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itmeblog · 1 year ago

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THERE WAS LITERALLY NOTHING STOPPING ME FROM WRITING FAN FIC ABOUT MY OWN SHIT!!

FUCKING NOTHING!!!!

(Maybe because I created this world it's canon now? But that is 1001% not my concern nor my problem)

Nova was alive. The pulse that ripped between her temples and settled angrily behind her eyes informed her as much.

She groaned, reaching in vain for memories from the night before. There were flashes: a bar, a party, another bar, a man, possibly a third bar and then…nothing. The rest of the night was ash and dust. She reached out for the glass SAWA should have left on her night stand and knocked something over sending shards of pain dancing in the space between her eyes.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” She ground her face into the pillow. It smelled of something sweet, herbs the people on this planet used to keep pests away.

“Fuck.”

Please be a hotel.

She couldn’t take another morning of awkwardly running into the members of a family of someone she could only vaguely remember.

Nova gathered what pieces of herself she could manage. Her mouth was dry, her head was attempting a revolt from her neck, and spending the morning retching in whatever passed for a toilet here seemed a half-decent idea. It only got worse as she sat up.

The room was sparse, just a bed really. Her clothes were strewn across the floor, mixed with an outfit Nova didn’t recognize, all sequins and scarves. A screen sat nestled into the far wall and flickered silently through a morning report, a perky looking reporter sang the GU’s praises in the subtitles that scrolled across the bottom.

A hotel room.

Thank God.

Nova’s attention landed wearily on the woman sleeping beside her. What had happened to the guy she’d been with? Had she ditched him? Wandered off and found better company? She tried to remember but all she could recall was him pinning her to a wall, the heat of his body pressed against hers and the fleeting thought, hazed by brandy and something bitter she’d been offered to smoke, that he wasn’t enough to silence the thoughts in her head.

Maybe the woman had succeeded where he’d failed. Nova wasn’t sure. She couldn’t remember this woman at all.

That was supposed to worry her. Lulu would be concerned.

Nova shut the thought away with a viciousness that made her stomach pitch.

As it turned out, there was a proper restroom, though a prerequisite for puking was actually having eaten something in the first place, so it was really more about form than efficacy. Nova sent prayers to a porcelain alter, a thought that teased a near hysterical laugh from her throat.

God, she was tired.

She picked up her clothes, showered, and left her companion to sleep off whatever had happened the night before.

“Hey.” Nova leaned heavily against the front desk she only half-remembered approaching, rubbing her fingers against her temples as she reached for words.

“Yes?” The person behind the counter, some alien with six eyes that blinked asynchronously in a way that made the impossible task of focusing on where to look, harder still.

“I—, uh, shit, I don’t even know the fucking room.” She turned around like that might somehow make it clearer, but she distinctly remembered taking a lift. She was fucking this up. Breathe. New tactic. “I’m Nova. Did a Nova sign in a room yesterday?”

The receptionist typed something, every key stroke hit like an axe between Nova’s brows.

“Last name?” Thunder.

“Don’t have one,” except the art of opening her mouth properly had escaped her and everything had come out in a continuous nearly indecipherable donaveone. Which after receiving several blinks Nova repeated to marginal success.

“Mmm, there was a Nova NoStar.”

She cringed. “NoStar?”

The clerk nodded, well, sort of nodded. Bobbed. They had no neck or equivalent thereof.

“Goddammit,” her hands returned to her temples, her elbows to the counter, the effort of keeping herself upright just a bit too much when she had to deal with this shit. “Yeah, NoStar. I’d like to pay, yesterday and today.”

She’d have to burn this planet off the list. How fucking stupid did she have to be to give her real name? Sure, there were probably millions of Nova NoStars out there but Jeanne would find a way. Fuck.

Nova paid, the blaring of the screen as her transaction went through made her want to dash her head against the wall.

“Is there anything else you need?”

Nova blinked, waiting for the words to settle in her head and mean something. “Need? Oh, uh, yeah, fuck, is there someplace to get breakfast around here?” She glanced at the sun that filtered in through the small window by the receptionist’s desk. “Or lunch?”

The directions she’d received sent Nova to a small food stand that smelled of grease and the promise of revival. She couldn’t read the menu and simply pointed and was handed something that might have been bread and some sort of meat, along with a bottle of water. The man who ran the stand was some flavor of human, though Nova could hardly be bothered to parse his existence. Modified, maybe?

She tried not to look too hard at what he’d given her. It undulated a bit if she stared at it too long, like it wasn’t quite dead despite the steam wafting from it. The first bite reminded her that she hadn’t really eaten the day before and the thing was gone before she knew it. She licked the oil from her fingers and set on the water.

Thank god for small miracles. She felt halfway human.

The traffic of the world sang through the air above her, in large ships belching black into the skies and buffeted her from all sides in lower forms of travel, things with wheels and rails and low flying capabilities. Galactic Union banners waved high overhead. Somewhere a commercial played calling for people to sign up for positions at their embassies.

The Galactic Union: Be part of something bigger.

Nova didn’t recognize this part of the city. It was cramped and crowded, two things Nova actually liked while she was working, but now that she was simply eating and drinking her way through her savings, was simply another obstacle that teased the remainder of her headache from the corners of her mind.

That and with food and water sustaining her, what little of her mind that was able to rouse for non-essential activities busied itself chiding her for her stupidity or cycling through all the things she could have done to save Lulu.

If only she’d been faster.

If only she’d noticed sooner.

If only she wasn’t such a fucking idiot.

If only she hadn’t listened.

Nova, stay put. The words rang clear as a bell between her ears. And then she was there again, frozen. Watching.

Lulu smiled. The skin at the corner of her eyes crinkled in concern, for Nova or herself, Nova didn’t know.

Then Lulu was gone.

The air around Nova was too thin, her pulse was a thready hum. She walked faster as if that might somehow put some distance between herself and the memory. A horn blared and the world rocketed into focus as a vehicle stopped just short of ramming her full speed and settled instead for banging into her leg just enough that her palms slammed into the hood to keep her steady.

Nova stared, wide eyed at the driver, her breaths coming in pants.

Wasn’t this what she’d wanted?

Why hadn’t they been driving faster?

Why did they stop?

The curses that filtered in through her translator were colorful and fantastical. Her bottom lip quivered as tears pricked the back of her eyes.

Lulu wouldn’t want this for me.

Her hands flew away from the hood as if she’d been burned. “Sorry,” was all she offered as she hurried away, her leg protesting at her speed after enduring that abuse. The driver’s curses followed her until she turned a corner and pressed her back against the wall of some towering building. The stone dug into her back, rough and painful, and real.

Her hands shook with leftover adrenaline.

“Fuck.”

She was going to cry. She couldn’t keep doing this.

“Lulu wanted you to live, you fucking idiot,” she whispered. “How could you forget how to do the one goddamn thing she wanted you to do?”

#this is something I wrote while procrastinating on something else purely in an effort not to do the thing. don't @ me #tw: drinking #tw: grief #tw sui ideation

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jukashi · 7 months ago

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Fascists are stupid enough that their empathizing with any fictional entity says nothing. There are fascists who see their ideals reflected in plenty of works intended to satirize them, like Starship Troopers or Judge Dredd. There are fascists who project their fantasies into the Empire from Star Wars. There are fascists who project their fantasies into My Little Pony. So what? WH40k was originally created with satirical intent towards the parent ideologies of modern fascists. It inherited a starter fanbase from Warhammer Fantasy, its game became popular and it had some cool aesthetics and served a dark space fantasy niche, so it became bigger and people started writing stories in the setting that were played straight, because holding up the 'THIS IS SATIRE YOU ARE STUPID IF YOU IDEALIZE THIS' sign gets tiring, and also maybe there is some value in unironically examining what people would go through and be like under a theoretically maximally awful government.

Reading about a bunch of people in a miserable setting being miserable because they're all fascist idiots living in a fascist idiot setting gets tiring, and a lot of WH40k material is really tiring because so much of it is so very miserably grim. There can be value in that - there's a sort of reverse escapism, for example, in immersing yourself in an awful fictional setting and coming out with refreshed hope and optimism because reality isn't that bad. Still, for decades, 4 out of every 5 warhammer books were about how inquisitor gorbhoffer or captain dooficius of the edged angels shot a puppy in the face and some plot device was destroyed that represented a tangled shred of an ant's ass of hope that the setting might marginally improve because fuck you. So everyone got tired of it and they started moving the plot and introducing more hopeful stories which can only be described as more hopeful in relative terms, because they keep dropping 'this will still all go to shit' hints everywhere. Fascists empathize with space marines? The whole horus heresy novel series is about how space marines and/or the creators of the space marines fucked everything up for everyone.

What else can they do? Put a 'do not emulate' box on the bottom of all the marketing materials? In every edition, in every book, somewhere in nearly everything produced for WH40k, they give that intro spiel - 'in the grim darkness of the far future there is only war' - and after that, every time: 'and the laughter of thirsting gods'. Nobody gets out of this setting as a role model. They are there for the gods to play with and laugh at.

So there are fascists who are fans of WH40k, because a surface level reading of the setting makes it seem like it aligns with their views, if you squint to obscure things. Great. GW put out a letter telling them they're not welcome. Beyond that, better for them to spend their money on stupidly expensive minis instead of guns or political donations. Maybe, eventually, some of them will pick up on the messages they're being beaten around the head with. After all, we don't know how many people there are who might have otherwise been tempted to fascist ideologies, but got out because they picked up what WH40k was putting down. People don't volunteer that information. There are plenty of politically left people who like W40k, though, evidently. For something that targets young, socially misfit men with an interest in military games as its primary demographic, and the statistical skew that suggests should be likely, I think it's doing pretty well.

warhammer 40k loves to call itself a satire of fascism and then depicts a universe in which all of the great fascistic anxieties and beliefs of its imperium (the enemy is everywhere, it is both weak and strong, we are eternal, any violence we commit is justified, our leader is our genetic superior, degeneracy will lead to the collapse of our society) are all objectively true, completely blunting any satirical edge it could have, but giving it just enough plausible deniability that games workshop can market to anyone of any ideology

#rambling at hours i should be in bed #so hopefully this makes sense #but i hope for clemency if not #also blaming the hour if anything comes across as having any venom to it #aside from the second hand venom of talking about stupid fascists and their behavior and impact on everyone else's ability to enjoy things #now good night

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xiaomomowrites · 4 years ago

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home

Genshin Impact | TartaLi/ZhongChi

Summary: “Home isn’t always a place,” he taps Zhongli’s chest, “home can mean a lot of things to different people. For me, my home is my family. Wherever they are is where my home is. And maybe that’s in Liyue, maybe it’s in Snezhnaya, or maybe it’s in Inazuma. Either way, wherever my mother is, wherever my siblings are, that’s what I call home.”

As Childe trails off, he’s suddenly aware of how he’s fidgeting with a button on Zhongli’s coat now. The tips of his ears turn red. He meets his gaze abashedly. “Does that answer your question?”

Zhongli smiles fondly at him. “I believe it does. Thank you for indulging me.”

Or; Zhongli struggles to define what exactly “home” means to him.

Find it on Ao3!

This part takes place between act V and Zhongli, Come Down. I know I posted this series totally out of order, please forgive me for my lack of organization :,D

A/N: First of all, I finally have a beta reader!! She’s helped me through the process of writing this and I’m incredibly thankful for her support. I accidentally made her cry with this fic though, even if it wasn’t necessarily sad?? Regardless I appreciate her feedback haha.

Oh my, I feel like I’ve been writing these two being really soft for too long. After this, I really need to face the music and write these two fighting. The time has come. They won’t be in the honeymoon phase forever!! I’m gonna vibe check all of you.

Also, do yourself a favor and listen to the songs Home by Michael Buble and Sparks by Coldplay after or during you read this. You’re welcome.

Lastly, you can find me on Twitter @/xiaoscribbles where I’m extremely active and talk too much about Genshin. I love making friends there!

Enjoy <3 -u.n.

Zhongli never had a place to call home.

Or rather, he never bothered to find one of his own and commit to it.

He was always too mobile, too nomadic. He had places to be, people and adepti to see, contracts to see through. Zhongli never found himself settling into one place for too long. Sure, when he was Rex Lapis, he had nested many times. He was a beast whose presence was too large to be confined into one space, so he would glide to the highest mountain in Liyue with ample space for a dragon like him, and settle. Zhongli remembered how he would make it as comfortable as possible for himself using all kinds of things he would pick up on his travels. A deep purr of satisfaction would rumble through him as his scaled belly would make contact with the coolness of the earth, and Rex Lapis would allow himself to relax against the stone, body sinking as if he were weightless. Although, no matter how he shifted, tossed and turned when he tried to rest, something was always missing.

Even the familiar feeling of the Liyuan ground was not enough to fill the void in his chest.

It was satisfying, sure, but never completing.

Hence, his lack of understanding of the human desire to settle down in one home for the rest of their short, yet meaningful lives.

Were they not itching to get up and go somewhere else? See the world? Appreciate the land beneath their feet in all its entirety? Zhongli failed to comprehend. Even an ancient being like him fell short in understanding the idea of a “home”.

Well, what consisted of a home, anyway? Four walls and a roof over their heads? A kitchen filled with food? A soft bed with layers and layers of sheets? What was the meaning of all that, when the true beauty of the world was beyond those four walls, high into the sky, and deep beneath the sea? What kind of pleasure could possibly come out of being domesticated?

Nevertheless, Zhongli did make an old promise to try to understand humans as they were. So sure, Zhongli supposed he could appreciate the art of architecture. He saw how hard people worked to build these beautiful houses with intricate designs to maximize safety for the residents excited to inhabit them. It was endearing, Zhongli thought, how enthusiastic humans got about a house. The idea of settling down with their loved ones would give them so much serotonin, so much drive. It was inspiring to him. Zhongli had always hoped that one day, he could feel the same way about someone.

So why couldn’t bring himself to understand the joy in this “home” everyone spoke of? What was he missing? Was he missing the duvet? The one thousand thread count sheets? Was he missing the fine China he saw peddlers selling on roads far from town? Because he had tried his best, living in his mortal form, to find the simple pleasure in decorating his home.

But no matter what he did, no matter how many throw pillows he placed on the couch, he simply could not deny the gaping hole in his chest when he went to bed at night. He had reached a point where even cooking for one every night upset him so, and he would go to bed disgruntled and hollow. The vast margins left on the king sized bed in the middle of the night kept Zhongli awake. Though he did not even need sleep, he had tried his best to form what the humans called a “proper sleeping schedule”. Apparently, according to Hu Tao, sleeping at four in the morning and waking at seven for work was “not suitable”.

But in truth, what was he supposed to do? Pray tell, what could he possibly do to absolve the issue of the chasm growing in his chest with each passing night?

“Xiansheng!” A jovial voice snaps him out of his reverie.

Zhongli looks up from his mundane paperwork to see a familiar head of red hair bounding toward him languidly. Oh, what a sight for sore eyes.

“Childe,” he greets, “did you pester Miss Hu Tao into letting you back here again?”

“Pester?” Childe brings a hand to his chest to mock his hurt, “I hardly have to bother her to come back here. A simple ‘you look fantastic today’ is always my ticket in.”

Zhongli scoffs fondly. “How can I help you, Childe?” He sets his pen down and leans back in his chair, amber eyes following the Harbinger curiously.

“Well your break is in ten minutes, so I figured I’d come grab you for lunch at Wanmin?” Childe plants two hands flat on the cherry red oak desk and leans forward into Zhongli’s space. There’s his signature teasing smile spreading slyly across his face, the one he knows Zhongli won’t be able to resist.

Zhongli hums in approval. “Sure, let me just wrap up this last form and I should be ready to go shortly.”

Childe drops down to his elbows in response and rests his face between his palms. “You sure? We could just go now, you know. I got Hu Tao consulting Ying’er about the new fragrance for the next hour or so.”

Zhongli leans forward and meets him in the middle. “I must be responsible, Childe. If my lunch break is at noon, then I will not leave my post until then.”

Childe pouts, jutting his bottom lip out cutely in an attempt to convince him otherwise. Zhongli, immovable as ever, simply leans forward and captures his lips between his own. The Harbinger makes a happy noise in the back of his throat and presses closer, positively humming when the ex-Archon reciprocates. But the older man is quick to get back to work, pulling away as quick as he came, but not before he nips at Childe’s bottom lip. The ginger whines petulantly at the loss of contact.

“Have a seat, Ajax.” Zhongli speaks, a hair’s width away from kissing him again. Childe grumbles, but agrees regardless. He seats himself in one of the plush armchairs located in the corner of the office and makes himself comfortable for the next ten minutes.

Zhongli readjusts himself in his seat and picks his pen back up, glancing back down at the form he had already completed. He blinked owlishly at it. He must have finished signing it while Childe was talking without realizing what he had done. Regardless, he moves onto the next document to peruse silently. Mid sentence, he scoffs playfully, shaking his head at the thought of the ginger distracting him so. Is he even surprised at this point? Not even a little bit. The ginger has an incomprehensible hold on his heart, one that he doesn’t really want to shake off.

“Something funny, Xiansheng?” Childe teases from his seat. He’s reclined in his chair, relaxed, head lolling against the cushioned headrest. His eyes are closed and his shoulders are drooping into the leather. He’s relaxed, for once, and the thought of Ajax allowing himself to let his guard down in his presence makes Zhongli’s heart thump happily in his chest.

“Not particularly,” Zhongli pushes himself up with a groan. Goodness, his joints are getting tired. He pads over to where Childe is seated and forcefully makes room for himself on a chair that is clearly made for one person. Childe lets out a surprised yelp at the sudden intrusion but scoots over to make room, anyway. Zhongli makes himself comfortable by angling his body to where it’s being cradled by the junction between the armrest and the back, and opens his arms as a silent invitation.

Childe takes it happily and launches forward to burrow into Zhongli’s chest. He rests a gloved hand over his heart and snuggles closer, inhaling the deep scent of silk flowers and leather. Zhongli’s arms come around to strap him against his chest, gloved hands petting his sides as he presses a kiss to red hair. The contact immediately vanquishes the discourse in his mind. He squeezes him tight for good measure, forcing a grunt out of his Tartaglia.

