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daddywright · 8 months ago

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY APOLLO JUSTICE 🥳 I'M GONNA WHUMP YOUR ASS LIKE IT'S 2013!

In all seriousness, to celebrate our favorite orange lawyer, I've decided to reward everyone who's commented on "it never rains" lately with such lovely words of encouragement with a big-ass excerpt for the latest installment of pressureverse. I hope you enjoy it!! It's been coming to this point for a long time, and it's finally here. To the star of the show, I can only say... it's gonna be rough, buddy. Happy birthday!

Read below for the excerpt!

Miles

"Phoenix."

Low, distracted humming pauses over the sound of a bubbling saucepan. "Hmm?"

"Is tonight a special occasion?"

A spate of blinking as Phoenix turns to look at him, cheeks vibrant from the steam. There's tiny red drops of tomato spattered onto his shirt, and the counter is a familiar mess of half-used ingredients. It's Friday evening, after all, and on weekdays that keep him at the office late, his arrival home tends to greet him with a hurricane coastline in the kitchen. Luckily, Trucy is absorbed watching television in the living room, or it would be a category event.

"Huh? Special?"

His mouth threatens a smile watching the cogs spin in his husband's eyes, seeking potentially overlooked data, and he edges close to gently tap the wine bottle in Phoenix's left hand.

"Given that you're no fan of reds, one can only assume you're intending to treat me. Unless, of course, your intent is to make pasta sauce with a two hundred dollar French vintage. Either way, I'm flattered."

"T- Two hundred dollars?" Phoenix wheezes, eyes bulging at the bottle in his hand. His own smile breaks at the confirmation of ignorance, and he swallows a small chuckle as Phoenix carefully places the wine onto the countertop like it's a loaded gun. "Why do we even have wine that expensive?"

"It was a gift from the Japanifornian ambassador of Borginia. I'm sure it's a fine vintage, though it may be wasted in a bolognese."

"Jeez," Phoenix mutters. Without warning or opposition, his head tilts to thump against Miles's shoulder. "Well, I’m glad I didn't open it yet. I would have drowned myself. Or bribed Trucy to help me cover up the crime."

"That seems somewhat drastic," Miles hums, absorbing the warmth of Phoenix's cheek through his dress shirt.

“Two hundred dollars,” Phoenix repeats, with fervor. Miles doesn’t voice the thought it might have been worth the entertainment of his panic, knowing it will earn him a night of mockery over his perspective on personal economics. Contrary to popular opinion, he does know how much basic items should cost at the supermarket.

“Anyways... how was work?”

“Nothing unusual,” he replies, as Phoenix straightens up to resume his food preparation. His mouth twitches, weary, as Phoenix reaches for a knife and begins to start chopping an onion, already skinned and halved on a nearby cutting board. “Though... Franziska called today.”

“Yeah? She wrap up that arms-trafficking case yet?”

“Of course,” he says, dismissive— as if it would pose an obstacle— and pauses. He listens for the sound of the television in the next room, blaring familiar orchestra, and continues. “She didn’t call to talk about her work.”

Phoenix’s chopping slows, but he doesn’t look up. “Yeah?”

His stomach prickles with apprehension. “She’s growing... impatient,” he says lowly. “As you can well imagine.”

Phoenix’s shoulders form a tense line. “...I can.”

He still doesn’t look Miles’s way, chopping slow and steady. Miles shifts his jaw.

“She was accommodating, acquiring those records for us last month. But she is not a woman who appreciates being left out of the loop. Especially when she has suspicions about its connection to her work on the taskforce.”

Suspicions with ample justification. The progress she’s made with Interpol in the last few years has been more than impressive— contract killers have been a particular bone in his sister’s jaw ever since the Engarde case, years ago, and hounding the shadowy trails of men like De Killer has driven her to remarkable success with a taskforce under Interpol’s umbrella. Olga Orly’s testimony before her conviction had drawn Franziska’s predatory eye, and Miles had welcomed it, given the threat that woman could have posed to his family.

However... Franziska hasn't been apprised of all they've uncovered, and capable as she is, she’s begun to suspect as much.

It's been a point of contention. For several weeks, in fact. But Phoenix is a stubborn man.

Miles watches him silently stir the sauce, and quietly readies his own stance.

The facts being what they are, he understands Phoenix's point of view. Whoever hired Orly to murder Zak Gramarye did so to keep him from sharing information about Thalassa. Since the trial, they've examined seemingly every angle of the incident that led to her supposed death— but in the months that’ve passed since, finding any leads has proven more difficult than it should have been. Even with Kay’s best efforts, it’s increasingly clear that information about Thalassa has been wiped clean from nearly every avenue of government documentation— a feat that shouldn’t seem possible, given the fame and notoriety that the Gramarye family achieved at the height of their success. It coincides, however, with what Orly had implied during the last moments of her trial— that the person who hired her was someone of extreme political or financial influence.

Someone desperately wants Thalassa to stay buried. They have no evidence to suggest who, or why. They haven’t even been able to verify that she is alive, as Zak claimed. All that’s certain is that the truth is something that a certain party is willing to kill over, and because it’s all they know— because they are grasping at straws against a shadowy danger, and have been for months— he has made concessions.

He had reluctantly agreed, when Phoenix first told him, that the truth about Thalassa should be kept secret from Trucy. Not because she needed to be shielded from the possibility, but because they knew her too well. Trucy wouldn't be able to resist searching for her mother on her own time, and that posed an unacceptable danger. Loath as he was to conceal such a critical thing from her, he and Phoenix agreed her safety was paramount, with themselves still so much in the dark.

As a result, he’s grown accustomed to dodging his daughter’s earshot, in recent months. He despises how habitual it has become. However, as of today, he’s determined his agreement to secrecy will no longer extend to their other loved ones.

“It's time," he says, to his husband’s stubborn back. “At this point, she’s going to be furious that we didn’t tell her what we discovered sooner.”

