and every time he watched you. The shining around his swollen mouth made your loins clench, and when he smiled, it almost broke you into a million pieces for him and only him to keep.
Months later, an issue of the Berg Newspaper was thrown down forcefully on the table Connie Springer was lounging on.
"Suck it. Pay up." Jean boasted with a shit-eating grin.
On the front page of the latest issue was the large printed text of;
WEDDING BELLS! 15TH COMMANDER TIES THE KNOT
"Cheapskate." Connie grumbled, slapping three bills into the other man's open hand.
#attack on titan#aot#snk#aot x reader#armin arlert#armin arlet x reader#armin arlet smut#armin x reader#🪄— milky writes#‼️ — spoilers#dividers by fireflygraphics!!#💓 — thump
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Devil in the Details | Avery | Trial 3.1 | Re: Everyone before now | ATTN: Frank
Avery… well. They seem to be functional, having gone an entire investigation staying focused and on task, but it would be a lie to say that they weren’t extremely shaken up all the same. It’s a struggle to keep their attention on things because of how much their own head is swimming, detailed theories being said right out the gate, no time to even speak up with his own whereabouts after they’d been asked for as he works through the information. They are parsing it, they think, keeping track of every little thing said they can think of, but… if they weren’t sitting down right now already, it would probably be difficult to stand.
There are plenty of things Avery wants to answer now, but… Priorities, and first things first- Avery turns Nao with a nod of thanks to them after it was stated that they had confirmed the concussion they’d already suspected, and then turns to Frank who’s sitting next to him before anything else.
“Frank… I didn’t get a chance to do it before we came back here, but can I try and purify your concussion now? It could help with your memory, but also… should at least help with your headache too.”
They wait for Frank’s confirmation on that before doing anything, however it comes, but in the end, Avery DOES cast Purify (mixed) successfully on Frank!
And then, it was time to figure this shit out. So Avery takes a DEEP breath, gathering their courage and focus up once again, and starts to talk.
“First… I agree that we really jump to conclusions about what can or can’t have happened yet before we’ve even all spoken up about… what we were doing or where, or the evidence we found. And I think you all are right too, testimony may be important so I will share mine, but there’s a number of… things of note about the state of things that I’ll go over first:
For one, the only blood in the upper fountain room itself was solely on the pieces of wood I also believe to be from the broken lance found near the broken bench. Meanwhile, the bench and its pieces, as well as Frank's dented guitar that was near it, were not bloody at all. Stranger still, the upper half of the lance that was still in the storage room was also not bloody at all.”
“So did whoever used it… only take the lower half, maybe, unless they put the top half back after use…? But for what? It’s also worth noting that… despite the cobblestone in the fountain room not actually being stone, instead just wood painted to look like it, none of it was damaged whatsoever either. And… Meili’s acoustic guitar and notebook were also left towards the southeast entrance, not actually by Frank’s more electric-looking one that was by the fountain itself. It's possible she set it down only briefly there, before doing what Vee said.”
Best just to make sure they were all on the same page, with that.
“Next… I think it’s of important to talk about the fact that since I was trying to stabilize Frank with purify before Theophania called out, I could tell that there were signs of Frank’s injuries already having been healed some with what seemed to be healing magic before Theophania, Vee, Bian, and I all did what we did. Which… means, I… I think it’s likely that Meili might have been the one to try and heal him. That is, unless our third party, having gotten there first, was actually trying to help, since to my knowledge Frank doesn’t have any self-healing.”
“The… blood spots on Frank. I think it was from his own bleeding, because their positions line up with where he had cuts that seemed too shallow to have caused them, and since he was healed, probably would have originally been worse and the source of them. Frank’s clothing over top of them seemed unevenly ripped and torn, not cleanly cut like any sort of stab.” What else, what else… Ah, right. “Ah, also. There were wood chips in Frank’s hair, but not Meili’s.”
All that out… well, now he has to follow up on what he said he would for his testimony, right? A lot of it was already said for him, but he knows that this time, it’s important to confirm things and make sure things are as well defined as possible. He gives a nod to Luz, at her description especially of her sense of hidden things, before... once more, beginning to talk about what all he had seen.
"I'll be thorough with this. Germain and I were both in our room about around 7 at night, and I did tell them that I was going to be meeting with Theophania in the fountain room, before I left a little early at 7:40 pm, just to make sure I wasn't late. I didn't see anyone on the way or stop anywhere else, just... got to the Fountain room at 7:50 and sat down to wait. It was empty at first, and I experienced the motive vision alone. Then, first Nao came in 5 minutes after the vision from the southeast just to sit on their own, and Theophania came in about two minutes after that from the southwest one to do what she said with me."
"I think Nao just kept to themself other than saying hello to Bian when she came, and Bian did come in at I believe 8:15 just to pass though, coming to the northeast storage room door like she said, and leaving to the southwest one. The bench definitely wasn't broken while I was there, and I never saw the hidden room open either."
