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fruityutas · 4 years ago

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strike to the heart

taglist ~ @puppywritings , @xiaojours , @svchengss , @prettyjaems

part of @du0tine ‘s 21 ways to kill your lover collab

unstable!yangyang x psychologist!reader

not proofread

wc ~ 5k

genre ~ angst, ttiiinnnyyy fluff, thriller

warnings ~ the following writing is FICTION and has very heavy and unsettling themes like murder, suicide, and toxic relationships. if these themes are triggering or otherwise uncomfortable to you, do NOT read this story. there are also themes of religion.

synopsis ~ you were the best of the best, no one could bring an end to your golden career until he came along

note ~ i based yangyang’s personality in this off of his turn back time persona, making him very obviously mentally unstable. the plotline is based loosely off of harley quinn’s origin story, except of course, the reader dies. i also used the concept of purgatory in this story.

i realize that purgatory is apart of various religions, and i hope i made use of it in this story in the way it is intended to be portrayed as. i am not familiar with the subject, as i am non religious and have been for many years, so if i wrote anything that was disrespectful, please let me know and i will educate myself more on the topic. please note that if i do write something disrespectful, i will not be changing the writing in any way, unless necessary, because i feel that changing/erasing the mistake prevents anyone from seeing my growth as a person.

here is the link to the website i used to read up on purgatory -> https://historylists.org/art/9-levels-of-purgatory-dantes-purgatorio.html

your parents always told you to aim for first. probably why you’re here now. you sit in the chair, watching your life play on what seems to be a screen. you can’t tell either way, everything is stark white and blends into one. the scenes are the only thing providing color to your eyes. are you dreaming? no, no that can’t be. the last thing you remember is…pain. and betrayal. how could he do this?

he was a fucking criminal. he had no true love for you, you were his final act. how could you have been so naive? every thought came too fast, it made your head hurt. a noise brought you out of your thoughts. a tall man stood off to the side of the screen. his features were sharp, and he looked angelic. “you must be y/n. you must also be wondering where you are.” you struggle to find your voice, so you nod at the man. he gives a sympathetic smile and strolls over to you.

“you’re in purgatory. well, this is the judgment room. here your memories are played and the most influential ones are used to go to their corresponding terraces.”

“do i pick them out?” he shakes his head.

“no, the council does that. you just sit and watch.” you shift in your chair, the hard material uncomfortable against your skin. “don’t worry, i’ll be here while it happens. you can call me sicheng.” his voice was hypnotizing, calming your mind. you turned back to the screen, and what you assumed to be the first memory started to play.

a burst of yelling snaps you from your thoughts. looks like we have a new patient. it was like this everytime a new patient arrived. yelling, taunting, sometimes as far as physical assault. it was like the right of passage for ‘newbies’ as the currents like to call them. you leave your office to peek downstairs. this one is surrounded by four guards. that’s unusual. two guards was standard, why does this patient need four? a danger to himself and others i assume. i should ask joy if i can take him. you hadn’t had a new patient in months, and all your others were making such progress they moved to a new unit. one of your patients, named chittaphon, had been released back into society. you were one of the best, even at such a young age.

“joy! have you assigned the new patient to anyone yet? i’d like to have him.” you plopped yourself onto the couch in her office. her soft laugh brought you comfort.

“of course you can have him, i was probably going to ask you anyway. you haven’t been busy with any others lately. yukhei is moving to a new unit next week you know. you did good with him, he asked me to tell you thank you.” your heart aches at the thought of yukhei missing you, the boy had become important to you. you would sit and let him talk about his family, his friends, and even his - what he called - soulmate. he would always gush about them and their relationship. you never suspected he could have killed them in such the way he did, or that his ill brain would rewire itself into thinking they were waiting for him to get better and be released from the hospital. the day he found that out was burned in your memory, chairs being thrown and yelling from the entire floor. it broke your heart to see him in such a state, even more when they had to lock him in isolation for a week.

but things change and he got better, and now he’s moving up a unit. more yelling snaps you out of your little thinking session. you and joy peek out her office door to see the new inmate arguing with the guards. you sigh and head down the stairs, as much as joy protests it. one of the guards notices you and tells you to stay back, and that this inmate is dangerous. you shake your head at him and push through to get closer. the inmate didn’t look much older than you, albeit a bit taller than you. he was still yelling at the guards when you came up to him and cleared your throat. he rolls his eyes and turns to you to start yelling, but you shut him down with a stern look at a shake of your head.

“now, now, you don’t want to come in and be the hardass on the first day do you?” he says nothing, but the lack of arguing from him tells you he is agreeing. you tell one of the guards to follow you to his cell. it comes to no one’s surprise that his cell is in the lower level, it’s where all the worst patients stay. the guard that accompanied you stood directly outside the door of the cell, ready for any assistance. the inmate sat down on the cot provided but faced away from you. “are you going to speak to me?” he spares you a small glance, unwavering in intimidation, but it didn’t phase you. his face was young, yet it somehow seemed to be worn and exhausted. you wanted to open him up and see what his troubles came from, to fix him into a model member of society.

“wouldn’t you want me too huh?” his tone was annoyed and sarcastic. you stay collected and just nod at him. “why don’t we start with your name?” he stays silent. “if you don’t want to cooperate that’s perfectly fine but just know i’m the only one you can talk to if you want out of here.” you stand up and leave the cell, knowing that even though it didn’t look like it, progress was made. your last statement would sit with him until the next time you visit him, and he would talk eventually.

the screen fades away and into a new image. the only thing on the screen is the word ‘stubborn.’ you are confused as to what it means. sicheng makes his way over to you, his long legs making the distance short. “it corresponds to the first level of purgatory, stubbornness. although it wasn’t you who was being the most stubborn, it seems.” he snaps his fingers and a seat appears for him to sit. the screen lights up again and another memory begins to play.

“what do you mean he wants to see me? i just spoke to him this morning and he refused to say anything?” joy shrugs her shoulders exasperatedly. you sigh and make your way towards the lower level. the guard at the security door greets you with a nod of the head before letting you in. the inmate’s cell was at the end of the hall, dimly lit and dingey, with a slight smell of mildew. the underground location made for cold air and small windows, so there was never enough light in the place. as you made your way to your patient’s cell, a few of the other inmates down there whistled at you. they whooped and hollered to your dismay, bringing unwanted attention. you recognized one of them, guanheng was his name. he had been a patient of joy’s before she was promoted to her managerial position. no one else wanted to take him on, so they sent him down here to rot. you had expressed the idea of taking him, but joy wouldn’t have it. she simply said he was too unstable for anyone, and deserved to be down there. you disagree with her to this day, but she is still your superior and you can’t just go breaking rules just for your liking.

you knocked on the door to the cell, and a gruff “come in” came from the other side. entering the cell, you saw everything in disarray. “now, why is the cell in this condition?” he huffs and crosses his arms, almost in a cute way. you shake your head and continue in, shutting the door behind you. “are you going to tell me your name? i think it would help me connect better with you.” he looks at you with a blank stare. you don’t change your facial expression, remaining stoney faced. he sighs and starts muttering to himself, as if he was arguing with someone, before looking back up at you and finally speaking. “yangyang. at least thats what i’ve been told.” you hum lightly before asking him a few more questions.

“is it alright if i call you yangyang?” “yes” “alrightly then, do you remember anything from yesterday?” he ponders for a moment, his face going through a group of different expressions before he looks back to you. “i only know that i woke up and felt like hurting someone. but i can’t remember who or why. do you have any pens?” the last question catches you off guard. you hand him an extra pen from your coat pocket. he takes it eagerly and looks to your clipboard with expectant eyes. you tear a blank piece of paper from the back and hand it over. he immediately draws nonsense doodles, the paper quickly being filled. when he fills it, he flips it over to do the other side. “you can keep asking me things, you know. i like to draw, though i don’t know what. the other voice tells me to just make lines and things.” you’re jotting down notes when all of a sudden he throws the pen at you. it hits you square in the head, and you look up at him in surprise. he starts giggling and throws the crumpled paper at you. you remain calm as this can be a common occurrence among patients. his giggles become… unsettling very quickly, the tone and manner of them turning to a deeper octave. you slowly reach into your pocket to grab the help button, but you don’t press it just yet. yangyang stops his giggling and it becomes muttering. his words are difficult to make out, but you pick out a few, ‘kill’, ‘why’, and ‘forget’. you jot them down along with a note stating he was mumbling them in sentences that were not understood. “yangyang, are you hearing anything? do you know the other voice’s name if they have one?” he peeks out of his arms at you nodding. “they tell me that i shouldn’t have forgotten why i killed her.” you had notes on him that his previous institution gave to you, but you wanted to earn his trust by asking various questions. “who did you kill?” you knew he killed his mother, left her body hanging from the porch for everyone to see. the question cause him to tear up a bit. “i, i killed my mother. she just wouldn’t shut up, always nagging me about the house and bills, as if i could help it. she was a bitch.” “mmm, yes. but you loved her still, no?” he nods shakily as if he was unsure. “and did you forget why you killed her that morning?” another nod is sent to you. you keep taking notes on his behaviors.

you end the session on a positive note, telling yangyang that he did good today and that you’d be back tomorrow, but if he needed you to ask.

the screen once again went dark before the word ‘repentance’ appears. sicheng whips a pen-like object from nothing, grabbing your arm harshly to turn you towards him. “now, you might not like this next part but it has to be done. i have to carve five p’s into you somewhere. they aren’t permanent but it still hurts.” you panic slightly, trying to get away from his grasp.

“why?!” his face is stoic and cold, the seriousness setting in. you continue to struggle until he grips your face with vigor, causing you to stop moving. “stop. moving. it has to be done. now, where do you want me to do it?” you just point to your arm and look away as he does it. the pain is searing but bearable. “what is this for?” he makes the pen disappear before clearing his throat to speak. “for each of the sins that lead to your death, there is a ‘p’. the council shows a memory that corresponds to a sin, and you must figure out which one. if you get it right, you move one to the next one until the end, where you are allowed into heaven. if you get them wrong, you have another chance with a different memory. you only get two chances for each sin, though, and if you lose both of them a ‘p’ stays and it’s harder to get the next one correct. if you get more than two sins wrong, you spend 100 years here and then you are banished to hell. so please, be careful and choose wisely.” and with that he turns his attention back to the screen, as do you.

your appointments with yangyang were productive and you got to know him a lot better within the past few days. he hated dogs, they were too noisy and energetic for him. he really wanted to paint and draw all the time, so you gave him a few paint markers to decorate his cell with. when you had your next appointment, the walls were pretty full. he liked the texture of orange peels, he hated the taste. a lot of the things you learned intrigued you, why was his brain wired this way? you needed to dig deeper, and you knew you could. you had many awards and praises from seniors, your ego was swollen from it all. you took pride in your work, and you weren’t exactly humble about it. you would always brag to others about your accomplishments, and sometimes you made it a competition between you and your coworkers. joy was the only one that didn’t pay attention to it, she always let you go on rants about how you accomplished so many things this young.

the door to yangyang’s cell was the same grey color as usual, though on the inside, the room was filled with markings and random drawings the boy did. “yangie? what’s up?” he excitedly jumps from his spot on the bed over to the corner that the sessions took place in. two small chairs and a table were tucked in it, but it was cozy to you. a warm smile took place on your face as you sat in front of him. “well, today i really tried my best to not get angry with anyone like you said, and it worked! all i did was think about what you said to me and it helped so much. no one messed with me either.” there it is, the rush of pride in yourself. your ego is boosted, refilled for the day. you knew he could do it, with your help of course. you were the best in the field. “that is really good to hear, yangyang. i’m glad you remembered what i told you so you could control your emotions.” his hair bounced with each energized nod he gave you. you opened your clipboard and handed him a small stack of blank paper. “this is for you. now you have something clean to draw on again.” he took the papers excitedly.

the rest of the session was yangyang rambling on about how you were the only one helping him and how he really liked seeing you. you observed him and from time to time you’d write notes down on his info sheet. every time he caught you staring, he’d blush and look back at his drawings. a smirk carved into your face, and a wink was all it took for him to turn into a stuttering mess. you left the session that day glowing in confidence and pride.

the screen fades away, and you feel a tingling on your arm where one of the Ps is. sicheng’s voice whispers into your ear, “figure out what sin you just witnessed.” it makes you jump a little, but you quickly regain your composure. all you could think about was yangyang. but deep inside your inner conscious, you knew the sin here wasn’t about him. it was about you. “i have my answer.” sicheng gives you a small nod and when you turn back around, a dark and windy figure stands in front of you. a voice not belonging to you enters your mind. “which sin is it, y/n?” with a shaky voice, and sweating palms, you manage to garble out your answer. “it’s pride. i was prideful in my ways, never backing down from challenges that weren’t meant for me.” the dark figure nods before wisping away. the tingling returns to your arm, and as you look down at it a P swiftly disappears. sicheng’s footsteps bring you back up to the screen, which begins to play a new memory.

the continuous sessions with yangyang proved to be well. his condition was getting better, and he seemed to be taking well to the exercises you gave him. you were on your way to an appointment when joy came up beside you. “have you met with the new doctor yet?” you shake your head. “no, what’s their name? where are they located?” she tries to hide a mischievous smirk, grabbing your arm to stop your walking. “he is absolutely gorgeous! his name is kunhang and he’s actually gonna be on your unit, which means you’re training him since you are the best.” you chuckle at her enthusiasm, she’d always been trying to hook you up with people. she winks at you and runs off, probably to her next appointment. she’d conveniently stopped you in front of yangyang’s cell. you walk inside and see him on his bed pouting.

“what is wrong with you?” his eyes look up at you and shine with the beginnings of tears, worrying you. had the guards or an inmate said something to him? while you’re lost in thought he jumps up and pulls you on the bed with him, his arms wrapped tightly around you. you snap out of it and sit frozen in his arms. the feeling of butterflies in your stomach erupt and you know it’s because of the man in your arms. he lets you go and you stand up to fix your uniform. “what had gotten into you, yangs?” his pouting doesn’t go away and he speaks softly. “who is kunhang?” so that’s what he’s being clingy for. he’s jealous. “he’s a new psychiatrist here. i have to train him.” yangyang didn’t get rid of the pout on his face, and he didn’t let your hand go for the entire session. the jealousy he had even after you told him that nothing was going to happen between you and kunhang was noteworthy, though you didn’t specify why he was jealous on his chart.

the surrounding air had become cold, and you shiver harshly. sicheng sits beside you, tapping impatiently on the table. the shadow figure returns, and before it can speak you do. “the sin was envy. but why did you show me a memory of someone else being envious? i thought this was about my sins.” the figure doesn’t move from its spot. sicheng sighs and throws a stick at the figure, causing it to grunt. “that was unnecessary, sicheng. you are the reason for this sin. you let yangyang get attached to you, causing him to become jealous and protective of you. you may not have committed this sin, but you had the first hand in causing it.” you nod in agreeance, you had let him get close with you. too close, in your opinion, because if you hadn’t you wouldn’t be in this whole situation. it’s a bit ironic, you always told your coworkers to be wary of patients, yet here you are, stuck in purgatory because of one.

in the days leading up to your death, yangyang requested to see you nonstop, and he would ask so many questions about the outside world. what was surrounding the building, how many people were in the city. in hindsight, you should have suspected him to be trying to escape, but your mind was apparently on other things.