“Miles,” Phoenix says, and the unspoken slant to his voice— the we’ve talked about this layered within—makes Miles’s stomach clench with irritation. “... You know how I feel about this. It’s not—”

“Do you doubt my sister’s capabilities?” he interrupts, before he can hear the same justification he’s heard a dozen times before. “Do you consider her untrustworthy?”

“No,” Phoenix says pointedly, knife stilling, “you know I trust her, so don’t try to make it sound like—”

“We are making little headway on our own, and she is a talented investigator,” he presses, pride rankling. “I understood your hesitation, at first, but—”

“Hesitation?” Phoenix issues, voice edging on a hiss. “I’m not being hesitant, I’m thinking about safety here.”

“Franziska can look after herself. She is more than capable—”

Phoenix puts down the knife, hard enough to clack against the cutting board wood. “We still have no idea who we’re dealing with or how influential they are. Just because Franziska’s Interpol doesn't mean she's untouchable. Besides, the more people poking around into Thalassa, the more likely we are to tip them off!”

“We are less effective on our own,” he counters, voice flinty. “And if our investigation brings danger to our doorstep, we’re putting others at risk by keeping them in the dark.” And it speaks to the core of what’s been eating his conscience, for months on end— not just the deception, but the potential danger that comes with it. “The people we trust to ask for help— they deserve the facts as we know them.”

Phoenix is stiff, now, staring into the boiling pot of marinara sauce. Shoulders squared. Muscles bunched in his jaw. Miles hates it. Hates the tension and anger coiled in Phoenix’s body, hates that he erased the calm he found when he came home. But he isn’t willing to bend anymore.

“I can’t,” Phoenix grits out. “I can’t be— I can’t put them in danger, Miles.”

“I am not asking your permission,” he replies, cutting, and Phoenix’s nostrils flare. “Just because you hide the truth from your sister, doesn’t mean I will lie to mine.”

Phoenix’s head snaps his direction, and they finally meet eyes. “That’s not fair,” he says, oversharp. “Goddamn it, Miles. You think I like this?”

“I think you’ve confused silence for protection,” he argues, glacial, and when Phoenix visibly reels back, eyes alight with it, he strikes first. “And I am just as guilty. Because I have allowed you to do so.”

Phoenix’s open mouth stalls, face flickering. Miles feels his stomach roll under the emotion on his face, having spoken the realization he’s been turning over in his head for days. He knows— has always known— the kind of man that Phoenix is. And that kind is a fool.

A stubborn, reckless, determined fool. A stalwart of belief. A man who triumphed with his mastery of evidence, on their control and righteous reveal. A man who would work himself broken to help someone who needed it, and who would suffer every burden in silence, if he could manage it. Even if the cost was great. Even if his sacrifice was unnecessary.

Miles is guilty of the same mistake that others have made, when it comes to his fool. Guilty in assuming that because Phoenix is capable, it means he is right.

He is capable. So much so it has put stars in Miles’s eyes. But he can be blind, too, in that what others might consider selfish, Phoenix finds responsible.

“I have allowed you to carry this,” he says softly, “because I was willing to do what I thought you needed, after the trial.” For you to feel safe. So you didn’t feel powerless. “But I cannot call fighting on your own what you need.”

“I... I’m not on my own,” Phoenix says, former anger cut in half in his voice. I have you, it means, and affection sweeps warm and painful into his chest.

"No,” he agrees. “But they aren’t children, anymore. Franziska and Maya neither need nor want your protection, if it means you do not have their support. And the same goes for your proteges.” Slowly, he reaches out a hand. Phoenix hesitates, only to sigh and take it.

“Look at me.”

Phoenix does. Their fingers slowly tangle.

“They act in your footsteps. Do you want them to learn this habit? To feel too afraid to ask you for help, out of concern for your wellbeing?”

Phoenix stares at him, hand warm in his, and closes his eyes. “...Damn it,” he whispers. His expression fractures. “...I hate when you’re this right, Miles.”

“You hate when you are wrong,” Miles corrects bluntly. “But that is something we both can be forgiven for, on occasion.”

“M’sorry.” Phoenix’s fingers tighten around his hand. “I— I shouldn’t have made you choose. Between me and Franzi.”

“It was not a choice. It was a strategic delay. I was always going to inform her.”

A humorless huff. “Okay, sure. But you waited. Because I asked you to.”

“Yes.” It’s unnecessary, to say what he meant by doing so, but Phoenix’s fingers squeeze around his regardless.

“I know I’ve been... paranoid, lately,” Phoenix admits, face shadowed with regret. “I— It just feels like. I don’t know. Like if I take a breath, then—”

Miles’s chest cramps. Phoenix hasn’t taken on a client himself since the trial, too focused on supervising Justice and Cykes and spending the rest of his time following leads on Thalassa. He’s noticed certain habits worsen. More often, his husband’s hand seeks the inside of his coat when they leave the house. More often, he wakes to find their bed empty. And it’s just one more reason why he resolved himself to tell the truth to Franziska.

They need to resolve this as quickly as possible. Not just for Trucy’s sake, or to catch a murderer, but because he’s reached his own limit. For dead-end leads, for withheld truths, and for the dark circles that have made a permanent home beneath Phoenix’s eyes.

"We will keep doing what we can,” he says. “But now, we will have more help.”

“I’ll call Maya tomorrow morning,” Phoenix says, sighing. “She’s gonna rip my head off.” Miles says nothing, because it is true. “I hate making her worry, Miles. Especially with all this tension going on between her and the Khura’inese envoys...”

“If you do not inform her, Franziska will beat you to it,” Miles says, to curb any chance of cowardice, and Phoenix grimaces.

“Ugh.”

With Phoenix on the ropes, he maintains momentum. “And your juniors?”

Phoenix shifts uneasily. “I... don’t know. Athena’s still adjusting and I can tell something’s... bothering her, right now. And if I tell Apollo, he’ll have a meltdown, and Trucy will be able to guess we’re all keeping something from her. It’s bad enough just we are. I want her to have them to turn to, if the worst happens and she’s...”