"Later... Theophania and I left the fountain room 10 minutes before 10 pm, I remember, and we walked together to the southwest door to head to the stairs, before I split off once we got to the first floor to enter the first floor library myself right before 10 pm. When I arrived, I remember seeing Luz and... Meili who I believe already had her guitar with her at the time, even if just for a moment before they both left just after 10 pm proper. I can confirm that Meili left through the east door, probably towards the stairs though I didn't see, but that Luz went through the west one, which is closer to the dorms."
"I was just there to grab a book personally, so I left at 10:15 towards the dorms, and can confirm that Germain was in our room as well by the time I get in a few minutes later. So I... can likely solidly say that I think Germain had nothing to do with this. Pettiwhiskers was with them both times I saw them, too, and they also replied to me, so I know they weren't a mimic or anything.”
…They know that there was a request to make a timeline, but… well. Avery wants to be sure to hear from everyone they can first, before jumping onto that sort of thing, so for now, they’ve talked quite enough. They’re also probably not the person to talk about how Mimic Ally works, seeing as they’ve never claimed to have it- It was something to think about, though, and they do look contemplative about a lot of things.
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You obviously love Snape canonically in the book, but I've been wondering for a while, are there any things that you feel the author has failed in his characterization, or are there things you wish had been done differently? Because I like him how he is in the books, but some things don't sit well with me, or I prefer my personal headcanons. What are your thoughts?
one of the main things that where i think rowling failed with snape was with the presentation of his redemption arc. and i’m not necessarily sure that’s a failure of characterization or just plotting, but either way i think it’s a major contribution to why he’s viewed the way he is and why fandom has such a hard time with him.
snape’s redemption arc isn’t actually even an arc that we see. i’ve talked about this before but in many ways, snape’s redemption is finished by the time we as readers even get confirmation that it existed. this is a problem for a couple of reasons, but the main one is that it’s difficult - especially for narratives built on a close third-person pov like hp - for readers to make that switch from villain to hero (or even anti-hero!) without some significant work and time put in. take zuko from atla - widely considered one of the best redemption arcs in children’s media - where we see every single step of his growth play out. and, of course, atla is not a limited pov like the series so that obviously changes how much we can view but the point still stands; by doing the sudden reveal, rowling rushes what should have been a spread-out process.
so when we get just like that background knowledge of snape’s sneaky redemption, it makes it feel less earned and it makes it more difficult for readers to parse especially since it comes in the midst of all these other heavy emotional scenes. i really love the prince’s tale bc i do think it tells us a lot about snape, but i think rowling did snape a disservice by basically making his redemption arc an exposition chapter... although, to be fair, considering how she laid out snape and harry’s relationship, i’m not sure how she could have fixed that.
i also think we really needed to see more of snape and lily in that chapter. i know most of it is them but considering that’s the ONLY knowledge we have of them as friends it makes it even more important to drive home there as much of their relationship as possible. and once again, this is kind of a plotting issue - rowling had snape give his memories in a way that’s more about pragmatism and explanation, so obviously snape was just going to choose memories that would tell harry what he needed to know and not like anything else that would just show his times with lily, right? but the problem becomes then that it makes it even more difficult for readers to get behind the idea that snape changed becase of lily because he have such a small glimpse of them together. if she wanted to make this a big, profound thing (which i think she does!) then those moments really had to have enough chemistry and charisma to really convince us that this was a lasting relationship for snape and for lily - and honestly i don’t think it manages that, esp since we have so few scenes of them together at hogwarts. look at the marauders - we have just as little information about them as friends in school but we see the relationship between sirius and remus and we can get a sense of their closeness because of the chemistry in that relationship. we really needed that for snape and lily’s interactions for it to carry that redemptive arc and it just... didn’t really happen. which is also why i think it’s easy for people to misinterpret their relationship in the way that they do.
i do fill in the blanks with snape a lot with my own headcanons and i do prefer those to anything rowling might try to put out (teetotaller!snape, for example, or queer!snape). but that’s less a dissatisfaction with what’s presented in the books and more just a way to fill in the gaps since we don’t know that much about his character. i mean, obviously i wish he had been a little less mean to kids who didn’t really deserve it but in the narrative it’s really never clear how much of that is necessity for his cover and his own personal enjoyment - and i think that’s just part of the necessary risks and evils of close third-person, where it’s extremely difficult to parse motivations for anyone other than your pov character.
i guess one thing i never really got behind was snape’s way of speaking. i think he’s one of the funniest characters in the books (that snapback he makes to dumbledore after the big “you need to kill me” reveal always cracks me up) but a lot of his speech is almost antiquated in how flowery it is. i’ve reconciled that with myself as an adult reader by headcanoning that snape adopted that as a way out of the rough speech he might have had as a kid - tho tpt disproves that theory. as a kid i don’t think i really noticed as much but as an adult a lot of snape’s dialogue sounds... idk. weird. altho, tbf, a lot of hp is definitely clunkier when reading as an adult, esp as an adult who has spent a lot of time reading fiction for school and work. (that isn’t to say it’s bad writing! hp has some fucking stellar lines in it and great speeches and genuinely moving/funny bits that are really well-written.)
a lot of stuff fandom has found really ugly about snape (his pettiness, cruelty, emotionality esp when angry, and so on) are things that i actually find interesting and think make him a more realistic character. i don’t know that i find his characterization that suspect tbh - for me, what really frustrated me with snape in the books was the clumsy way he was often used plot-wise especially when it came to his reveal. i think rowling spent so long using him as a mystery plot-device (what is snape doing? is snape evil?) and shielding his motivations that when it came time to actually do the reveal it was just something that she couldn’t really execute with grace, which had the unfortunate side-effect of kind of undermining the way his narrative was received.