the last day you were alive, yangyang requested you only once. it was around eight in the evening, and this was going to be your last trip to his cell, quite literally. “are you ok, yangyang?” he nods and makes his way over to you. he might be younger, but his height is not small. “i’m just fine. but i wanna ask you something.” you nod to let him continue. “i’m planning to leave, and i want you to come with me.” the words come out of him in a hurry, but you catch them. a pit forms in your chest after hearing them. what in the world was he thinking? your job was important, and he still needed the therapy sessions you were giving him. “no, absolutely not. yangyang you can’t leave without proper check out from me and my superior. you know this.” he sighs in annoyance, grabbing your hand and dragging you to sit. “that’s not the type of leaving i meant. i mean we sneak out and never look back. we leave here and head north to my good friend ten’s house. he has this bigass mansion in the middle of nowhere, and we can lie low there for a while before going somewhere else and starting new!” you can’t bring yourself to say anything, the shock of how much he’d thought out this plan sitting heavy on your shoulders. the courage to say something before he thinks you’re agreeing with him bubbles up. “yangyang, under all circumstances, you and i cannot do that. do you know how many force tasks they’d send out for us? how much trouble we’d be in when they caught us? plus, you still need these sessions that i’m doing. the real world is harsh, and doesn’t take kindly to you. i wouldn’t want you or anyone else getting hurt.” his face contorts into sadness at your statement. he pulls you in for a bone-crushing hug, not letting go. “but i thought you loved me, don’t you want us to be happy together?” your blood runs cold at his confession. love was never on the table, the flirting you’d been doing was just to open him up to make it easier to talk. you knew you were taking a risk doing that, but never had you anticipated him to fall in love with you and think it was mutual. you separate yourself from him and walk to the door. “yangyang, are you being serious? you- you don’t actually think i’m in love with you, right?” his face falls, going completely straight. no movement comes from either of you for a good minute, the situation at hand causing hesitance. “you’re not? i just thought… you were.” you scoff at the boy sitting in front of you. “y/n, i don’t think you realize that i’ve already planned for this. we’re gonna have to leave.” you start to argue with him but a flurry of gunshots and screams ring out from all around you. you turn and pull the door open to see patients and guards frantically running about, a breach in the facility causing this. “jesus fucking- yangyang why in the hell would you do this!?” you turn to see him getting up from the bed and gathering a few items. “yangyang!” he doesn’t respond, only grabbing your arm and pulling you along with him. you’re too much in shock to resist the boy, and on top of that he’s definitely stronger than you. the run towards whatever exit he’s taking you to seems surreal. the amount of trouble you’re going to be in for this is astronomical. you can hear the words “you’re fired” repeating in your mind. outside the door is an alleyway that connects the facility to a power plant. it seemed like they’d had a breach too. yangyang really wasn’t lying when he said you’d have to leave to someplace far away. he drags you into the plant and heads for the large vats of chemicals. “yangyang where the hell are you taking us? what are you doing?” he glances over his shoulder at you, a deathly look on his face. “this wouldn’t have been in the plan if you had just done what i needed you to do. now you have to pay the price.” what in the fuck did he mean.

the vats were in sight, glowing and hot from the chemicals in them. your surroundings loud from combat, you’d assumed from runaway patients attacking. yangyang stopped in front of the largest one, looking down in it and smirking. he turns to a very shaken you, giggling like a madman. “i think you know what’s in store for you my love. you betrayed me! you gave me all the signs, and carelessly flirted, acting like you liked me.” tears were pouring down both of your faces, but for different reasons. the end of your life was staring at you, loud and proud, and you knew this. you had many goals in your life, and to see none of them get achieved hurt you. you take one last look at yangyang, who is inching closer. “i’m sorry for making you feel like that. i just hope that in the next life, you’ll be a normal person and get to experience life in a positive perspective.” he doesn’t seem to care, because as soon as he gets close enough to you, he grips your face and leans in. “and now, my love, you leave me with a kiss.” his lips lock with yours for a brief second before he shoves you hard, taking the breath out of you. you fall backwards into the vat, the acidic chemicals eating you. yangyang stares at you as you perish, the smile slowly dropping from his face.

one would think this whole tragedy could be easily resolved, but this was not a villain origin story, it was real life, and you were dead. yangyang knew what he had done was fatal, but make no mistake, you knew it was what he wanted. he did love you, but his brain was not the same as a normal person’s. the wiring was simply not supportive of any form of morals, no right or wrong could be detected. all he knew was that you were in the way of him getting out, and he needed you removed. so he did.

and as reality set in for him, yangyang realized that you were the only one who understood him. you were the one to listen to his problems and not look at him like he was crazy, to help him through the intrusive thoughts, and you did that all while loving him.

he breaks down, dropping to his knees at the harsh reality that you were gone forever, and no longer able to make him happy. the salty tears running down his face provided a blunt sting to the cuts and scrapes adorning his face. his shoulders shook with sorrow and his sobs were melancholic. yangyang can’t even think straight, all his mind is screaming is you. your name, face, your soft hair, warm skin, and the way you laughed at all his stupid jokes. he wants an escape from the voices in his head. the grate walkways that line the perimeter of the vats are loud with yangyang’s manic running. all he wants is freedom from his personal hell, he’s had to deal with people looking down on him all his life, saying that he was never going to be able to be normal, berating him for all the fucked up things he’s done, but never helping him to be a better person, always leaving him to rot in different psych ward cells.

gun. there’s one somewhere.

the one voice in his head that wasn’t screaming made him worry no less than before, but he knew to heed his own advice. it was the only coherent thought at the moment so what’s the harm. yangyang finds himself lost, and begins to get angry until he sees a guard coming his way. attacking him, he easily finds a gun and wrings it from the man’s grip before shooting him dead. the body slumps over and yangyang decides that he’d rather not die next to it. he is far too lost to try and get back to where he pushed you to your timely death, so he just runs until he finds a room. unlocked and unoccupied, he slips in and locks the door behind him.

the leather chair that he sits in is worn and comfortable. the desk has various papers scattered around, and the computer is off. yangyang takes one good look at himself in the reflection of the screen before pulling the trigger.

the judgement room is even colder than before. you sit in the uncomfortable chair, tears streaming down your face and sobs ripping through your chest. sicheng sits, unaffected by your pain. the shadowy figure appears in front of you, so close you can hear whispers of a large multitude floating out of it. “y/n, you must finish the trial. what was the last sin?” you try your damndest to compose yourself, wiping the tears and hiccuping. “i- he was…” “no, y/n. no excuses. what is the sin displayed here?” you didn’t need this figure up your ass about it, the answer was obvious. sighing, you look up at it, seeing it slightly resembles a man. “wrath.” the figure hums in response, moving over to show the screen again. in large font and bold letters, the word “repentance” is shown. “you have passed judgement, and you shall be going to heaven. are there any questions?”

#neowritingsnet #nshitty-frathouse #unfortunatus: inferno #nct #nct imagines #nct scenarios #wayv #wayv imagines #wayv scenarios #wayv yangyang #yangyang #yangyang x reader #yangyang scenarios

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novantinuum · 4 years ago

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Tides of Renewal (SU one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (Mild TW for vague allusions to past suicidal thoughts.)

Words: 2500~

Summary: Now twenty years old and living on the other side of the country, Steven spends his morning relaxing on the beach, musing about his past, and having a chat with his dad.

Hi folks! This is actually my two-months-late “Happy Birthday, Steven” fic, ahah- amusingly, posted two months late to the day. I’m quite happy with how this short turned out.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Tides of Renewal

Steven rises alongside the sun, but not by choice.

As he abruptly stirs, jerking onto his side under his tangled blanket, he soon realizes that he has little lingering memory of the nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Nevertheless, his heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s hanging in his throat. There’s feelings, faint impressions— someone’s blood (his, or hers?), Connie’s screams, a bubble of terror boiling from within— but that’s all he’s left with. The young man clutches at his sheets, struggling to catch his breath as is the norm most mornings. Dim light sneaks in between the edges of the curtains, offering a rough estimate of the time.

Once it’s clear his chances of sleeping in have become null and void, he entices himself out of bed with the promise of buying himself a muffin at the local coffee shop later today, a birthday treat. His routine is sluggish, but precise. He uses the bathroom, throws on his swim trunks and a thin cotton shirt, downs the pills he forgot to take last night with a quick swig of water, carefully runs his fingers through his long curls to work out the tangles, and slips his feet into the flip flops he always leaves lying right at the foot of his bed.

The young adult only takes his guitar, phone, and keys with him as he walks the mile distance from his humble studio apartment to the public beach. Around him, the world is at peace. The only sound intermingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the Pacific at this hour of the morning is the chattering of puffins that nest on the large rock outcroppings in the tide pools nearby. The edge of his lip quirks up when he finally crosses that sacred boundary— the sidewalk meeting the shore— and removes his sandals, reveling in the satisfying, grainy texture of sand squishing between his toes. Hah... the beach. Funny, that. All his traveling these past years, from mountains, to prairies, to sprawling suburbs to wooded forest towns, and it only succeeded in deepening his childhood love for the familiarity of saltwater air and tourist-filled boardwalks. Still, the secluded, rustic charm of Haystack Cove is a far cry from the Beach City he grew up in. Different people, different sights, different types of seafood sold at the markets. This place feels like a home all his own, appropriately distant from the Gem influenced settlement he’d left behind.

He crosses the fine grained sands towards his favorite sitting spot, a hefty stone jutting out from the ground, its surface buffed to a glossy finish over the years by the high tides. The water’s still distant this early in the morning, glimmers of sunlight sparkling off of the foam and spray. Yawning, he plops himself down on the stone and lifts his guitar into his lap. He strums a few random chords as a warm-up before settling into an experimental melodic sequence.

As he plays, the early morning breeze teases at the ends of his shoulder-length hair, untied and let free in all its curly splendor. It’s still quite chilly, but with the sun peaking over the horizon behind him and not a cloud in sight, the air’s bound to heat up in no time. Steven inhales deeply, soaking in the salt and light and pushing away the shadows lurking at the periphery of his mind, that twitching, exhausting anxiety that never quite seems to leave him alone these days. Unfortunately, functional does not mean carefree. While far fewer in number then when he was a teen, he still runs into plenty of moments where he’s struck blind by particularly painful reminders of his past, his gem snapping into overdrive in an instant. He’s a bit better at coping in these moments now, and walking himself down from panic attacks, but deep-rooted traumas don’t simply melt away. With that in mind, at this point he suspects he’ll likely have to deal with a mixture of therapy and meds for the rest of his life. That’s fine, though. If that’s what it takes to be at peace. He’s thankfully reached a point in his recovery where he’s more than willing to work for it.

Startling him out of his roaming thoughts, his phone chimes to life, touting the same cheery ring tone he had as a kid. He gently sets his guitar down in the sand and fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, a silent bet as to who’s calling rising within his mind. Sure enough, his dad’s contact photo proudly greets him. Hah— he called it. Steven stifles a giggle as he hits accept and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, Schtu-ball!” his father chimes from the other side of the country, three hours ahead. He hears a faint shuffle over the line, and then the beginnings of guitar accompaniment as the man begins to sing:

“Happy birthday to you~!”

Dad ends the line with a resounding vibrato, and a few extra jazzy chords for good measure.

“Heh heh, thanks,” he says, bashfully blushing at the attention, and gazing across the loose sands as if ensuring the secret of his birth hasn’t swelled into a nauseatingly public affair like half of his birthdays had since the start of Era 3. “Gotta say, the impromptu guitar solo pushed that to a whole new level. You just get up?”

“Yep! Bright and early. Garnet said you’d probably be awake by now, so I figured I’d call and give ya’ a good greeting to start the day. Lemme guess, you’re down there at the beach already? I think I heard waves.”

Steven’s glance lifts to admire the slowly rising tides, and the promise of each tomorrow that lies beyond. “Hah, you know me,” he says softly, taking a deep lungful of that precious salt-touched air he’s always adored. “I live for the water. Might force myself to go for a swim later before all of you come. Not sure yet,” he says, shrugging as he turns and squints in the wake of the steadily rising sun. “But my therapist said I should probably keep as active as po—“

“It’s your birthday. You do whatever makes you happy, bud,” his dad promptly reminds him, slight concern sticking to his voice. And yes, it’s practically a father’s job to worry, but his chest tightens with lingering guilt for pressing that upon him anyways. Ugh, this is because he said ‘force myself,’ isn’t it?

“Doing my best to,” he lamely offers, hoping it’ll at least end that segment of conversation. He twirls a stray strand of hair around his finger as he scours his memory for something new to offer. Thankfully, his mind quickly lands on the exciting email he received last night. He grins, knowing for sure his dad’ll love this. “Oh, uh- topic change, but I got that last job I applied for, by the way.”

“Oh? The taffy shop one?”

“Yeah! I start on Tuesday.”

“Wow, that’s- that’s awesome! They responded fast, then.”

“Yup,” Steven nods, popping the ‘p.’ “Honestly, it’s nothing much, just stocking and working the register, but it’ll give me some cash to work with.”

Some cash to finally pay for his own food instead of continuously bumming money off his dad. There’s no way he can handle full month’s rent on his own with this minimum wage job, (who on Earth could in this economy), but it might be enough to cover the smaller things. Groceries, electricity, internet. That sorta stuff. Fidgeting on the edge of the stone outcropping, his bare toes dig narrow lines in the sand. He hasn’t really had this discussion with Dad yet, but the mere concept of being wholly reliant on other people steers his mind uncomfortably close to the I’m a Burden Zone. He’d far prefer to feel like he has a stake in the game.

“I know you said you don’t mind supporting me,” he continues in a hesitant tone, twirling his finger through one of his curls, “but I still feel kinda bad—“

“Don’t. I’d rather you not have to stress yourself to the bone about money like I did when I was your age.”

The line shakes for a second. He’s pretty sure he hears the faint clink of a bowl meeting the counter from his dad’s side.

“Dad...?”

“Sorry, bud. Just putting ya’ on speaker. Figured I’d make myself some instant oatmeal,” he says, his voice sounding a bit further away from the microphone. “Goodness, though. Twenty years. That still boggles the mind.”

He gives a soft laugh. “You’re telling me. Could’ve sworn I was twelve just yesterday. And to be honest, it’s... it’s kinda weird sometimes, you know?”

“What is?”

“Being another year older. ‘Cause... well, uh...”

Steven grits his teeth, searching for the most delicate manner in which he can discuss these emotions. The feelings of his past are a really hard topic to dwell on sometimes, even in therapy, and even though he and his dad have long since had scattered discussions about what a poor mental state he was in then, he doesn’t wanna upset him too much.

“There were definitely days I assumed I wouldn’t have a future, or didn’t want one to begin with,” he continues, throat thick. “Back during all the conflict, before Homeworld reformed. And even after that, when I was... you know. And things are better, now, they’re definitely a lot better. But the idea of a ‘future’... even if I’ve got a job, a home, a girlfriend... it’s still weird to think about, I guess.“

There’s a brief silence on the line as this vulnerable admission sinks in.

“Yeah,” Dad replies eventually, clear sorrow in his voice despite how careful he thought he was in phrasing these matters. “I hear ya’.”

With a quick nervous laugh, he scratches at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing against the thin, wispy strands of hair growing back there. “Geeze, sorry for bringing the mood down so quick. Didn’t even know I had all that on my mind until it spilled right out.”

“No, no! No need for apologies, I’m always here to listen. And in any case, I’m glad you’re in a better place now.”

Steven nods his head to himself in full agreement (momentarily forgetting that his dad isn’t actually here in the flesh to see this response). Sixteen and seventeen really, really weren’t good years for him. And even though he’s put lot of work into himself since then, he can’t help but constantly fear the possibility of relapse. His therapist told him a few sessions ago when he expressed this worry that... relapses into old thinking patterns can be common for people living with C-PSTD, and that it’s important for him to be cognizant of any unusual changes in his patterns and routines so he can quickly intervene with his box of healthy coping tactics, but... geeze. The dark, traumatic destinations his wandering thoughts end up stagnating in when the concept of relapse brushes his mind aren’t fun to acknowledge. It makes him yearn with deafening hunger for a simple switch he could flip, some magic cure-all for his brain that would stop him from having to deal with any of this awful shit in the first place— but of course, cruel universe this can be at times, those don’t exist.

“Speaking of that,” Dad speaks up again after clearing his throat, “how are those new meds treating you? You said last call your doctor was gonna change them, yes?”

“Nah, not change. There’s no need to change types,” he shrugs. “It’s just a dosage shift. And it’s fine, I think. I’ve been on ‘em for a few days, and there’s no problems so far. Brain's been treating me a little better.”

Nightmares aren’t quite as bad.

His energy isn’t totally zapped by noon.

The whirling, panicked trajectory of his thought patterns is a little easier to wrest control of.

All in all, nothing’s perfect, but he certainly feels a good deal more stable than before. Now, if only he can remember to consistently take his meds before he goes to bed like he’s supposed to instead of totally forgetting like he did last night and having to scarf it down when he sees that forsaken capsule in his pill box the next morning. Tsk, tsk.

“That’s real good to hear,” his dad responds to his news.

He flexes his knuckles against his lap, gaze reflexively drifting back towards the welcomed distraction of the tides. “Yeah.”

“Anyways, I, uh...”