“Xiansheng,” he calls.

“Hm?”

“You’re working too hard again.”

“Am I?” He questions absentmindedly. “And here I thought I was pulling my weight just fine.”

Childe snorts. “Pulling your weight? You know I make enough for the both of us. You could retire and stay at home, relaxing and reading books, or whatever it is you do at home.”

Ah, there it is again.

Home.

For the second time that day, Zhongli is struck with confusion.

“What is home to you, Childe?” He asks, voice soft and far away. Childe frowns against his chest in confusion.

“Home?” He parrots.

“Yes, home. What is ‘home’ to you, Tartaglia?”

“Hmm,” the Harbinger hums, tapping a gloved finger against the ex-Archon’s chest idly as he speaks. “I suppose home is Snezhnaya. Home is what I grew up in. The unbearable cold and the old cottage house. Ice fishing with my siblings, massaging my mother’s back. Those things are all home to me.”

Zhongli ponders. Of course that is what home means. Familiarity, yes? So, technically, his home was Liyue. The hustle and bustle of trade by the harbor, the loud sizzling woks at the food stands, the loud marketers on the street that work hard day and night, the enthusiastic story tellers spewing exaggerated lies— that was all home to him.

So why, then, was Zhongli still dissatisfied with this conclusion? Home should obviously be Liyue. He created this land with his own two hands. Gave people the very drive that keeps them alive today; he gave the idea of mora and fair trade and economic prosperity. He’s watched countless faces pass him every day, every year, every century. He’s seen new faces, young faces, old faces, familiar faces, too, the ones he had seen on older souls. Reincarnated souls. Zhongli knew those souls. He’s had dinner with many of them on multiple occasions.

And it was no secret that Zhongli was well known in his hometown. Every business owner was familiar with his eloquent way of speaking and ambitious ways of buying. With the arrival of Childe, every business owner all but doubled their enthusiasm now that Mister Zhongli finally had a means to pay. People knew Zhongli, they adored him. They admired his amber eyes and long, beautiful hair, the ends of it looking like it had been dipped in melted mora. When he walked, people’s eyes followed. They would stare longingly at his beautifully crafted coat, his single earring, the fine leather gloves that cover his deft hands, and they would admire the way he walked with purpose, and with fire. A confidence so set in stone, it was almost difficult for one to even approach Mister Zhongli. For so long, he was considered Liyue’s most handsome bachelor, until of course Tartaglia came along and swept him off of his feet, capturing his attention in a way no one else could ever imagine imitating.

Yet, despite all the attention his people lavished upon him, there was always a nagging feeling of isolation nipping at him in the back of his mind. Despite creating the very ground beneath their feet, he simply felt like he did not fit in. Only when he was with Tartaglia did he truly feel like he belonged anywhere. It was rather inexplicable. There was something about the way Tartagali’s presence wrapped around him with a level of tenderness he had never experienced. It covered him like a gentle embrace, welcomed him without judgement, and loved him without expecting anything in return. The thought of Ajax himself made Zhongli’s heart swell

Speaking of which, the said man was now pressed tightly against his chest tracing lazy patterns into the fabric of his coat. Their long legs were tangled where they were dangling off the seat, with Tartaglia’s foot rubbing affectionately against the older man’s ankle.

Oh, how far they have come.

“But,” Tartaglia suddenly interjects, jolting Zhongli out of his thoughts. “If my family were to come here to Liyue to stay, then I suppose Liyue would be home, too.”

Zhongli hums. “Naturally. I’m sure they would find the variety of houses here in Liyue nice and peaceful, perfect for a new home.”

At that, Childe lets out a light laugh. “Honestly? They could live in a cardboard box in Inazuma, and I would still call that home.”

Zhongli frowns. Well now he’s even more confused than when he started. Since when was a cardboard box a suitable home for a human? It completely lacked all the appliances the houses here in Liyue had. Why would Childe settle for that? He of all people was aware of the love he holds for his family, there simply was no way he would call that a suitable home for his family.

“I don’t understand,” he says instead, “a cardboard box, Tartaglia? You do not strike me as the type to settle for such an...unbecoming home. Especially for your family.”

“No, no, Xiansheng,” the Harbinger chuckles, sitting up slightly so he can look Zhongli in the eye. “I was just exaggerating. And, home isn’t always supposed to be a house, you know. Those two things can be mutually exclusive. Maybe not all the time, but, definitely most of the time.”

Well this was certainly new. Now he truly did not understand what it meant to have a home.

“Apparently I do not know.”

Childe sits upright to look down at the ex-Archon.

“Home isn’t always a place,” he taps Zhongli’s chest, “home can mean a lot of things to different people. For me, my home is my family. Wherever they are is where my home is. And maybe that’s in Liyue, maybe it’s in Snezhnaya, or maybe it’s in Inazuma. Either way, wherever my mother is, wherever my siblings are, that’s what I call home.”

Childe is aware he’s rambling, but he can’t help it. Once he starts talking about his siblings, he simply cannot stop. “It wouldn’t matter where I was if I couldn’t hear my siblings from the other room. If I didn’t wake up to Tonia’s loud blow dryer every morning, or if I didn’t hear Anthon trying to talk to her over the blowing, then it isn’t home. If I can’t hear Teucer’s footsteps coming toward me asking about a new Mr. Cyclops toy, it isn’t home. Not to me. But like I said, it’s different for everyone.”

Zhongli smiles fondly at him. “I believe it does. Thank you for indulging me.”

Childe pushes himself up and off the chair, stretching and yawning obnoxiously. “Great,” he replies once his jaw finishes unhinging itself from that yawn, “let’s eat, I’m starving.”

—

To put it simply, Zhongli rethinks his definition of home all night. After he gets home from his dinner date (Tartaglia tugged on his sleeves until he agreed to leave his shift early in favor of a new restaurant that had popped up recently), he closes the door behind him to take in the composition of his home. Tartaglia had been the one to pick out most of the furniture, so although it lacked many of the traditional Liyuan decor Zhongli would have furnished the place with himself, it had a nice touch of Tartaglia everywhere he went.

His couch, for example, was a deep mahogany leather that stayed cool to the touch despite the hottest of summers. Zhongli’s dresser was nice and tall, a deep chestnut brown cut from the forests of Snezhnaya to match his bed frame. His bed was elevated by an incredibly grandiose four post frame that hung a beautiful golden translucent curtain all around the bed, draping the perimeter and creating an ethereal atmosphere for when he sleeps at night.

(“It’s kinda sexy, don’t you think?” Childe had asked one day, while he was pondering which bed frame to buy for his boyfriend. Not that he needed to, considering Zhongli finally has a stable salary, he just wanted to.

“Ajax,” Zhongli had said disapprovingly, “what about it is sexy to you?

“I don’t knowww,” the Harbinger hums, “maybe it looks like I would feel like I’m on cloud nine when we’re, you know…”

“You can say sex, Ajax, I believe in you.”

“Oh stop that!” Childe whacks him playfully with the catalogue, “I’m being a good boyfriend and getting you a beautiful bed frame cut from the finest oak tree and sheets woven with high quality silk! You could be nicer to me, you know.” He’s pouting, and he knows it. Zhongli’s eyes soften.

Zhongli shakes his head, laughing. “You know you don’t need to do that, you know.”

“I want to,” Ajax persists, “this is your first actual living space as a mortal! I want it to be perfect. I refuse to have my boyfriend, who is a literal god, sleeping on a bed with no bed frame. Unacceptable.”

Zhongli smiles and watches him as he continues to ramble about all the different bed frames he could buy. Oh, his love for this boy knows no end.)

The hints of Ajax everywhere he goes is how he keeps himself sane each night. His possessive urge to be around him every second of every day (courtesy of being a dragon deity his entire six thousand year life span) is soothed with the smell of him on his sheets and the extra toothbrush by the sink. One of Tartaglia’s scarves is folded neatly on the arm of his couch, and during those nights where he truly feels Ajax’s absence, he’ll hold the red fabric close and breathe the scent in deeply. The smell alone is enough to rock him to sleep on some nights, but on others, it simply is not enough. On those nights, he finds himself reading book after book about Snezhnaya culture until he passes out from exhaustion.

One would think that it would be better for them to just live together. Given that they spent every second outside of work with each other, even going so far as walking the long route home just to avoid saying goodbye, a person would look at the way they held each other close in public and think that they’ve been married for quite some time already.

But alas, they had agreed to take their relationship slow in the beginning. The both of them had much to adjust to, given that one of them was a notoriously fierce Harbinger, and the other was an ex-Archon adjusting to the world without his gnosis. They both had complex schedules that they were much too familiar and comfortable with to just up and leave for another person. There was a certain period of time that they had agreed to spend apart, well, as “apart” as they could be, before they decided to do anything drastic, like move in together.

There was too much to consider, anyway, Zhongli reflects as he gets ready for bed. Would their living habits even align? Would Tartaglia even be a good roommate? Would he take out the trash responsibly? As much as he loves the ginger with his entire heart, he doesn’t think he could do it for long if Tartaglia was the type to walk around with shoes on. Such an act should be considered illegal, anyway.

Waiting was the right thing to do.

Right?

The nights Tartaglia spent with him were the nights he could sleep a full, uninterrupted eight hours. They were the nights that Zhongli felt himself truly relax into the sheets and sink into a blissful sleep, knowing his beloved was being held impossibly close. And if nighttime was therapeutic for him, mornings felt ethereal. The mornings where he rose with the sun to be met with the sight of Tartaglia next to him were the mornings he felt like he could fly again, and soar through the open Liyue skies in his rawest form forever, so long as Tartaglia was with him.

In fact, more often than not, Zhongli thought about the way it would feel to have Childe by his side as he explored the skies again. He would think about the way he would have to strap him down, nice and close so he doesn’t fall off his back, and then take off high into the sky. Not too high, lest he accidentally give his boyfriend a heart attack, but high enough to hear those delightful shrieks Childe will let out when he’s excited. He thinks about the way Childe could grasp onto his mane for security, hands threading through golden locks, legs tightening around his torso to avoid falling. Oh, he thinks about this a lot.

But, waiting was the right thing to do. The last thing he wanted was for Childe to feel uncomfortable with the pace that their relationship was going and make him uneasy. Besides, just because he was a possessive dragon at heart, it didn’t mean Ajax was willing to cater to his needy tendencies. So, he promised himself that he would create a reasonable distance between them for the time being.

Why then, did he hate this distance with every fiber of his being?

Why is the distance so unbearable, especially at night?

Why is he so unsettled with the very few miles between them? It’s not like Zhongli is in Liyue and Childe is in Snezhnaya. Tartaglia is literally only at the inn.

Yet he craves nothing more but to be close to him at all times. Zhongli’s skin itches with the desperate desire to feel him by his side when he goes to bed, when he wakes up, and all the moments in between. Does that make him clingy? Maybe. But old habits die hard.

Zhongli huffs and looks down at his flattened pillow with disdain. No amount of fluffing will restore it to a state that is suitable for his likes. Even the elegantly woven silk night robe wrapped around his body offers little to no comfort.

He glances at the clock.

It’s only half past midnight. If all went well with Tartaglia’s shift, he should be home now, fresh out of the shower.

Without thinking twice, Zhongli throws together an overnight bag and rushes out the door.

—

“Coming, I’m coming,” Childe calls to the incessant knocks at his door. The knuckles continue to rap against the barrier, though, and Childe’s fingers itch to summon a water blade in the case that things go south. Considering that there is rarely anyone that would dare to disturb him at this time of night, Childe would say his precautionary measures are reasonable. He had summoned an angry water god, after all. It was only a matter of time before the angry mobs got to him.

The knocks sound again, and Childe angrily ruffles his hair against the towel. If they could just wait one second, he could answer the door with dry hair, but no. Peace was not an option, apparently, and neither was a perfectly fluffed head of hair.

He stomps toward the door and swings it open, ready to scold whoever had—

“Xiansheng!” He startles when he sees Zhongli standing in the doorway, donning a simple black t-shirt tucked into high waisted pants that were loose and slightly flared at the bottom, and his feet were covered by simple strappy sandals. Childe vaguely remembers purchasing those pants for him when he had mentioned wanting more loose and liberating clothes. The ex-Archon looks good like this. He looks… impossibly soft. Vulnerable, almost. There’s a distant look in his amber eyes that has Childe mildly concerned, though. Childe tries to ignore the sudden urge to protect him to his last dying breath.

“What are you doing here?” He sidesteps and reaches out to drag his boyfriend in. “I thought we had already discussed you sleeping so late! I know you’re an adeptus, you don’t require sleep, blah blah blah, but still, you—“

“I missed you,” Zhongli stated so matter of factly. “I wanted to see you. So I came here.”

Childe gawks at him and closes the door slowly. So he had just walked all the way here?! At this hour?! Goodness, the audacity—

“Xiansheng,” he whines instead, dragging the older man into an embrace. He wraps his arms around his neck and presses his cheek into his hair. “You can’t just say those things. It’s impossible for me to love you more.”

Zhongli holds him with desperation, welcoming the hug so enthusiastically that Childe knows there’s something to be said.

“Can I stay the night?” The adeptus asks once they pull apart.

Childe looks at him, dumbfounded. “You don’t even need to ask! Go, make yourself comfortable. Are you hungry? Have you had dinner?”

Zhongli drops his bag by his side of the bed and takes a seat, still watching Childe with careful eyes.

“I’ve eaten,” he answers carefully. “I just couldn’t seem to get comfortable at… home… so I came here.”

Childe frowns, and joins him on the bed. He flips the covers open and clambers in, resting back against the headboard. “Not comfortable? Is something wrong with your place?”

“Maybe,” Zhongli tries, “I really don’t know. Frankly I’ve been conflicted about… many things… recently, and I feel as if I have reached an impasse. I don’t know where to go from here.”

“Zhongli,” Tartaglia says, suddenly serious, “how come this is the first time I’m hearing of this?” His voice drops an octave, the worry seeping into his tone.

Zhongli reclines and rests against the headrest, too. “I did not know how to express my troubles to you, mainly because I’m having trouble defining it myself.”

Well, that’s fair enough. Tartaglia can’t find it in himself to be mad at that reasoning.

“Well,” Tartaglia begins, reaching for Zhongli’s hand and hugging his arm to his chest. He scoots closer and uses Zhongli’s shoulder as a pillow. “Why don’t you just start rambling and maybe it’ll come to you.”

“I think I have a vague idea, actually,” Zhongli adjusts himself to make himself more comfortable for Ajax. The both of them find themselves staring up at the ceiling as they converse. “Remember when I asked you what ‘home’ means to you?”

“Of course,” Tartaglia answers. Oh, he has an idea of where this is going.

“Well, I’m unsure of what it means to me.”

Bingo.

“What it means to you?” The Harbinger asks, craning his neck to look up at him. Zhongli hums, affirmative.

“Yes, I’ve been struggling to define the term for myself. I’ve been observing others much more closely and how they define their own home, but I’m afraid it has made me more confused.”

Tartaglia juts out his bottom lip in contemplation. “What do you mean?”

Zhongli takes a deep breath, a long explanation at the tip of his tongue. Tartaglia braces himself, as he usually does.

“Today you told me home was your family. Miss Xiangling told me home was her father, and the smell of their kitchen. Young Xingqiu told me his home was within whatever book he was reading, even describing it as his safe space. And Miss Ningguang, most peculiar of all, had told me home was when she was out at sea, but only when Captain Beidou was by her side. Mind you, I had fully expected it to be the Jade palace, considering the built it from the ground up.” Zhongli rambles, “and I just found it strange how so many humans find different definitions for the word home. Such a simple word, too, so imagine my surprise when I discover it’s true complexity.”

“I’ve encountered many things in my life, Ajax. I have met so many people in this lifetime and watched them grow, watched them die, and even watched some be reincarnated. But I think…” he trails off, and the warmth in his eyes glimmer as he reaches an epiphany. “I think I am struggling to define the term because I have never been presented with the idea of stability. Things are always changing. The world around me continues to warp and I have noticed, in my time so far, that humans find the need for stability and reassurance because of the nature of their short lives. That is where I am lacking.”

—

Try as he might, Tartaglia takes slight offense to his statement.

Lacking stability? The thought was bitter on his tongue.

Was… was Childe not enough?

No, no, he forcefully derailed that train of thought, he came here tonight because you’re the only thing he can rely on in his life right now. Show him that.

“Well,” Childe starts carefully, and thanks the stars that his voice is steady. “What about me?”

Zhongli makes a confused noise. “What about you?”

“Do you consider me as a stable thing in your life?” Childe prods, digging his cheek deeper into his shoulder.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Zhongli snorts.

Childe unironically feels an ache in his chest. He stills against Zhongli. Ouch.

Luckily, Zhongli is at least able to pick up on his sudden discomfort, and he’s quick to follow up his statement.

“You misunderstand, Ajax, you being wildly chaotic is a beautiful thing in and of itself.” Zhongli gently pries Childe off his arm to look at him directly. As expected, Childe is upset. He’s got the same glassy eyes he always dons when he’s upset, but doesn’t want to admit it, and his bottom lip is red and obviously bitten in an attempt to keep himself from feeling unreasonably angry.

“Oh,” Zhongli coos at the sight, “I’m sorry my love, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s fine,” Childe blinks hard, “I’m just being dumb.”

“You’re not being dumb,” Zhongli is quick to negate his self-deprecative tendencies, “I must have come off very harsh just now. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Childe thumps a fist against his chest, “it’s fine, really.”

“As I was saying,” the Archon continues, “nothing about my life so far has been stable, Ajax. Things are constantly changing. Time continuously flows, and it simply does not wait for any man. Unfortunately, I have seen many people come and go. And unfortunately, one day you will become one of them--”

“Zhongli stop,” Childe interrupts him. He’s angry, now. His brows are furrowed and there’s an evident frown on his face. There’s a slight scowl across his lips where there used to be a precious smile just moments ago. “What the hell?” He asks angrily.

“Ajax,” Zhongli scolds softly, “it would be in your best interests if you let me finish.”

“Well, not if you’re just gonna talk about death,” Childe retorts. He’s aware that he sounds childish, but such a topic is not to be taken to lightly. Especially when it revolves around him, and what he would be leaving behind. The thought makes him sick to his stomach.