#i was trying to think of a snape trait that i didn't really appreciate much in the books and really the only thing is the intensity of his b#which is - once again - difficult to parse how much of that is him and how much of that is his spysona#but tbf it has been a while since i've done a full read-through of the books so it's possible i've just tuned tuned out stuff that bothered#but for me a lot of failure with snape was in how his redemption arc was handled#like i absolutely believe snape's redemption was great and vital and knowing that it happened is amazing#but it could have been done in SUCH. a stronger way#which probably would have made it a less polarizing and derided narrative choice#severus snape#Anonymous
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1. You get a craving for whatever your soulmate is eating at the time. - The Winter Soldier freaks the heck out when he starts craving human milk. (Because his soulmate is a newborn baby.)
HIS ENTIRE LIFE that he could remember, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes had never had a craving that wasn't originally his. His mother had always looked wistful at the scent of coffee, explaining the only time he'd ever asked that she had craved it relentlessly whenever his father drank it while she was pregnant with Bucky and his sisters. Rebecca complained about wanting to eat ham and spicy peppers even though she hated spicy foods, and Rosalie would drag him off to the butcher to pick up sausages whenever they could afford the expense. Even Steve confessed to having a weird urge to eat steak and kidney pie for breakfast, and years later when a much bigger and stronger Steve shyly introduced his best friend to Peggy Carter he could only laugh that it finally made perfect sense.
But Bucky never got a single craving that wasn't his, and so his likes and dislikes were formed all on his own without any input from a phantom soul connection. Becca, staring down a bowl of chicken soup that "didn't taste quite right, even without the peppers", told him he was lucky. Falling from a train over Germany, Bucky couldn't help thinking that his soulmate - if he even had one - was the lucky one.
And then he was dragged from the ravine, alive and missing an arm, and thrown into hell, and he eventually forgot why it mattered that he never craved anything new.
Eventually, he forgot everything else.
THE ASSET FROWNED in confusion, distracted from the instructions being relayed by the Handler. The sensation was strange, similar to hunger, but seemed to come from outside the designated physical parameters. If the Asset had to guess, it was as if there was a second mouth and stomach sending feedback, an impression of liquid that had a taste and texture that was wholly unfamiliar, but might be classed as... sweet... and smooth... and thicker than the familiar water.
"Asset!"
The Asset snapped back to attention. "Sir."
"Your attention drifted from the briefing," the Handler said, tone displeased. "Explain."
The Asset hesitated in confusion, struggling to parse how to obey when the explanation was so nonsensical. "There was a... sensation. Hunger."
"Your nutritional requirements have already been met," the Handler snapped, frowning more severely.
"Yes, sir." The Asset knew that, and the knowledge only enhanced the confusion. There should be no sense of hunger to distract from the mission briefing, and yet there had been the sense of hunger, the... desire... for-- "Milk."
"Milk?" the Handler repeated, bafflement suffusing the displeased frown. "The approved nutrient sources don't include--" The Handler broke off, bafflement shifting into horror. "Asset. The fox dances in grandmother's new shoes."
The Asset froze, every muscle rigid and locked, all focus directed to the Handler.
"Ignore any and all sensory input related to unapproved nutrient sources. Acknowledge."
"Acknowledged. The Asset will comply."
THE ASSET TRIED to comply, but sometimes the foreign desires were so strong that the distraction presented by those sudden bursts if extraneous sensory input had the Handlers sending the Asset to the Chair for recalibration. The pain of the Chair and the blankness that followed blocked out the sensations for a time, but always by the end of the mission the distraction would have renewed. Once, only once, the Asset gave in and stole a small dark blue fruit that smelled like the extraneous sensory input being received and ate it, only to spit it back out at the immediacy of the flavor, sharp and sweet and tart and heavy and not at all pleasant. It became easier to ignore that particular extraneous desire despite how often the input presented itself.
It was more difficult to ignore other extraneous sensations, such as the taste of grain and burning and smoke and wood that felt both strange and familiar, similar to the vodka that the Handlers sometimes drank in the burn, but more smooth and earthy. The musty, tart and sour taste that accompanied a thick texture and the impression of skin was even more confusingly familiar, but as the Asset had been Commanded to ignore the extraneous sensory input and none of the Handlers ever requested a report on whether or not the sensations persisted beyond the Command, the Asset was given no information as to what these tastes and textures might actually be. Coffee, at least, was an extraneous sensory input that was on the approved nutrient sources list, although the Asset had no recollection of when it had been added or why it had been allowed when it seemed to be of little actual nutritional value and seemed to be more about allowing the Asset to blend into the general population on missions than maintaining physical status at mission-ready levels.