“So, party logistics,” he cuts in with an overly cheery tone, changing the topic from his boring mental health crap entirely. “We should probably hash this out now. I know Connie’s planning on dropping around about noon. What’s your guys’ plan? She can probably send Lion to you after she gets here, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be best. Pearl said there weren’t any convenient warps nearby. Well, there’s one- but apparently it empties out into an active lava tube. And that’s not exactly Dad-friendly.”

“Aww, you mean you’re not filled with the intense desire to dip your hand into molten lava and shlorp it up like it’s soup?” Steven retorts, only barely holding back his laughter as he thinks of this absurd text thread he had going with Connie a few weeks back, wherein she sent him a video of some volcanic flows and told him, verbatim, that 'despite all logic and reason sometimes I can’t help but look at super viscous lava and think... forbidden s o u p, mmmm.’

“Not particularly, no,” his dad says, sounding thoroughly confused. “I’m- why are you laughing? Is this some sort of weird internet thing I’m not familiar with again?”

He wipes tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “You, ah- you kinda had to be there, sorry. Anyways, yeah. I’ll have Connie send Lion. I’ll text you right before, how’s that?”

“Sounds great! Can’t wait to see ya’, bud. I’m gonna let you go, now, okay? I can talk your ears off later. Go enjoy your morning. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” he says, grinning. “Bye.”

“Buh-bye.”

Once his dad hangs up he sets his phone beside him on the rock and takes a deep, steady breath, trying to capture the full nuance of each diverse scent in the air. He may just be imagining it, but he swears he’s able to pick out the faint scent of taffy intermingling with the ocean saltiness and the hint of cedar from the nearby state forest. In the end though, whether it’s real or not it’s a welcomed reminder of all the possibility the future holds for him.

He’s twenty now. It’s a brand new decade of life. He’s got a new job lined up, a stable and loving relationship, a supportive family, and plenty of courage in facing the shadows of his past. Sure, so maybe he’ll never know with certainty what will happen— maybe he’ll relapse a little, maybe he’ll still have some bad days sprinkled amongst the good ones— but as he watches the tides flow in to greet him, he smiles... and resolves to just take this year as a renewal of his vow to care for himself as best he can.

#su #su future #steven universe #greg universe #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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lala-pipo · 3 years ago

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(1) WOW! 4 months has passed since you answered my last ask hahaha… so fast… I understand, sometimes when I spend too much time on something, be it working or studying or even recreational stuff I feel burnt out to :D Like I spent 5 straight days last week playing Stardew Valley, now I haven’t touched the Switch lol anyways, I am still enjoying the updates on Dorm Life! It’s slowly progressing but I think it’s good for both of them so far? Taking it one step at a time :3

(2) It’s like they are back at it again with their bantering and anime/fanfic conversations :’) the comfortableness is there but also at the same time it feels unsettling? maybe because we are seeing it from Taem’s POV and he is kinda fidgety (for a lack of better word) or tense about the situation? Hmmm but yeah the ending at the latest chapter though!! Whoooo could have been calling Jong at that time? And the off-character part where he turned off his phone, refusing to take the calls :O

(3) Obviously like Taem we would probably just wonder if it’s Key right, but idk why some instinct telling me it’s not Key like it’s a new part of the story? A new subplot? Lol or maybe it is Key and we are closing that chapter? Uhuhuh I’m just going to theorize in the corner here as I wait for the next update :3 Ah! Yeah, and you said there won’t be any crying moments anymore, so will there be more cheesy things like the end of the latest chapter? Cringe inducing lines and “aww” moments? ;)

(4) Yeah, ofc ofc since to Taem, Key is his “antagonist”, we were bound to kind of see it the same way… in the latest update too, there were a lot of thoughts inside Taem’s head regarding his observations on Key right… like I think there was a part where he thought that Key was looking down on him, or even he thought that Key and Jong should be having stricter? (Idk if that’s the right word) boundaries on things that they should and shouldn’t talk about lol

(5) To be honest, it’s kind of entertaining to see Taem’s train of thoughts on these things like, that almost instantaneous thought in someone’s head that they don’t really share to others. It can be a little bit biased, it can be overdramatic, but ofc I also I understand Taem’s hatred? Or more like insecurity maybe? When it comes to Key (and Jong). It’s the kind of things people think about but not really say out loud hahaha I love it, it makes the characters more whole?

(6) Oh yeahh? I shall be sneaking my way into AO3 to see your replies :3 For a while I kind of realized that you uploaded every 3 weeks? On my Sunday nights, so I timed it perfectly lol recently I’ve been busy too so this one took a while hehehe :D Since my last ask I think you updated twice with chapter 10 and 11! I think chapter 10 was more like “where is this going, what is happening” uncertain section with everyone just passing by time and going with the flow? Ft. mother and Kai hahah

(7) In chapter 11, I think the direction is clearer for them, thanks to the convo by the river!! It was a necessary conversation and I’m glad that they were able to talk about it, after great difficulty :’) Then the chapter was filled with fluff cheese fluff Taem’s thoughts on Key fluff :3 hahaha oh! Maybe I wasn’t paying attention as much but there weren’t many biblical allusions in the past 2 chapters? Maybe it was intentional or maybe not, either way I didn’t notice many of them I think? haha

(8) Maybe ‘cos Taem’s thoughts are filled with “where is this going”, Jong, Key, and then the upcoming exam lol so not so much bible references going on in his head haha… Also!! I saw new fanfics for Jong’s month and I did not read them yet!! So excited, probably will read them as I wait for the updates :D Also!! SHINee x AoT fanfic, yes please omg… I actually searched for one back in 2013-2014? When AoT Anime was just released… we have Pacific Rim AU, so I was rooting hard for AoT AU :’(

(9) Sooo yeah, I’ll look forward to any new fanfics by you in the future too! But please do take time away from it if it tires you out or if you are burned out! It should be an enjoyable thing to do for you :D Anyways! Thank you for the updates! I thoroughly enjoyed the fluff, oh! and thank you for accepting my tomo-choco lol, and I gratefully accept yours! <3 I hope you had and will have an amazing time for the upcoming months! Take care, and stay healthy! – cricket anon

____________________________________________________

Cricket nony!

Wow indeed! It certainly has been a while. How have you been? I have never heard of Stardew Valley before, but I’m glad you’ve enjoyed playing it. But I know that feeling, sometimes I play games for weeks and then I won’t touch them for a year. Humans are weird like that I guess. ^^

I’m glad you’re still enjoying my slow updates. I mean we are about to cross the finishing line. There are only two chapters left to complete the storyline + the epilogue. So yeah. Considering that I already wanted to be done with the story by March – and now we’re nearing July already. Haha – but at least I’m working on it to push this story over the finishing line.

It’s not really a subplot – more like the underlying theme of the story which has been there since chapter 1. If the story was written from Jonghyun POVs it would have been a main theme, but since we’re seeing everything from Taem’s perspective, we just know what Jonghyun shares with him – which is not a lot. :’)

Yes, there won’t be any more tears. There will be a few cheesy moments, but less so compared to chapter 11. :’D Chapter 12 is like the last peak before – hopefully – all ties come together in chapter 13 *knocks on wood*

Oh, Taemin will have a lot more thoughts on Kibum in chapter 12. Lmao The whole situation between Kibum and Taemin is loosely based on something from my own experiences. However, without going too much into detail – let’s keep it simple and say I was the Jonghyun in that scenario. Lmao

Yeah, I think there are plenty of moments in this story in which Taemin thinks a LOT of things but says something very different out loud. I think that’s only human. It’s just better to not share all thoughts one has. :’)

It’s certainly intentional that there are less biblical references after they’ve actually been to church. There are still some left to come, but far less than in previous chapters. It’s supposed to show that Taemin is slowly beginning to find his balance in a way, his way in life? I don’t know how to put it, but he slowly gets more rooted.

THANK YOU! Finally someone who understand my craving for SHINee x AoT fanfic. I really, really want to write one because for some reason I want to write something more action driven with blood, and gore and violence lmao and of course titans. I mean romance is cute – but romance is even cuter if you put it into a dystopian setting where people are fighting for the survival of human kind. A SHINee survey squad would be so cute T_T <3 I don’t really know why no one picked up on yet after all those years – we have so many crossovers in this fandom – and yet a crossover with one of the biggest fandoms out there is just nonexistent. It makes no sense to me. I also always wanted to write a Harry Potter crossover but there are so many out there already – so AoT really lets my weeb juices tingle. Lmao

I remember really liking bmot’s JongTae pacific rim AU…although I still have no idea about pacific rim to this day. :’D I always wanted to look it up because I like the description in their story – it seemed an interesting concept but somehow I’ve never went further than thinking about it.

Thanks for dropping by again, cricket nony! Talk to you in 4 months? Maybe…lmao Take good care of yourself. *waves* <3

#ask #cricket nony #dorm life

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gcntlemxn · 4 years ago

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william john stanhope, earl of bath and prime minister of great britain

Hey folks! I’m Flint and this is Bill Stanhope, who runs the country for some god damn reason. Under the cut will be some form of intro, but whether its gonna be a few bullet points or his entire bio copy and pasted remains to be seen. Let’s click and find out! Anyway, my discord is @trash lord#7277 so hmu for some plots.

Full Name: William John Stanhope, 2nd Earl of Bath (3rd Creation) Birth Date: 17th February 1756 (36 years old) Birth Place: Stanhope Hall, Bath, Somerset Current Location: 10 Downing Street, London

Religion: Church of England, Protestant (Loosely) Politics: Whig (Strongly; Leftist, authoritarian, democratic socialist) Languages: English, French, Greek, Latin Occupation: Politician; Prime Minister of Great Britain

Personality: Ambitious, generous, confident, secretive, loyal, intelligent, independent, brash, violent, diplomatic, bitter, serious, intemperate, unlucky.

How is your character viewed by the ton?

A somewhat controversial figure, Bath is known for two things; confrontation and rumour. Both make him unpopular with companions, yet a treat to have around, if only so one might stir gossip. As a politician, he is known to excel in debate. A staunch anti-traditionalist, he takes an aggressive approach to all matters of Parliament and seeks to run a government that serves its people — much to the chagrin of the aristocracy it has served for many hundreds of years. Therefore, the ton does not regard him favourably as he does not balk at making enemies in high places. Indeed, even on a personal level, he is contrary and loud spoken, never submitting to polite company or appropriate conversation, making it difficult to catch a break among those out for the season.

what are two potential plotlines you would be interested in exploring with your character?

Political intrigue sounds like it could be an extremely fun time in this rp, especially given the range of thought the characters show. A lot of Stanhope’s opinions directly intrude on the way other characters lead their lives, and he has the political platform to exercise against them, the greater aristocracy, and especially the tories and Royalists among them. I look forward to exploring this and playing out some controversy with the other characters.

Personally, he has plenty of issues to contend with as well. While he begins the rp as the recently elected prime minister of britain, he has a lot to contend with and I foresee things deteriorating fast for him. His combative personality and myriad of dangerous and scandalous secrets from his past will gradually make him vulnerable. Perhaps to the delight of his many critics, especially given the merciless regard he has for them. It’s hard to predict where this will take him, but I look forward to him growing a bit more dangerous because of it.

how does your character’s early life differ from their current life?

One could never call William Stanhope poor, but comparatively, he was once a nobody. There has seldom been a time he wasn’t in another’s shadow, that of parents, siblings and partners. He prides himself on learning much from this time and today uses it to his advantage.

These days, he has power, but he’ll never grow complacent of it. At times, he finds himself floundering, as he was never brought up with any expectation of achievement and has, for the most part, taught himself everything he knows. Yet he doesn’t stand by and let things happen to him as he did in his youth. Today, his actions are swift and derisive. Meekness is still melting from him, burned away by a steadily growing radical fire that has made him such a compelling political candidate. Those that knew him as a boy would recognise little of the grown man.

how does this character’s reputation differ from who they actually are?

Reputation trickles down. It is decided by those in power and dispensed to those without it, who, possessing their keen appetite to resemble the rich, eat what they are fed and regurgitate in kind.

And so, it is his opposition that dictates him as a crass and cold hearted socialist, skimming money with one hand to pay mollys with the other, using any spare farthings on drink and smoke.

In reality, he has never spent a penny he hasn’t earned and prides himself on hopefully being rather more discreet about his personal purchases than the lascivious rumours would suggest.

As for his countenance, it is no small wonder that the pigs across the benches label him a cruel tyrant when it is their self-serving decadence and traditionalism that he sets out to dismantle. Those loyal to him receive a far different, smiling face. In truth, he might call none of them friends, yet he has many allies.

how does your character view themselves?

At once an egoist and a pariah, he has a poetic and self-critical view of himself. Over exaggerating his own importance, yet never falling back into the crutches of propriety as he keeps close countenance with the unwashed masses he strives to support. He struggles to call himself a saviour of the people, yet that is all he wishes to be. A struggler is, altogether, perhaps the best word he could find for himself. Every good action counters another he regrets, yet the regrets pile up as he struggles against addiction and faltering willpower in the face of his vices. This part of himself does not please him. Yet it is the fuel of his flame, compelling him forward to do better in return. He’d call himself a messianic leftist, but identifies more with the iron fist of a dictator than the welcoming smile of the prophet. And, lastly, he’d call himself an isolationist. People bother him. As concepts, they are magnificent, and without hesitation he will commend a man’s rights until the last line of the law. Yet he’d sooner rather his supper alone. Perhaps read a book. At every opportunity, his seat is left empty at soirees and celebrations. The intimate company of a handsome gentleman, a trusted advisor, his wife or, before his death, his beau would always be a thousand times more preferable than the stink of a crowd of clammering politicians.

is this character a leader or follower?

In general, a leader. One must be to rise to his heights and overcome his supposedly humble beginnings. He takes no issue in commanding, dividing, conquering. Believing, for the most part, in his own intelligence, he takes confidence in enacting laws, advising budgets, hiring, firing, fighting.

At times, he follows. He holds the opinion of few in value; his wife, his closest allies. Beyond that, the will of the people is his own. That is, after all, the entire concept of his campaign and candidacy. True democracy, as much as such is impossible in a proto-industrialist age, keeps him somewhat subservient to the will of the people and he will always act in their favour.

At times, he may be taken advantage of, swept up in good feeling and the easy charm of another. There is talk that his wife takes too much control of him, speaks too frequently in his ear, but he will scoff at such claims despite their truth. In another world, she would be a better politician than he. As it stand, they are a double act; she the only recipient of his utter trust, and he her loyal adept.

what are two headcannons you have for this character?

A man of many secrets, he covers a violent past with thin gossamer. Once a rioter and public campaigner, he’s given speeches to rabble in Trafalgar Square for many years and thrown punches in strikes and food riots for the sheer thrill of it. Now, society requires him to tighten his cravat and smile. It is a struggle to keep his buttons fastened to tight.

Political pugilism not withstanding, chief among his secrets are as follows; a drinking habit, through which his penchant for violence thrives, along with other behaviours unbecoming of his status; a fondness for opiates, of which he now takes delivered home, where once he might have lounged in dens and at least had some damn fun with it.

Lastly, there is the matter of his homosexuality. It is something he had always been aware of within himself, first culminating in the frightfully storybook fumblings with a stablehand. Less fable, perhaps, is that the older boy threatened to tell. In terror, William claimed assault to his own father and had the boy dismissed without reference.

In later years, William gained confidence in his attractions, sought out clubs and friends among whom he could be himself. Through the years, he had had many short lived relationships, mostly amounting to a mere handful of nights in one another’s company before slipping away forever. Among this number, only one stands out. For many years, Stanhope kept a young man on payroll; an unusually exclusive molly, awarded his own, modest apartments, clothing, salary and the sole beneficiary of William’s genuine adoration. Francis was his name. He’s dead now. As nobody ever knew of his existence, none will ever ask William how.

#ls.intro #idk why this wont small text but i can only apologise that its hideous

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caelum-in-the-avatarverse · 4 years ago

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Written for Kataang Week 2020. Prompt - The Red Thread of Fate. (Image Source)

“Oh, wow. That’s different!” “Not every day you see water glow,” Katara agreed smugly. “Oh, that’s cool too. But I’m talking about what you’re doing to the chi in my ligaments!”