Heartbroken, he doesn’t say, and Miles feels the guilt of it lance across his stomach. “You have a point,” he admits, unhappily. They are, the lot of them, remarkable in their abilities, but even the single day he spent with the capability to sense falsehoods had proven overwhelming. There was a time in his youth that he wished more than anything that he was better at understanding and relating to other people. But the older he becomes, the more he realizes his own challenges are far more preferable to the burden of understanding too much.

“But if the time comes,” he begins, the memory of Apollo Justice awkwardly wrapped in Phoenix’s arms blooming in his mind, “don’t discount their—”

“Shit,” Phoenix yelps, and Miles blinks to the distinct smell of burning. “The sauce, oh my God, I forgot to stir it—”

“Daddy.” Trucy’s voice comes, worried, from the living room, and Miles watches Phoenix fumble with the gas, muttering curses.

“Yeah, sweetie, I’ve got it, nothing’s ruined—”

“Daddy,” Trucy says again, but there’s no relief in it. “Papa. I think you need to see this.”

They both frown, glancing at one another. Phoenix shuts off the stove, and they abandon the kitchen for the living room, the sound of a newscast filling Miles’s ears as they draw close.

“Truce?”

"Daddy,” Trucy says, turning from the TV. Her face is pale, ringing alarm bells in his mind. “Something bad happened downtown. I saw people talking about it online and turned on the news and...”

Miles turns to the television, the reporter’s voice increasing as Trucy dials up the volume. A reporter, standing in front of what looks like the GYAXA center downtown, above the headline at the bottom of the screen—

TRAGEDY AT COSMOS SPACE CENTER.

“...Coming to you live from the scene, we have the latest report from investigators about the terrible tragedy that took place at GYAXA mission control, moments before the long-anticipated launch of the HAT-2 space missile.”

Trucy gasps, and Phoenix draws in a quick, horrified breath. The name is familiar but Miles can’t immediately place it, attention locked onto the screen.

“Early this morning, authorities were notified that two devastating explosions had rocked the facility. The base is under lockdown after emergency responders were cleared to enter to rescue staff members on site. Currently, LAPD can neither confirm or deny that the fallout was a result of catastrophic failure or criminal act, but sources say that there has, in fact, been an arrest made. Though we are still waiting for final confirmation, we can report there has been one confirmed casualty.”

“Please,” Trucy whispers.

“GYAXA Director Yuri Cosmos released a statement moments ago, confirming the identity of the staff member lost to this tragedy.”

The screen flickers, and an older man stands at a podium draped in the GYAXA flag. His stern, aged face is layered with grief.

“It is with deep sorrow and regret that I must announce the tragic loss of one of our brightest and most talented young pilots. It is our hope that the authorities can get to the bottom of this senseless tragedy, so that we can honor the life he lived, and acknowledge his contribution to humanity’s dream of transforming the next frontier. My condolences go out to the friends and family of one of our best, taken too soon. GYAXA Flight Engineer Clay Terran... may the stars welcome you home.”

“No,” Trucy croaks, a horrible sound of denial. “No.”

Horrorstruck, he watches the portrait fill the frame. A young, familiar face, smiling into the camera, holding a helmet in hand. A face he’s seen at Christmases, birthdays, and graduations. A face he’s seen grinning at his child, making her squeal as he swung her around, laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Oh, God,” Phoenix whispers, and he turns to see grief, decimating his husband’s face.

Sobs break into his ears, Trucy covering her eyes and crumpling in on herself. Miles watches, paralyzed, as Phoenix moves robotically to her side. She grasps fingers in his shirt, weeping.

“Daddy. What—what do we do?”

Miles’s heart closes shut. Phoenix’s face breaks, stroking their daughter’s hair.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, voice cracking. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry—”

“How do we tell him? What do we do?”

Trucy looks up, and her face cuts a wound in Miles’s chest.

“Polly,” she says, and beneath her grief is a horrible desperation. “We have to go get him, Daddy. Polly.”

Watching this new pain dawn on Phoenix’s face, Miles feels his heart break cleanly in two.

xXXx

Phoenix

He knocks, then lets himself in.

He pockets the spare key by the door, quietly leaving his shoes near the shoe rack. He pads barefoot over linoleum, and there’s a mew as Mikeko chirrups quietly at his arrival, weaving around his ankles as he moves through the living room.

The apartment is dim and quiet. No lights, the last of the blue hour soaking into night. In the living room, the TV flickers over the news. It’s the same channel he last saw, with images of flames burning over Cosmos, and the reporters’ mouths move in muted silence. His heart climbs and calcifies in his throat.

He keeps going. Passing the hallway, drifting into the kitchen where Mikeko trots ahead of him.

He steps inside, and finds the cat curled at the feet of his owner. Apollo stands in the kitchen, barefooted. His back turned, hair curled damp on his neck from a recent shower.

He’s staring at the sink. Doesn't turn at the sound of footsteps.

Phoenix swallows. “Hey,” he says. Soft and low so there's no chance of surprise, in case his entrance wasn't heard.

Apollo doesn’t respond. In the silence, he can say nothing. He stares at Apollo’s back, throat closing shut.

That sweatshirt’s too big for him, he thinks faintly. Makes him look small.

Slowly, in heavy heartbeats, he watches Apollo take in a breath. Straighten his shoulders.

“I was going to meet you there.”

The sound of his voice makes Phoenix’s stomach sink.

Level. Steady. Completely untouched.

Oh, kid. He sucks in a breath, and he lets it go. “...Meet me where?” he asks.

“The station.” Calm. Too calm. “They arrested someone.”

His heart clenches, and then he understands. God, he does.

“Apollo,” he says, the whole name, and Apollo finally turns.

“I need to see them.”

Apollo's face is colorless. Empty. His gaze is unfocused, and in the dim light, his eyes seem—

Red. Mercury red.

“I need to see them,” he repeats, voice hollow. “Whoever they are. I need to know.”

Phoenix lurches a step forward. “Kid—”

“I need to know why. They'll tell me. If I see them, I can find out. Even if they don't want me to.”