The problem, at least according to the Handler who reported on the Asset to the Director, was that the extraneous sensory input was interrupting the priority compliance command, requiring more frequent recalibrations the longer the Asset was active. The time between revival periods began to lengthen, as marked by the signs of age in the Director and the rotation of Handlers.
And then the Asset was given an assassination mission that was interrupted during the retreat by a blonde man with angry blue eyes who looked so strangely familiar and said the word "Bucky" when the muzzle fell away.
Who the hell is Bucky?
"Wipe him. Start over."
...Him?
The pain and the blankness was a relief, a blanket to smother the confusion of sensory input and sharpen the Asset's focus, but it could not make the Asset forget... the Director had said "him". Like the Asset was a person.
The Asset had been a person.
The Mission Target had known the Asset... had known the person who had been before he became the Asset.
There was a Before.
"'Til the end of the line."
The Target-- the Captain was pulled from the water by the Asset who might once have been called "Bucky", left on the bank to be discovered, and the Asset disappeared.
He had a strong desire for a drink of earthy vodka-- whiskey, and for once he saw no reason to ignore it.
JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES no longer felt like "Bucky", but since he had decided to reject identifying as the Asset ever again - violently, if what he had ended up doing to Vasily Karpov when the man had tried to activate the failsafe compliance trigger was any indication - he was willing to allow the address (nickname) from the Captain whom he had once called "Stevie". He told the man with the wings - Wilson - to call him "James", and even though it made the Captain frown both he and Wilson accepted that the name James was less conspicuous to be called in public than a nickname listed in museums and history books.
"Besides," he told the Cap-- Steve when it looked like the blonde would start again with some bit of past knowledge that James was more and more convinced was subjective recollection rather than actual knowledge, "ain't hardly anyone left alive 'cept you who knew me as 'Bucky' anymore. So you get to keep callin' me that, but hell if anyone else is gonna get the privilege!"
Unsurprisingly, that made Steve stop trying to get other people to call him Bucky, which was really all James had wanted in the first place. Also unsurprisingly, it didn't stop Steve and Wilson from dragging him up to New York and Stark Tower in Manhattan when he admitted that the metal arm was operating below acceptable levels of function.
"You could just say it isn't working," Wilson grumbled.
"It's working fine," James disagreed, and proved it by extending a metal middle finger in Wilson's direction. "It's just slower than it should be, and I think I damaged something when I was digging out the trackers."
"You had trackers in your arm?!"
"Had. Don't have 'em now."
So to Stark Tower they went, because "if anyone can fix your arm, it's Tony", and to James's surprise they were let in through security almost before they'd finished saying who they were and sent to an elevator at the far end of the lobby.
"Welcome back, Captain Rogers," a voice intoned from the speaker near the ceiling as the elevator began moving without any of them pushing a button. "And welcome to Stark Tower, Mr Wilson, Sergeant Barnes."
"That's JARVIS," Steve explained as Wilson looked up, clearly impressed. "He's an AI - a really smart computer program - that runs the tower."
"...Just James, please, JARVIS," James said after a moment, deciding not to touch on the fact that he knew what an AI was and that JARVIS was one; his memories were coming back all the time, and mission details as the Winter Soldier were coming back most easily. Pushing aside those thoughts, he added, "Dunno what my status with the Army is these days, but I can't imagine I still have my old rank from the War."
"As you prefer, James," JARVIS said, and James marvelled at the warmth he could hear in the voice, much more human than even Zola's personality algorithm had been. "Sir is expecting you all in the main living room of the common floor."
James tuned out Wilson starting to ask questions and Steve or JARVIS answering them. The sensation of craving that awful little blue fruit was back again, and he had to fight the urge to scowl so as not to alarm the two men or the AI watching them. Seriously, if he ever managed to find his soulmate now that he knew he had one, they were going to have words about it at some point. He thought he could remember something about someone he had known - a family member? - who had craved spicy food while hating spices, and he hoped they had gotten that resolved because craving something he hated tasting was really annoying.
The elevator doors slid open, allowing James and Wilson to follow Steve into a huge, open plan living room with four black leather couches spaced around a square coffee table. The man waiting for them, dressed in a charcoal gray bespoke suit with a royal purple button down shirt and lavender silk tie and pocket square, was sitting perched on the coffee table rather than on any of the couches and appeared to have his attention focused on the tablet in his hand until he spoke, addressing James directly despite not looking up.
"That arm's a complete mess, Barnes," he said, not bothering with pleasantries or even really acknowledging Steve or Wilson. "JARVIS took scans in the elevator since you were coming to see me about it, and I gotta tell you I am thoroughly offended by it on so many levels."