Ty Lee can see things.

~~~

Whooooooooo almost done Kataang Week! Which is good cuz I'm kinda flagging lol. Note to self: Work on things earlier, maybe don't do two Character Weeks in one month, haha. :P

Warnings for me playing fast and loose with auras and chi as a concept.

“Oh, wow. That’s different!”

Katara looked up from the glowing water she was swirling around Ty Lee’s sprained ankle to give the other girl an amused look. “I guess you’ve never seen waterbending healing before.”

“Nope!” Ty Lee said. She leaned forward to watch Katara work, intrigued, one hand reaching out to point at what Katara was doing. “It’s amazing.”

“Not every day you see water glow,” Katara agreed smugly.

“Oh, that’s cool too. But I’m talking about what you’re doing to the chi in my ligaments!”

Now that was unexpected. Katara instinctively glanced around for Mai or even Zuko - the other two Fire Nation teens were far more used to Ty Lee’s idiosyncrasies - but it was just the two of them sitting in the courtyard. She blinked at Ty Lee. “...What?”

“Yeah, you’re literally knitting it back together and fixing the flow - oh that is so cool!” Ty Lee’s finger was hovering dangerously close to her ankle.

“Please don’t touch the water,” Katara said.

Ty Lee immediately withdrew her hand, but she was still completely enthralled watching Katara work. “You’re putting your own energy into it, and the water’s manipulating the chi flow,” she said, “but you’re pulling chi from my meridians, too.” She traced a line down her leg, following the shaoyang meridian.

“You can see that?” Katara asked.

“Yep!”

Ty Lee’s terrifying accuracy in blocking people’s chi was starting to make sense. She’d been teaching Suki and the other Kyoshi Warriors for a while now, but even so they didn’t always land their hits properly. Katara had supposed Ty Lee had simply had a lifetime to memorize pressure points, but...maybe there was more to it.

“That’s...pretty cool too,” Katara said. “I can’t even see that. I can feel chi when I’m healing, but that’s about it.” Or maybe she was feeling blood. Well, wasn’t that a pleasant thought.

Ty Lee beamed. “It’s a gift. Usually.”

“So...what does chi look like?”

Ty Lee shrugged. “Chi.” When Katara gave her an unimpressed look, she giggled. “What does water look like?”

Katara opened her mouth to retort, realized she had no answer, and sighed.

Ty lee tilted her head, staring at her ankle. “It’s like...it has colors.”

“Colors,” Katara repeated.

“Yeah. And they kind of...float? Sometimes?”

“Floating colors.”

Ty Lee deflated. “It’s hard to explain.”

“You’re the first person I’ve met since Sifu Yugoda who understands how a meridian works and what I’m doing with it when I heal,” Katara said dryly. “I can try to understand.”

Ty Lee brightened. “Okay! You can see it too, you know. When you make the water glow. That’s the chi doing it. But I guess you can only see it when you’re really using it.”

“What does it usually look like?”

“It looks like...lines of energy.” She peered at her ankle. “Right now, I’m seeing where it’s blocked and torn, and how you’re loosening it up and drawing it back together - ooh!” Ty Lee sighed in relief just as Katara fixed one of the major tears in her ankle ligaments. “Yeah,” she managed after a moment. “Like that. Wow. This is so much better than waiting for it to heal on its own.”

Katara smiled, smug. “And it has colors?”

“Yeah,” said Ty Lee. “They’re part of your aura.”

“And you can see those too, right?” Katara asked, remembering a few offhand comments the other girl had made since they’d met.

“Auras? Yeah, those are easy. Yours is very nice, by the way. Lots of blues and greens, some turquoise and pink.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You’re calm and compassionate and definitely good at healing things,” Ty Lee grinned.

Katara grinned back. “That’s pretty cool that you can see all that.” She twisted the water around Ty Lee’s ankle.

“I can see lots of things,” Ty Lee said matter-of-factly. “Looking at you I can see your chi, your aura…” She peered at Katara’s foot for a moment, apparently concentrating. “And even your red string!”

“My what?” Katara asked.

“Your red string,” Ty Lee repeated. “But if you don’t want me to talk about that that’s fine, I get it, I know some people like surprises - ”

“Sorry, I just - what’s a red string?” Katara asked, thoroughly confused.

Ty Lee blinked. “...You don’t know?”

“Not a clue.”

“Do they not have red strings in the Water Tribe?”

“Well I guess we must, if I have one,” Katara said, “but I’ve never heard of it before. What is it?” Was it bad? It sounded like a Fire Nation thing. That didn’t necessarily mean it was bad but - why did she have a Fire Nation thing?

Ty Lee fiddled with her braid. “It’s fate,” she said. “The Red String of Fate. It’s a legend - except it’s real, of course. But the story goes that the Old Man Under the Moon ties a red string around the ankles of people who are destined to marry or fall in love with each other, connecting them before they know it.”

“So everyone is just...destined for a specific person?” Katara wasn’t one to disbelieve destiny - she’d believed in the Avatar’s return long after the rest of her tribe had lost hope, after all. She’d traveled across the world and back on that hope. And she considered herself pretty good friends with Iroh now, from whom she’d heard quite a bit about destiny. Heck, she’d even spent days pestering Aunt Wu for information on her future husband. “That sounds romantic.”

“Ideally?” Ty Le said, looking uncertain. “Sometimes it’s just...there, but nothing comes of it. Sometimes things happen.” She grimaced and glanced away, eyes going sad. “Sometimes the string gets cut, or breaks.”

“Oh,” said Katara. She wondered if Ty Lee knew someone with a broken string, but decided against asking. The war had lasted a hundred years, and despite being the perpetrators, the Fire Nation was not without its losses. She finished up with the water around Ty Lee’s leg, tossing it back into the courtyard fountain. “How’s that?”

Ty Lee carefully rolled her foot in several directions. “Wow, this feels so much better, thank you!”

“Try standing up,” Katara said, eyeing Ty Lee’s ankle as she got to her feet. “Carefully.”

Ty Lee stood, flexed her leg once or twice, took a few careful steps, and then whooped and did a full set of cartwheels around the courtyard and back.

“Careful!” Katara yelped, even as Ty Lee came to a stop before her. She didn’t want the girl undoing her work already.

“Good as new!” Ty Lee proclaimed. “You’re amazing, thank you so much!” She looked about three seconds from tackling Katara in a hug, but also like she was capable of restraining herself. Katara appreciated it. Ty Lee was a nice girl, now that she was getting to know her, but...they weren’t quite at hugs yet.

“You’re welcome,” Katara said. “Thanks for telling me about red strings. It’s a nice story.”

“It is!” Ty Lee beamed. “And very popular. Everyone in the Fire Nation knows that story.”

“I’ve never heard it,” Katara said.

“I have!” Aang said cheerily, dropping into the courtyard from the eaves of an overhanging roof. “It’s mostly a Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom legend.”

“But it’s not a legend,” Ty Lee insisted. “It’s real. I mean...I’m looking at yours right now!”

“Oh, wow, your spirit sight’s that strong?” Aang asked.

“‘Yours’ as in both of ours?” Katara asked, glancing at Aang. “Or ‘yours’ as in mine and his, separately?”

“Do you really want to know?” Ty Lee asked, looking between them.

A bit of enthusiasm Katara hadn’t felt since leaving Aunt Wu’s village reared up in her heart, and she said, “Yes.”

At the same time, Aang said, “Oh, I already know.”

Ty Lee and Katara looked at him, surprised.

“Mine just kind of...frays off, or something,” Aang elaborated. “Like it wasn’t finished.”

Ty Lee frowned at him before looking down at something that neither Aang nor Katara could see. “Uh...it looks pretty finished to me.” She peered closer. “The Old Man Under the Moon must’ve woven your strings together, because I can’t tell they were ever separate.”

Aang blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Who told you your string was broken?” Ty Lee demanded, looking miffed. “They must have awful spirit sight. I ought to tell them they shouldn’t go panicking people like that!”

“She’s dead,” Aang blurted. Katara winced and Ty Lee blanched. “I mean, she has to be dead, it’s been a hundred years. And she didn’t tell me, I just overheard her talking to Monk Gyatso about it. They probably didn’t want me worried.”

“Oh,” said Ty Lee, admirably rallying from the experience of being Aang’s friend and realizing how much he’d lost over casual conversation. She’d get used to it, Katara thought wryly. “Well, that’s a relief. I hate it when people try to scare people with spirit sight to scam them or something, it’s so irresponsible!”

“Oh, I wasn’t scared,” Aang said quickly. “I mean, I was just a little kid? What did I care about marriage or unfinished strings? I wasn’t worried about it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Not back then, anyway.” He glanced at Katara.

Katara smiled at him. “Were you worried about that the whole time?”

“Not the whole time,” Aang insisted. “Just...sometimes. I didn’t know what an unfinished string meant! And I didn’t have anyone to ask about it, so…”

Katara raised an eyebrow. “You had an unfinished string over eighty years before I was even born, Aang.”

“...Yeah,” Aang said, chuckling. “Guess that explains that, huh?”

Katara leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek.

“Awwwwww!” Ty Lee gushed. “You two are so cute! No wonder the Old Man Under the Moon chose you for each other!”

“Does he choose?” Katara asked. “Or does he just know the future and tie people together according to what he sees?”

“Uhhhhhhh,” said Ty Lee, “I’m...not sure?”

“If I ever meet him, I’ll ask,” Aang said.

“Well however he does it,” Ty Lee said, “you two are totally perfect for each other, even if you did have to wait a hundred years!”

Katara snorted and Aang smiled, but he looked slightly haunted. No one else would have known it but Katara - except Ty Lee apparently picked up on it too. Maybe it was her aura vision.

“...I’m sorry,” she said. “That...might have come out wrong.”

If Aang and Katara had always been destined for each other, that meant he’d always been destined for the iceberg. That he’d always been destined to lose a century. Perhaps the war and the loss of the Airbenders had been destiny as well.

Tragedies such as those should never simply be accepted as fate.

“It’s okay,” Aang said, even though it really wasn’t and never would be. “I find it’s best to just...not think about destiny too deeply. It just...is.”

Katara nudged his shoulder. “Hey,” she said, “destiny can be changed. It isn’t set in stone. And sometimes we’re completely wrong about it. I mean, the Fire Nation thought it was their destiny to take over the whole world, and look how that turned out.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ty Lee said, flipping her braid over her shoulder, “we were super wrong about that.”

“Your string was unfinished,” Katara said. “Maybe it would’ve joined up with someone else’s. And we don’t know when it merged with mine. Who really knows?”

Aang smiled at her. “Destiny is a funny thing,” he agreed. And then, teasing, “And you were worth waiting for.”

“Aang!” she laughed, and he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“But you should still totally ask the Old Man Under the Moon how it works, if you ever meet him,” Ty Lee said. “Now I’m curious!”

“Oh, I will,” Aang promised, looking into Katara’s eyes. “Right after I thank him.”

~~~

Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated.

Notes:

Welp I guess I have a vague headcanon idea on how waterbending healing works now, lol. I mean it makes sense Katara couldn't heal Jet if the energy needed to do so was more than she and he had available. Spirit Oasis water is clearly imbued with a ton of extra energy and spiritual properties, allowing it to perform miracles, lol. Meridians are a concept in traditional Chinese medicine, and I am fairly certain Waterbenders use them because I think the dummy Yugoda was demonstrating on in her class had meridian outlines on it that she was making the water follow.

Aura colors can be very different and sometimes even contradictory depending on which website you're looking at, but for my purposes, blues mean caring, loving, and sensitive, greens mean growth, healing, and an ability to cause change, turquoise is more sensitivity and healing, pink indicates love and compassion, not necessarily just for a person, but for what you're doing or believe in.

The Red Thread of Fate is, of course, an ancient Chinese legend that also made its way to Japan and Korea. Originally the red thread was tied around the ankles of people destined to be married, though in modern times it's depicted around the bearers' fingers. The thread is tied by Yuè Xià Lǎorén, the Chinese god of marriage and love who often appears as an old man under the moon. The original myth has it that the red thread cannot be broken, as those bound by it are destined to be together. I've taken interpretational liberties with it for angst purposes. Anyone who's familiar with my headcanons for Ty Lee's family, you have three guesses as to who Ty Lee knows with a broken red string, and the first two don't count. :P

I'm not sure if the original myth was strictly for people who were meant to be married, or if those destined to love without marriage were included. For the purposes of my worldbuilding, I've decided it doesn't necessarily mean marriage, just that two people are meant to be together romantically.

Also the idea of destiny is pretty epic in a series like ATLA and it IS a centric theme so it's definitely a force in the story HOWEVER I dislike the idea of Aang and Katara being so destined for each other Aang had to get frozen and the Airbenders had to get wiped out so like...idk I fiddled with that a bit at the end. *shrugs* I didn't go too deep tho, because it's late and this is a oneshot and let's be honest, I mostly wrote this for Ty Lee. ;)

#kataang week #atla fanfic #avatar fanfiction #aang #katara #ty lee #caelum writes

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duhragonball · 5 years ago

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Talkin’ ‘Bout Star Wars

I just realized someone might see this title and think it’s a review of Episode IX, which I kind of forgot about. Actually, I was gonna talk about this Count Dooku audiobook I bought, but I guess I only got back into Star Wars books because of Episode IX, so maybe I should back up.

I liked Rise of Skywalker. I went in unsure of what to expect, because a lot of people hated Episode VIII, and I thought it was awesome, so when I saw scathing criticism of IX, I had no idea whether to take that seriously. “Man if you thought VIII was bad, IX’s even worse.” Stuff like that where I didn’t know how to interpret it.

The fundamental problem with IX is that they were going to do a Leia-centric movie and Carrie Fisher died before they could get started. I’m pretty sure this had a lot to do with why Darth Sidious is all over the movie, but maybe he would have been in it regardless. He definitely brings a lot of star power to the movie. He makes it feel more important than it would have been if it was just Kylo Ren horsing around as the main bad guy. And while I enjoyed Carrie Fisher as the hardboiled-but-sensitive General Leia, she never seemed quite as comfortable on-screen in the sequel movies as Mark Hamill and Harrison Ford. I mean, she was in VIII, but she spent most of it in a coma, and Laura Dern seemed to be her understudy. Maybe Carrie was just waiting for the spotlight of Episode IX, and maybe she would have risen to the occasion, but if not, they would have done well to have the Emperor in the same movie, just to carry some of the load.

I’ve seen complaints about how fast-paced Episode IX is, and how ridiculous some of the revelations are, but you know, Episode IV realllly drags for the first half-hour, so I’m happy they made a new one that caters to six-year-old me’s desire to get on with things. As for the whole Rey Palpatine thing, I don’t know, was that any less absurd than whatever fan-theories were floating around in 2016?

I liked Rey’s character arc in this movie, where she goes from having no family to being terrified of her pedigree, to declaring herself to be “Rey Skywalker”. Also, I dig her yellow lightsaber, even if she never got a chance to use it in the movie. In fact, let me get a picture of that up here....

Niiiice. Whenever I look this up, I see all these links to fan theories about what this means, or how it’s a callback to eight other characters from the comics who had yellow lightsabers, but I’m pretty sure she only ended up with this color because they wanted to give her something different and uniquely her own. If she had a blue or green blade, fans would think she took the crystal out of one of Luke’s old lightsabers, but this indicates that she built her own from scratch. Also, Rey even having a lightsaber is probably intended to demonstrate that she still has a mission in the galaxy, even after the First Order and Sidious are defeated.

Anyway, the main issue I have with the movie is that it does play fast and loose sometimes. It felt like they had a plan for Finn and a plan for Poe, but both plans sort of got lost in the shuffle, and we sort of have to take their big victory as newly minted generals to serve as a finish to their character arcs. Leia’s big moment is basically her lying down to take a nap, and I get it, that was probably the best they could do, but still. I read Nein Numb got killed in the movie, and that kind of pisses me off.

Mostly, it just doesn’t hold up as well as “The Last Jedi”. I think part of the reason “Revenge of the Sith” is the most popular prequel movie is because it pays off the thing everyone wanted to see: Anakin becoming Darth Vader. I remember the first time I saw “Attack of the Clones”, and I was kind of surprised to see Anakin kill all the Sand People, like they were turning him evil a little too early, so that had me wondering if he might turn to the dark side in that movie, which sort of distracted me from what was actually happening on the screen. With Episode III, you knew exactly what you were getting, because they couldn’t save any big moments for “Revenge of the Sith, Part 2.” In a similar vein, I think the big thing audiences wanted from the sequel trilogy was to find out whatever happened to Luke, and Episode VIII answered that question completely. It sort of undercut Episode IX, and I guess that was what J.J. Abrams was complaining about.