His irises burn and burn. Unblinking, molten. Dread sparks in Phoenix’s stomach, almost afraid. Afraid that what's come over him is something Apollo doesn't have control of. Rattled, he finds himself stepping forward, intent to eliminate the distance between them—

Unfocused eyes find him and sharpen, sending a jolt through his heart. Their color drains to muddy brown, and Phoenix stills, breath caught in his throat.

“I—” Apollo blinks. The invisible wall on his face shudders, then holds. “I'll get my keys.”

He moves, walking past him, expression blank. Without a second thought, Phoenix reaches out a hand. The moment he makes contact, Apollo flinches away.

“Apollo—”

“Don't.”

His heart twists. “You know they won't let you in,” he says, trying for reason first. “Tomorrow, maybe—”

“I'm not waiting.” He opens his mouth, but Apollo cuts him down, words coming faster, “He'll lawyer up soon, and then my chance to see him will be gone. I need to—”

“You'll have a chance,” he counters, soothing. “I promise. But the cops won't let anyone in right now, so—”

“Then I'll go find someone who will talk,” Apollo snaps. Finally there's emotion on his face, and it’s fury. “Someone— anyone who knows something. Who they are, how they did it, when, why—” A schism, steamrolled over, “Someone at GYAXA has to know. I'll find out who and then I'll—”

“Do what?” he asks softly. Apollo freezes, face rigid, staring at him with that perilous nothing threatening the edge of his expression. “Pollo...”

“Why are you trying to stop me?” Apollo demands, with sudden volume that’s like a slap to the face. “Are you really gonna tell me that I should hand this off to someone else?”

“No, but I—”

“You’re such a hypocrite.” The word’s spat out of Apollo’s mouth like it’s been poised there a long time. “Like you’d do anything different. You wouldn’t hesitate. Don’t try to tell me to stay put like some stupid kid when I can do something—”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t,” Phoenix tries, strained. Apollo’s been angry with him before, but not like this, and it’s like the ground shifting under his feet. “I’m just saying to— to take a second, take a—”

“I can’t!” Apollo cries, his frayed voice shattering the dark kitchen, and Phoenix has nothing to say. To offer him.

There’s nothing that will fix this. That’ll make the pain any less.

“...I know.”

“Shut up.” His expression trembles, anger splintering. “You don't.”

“Pollo—”

“You don't know anything,” Apollo croaks. “You always act like you do. Like you know everything, like you know me. But you don't.”

His stomach twists like he's been punched. Apollo has always been private about himself, since the day they met. And he's never pried. He thought it would only push the kid away. He isn't the first person Phoenix has drawn close through a few walls.

But maybe he should've tried knocking.

“I'm sorry,” he says. Apollo’s eyes widen, taking shine, and his face cracks.

“Shut up.”

“I'm sorry.” He steps forward, and Apollo’s body tenses as if to run.

“Stop.” Desperate. “Stop it.”

“I'm so sorry, kid,” he whispers, voice thick. He reaches out again, with both hands, gently grasping slim shoulders.

“You don't know anything,” Apollo says, voice fracturing. He leans away, shoulders jerking from Phoenix’s touch, but his feet are rooted to the ground. “Don't— don't touch me, you're not my—”

“Trucy told me to come get you.” At her name, Apollo stills, his protests disappearing. If Apollo can't accept him, there is someone else who he’ll always permit. “She wanted me to make sure you were okay.”

Silently, tears well in Apollo’s eyes.

“I... I don't want her to see,” he whispers.

And Phoenix understands.

Is he the same age that I was? Did I look this young, too?

“It's okay,” he says, voice thin. “She just doesn't want you to be alone.”

Tears slide down Apollo’s face. “... I was,” he says. “Before. Without him. With— without him, I—”

A strangled noise, an awful hiccup of a sound like he can't breathe. And his face breaks apart into something so frightened that Phoenix can't bear another frozen moment.

Gently, he takes Apollo in his arms and drags him close. Resistant hands push at his shoulders, knocking weak fists against his arms.

“No. No, no. Please.”

Gasping sobs. The hands that push him away turn to claws, digging into his shirt.

“I can't. I can't, I can't.”

He holds him when his knees fail, supporting every scrap of his weight.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers, again and again. “I know.”

#apollo justice #narumitsu #law gang #miles edgeworth #phoenix wright #trucy wright #ace attorney #it never rains #pressureverse #aa fic #fic tag

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vendetta-if · 2 years ago

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Chapter 4 Public Update 🎉

First of all: Happy new year, everyone 🥳🎊 I wish all of you an awesome year ahead!

Now, on to the Chapter Update! Chapter 4 contains 46K words which brings the total word count to 189K words! Chapter 4 is actually the largest update yet that I've done in a month clocking at 46K words instead of the usual 20-30K words update (I really pushed myself this month, didn't I 😅)

However, this update doesn't just bring the entirety of Chapter 4, but also some new and tweaked stuff on the previous chapters. So, I would recommend playing from the beginning if you want to see what's changed for yourself. I'll list out things I changed from the previous chapter below.

Now, a lot of you are probably aware of this already, but some of the things you'll do in this chapter are:

Meet Yvette and finally have a proper conversation with her (a lot of variations and different decisions).

Choose what you feel about her now. Do the years soften your hatred for her? Or maybe they've made you resent her even more?

Meet the rising star superhero—and your mother's protégé—Skylar Moore.

Meet the black sheep of the ECPD, Detective Santana Valdez.

Have a talk with the CEO of the Constellation Agency!

What have been updated in previous chapters include:

- Added a new clothing style, which is the “All black” clothing style to match the style that Luka is wearing (popular demand 😆)

- Added flavour texts for those choosing “Beatrice” or “Virgil”/“Vergil” codename.

- The skill check limits in Chapter 3 have been lowered. To succeed in the hotel entry, you’ll need at least 50 in the corresponding skill instead of 55. And to succeed in the CQC combat, you’ll now only need (Combat + Grav) or (Combat + Umbra) at least 105 instead of the previous 115.