"Not like HYDRA could recruit you at all, so they had to make do with third-best," James said easily as he shrugged his flesh shoulder, metal elbow jabbing into Steve's ribs when the frowning blonde opened his mouth. "A'course, since they upped your threat level to 'do not engage', I think they stopped trying."
"Nobody ever calls me, even when they really, really should," Stark agreed, and oh, that was a sharp little smile directed at Steve. James mentally ran through the file HYDRA had on Tony Stark coupled with his own private observations that had somehow not always made it into his reports, and gave Steve's weirdly guilty yet mulish expression a sideways look. Suddenly, the fight over the Potomac that had led to James breaking conditioning completely was being thrown in a new light, and he wasn't sure he liked the implications.
"There wasn't time to call you," Steve was saying, and it was clear that Wilson was hearing the words as an apology but Stark's eyes were sharp and narrow and James would bet the contents of his pockets and all seven of his secret weapons caches that the man knew as well as James that Steve was lying.
"Sure, whatever," Stark said dismissively, letting it go at least for the moment and turning his attention back primarily to James. "Point is, I've got a meeting I need to be at in twenty minutes and even a basic maintenance session's gonna take at least an hour, maybe two, so you can either hang out here in a guest room or something until... J?"
"You will be finished with the shareholders in time for dinner and have no pressing appointments afterwards until tomorrow morning, Sir," JARVIS answered.
"So, yeah, hang out here and I can squeeze you in after we eat," Stark said, making James blink at the implication that an invitation to have dinner with Stark was being extended, "or you can ask J to block out a few hours in my schedule that'll be all yours and come back then. Or both, if you wanna go ahead and get me out of a few more meetings this week."
"What's for dinner?" Wilson asked. James shot him an incredulous look, which Wilson returned with an even stare. "You're still working your way back towards eating real food, man, don't think we didn't notice. Last thing you need right now is to make yourself sick eating something your body's not ready to handle even if it'll probably taste a hell of a lot better than those ration packs of yours."
"Bruce is cooking tonight," Stark said after a moment, an odd expression on his face as he looked at the group. "He usually makes curry, but I think he said he was making some kind of beef and vegetable stew that Natasha likes."
"Stew is fine," James said, keeping his tone even despite the sudden twist of nerves at the mention of the Black Widow. She had been with Steve and Wilson in DC, but had been absent when they crossed paths in Indiana. "If you're sure Dr Banner won't mind making extra."
"Yeah, it's fine, stew's easy to expand the number of servings," Stark assured him with a wave of his hand that might have seemed flippant and dismissive if James hadn't been so aware of the heavy focus that was still being aimed his direction. "Might end up a little broth-heavy, but there should be enough that even a super soldier won't go hungry."
"Well, thank you for inviting us," Steve said, proving to James once again that the man really didn't know how to read Stark at all. Wilson at least was looking at Steve askance, having picked up that the invitation wasn't directed at all of them even if he didn't seem to realize how pissed off Stark was at Steve, but Steve was looking at Stark, all but daring the man to say they weren't welcome.
"Saves the trouble of tracking you down later, I'm sure," Stark said, neatly bypassing the entire question. He stood up and tucked the tablet away inside his suit jacket, pulling a white plastic bag out in its place and reaching inside of it. "So, I'll be off to deal with the shareholders while you hang out here. JARVIS can handle any requests you might have for entertainment or whatever else you need."
JARVIS will be watching you, James heard loud and clear, and nodded his acceptance of the AI's monitoring. They were reluctant guests at best, after all, and Stark was clearly not interested in rocking the boat or starting a fight if he didn't have to--
The sudden burst of that blue fruit craving drove all thought of Steve and Stark's battle of wills out of his head and James found himself staring at Stark in shock as he watched the man lower his fingers from his mouth and chew. Stark noticed - of course he did, the man had to be at least as observant as James was - and raised an eyebrow, the hand holding the white plastic bag tilting to angle the bag's opening in James's direction.
"Blueberry?" his soulmate asked.
#soulmate au#winteriron#not age of ultron compliant#not civil war compliant#mcu fic#steve rogers critical
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Lost and Found
Prompt: Hello, you can ignore this but can you write Logince hurt/comfort?
look there's been too much character angst in my notes recently so I'm giving you no-one-is-at-fault-sweet-protective-boys h/c tonight
Read on Ao3
Warnings: none!
Pairings: logince can be platonic or romantic i don't care I'm to aroace to parse out which is which
Word Count: 3116
He’d just wanted to find Roman.
Or, Logan gets lost in the Imagination looking for Roman when the weather takes a turn.
He’d just wanted to find Roman.
Logan grits his teeth against the wind as he pushes further into the Imagination. His glasses get knocked askew by a particularly enthusiastic burst of wind and he winces, fixing them before shaking his head at himself.
“This isn’t real,” he mutters, still pushing forward, “this is the Imagination. It isn’t real. Nothing can really hurt me here.”
And Roman would never hurt me.
Logan turns. And turns. And turns. Where did he come from again?