Darth Sidious’ whole comeback is kind of a problem. I love the character, and it makes sense that he could somehow survive and come back. In the movie, he just quotes his line about “unnatural” abilities and that’s the only explanation we get for how he survived Endor, built his new fleet, and made Snoke. People call it a cop out and they’re not wrong, but he’s the one character who can get away with it. That said, his return raises far more questions than answers, and somehow he’s even stronger than he was before, which raises even further questions. I mean, if he could just go to this secret planet and build a fleet of planet-destroying ships, why did he bother running for public office?

I’m sure there’ll be a novel that tries to tackle some of those issues, but the bigger problem here is that Episode IX made me realize that I missed the more vulnerable Darth Sidious from the prequels. What I love about Episode I is how you’ve got the Sith, looking very similar to the Emperor and Vader in Episode VI, except they don’t have the might of the Empire behind them. In Episode I, Sidious can’t just force choke his subordinates when they displease him, because he needs those guys. Darth Maul can’t send a legion of troops to capture Queen Amidala; he has to do it by himself. They have to be sneakier and trickier than they are in the original trilogy, because they’re still trying to get the Empire set up, and that’s really fascinating to me. Even in the original trilogy, Palpatine is supreme, but still vulnerable. He dissolves the Senate, but only once the Death Star is available as an alternative. He worries that Luke Skywalker “could destroy us.”

In Episode IX, he seems to have no worries at all, I guess because he’s counting on Rey to murder him for whatever essence transfer he was planning. I suppose this was why he finally died to his own Force Lightning, with Rey deflecting it with two lightsabers. Critics ask why he didn’t just stop shooting lightning, but that’s kind of his deal. He kept shooting at Mace Windu, even when it wrecked his face, and he kept shooting when Darth Vader turned on him. I mean, if he stopped shooting lighting at Rey, what then? His fleet would lose the battle, and Rey would refuse to kill him, and he’d just be stuck. The Sith crave power, and power only matters when you exercise it, so it makes sense that all the Sith characters get wrecked because they bit off more than they could chew. If you asked Sidious why he didn’t just turn off his lightning, he probably wouldn’t even understand the question.

I think it might have been cooler if Darth Sidious had been a ghost, or maybe an electronic backup of his brain, or something like that. He looked pretty cool hooked up to that life support system, and I liked the idea that he was reduced to a shell of his former self, but even that would still be a grave threat to the heroes, especially if he got Rey or Kylo Ren to take orders from him. Maybe he should have actually gotten to possess Rey, and then he would finally get all the gonzo powers he displayed in the movie, and Rey would have to kick him out of her body. I dunno, maybe that’s not so different from what we actually got.

I see fans talking about all these alternative versions of Episode IX, like that leaked script, or the concept art, etc. They lament “Why didn’t we get this movie?” and I think that misses the point. Maybe one version or another would be better, but in the end you really only get one movie, one shot at telling the story. At some point, someone has to make the decision as to what makes the cut and what doesn’t. The problem with writing a story is that the version in your head always looks better than it does in print, because in your head it’s this nebulous, ever-changing thing. When you sit down to write it, you have to commit to one version, and decide whether to do this or that. In this day and age, it’s a lot easier to find out about alternate versions and unused drafts. You can watch the “This” version of a movie, and then go on the internet and see details about the “That” version they didn’t use. And it’s easy to complain that they made the wrong call. “Justice League” fans are convinced that there’s a secret “Snyder Cut” of the movie that would somehow be better than the version that actually made it to theaters. That’s kind of sad, because they clearly must have enjoyed the theatrical cut to some extent, or they wouldn’t care about some other version of the same movie. But instead of appreciating what they got, they obsess over a supposedly better version that may not even exist.

I’m probably no better, because I sort of went into Episode IX figuring that it didn’t matter if it was good or bad, because there would be comics or novels that might expand on the stuff I wanted to see. I think what I really want is a story of how Sidious survived Endor, and how he got set up on Exegul or however you spell it. That, and Rey buckling some swashes with that yellow lightsaber. Everyone’s mad about Rose Tico getting a small part in Episode IX, but to me it almost doesn’t matter, because she can be in whatever Rey comic series they make after this. I mean, that doesn’t do Kelly Marie Tran any good, but I think she’s got a good career ahead of her, with or without Rose Tico.

I don’t know, maybe this is why I don’t watch movies very much. I’m mostly into franchises, where the movies themselves are just tentpoles for all the other media. They don’t really need to be good, so long as some good lore comes out of them that someone else can use. I was thinking the other day about how Episode II is widely considered one of the weakest Star Wars movies, but every Clone Wars story that came after it was directly inspired by that film. And there’s a lot of good Clone Wars stuff out there. It just makes me wonder if Episode II can really be as bad as they say it is. Then again, it probably doesn’t make sense to say that spinoffs can retroactively fix what should be a standalone work.

Anyway, I started this post because I wanted to talk about how YouTube keeps recommending me Star Wars meta videos, mainly about the Sith, because that’s what I’m into, and they’re usually covering stuff I already knew. There’s at least three channels devoted to recapping stories from comics and books, or just straight up repeating information that was directly stated in the movies. “Did you know Palpatine wanted to KILL Darth Vader?” Yes, I’ve known since 1983. He told Luke to kill him and he wouldn’t do it. Then he and Vader killed each other. It’s not complicated. The funny thing is that I watch all these different Star Wars videos, and I can tell they’re narrated by different people, but they all sound like the Burger King Foot Lettuce guy.

I got bored with these, so I started listening to the Dooku audiobook that came out last year. It’s been pretty decent, but I was hoping for more Sith lore, and this book seems mostly focused on Asajj Ventress learning about Dooku’s Jedi career. I’ve only got a half hour left in the book, and Dooku hasn’t even resigned from the order yet, so I don’t think I’ll see much of what he was up to between Episodes I and II.

#/#//#///#////#/////#star wars

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rorykillmore · 6 years ago

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okay and THIS one is for @larkspear who requested any kind of au involving laurel and dolores. this fic is a funny story in and of itself. i spent a little while wondering what to do, weighing more traditional options, and then one day i was like “you know what? these two deserve a romcom au”. so i picked the most winter-y romcom i could think of - groundhog day - and the concept kind of ran away with me. it required a... lengthier execution by its very nature and actually became the longest gift fic i’ve written. so... either sorry, or you’re welcome?? i had such a blast with this, though i went back and forth on whose perspective i wanted to write it from and ultimately decided laurel lent herself better to “being super grumpy about smalltown life” in spite of dolores’ canonical history with timeloops so. all of this to say writing a long fic from someone else’s character’s perspective is daunting and i hope it turned out okay!

spear, i hope this fic is deserving of all the effort and development we’ve poured into this ship. i’m really grateful that 2018 gave us so many great opportunities to rp and plot with each other because every moment of it has been fantastic, and i’m also just really glad to have you in my life as one of my closest friends!! you’re always one of the first to salt with me if i’m grumpy, or reach out and offer something nice if i’m upset. thank you for being such a great friend, for all the rps i still hold close to my heart, and for entertaining all of us with memestream from week to week!!

Hey, Sara, funny you should call. I think I’m losing my mind -- any idea what to do about being stuck in a timeloop?’

Not that Laurel didn’t appreciate a good dose of AC/DC - who in their right mind didn’t? - but she has to admit that in practice, waking up to Highway to Hell is a lot less funny than she’d thought it was going to be last night.

Even if it is still utterly appropriate for the day ahead of her.

She grumbles almost inaudibly against the obnoxiously loud musical backdrop and reaches blindly for her phone -- still half asleep, so it takes her a little bit of fumbling to actually turn off the alarm. Sitting up in bed feels like a monumental task by itself, especially when she realizes that her hotel room is cold.

Like, ice cold.

“Place doesn’t even have a goddamn heating system that works,” she mutters to herself, smoothing her hair out of her face. She’s not sure what else she expected from this stupid, cutesy, outdated bed-and-breakfast -- the only place in Beacon Heights with vacancies, as if fucking Groundhog Day is a pull-out-all-the-stops holiday around here, or something.

The sooner she gets to work, she tells herself, the sooner this day will be over with, and the sooner she can go home. She slips out of bed and goes to get showered and dressed, delayed only slightly by the inconvenience of being held up by the nosy, overly friendly teenage desk clerk downstairs (some weirdo named Ratchet, or at least, that’s what he tells everyone to call him. Laurel’s pretty sure that’s not a real thing anyone would be named).

“Morning!” ‘Ratchet’ calls to her cheerfully on cue. “We have fresh coffee made, if you wanted any --”

“No thanks,” Laurel cuts him off without even looking at him. She’s out the door before he can get another word out.

In the car, she finally takes a second to check her phone. Just one missed call, but when she scrolls down to see the contact info, she feels herself stiffen in the drivers seat.

Sara.

Why the hell would her sister be calling her? They haven’t spoken in almost two months.

She stares at the screen for a few more seconds, deliberating. There’s a nagging possibility that won’t leave the back of her mind, that maybe Sara just wants to talk, to work things out, but --

-- Then that stinging fear of rejection catches up with her. Reconciliation is probably overly optimistic, in light of everything. She’s going to be late for work anyway.

She puts her phone down and tries not to think about it.

The drive into town is, in theory, only five minutes, since Beacon Heights is so insufferably cozy. But ‘five minutes’ today is translating to ten, and then fifteen because of all the traffic, and God, what is it with people in this town and this holiday? What was it about twitchy rodents predicting the weather that got people up out of their beds at 6:30 in the morning?

Small towns were so weird.

When the line of cars in front of her finally start to move, Laurel is about at her wits’ end -- almost crazed and impatient enough not to stop when some freak on a motorcycle has the nerve to try cut in front of her. As it is, he hits a patch of ice and skids haphazardly anyway, making an outright spectacle when he’s finally thrown from the back of his vehicle by the sudden stop and flies straight into a snowbank on the side of the road.

Laurel eyes him for a moment. But the road in front of her is open. “Serves you right,” she mutters under her breath, and hits the gas without stepping to check to see if he’s okay.

She gets to work almost ten minutes late, as it is. Her director and cameraman - Camille and Felix, respectively, the only two people she can even vaguely count as friends despite how many years she’s had this job - look vaguely exasperated when she finally walks into what passes for Beacon Heights’ news broadcast studio.

“Traffic,” she tells them defensively.

“You’d better tell hair and make-up to make it fast.” Camille eyes her up and down a bit judgmentally. “We’re supposed to be outside and live in forty minutes.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t need hair and make-up,” Laurel, who can’t see the point of even trying to look good when bundled up in twenty degree weather, grumbles.

From there on out, the morning (relatively, for the most part) goes as planned. Filming outside in this kind of weather is insufferable - and the fact that all the cheery townspeople who have gathered to watch don’t seem to have their moods dented by this at all even moreso - but Laurel has been doing her job long enough by now to know how to keep a smile plastered on her face.

It’s a sunny day, so predictably, the groundhog sees his shadow. Everyone acts surprised anyway, and coos and fawns over the damn thing. Laurel tries not to gag.

“Now that that’s over,” she tells Camille under her breath when they’re done filming. “I’m getting coffee. Or maybe something stronger.”

As it turns out, it’s difficult to find anyone willing to serve anything stronger at this hour of the morning in Beacon Heights, so. Coffee it is. Laurel orders a cup to go from the local diner, and she’s on her way out, admittedly in a little bit of a hurry, when she knocks right into someone.

The disastrous results seem to play out in slow motion. She stumbles. Her coffee cup flies into the air, the lid jarred loose by its velocity. And warm (not steaming, which is probably good) liquid spills all over the woman Laurel just ran into.

She’s pretty, is the first weird thought Laurel has.

(Okay, not that weird, one night stands are not exactly an oddity for her when she’s traveling on a job, but maybe it’s a little weird when you’ve just accidentally covered someone in warm coffee).

Almost out-of-a-storybook pretty, with long blonde hair that she wears in soft curls and bright blue eyes and a matching, expensive looking coat that is now...

...unfortunately, pretty much ruined.

“Wow,” Laurel says unhelpfully in place of an apology.

The other woman gapes at her for a moment longer, and then suddenly seems to shake herself out of it. “Have you ever tried watching where you’re going?”

Later, she’ll probably look back and decide instigating any further was a bad idea, but right now the hostility in the woman’s tone provokes in Laurel something close to insolence. “Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to know this town?”

The woman bristles at her. “You’re not exactly as charming face-to-face as you are on screen, are you?”

“Depends on who you ask.” She probably sounds like an asshole, mostly because she can’t keep from sounding a little amused. “Today’s probably not one of my finer moments.”

“Well. Because of you, I can either not make my job interview this morning, or show up looking like this. So thanks.”

Laurel shrugs, though she’s starting to feel she’s on the edge of... if not guilty, then at least vaguely self-conscious. Which means, of course, another bout of defensiveness. “It’s Beacon Heights. Everyone else looks worse than you do now on their best days.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, evidently. The woman shoulders past her angrily and starts to stalk off, and to make things even worse, the man coming up the road from the opposite direction pauses to acknowledge her. “Everything okay, Dolores?”

Laurel realizes with an unpleasant lurch that she recognizes him: the man she knocked off the motorcycle earlier this morning. She turns quickly before he can notice her and opts to hurry back to her car instead of getting another cup of coffee. Too much risk of running into one of them inside the cafe.

God, everyone knows everyone in this town. It’s insufferable.

At the very least, she’s pretty sure her day can’t get much worse. Until she makes it back to the inn to change her clothes, and finds Ratchet, still waiting for her at the front desk.

She glares at him in passing, daring him to say anything. And of course, he addresses her obliviously anyway. “You got water? Supplies? Everything you need for tonight and tomorrow?”

That makes Laurel halt in her tracks. “...What are you talking about?” she asks, turning to face him suspiciously.

Ratchet blinks at her. “There’s a big storm coming. Weren’t you covering the weather this morning?”

“All we talked about was the goddamn groundhog,” Laurel grits out. “What storm?”

“Big blizzard.” Ratchet shrugs somberly. “Worst we’ve had this year. Not supposed to clear up ‘til... uh, sometime tomorrow evening, I think?”

Laurel feels her heart sinking rapidly. “But I’ll still be able to get out of here tomorrow, right?”

“Drive out of here?” Ratchet sounds mildly incredulous. “I wouldn’t. And believe me, I’ve pulled off some pretty crazy --”

She doesn’t wait for him to finish his anecdote. All she can think about now is being stuck in this miserable town for another day and a half, and how nothing so far has gone right, and that if one more person tries to make ‘small talk’ with her she’s going to snap.

She storms up to her room without another word. It’ll be hours still before it even gets dark, but right now, she doesn’t feel like doing much more than sulking and counting down the time until she can sleep some of this off.

Living easy, living free Season ticket on a one-way ride Asking nothing, leave me be Taking everything in my stride...

Purely on instinct this time, Laurel reaches for her phone and silences it quickly, then lifts her head from the pillow to glare at it. She could have sworn she’d changed that alarm to something less grating.

She tries not to dwell on it, getting up out of bed and instead moving to the window to gauge the damage of the night before. Maybe it won’t be as bad as the desk clerk said --

-- There’s only a thin layer of snow on the ground. Same as yesterday.

Laurel can hardly believe her luck. Are the people in this town insufferable and hysterical?

Maybe it shouldn’t surprise her that they can’t even get the weather right. Not keen on wasting any time just in case, she hurries to pack her things, and God, the room is still so cold even though she told them to fix the heat yesterday --

Whatever. She showers quickly, throws herself together even more haphazardly than yesterday, and hurries downstairs once all her things are packed.

“Morning!” By now she recognizes Ratchet’s grating voice. “We have fresh coffee made, if you wanted any -- hey, uh, where are you going with all that stuff?”

“Relax,” she mutters, begrudgingly approaching the front desk. “I’m checking out. Since the storm blew over.”

Frustratingly, Ratchet only stares at her for a moment. “The storm’s not... due until tonight,” he answers slowly, and before Laurel can berate him for the misinformation, he adds, “Don’t you have a thing today, anyway?”

Laurel stares back blankly. “A ‘thing’?”

“I thought you were in town with your crew to cover the Groundhog Day celebration.”

Is he screwing with her? Or just trying to hold her up? She sets her phone on the counter pointedly. “Groundhog Day was yesterday.”

But then her screen lights up, and she sees she has a missed call. From Sara.