- Make the Police Commissioner’s unsavoury connection to the Nemesis Project more apparent.

- Tweak how MC reacts to executing the Police Commissioner. Now, it’s based more on whether you chose your MC to be ready, hesitant, or don’t want to kill him in Chapter 2 when talking to Grandpa.

Oh, and also, I'm planning to make quick and fun polls on the ROs and Yvette in my CoG Forum post, so, if you guys have an account there, consider casting your vote 😁

[DEMO] | [PATREON] | [KO-FI]

[COG FORUM] | [DISCORD]

#chapter update #chapter 4 #if: vendetta #vendetta if #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript #choice of games #hosted games #cyoa #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #interactive games

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paracosm-draw · 3 months ago

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Just nudging myself into your inbox as a complete stranger 🌈 for Obikin prompts: things Anakin changed about Obi-Wan's life as a Padawan.

It's Sunday prompt day again 🥳

Ngl this one made me tear up a bit but I took great pleasure writing it because their relationship is so precious to me ❤️‍🩹

TW : mention of death

I'm still taking prompts btw ! I'm just slow to write because I'm busy during the week, but you can still send them to me and they will be answered eventually 🌼

_______

It was supposed to be just another pathetic life form Qui-Gon had picked up in the deepest corners of Tatooine. An enslaved little thing he had freed and separated from his mother on the grounds that the child had a midichlorian count even higher than Master Yoda.

Obi-Wan was more than skeptical, and maybe a little jealous that his Master had turned his entire attention to that tiny, dirty and incredibly chatty boy who was always cold, no matter how many layers of clothes they put on him.

He had spent a lot of time observing the kid from a safe distance, trying to understand what was so interesting about him.

He was clearly gifted in the comprehension of the engineering and mechanics of things, able to fix everything with anything and already speaking a technical language Obi-Wan didn't even try to comprehend. Still Qui-Gon could spend hours listening to his rambling with a fond expression on his face that made the young Jedi's heart clench.

Anakin - he refused to call him by the little nickname everyone seemed to have adopted - was trying to reach out to him every once in a while. Obi-Wan suspected the child was like a cat, always seeking attention from the most disinterested people. He probably didn't like that Qui-Gon’s padawan was still the only one to resist his charming blue eyes and angelic face.

Obi-Wan didn't interact with him more than necessary, and when he made efforts it was generally after Qui-Gon made a face at him or scolded his attitude towards the younger one. It pissed him off. Anakin was Qui-Gon’s responsibility, not his. He had decided to set Obi-Wan’s training aside to take care of the kid, he couldn't expect his padawan to do the same.

The few months following Anakin’s entry into their life were a troubling time for Obi-Wan. His daily meditation sessions gravitated around the control of his emotions and his acceptance about the situation.

It was challenging to hear his Master praise a child day after day for a future that was still incredibly blurry. Anakin didn't even know how to use the Force yet. He was maybe extra-sensitive to it but Obi-Wan joined the council when they said he was too old to be trained.

If he listened to the darkest corners of his heart he secretly wished Anakin was too old to be trained. He didn’t know how he would react to Qui-Gon taking him as his apprentice. Abandoning him.

He was not ready yet. He still had a lot more to learn, even if his Master often told him otherwise. He was not ready to let go of the relationship they had developed for so many years, to the comfort and intimacy of it. The bond they shared had been so long and hard to create that he didn’t want to lose it.

Qui-Gon was his only family, his friend, his teacher, the only one he could rely on in almost every situation.

Qui-Gon was the universe he floated safely around day after day, a strong and steady pillar in his life, eternal and reassuring.

And now Qui-Gon was gone. Killed by the filthy hand of a Sith. And his last words were for Anakin.

The weeks after his death, Obi-Wan moves forward by the mere strength of his will and the comfort he finds in pre-established routines. He feels like a ghost, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other while his head feels like he’s underwater.

The child is hard to manage. He cries a lot. Obi-Wan thinks he doesn't really understand what's happening. Master Windu says he’s old enough to understand that Qui-Gon will never come back.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know how to take care of him. He already doesn’t know how to take care of himself. He’s so caught up in his own grief that he doesn’t have the strength to feel ashamed when he lets Anakin on his own.

It still twists his gut when he hears the little boy crawling to the bottom of his bed in the middle of the night, curling himself like a kitten on the sheets, making sure to always be far enough not to touch him. Obi-Wan lets him, but he pretends to sleep every time Anakin wakes up in sweat and tears after a nightmare.

There’s a part of him whispering in his mind that Qui-Gon would still be alive if he hadn’t tried to save the kid.

But Anakin clings to him no matter what. No matter how Obi-Wan ignores him or speaks to him or pushes him away. He endures all his moods with his head down, patiently waiting for the storm to pass.

It infuriates Obi-Wan at first. He’s not proud of it but he’s sometimes mean to him, trying to push until he finds his limit. It would be easier if the child hated him. But Anakin never says anything. He might have tears in his eyes but he always comes back to him.

It takes a while for Obi-Wan to understand that Anakin is even more lonely than he is. Where Obi-Wan has the Jedi council and a few friends across the galaxy, Anakin has no one except for Qui-Gon. And now that Qui-Gon is dead, the closest thing to him… is Obi-Wan.

After he’d been granted the rank of Master, time flows a little bit more easily and Obi-Wan falls into a reassuring routine.

He’s heard that time heals all wounds, and it does. It’s slow and it's not linear but he manages to keep his head above the water a little longer each day.

Then Master Yoda approaches him, asking if he will train the boy now. Obi-Wan surprises himself by accepting after only a day of reflection. It’s Qui-Gon dying wish and it’s the only reason why he does it, he assures himself.

Anakin learns quickly, and he’s desperate to please. Obi-Wan starts to see what his Master saw in him.

The child is talented, and he works hard, almost always to the point of exhaustion.