Ah, yes, there’s the broken tree branch he stumbled into when he came into the clearing. That’s where he came from. So, logically, he should turn so that is at his back before continuing. Yes, that’s what he should do.
So he does, turning so that the tree branch is behind him and walking forward. Well, stumbling forward. There’s something wrong with his shoes, he decides as he looks down and sees his legs perfectly intact. Perhaps they are not ideal for slogging through windy forests. Which, alright, he cannot be fully blamed for, he was not intending on going on a quest today—he just wants to find Roman. They have plans today and they’d both been looking forward to them. So he needs to find Roman. Yes, that’s what he needs to do.
…where is Roman, again?
Logan frowns, still trying to hold his glasses in place against the wind that—if he were someone else, he would say it seems determined to strip him of them. But that’s ridiculous. Wind doesn’t have emotions or goals, and this wind isn’t real.
But then would that mean that it could have emotions or goals?
He shakes again and walks forward, narrowly dodging a broken tree branch. He winces as he stumbles into the trunk and narrowly avoids smashing his head into its side. He keeps going. It’s cold. It sends him more off-balance, sends him staggering into another tree. He reaches out to grip the bark and squeezes his eyes shut.
This isn’t real. I’m fine. I just need to find Roman and get out.
His fingers slip on the jagged bark as he pushes himself up. He moves forward.
Something hits his face. He flinches, hand coming up instinctively to block his path when something hits his hand. He flails, trying to swat it away, only for something else to hit his hand. And again. And again. He swipes at his face, trying to figure out what it is, what’s hitting him, only for his hand to come away damp.
Oh. It’s raining.
Indeed, his glasses become speckled with water droplets before he can fully come to this conclusion. His shirt begins to stick to his skin, his tie hangs limply, caught by the buttons. He grits his teeth anew and keeps pushing forward. Just get to Roman, just get to Roman.
…where is Roman?
Logan turns around. And turns. And turns.
He’s in a forest. Dark trees frown over him, the wind gleefully stripping bark and flinging it at him. He throws his arms up to protect his face. Rain stings as it slaps bare skin. It’s cold.
He turns once more and—
Smack!
Logan cries out as he stumbles, landing hard against the roots of a tree sprawled across the forest floor. His pants whine in protest as he collapses. His leg burns. A very quick, very absent-minded assessment says it’s not broken, not sprained, just scraped. But anything more than that would mean moving and the rain seems determined to pin him to the ground. The wind whistles against him, delighting in seeing him there, at the base of the tree, unable to move.
But he has to find Roman.
Roman will know what to do.
Roman won’t hurt him.
“Logan?” The wind starts to sound like Roman’s voice. “Logan? Logan, is that you? Logan!”
His eyes closed against the onslaught of bark, Logan reaches out, baring his arms to the wind, reaching for the voice that sounds too far away.
“Logan! Oh my stars, Logan, you’re hurt, what’re you doing here, come here—“
“R-roman?”
“Yes,” Roman says, and oh, there’s Roman, “I’m right here, my darling nerd, come on, come here, let’s just—let’s get you out of here. What are you doing here, you don’t even have a coat—“
“Thought I didn’t need one,” he slurs, belatedly realizing how warm Roman is, “not real.”
“Oh, Logan,” Roman sighs, fondness bleeding into his tone as he lifts—when did he get his arms around him?— Logan up and begins to walk, “you can’t solve all of your problems with object impermanence.”
“…watch me.”
“Gladly,” comes the murmur as a warm kiss is pressed against his forehead, “but not right now, hmm? Let’s get you warm.”
It takes a few moments of realizing that it’s over, he’s safe, he found Roman, for Logan to put the pieces together that he’s being carried out of Roman’s realm like a child.
“I can walk,” Logan protests, trying to free himself only to be thwarted by Roman’s hold, “you can put me down.”
“I’m sure I could, and I’m sure you can, sweetheart,” Roman murmurs, still walking without trying to put him down, “but you can also let me carry you.”
Logan does not pout, he doesn’t, as Roman walks them out of the Imagination. The wave of warm as they cross the threshold into Roman’s room grants him the immediate knowledge that had he been standing under his own power, the contrast would’ve sent him right back into Roman’s arms.
“Shh,” Roman says quietly when he lets out an unconscious gasp at how cold he must be, “shh, sweetheart, thankfully you’re not hypothermic. Let’s get you in the warm shower, okay?”
“No, wait—after drop, core temperature causes—“
“That’s when you’ve been swimming,” Roman corrects, still carrying Logan as they make it to the bathroom, “not out in the rain.”
“Oh.” Logan blinks. “I—didn’t mean to go swimming.”
Roman chuckles, setting him down carefully on the steps to the bathtub. He reaches up to gently take off Logan’s glasses, drying them on a soft towel and sliding them back on. Logan blinks, trying to orient himself in Roman’s bathroom.
“…has this room always been this…extravagant?”