“Whether or not you’re stable, whether or not you’ll be here forever, you are the most important thing to me, probably ever.” He speaks with a certainty that makes Childe shiver. “You are the first person in a very long time that has made me want to try to grasp at the fleeting seconds I have with you, Ajax. You drive me crazy. And I love you for it, because never in my six thousand years have I had as much fun as when I am with you.”

Dammit, Childe is crying now. Zhongli has such a way with words, how could he not? Dating him is just one, huge, glorified emotional rollercoaster. Zhongli brushes a stray, reluctant tear away with the pad of his ungloved hand.

“Frankly, stability is overrated,” the ex-Archon smiles at the soft giggle that escapes his beloved’s lips. “I have found, albeit slowly, that I would rather have someone loud and rambunctious than someone slow and settled. That is my role, if anything. There simply cannot be two of us, can there?”

A soft “no” is huffed as laughter from Childe. What a boring relationship that would be, truly.

“But if it is stability you seek, Ajax, let me be that for you. Let me be here, solid as stone and steadfast. Let me be the pillar of strength you need to turn to in times of trouble. Okay?” He brushes a knuckle gently across his skin.

Childe makes a sound that sounds a little broken and a little delirious. “When did this become about me, Xiansheng?”

“To me, it’s always been about you,” Zhongli smiles fondly. Childe feels as if he’s been shot in the heart.

Childe gives him a shaky smile and nods. He can’t seem to control his heart at the moment, so instead, he says, “You’re my home, Zhongli.”

The gears seemed to finally click somewhere in Zhongli’s chest. The hollow feeling inside suddenly swelled with a sense of nostalgia, bringing with it a feeling of peace and serenity. Zhongli’s eyes widen, and the ex-Archon looks down at Childe with a sudden air of solid certainty. Childe almost shrinks at the intensity of his gaze.

“Of course,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Of course it’s you.”

“What?”

“How could I be so blind?” Zhongli cups his face with both hands, and Childe reciprocates by placing both palms on his wrists. Confused, but following along. Cor lapis eyes stare straight into his soul, unforgiving as it digs deeper and deeper into what makes him whole.

“Xiansheng?” Ajax asks, dazed by the intensity of Zhongli’s stare. God, his eyes are so golden.

“It’s you, Ajax,” for once, his voice cracks and he loses composure, “you… are home. You are home. To me, that is my definition of home. I only ever feel-- I only ever feel like I belong when I am with you. It was so obvious, and I--”

“Zhongli,” Ajax gently pries off the hands cupped around his face. His heart can’t handle this right now. It’s too much. He’s too in love, he needs to do something or he’ll explode. He stares directly into those beautiful, mesmerizing golden eyes. Ajax cradles Zhongli’s hands in his own, petting over his knuckles, when he asks, “Marry me?”

His eyes widen comically, as if they weren’t already the size of saucepans with his first epiphany.

“Oh.”

So that’s what he was missing.

“I know we said we would take it slow, and I know I’m young, or whatever” Childe begins to ramble, “but fuck going slow, Xiansheng, it’s been months and all I want to do is go to sleep with you next to me. I know what I want and it seems like you do, too, but if I misread that then--”

Zhongli hushes him with an incessant press of his lips against Childe’s. It is a loving kiss, yes, but it is filled with a desperation that only the both of them understand. It is a kiss that is so different from the others; one full of certainty and ambition, a kiss full of overwhelming commitment. The longing behind the contact is an answer in and of itself, but he pulls away to speak regardless.

“Yes,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against Childe’s, “yes.”

That night, Zhongli finally comes to the conclusion that home does not have to mean four walls and a roof. It doesn’t pertain to any kind of fancy kitchen appliances, or four post bed frames. Zhongli quickly learns that it doesn’t have to be about a place, and all the stories it tells. It’s not even Liyue, the very land he built himself. It has nothing to do with any of that. In fact, the sheer ridiculousness of Zhongli’s inner conflict has him rolling.

Instead, it has everything to do with the red head beneath him. It has to do with the way he calls his name in the middle of the night, claws his hands down his back and juts his hips forward, desperately seeking friction. Home has everything to do with swollen lips, red from being kissed, cheeks hot pink from the heat slowly filling the room, and strong thighs clenching and unclenching around his waist. Home has to do with his precious Snezhnayan soulmate.

Simply, home is Ajax.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #tartali #zhongchi #chili #tartaglia x zhongli #childe x zhongli #character study #zhongli struggles a lot...#childe #tartaglia #zhongli #rex lapis #help i want what they have

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mctreeleth · 4 years ago

Photo

Hand sewn skull mask! Because if death is coming for us all we may as well be jaunty about it!

(feat. me trying to do normal person selfie poses while wearing a mask that looks like a skull got the pox)

This should theoretically work as a practical mask, since it has two layers of fabric plus interfacing, and does go under the chin, but as always, no promises. Be sensible, stay home if you can.

Pattern and instruction under the cut.

The pattern is available here as a six-page PDF for US letter sized paper, but it should also print fine on A4 paper, since it has fairly generous margins. There are limited instructions and layout diagrams included in it, so you really only need to print pages 3-6.

I highly recommend making a paper version of the lining to check on the sizing, as this mask tucks up under the chin more than the Plague Doctor Mask did.

For this version of the mask I used about a fat-eighth of fabric each for the outer and lining, and a bit less than that of heavy-weight non-woven fusible interfacing. The embroidery was done using four strands of regular sewing thread, and the assembly was about half hand-sewn and half machine-sewn.

The contrast areas of the nose and the mouth can be either pieced or embroidered. If you choose to piece them, I strongly recommend piecing them by hand. I show a technique similar to English Paper Piecing here, that uses fusible interfacing to help hold the shapes while you hand sew..

First, trace and cut the interfacing pieces, going by the guide in the pattern as to whether you are piecing the face or embroidering. Fuse the interfacing to the outer fabrics with enough space between for seam allowances, and cut each piece with seam allowances.

If you are embroidering the nose and mouth, sew together the face and jaw parts using the techniques below, and fill in the shaded areas of the nose and mouth with whatever stitch you prefer.

If you are piecing the nose and mouth, fold the seam allowance of the curved side of the nose piece to the edge of the interfacing and loosely tack it down. Clip the inner curve of the face piece where the nose goes and loosely tack down the seam allowance of that piece. I use a piece of masking tape on the back to hold the nose piece in place, and then hand stitch the two pieces together using a slip stitch (also known as a ladder stitch) from the front.

(Note: the reason the pieces look completely differently sized in the top left photo is that I was holding the face piece up closer to the camera. It fits neatly together as per the top right photo.)

Carefully remove the masking tape, trying not to pull too many threads, and unpick the tack stitches. Unfold the seam allowance of the nose piece outward over the clipped seam of the face piece, and sew it down using a running or other decorative stitch. Repeat for the other side.

Clip, fold and tack the top edge of the jaw piece. Align the interfacing corner of the lower pointy part of the mouth piece to the place it fits in the jaw piece, and pin to fit. From the front, slip stitch the two pieces together, and stitch the seams down the same as for the nose. Do the same to join the mouth piece to the face piece. Repeat for the other side.

Sew the centre seam to join the two face pieces together, and embroider the teeth. For some reason I forgot to take photos of the embroidery at the top and bottom of the teeth, and the continuation of the running stitches above and below them. But they are all just aesthetic things that that you can see on the finished one.

I also forgot to take a photo of the top pieces being assembled, but they are pretty straightforward – join the five forehead pieces together according to the layout on the pattern, and do the same decorative top-stitching as for all the other bits.

Join the top forehead piece to the face at the top of the nose between the eyes and down each of the cheeks, and do the same decorative stitches.

Join the chin piece to the bottom of the jaw. The outside piecing is done!

Trace the lining pieces onto the fabric, and sew them together according to the layout on the pattern, so that it matches the shape of the outside. I pressed the seams of the face open, but not the chin, because that would have been too hard.

Pin the straps to the sides of the outer, facing inward, and put the lining over the top of it so that the right sides are together. Stitch around the outside edges, and clip the curve on the underside of the chin. Turn the whole thing right side out through one of the eyeholes, flip the lining into the outer, and top-stitch over the edge.

Trim the eyeholes and baste the two layers together. If you are putting in effort, I would suggest cutting bias binding from your outer fabric and neatly hand sewing it around the eyehole edges. But I just basted it and used the machine to do a zigzag satin stitch around the edges in a thread that was a pretty close colour.

You can leave the eyeholes empty, but it is spookier when your eyes are hidden. I coloured in some very loose weave linen with fabric markers to match the fabric I used for the mouth and nose (roughly, I did pretty a bad job), cut it into circles and sealed the edges with some glue, and hand sewed them in, hiding the hand stitches in the zigzag stitch. The visibility is actually pretty good!

And there you go! Skull mask!

From left to right, Poxxie, Paisley (who is not actually paisley), Patchie, and their friend Fredrickson Paperman.

As before, I am not going to charge anything for this pattern, nor am I going to place restrictions on what you do with the items you make. I do not control your right to profit from your work. All art is derivative, and you making your own version transforms this pattern. Don’t let assertions of intellectual property rights be another way you are alienated from your labour. If you decide to sell your work, demand fair remuneration for your time and skills. Someone offering to pay for the materials is not enough. If you have decided to take an activity you love and turn it into work, make it worthwhile.

On the flip side, please don’t try to sell this bit of writing or the PDF of the pattern or these photographs. They are free for you and for everyone else. Resist society’s message that you should try to profit from your every action, and especially resist the notion that true success is achieved by profiting from anyone else’s labour.

If you want to discuss this stuff further, I would love that! I am researching the commodification of creative knowledge for my PhD, focusing on quilt patterns and designs. Message me @mctreeleth on tumblr and instagram or @sarasewsstuff on twitter for my uni email.

And if you do make one, tag me in it or send me a picture! I love seeing them!

#fabric mask #skull mask #sewn mask #handmade mask #sewing pattern #sewing #quarantine craft #once again I am posting a pattern at a ridiculous hour of the morning #but this time i am in bed with my dogs at least #oop no Cedric just got up bye bud #oh well George is still snuggled up with me #George and Ceddie are the bestest and most cutestest boys #honestly I am just putting that there because I found out that some people reuse all the tags from the source #and I love it when people compliment my dogs #oop Ced's back hi bud!

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

Text

HASO, “Written In Stone

I wanted to write more of this today, but I have been so busy it just isnt going to work, so hopefully it will be good where I left off

The GA Rapid Response Scientific Unit landed planetside at 0800 hours Earth time. They were at least ten miles away from the nearest anomaly: what the scientific nerd people had deemed those strange alien settlements before they had learned that they were settlements at all. Admiral Vir --piloting the craft as was his want -- felt the smooth metal of the landing struts ease against the unbroken metallic surface that was the ground. The ship roared and likely echoed like a thunderclap outside as he eased the ship down into position and then cut the engine listening to the soft pop and whirr as the hot metal began to cool. Inside his helmet, he could hear his own breath sharp and focused inside the enclosed space.

Behind him in the craft, the scientists were unbuckling themselves from their seats and stewing gear on the uniforms, the small Tesraki looking like children when compared to their much taller human counterparts. Outside the window a thick red mist had settled over them, momentarily blown away by the power of the engine, only to come descending slowly down from above to settle back over them with the most insidious slowness.The first wave of scientists moved towards the airlock, and he let them go ahead with a group of marines, waiting for the last person to exit before finally following after.

The door cracked open before him with a sharp hiss, as red mist spilled into the room and he stepped outside his footsteps echoing loudly on the smooth metal of the planet’s surface.

The scientists had already gotten to work hauling the cargo from the storage units on the side of the ships, and dragging long crates onto hoering trollies. The sound they made in the immense space was deafening, a ruckus clattering that echoed up all around them.

It put his teeth on edge to hear that sort of noise in such a space,.

It felt, wrong somehow, and he wasn’t even really sure why.

Like screaming in a cathedral during service. Granted, some people might have found that sot of thin funny, but he sure didn’t, to him it seemed as if they were befowling some sort of sacred space by simply being there, and the least they coil do after that was to at least be quiet. The Tesraki, and the Vrul didn’t seem to notice the strange atmosphere around tem, but by looking at the other humans, he could tell he wasn’t the only one who could feel it.

He watched them shift nervously on their feet as great wafts of red cloud billowed in around them.

So it wasn’t just him?

Or maybe it was everything that had happened the night before.

Either way he felt as if their alien counterparts weren’t exercising nearly enough caution. He paused a moment at that thought thinking how odd it was for him, as a human of all things, to be thinking that. Usually it was the other way around, but somehow, now, based on a lack of that inherent sense of pending doom, the Aliens were moving without due caution.

Soon enough the screeching of their metal tools and boxes being dragged over the ground was just too much for him to handle, and he stepped forward, “I think it might be best if we kept the noise to a minimum.” His voice was tinny over the comms, and even through the visors of the suits he could see the aliens staring at him in confusion.

“What do you mean, Admiral.”

He sighed searching for words to define a meaning he couldn't quite understand evanescent like smoke, it seemed to fade every time he tried to grasp at it.

He turned to look at Krill, who had paused to watch him, shrewdly through the visor of his helmet. He wasn’t much of a traditional scientist, but he had insisted on coming along as the crew medic in case something happened.

He switched his comm over so only Krll could hear

“I don’t know krill, Something just feels off here, like we are being watched, and I get the feeling that the noise…. Well the noise is only attracting attention.”

Krill paused for a long moment, And Adam stared at him pleadingly through his visor, though he knew the little alien couldn’t see his face, all around him the other aliens were looking on in concern not sure what was happening. He would have explained it to them, but knew --unlike Krill-- they weren’ likely to understand.”

Krill nodded and turned to the others, “Keep as quiet as you can.”

They nodded in confusion, but the noise from then on was greatly reduced, though every slight scrape put his teeth on edge.

He spent most of his time halfway in between the marines and the Scientific crew, making himself useful wherever he could find use, either carrying things or anxiously watching out into the mist with his rifle cradled in both arms. Not for the first time, or even the hundredth time, he wished that Sunny was there to watch his back. He felt horribly exposed in the mist, and knew that if she had been here he would have felt more confident.

Despite being surrounded by marines, he would have traded them for Sunny any day of the week.

Well, he would have preferred having all of them all at once, but rarely does one get what tey want.

With the scientific tools placed on the hovercart, Adam, lifted the ground Radar he had pilfered from one of the boxes, turning it on and pointing it in the direction of tier final destination. The Radar made a light clicking noise almost like a geiger counter, but he could tell from its alerts that they weren’t yet close to anything substantial.

He set the frequency of his actual geiger counter to a different sort of clicking noise

There was some radiation here, and while the suit protected him from cosmic rays on a regular basis, he would till rather know what kind of environment he was getting himself into. He adjusted the machine, and maverick watched him from some interest, where she stood to the side of the group, the smallest human, but still taller than all of the Tesraki there.

“Since when did you know how to work all the sciency shit.”

“Since I took the time to learn.”

“I thought you were a flight jock, not a science nerd.”

“Why not be both.” he muttered, kicking on the anti grav fields around his boots, and skating around to the other side of the hover car. He liked moving like this, it was nearing complete silence. Clearly Ramirez enjoyed it as well, considering the man couldn’t help from doing little spins and pirouettes like he was back on ice again.

As long as he was quiet about it, Adam could hardly complain, and took his position near the front side of the hovercade rifle still cradled in a sling before his chest, hand resting lightly on the grip. His finger stroked the trigger guard but never the trigger, and he kept his eyes out on the red mist before tem.

From there they began to move, about twenty strong, most of the aliens riding on the hover cart, while the humans scared along beside reaching speeds that seemed to make the aliens nervous. Krill held onto the back of Adam’s suit floating around behind him like some sort of demented baloon. Adam would have laughed if he wasn’t so on edge, especially with the way the other vrul looked at him with such concern and confusion.

Eventually his radar clicking began to speed up, and he looked down at the detector to find a small cluster of those monoliths appearing on the horizon. They were close, at least close enough that the curvature of the planet was no longer getting in their way. The red mist still obscured their vision mostly, but he kept them going, stopping only as the first hulking shadow came into sight, or not stopping but slowing down, knowing that the structure was large enough that it would probably be a while before they actually reached it.

They Stopped about 100 yards away close enough to notice a large pile of rubble at the center of the little cluster of monoliths. There were no floating monoliths here, and the strange metallic grating noise that had followed him on his first trip to this planet was now all but silent.

They unloaded the tools onto smaller hover wagens, one to every scientist.

Adam was handed a couple of tools they thought he could handle, mostly busy work to do the things that the scientists didn’t want to do but still needed to do to cover all their bases. He didn’t mind. He liked having something to do, and he supposed this was the best place to learn: the bottom.

He moved with them across the billowing landscape, which was marginally less foggy now, giving them a view of the entire monolith structure.

Something seemed…. Strangely familiar about it, though he couldn’t have said what. It had nothing to do with his last visit, but something…. Deeper. At any moment he expected a voice to ring out through the echoing and billowing darkness, but none came.

Instead, a beam of light passed over them from the distant Sun, and a waft of blue fog rolled in from the left, darkening things as soon as they seemed to have lightened

The scientists fanned out to either side, and Adam made his way down the middle, towards the large pile of rubble. The marines fanned out with the scientists, one marine to every nerd. He was surprised to find he had his own marine, and looked back over his shoulder to find Ramirez’s familiar space suit following him at a distance, nervously glancing around at the towering black structures that dominated the landscape.

Adam could hardly blame him. He felt the same way.

Together they walked forward to the pile of rubble. It was most just the same black material that happened to make up the rest of the structures, and, carefully, he stepped off the metal and into the rubble, using the instruments to examine the rock, running his machine over, and then under and then over. It whirred, but didn’t make the noise he was looking for. He examined the rock closely, noticing the even grain of the broken pieces, and bagging one for a sample.

Perhaps he was biased, but it certainly didn’t look natural.

Then again there were plenty of minerals that grew in ways that didn't seem natural, so maybe he was just kidding himself. Ramirez hovered at his back nervously shifting from foot to foot and staring around at the sky and rolling mist.