Panic seizes her for a moment - why would Sara call twice in two days, is there some kind of emergency, did something happen to Dad - and then she notices the date on her phone. And her blood runs cold for an entirely different reason.

Had yesterday just been some kind of fever dream? Was she losing her mind?

“Shit,” Laurel mutters under her breath. “Shit shit shit shit shit.” Forgoing any explanation, she grabs her phone, turns, and makes a beeline for the door empty-handed.

“Miss Lance, what about your luggage --” Ratchet starts to call after her, but Laurel waves him off.

“Get someone to take it up to my room for me; I’ll tip them later!” If she doesn’t haul ass, she’s going to be late. Like, later-than-yesterday late. How the hell could this have happened? How could she have thought today -- was tomorrow?

All her hurrying ends up being mostly for nothing -- if there’s one thing her dream (or whatever it was) predicted, it was the traffic. And... the call from Sara, now that she thinks about it. And the alarm.

Something weird feels like it’s creeping up on her, and she almost stops paying attention to the road -- long enough not to realize that someone is trying to cut in front of her. The vehicle - a motorcycle, she knows without even looking at it - swerves badly and skids to an abrupt stop at the side of the road, sending its rider flying into a snowbank.

Unwittingly, Laurel slows enough to get a good look at him -- the guy from before, the one who’d been there when she’d spilled coffee all over... Dolores? How could she have dreamed his face if she’d never seen him before?

He starts to pick himself up, and she snaps out of it, speeding off before he can get a word out.

By the time she gets to work, she’s at least trying to laugh it all off -- content to chalk it all up to a weird case of deja vu, or something, because what else makes sense. It might have worked out, too.

If Camille and Felix hadn’t greeted her with the exact same skepticism.

If she hadn’t had her hair and make-up done in the exact same way, then sent outside to the exact same filming location.

If the groundhog hadn’t seen his goddamn shadow.

Laurel is barely holding it together by the time she gets off work. It’s really the best she can do just to seem like she’s not panicking, and when she goes to the coffee shop -- dreading what she’ll find -- it’s more to prove a completely implausible hunch than anything. Or maybe to disprove it. Like if she can avoid spilling coffee all over that woman, this... spell, or whatever it is, will break.

She inches out the door, coffee held tightly in one hand -- but she’s so intent on squeezing past Dolores that her foot hits the upturned side of the coffee shop’s cheery welcome mat, and she stumbles, and it’s enough to send coffee splattering all over Dolores.

Again.

Laurel can do nothing but sort of gape at her even as she’s met with that same angry, incredulous stare.

“Have you ever tried watching where you’re going?” Dolores demands, and Laurel almost wants to cry.

I think I’m going crazy.

“I think I’m going crazy.”

No, wait -- she’d actually said it aloud.

Dolores does a kind of double-take. “...Excuse me?”

“I’m --” Laurel can’t keep her voice from wavering. “You don’t remember?”

“Remember you?” Dolores seems caught somewhere between uncertain and disdainful. “I’ve seen you on TV. And I knew you were in town, of course, for the holiday broadcast I’m sure you think is beneath you. People can hear you when you make fun of them, you know, and news travels fast --”

“No, no, no, remember this -- this -- all of this!” In her panic, Laurel gestures to an increasingly baffled looking Dolores. “The coffee, the -- the argument, the --”

Dolores only stares at her unhelpfully. “...Are you alright?”

Laurel can only laugh, which she’s sure makes her sound at least vaguely unhinged. But it’s clear by this point that neither Dolores nor anyone else in this town has any idea what she’s talking about. Reality setting in has a strangely calming effect on her. “No. -- Yes. I’m just having a... really weird day.”

Maybe she’s imagining that Dolores’ expression softens just slightly - not that it really matters, she wouldn’t even know how to take sympathy at this point - but before either of them can say more, Laurel hears someone come up behind them. She turns, and -- sure enough, it’s Motorcycle Guy.

“Everything okay here?” he asks, glancing between them carefully.

“We’re fine, Cloud,” Dolores assures before Laurel can even snap at him. What kind of stupid name is Cloud, anyway? “I need to go get cleaned up -- I can’t go to my interview like this --” She stops, eyeing Laurel again. “Do you need... help? I could drive you somewhere...”

Some part of her registers surprise at Dolores - who seems to have reason enough to detest her already - even offering, but the kind of numbness that’s set in to override her shock and panic supersedes that. Laurel’s not even sure how anyone could help her. She shakes her head distantly.

“I’m... just going to go back to my hotel room, actually. But thanks.”

Knowing she’s done nothing to reassure them about her behavior - but to exhausted to care - Laurel turns away and starts trekking numbly back towards her car. Maybe this time, at least, she can actually stop at the convenience store for some supplies before that storm sets in.

The best she can hope is that tomorrow she’ll wake up, and things will have somehow set themselves right.

Dread creeps up on her when she registers what has woken her up the next morning. Laurel swears, after this - if there even is an ‘after this’ - she’s never going to listen to AC/DC again.

She remembers thinking last night that if she had to wake up to the same day one more time, she might just scream, or -- explode, or something. So the resignation she drags herself out of bed with surprises even her.

She goes through the motions of the morning almost robotically, and somehow (because of course there couldn’t be an upside to any of this) she still isn’t any more on schedule when she drags herself past Ratchet and out the front door.

This time, though, she stares at that missed call from Sara for a few heartbeats longer, and imagines what it might be like if she returned it. ‘Hey, Sara, funny you should call. I think I’m losing my mind -- any idea what to do about being stuck in a timeloop?’

Yeah. What a way to reconcile.

She drives off rather morosely, lost in thought, and thus somehow still - still - forgets about Cloud. Though she does wince a little this time when she sees him hit that snowbank.

But then something occurs to Laurel. She eyes the now-empty road in front of her, acutely conscious of the angrily honking cars behind her, and thinks -- what is this changes something? Maybe all of this is... karma, or something. Maybe Cloud is some Beauty and the Beast-esque wizard who cursed her for ruining his morning. Who knows. She’ll take just about any explanation, at this point.

She pulls over to the side of the road, and by the time she gets out of the car, Cloud is already pulling himself out of the snow. “Hey, uh, sorry about that,” Laurel tells him stiffly. “My head is... somewhere else today. You okay?”

He glances at her in muted surprise. “...You actually stopped.”

“Yeah, I know. I surprise even myself sometimes.”

Cloud seems to be having trouble pulling his foot out of the snowbank, so Laurel awkwardly grabs him by the arm to help haul him out. That accomplished, they both awkwardly turn to stare at his fallen motorbike.

“You... need a ride into town?” Laurel asks finally.

Cloud shakes his head slowly, then crosses to the bike to pick it up off the ground. “It’s survived worse scrapes than this. Should be fine.”

“Right.” Laurel just kind of stands there for a moment. Nothing really feels different. “Well, I should... get to work, then.”

As she’s walking back to her car, though, Cloud calls after her -- “Thanks. For stopping.”

In spite of that, however, the only thing that ends up changing is that Laurel’s a little more late to work than usual, and Camille and Felix are a little more disapproving. Laurel can practically mouth along with the town mayor’s exclamation at the groundhog seeing its shadow, at this point. Six more weeks of winter.

Is that what it’s going to take? Six more weeks of this?

She just goes to the coffee shop out of habit, at this point -- and maybe also in part because familiar faces are all she has to cling to, at this point. This time, she at least manages not to give Dolores the full blast of her coffee spillage, but she does make sure to spill a little, if only so Dolores will stop and talk to her.

She’s not sure if that makes her pathetic or just an asshole.

“Sorry,” Laurel mutters, already pulling the napkins she snagged from the counter earlier out of her purse. Dolores’ immediate indignation seems slightly stifled as she takes them.

“...Have you ever tried watching where you’re going?” she asks with less bite than Laurel can remember in the previous two days.

“Yeah, I know.” She guesses she at least deserves that much. “I know you have a job interview, and I promise I’ll let you make it tomorrow, I just -- I don’t know. I’m trying to find ways to make all of this feel real.”

Dolores raises her eyebrows, and Laurel supposes it must be because there are at least three different elements of that response that make absolutely no sense to her. “Is that a television star thing?” she asks after a moment, dabbing gingerly at her coat. “Finding ways to make things seem more real?”

Laurel laughs halfheartedly. “I wish.”

She doesn’t know what else to say, so she just helps Dolores clean up until Cloud arrives on the scene.

“Everything --” His gaze shifts from Dolores to Laurel, and he pauses. “...Okay here?”

“Our special guest spilled her coffee on me,” Dolores explains dryly.

Cloud regards her bemusedly for a moment. “You sure are accident-prone.” When Dolores looks up in question, he goes on to explain, “She kind of helped me wreck my bike earlier this morning. But to her credit, she also helped me fix it.”

“Not really,” Laurel puts in, feeling inexplicably awkward. “I just kind of... stopped and watched you fix it.”

“Well. It’s the thought that counts.”

Dolores stares at her thoughtfully. “And here I thought someone with your big city schedule wouldn’t have the time.”

Laurel shifts a little. “Well, you don’t really know me.” Yet somehow she feels like that’s unfair when she’s spent the past few days being an asshole to Dolores, whether Dolores remembers it or not.

Dolores frowns at her faintly without comment. Then she turns to Cloud. “Since my interview’s off the table, we should try and hit the store before the storm rolls in.”

Cloud nods -- then, to Laurel’s surprise, he turns to her contemplatively. “You... want to come with us?”

Already resigned to dragging herself back to the inn for the day, Laurel stops in her tracks. On one hand, she doesn’t really need the supplies, since more likely than not she won’t have anything she buys by tomorrow morning. On the other hand, the offer kind of startles her. She realizes she’s waiting for Dolores to object -- but Dolores only glances at Cloud and then turns to watch her, waiting for an answer.

“Uh,” Laurel says, literally unable to think of a reason to refuse. Besides, it’ll probably look weird if she isn’t planning to stock up. “Sure. Why not.”

The three of them set off together without further fanfare. Laurel can’t help feeling a little awkward in their company, like some kind of third wheel, especially since Cloud doesn’t seem especially inclined to talk much (to her, at least). So she’s a little surprised when Dolores falls into step beside her, voice lowered.

“What did you mean, earlier -- when you said you’d let me make my job interview tomorrow?”

Oh. Laurel had kind of forgotten that had slipped out. She spends a moment trying to think up a response that sounds sane and reasonable, but comes up blank. Then she figures, well, what’s the worst that can happen if she tells the truth? Dolores will have forgotten by tomorrow.

“It’s gonna sound pretty crazy,” she warns. When Dolores only stares at her expectantly, she continues, “Okay, so this whole... morning. For me, it’s happened before. This is the third time, actually.”

Dolores doesn’t immediately look at her like she’s grown a second head, which Laurel supposes is something, but she does look sort of confused. “What do you mean, ‘happened before’? Like some sort of loop?”

“Yes. That.” Laurel watches her from the corner of her eye. “I don’t... really have an explanation, or anything, I just know that it does. Every day I’ve spent here I’ve woken up to the same stupid song, and a missed call from my sister, and almost killing Cloud on my way to work. Which I’m late for every single time, coincidentally. And then I go to that coffee shop and spill coffee all over you, and you -- usually get really mad at me.”

“Well. It was a very nice coat.”

Laurel snorts, and then backtracks. “ -- Wait. That’s it? You believe me?”

Dolores shrugs faintly. “I’m not sure. But you obviously believe you.” She pauses bemusedly, then adds. “This isn’t the kind of story people tell a stranger when they’re not completely convinced.”

Laurel thinks that over and concludes that she’s probably right. “So. Any idea what I should do? You know, hypothetically.”

She’s still a little surprised when Dolores seems to take her question seriously. “If it were me...” She trails off briefly, brow furrowed. “If I had to live the same day over and over again, I guess I’d try to make the most of it.”

“And how would you do that?”

“Well, everyone has mistakes that they wish they could go back and fix. Even from day to day. Things they wanted to say but didn’t, letters they never sent... or calls they never made.” Dolores gives her something of a pointed look. “Coffee they could’ve avoided spilling.”

Laurel tries to look at least a little bit sheepish at that, just out of common decency. “So... what. You think this might end if I finally get... whatever I’m supposed to get right?” It hadn’t worked with Cloud, but maybe that hadn’t been The thing. Or maybe she was supposed to get some kind of perfect score. Not do a single mean, dismissive thing to anyone.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Dolores says levelly. “...Either way, having infinite chances to get things right is something some people would kill for.”

Laurel doesn’t say much else after that, but she considers it the rest of the way to the store. And after they’re finished shopping, Cloud and Dolores surprise her by telling her about the blizzard party they’re planning - which isn’t much of a party, just stockpiling supplies and marathoning movies until the power goes out - and when they invite her along, Laurel swallows her shock long enough to accept.

It’s the stupid, cozy kind of thing she might have made fun of in some other context, but it ends up being the best afternoon she’s had in... well, actually, since even before all of this started.

She almost forgets, by the end of it, that Dolores and Cloud won’t remember her tomorrow morning. But she wakes up with Dolores’ words still ringing in her ears anyway.

The next few days and beyond roll out at a snail’s pace, but Laurel finds that it’s the diversifying that keeps her sane. At least, that’s the excuse she’s using for following Dolores’ advice.

It’s actually not that difficult, for instance, to avoid almost killing Cloud on the road into town. She lets him cut in front of her every morning now, and if she’s ever feeling particularly impatient or frustrated, imagining him catapulting into the snowbank once or twice is usually enough to suffice.

She tries to appreciate Camille and Felix a little more when she sees them, even if it mostly just seems to kind of weird them out. She’s usually a little more on time for work, too -- the one day she isn’t is because she stopped on a whim to buy everyone donuts, and afterwards, she decides it was mostly worth the collective sugar rush.

It’s funny, but after awhile, even Beacon Heights itself starts to seem a little less obnoxious. Maybe it’s because it’s all getting so familiar, or -- maybe there’s some kind of magic in looking at people, even the most cutesy, cliche, insufferable people, and trying to find something to like about them. It all starts to make her feel lighter, somehow, than she has in a long while. Even if it’s still pretty annoying when they get all hyped up over that damn groundhog.

She even gets into the habit of saying hi to Ratchet in the mornings, which seems to thrill him. She never does take him up on that coffee, though.

Largely because visiting the local coffee shop, kind of embarrassingly, has become the highlight of the day she’s living on repeat. The one thing she never tries to change. She’s stopped spilling her coffee on poor Dolores, of course, just like she promised -- actually, she finds that if she takes a seat at the diner’s counter and just waits for a little while, Dolores will usually talk to her when she comes in to order.

And Dolores is... nice to talk to. At first Laurel just chalks it up to her being one of the few vaguely sane-seeming people in this town, and the fact that Laurel herself doesn’t generally have a lot of friends. But as the days pass, and she gets new pieces to put together, she starts to realize they have more in common than she ever would have thought.

Dolores was an outsider here once, it turns out. She moved to Beacon Heights five years ago, and says she didn’t stop feeling like she didn’t belong until after the first year. And she has problems with her family, too -- turns out it was a father she was estranged from for awhile, not her sister, but her understanding when Laurel brings Sara up even in passing is nice.

One of the days, on an impulse she doesn’t even consciously process until it’s too late, Laurel asks Dolores if she wants to get dinner after her interview. It honestly kind of stuns her when Dolores accepts. Except it’s all so much that she honestly, genuinely forgets about the blizzard, and when they end up snowed in together she’s vaguely horrified at the idea that Dolores might think she’d planned this all along.

Not that Dolores really seems like she’d mind the idea. But Laurel doesn’t try anything anyway. Something about it feels too -- well, for Dolores, it’s only been a day, but for Laurel it’s been -- how long had it been? Had she actually lost track?

All the same. It doesn’t feel fair, somehow.

But when she wakes up the next morning alone, she becomes fully conscious of how much the thought that Dolores won’t remember her today - or any day - aches. And that’s when she knows she’s in trouble.

Romantic feelings are typically something Laurel tries not to tangle with, as a rule. She hasn’t really seriously dated since Ollie in college, a wound that - if she’s honest - she’s still not entirely sure she can call healed, but even the majority of her casual relationships since then have had a tendency to end badly.

Depressing as it is to wake up every morning smitten with a girl who has yet to have any idea who she is, Laurel occasionally wonders if it’s better that way. If she was given the option of a future with Dolores -- wouldn’t she just find some way to screw that up too?