He’s rewarded with another laugh from Roman as they look around. Really, the last time Logan remembers being in here, it had looked much like Thomas’s bathroom. Shower, mirror, toilet, sink, a few cabinets. But now—
Now he’s sitting on the steps up to a truly massive bathtub, across the room from an equally massive walk-in shower. The vanity looks large enough for him to lie across with room to spare, the two sinks just below enormous mirrors. The toilet looks like—well, a throne.
It’s a miracle of a bathroom.
“Janus helped me make it,” Roman says softly, calling his attention back with a gentle hand under his chin, “it doesn’t stay all the time, but when someone needs to be spoiled, this is what it looks like.”
“Who needs to be spoiled?”
Roman chucks him lightly under the chin. “You, sweetheart, you’re freezing. Come on, let’s get you into the shower. I’ll grab something soft for you to wear afterward.”
Logan nods, attempting to get up to do as Roman bids only to wince. Roman, turning away, immediately crouches back down, hands reaching in concern.
“Are you hurt, sweetheart,” he murmurs, looking him over, “can I help? What can I do?”
“I fell.” Logan stubbornly ignores the flush in his face as he gestures weakly toward his leg. “Tripped on a root, I think it’s scraped.”
Roman winces in sympathy, reaching to hover his hand over where Logan indicates. “Sometimes I swear those trees are trying to trip me.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of Logan’s mouth. “It’s not Remus, is it?”
Roman laughs. “No, no, when he wants you on the ground, he doesn’t stop at passively trying to trip you. Trust me.”
“Oh, I’m aware.” Roman’s hand lands on the scrape and he sucks in air through his teeth. “There.”
“Mm, I can feel how warm it is. You poor thing…alright. There’s a first aid kit in the left drawer over there—yes, that one, and the stuff in the shower is meant to be gentle. I’d avoid trying to clean it fully, that’s going to hurt, but just enough to make sure there’s nothing in the wound.”
“I understand.”
Roman pats his knee and stands. “I’ll be just outside, take as long as you need. I’ll leave the clothes on the counter, okay?”
Logan tries to look up and winces. The bright lights and the white tile make it difficult to keep his eyes open without his glasses.
“…sweetheart?”
“Can it be—“ Logan waves his hand at the ceiling— “less?”
“Of course, here—give me your hand.” Roman helps him stand, slips his arm around his waist, and guides him to the shower. He presses Logan’s hand against the wall to feel the set of light switches. “There’s one that controls all the lights, one for the overhead, one for the shower light, and one for the fan.”
Logan clicks a couple of times until he can look up again, yellow light spilling into the shower area and only the shower area. “Thank you.”
“Always.” Roman kisses the back of his hand and leaves him be.
Peeling himself out of his damp clothes takes longer than he expected, but his frustration is tempered by the knowledge that he’s here, he found Roman, Roman would never let him be hurt in his own bathroom, and that it’s okay, now.
Everything is okay.
He leaves his clothes laid out on the steps, his glasses set on the counter nearest the shower. The curtain has the same weight as a key in his hand. The warm water beats down over his shoulders, flowing softer over his leg. He can’t see it too well in the soft light, but he can make out the angry red skin and it still feels too hot to the touch. He winces as the water hits the wound, turning so it hits his head first. After a moment, he lies down, the cool tiles beneath him the perfect contrast to the pitter-patter of warm water on his front.
Logan lies there, in the warm light, soft under the water, and remembers how to breathe.
When his chest no longer aches from the cold, he stands, shutting off the water and reaching for the towels. Oh, Roman must have heated towel racks; the towel he wraps himself in is so, so, warm. A noise escapes his mouth as he walks over to the pile of clothes left on the counter. A glance over his shoulder shows Roman must’ve come in while he was drifting. His wet clothes are gone too. He reaches for the dry ones only to wince when the towel rubs against the scrape on his leg.
Right.
He turns on the brighter lights, wincing and trying to see the full scope of the injury. It doesn’t look good; he’s scraped along most of his upper thigh, red and angry and too sore for him to rest his weight on. There’s probably not much he can do. It’s not severe enough to merit a full bandage and smearing any sort of cream over that much surface area just guarantees it’ll get on something he’d rather it didn’t. He sighs and exits the bathroom only to pause.
Oh, Roman’s turned his fairy lights on.
Roman glances up from under the strings of lights hanging around his room, smiling when he sees Logan and holding out his arms. The room is dim, not too dark that he can’t see, but not bright and shining as it normally is. Roman is still in his prince costume, looking every bit like he’s stepped out of a storybook. Logan suddenly feels very underdressed in the pajama shirt and shorts.
“Come here,” Roman calls when Logan hesitates, “let me have a look at you.”
Logan moves, making to sit next to Roman when Roman stops him with a hand on his hip.
“…did you not find the first aid kit?”
Oh. “There’s not much use in it. It’s not bad enough to cover and I—“
Roman moves his hand to touch the scrape and Logan flinches. At Roman’s fond yet disappointed look, something like shame bubbles up in his chest.
“…will you help me?”
“Always,” Roman says, pushing Logan’s hip, “now lie down. I’ll be right back.”
Logan lies down, worrying a little about getting anything on Roman’s bed only for Roman to hush any protests and tuck a pillow under his head.