“I don’t like this.” he muttered

“That makes you and everyone human here.” He responded, running the machine over the rock as he climbed a little further up, or maybe it was metal…. Or somewhere in between? He wasn’t sure. Wasn’t rock just like…. Fancy metal.

He sighed, some scientist he was, not even really sure what the difference was between rock and metal other than metal was…. Stronger or some shit, or rock was made up of a bunch of different metals and non metals while metal was….. Just what it was.

He made it to the top of the rock lost in his thoughts when there was a sudden whirring from the machine.

He looked down in shock and surprise only to find his machine resting right over something…. Something that certainly was not natural. He forze and stared.

Looked away and then looked back….. Back at the strange markings on the rock.

Strange markings that could be mistaken as nothing else, other than writing.

“Find something?” Ramirez radioed in, but Adam didn’t answer staring at te strange script before him.

He rubbed his eyes, looked away, and then turned back, rubbing them again.

He felt…. Very strange, and the letters seemed to spin before him morphing and warping even as he looked.

His eyes ran along the line of text.

And so with knowledge they did pass away.

He blinked again staring at the letters that made…. No objective sense but, yet, every time he looked at them he read the same line, no…. It wasn’t really reading though was it. Every time he looked at those words, he UNDERSTOD what they were saying.

He shook himself. No, he was just crazy, and hi mind was playing tricks on him.

“Ramirez, come here.” he ordered.

He heard the slight rattling ehind him as Ramirez clambered up the rock andpaused over his shoulder.

“What the hell is that.”

“Writing of some kind. What do you make of it.”

He stared at Ramirez very intently for a few seconds as the other man took a look, “Gibberish to me, some kind of alien language?”

Adam cleared his throat, “Uh, yeah, I…. Guess.” e turned to his comm to transm.

“I have something.”

“What did you find.”

“Some kind of…. Weird alien writing, I don’t know. Better send someone over.”

It wasn’t long until one of the scientists jogged over followed by maverick. The two of them climbed up onto the pile of rock, and the alien knelt before it in surprise and great interest eyes scanning over the text, “I think you have found something, Admiral.”

As he watched, Adam saw Maverick press a hand to the outside of her helmet.

He opened the cop to her.

“Mav?”

“Yeah boss?”

“Are you seeing….”

“And so with knowledge hey did pass away?”

“Shit.”

“You see it too?”

“Yeh.”

“And Ramirez.”

“Just sees scribbles.”

The two of them stood there staring at each other awkwardly. Green mist rolled in from the lef and it was very suddenly that Adam felt, a strange sensation rising up inside him, a sensation that maverick seemed to feel as well as she stood and the two of them turned towards the pile of rubble. The scientist and Ramirez called out in surprise as Adam and Maverick pushed past them, and began frantically digging through the rubble with their hands.

They flipped over large blocks of stone grabbing the pieces with strange writing and dragging them down from the rubble and onto the ground where they began to arrange them. The other scientists began running over as the commotion started.

A few of the marines tried to pull Maverick and Adam back, some of them pausing to stare at the strange alien letters only to suddenly turn and join their companions while others stood there in confusion unsure of what was going on.

By the end Adam knelt at the bottom of the rubble with maverick behind him and a few of the marines ranged around.

Together they read.

“And so with knowledge they did pass away

And pillars of stone were left by them

And light came before them

And the host surrounded them

Until they were brought up

And none were left save pillars of stone

Woah be unto those who find this stone and read”

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babbushka · 3 years ago

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Hello! I’m in the process of trying to learn screenplay formats and stuff, I too am going to an arts college and had to take a film class last semester and I kind of want to dip my toe into it. Do you have any beginner suggestions? :)

Hello my dear anon! I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that you're starting to get into screenplay writing! If you're able to, definitely take some screenwriting classes while you're at school if they're offered, even taking one as an elective is so instrumental because of table reads! (which I'll elaborate on in a second)

Here's some tips that I have for beginners, I hope that any or all of them are helpful to you in some way!

#1 Read the screenplays of your favorite movies.

I could tell you to pick up big books that claim to have the secrets to success and how to properly write your screenplay, but there is nothing like reading the actual screenplays for movies that you love. Really look at the way the script is formatted, not just in the standard font size/spacing/etc way, but in the structure of the story itself.

Why do you love it so much? What parts of it stand out to you the most? You can often find PDF downloads of the real legitimate scripts of your favorite movies (I like to use StudioBinder's archive), sometimes you can find printed versions at your library, and if all else fails, if it's a popular enough movie you can always buy the screenplay to have on hand!

#2 Read the screenplays of movies you absolutely hate.

This might seem counter-intuitive but here me out -- when we're encountered with something that we absolutely loathe, that in and of itself is a teachable moment.

Why do you hate it? Is it the plot? Is it the pacing? The structure or the character arcs? Is it the dialogue? What about it specifically makes you cringe? Knowing these things and being able to put a pin on them is a great way for you to consciously avoid it in your own work.

#3 Read your scripts with others at round tables/table reads.

This is probably the most instrumental part of being a screenwriter -- the stories may seem fine living in your head, but ultimately, we tell stories in a communal way, and other people are bound to experience them. Joining a community like a screenwriter's club at school, or heading over to online spaces like twitter to share ideas and get feedback is absolutely crucial for you to better yourself -- both in terms of content and format.

The reason why round tables or table reads work is because when you have a story that you're harboring inside your head for so long, you can very easily become blind to its flaws, or rather, you close your mind to possibilities for edits. And believe me, every writer has this happen to them, both in terms of structure, but also content. Sharing your work and listening to the feedback given is one of the fastest ways you can grow in real time!

#4 Study the industry-standard screenplay format or use a program that automatically does it for you

One of the biggest mistakes that beginner screenplay authors make is assuming that they can get away with having the actual format of the story deviate from what is industry standard, or thinking that they don't have to worry about the specifics of it as long as the action is left-adjusted and the dialogue is center-aligned. You have to format your scripts correctly or it will be thrown away.

There are tons of templates and examples online, but typing it out plain and simple here are the requirements (taken from the John August Library archive):

12-point Courier font

1.5 inch left margin

1 inch right margin (between .5 inches and 1.25 inches), ragged

1 inch top and bottom margins

Dialogue speaker names (in all caps) 3.7 inches from left side of page (2.2 from margin)

Dialogue 2.5 inches from left side of page (1.5 from margin)

Pages should be numbered in the top right corner, flush to the right margin, a half-inch from the top of the page.

Numbers should be followed by a period.

The first page is not numbered.

The title page is neither numbered nor does it count as page one, so the first page to have a number is the second page of the screenplay (third sheet of paper, including the title page), which is numbered 2.

And all of that can be pretty intimidating feeling! So, there are a number of programs that offer either discounted or free licenses for students. I personally use the industry standard program Final Draft Pro, but others include Celtx, StudioBinder, Movie Magic Screenwriter, and if you're planning on writing with a partner, check out WriterDuet!

So there you go my dearest! I hope that you're able to take anything away from this at all, but most importantly, always remember that the best way to learn and practice is to write as much as you can, and see where it takes you :)

Sending love!

#<3333 #screenwriting

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nashmusings · 4 years ago

Text

【Book Review】 Small Notebook Usage Techniques to Help Your Live Your Days The Way You Want, Everyone's 74 Usage Examples

If you're a weeb (odds that you are, reading this blog), you'd know that JP titles are no fucking joke. In this post, besides reviewing the book, I'll be talking about some of the take-home messages from the book and anything of interest that stuck out to me. I'll also be looking at this book through the lens of a bullet journal user.

What's the book about?

It's actually the 2nd in a series called the "Small Notebook Usage Techniques", this one collects 74 examples from other small notebook users, the first one was solely by the author sharing his usage examples and MO. This one does have a taste of the author's, Takahashi Takuya (herein Takahashi), own usage and his MO. This book was published in Late Feb of 2021, and so it's very COVID-19-centered. As with Covid, everyone was locked home and overwhelmed by the changes the pandemic wrought. And so, this book was sort of written with that in mind, to 'reclaim' back our lives through the mighty small notebook.

Why a small sized notebook?

A small canvas has its own charms and perks, one may argue that an A5 book is the way to go. With a smaller space, you don't feel pressured to finish up the entire page to avoid wastage. And it's the 'perfect' size for one 'subject'. Not to mention that it's small-enough to be forked out anywhere or on the go so that you can quickly jot things down that comes to mind. Takahashi's MO on small notebooks does share some parallels with bullet journalling, in the sense of brain dumping all that you have onto the page. Numbered pages are essential, as well as an index. Here are the spreads that are under the "Takahashi-Style" spreads.

A to-do list & idea memo that grants you the ability to observe everyday happenings

A to-do list with a reward system

A grid that allows you to see everyone's roles (for work hierarchies and the like)

A memo that grants you the ability to deepen your understanding on a particular thing

A themepark-like route for going about meetings

A personal manual (referential spread)

Whiteboard-like usage (braindumping)

Inventory list

Namecard scrapbook

Running record

Uneasiness/worry memo

Cooping memo

Emergency contact memo I'll be going through a few of these spreads which I found interesting and that I found especially useful for the small notebook format, as some of the spreads can easily be compiled in a bullet journal. The book comes with lots of visuals and sample diagrams so I'd highly recommend you pick up the book. Every spread in the Takahashi-Style makes use of a header with a date to it and have it underlined (at number 1).

A grid that allows you to see everyone's roles (for work hierarchies and the like) sample page

1. The to-do list & idea memo that grants you the ability to observe everyday happenings

The to-do list will be comprised of 1 daily page, and here you write down all your tasks for the day. The idea memo section is made so that there's as little friction as possible by using the last page of the book, you can always rotate the book vertically to get your page spread orientation right. This memo section is just a list, with the date of when the idea was written and a bullet point of what the idea entails. You can always attach the page number to the heading when you explore that idea in detail in the front section of the book.

2. A to do list with a reward system

This one is fairly straight forward. Construct a to-do list of what needs to be done in the day and then make a margin at the bottom of the page with the heading "reward" and leave a checkbox next to it. Set yourself a rule, if you've managed to complete the urgent or all tasks, get yourself that 'reward' and check it off once you receive it. The reward can be something as simple as a desert or whatever you consider rewarding.

3. A memo that grants you the ability to deepen your understanding on a particular thing

If you heard or saw about something, odds are that you don't really understand it from the getgo. Especially now in the context of the pandemic where the rules set by the government regarding infection control ever changes day by day. Takahashi recommends taking memos on such things (but of course it can be applied to any topic at hand) to deepen your understanding on the matter. So the spread starts with the heading of the desired topic and you write down notes or details of said topic. A bullet point format would be things look cleaner and easier to refer to later in time.

4. Uneasiness/worry memo

When going about our daily lives, we come across many things that induces stress in us, as well as making us uneasy or worried about. In order to sort through our murky thoughts, it's best to get it all down on paper. By making these worries visible to the eye on paper, you're able to gain a 3rd person view about the matter. In doing so, you'll be able to see the ways of resolving the issue or making sense out of it, rationalizing it. You can always use the left side of the spread to list down the issues and the right side the solutions to said issues.

5. Cooping memo

In this spread, you list the number of things or ways to help you detoxify your stress away. By listing them down ahead of time, you save your head the trouble of trying to find such information since you're going through a stressful time. It could be something as simple as getting your favourite drink or going to that special place to even ordering that favourite dish of yours. Whatever works for you, it can be in any scale.

My way of using a small notebook

"Small notebook 1"

Any of these spreads can be implemented into the bullet journal but I'm quite particular and I like having excuses to use more stationeries and hence I got myself a passport-sized Traveler's Notebook.

Index page, with the page number and it's respective heading Unfortunately due to Covid, my living conditions changed for the worse, forcing me to live with a relative who practically takes a dump on my own mental health. And thus, I use writing as means of therapy and a way to sort out my thoughts. So, I use my small notebook as a means of understanding a mental health issue, breaking it down and thinking of ways to solve it. I also use it as a space to break down my monthly finances and stick in reminders for altered budgets cause on one unfortunate month I had to spend more because of emergencies.

I just dump down my troubles and add explanations to it to gain some perspective

I'll give this book a 7.5/10. It has a LOT of sample usages from many users but quite a number of them are common spreads that you'll find in the bullet journal community and thus I personally felt that my money was partially wasted. I quite like the idea of having a notebook small enough to be easily pulled out whenever I'm out and about, so this book opened my mind quite a bit in that regard. I'd recommend this book if you're a fan of Japanese stationery and would like to see how the locals use their notebooks.

I hope this post was of help to you. The book is sadly only available in Japanese. There are ebook versions for sale as well. AmazonJP (Kindle ver available): https://www.amazon.co.jp/dp/4768314570/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_937X6D1FFSBBQKB0ZTAN RakutenJP (no Kobo ver available): https://books.rakuten.co.jp/rb/16607928/

#book review #japanese stationery #stationery #bullet journal

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thedaughterofkings · 4 years ago

Text

First attempt at fic binding

I’ve been admiring all examples of ficbinding/bookbinding that have crossed my dash lately and wanted to try my hand at it.

Though I did have some materials at hand, a full project seemed a little overwhelming, but a small test run seemed possible. Turns out, Of dogs and deer darcy fits perfectly into a 16 page single signature!

I followed this excellent tutorial by @armoredsuperheavy for preparing my printing file - that was easier and quicker than I expected, though I still needed to print it three times. In all cases entirely because of mistakes made by me, first I didn’t trust word and added empty pages in the wrong places (do really start with your title page on the first page of your document and then just keep going, word will really print it in the correct order! Who would have thought^^°).

For the next print everything was in order, but I had forgotten to fix my page numbers (the text started on page seven because I had forgotten to substract the front matter etc. Though I did manage to make word only start printing page numbers from the second page of the text after some effort - don’t skip the bit about creating sections, guys, even if you think you only need one because you’ve only got the one chapter!) I was willing to live with that, but then I messed up trying to cut off the page creep, so I had to reprint it anyways and thus fixed the page numbers at the same time. (My text starts now on page 3, and though I’m not entirely sure that’s correct either, it certainly looks way better than starting on page seven!)

I printed it on 80 gsm recycling printer paper and that has a nice look and feel to it for this small project.

We only had one firmer paper suitable for a backing/ at home, so I just went with that. It’s 160 gsm paper in the colourway ‘honey’. Embroidery floss I have enough to choose from; I went with a matching orange thread left over from an embroidery project.

For binding I followed this tutorial by @eat0crow and that needed two tries as well, again all because of me (I folded one page wrong and of course only noticed once everything was tied off!). I used two strands of embroidery floss, about twice as long as the back of my signature. (So that’s two strands separated from the six strand twist most embroidery floss is sold in for those of you not familiar with embroidery floss!) I used my awl to punch the holes and just a regular needle to sew it up (I tried using a curved needle at first, but that was very thick and would have widened my holes too much for my liking). The tension could probably be a little higher, but the pages don’t seem to be moving around, so I think it’s okay.

I went with seven holes just as in the tutorial, but I didn’t like the large gaps at the top and bottom from just setting them up equidistantly, and instead went for a 1,5cm gap at the top and bottom which left me with a very easy to measure 3cm between each hole.

I tied off the thread on the inside and cut off the excess and that’s my first ficbinding done! I’m a little annoyed by the page creep, but I definitely need better tools before I attempt cutting that off again!

This was a lot of fun and really actually quite quick to do! I’m torn now between creating an entire collection of little booklets like that for my shorter fic or whether I want to combine them into one, multi-signature anthology instead!

I’d definitely recommend a small single signature project like this if you just want to try out some of the techniques and the preparing of a file for signature printing! You don’t really need special equipment for this and still end up with a really nice result - at least I really like mine!

For reference, Of dogs and deer darcy is 2k long and I have one blank page left over at the end, plus a double blank page between my front matter and the text that you could potentially use up as well. Word signature length goes up to 40 pages, so you’ve definitely got some space for longer texts with this method (though I don’t think going up to a 40 page signature would be recommendable). But a 5k fic should definitely be doable even with just a 24 page signature! And you can always play around with font size and margins and the like, too.

I love my little fic booklet, so thank you very much to everyone who reblogged bookbinding posts over the last few weeks for introducing me to this craft! And thank you so much to all the wonderful people writing tutorials, you guys are the best!

#lessa says #ficbinding #bookbinding #I heartily recommend trying it out! It really is great fun!#This ended up a little long but I hope it'll encourage someone else to just try a small project like this one #and perhaps I can help you avoid my own mistakes!#If anyone has any questions let me know though I can promise no huge knowledge of the subject matter^^°

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kjhmyg · 5 years ago

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hey! i’m not sure if you’re still taking prompts, but rough edges jk and y/n spending the night/sharing a bed for the first time could be an idea. love your writing!!

pairing: jungkook x reader, genre: fluff, college!au, bf!jk, word count: 1.7k

a/n: cute prompt :( i assume you mean before they got physical, so this is early on in the relationship. i hope you like it! and thank you!

“So you see,” you point to the assignment on your desk, scribbling notes along the margin, “you just need to elaborate on your points more.”

Jungkook hums, sitting back on your chair, hands behind his head. He hears you, but he’s not listening. The way he stares could burn holes onto the side of your face. With a glance in his direction, you tap the tip of your pen on the desk, directing his attention back to the assignment. It works momentarily, before his eyes dart back to you.

“And um,” you fidget in your seat, “you should probably stick to the structure⎯”

Pushing against the floor with his foot, the swivel chair closes the distance between you and Jungkook tips your head in his direction with a finger under your chin. “You do know that I only used this as an excuse to come see you.” He says quietly, eyeing your lips. “Did you miss me? Cause I missed you.”

An hour ago, he’d called to ask for help on an assignment. It was almost ten, so you hesitated. But you hadn’t seen him in days because of your schedules and you so desperately wanted to. So did he, apparently.

“Oh, um.” You gulp, hating the way he makes you so nervous around him. It’s worse when you haven’t seen him in a while. “I guess I did…miss you.”

“You guess?”

You take a breath and look away. “I missed you.”

He smiles then, closing the gap between your lips for a sweet kiss. When he pulls away, you pout, looking at him with a certain look in your eyes that he’s grown to recognise. It makes him chuckle, observing you carefully. “One moment you can’t even tell me you miss me. Next, you wanna make out.”