This way, at least, she doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. Except sometimes she feels like if she did have the chance...

It’s just that Laurel’s never really bought into all that sappy shit about the people you really care about making you a better person, up until now. She tries to give herself some of the credit she can grudgingly admit she deserves, but it’s not just reliving the same day over and over and seeing the results of her differing choices that makes her want to be better.

It’s the way Dolores smiles at her when she does something kind. It’s the way Dolores seems to find sincere inspiration and appreciation in all the stupid, simple things about this town that Laurel once would have thought were just -- well, stupid and simple.

Maybe it’s that more than anything that has her sitting in her car on the latest of the now-uncountable mornings, staring at her phone. At the missed call from Sara. Fear and indecisiveness make her limbs feel rigid, but she knows she must look like an idiot sitting unresponsively in her unheated car, and the minutes before work are ticking away, so she hits the ‘Return call’ button before she can psych herself out of it.

Sara’s phone rings a few times. Laurel inevitably wonders if she’s changed her mind, decided Laurel’s not worth it after all, is just going to ignore the call and let it go to voicemail. Or maybe Sara had only called her by mistake in the first place. She’d never considered that. Maybe --

“Laurel?”

Laurel swallows when she hears her sister’s voice.

“Hey, Sara.”

There’s something of a disbelieving pause on the other end, but Sara’s voice sounds surprisingly warm when she finally responds. “I’m, uh -- I’m glad you called me back.”

“Yeah.” Laurel winces a little at the automatic response, and quickly adds -- “Uh, you didn’t leave a message, so I wasn’t sure if I was in trouble, or...”

“No! No, I -- just wanted to talk, I guess. ...It’s been awhile.” Sara still sounds a little hesitant, and Laurel feels like she’s walking on glass, but at the same time there’s hope starting to bubble in her chest.

“I missed you,” she says instead of whatever careful thing she’d planned on saying. By the time it actually registers, it’s too late to take it back, and all she can do is sit there, frozen, as silence stretches on the other end of the line.

And then, just as she’s sure Sara is going to rebuke her, remind her of all the reasons she has to be angry at and disappointed in Laurel, she hears Sara exhale shakily.

“I missed you too.”

“...And then she asked me to come visit her at her new place in New York. So I think I’m gonna head up there once I’m... once I’m done here,” Laurel finishes the story quietly.

Skipping the part (of course) where doesn’t know when she’ll be ‘done here’, and that by tomorrow, Sara won’t remember that she called. But Laurel will know she did. Laurel will know she can.

It feels like it means something, for all that most people would call this much repetition pointless.

“That’s sweet,” Dolores smiles at her warmly. “Family’s usually more willing to reconcile than we build them up to be in our heads. I remember my father was, after we went without speaking for almost a year.”

Laurel already knows this, of course, but she smiles back anyway.

They’re sitting in Dolores’ living room on the evening of the same day, warming themselves with hot cocoa as the snow piles up outside. It’s homier than Laurel can ever remember it feeling. She watches Dolores and hesitates a second.

“This isn’t going to make a lot of sense to you,” she begins carefully. “But without you, I never would have called her. So thanks.”

Dolores pauses, clearly surprised. “...But we hadn’t even met until this morning.”

“It’s... complicated.” Laurel tries to ignore the lump she feels forming in her throat. “I told you all about it once, and you just kind of... accepted it. Gave me some advice. It was pretty amazing, actually.” She doesn’t know why this time feels different.

Dolores doesn’t respond right away. She just watches Laurel carefully, almost as if she’s searching for something in her face. “You’re talking like we already know each other,” she says finally. “The funny thing is, part of me feels like that’s true.”

Laurel waits. Maybe because she’s hoping, just a little, that Dolores will somehow magically, miraculously remember everything. But Dolores just continues watching her contemplatively, even if there’s something in her eyes that seems... softer now.

Whatever it is, even if it’s something that neither of them will ever be able to define, it gives Laurel the last bit of courage she needs. And this time, it isn’t because she knows Dolores won’t remember anything tomorrow and that if she screws this up there won’t be any real consequences.

It’s because even if this day keeps resetting for the rest of forever, Laurel has figured out that these are the kinds of things that matter. And they always will.

“Listen,” she begins softly. “I’ve never been very good at... reaching out to people. I’ve always used this rounded logic where I’m better off alone for a laundry list of reasons, but the truth is, I really just don’t want to lose anyone else. And I know that probably sounds like a stupid excuse to stop trying for the rest of my life, so -- I’m not going to use it anymore.” She swallows.

“Because if we can connect like we did... today, then it doesn’t really hold up anymore. So thank you, Dolores. Really.”

She searches Dolores’ expression carefully, sincerely. By now, most of the light has gone out of the room and it’s just the firelight illuminating their features. It makes Dolores look softer, somehow. Laurel bites back the instinct to ignore the butterflies in her stomach when Dolores smiles at her.

“Sounds like you’re the one who did most of the work,” she says finally. Laurel considers that for a moment -- before Dolores slowly leans forward to kiss her.

It catches Laurel off guard, but only for a few seconds. Then she kisses back. It’s soft and careful and not particularly intense, and Laurel supposes she’ll never be able to put into words how much it means to her. But Dolores reaches up to touch the side of her face tenderly as they break apart, and Laurel lets herself get lost in the moment anyway.

Tomorrow, everything will be different. And the same. But tonight, she lets herself fall asleep on Dolores’ couch, nestled against Dolores herself, and can’t quite bring herself to regret it.

The sound of birds obnoxiously twittering outside the window wakes her. That by itself is odd, though it takes her a little while to shake the fogginess from her head and actually process why.

Birds. No Highway to Hell.

Laurel stirs and then, with sudden realization, bolts all the way upright. The next thing she processes is that her surroundings are relatively unfamiliar. And the next is that she’s accidentally woken the person sleeping next to her.

“Ow,” Dolores mumbles, stretching the stiffness from her limbs. “...Falling asleep on the couch is always less romantic in practice.”

“Dolores?” Laurel breathes, scarcely able to believe it. Dolores pauses mid-stretch, casting her a concerned look.

“What? Are you alright?”

It’s over. It’s -- tomorrow.

Laurel wracks her brain to try and pin down what it was that finally did it. Calling Sara? Her conversation with Dolores? The kiss?

Maybe it was less one thing and more a kind of building of a lot of them. That doesn’t make perfect sense to her right now, because it has to be eight in the morning at the very latest, and she’s still half-trying to wake herself up and acknowledge this is real.

But one thing that’s apparent to her with perfect clarity is that Dolores is still here. Next to her. Laurel gives in to a shaky smile. “Yeah,” she manages finally. “Yeah -- everything’s fine. Sorry, I was just having a -- a really weird dream.” She’s so relieved that she might have hugged Dolores, but she’s lucky Dolores doesn’t think she’s completely crazy as it is.

Dolores returns her smile a little uncertainly, but warmly. “I’m glad you woke me. I was going to offer to take you to breakfast, but I wasn’t sure what time you had to leave --”

Leave?

She’d given up on breaking free of the loop long enough to forget: the storm’ll be dying down now. Felix and Camille will be expecting her back on the road before too long.

All she really wants, though, is to stay here with Dolores, and go to breakfast at that stupid, cutesy diner, and then call her sister, and have a conversation that’ll stick this time. And maybe do something sappy like going for a walk through the snow afterwards.

She wants a hundred more days exactly like that. She’s not sure when the town she couldn’t wait to get away from became something close to home.

Laurel weighs all of this against the prospect of going back to a job that never really made her happy to begin with. As completely cliche as it is to admit, there’s probably something to be learned in all of this about the things that actually matter. And not wasting them.

“If I said I wanted to stay a little while longer,” she says slowly. “What would you think?”

Dolores sort of double-takes, like she’s not sure whether or not Laurel’s being serious. “...Can you do that?”

“What’s stopping me?” Laurel shrugs pointedly.

“But you --” Dolores stops, watching Laurel even more closely, and there’s something like wonder in her expression. It’s almost enough to make Laurel feel a little self-conscious. “ -- You really want to stay.”

Laurel can’t help but smile. “I’m pretty sure that is what I implied.”

Impulsively, Dolores leans forward and kisses her again, and this time Laurel is actually ready for it.

#christmas gifts #fic #larkspear #honestly i listened to the musical soundtrack a lot while writing this so i probs owe it more credit than the movie

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angstyteeninthegayscene · 6 years ago

Text

Punk Goes Pop-Klance au

I’ve got a lot happening in the next few weeks, so I’ll try to get pt 9 up in the next day or so, so y’all have something in case I don’t have time to write. Enjoy!

First-Previous-Next-AO3

Pt 8

The rest of the day was spent playing video games and eating junk food, allowing Shiro to let loose and Keith to feel a bit of normalcy after his stressful weekend. It neared 9 when Shiro called it quits, so he could grade a few papers before bed. Keith powered down the X-box and retreated to his room to go to bed early, so he could maybe get a decent amount of sleep.

PJ-clad and ready for bed, Keith crawled under the covers and unlocked his phone to pull up a podcast to listen to. He remembered Hunk telling him about the new video from his “internet rival” and switched from his podcast app to Youtube to check it out quickly. He looked through the comments of his Rihanna video and sure enough there it was.

BlueTailor69: I warned you, Brogaynes <www.youtube.com/fakelink>

He snorted and clicked. The page redirected to the video and Keith shook his head when he saw the title, smiling at its ridiculousness, Bring Me To Life Evanescence Remix- also known as Brogaynes is a terrible person and I hate him.

The song opened with an instrumental bit, heavy with anticipation, the beat gradually growing through the first verse. After the first line of the chorus, it dropped hard into a stretch of classic dubstep. The song repeated that pattern, slow build with samples of the original song and heavy drop, one more time before ending on a synthetic trill.

If Keith didn’t have a predisposed hatred of all things dubstep, he would have liked the song. He clicked into the description expecting another snide comment like last time, but it was empty. He scrolled through the comments and saw nothing there either. He thought that was a bit odd and out of character, but dismissed it because they’d never interacted, so there was no reason for him to know anything about this person’s character or be concerned.

He switched back to his podcast app, pulling one up, and closed his eyes. Before he knew it, the hosts said their outro an hour later and Keith was still very awake. He groaned and rolled over to grab his phone. He debated playing another one, but he didn’t feel anywhere near falling asleep, so he opened Twitter with the hope that some mindless scrolling would do the trick.

The racing in his mind gradually slowed as he went through his feed. He passed a list of recommended users, quickly scrolling back up for a double take. No way, he thought, his mind fully alert again, and clicked on the user profile. Sure enough, there it was. BlueTailor69 had a twitter and it was exactly what could be expected. The profile picture was a black background with Fuck You, Brogaynes in white Comic Sans and the description read, I exist solely to spite Brogaynes. Besides, he started it.

Keith couldn’t fight the disbelieving laugh that bubbled up as he scrolled through his tweets. They were pretty much all replies to Keith’s tweets, consisting mostly of various snips and jabs at the songs he covered. He looked again at the most recent tweet, linking to his Evanescence cover, his brows furrowing as he read the caption. Had a shitty weekend so cut me some slack. I can still hate you in any headspace though @BrogaynesMusic ;) That must have been why there was no sarcastic commentary on the video.

Before thinking it through, Keith hit the message button and typed out a quick You ok? Once it sent, he realized that that was probably a bad idea. This guy was likely some troll who just enjoyed fucking with people because he had nothing better to do with his life and wasn’t worth Keith’s time to be worried about. Before he could fully second-guess his decision, his phone pinged.

BlueTailor69: ???

Keith stared at the message bubble, just as confused as to why he was messaging this guy as he was.

BrogaynesMusic: You said you had a shitty weekend. Just asking if you were ok

You stalking me now brogaynes? Was ruining Beyoncé not enough for you?

No, you popped up in recommended and I was just trying to be nice. Sorry for caring. Keith huffed indignantly as he typed the message and sent it.

Dude im kidding lol

… oh

Sarcasm doesn’t translate well over messaging lol knew I should have used an emoji To answer your question, not really? I found out some stuff that upset me and then I was a dick about it Still need to apologize for that

I had a bad weekend too if that makes you feel better

You want me to revel in your sadness to cure mine?

No? just trying to sympathize

ik I was kidding again I really gotta use emojis with u dude

leave me alone

you messaged me broski

…fair sorry I shouldn’t have bugged you

Nah youre good man cant sleep anyway

same

we can talk to each other til we fall asleep, how romantic!! Rivals to lovers! They can make a movie about us! I totally ship it

why are you like this

I didn’t get enough attention as a child im sleep depraved and lucid I hate myself and veil my insecurities with humor take your pick

-_-

(－‸ლ)

Oooooooo fancy how u do that??

skill, you scrub

rude

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

That’s it ive decided your emoji game is too fly for me not to be in love w/ you

I just declared my love and all you have to say is k? K?

you bastard to think I ever loved you

are you always this dramatic

I was an attention-starved middle child. I learned fast

Makes sense going to school for acting then? wait, you’re not some creepy 56 year old who preys on people on the internet right??

Lol im a sophomore in college, music production major actually and I bet you really insulted some lonely 56 year old who scours the internet for companionship to fill his empty soul

Just checking

wbu? You’re not some 56 year old who lures people in with his deceptively youthful voice are you?

Nope, college sophomore too

See! That can’t be a coincidence, we were meant to be together!

Youre weird

Thx I try what are you in for?

Performing arts

Imma take a stab and say singing?

Yep

Nice you could go far with that

I thought you hated my music

Subject matter, not quality you have a really good voice

Thx

Youre supposed to say, you too

Fishing much?

I have a fragile ego and no concept of self worth, I need constant validation

Relatable I hate dupstep, but you’re not terrible

That was painful for you to say wasn’t it

A little, not gonna lie

Well Ill take it anyway :) u tired yet

Keith stifled a yawn as he got the last message.

Yeah a little

Im that boring huh

Shut up, you asked

ik lol feel free to sign off if youre ready to sleep

nah im goodigeudjlflllllllll

you feel asleep in your phone didn’t u lol good night dude

#punk goes pop au #klance #klance au #klance fluff #voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld #vld lance #vld keith #fanfic #fan fiction #klance fan fic #writing #my writing #Eliot's creations

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sl-walker · 6 years ago

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Ship Manifesto: Bail x Maul

I threatened it, so here it is. Since I have to go to work and I actually got some sleep last night.

When I went and remixed Wild Space for Witness me, I suspected that those two would hit it off, just based on their personalities. And while ten years of being a prisoner definitely took the sharp edges off of Maul and five years of being with Obi-Wan had taught him some (badly needed) interpersonal skills, more than he became even in canon TCW he’s still as inherently himself as he was when he went to Theed. Just-- a somewhat healthier self, hard as that might sometimes be to believe when he’s in the middle of a flashback and actually displaying his damage.

BUT ANYWAY. My guys. My ridiculously opposite, beautiful guys. Their first meeting had them both grinning and within two seconds bantering and within like five minutes, evoking solidarity against Obi-Wan’s bullheadedness, and then it just kept getting better.

Since this is a ship manifesto -- as in romantic ship -- I won’t spend too much time on their bromance, but I will say that whether or not you add the kissing and such, both versions of that relationship are fiercely mutual. And now, for the why:

Bail Organa in Canon/Legends: Genuine good guy. In a Republic rife with corruption, Bail not only manages to navigate it effectively, gaining the esteem even of some of his enemies, but he never lets go of his morals. He’s willing to play fast and loose with the rules, but every single time he does, it’s with his heart firmly in the right place. Any selfishness Bail has tends to manifest itself in wistfulness, not action; he wants to go home, he wants to be with Breha, he wants to not deal with all this, he wants the children they were going to have. Nonetheless, he stays on Coruscant. Faithfully serving his post, his Queen, his world, his Republic.

He’s an idealist. And an optimist. He has a draw to support the underdog. He has sharp edges because he’s also realistic. He rights wrongs when he can, using his cleverness and political acumen; he can read a crowd and often win them over to at least liking him, even when they don’t agree with him. He’s disarming and people admire him for his stand-up guy nature. He’s also brave; he’s willing to put himself under siege on Christophsis, and when everything else in the world is crumbling, the Jedi are being slaughtered, he was the only one with the courage to go and try to see what was happening at the Temple, then turn around and try to save what Jedi he could personally. He’ll pick up a blaster and follow Padmé into the streets. He’ll demand to go to Zigoola, citing his right to put skin in the game as the reason to. He’s incredibly loyal.