Obi-Wan tries his best teaching him about the Jedi Code, about the spectrum of the Force, about their purpose in the universe. Mostly he parrots what’d been taught to him, not really knowing where to start and where to go. He’s still lost and he realizes soon enough that having a padawan is a responsibility he wasn’t prepared for.

In addition, they have to learn to navigate through the new bond forming between them. They don't use it yet but they’re both aware it exists in the Force. Master Yoda says it’s the beginning of all things.

Anakin is still careful around him, he doesn’t ask for much except a little bit of attention. He still sleeps on the farthest corner of his bed but when he has nightmares, Obi-Wan allows him to scoot closer.

Their relationship changes slowly and smoothly enough that the older Jedi doesn’t realize when Anakin started calling him ‘Master’, or when he had made a mental note of the kind of food he liked after a hard training day.

It bothers him at first, to realize that despite what he’s telling himself, he cares about Anakin. He does. The boy did grow on him and he has to admit that he likes teaching him more often than not.

Anakin might feel the shift because he becomes more comfortable around him, less inhibited and more like himself. Obi-Wan discovers a funny kid with interesting stories, and they start to talk more.

As they open up to each other, they get closer. Obi-Wan asks about his life on Tatooine and Anakin asks about his life at the Jedi Temple. They don’t talk about Qui-Gon, the subject still too painful, even years after.

Anakin is thirteen and he doesn't stop growing up. Obi-Wan says he’s big enough to sleep in his own bed and Anakin says ‘okay’ but he still sneaks in in the middle of the night. He’s becoming more confident, timidity being progressively replaced by insolence when he wants his Master’s attention. He doesn’t really have friends, despite the council’s advice. He’d rather spend all of his time with Obi-Wan.

The older Jedi wonders sometimes if that kind of dependence is healthy. He himself starts to feel the aching feeling of loss when Anakin is away from him for more than a few hours. The realization bothers him for a couple of days. What if he’s trying to find a substitute for Qui-Gon in the last thing his Master put his faith in ? He wonders if he has to open up to Master Yoda about this. But he’s never been one to open up easily, especially not about the internal turmoils of his heart.

So he decides to take the matter into his own hands.

Of course, Anakin doesn’t understand why he becomes so distant all of the sudden. Why he locks the door of his bedroom or why he leaves him with training groups when he never did before.

But his Padawan is not the scared nine years old he was when they met, he has a voice and he’s not afraid to use it.

He confronts Obi-Wan about it and when the Jedi doesn’t give him a satisfying answer, he yells about it. And then he cries about it. He says that Obi-Wan is being unfair and that he always did everything his Master ever asked and that he's being mean punishing him for something he didn’t do.

Obi-Wan is taken aback when he understands that being away from him is a punishment for Anakin. It comforts him in his decision.

It last two years. Two years of constant fights between them, two years of Anakin shouting the most horrible things to his face but still sleeping every night on the floor behind his door. Two years of him threatening to leave the Order but meanwhile becoming the more talented padawan of his generation.

Two years of tension rising up between them. Until it breaks.

One day Obi-Wan is holding onto the stubborn idea of what their relationship should be according to the Code and the next he can’t bear to hear Anakin tell him he hates him for the thousandth time.

He’s just so tired of what they have become. He tries to convince himself he did it for Anakin’s good but he can’t lie to himself anymore. They both suffer from the situation and it brought them nothing except a painful lack of trust and resentment. If he’s truly honest with himself, he doesn’t feel at peace when his padawan is away from him.

A discussion with Master Yoda makes him understand how he had mistaken independence with rejection, and how his fear of losing Anakin like he had lost Qui-Gon might have been the trigger to the whole mess he’s drowning into now. He had thought that if he doesn't get attached, he doesn’t take the risk of suffering again. But he’s suffering right now, so it was all in vain, years ruined by his own insecurities.

And he misses Anakin. So he tells him.

Anakin being Anakin yells at him before listening. But this time Obi-Wan doesn't back up, doesn’t give up on them. He patiently faces his padawan’s anger and listens while Anakin spits his bleeding heart out of his chest and cries and yells some more.

Then Obi-Wan pulls him into his arms and Anakin stops crying and yelling, too stunned by that foreign thing that is his Master’s affection. It the first time they’re so close and it heals something in Obi-Wan.

It still takes two more years until they trust each other like before. Except it’s even stronger than before. Obi-Wan came to the realization that the peculiar bond they share is a strength and not a flaw.

They’re constantly with each other, flying together, training together, fighting together, sitting through boring meetings together. They even share their personal life together.

Anakin has a permanent place on the left side of Obi-Wan’s bed. Abandoned pieces of a half built droid are lying on Obi-Wan’s desk. There’s a toothbrush in the bathroom that Anakin left just in case. In case of what, Obi-Wan never knew.

He doesn't really question it. He's never felt so alive with Anakin by his side. The young man is like the brother he never had.

Time flies and Anakin doesn’t stop growing up. When he’s nineteen Obi-Wan has to raise his head to look at him in the eyes. He struggles a bit more to match his strength during training. He begins to notice the way he attracts attention while being totally oblivious about it.

He's proud of the Jedi Anakin is becoming. Of the man he's becoming. Fiery and passionate, smart and creative. He truly thinks that if his lightsaber skills matched his wit, he could easily overpower Master Yoda in a fight.

But he also knows that if Anakin looks bold and confident on the outside, on the inside there’s still a huge part of him being the little boy he was on Tatooine. He's still full of insecurities, still afraid and starved for affection. He still has nightmares that Obi-Wan tries to chase away night after night.

Their relationship is not perfect. They still fight, especially since the war against the separatists is hovering menacingly over their head. But as long as Obi-Wan can feel Anakin’s heart beating peacefully when he holds him at night, he decides it’s all worth it.

Now that he’s facing death, Obi-Wan thinks about all that. About all the changes Anakin brought into his life. About how Anakin made him change and progress as a Jedi and as a man. About how the majority of his life had been Anakin. Anakin’s fears, Anakin’s joys, Anakin’s tears staining his clothes, Anakin’s scent on the sheets of his bed, Anakin’s hand on his shoulder after an exhausting mission, Anakin’s padawan braid tucked inside his utility belt, Anakin’s ambitions and frustrations and trust and anger and love and hatred. He wonders what he has missed. Where he has failed.