“Don’t strain your neck. I’ll be right here.”
Logan tries, but as soon as he feels the bed sag behind him and the clunk of the first aid kit opening he tenses.
“Roman.”
“Yes?”
“I can’t—can’t do this. Not like this.” He shakes his head. “I can’t see you. I don’t know where you’re—when you’re going to touch me.”
“Okay.” Roman moves to crouch in front of him. “I still need to be able to see your leg. Can we try something else?”
They end up with Logan resting against Roman’s shoulder, his leg across Roman’s lap. Roman takes one of Logan’s hands and rests it on his arm.
“It’s on the outside of your thigh,” he says, “so I’m going to need you to turn it or I’m going to have to lean over. Either way, I won’t always be looking at you so if you need me to stop at any time, squeeze.”
Roman won’t hurt him. Roman won’t let him be hurt. His hands are gentle as he applies the cream, strong enough to hold Logan’s leg in place without it hurting. When he brushes a raw part of the scrape and Logan hisses, he rubs soothing circles into the skin with his thumb as Logan lets out a breath over a few seconds.
“Good.”
Only when Roman starts making sure the cream is properly rubbed in does Logan realize he’s focusing more on the dry warmth of Roman’s hand than the slight sting of the cream. He’s more focused on the slight furrow of Roman’s brow than the angry red welts on his leg. He’s more focused on the way his leg rests in Roman’s lap, in Roman’s grip, Roman’s arms flexing and relaxing under his hand than the slight strain of keeping his leg turned.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Roman, of course, can feel the moment he tenses, no matter how small, stopping his motions and looking up at Logan’s face. Logan, of course, would rather Roman didn’t look at his face right now and turns away, steadfastly focusing on the wound on his leg and not the way his face heats up under Roman’s focus. But then there are fingers under his chin that turn him back to Roman’s face and that’s not fair. Roman simply raises an eyebrow, wordlessly asking in a way that ensures Logan can’t speak.
Have Roman’s eyes always been that color brown?
He can see the moment realization clicks by the way Roman’s face softens, mouth curling up in the way it does when he’s about to tease Logan for the next hour. Logan flinches only for Roman to cup the side of his face and hold him still.
“Eyes closed now, Specs,” Roman murmurs instead, thumb running over his leg.
“W-what?”
“Close your eyes,” he repeats, “let me put the bandage on and we’ll be done.”
Logan opens his mouth again but Roman raises his eyebrows.
“Closed.”
He hears the gentle pull of the tape, feels Roman’s warm hands tape the gauze in place. Feels one of Roman’s arms hook under his leg, the other around his back, hears the soft thump of the covers as Roman stands, turns, and lays him down properly. He hushes the soft noise of surprise and snaps his fingers, the prince costume turning to pajama under Logan’s hand.
“We had plans,” Logan protests blearily as he feels Roman slide his glasses off his face, “we were going to—to—“
“To what, sweetheart,” comes the murmur next to his ear when he can’t finish his sentence, “what were we going to do?”
He grits his teeth in frustration, much to Roman’s amusement.
“Relax, Specs,” he chuckles, “it’s alright. I’ll be right here when you remember what we were going to do. In the meantime, why don’t you just lie here with me?”
Logan bites back a curse. Damn Roman for being as perceptive as he is, and damn him for knowing it’s working.
“Shh,” as a hand strokes his cheek, “none of that, now, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
“Should’ve known a prince could never resist a damsel in distress,” he bites out, just to have something to say.
“Oh? Is that why you came into the storm with no jacket?” Damn. “So I’d have to come save you? Logan, really, if you wanted my attention, you needn’t resort to such extremes.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he says in a way he hopes doesn’t sound as much like a whine as he thinks it does.
Judging by Roman’s chuckle, it’s definitely a whine. “Oh, Logan, you know you always have my attention.”
“Stop teasing.”
“I can’t help it,” he murmurs, “you’re so teaseable.”
“That’s not a word.”
“It is now.” Before he can open his mouth again, there’s a kiss pressed to his cheek and warm arms around him. “Now shush, my dearest nerd, and rest. My damsel’s hurt.”
Through the rapidly growing drowsiness, Logan manages to mutter: “not your damsel.”
“Of course not,” Roman coos, “you’re my Logan.”
“Roman!”
He laughs again, a hand coming up to ruffle his damp hair. “Come here, roll onto your side—yes, that’s it. There. Let me hold you. This way you won’t roll onto the scrape and hurt yourself.”
Roman’s leg wraps through his, drawing him into a gentle pin. Nothing that will work if Logan actually wants to be free—and he knows Roman would let him go the instant he asks. The hand in his hair threatens to lull him right to sleep, but not before he says thank you.
“Anything for you, sweetheart,” comes the reply, the other hand scratching lightly between his shoulder blades, “now you just lie there and fall asleep to me.”
Just before he slips under, he hears one last whisper.
“Me too, Logan, me too.”
Logan drifts off in Roman’s arms, safe, warm, found.
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