He’s not perfect. He leans a bit more on the booze than healthy. He’s got serious problems with his work/life balance; he works far too hard because Bail thinks -- unfortunately rightly, often -- that if he just lets it go, no one else will care enough or gain enough to do the work. Bail’s service-mindedness goes well beyond healthy; it’s painfully easy for him to get into the idea that he has to fix things, especially for people he cares for, and he’ll throw himself against the wall of that and beat himself bloody if he can’t. And while this genuine love and esteem can be a good trait, it also can become self-destructive. He can get snappish and churlish, but usually only when he’s provoked into it (hello Obi-Wan); still, once you do get his blood up, Bail can dish it out as well as he can take it.

But really, Bail has no problem with positive regard. There’s no evidence that the man carries any prejudices based on species or class. He’s honorable; when he says he’s going to do something, he does his very best to do it. He believes in honesty, even if he’s willing to lie by omission; still, his heart is always in the right place, and damned if I can find a single piece of canon or Legends evidence that his heart is anything but pure gold.

Maul in canon/Legends: Undeniably abused. Badly. Consistently. Has the social skills of a rancor with a tooth ache. Psychological minefield of paranoia and can’t trust anyone or anything, sometimes not even himself, in terms of recollection/etc. If you want to know all about how bad Maul is messed up, you can go through his tag on my blog; there’s a lot there. So, let’s go into the relevant points.

He’s lonely. Painfully, desperately lonely, and he doesn’t even know how to quantify it, but it bleeds through his actions. He’s desperate for approval -- mostly his Master’s, but also Kilindi’s and Trezza’s and even the damn Jedi, if you dig far enough. Sure, he wants to kill them, but he wants to do it fairly and honorably because he doesn’t want his victory to be cheap or stolen and he wants them to know that they’re fighting an honorable foe.

He’s highly intelligent, but his ability to make proper use of it has suffered for his abuse; he struggles to grasp a lot of concepts, like creativity and philosophy. He struggles to understand politics. He struggles to understand the very galaxy; like, they literally said that, that Maul doesn’t quite get how it all works. Still, he is sharp and very adaptable and malleable, especially when he’s younger.

He understands and believes in fairness and honor, even if both of those are skewed by his upbringing. He’s agonizingly, painfully loyal, and it takes being abandoned to go mad, after finding out that Sidious might have lied to him about his future as a Sith Lord, before he even stops being loyal. But the moment Savage comes into the picture, Maul’s again loyal, this time to someone who actually deserves it; enough to abandon battle with Obi-Wan Kenobi for the sake of his brother.

He has chinks in his hard, fucked up armor. He absolutely respects a clever, honorable foe, enough to stand between them and death (Komari Vosa), or get pissed off at someone maybe killing an ally who stood with him enough to take revenge (Eogan); he tries to reassure Patch Bruit even as he’s advancing on the man with a lightsaber, in his hella awkward earnest way. He responds to offers of friendship -- Kilindi, sadly Deenine (one of his own damned abusers) -- with an almost painful need, and while he’s not given opportunity once he’s older, somewhere all that lurks, because he’s still naming droids and bikes.

There lies a wellspring of patience in him, even when he’s young, especially towards his droids (or even other peoples’ droids); his ability and willingness to teach is built somewhere with this as a brick when he’s older and teaching his brother.

He often reflects his treatment; how you treat him does inform how he would treat you. This is delicate, obviously, you can’t just walk up to him, throw arms around him and sob (though I definitely relate to the desire to), but someone good at reading people could very likely strike the right note to reach him without putting him too far on the defensive.

And Maul can perceive truthfulness. He can sense when someone’s being honest or lying, if they aren’t shielding their intentions.

Why they work: Leaving aside the logistics issue, and just focusing on their personalities--

Bail has a thing for the underdog; they don’t get much more underdog than Maul.

Maul is desperately lonely; having the honest, positive regard of anyone would be novel enough it might even short out his brain. But even if it didn’t, it would absolutely throw him off balance.

Both of them are honorable and believe in fairness. Both of them build a giant chunk of themselves around that.

Both of them are loyal, and once you have that loyalty, it takes so terribly much to break it.

Bail is innately kind. Maul absolutely responds to kindness; he wouldn’t know what to do with it, it would make him uneasy probably at first, but boy, plant that seed and he’d keep bending towards it like a plant to water.

Bail’s purity of purpose -- to serve, to do good -- would resonate with Maul, because he also does the same! He serves his master and tries desperately to gain his approval -- to do good in Sidious’s eyes.

Neither of them are cowards; both are willing to put their lives on the line for an objective. For Bail, this is usually missions of mercy; for Maul, it’s usually in service to his Master, but either way, they’re both brave and determined.

While Maul doesn’t have much chance in canon or Legends to show his sense of humor, what tiny flickers we get of it shows a dry wit. Bail would get that and play to it.

Neither of them are innately selfish. Maul’s idea of selfishness is wanting acknowledged for doing good -- and if that’s not painful to think about, he also mentally beats himself up for just wanting that -- and Bail’s is to be wistful for a less heavy burden to carry.

There are more -- obviously -- but those are more than enough drydock to build a ship in.

Just aesthetically? They’re both gorgeous, sheesh. Take the snarl away, and Maul’s absolutely his own kind of beautiful, and Bail-- well. Frankly, if you don’t think he’s hot, I don’t even know how you’re breathing, maybe you’re not, maybe we should check your pulse. (Joking. Mostly.) Bail’s a head taller and overall just big, but Maul’s definitely no wilting little violet; he’s small (or smaul), but he has muscle, agility and grace.

Scenarios it could work in canon (adjust for Queen Breha as needed, because I absolutely love her, too):

GoT:A, obviously. Heh. There, Maul gets tossed into prison at age twelve (preceding poor Boba having the same done to him), Bail sees him on a tour when Maul’s fifteen and decides, “Nope, I’m not leaving him there.” Takes him home, gives him stability and infinite patience and kindness and waits out the psychological damage manifesting itself, and does not realize that three years after that first sighting, Maul will be desperately, achingly pining for him, and in another two, will finally steel up enough to take a huge risk and kiss him.

Literally any scenario where Maul’s cut loose in some way Bail can encounter him, pre-Theed, in canon. If you throw that kid into the wind at that age, he’s so ill-prepared to deal with the galaxy that he’d eventually grab hold with drowning desperation to any kind of purpose or direction. Extra easy if Sidious is somehow dead.

Orsis gets raided.

Maul actually gets fucked up enough on some mission to land in a reputable hospital and can’t make an easy escape for whatever reason, injury or illness.

Sidious sends his apprentice before he’s ready to take a hit out on Bail and Maul flubs it somehow, thus landing himself in custody.

Post-Theed, but Maul gets captured before Lotho Minor; somehow, the Jedi don’t keep custody of him, and he ends up again imprisoned by the Republic. His plight’s so bad there that when Bail finds out that he exists and what he’s had to live like, he starts doing something about it.

Rebellion-era: man, you could mine this one like gold. Maul wants to hurt his master, Bail needs every skilled rebel he can get his hands on. They work together for years.

Radical AU scenarios:

Anything. Their chemistry is such that could make anything work with enough thought and care.

In conclusion: They have the exact kind of personalities to dovetail. Bail has the kind of decency and kindness and honor that it wouldn’t take much for Maul to want to live up to expectations for him. And Maul has his odd, guileless charm and a sweet streak that might get buried as he gets older, but that Bail would just find, dig out and nurture. Maul would be a fierce protector of Bail; Bail would be the support and steady love and patience Maul really needs to reach his best possible self. They would bring out a lot of each others’ best traits easily. Maul would lean on Bail to work less and live more; Bail would encourage Maul to take a chance on trying new things, talking to new people. They would likely have a very kind relationship with each other, and man, both of them could use all the kindness in the galaxy.

So, what are you waiting for? XD Go write some. Or I’ll just keep writing it (and begging for more).

#bail organa #maul #ship manifesto

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dannofaust · 5 years ago

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I know that I need to get out and do some long days on the river this summer to prepare for my Mississippi trip next year, so I thought I’d do the Des Plaines River Canoe & Kayak & Kayak Marathon. I have something in common with this event. We both got our start in 1958, so this was the 62nd edition of the race. It was started by the late Ralph Frese, who owned and operated the Chicagoland Canoe Base. You can read more about the history of the race here: Des Plaines Canoe & Kayak Marathon

Last year the the event got cancelled due to a dangerously high water level. With the wet Spring that we have been experiencing throughout the Midwest in general and heavy rains locally, I was a bit worried that the event would be cancelled again. Thankfully that was not the case. The river was high, but not dangerous on the day of the event. The Des Plaines River gage near Des Plaines, IL was reading about 850 cfs with a gage height of about 11 feet when I launched my kayak at 9 a.m..

A safety bulletin was issued by the event organizers warning inexperienced participants about the dangers on the river and offering a full refund. They also instituted a mandatory lifejacket rule requiring every participant to wear a properly fitting and approved lifejacket. I always wear mine anyway, so that was no big deal. No one else seemed to be bothered by the requirement either. Anywhere from 700 to 1000 participants were expected this year. That’s a lot of people on a river that’s not very big. As always , safety was paramount.

I left the house around 6:30 a.m., so I arrived at the Put-In a few minutes after 8:00 a.m.. Right on time. It really didn’t leave any time to shuttle my car though, so I resigned myself to doing the car shuttle after the river trip.

The event was very well run and organized. As with anything in the city, space was at a premium. Everything was crowded at the put-in. Parking was good … well … it was great by Chicago standards because it was free and only about a block away from the put-in. Traffic control at the put-in and take-out was very well organized by the local police. Everyone was helpful and friendly.

The Put-In.

It rained for just a little while at the end of the trip. Otherwise the weather was pretty good for a long day of paddling hard. It was overcast most of the day, with occasional sunshine. It was windy though. The wind was brutal sometimes, especially near the end of the trip. There were powerful gusts blowing directly upriver which were intensified as they squeezed below the bridges at Willow and Milwaukee Roads.

I was struck by how slow I was compared to some other Paddlers. I was moving pretty well and going faster than many others, but I was still slower than many Paddlers who were in boats that I would have thought would be slower than my boat. I guess it just goes to show me that the paddler makes a big difference, it’s not just the equipment.

I was also amazed at how fast some of the SUP’s were. At one point, I looked over my right shoulder and saw a guy coming up fast to pass me. At first, I would have sworn he was standing up in the cockpit of a surf ski, but as he passed me I could see that he was paddling a very sleek ( and very fast ) SUP. It made me want to try one.

There are trails flanking the Des Plaines on both sides most of the way along this river section. There are also quite a few foot bridges that make crossing the river from one trail to the other convenient. These foot bridges also serve as great observation points for volunteers who keep track of which participants pass their location.

I was surprised by how consistent my speed was over the entire route. No matter how hard I paddled, my average speed was incredibly consistent. My moving average speed never changed by more than 0.1 mph.

A little current can make a big difference in the speed of my boat. I had a top speed of 8.3 mph, but that was obviously just for a short distance while the current was swifter through one small section of the river. I could feel the current pushing the kayak along faster, so I gave a dozen hard and quick strokes with my paddle to achieve this top speed.

The DesPlaines river is beautiful. If you live in the Chicago area and want to paddle somewhere close by, the DesPlaines River is a great choice, but this section of the river was not exactly a wilderness experience. There was loud traffic and airplane noise along most of the trip. I did see a fair share of wildlife, but there were also plenty of reminders that this is an urban river. I’m glad I did this river section, but I probably won’t be rushing back here anytime soon. There are many more enjoyable places closer to home for me.

After a couple of hours of paddling down the river I realized that I forgot to bring my paddling gloves. This came to my attention because I had a hot spot on my right thumb. This spot has been a problem in the past. My paddling style puts too much pressure on this one spot. If I wear gloves it’s no problem. Without gloves I get a blister. Oh well. I guess I’ll remember next time.

I found a bobber! It’s a little game I play whenever I am on the river. I try to spot a lost bobber. I spun around and picked the bobber out of a bush along the shore. Some paddlers passing by commented that I was cleaning up river debris. I just smiled and put the bobber in the pocket of my life jacket, not wanting to make myself seem any more peculiar than I probably already seemed to them. How strange would they have thought I was if I had told them about all the bobbers I have collected while paddling. My bobber quest completed, I continued my journey downstream, with a silly little grin on my face.

I covered the 18.5 miles in just under 4 hours. The higher than average water level undoubtedly helped carry us along and aided our swift progress. I averaged 5.1 mph while moving and 5.0 mph overall. I only paused for a few moments when my spray skirt came loose and for a short break to have a snack. My GPS recorded my “stopped time” as being under 10 minutes, but I think that was because even when I stopped for a break or to refasten my sprayskirt, I was still moving around a bit by the current. The bottom line for me is that I can cover the river miles if I have to.

Another lesson is that I need to be in better condition. This trip took a toll on my body. It will also be wise to start out slow and build river miles as I progress along on my Mississippi River trip. If I push too hard, especially early in the trip, I may actually slow myself down because of the toll on my body. Paddling isn’t as much fun when your body is hurting.

Paddling with a whole river full of other Paddlers was fun, but it’s not the experience that I’m looking. Canoe and kayak racers are not the most friendly bunch. This is understandable because they are trying to maintain their focus and perform well during the race. Some racers were nice enough to let me know that they were about to overtake me by saying “on your right” or “on your left” in a friendly voice as they approached me from behind. I thanked them whenever this happened. Neither of us wanted to have a collision and it was often times difficult to keep track of the many racers approaching from behind.

Only one “racer” slowed his pace to visit for a few moments. He commented “Nice boat” as he was overtaking me. I replied that he was moving quickly and turned to see that he was paddling a Tsunami 165 ( a longer version of my Tsunami 145 ). I quickened my pace to visit with him for a bit and then he graciously sped away to continue the race. He is preparing for the MR340 and this was his first race of the season. I wish him well. I hope that he will continue to be friendly and out going, even when it slows him down a little. Those few moments when he slowed down to talk to me where the highlight of the paddle for me. I wish I had got his name, but there just wasn’t time. Racing … it’s not for me.

I’m not a racer and that’s OK. I like goals though. I can push myself and manage time to reach a goal. This event helped me figure out how to pace myself. It showed me what kind of river miles I can do. That way I can make my goals more realistic and achieve them without hurting myself or getting frustrated.

My main takeaways for the day were that over the course of an all day paddle, paddling harder isn’t necessarily going to increase my overall average speed. Maintaining a consistent speed, conserving my energy, and just keep moving are the things that will get me down river further each day.

The Take-Out.

The take-out was well organized and efficient, for the most part. Some paddlers didn’t seem to grasp the concept of taking turns when it came time to approach the narrow boat ramp at the take-out.

Portaging my boat and equipment to and from the river was physically the most difficult and challenging part of my day. The portaging is what took the biggest toll on my body. Thank goodness for the volunteers who were helping people at the takeout. The young woman who carried the bow of my kayak up from the river at the takeout was a real life saver. My legs were stiff from sitting in the kayak and I was pretty worn out. I don’t think I could have do it alone.

The shuttle bus was waiting when I got all of my gear squared away, so I hopped aboard and rode back to Libertyville. We were dropped off just a few yards from where my car was parked and soon I was headed back to Glenview to pickup the Tsunami and the rest of my gear. There were still people coming in off of the river and plenty of others milling around waiting for the awards ceremony. I didn’t plan to stick around for that, so I hoisted the kayak and lugged it over to the car. it wasn’t far, but once I got to the edge of the parking lot I set the boat down on the grass and started unloading it into my car, which was just on the other side of the narrow parking lot. Once the boat was unloaded, and much lighter, I hoisted it again and put it on the roof of my little Mirage. I quickly secured the kayak and double checked that I had not left anything behind. Then it was time to start heading home. Traffic was terrible. I do not like driving in Chicago. Pontiac, IL never looked so good.

“Blessed are those who see beautiful things in humble places where others see nothing.” – Camille Pissarro

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Des Plaines River Canoe & Kayak Marathon I know that I need to get out and do some long days on the river this summer to prepare for my Mississippi trip next year, so I thought I'd do the Des Plaines River Canoe & Kayak & Kayak Marathon.

#Canoeing #dan fast #Dan Faust #DesPlaines River #Glory Days #kayak

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