Maybe if he had loved him more, if he had loved him earlier, better, he wouldn't have to face one of his worst nightmare right now. Loosing him to the dark side. Mourning him while he was still alive.

Having to take the most painful decision of his entire life. Having to kill half of his soul.

He knows he has to. He knows he can’t. Not when there’s still something of Anakin inside Vader.

Maybe Vader is right after all. Maybe he is weak.

He’d rather doom the entire universe than hurt the man his heart is aching for. He’d rather die than even think about killing him.

So he does.

And when Vader plunges his lightsaber into his heart, all he’s thinking about is Anakin’s smile, shining brighter than the Tatooine’s suns when they exchanged that promise to always care about each other, no matter what happened.

#i'm so sorry about this one #if i don't write angst on everything i explode #sunday prompt day #obikin prompts #obikin #obikin fanfic #star wars #star wars prequels #star wars fanfiction #obi wan and anakin #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #thanks for the ask!#my writing

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bloedewir · 4 months ago

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Weekly delusional theory time yay 🥳

It's fun to think Solas is a tired mess of an elf who can't plan anything without screwing it all up. How can that weirdo possibly achieve his goal? More so, how did he even trapped elven gods?

By playing the game with well known rules. Like, idk, chess?

Look, the figures are different so as maybe the board but the rules are the same. And tactics. All he need is to be inconspicuous and discreet as always.

Distract the enemy, let them think they're winning, then strike.

It's already a proven strategy: take the unlucky one (Inquisitor/Rook), put them into the middle of worldwide catastrophe (Breach/Evanuris), step aside, offer your help, guide them wherever course you need, give them shelter (Skyhold/Lighthouse), look trustworthy, when all is over - say byebye and continue following your plan.

Yes there's still a few blind spots and something that can't be foreseed yet there's also a time to prepare yourself. Did Solas have a plan in case Inquisitor would've been failed? Presumably. If he has a plan in case Rook will fail? Presumably.

A part with Inquisitor' involving back in time was an improvisation but it paid off. Unintended risk it was however; not a comfort zone but odds depending play, like Wicked Grace. Quite efficient though. Why not try again but with some improvements?

Solas didn't know who Inquisitor is before the Conclave. Now (I'm like 78% sure) he knows who Rook is.

Varric chased Solas for some time and Solas was well aware of it. Varric didn't pick up Rook just before the beginning of the game. Their dialogue assumes they know each other (for some time, like weeks idk?). I bet Solas knew about "da4 protagonist", had time to look closer and fit Rook into his plans. That's why after all these years (10!) it was surprisingly easy to find him and even interrupt the ritual. Because it was intended.

(I won't be surprised if all this "ah help I trapped in the Fade" situation turns out to be a top tier wolf prank)

Right, but why make your life harder and involve a random mortal? As a wild guess: evanuris must be released to tear down the Veil. Seven gods, seven seals - get rid of them and follow your dream, destroy the Veil and restore your ✨perfect elvhen empire✨. Why risk and deal with two evanuris himself when you can move one of the pawns? Place your rivals against each other and look. Inquisitor won and proved mortals are not useless, so Rook can win too. And if Rook fails, you can intervene and finish the job.

I also think that's the reason why Inquisitor will be back. And I think Solas won't like it. Inquisitor is the one who can say, "What's going on here? Hey, I've seen it before. I know what you're up to". Without them Solas is quite comfortable with drawing a portrait of a tired lonely being who's easy to sympathize with. But a sudden Inquisitor's comeback can mess this up.

I'm not saying he doesn't deserve sympathy or he's a pure evil. He had enough time to turn his flaws and destructive feelings into useful tools. And if he uses his guilt/loneliness/despair when it's needed it doesn't make it a less real. The dude is complex like rocket science after all.

For now, as it seems to me, Solas intends to "replay" Inquisition because it went kinda well. Minimal risk as he may think. What the odds another mortal happened to be unique too? They doesn't even bear a ✨magnificent elvhen magic✨ mark! Poor bastard (affectionate), he doesn't even know what comes.. But I swear to gods, above and below, if he'll do that "what we had was real" thing again, I'll kill everyone in that game and then tear that freaking Veil down myself.

#dragon age #dragon age solas #dragon age the veilguard #da4 #datv #dragon age theory

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drippingmoon · 1 year ago

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Merry new year to everyone, again! 🥳💞🥂

I know it wasn’t an event this year, but writing a yearly wrap-up is really therapeutic, you know? So I decided to continue the tradition, and if anyone wants to join me, absolutely view this as an open invitation^^ Introduction is over, and now let’s see what 2023 looked like:

(spoilers: I adored it. I'm also probably going to make this my fixed post, in case anyone ever wants to catch up with me. And also because my second baby, AoS, is growing, and it doesn't have an intro, but I can't leave it out.)

Stats

Aquiver, Aglow: 181k (draft 4) + 195k (draft 5) + hmm, draft 6 is an outlier, because I didn’t rewrite from scratch, so I’m unsure of the written word count. I didn’t change much from draft 5, so I’d say an extra 15-20k. Total word count: 376k+

Remains of a Night: 120k

Aberration of Sunlight: 134k

This was definitely my most productive year to date. And I got so hungry: the more I wrote, the more I just wanted to keep writing, and honestly? I’m proudest of myself for literally carving writing time whenever I got a spot into my schedule. Mostly it was from 8pm-11pm, but I had a mad run where my only free window was from 1am till I literally felt I was dying… I’ll talk about that separately🤣🤣👌

Though, I'm seriously understating it.