Your eyes go wide and you resist the urge to argue because he’s right. Biting your bottom lip, you look away, back to the table and forgotten piece of assignment laying there. “Here.” You hand it back to him. There’s a small smile on your lips as you tidy up the place, trying to cover up the embarrassment.

“Kicking me out already?” He sighs, watching your back as you move.

“No.” You say, turning back around. “I’m just…well, you didn’t really need any help so.”

“Are you angry that I lied?” The look on his face tells you he’s not actually bothered by it. He’s just trying to study you.

“No, of course not.” You smile, leaning against your desk. “I wanted to see you too.”

He breaks out into a grin and you look away again, feeling awkward. His hand reaches for yours and he tugs you closer, hugging your middle. Hands rest on his shoulders and you smile down at him, cupping his face. It’ll take a while before you get used to this.

“Listen, I’ll be away tomorrow,” he starts. “You probably won’t be able to get a hold of me all weekend. I’ll see you again next week.”

“That’s okay.” You nod, trying to manage a smile to mask the disappointment. “We can hang out when you’re back.”

Nodding, he sighs, like he doesn’t want to go either. There’s momentary panic when you watch him get ready to leave, swinging his bag over his shoulder. Your thoughts fight each other internally as you stand there, contemplating.

“I should let you get some rest.” He smiles. “See you.”

It isn’t until he turns to leave that you come to a decision. He turns back to look at the hand clutching on to his sleeve. Eyebrows raised, he looks at you questioningly.

“Do you want to maybe…stay the night?” You ask in a soft voice. “You don’t have to but you can. Only if you want to.”

“No,” he says. Your heart drops, and your mouth goes dry, inner voice screaming at you. But then his hand slips into yours, “Only if you want to, I’ll stay.”

“Oh.” You smile sheepishly and he waits for your reply. “I…want you to stay.”

With a smile, his bag drops to the floor and he brings your face in for a chaste kiss. “Then I’m staying.”

As Jungkook washes up, you lie on the bed, trying to calm your nerves. Surely it’ll be okay, you reassure yourself, checking your reflection in the mirror a couple of times. It won’t be so bad. Worst case scenario, he’d wake up with some drool on him. Or you snoring into his ear. “Oh god.” You groan and roll over to scream into a pillow, then take a deep breath before you spiral any further.

Jungkook comes out of the shower shirtless, using a towel to dry his hair. You pretend to be busy on your phone, watching him from the corner of your eye as he walks around the room to hang up a towel and pick up a shirt. When he pulls it over his head, you silently thank the heavens. You definitely don’t need any more distractions tonight.

“Sorry, my bed is kinda small.” You say, making space for him to join you as he approaches. “We’re gonna have to squeeze.”

“Perfect.” It squeaks under his weight as he carefully finds his position right next to you. The small space makes it easy for him to put his hands on you, holding you close. You can smell the soap he used and how soft his skin feels under your touch. “Thanks for letting me stay. I’m surprised, didn’t think you’d ask me to.”

“I haven’t seen you much all week.” You pout, brushing hair away from his face. “I didn’t want to wait another week to be with you.”

“Cute.” He comments, kissing that pout away. “You know, I haven’t been to your cafe in a while. The only reason I went was because of the pretty barista. But now I don’t have to use coffee as an excuse to see her anymore.”

“Yeah, now you use assignments as your excuse.” You bite your lip. “Also, your regular order is a caramel frappuccino. That’s barely coffee.”

“Well I like sweet things.” He whispers, tracing his index finger along your bottom lip.

He leans in for soft kisses. One, two, three times, and then you push yourself up to level your face with his and he lets you pull him in for a deeper kiss. Over your pajamas, his hands roam across your body. A hand stops over your chest, just under your left breast where he can feel the way your heart beats a mile a minute.

“You’re nervous.” He comments, studying your face. “Is it me? Do I make you nervous?”

“A little.” You admit, biting your bottom lip in the way he finds adorable.

“Why?”

You shrug and play with the hem of your top. “I don’t know. Haven’t you ever felt nervous around someone you like?”

The words slip out before you can stop them and your fingers scramble over your lips, eyes going wide when you realise, you just admitted your feelings for him for the first time. He laughs, squeezing you in a hug as you bury your face in his chest.

“I get it. There’s this person, I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s weird.” He says, and you move away from him, curious. He’s looking away, in thought. “It’s like…I can’t get enough of her, you know?”

“Oh.” You gulp. “Lucky…” You mutter to yourself, feeling bitter at the thought of him being infatuated with someone else.

“But she’s shy,” he hovers over you as he continues, “and I’m always careful around her because I don’t,” he kisses you, “want,” kiss, “to scare her off.” Kiss. “She makes me nervous.”

Your hands on the sides of his face, you trace his features with your thumbs as he smiles down at you. “Really?” He nods. “Just so we’re clear, you’re talking about me, right?”

He laughs, then presses his body against yours as he kisses you, arms by the side of your head and yours around his. “You’re supposed to be the smart one here.”

“Well, this is a tricky situation!” You huff. “You have a lot of admirers. I wouldn’t know if you’re seeing other girls too.”

“I haven’t seen anyone else since our date.”

“Really? Why?”

He shrugs and rolls to the side, on his back, where he slips his arm under your neck. “Thought about you a lot after. Kinda just wanted to see you.”

“Me too.” You say, snuggling up to him. “Can I be honest? I wasn’t expecting much when we went out the first time. I just knew you as this handsome, popular guy, but that’s it. Then we started to hang out more and I…kinda just want to see where this goes.”

“I do too.” He hums, rubbing your back. After a while in silence, your eyes slowly start to flutter to a close, making him chuckle. “You must be tired.”

“I had a long day.” You admit, regretful you can’t stay up much longer, especially knowing he’d be gone in the morning. You place your hand over the side of his face, stroking it gently, then moving up to his hair, patting it gently.

“This is nice.” He says. “We should have sleepovers more often.”

“Yeah, we could paint each other’s nails and braid each other’s hair. Talk about boys all night.” You chuckle, pressing your lips together to hide a smile.

He tickles your side and you yelp, covering your mouth right after while your other hand tries to stop him. With a finger to your lips, you shush him, “Hana’s sleeping in the other room.”

“She’ll get used to it.” He grins, shrugging it off. “I think I’m gonna be spending a lot of time here with you.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You roll over to switch off the lamp on your nightstand, leaving only the faint street light coming in through the window. It makes only part of his face visible and you smile at him, even though he can’t see you. His arm pulls you in closer by the waist and you snuggle up to him, resting your head against his chest, as your own hand wraps loosely around his waist. With a kiss on the top of your head, he rests his chin on you. You let yourself melt into him, with the sound of his breathing and steady heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

#kwritersworldnet #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fic #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook #rough edges #drabbles

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newobsessionweekly · 5 years ago

Text

First Kiss

Aron Piper x reader

a/n: i’m not a writer, but someone asked for a part 2 so there it is. Enjoy! 🌿

warning: languag and maybe bad writing.

word count:3.5k

Since Y/n and Arón met, almost a month prior, they talked and talked and she never thought Arón would show up as such an interesting and funny guy that will keep her up till early on the morning and will care about her. It turned into a habit to text each other early in the morning to wish a good day and a good night, even in the busiest days. When one of them isn’t able to text, it feels strange even to their own phones not to have their names between the notifications. They talked about everything and nothing really serious, they started to discover each other, their preferences and weird habits; but she is feeling like she’s just there for him to kill his boredom.

They even hangout at the coffee shop once, with Miguel, Aitana, Álvaro and Ester. And they talked as if there weren’t those people around, they smiled so bright at each other and he was fascinated and dedicated all his attention to her. She thought that maybe after so many conversations, he would do something; she was expecting a kiss, a small sign, anything. But all the courage in the world if it would be channelized over him, he still wouldn’t be brave enough to make a move. Arón is more of an introvert and he doesn’t open up so easily to strangers, no matter how incredible smart and beautiful they are. He’s shy and it took him a whole week to convince himself that texting her was a brilliant idea and a few extra minutes to press that button to follow her on Intagram.

They just hugged tight and said their goodbyes, but Y/n just didn’t want to give up. Because of Miguel and her new best friend, Danna, she had many opportunities to see him. Y/n showed up sometimes on set with shitty excuses and he even invited her to drink more coffees together in his free time and she couldn’t refuse him, not a single time.

She realised that beyond the TV show both of them love, and now that Spanish rap thing he somehow made she like it, he understands her in a way no one can. Miguel understands Y/n, undoubtedly, but the way Arón did, no other person would ever be capable on doing it that way. It’s unique how he tells her the perfect words when her thoughts starts drowning again in the gazillion of worries. He always manages to put a stupid smile on her face, no matter how dark were the days. Just by seeing him smoking beside a window or hearing his laugh, her heart would come off their normal heartbeat.

She couldn’t find a proper job here and almost two months she worked so hard on a shitty salary until she gave in and accepted Arón proposal of talking with his agent. After a few meetings and some photos sent to some fashion houses that were looking for models, Y/n finally had the chance to do something she always wanted to do; she posed for some small, local fashion houses. Nothing much, but she buyed the apartment she dreamed of since she arrived in Madrid. In trying to connect with the urban agglomeration that feeds the tempestuous monster inside her, she lives now in the heart of Madrid, with Gran Via – the busiest street from Madrid – just under her balcony.

Actually it’s just a small flat at the last floor of the building, with access on the rooftop where she decorated a small terrace with plants and made it a perfect place for watching the sunset or hanging out with some friends. The flat is white and old, matching her old-fashioned soul, with many plants and small coloured little things to give some life to it. Y/n likes small places and the feeling of everything having a specific spot, no unoccupied space. Because being in a big place with so much vacant spaces makes her anxious and thinking that there is no one to full that emptiness, makes her heart break every time.

She’s not much of a drinker, every alcoholic drink she ever consumed was chosen by Miguel and because she wanted to throw herself a “new house” party, Y/n asked Miguel for help to made everything perfect. She didn’t invited many people, just Miguel’s friends from the cast of Elite and some friends – Miguel’s friends – from surfing, but not they we’re available. Y/n couldn’t call them her friends, only Miguel’s because she really doesn’t feel to call them that way. The only person she created a bonding and a beautiful friendship is Arón.

For Arón, Y/n wasn’t just Miguel’s best friend anymore, she was her friend too and the woman he slowly was starting to feel something deep and real. He still remembers every word and joke she ever said to him and their conversations were playing in his head all day and all night and in the most inappropriate moments. He was on set one day and instead of his lines, all he could remember was her words to him when he said to her she has the most weird and interesting humour. Arón had troubles on his shootings also because when he really needed a blank face, he couldn’t help his stupid wide smile.

As Y/n is still making the alcoholic punch and dreams with her eyes wide open at the sweet and caring Arón she discovered lately, Miguel is barely breathing because of the heavy bags of snacks and beers from his hands and the endless number of stair in front of his. She helped Miguel to enter the flat, but he needed a few minutes to catch his breath before to express his amazement.

“Seriously, chica, it was really needed that many stairs?” that was his first words before y/n laughed at him and hugged tight. She beckoned towards the terrace and let him admire the panorama of Madrid and the sundown as she organise the junk food and alcohol in the little kitchen. “Joder, what a view! Me gusta ahora, no more words!”.he stepped out of the balcony and accompanied her in the kitchen that already felt overcrowded.

She stumbled over his feet in trying to prepare the little details to bring them up on the terrace so Miguel offered to do anything else than just to stare at her. He helped her hang the christmas lights around the terrace and connect the laptop to the speakers.

The music is resonating silently in the apartment when Danna arrived and the volume just grows with every person coming in. Danna asked for a small tour to escape a little from Jorge and she let Miguel to play the host. She is really happy for her friend, she knows how hard it is to came in Spain from the American continent and have your life packed up into some bags and move around from place to place.

“Chica, this place looks amazing! It literally screams your name! You fit perfectely in the landscape. And this view, amazing!” Danna smiled and hugged her tight while the others were making comfortable on the terrace. A few days and the shooting for the Season 3 of Elite will be finished and Danna would have to go back in Mexico to see her family.

”It’s the perfect place I could have find, really. When I go to work I can walk, and It’s suitable because I hate memorising, especially public transport.” everyone laughed as they arrived on the rooftop and Álvaro handed her a beer as she stood on a chair next to Itzan and with her back at the door.

“Say it right, you love this place because KFC is five feet away.” a voice heared behind her and turned to face the owner. Arón was in the door’s threshold, looking so cute while he approaches to place the pack of cigarettes and the lighter on the coffee table. He tried to maintain his serious expression, but almost failed when he saw her laughing with his dearest friends, with her hair loosed on her back and holding a beer without even drinking from it. He knows she doesn’t like to consume much alcohol, especially such drinks as beers.

She couldn´t help but smile bright, and ignore those stupid butterflies flying in her stomach, making it feels like someone is tickling her from inside. She stood up and embraced him tight, Arón immediately accepting it. He squeezed her in his arms even tighter, for every day they haven’t seen or talked. That gesture made her melt and just fall into his arms, standing there maybe too long. Those arms feels like home for her, all she wants is to make somehow this man the happiest he have ever been because he deserves it. “I missed you, tonta!” he wispered before he pulled out from the hug and let her to embrace the coldness his body left behind.

“Perdona me, I’ve had a shooting for the GQ magazine this evening. I wasn’t expecting to take me so long.” he said then started greeting everyone. That was actually a lie, he knew he was going to be late because he couldn’t focus to maintain the expression that the photographer wanted to because all over his face was painted a dumb smile and all because of her.

Everyone was dancing, drinking and having a good time, expecially Omar that wanted to be the DJ. Danna and Ester danced all night beside her or were filming for some insta stories. But when Arón made his way on the improvised dancefloor, he danced beside Y/n, smoked or drank one of the cocktails Miguel made, she didn’t wanted the night to end, just wanted to feel his hands over her shoulders and her stomach jumping at his touch over and over again.

At some point Omar changed completely the music and played Vicio, the song that Arón recorded with Gregory Palencia, the song she is so obsessed with. Y/n discovered this one day scrolling down a fanpage dedicated to Arón and was in her history on youtube and her most played song on Spotify.

When his solo came, he started singing,but he could barely do that properly because as much as he looks at the woman beside him, couldn’t hide his happiness. Y/n is speechless and tries so hard to focus on anything else than his lips and to hold her stupid desire to kiss him. With a cigarette in the right hand, he comprised her cheeks with both hands and sang to her, only for her. When he wrote those lyrics with Gregory, he thought about how he would feel when he would met the person that fits his expectations, could help him achieve his dreams. And as the days passes with Y/n by his side, he starts to understand more and more that she is the woman he has been writing about.

“She is my girl, she is my queen. she is my popstar

Mezclando sus emociones con el vodka

Si no la conoces piensas que esta loca

She is my love, she is my bae, she is my popstar

Ella es mi vicio, ella es mi droga

Ninguno me la controla”

Y/n froze there, with his hands on her cheeks, him looking into her eyes as she felt abashed, but also as if she has been on drugs; y/n isn’t used to this kind of things. But who the fuck is? She couldn’t get used to the strange feeling those little animals from her stomach are forcing her to endure every time she sees him, but in that moment, Y/n felt even worse. Her stomach curled into a huge ball and the lump in her throat threatens to bother her all night.

She tried to look away, but he just didn’t allow her to escape from the prison of his eyes. He was singing that to her, only for her and wanted Y/n to feel at least as half as special as he feels because of her. But she was lost, Y/n couldn’t process the sounds around her anymore and her eyes dropped on his lips and stared at them, trying to decipher what he was singing.

As soon as the song ended, under everyone’s eyes, she ran towards the kitchen and grabs a beer from the fridge, almost drank all of it from a sip. She needed to drink that fucking lump away and kill somehow the ball of emotions that formed inside her stomach. Arón frowns and can’t help to question himself if he did something wrong. Was this inappropriate?

He remained in the middle of the improvised dance floor and watches her as she wipes away her forehead kind of wiping away the latest incidents. His heart dropped at the thought that Y/n was maybe regretting it. He wasn’t, and if the drinks combined with the joint weren’t clouding his judgement, he would have done everything the same, adding in the end a kiss so she wouldn’t question his feelings.

Her cheeks were on fire and was trying to find out what the fuck just happened. Everyone was looking strangely at her, but couldn’t help and let that stupid smile. Arón relaxed his body and smiled at her too, he understood she is as nervous as he is, but she needs somehow to express her feelings otherwise she would explode.

“Okay chicos, let’s play some poker.” Arón drawn everyone’s attention as she laughes. This boy and his poker games.

She shakes her head and follows them up to the rooftop. The terrace is lightened by the Christmas lights, and the moon is watching them, besides the gazillions of stars. Madrid never slows down, deep in the night she still could hear the honks and the noisy engines running down the street. She loves this place and nothing in the wide world could make her go back to LA. Yes, America is cool and all, but she has been living there in fear because of all the bombings and shootings. She was never really living the “American dream”, but she prefers “la vida loca” that Spain allowed her to live for now.

“Why? You wanna quit smoking and don’t know how?” her sarcasm was an assurance for him that everything is alright. She saw the look on his face when she ran away from him; he was worried. The rest laughed and he playfully pointed his middle finger at her.

Here, with these amazing people, she felt the happiness on a superior level. Everyone laughing and Arón constantly looking at her while playing and playfully trying to look at her cards, made her laugh so hard that her cheeks hurts again. Bonding a friendship with these people made her happy. Being able to share something like this with them, made her happy.

Of coure they played with cigarettes instead of money and since the last time when Miguel borrowed her cigarettes to play, she got herself two packs just in case she might play again. No, she hoped when she was buying those packs that they would play again. Y/n is not a smoker, but standing beside Miguel or Arón while smoking it didn’t bothered her much at all. She finds sometimes the smell interesting and happily breathed it in.

Some rounds later, after she won almost another two packs, and let Arón speechless, the curly boy surprisingly run out of cigarettes. Even he was amazed and though he needed to quit the game, he still wasn’t ready to declare himself defeated.

“OK, it’s not a big deal, right? The winner of this round can give me a dare. How does this sounds?” he tried to make a trade with all of them and the rest agreed, the rest but Y/n.

“He’s allowed to do that?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. She’s not a usual poker player, but she knows some rules.

“Well, he is kinda pissed because he lost two games in a row, give him peace.” Miguel laughed and then smiled while accepting Arón’s middle finger.

For the first time, she wished that she would lose this round. Before now, Y/n felt that winning every round would win a few glances from Arón’s and maybe a few steps closer to him. But she couldn’t give him dares! She’s so lame at that kind of things, hew imagination is deplorable, especially after the two beers affected her brain. And she did lost, gladly. However Jorge won and because of the glances he gave her after he collected the cigarettes, made her fear his mind. Danna knows about Y/n being so in love with Arón and she’s now so sure that Jorge knows too. She picks up the beer and started to drink while Jorge gave him the dare, not to look so stressed about it.

“Hm, Arón, I dare you to give the winner of the game siete minutos en el cielo.”

But gladly for Y/n game ended and no one knew who the winner is or who they should crown them, so Omar and Mira started a discussion about the previous day on the set, wich Itzan missed and they we’re telling him how Álvaro told “Erla” instead of Carla and Arón calling Itzan’s character “Suamuel”.

Laughs were being heard from the terrace while Y/n accompanied Ester and Álvaro through the door and thanked them for coming. After she hugged both of them, leads to take another beer from the fridge when Arón approaches, with an empty beer bottle in his hand. He leaves it on the counter, very close to her waist, but he refused to move his arm.

“I think I owe you siete minutos en el cielo.” She found out recently that him speaking spanish could turn her on, but this time she decided to leave her hand out of her business.

“But I didn’t won the game.” She frowned at him, standing in the same position, none of them daring to move any centimetre.

“Well, that’s it!” he shrung his shoulders. “You are the only one in this house that I want to have ‘seven minutes in heaven’ with.” he decided to spoke his mind out this time. Or maybe the beers decided.

“Or you just want the cigarettes I won, gilipollas!” she responded with a confidence she didn’t knew she has been possessing it, trying not to the her tongue tangle while spelling the Spanish word.

“Seriously? Gilipollas? That’s what Miguel thought you in spanish?” he laugh though she were trying to remain serious.

“Actually, Omar did.” she smiled trying so hard to look him in the eyes, but her sight stuck on his lips. She could hear his breathing and also their hearts beating together, in unison.

“Fine, maybe I want the cigarettes.” he said, and started to lean towards her. Y/n’s mouth is dry and she’s trying so hard not to tremble under his touch. But when their lips almost touched, he stopped and whispered into her ear, making her skin shiver: “or maybe I just can’t get you out off my mind, neither you nor your damn lips.”

Y/n gently leans in and finally seales Arón's warm lips. They pull apart and take shaky, shallow breaths. Unable to contain themselves anymore, Arón holds her head in his hands and pulls her into a fiery and passionate kiss. Her hands work their way around his body, feeling each crevasse, each line along his perfect physique. His lips fits perfectly on hers and she could tell he tastes like cigarettes, beer and mint, a trio that now became her favourite. Adrenaline is pumping in Y/n’s veins, but it’s nothing rushed, they take all the time from the world to explore each other and let the emotions cross the bridge that their connected lips built.

Arón matches her body's form, his hands venture over her curved body, exploring. They pull apart, desperately craving for air and open their eyes. They stare at each other, deep into each other's eyes. He's full of wonder and love, Y/n's full of curiosity and passion. No words are spoken but a story worthy of them is communicated.

But they closed their eyes again and preferred just to stand there, with foreheads pressed. The reality could wait a couple more minutes, but Miguel couldn’t. He started whistling, but none of them give a fuck. Nothing mattered that time. She finally kissed the boy that she’s in love with and couldn’t hold the bright smile anymore. They smiled at each other, being held in their own world just created.

tag: @isthatmaryanna

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jenanigans1207 · 4 years ago

Text

Lonely with Me |Renga|

Okay so I binged all 8 eps of Sk8 today. And like, I know ep 8 is already out but if I had started watching last week, this is the fic I would have written to help myself cope with the tragedy that was ep 7. And I decided that I want to write it anyways because I still have a lot of feelings about it. So, I hope you enjoy!

-- x

It wasn’t supposed to rain today, but Reki doesn’t care.

The rain patters to the ground around him, drowning out the sound of his ragged breathing, his broken heartbeats. It trickles down his back, across his face, it feels like tears. It wasn’t supposed to rain, but Reki thinks there’s some sort of ironic humor in the universe, some sort of sick joke that he has to endure as he walks away from his best friend, head bowed as his shattered heart somehow finds a way to break a little more with every step.

At this point, he’s already drenched to the bone anyways, the water sloshing in his shoes with each slowing step. His house is still a few streets away and the lamps are the only light he has to guide him there. And he should be going home, he has every reason to go home, but he finds that his feet stop moving of their own accord. He tries to breathe in the cool air of the rain, tries to feel the dampness against his cheek and think of it as refreshing. It doesn’t work.

Because the only thing he’s actually thinking about is Langa and the way he didn’t follow.

Reki walked away and Langa— Langa just let him go.

Langa, who stopped him from doing reckless things. Langa who tried to nurse him back to health when he was broken. Langa who had never let Reki get too far away, who had always reached out for him, circled back for him, sought him out in a crowd. Langa, who seemed to always hear Reki, even when he wasn’t speaking, who seemed to understand the language of Reki’s soul and managed to read between the lines. Langa, who Reki trusted more than anyone else, who Reki needed in his life, wanted in his life. Langa just let him walk away like he wasn’t just one gentle breeze away from falling apart completely.

Did Langa not see the way he was hurting, not hear the barbs laced into all of his words? For all that Langa had always been good at understanding what Reki really meant, he didn’t seem able to figure it out tonight. He’d just stared wide-eyed at Reki’s back as he’d stomped away through the puddles, his feelings washing away from the space between the two of them, drowned out a little more with every raindrop that seems to punctuate their growing distance.

He tries not to think about it, but his head is an echo chamber, replaying his words over and over again. Replaying Langa’s silence on loop until it drives him absolutely insane. What he needs is to get away from it all, to get home, to lock himself in his room. Reki needs to bury his face in a pillow and block out the rest of the world, not sit outside in the rain and catch his death.

Reki slumps to the ground anyways, pressing his back against the stone wall and dropping his forehead against his knees. He’d been fighting the weight of this for days, watching as Langa got further and further ahead of him. It had been a hard battle but at least then he’d been treading water, managing to somehow stay afloat despite it all. He had been able to put his fear of being left behind away and had been excited for his friend. But now— now he was drowning from it, the weight pulling him straight to the depths of the ocean with no hope of escaping. Reki may be good at skateboarding but it turns out he’s terrible at swimming and even worse at dealing with these feelings. The light of the surface is so far away now, he can’t even see it.

Logic told him that he should be happy for his friend. And he was, of course he was. Langa was brilliant and watching him skate was magical. It had been since the very first time Reki had seen him take on the S. Hell, it had been magical before that. From the first moment Langa stepped foot on Reki’s skateboard, only to fall flat on his back less than a second later, Reki had been enthralled. There was something about the way Langa moved on a skateboard, something about the way he made the sport his own— it was captivating, breathtaking, impossible to look away from. Everyone saw it— Snow had risen to the tip of everyone’s tongue lately, a name thrown around casually as if people knew him.

But they didn’t know him, not the way Reki did. They weren’t used to watching him practice skating, they hadn’t seen him start at the bottom. They had never seen his face as he’d hit the ground after his hundredth failed attempt at a trick, only to watch it harden back into determination as he got up to try it again. They didn’t know what his laugh sounded like, or the way he brushed his hair out of his face, they didn’t know what he looked like at the end of a long night, blinking the sleep away. They knew Snow, but Reki knew Langa. He knew the touch of Langa’s hand around his wrist as he shook his head with finality, cutting off some silly idea before Reki could even finish forming it. He knew the smile that Langa reserved only for when he nailed a new skill he’d been practicing.

He knew what it was like to have Langa nestled inside of his chest, right up against his heart. He was the only person Langa read like an open book, the only one Langa protected. Reki still remembered the look on Langa’s face after his beef with Adam, the way Langa’s expression had switched from worry to fury in such a quick second that Reki would’ve missed it if he’d blinked. He knew Langa as well as he knew himself because Langa was his best friend, his most important person. Langa was the person he shared his passion with, the one who listened to him as he rattled on and on about everything skating related.

Langa was the one he had left behind in the rain. The one who’d done nothing but watch him go.

God. This wasn’t supposed to hurt so bad.

The worst part was that there was nobody to blame. He couldn’t possibly be mad at Langa for being a genius— it wasn’t like Langa had chosen that. It wasn’t even like Langa had purposely wielded it against him. All Langa had been doing this time was having fun, that was clear in the look in his eyes every time he stepped onto his board. He’d been finding his place in this new world that he was suddenly thrust into, finding a way to express himself through all the things he’d been through. He was finding something to be passionate about again, something to give him back a piece of himself that he’d felt like he’d lost. He loved skating as much as he had loved snowboarding and Reki would never take that away from him. It came to Langa as natural as breathing by now and that was something Reki could be jealous of, but he couldn’t blame Langa for it.

He couldn’t blame himself either, though, not really. Because that would make it better. If the fact of the matter was just that he hadn’t tried hard enough, hadn’t put in the hours practicing— if the truth was that he was a coward, that he scared easily and didn’t have the guts for this, well that was something he could face. More than that, it was something he could fix. He could put it more time practicing, he could study the other skaters with more dedication, he could work on facing his fears. If it was his fault, he could do something about it, could manage to close the gap between him and Langa, even if just marginally. But that wasn’t the truth. Reki loved skating, too. Reki had been skating for nearly as long as Langa had been snowboarding, He had put in years, numerous broken bones and a lot of sleepless nights. He had watched video after video online, studied all the top skaters at the S, he’d put in the work and even when he didn’t see progress as fast as he would have liked to, he put in more work.

There wasn’t anything Reki could do that he hadn’t already been doing, There wasn’t anything that would allow him to catch back up to Langa.

And maybe that’s why it actually hurt so bad. Because the fact of the matter, the one Reki had been forced to face jump after jump after jump, that graffiti star an unattainable goal mocking him from just a few feet away, was that he and Langa weren’t the same. They weren’t in the same category, they weren’t the same skill level. And the gap between them was only going to grow wider. Because no matter how many times Reki made that same jump, no matter how many techniques he tried, he simply couldn’t reach any higher. And yet, it seemed like Langa got a little closer to the stars every time his feet touched his deck.

Pretty soon Langa would be so far away that he’d be nothing but a brilliant speck of light for Reki to admire from afar. He’d be nothing but fond memories of a time Reki had found his best friend, the person who fit the edges of his soul with perfect ease. He would watch Langa rise in the ranks and he would think of these months they spent together, learning to speak each other’s language, to meet each other in the middle. He would remember Langa’s laugh, the way he would duck his head as if it could somehow hide the melodic sound. And then he would think about how he’d lost all of that, how it had been just enough to whet his appetite before it had been ripped away from him, forever leaving a Langa-shaped hole in his heart.

And it was true that Langa hadn’t left Reki behind— yet. So far, Langa always came back for Reki, always glanced over his shoulder to make sure Reki was still there. Whenever he accomplished something new, Reki was the first person he showed, the approval he sought. But Reki had seen him skate against Adam, had seen the way he’d effortlessly flipped straight over Adam’s hug, like it was nothing. Like it was the only obvious thing he could have done. He saw the way Langa wanted more, craved for something further ahead of him. And if Reki was behind him already, there was no way he would ever be able to help Langa satisfy that craving.

It was really only a matter of time before Langa left Reki behind.

Or, it was a matter of time before Langa should leave Reki behind if he wanted to keep advancing and growing. Just as these feelings of bitterness had been weighing Reki down, he knew that he was starting to way Langa down. Langa could never get better if he kept skating with Reki, kept trying to match Reki’s pace instead of setting his own. He couldn’t develop his skill any further by Reki’s side and even though that cut, even though it hurt worse than every broken bone that Reki had ever had, stung worse than all of the road rash he’d acquired over the years, he didn’t want to be the reason Langa was stuck. Just like he didn’t want Langa to get hurt because of him, he didn’t want Langa to give up his potential, either. Langa was destined to shine and Reki was casting a shadow over his brilliant light.

So as much as it hurt, as terribly as it sucked— and it did, oh it did— Reki knew that he had to break free from Langa. He knew that he had to put the space between them, to sever the tie that Langa was using to drag him along. Because Langa was— well, he was Langa.

He was quiet, but genuinely interested in everything Reki had to say. He was soft spoken but the things he did say were brilliant. He added great insight. He was protective, fierce—

Reki pulled his knees closer to his chest.

He needed to stop thinking like this. He needed to haul himself off the ground and finish dragging his sorry ass home. He needed to collapse, maybe pretend to be sick tomorrow so he could lay in bed all day. He needed to do something because right now he was sitting in one spot, an easy target for all the emotions he had been trying so desperately to avoid. He didn’t think he could outrun them, not anymore, but he ought to at least try.

Somewhere in the distance, the sound of water starts to shift. It takes Reki a few seconds to realize that he’s hearing more than just raindrops now, he’s hearing a set of footsteps in the puddles. He considers for a moment trying to get up now, but whichever other poor soul is out in this rain has already seen him and really, he still doesn’t have the will to do anything but stay exactly where he is. If he’s lucky, the person will just pass him right on by, biting back whatever questions they have for a young boy sitting in the rain with his head bowed.

“Reki.” The sound of Langa’s voice is almost enough to make Reki jump right out of his skin. “You’re going to get sick if you keep sitting there.”

“So?” Reki manages to mumble, pressing his forehead firmer against his knees.

Langa sighs and Reki refuses to look up at him, refuses to see the way the lights are reflecting in his eyes, the way his longer hair curls gently at the back of his head. Reki refuses to look up and acknowledge that Langa had actually come after him in the end.

He refuses to look at Langa because if he does, he’ll say all the things he doesn’t want Langa to know.

He doesn’t look at Langa, because if he does, he’ll tell Langa that he doesn’t want him to go, that he wants to keep skating with him for as long as Langa will let him. He’ll tell Langa that he misses him, even if he’s only two feet away. He’ll tell Langa all these things that will become a burden on Langa because he’s too gentle to leave Reki behind, even if he needs to. So it’s up to Reki to cut the ties for his sake and he can’t do that if he sees Langa standing over him in the rain.

“Reki.” Langa repeats, but this time it’s so quiet, it’s almost drowned out by the rain entirely. When Reki doesn’t respond, doesn’t shift even a little bit, Langa steps closer, closer, closer and then he’s sitting down next to Reki, pressing his own back against the stone wall, his shoulder brushing Reki’s in the process.

For a moment, they just sit side by side like this, close enough that Reki can just feel the warmth of Langa’s skin despite the rain that still cascades down on them. They sit in the silence of the late night, no other people daring to be out in weather such as this. It’s almost peaceful, honestly, As peaceful as something can be when Reki is trying to nurse the jagged edges of a broken heart so they don’t get the chance to cut him any deeper.

Reki thinks that Langa is leaving it up to him to talk, to start whatever conversation they’re supposed to be having, It’s a fair thing for Langa to do, considering that Reki is the one who walked away, the one who is clearly carrying some burden— a burden that he only allowed Langa to see a glimpse of. It’s only reasonable to assume that Reki would have more to say after that, but he really doesn’t.

And then Langa shifts next to him, turning so that he’s facing Reki. Reki still isn’t looking at him, but he can see Langa’s legs and feet as he moves and then suddenly there’s a warm hand on his shoulder and it’s enough to jolt Reki into at least lifting his head.

He really shouldn’t have because Langa looks just as broken as Reki feels, his wet hair falling limp around his face, the longer edges of his hair kissing his shoulders along with the raindrops. He looks like he’s in pain and Reki’s immediate reaction is to want to fix it, even though he’s the cause of it.

This really became quite the mess.

“I want to skate with you.” Langa says after a moment, the words almost choked, as if he can barely get them out. “I want to beat Adam, but I want to skate with you.”

And there really is a difference there, Reki knows. He can feel it in the way Langa emphasizes the words. Beating Adam, that’s a one time thing. But skating together? That’s— that’s everything. That’s daily, nightly, forever. That’s the exact thing that Reki has unintentionally fallen in love with. Skating together is laughing together, it’s continuing to speak each other’s language. Skating together means more of Langa’s hands as he bandages up Reki’s newest injury, more chances to watch Langa’s eyes light up as he masters something new. Skating together is continuing to bare their souls to each other, meeting each other in the middle.

Langa doesn’t want to compete with Reki, that’s what he’s saying. He wants to share this with Reki, for it to be something they both hold dear. Langa wants to surpass Adam and leave him in the dust, but he wants to keep Reki at his side.

“You’re better than I am.” Reki responds feebly, glancing down to where Langa’s foot is almost touching his. “You should go on ahead.”

For a moment, Langa seems to chew on his response, thinking of how to properly say whatever words are all jumbled up in his mind. Reki has seen him do it before and, apparently, if Langa gets his way, he’ll see him do it again in the future.

“I don’t skate to be good.” Langa finally says. “I skate to have fun. And I have fun skating with you.”

“You have fun skating with Adam, too.” Reki replies. He doesn’t want to say these words, doesn’t want to keep digging the knife deeper into his own heart, but he tries to anyways. “You can keep having fun skating with Adam because he’ll keep challenging you.”

“No.”

It’s all Langa says before there’s a set of arms enveloping Reki, pulling him flush into Langa’s soaking wet body. Reki falls into him, his arms finally letting go of his legs as he allows himself a brief moment to just be held by Langa. And then, after a few seconds tick by, he wraps his own arms back around Langa, his hands fisting in the back of Langa’s shirt as he pulls him closer, pressing his face into Langa’s shoulder.

Langa’s hold is firm and unyielding as he buries his own face in the hair on top of Reki’s head. They don’t speak, not for a long time, but Langa’s always been good at hearing what’s inside Reki’s heart, even if Reki hasn’t tried putting it into words. And the longer he remains in Langa’s embrace, the more he realizes that he, too, can read into the depths of Langa’s heart. He can feel it in the way Langa smooths a hand down his back, the desperation for things to not end here. He can hear it in Langa’s rattling breaths, that he’s going to keep fighting for this, that he’s not going to just let Reki walk away again.

“I’m sorry—“ Reki starts to say, but his apology is cut short by Langa pulling away from him. Not far— not far at all, in fact. He’s so close, his blue eyes sparkling in a way that Reki has never seen before.

Their arms are still wrapped around each other as their gazes lock and there seems to be something filling the air besides the rain suddenly. Reki tries to swallow, to form the rest of his apology, to explain to Langa that he’s just afraid of losing the one thing that matters to him more than anything else. He wants to tell Langa that losing him will hurt worse than losing his friend in the past and that he’s handled it completely the wrong way but his intentions were good and he just wanted Langa to shine—

But before any of the words can find their way past the lump in his throat, Langa is leaning in and Reki can’t do anything but lean in, too, his eyes fluttering as the feeling between them grows to an almost unbearable level. They’re close, so close, painfully close—

The wall of water that drenches them is somehow cold, despite the fact that they were both already dripping wet. Reki makes some sort of startled noise and shoots backwards, trying to brush his hair out of his face. Langa is in the same spot, arms out to the side as he tries to shake some of the extra water off, but there’s a smile on his face. The driver of the car that had drenched them yells some sort of apology out of their window before continuing onwards. Reki, too stunned to have any idea what to do, turns to Langa only to see his shoulders shaking with laughter.

And then suddenly he’s laughing out loud, throwing his head back as he tucks his wet hair behind his ears and Reki finds that he’s laughing too. He’s laughing and his ribs and lungs are burning and it feels good and warm against the cold of the evening, it’s a balm against the storm of emotions that has only just started to be quelled inside of him.

“I’m sorry,” He says to Langa again, after they’ve finally gotten their laughter back under control. He knows Langa doesn’t need an apology, but he deserves one. “I was just— feeling left behind and lonely.”

“Reki, I’ll never leave you behind.” Langa says with the same conviction that he had promised Reki that he wouldn’t give up skateboarding, even if he got seriously injured. He says it with so much feeling that Reki knows it’s more than a promise, it's a guarantee.

Even though he still doesn’t like Langa going up against Adam again, even though he worries for Langa’s safety and still knows that he’s going to have bouts of loneliness as he tries desperately to close this gap between them, as he chases in Langa’s shadow, he knows that he’s going to have Langa by his side through it all. And maybe being lonely isn't terrible if he has someone to be lonely with.

Reki stands up finally, tucking his skateboard under one arm and extending his other hand to Langa. “Whatever you say mister hot shot, Snow.”

Langa takes his hand with a dramatic roll of his eyes and allows Reki to haul him to his feet. “If you act like that, maybe I will leave you behind.”

Or maybe, Reki thinks as Langa falls in step next to him as they head towards his house together, an unspoken agreement to dry off passing between them, he won’t be lonely at all.

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prairiesongserial · 3 years ago

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14.10

Friday left John sitting on the trailer steps. She felt queasy, which was annoying. She hadn’t had that much to drink. She was beginning to feel annoyed by her sequined dress, too, which forced her to walk like a lady. She had chosen it for the campfire because the firelight reflected in every sequin, drawing the eye and holding it as a hundred little shimmering fires moved with the contour of her body. Friday looked fucking good in this dress. So of course she had chosen to spend her night stumbling through the dark alone, where no one could appreciate it.

Friday eventually found Johannes’s trailer. The door was locked, but that was hardly a deterrent. Friday slipped a couple of pins out of her blond wig and set to work on the lock. As she felt around inside the lock, she stared at the gold-painted, rhinestone-decorated box no bigger than her thumb nailed at an angle to the doorframe. The trailers that people slept in had them, while the others didn’t. The last pin in the lock set, and Friday opened the door.

She felt around in the dark for the pull-chain that would turn on the light, letting the door close behind her. The wood floor creaked under her feet. Her fingers met the chain, finally, but it slipped through several times before Friday managed to get a hold on it. She pulled it, and the trailer lit up.

“What a mess,” she muttered, seeing the stacks of paper on the table and the piles of dirty dishes on the floor. She wasn’t sure what she should be looking for, amid the mismatched chests of drawers, the wood crates, and the clothes and costumes flung over every surface. She walked slowly around the table in the center of the trailer, taking everything in. It was made of heavy, sturdy wood, and took up so much space that there were places where Friday had to turn and side-step just to squeeze through.

Friday almost didn’t notice the bunk beds built into the wall, half-hidden behind a brocade curtain. Friday pulled the curtain aside. The bottom bunk, of all the surfaces in the trailer, had the most costumery piled on. Including shoes. Friday carefully stepped onto the first rung of the ladder. There was an instrument case at the foot of the top bunk, and precarious stacks of books took up half the sleeping space. Friday hadn’t realized that Ezra slept here, too. Judging by the size of the bunk beds, the brothers had been sharing this trailer since they were kids.

Friday sighed softly, and drew the curtain back into place. Val couldn’t have been a better accomplice if the two of them had planned it this way, but Friday had a sour taste in her mouth as she rifled through the papers on the table. She needed to focus. She needed some real proof that Johannes was slimy, but if it was here, it was buried under hand-written receipts for the drums of oatmeal and rice that made up most of the circus’s diet.

Friday tried to read some of the papers, but it was slow going, and none of them seemed to be anything special - not worth the time lost to sound out the words she didn’t know. From her own experience in show business, she recognized the set lists and bookkeeping, and could safely put those aside. The diagrams of how to lay out the different tents and attractions were also self-explanatory. Not everything was in English. Some papers had notes in the margins written in an alphabet she’d never seen before, while some papers were written only in that other language. She half-remembered a conversation where Johannes had told her it wasn’t German.

Friday stepped back from the table, a headache already coming on. She couldn’t read fast enough. Val would have been able to skim through the receipts and lists and find what they needed - if it was even there to find. There was a good chance Johannes knew better than to write personal or sensitive notes in English.

Friday looked around the room, feeling increasingly nervous as the seconds ticked by. She wouldn’t know what she was looking for until she found it, but in that case, where to look? Friday started going through the wooden crates, which were mostly full of costumes that the circus clearly hadn’t found the room to store anywhere else. One crate had a crystal ball in the bottom, and it loudly rolled from one side to the other as Friday dug through the junk surrounding it. This was completely hopeless. Friday stuffed the costumes back into their crates, out of breath.

She should have talked to Enis. If someone had messed with the hitch that connected the trailer to the truck, Enis would have been able to tell her exactly what she was looking for. What type of wrench she would find hidden in Johannes’s pillow, for instance. Friday paused in the middle of picking a leopard-print leotard off the floor. Slowly, she placed the leotard back in its crate before marching back over to the bunk beds and throwing the curtain aside.

Friday checked the pillow. There was no wrench, but as she shook the pillow case, a black leather book fell out and landed between Friday’s feet. Cautiously, as if the little book could bite her, Friday stooped to pick it up.

She flipped through. At first, she wasn’t sure what she was looking at. It wasn’t a journal; the entries had been typeset by machine. Each entry in the book had space for handwritten comments, and Johannes had used the space liberally - in the other alphabet, of course. Friday flipped back and forth through the unusual address book, letters blurring by. It looked like a list of contacts in the various cities the circus performed. She flipped backwards past Rushforth Family Company: R.F. 13. Alabama. If Friday could have read Johannes’s notes, the book might have been worth spending time on.

Friday was about to close the book when a piece of paper fell to the floor. A photograph had worked itself loose from where Johannes had crammed it between two pages. Friday knelt to pick it up.

It was a picture of a young woman, eighteen or nineteen. The camera had caught her in the middle of turning away, but the expression of amusement on her face was clear. She was dressed for the circus in over-elaborate layers of patterned silk, with bangles on her wrists. Her hands were photographed as blurs of motion, as if the girl was caught mid-gesture. But it was an unusual gesture, the girl’s open palm falling away in an arc from the side of her face.

“Johannes!” yelled a voice just outside the trailer, scaring Friday out of her mind. She dropped the photograph and book, and scrambled to pick them both up and return them to Johannes’s pillow.

“We know you’re in there, come play with us,” sing-songed another voice, and the first laughed.

Friday rolled her eyes and stayed low. She listened as they made their circuit of the trailer, tapping obnoxiously on the curtained windows, before they staggered away over the pebbles. It was a good reminder to hurry up. She had to be out before Johannes left the woods, not before he decided to turn in for the night. As soon as Johannes was clear of the trees, he would see his trailer conspicuously lit in the darkness.

It was tempting to take the address book she had just stuffed back into Johannes’s pillow and go. It was the only personal item she had managed to find - the only item that was clearly more important than the rest of the papers left in haphazard stacks. If she only had a few hours to go through it with Val, maybe it would give her some insight into the circus, some clue to the bigger picture. But she doubted the address book contained what Friday really wanted - proof that Johannes had tampered with the trailer hitch. Which meant it wasn’t worth taking the book and risking Johannes finding it missing.

Friday had to go. She’d spent too much time reading receipts for oatmeal, and staying any longer would be really pushing her luck. Friday pulled herself up from the floor, bracing her hand on the table. The table jangled softly.

“Shit,” Friday said. She gripped the edge of the table and gave it a shake, sending papers sliding down all four sides onto the floor. The table jangled again. She didn’t have time for this. She started to feel around the underside of the table, walking around the length twice, hunched over, wasting seconds.

Finally, she felt it. Pushing up on the underside of the table, one little six inch section of wood moved up with her hands. She felt for the trick to open the hidden door, her heart pounding in her ears as she tried to guess how long she’d been in Johannes’s trailer. Half an hour? Forty-five minutes? How much time was he going to spend in the woods with Val?

Finally, Friday found the nail holding the door up. She pushed up on the door so she could push the nail in, freeing the door to fall down on its hinge and spill the compartment’s contents onto the floor. There was a metallic clatter as fistfuls of stolen gold and silver rings hit the floor and rolled in all directions. Friday was already scrambling to pick them all up, swearing to herself, before she’d even registered that something else was sitting on the floor under the table. Friday crawled under, careful of her head, and picked it up.

It was a heavy piece of iron, bent in the shape of an L. It wasn’t any longer than Friday’s finger.

Friday turned it over in her hands.

Wherever it was, Johannes had been hiding it where it clearly didn’t belong. This wasn’t like the black book and the photograph tucked inside. Keeping something in your pillowcase meant it was secret, yes, but secret because it was valuable. This piece of metal wasn’t valuable. It wasn’t a stolen ring that needed to be kept discreet until it could be fenced a couple of towns away. If this nondescript piece of iron was hidden, instead of sitting in plain sight with the costumes, receipts, and crystal balls, that meant something. It would be pretty easy to find out if this thing was what she thought it was.

The longer Friday turned the L-shaped iron over in her hands, the more nervous she felt. She didn’t feel any triumph that she had been right. Val was alone in the woods with Johannes right now.

Friday swallowed. She felt queasy again.

Friday didn’t have any pockets; she slipped the cold metal into her brassiere and set to work on getting the rings back into the secret compartment. When that was done, she rushed to pile the fallen papers back onto the table. She could hear phantom footsteps on the creaky wooden steps that led up to the trailer door as she worked, painfully aware that there was only one door in or out of the trailer. If she took too long, there would be nowhere to go.

Still catching her breath, Friday peered out one of the windows. She didn’t see anyone, though the trailer’s doorstep was tantalizingly just out of sight. She’d have to trust that no one was there.

Friday pulled the chain hanging from the ceiling, and the light went out. She opened the door of the trailer, and casually walked down the steps as if she were supposed to be there. But no one was around. Friday was met by nothing more sinister than the night as she walked further from the fire, toward a different trailer still hitched to its truck.

14.9 || epilogue 14

#story

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jewishzevran · 5 years ago

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this heart is starting to come to life

So earlier this week, @cullenvhenan posted this about her inquisitor immy lavellan and cullen in a modern au setting, and i couldn’t stop my little goblin hands from writing it. i had to keep putting my head on my desk and take deep breaths because they love each other so much and they just don’t realise yet buhuhu ;____;

Cullen groaned, and dropped his head against his steering wheel, wishing the ground had swallowed him up on the walk from the restaurant to his car.

What a fucking disaster.

She had been nice. She was pretty. She was interested in his hobbies, and had been respectful about avoiding the topic of war. Yet, by the end of the meal, he somehow felt even lonelier than when he had sat down. It had been two years since he had left Eliza and that whole Maker-forsaken mess behind, but she was still finding ways to ruin his night.

He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. At least he had a couple of days off.

The drive back to the apartment block was, thankfully, uneventful, and he pulled into his usual space feeling marginally less shit than he had done 15 minutes prior. Nodding to the security guard at the door, he checked the mail and then headed up the stairs. He'd go for a run with Mushy to clear his head, and hopefully tire himself out enough that he didn't spend six hours staring at the ceiling.

There was no familiar barking or tail wagging at the door when he stepped inside, and he frowned for a moment, wondering where Mushy had got to before he heard whining and sniffling from the lounge. Cullen took off his shoes and padded gently towards the source of the noise; when he pushed open the door his heart sank, because Mushy was sat in front of the couch whining and pawing at Immy, who was curled up on on it, knees pulled right against her chest and her face buried in her lap while she cried.

"Hey, hey, hey, Immy…" He said, walking quickly to the couch and crouching beside it, gently resting a hand on her leg. "What on earth is wrong?"

She started at his voice and her head snapped up, but she relaxed and sighed when she registered who he was.

"Oh, Cullen." She said, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. "I didn't hear you come in."

Cullen shifted to sit next to her on the sofa, still looking at her with deep concern. He waited patiently for her to take several deep breaths, and felt around blindly for the box of tissues that he knew was on the coffee table. Mushy boofed quietly and nudged them into his hand.

"It's my boss. Again." Immy finally said, wrinkling her nose and yanking a tissue from the box angrily. "Do you know how much work I've actually done in the lab this whole week? Ten minutes. Ten! He treats all of us like children, talking slowly when he explains the most basic alchemical concepts like none of us have degrees or training. I filled out my own appraisal today, Cullen, because he told me he couldn't be bothered. It's humiliating. We're fucking miserable, and all I ever hear is how lucky I am to work for such an esteemed alchemist." She rolled her eyes at the last two words, flopping back against the cushions. "I want to quit. I should quit. But I have bills to pay, and lab work is so much easier to find when you're already working in one, and it took me so long to find this one, and I…" She trailed off, looking at Cullen and biting her lip as her eyes filled with fresh tears. "I'm scared."

"I understand," he said, rubbing her leg soothingly. "It's okay to be scared. And it's okay to be angry. He treats you terribly and I wish there was something I could do to help."

Immy smiled gratefully, scratching Mushy's ears absent-mindedly. "Thanks, Cullen." There was a pause where they lapsed into comfortable silence, before Cullen had an idea.

"Come on," he said, smiling and getting to his feet, holding a hand out to Immy. "Let's go to the corner shop. You need ice cream."

Immy raised an eyebrow. "You're the one always telling me off for eating dairy." She adopted a mockingly serious expression and lowered her voice into a terrible impression of his own. "You're lactose-intolerant, Imryll! Stop eating cheese, Imryll! Why have you got a milkshake, Imryll? You'll only make yourself feel worse later on!"

Cullen chuckled and rolled his eyes. "It's an emergency. I'll let it slide. Now come on."

Immy grinned and took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. “Fine. But you’re paying, and we get to buy treats for Mushy.”

The sun was just dipping behind the roofs as they stepped onto the pavement, and Cullen found himself enjoying the short walk to the shop. He and Immy were content in silence, and he watched as she hopped from paving stone to paving stone, skipping and twirling round lamp posts, dancing to music only she could hear. It was nice to see her like this for once; she spent so long working, and the rest of the time stressing about that work, that seeing her be herself was a rare sight these days. It was a welcome change.

Cullen watched her in the store too, chatting happily to the clerk, who knew them well by now, smiling warmly as they both entered. She picked out ice cream, and managed to convince him to let her get two tubs, though both of them knew it wasn’t a hard sell. She snuck extra treats for Mushy onto the counter too, which Cullen pretended not to see, and Immy pretended were a total surprise to find in the bag.

When she sank onto the couch, Cullen retrieved her favourite stuffed toy, and the pink fleece blanket that sat on the bottom of her bed, and tucked her in. She tried to protest but Cullen just raised an eyebrow, which, accompanied by a boof and tail wag from Mushy, was more than enough for her to relent.

Five minutes later, they were settled in their usual position: Immy snuggled into one corner, legs stretched out, feet in Cullen’s lap, with Mushy curled up under Cullen’s arm on the other side. Immy tucked into her ice cream happily and raised an eyebrow skeptically when Cullen picked out their entertainment for the evening.

“A chess documentary?”

“What?” He replied defensively. "It’s informative, on a subject I like, and not nearly complicated enough to require our full attention.”

“Fine.” She said reluctantly, nudging him with her foot. “You’re lucky I like you, Cullen.”

He chuckled. “So you keep reminding me.”

It was about another half an hour later when Immy suddenly sat up, eyes wide. “Oh!” She said around a mouthful of dessert. “I completely forgot! How was your date?”

Cullen groaned in response.

“That bad, huh?”

“It was… fine.”

“Buuuuut?” Immy encouraged, and Cullen sighed.

“But it was just fine. It was… boring, really.”

“No spark?”

Cullen shook his head. “Nothing. She was nice and pretty and I barely remember anything we talked about. And the worst part is, I think I knew it would be like that before I arrived. I’m not even sure why I agreed to meet her in the first place.”

That part was a lie. He did know, but he couldn’t bear to admit it to Immy. He already felt pathetic, he didn’t want her to pity him on top of everything else.

She smiled at him sympathetically. “Hey. It happens. At least it was forgettable as opposed to disastrous.”

“Well, there is that.”

“You know, like that time you went to Joe’s Bar, and-”

“Yes, thank you, Immy.” Cullen said, blushing furiously and glowering at her. “You know I swear the reason no one has forgotten that is because you keep bringing it up.”

Immy grinned. “Who? Me? Never.”

It should have annoyed him, but for some reason, he just rolled his eyes and shook his head fondly. “You’re impossible, sometimes.”

“Look, someone has to keep you interesting, Mr ‘I-Watch-Chess-Documentaries-For-Fun’”

“Hey, you were getting really into it before you decided to bring up my shambles of a love life!”

Immy just stuck her tongue out, and took another large spoonful of ice cream.

They watched the rest of the documentary, then Immy found some ridiculous foreign drama to watch that Cullen had never heard of, and they ordered take-out. The next several hours were mostly spent laughing. Immy stole his glasses to do a terrible impression of him sat at his date, and he helped her brainstorm outlandish scenarios in which her boss would get his comeuppance, and she would be appointed head of the lab and given crown funding from the King to do whatever research she fancied, and make dairy-free ice cream that didn’t taste like garbage. Mushy posed several interesting ideas, which Immy listened to intently and rewarded him with treats for, agreeing with everything and pretending to take notes. They shared food from each other’s plates and Cullen gave her the spare dumpling in the serving of five, because he knew it would get him a smile.

It did, and her eyes crinkled with delight as he insisted she take it, and his heart definitely didn’t speed up when he noticed her dimples, or how endearing they were. He didn’t see them very often, but whenever he did, it was a smile that lit up her whole face, making her eyes sparkle.

“It’s okay, you know,” she said quietly during a period of silence. “That you’re struggling. With dating, I mean.”

Cullen sighed and closed his eyes, putting his food down on the table. “It’s been two years, Immy.”

“That’s not that long.” She shifted position, rotating to lean against his shoulder, tucking her legs up underneath her.

“Isn’t it?”

“Not after what happened, absolutely not.” Her hand came to rest on his knee. “Stuff like that takes time to get over.”

Cullen felt his jaw tighten. “But I-”

“But nothing, Cullen,” Immy said, lifting her head and turning to look at him. “You’ve been through a lot of shit. You wouldn’t say the same things to me, would you? That I was taking too much time to recover or that my progress was meaningless?”

He wanted to disagree, but she was right. He would never say those things to her. But she was kind, and passionate, and she spread light wherever she went, and he was just… him. He turned to meet her gaze, and she was looking at him with such a fierce intensity it momentarily stole his breath away.

“Be kinder to yourself, Cullen.” She said, quietly. “You deserve it.”

"Thank you," he said, his mouth suddenly dry as sandpaper, "for listening to me. It… helps." She was so close he could count each individual freckle on her face if he wanted, a canvas of constellations he suddenly longed to chart.

"I'll always listen," she replied. "You're my friend, Cullen."

The silence that followed only lasted a few seconds, but it might as well have been a millennia. Cullen's eyes flicked to Immy's lips, and it felt as if the entire world was holding its breath. His pulse thudded in his ears. How had he never noticed how nice her lips were before?

A police siren wailed outside, and Cullen cleared his throat, pulling away and rubbing the back of his neck, feeling heat creeping up his face. "Yes. Well. I'm glad. You're mine too. My friend, I mean."

Immy was blushing as well, looking pointedly at anything that wasn't him, and he seized the opportunity to disappear before he embarrassed himself further.

"I'm going to. Um. Go for a run. Take Mushy. It'll help me sleep. Okay. Cool." He stood up from the sofa like it had burned him and nearly power walked into his room, closing the door far too loudly. He leant against it and slid down until he was sat on the floor, groaning loudly and banging his head against the wood. He could still smell her hair. It would have been so easy to reach out, to tangle his fingers in those beautiful, thick, black curls and press his lips against hers—

Oh.

Oh no.

He was fucked.

#cullen x lavellan #cullen x inquisitor #cullen rutherford #inquisitor lavellan #ash writes #cullen x imryll

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dreamcatcherfication · 5 years ago

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Dreamers in Fantasyland - Part 3

Yo, I always forget how intense this fic gets until I read the new parts and start laughing, “Oh yeah, I forgot I wrote that.”

Welcome back to part three of Dreamers in Fantasyland, only one more to go! If you don’t know already, this fic was requested by the wonderful @theatergirl06 and I delivered with whatever garbage fire this is supposed to be. If you think things are crazy now, wait until next chapter where things get really meta. I hope you enjoy this part, and thanks for sticking around! Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, my brain is currently devoting itself to Britney Spears music videos.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Sword fighting, stabbing, blood, murder (they’re pirates, what do you expect Karen?)

Part 1 | Part 2

The night sky was black above Cathy and Anna as they quietly made their way through the town square. After docking at the Isle of Wights, the two of them had left their crew to traverse the silent island. The docks weren’t far off, and they had managed to tail Henry to where he was stopping for supplies. It was likely he was already gone from the port, but hopefully someone had information on his whereabouts. But Anna had heard of a legendary contact that was supposed to be stationed at a pub near the docks. If anyone knew where Henry was going with Anne and Kat, it would be this mysterious contact.

The silence was unnerving as they snuck through the empty streets undisturbed. Even though she had only had her for a day, Cathy missed the talkative Kat at her side. She never spent much time with the girl alone in the 21st century, and internally Cathy vowed to rectify that. Kat had made this whole world-shift bearable, and now she was gone, along with Cathy’s girlfriend (did she count as a girlfriend in this reality?). The only thing she had left of her friend was her satchel, filled with what must have been mismatched items that Kat had taken from Cathy’s home.

Anna stopped, standing in front of a rundown pub. “We’re here,” she said, opening the door and stepping inside. Looking up at the sign above the pub, Cathy couldn’t help but sigh. She should’ve known. She followed Anna inside, leaving behind the wood carved sign reading Aragon’s.

Inside, the bar was completely empty. No drunk sailors, no bartenders, just quiet. There were no cups on the tables, all of them stacked over by the mead barrels. “Shouldn’t there be someone here?” Cathy whispered to Anna.

“Oh, there is someone here,” Anna replied, staring straight ahead. She marched to the counter and went behind it, kicking open the door hidden in the back. The door went flying open, revealing Catherine of Aragon hunched over a pile of books and papers. She spun around like a deer caught on the headlights, her eyes wide with fear.

When she saw who they were, she quickly regained her composure, standing up and frowning. “Who are you and what are you doing in my bar?” Despite being a bar owner and not a queen, Catherine still held herself with regality and high esteem. Her dress was a simple, probably hand sewn, yellow that reflected against her light cheeks. There were books scattered around the room, all of them with loose papers stuck in the margins.

Stepping forward, Anna kept her face neutral. “Anna von Cleves, pirate extraordinaire.”

Awkwardly moving to stand next to Anna, Cathy gave a small wave. “Cathy Parr, unwitting accomplice.”

Raising an eyebrow, Catherine picked up some of her books and moved them to a shelf along the wall. “I suppose you’re here for information. What is it you want to know?”

“Right to the thick of it,” Anna praised, “I like your style.” Catherine watched Anna, unimpressed with her suaveness. “Alright, we’re searching for Henry Tudor and his gang of bastards. They’ve taken some friends of ours and -”

“You’re going to save them,” Catherine cut her off. “That’s awfully heroic for ruthless pirates.”

Crossing her arms, Cathy replied, “We never mentioned anything about being ruthless.”

“Yes, well I know your type,” Catherine’s eyes narrowed as she observed Anna and Cathy. “You take what you want and destroy what you don’t. No one can escape you without getting hurt. Do you know how much I’ve lost to you lot? I do business with pirates very sparingly, and for good reason.”

Cathy didn’t miss the way Catherine stepped protectively in front of her books as she spoke. “What are the books for?” Cathy asked before Anna could start an argument. “You’ve plenty of notes in them, surely they can’t all be yours.”

Fingering the pages, Catherine’s posture softened. “They’re for teaching young girls who can’t receive an education. I refuse to let them live their lives without understanding free knowledge. They have a right to learn just like anyone else.”

Cathy would’ve expected nothing less from her godmother. “I’m an educated woman myself. It warms my heart to see you thinking about the less privileged girls.” A strange, cold sensation went tingling down Cathy’s spine as she realized what she sounded like. Her words were starting to morph into the more period specific language. It wasn’t anything remarkable, but the almost unconscious shift settled a small seed of fear into her mind.

Neither Anna nor Catherine noticed Cathy’s inner turmoil. “Enough of this,” Anna cut in, bringing the conversation back to the original point. “What will the information cost us? Rubies? Pearls?”

Catherine’s eyes drifted to Kat’s bag tied around Cathy’s waist. “What’s in there?” she prodded curiously.

It hadn’t occurred to Cathy to even check the bag, but she flipped open the top at Catherine’s prompting. The only thing in the bag was a journal. Pulling it out, Cathy felt a strange pull to the leather bound diary. Opening it, she had to hold back a gasp at seeing her own handwriting. Without a doubt, these were her words, all the things she had learned and observed in Edward IV’s court composed into one volume. “Knowledge,” was all Cathy answered with, glancing up at the other two women.

“Knowledge for knowledge,” Catherine set the price, her eyes falling to the journal. “Is that adequate for you two?” Anna nodded her head, urging Cathy to trade the book. But Cathy couldn’t hand it over right away. She was glued to the journal, her hand starting to shake slightly. It was the only thing in the satchel. Why would Kat have only Cathy’s journal and nothing else? “Well?” Catherine asked.

Grabbing the journal from Cathy’s hands, Anna handed it over. “It’s yours. Now tell us what you know about Henry Tudor’s whereabouts.”

Originally, Anne and Kat were being kept in Henry’s office so that he could keep an eye on them at all times. It only took him being gone for an hour for the girls to cause chaos. “Listen to me Kat,” Anne told her unknowing cousin, “We might not be able to get out of here, but we’re going to cause as much damage as we can while we’re trapped.”

“How will we do that?” Kat asked, gesturing to the locked door. “We’re on a boat in the middle of the sea and to top it off we’re locked in the captain’s quarters.”

Smirking, Anne pointed a finger at Kat. “Never underestimate a pirate.” Turning around, Anne made her way over to Henry’s desk. Lying prone on the floor, Anne looked for any sort of hidden compartment she could find. Clicking her tongue, Anne cried, “Aha!” when she found it.

Kat made her way over to Anne and watched her in confusion. “What are you doing?” She asked, trying to follow Anne’s rapid movements.

Sliding out from under the desk, Anne winked at Kat. “This.” She kicked the side of the desk directly where she had been fidgeting with it. Without any resistance, the desk went toppling over, breaking into multiple pieces. “It’s a failsafe pirates implement into things like chests and desks. You undo one of the main support beams and the whole thing comes crashing down. Perfect for hiding evidence if you get attacked.” Looking down at the mess, Anne couldn’t hide a chuckle. “Also perfect for annoying your kidnapper.”

Nervously shrugging, Kat tried to joke, “Yeah, well you’re both my kidnappers so… heh.”

Playfully flicking Kat’s forehead, Anne cocked her head to the side. “I was only your kidnapper for a very short amount of time. Consider yourself freed now.”

“Fat lot of good that does,” Kat mumbled.

Shooting the girl an apologetic glance, Anne stepped over the wrecked desk. “Now, Kat, are you going to help me destroy the rest of this room or what?”

Thinking about it for a second, Kat nodded and followed the pirate to the center of the room. “Where do we start?”

“Like this.” Anne ripped a portrait of Henry off the wall and threw it to the ground. She spit on it and then punched a hole through his face. “Well?” She grinned at Kat, “Let’s go!”

Moving to the other side of the room, Kat started throwing books on the floor and scattering them across the room. She took maps pinned to the walls and ripped them in half, destroying Henry’s logs. Any paper she could get her hands on, she tore it in half, spreading the pieces around the room in an unidentifiable mess. Anne was doing similarly on the other side of the room. “Won’t he kill us for this?” Kat asked without stopping her rampage.

“If he was going to kill us,” Anne replied, “He would’ve done it already.”

At those words, the door opened and in stepped Henry. One look around the room and his face grew red with anger. “What have you done?!”

With a self satisfied grin, Anne flipped Henry off. “Chaos, dear captain.”

That’s how Anne and Kat found themselves locked in the cells at the bottom of the ship together. It was awfully cramped, but neither girl was big enough to actually take up any space. There was a stiff silence between the girls as they swayed back and forth with the boat. Out of nowhere, Kat randomly asked, “Do I know you from somewhere? I’m sorry, you just look familiar.” She looked down in embarrassment, shaming herself for speaking out of turn.

Eyes widening, Anne cleared her throat. “No, you wouldn’t know me.”

Shifting so that she was facing Anne, Kat furrowed her eyebrows as she attempted to recall a memory. “I swear, you remind me of someone but I can’t figure out who…”

“Then don’t try to figure it out,” Anne hissed through her teeth, eyes darting anywhere but Kat’s. “I’m a pirate, and that’s that.”

Almost as if something had hit Kat in the face, she recoiled into the back of the bars. “What’s your last name?” she asked suspiciously.

Before Anne could answer, the trap door to the hold opened and light streamed into the room. Squinting their eyes, Anne and Kat turned away from whoever was coming into the room. The girls listened to the frantic jangling of keys followed by the creaking of the door opening. Eyes adjusting, Kat gasped, “Cathy!” and threw herself into her friends arms. She held her tightly until she noticed Anna behind her. “Anna!” She threw herself at Anna, hugging the pirate. Anna spun Kat around in a circle before putting her down safely on the ground.

“Hello liebling,” Anna greeted her, a cheesy smile on her face. Kat didn’t know what liebling meant, but the way Anna spoke to her was enough to convey the intent.

“Anne,” Cathy greeted nervously, watching the pirate captain stand up in the cell.

Rolling her eyes, Anne muttered, “Enough of this,” and pulled Cathy into a hug. “I’ve barely met you, yet I missed you as if I had known you for a lifetime,” Anne whispered, resting her head on Cathy’s shoulder.

Cathy understood Anne’s words far better than Anne herself, but she kept quiet. “We have to go,” she ordered when Anne pulled away. “Your men can only hold off Henry and his crew for so long.”

“You attacked his ship just to save us?” Anne gaped at Cathy and Anna. “Knowing that our resources were depleted after that attack, and you still risked it -”

“We would risk anything to save you two,” Anna answered, pulling Kat closer to her. “But we have to go unless we want to risk getting trapped here. I ordered the crew to leave if things got too bad.”

Nodding, Anne took the lead and made her way up the stairs towards the top deck. “And Anne,” Cathy called before the pirate could leave the hold. Anne turned around, her face impatient. “You might need this.” Cathy tossed her a sword, which Anne expertly caught in her grip.

“This,” Anne smirked at her three companions, “This I can work with.”

The deck again was alight with battle, Henry’s crew unprepared but violently attacking whoever dared threaten their ship. “DEJA VU!” Cathy screamed as she ducked under a blade being swung at her head. “NOT WHAT I SIGNED UP FOR!” She yelled as she blocked the slash of one of Henry’s men.

“Anna, you get Kat back on the boat,” Anne called to her first mate.

Kat had her own sword that she was holding with both hands unwaveringly. “Don’t worry about me so much as yourself!” she replied, blocking a wild strike from a faceless man. Still, Anna made sure to corral Kat in the direction of their boat.

It was practically impossible to see anyone among the fighting. Somewhere along the line, Anna and Kat were separated. Anna was pushed towards the mast, where she was forced to climb up the rope towards the crow’s nest. She swung her sword as she ascended the ropes, glancing around below her for any sign of Kat, Anne, or Cathy. She stabbed downward, impaling the man she was fighting, causing him to go flying over the side of the boat.

A cry caught Anna’s attention. She turned her head to the side, watching as Kat fought a pirate with a first mate’s jacket. He must’ve been Henry’s right hand man, and he knew exactly who Kat was. He had batted her sword away and was pushing her against the edge of the boat. “Kat!” Anna shouted, testing her weight on a nearby rope. “I’m coming!”

With Kat’s attention diverted to Anna, the first mate had a perfect opportunity to overpower the girl. He shoved her backwards, causing Kat to go toppling over the side of the boat. Anna was already in the air, swinging on the rope with her hand outstretched. Her fingers brushed Kat’s falling ones, just barely able to latch onto her hand before the girl went plummeting into the sea.

Swinging back to safety, Anna landed back on the deck with Kat wrapped in her arms. They stumbled on the boards, taking a moment to regain their footing. “You, you saved me,” Kat gasped, touching her body. “I’m alive!”

“It wasn’t a big -” Before Anna could finish, Kat grabbed her by the collar and pulled her down into a delighted kiss. When she pulled away, Anna was frozen with shock.

Unable to hide a smile, Kat let it transform into a smirk. “Now let’s fight some pirates.”

“I’m finally going to kill you Anne Boleyn, once and for all!” Henry raged as he twirled his sword against Anne’s. Cathy was beside Anne, helping to defend the girl as Henry threw strike after strike at them.

Anne grunted as she blocked his quick swings, being forced back. “You’ll need the skill to do that first,” she taunted him, jumping up on the stairs leading to the quarter deck. Cathy followed Anne, keeping her mouth shut as she parried Henry’s blows.

Clearly, Anne knew exactly how to rile Henry up. His fighting became more erratic as he left himself open for attack. “Your family disgraced you for a reason, Boleyn. I’m going to get rid of you so they no longer have to bear the embarrassment of your existence,” the pirate spit.

As Henry swung downwards in almost slow motion, Anne shouted, “Cathy! Now!” Taking her queue, Cathy ran her sword directly through Henry’s back, impaling him through the chest. While Henry managed to strike Anne’s arm, creating a large gash through her shirt and skin, he froze and dropped his sword immediately after.

Henry slowly looked down at the sword in his chest. “This…” he stuttered over his words, “isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”

Pulling out her sword, Cathy walked around Henry’s shaking body until she was standing next to Anne. Henry fell to his knees, unable to support his weight. “I think this is exactly how it’s supposed to go,” Cathy glared at the dying man. Raising her foot, Cathy muttered, “Goodbye Henry Tudor. May no one miss you,” and then she kicked him over the side of the boat. He went plummeting into the ocean, his body making a large splash against the waves.

Releasing a breath she had been holding, Anne hissed in pain as she covered her wound. “Anne, are you okay?” Cathy gasped, staring at the gash.

“He got me better than I’d like to admit,” Anne answered, clenching her fist. “At least you gave that bastard what he deserved.”

Glancing at where Henry had disappeared under the water, Cathy nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

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