Like a lot of other people, I would have all these hours when I was younger when I didn't have anything to do, yet I'd still find some excuse not to write. "I'm waiting for the right time." "I'm anxious I'm not going to get it right." "Tomorrow! Tomorrow I can start right from the morning, and I'll have more time to write, yeah?" or "I'm too tired now, it's late..." and so the snowball rolled down and downhill and I found every reason under the sun not to write, now that I think about it. Sigh. So much time wasted. But I can't regret it either, because I needed those baby steps at that time.

And now! Now I do what I thought I'd never learn to: I prioritize, and I actually organize my daily stuff so it's not so impossible anymore to have a little bit of writing time. I don't take it for granted either. It feels like such character growth for me, I'm immensely proud of it.

And for the record? This year was a huge improvement over yesteryear mentally, too. It turns out, what I needed to get over my word count anxiety… was to be faced with people who literally didn’t give a fuck about it, and just cared about the story. One of the most unexpected things beta stage managed to do to me… was to quench all my anxieties. It’s as simple as that. I read and enjoy very long books. People also do that. So, I’m very happy to say I’m no longer in a tizzy about ‘quiv. It might kill my chances for trad publishing, it might not. I’ll be happy come what may.

Because it’s so simple how working on ‘quiv or thinking about it makes me joyous, and now I can just enjoy that freely. I will miss writing this story so much. I really will. But at least I’ll have it forever to reread, and I hope this thought brings comfort to everyone who also has problems letting go, like it does to me.

Let’s break it down a little, shall we?🤩

Aquiver, Aglow◇◇◇

My little star of the hour. How fond I am of it.

Like you could glean from above, ‘quiv went through three drafts this year. More specifically: in the first part of the year, practically almost as soon as February arrived. I knew it was getting closer to the final version, and gave me the push to finish all three back to back. I couldn’t justify anymore the bazillion AUs I do with rewrites (basically, WHAT IFs from events, WHAT IF it went this different way, WHAT IF Tyrone actually said this here… and so on and so forth. I wanted to test out as many pathways as possible, and did I exhaust every one of them in existence? Definitely not. I don’t think that can happen, you just keep getting new ideas. On and on. What happened, instead, is that these couple different pathways, at some point, cemented themselves as canon in my mind. I didn’t want to tease myself with alternatives anymore, and that’s when I knew they would be it. Some bits from the first draft, some from the third, some from the second. Some were even draft 6 originals!

It’s a bit of a weird process. I definitely didn’t need to reach draft 3, and meet Mezusa, because I could’ve feasibly made it work with just Yles in the story. It still would’ve made sense, though in a different way. But if I hadn’t… I might’ve missed one of the best characters I’ll ever probably have created, and the story (and Yles) is much stronger for her, if you ask me.

For that matter, yes, full rewrites every single draft might take a lot of time and effort, but honestly I don’t think I’d ever change my writing process (save for the moments of frustration when I think I will lol) because of the sheer satisfaction of it. Whoever said so long never to settle on the first version, I owe you a beer and probably some curses as well lmao, but very lovingly. You shaped my writing life.

I don’t have much else to share about ‘quiv, other than it’s off with my beta readers my beloved, and maybe a tentative promise that, if anyone wants, you’ll be able to read this precious ball of hope of mine relatively soon. This story is so gentle to me. And as much as I loved to write and work on it, I dearly hope that whoever decides to give it a go, is treated just the same. That’s the only wish I have.

I also don’t know if I’ll go trad or self-published. Instincts say trad, because I fuckin’ suck at marketing (fact), and I know I’d grow resentful if I’d have to put so many hours into advertising when I know I could instead… write. I’m a writer. That’s the only thing I know how to do. Trad, however, might not be as kind on a ~200k as life’s been, so I might not have a choice. If it comes down to that… I’ll just treat it as I do everything. I don't love this story any less if I just write, publish without a fuss, hope that maybe, just maybe, a reader or two will stumble upon the story and we could talk. Maybe we can have the fun of our lives, create some genuine connection. I know that’s applies to a lot of writers. I hope we can accomplish it.

And so, I’ll finish this section of the wrap-up with a kiss to my ‘quiv, for all the warmth it’s ever brought me. It’s come so far, I know it can live distinct from me from now on. It brings me great comfort. And I look forward to the times I’ll reread it, and we can relive our best experiences together. Never thought I’d get to this point. Thank you, ‘quiv.

Remains of a Night♤♤♤

Mwhahaha! And because ‘quiv took all the pressure, this left AoS to be an extremely fun and spirited experience. Literally the chillest I’ve ever been writing. In many ways, it’s more my thing than I expected ‘quiv to be: I get to murder characters left and right, it’s more plot-heavy and banking on the tension created by a creature that horrifies the characters down to their marrow, but still the only way to defeat it is to know it better, which, uh, might have unpleasant consequences for them. It’s got chase and stealth scenes, and it always shoots me with adrenaline to think about them. In short, exactly my jam.

It’s not a new book, nope. You knew it before as Aberration of Sunlight, but from the get-go I felt it would be bigger than ‘quiv. Very fortunately for me, I had a place where to break it, and behold: there’s RoaN (book 1), and AoS (book 2). There might be a third book, which I dearly hope not because titling sucks, but it depends on the Sycamine arc. More on that in AoS.

One last thing to note, before we delve into the story (hoo-ray for earlier drafts, because I can talk more frankly about them). This is the culprit of my 1am writing adventures!!😫❤ My schedule became too packed, then NaNo came round and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to honor how AoS began, because it was last year’s NaNo, aaand I’m happy to say I won NaNo, somehow, with 56k down before I died. At that time, I only had one section left to write (from both books), otherwise, hahahaha, yeah, it wouldn’t have flown. Still, most of draft 2 I’d written in September-October, with my fairy lights, late nights, and cups of hot cocoa, exactly like how life should be<3

Alright. We’re going through them chapter-by-chapter again, exactly because I love seeing the titles so much:

ACT 1

Cracked Visor, Scorpion Grass

I did it! I did! Twas another shower thought I managed to get down in time. Bare broken sentences, but they did the impossible, and arranged this chapter into a structure I adore to bits and won't ever change. (And 'quiv's naughty voice left me alone for once and I could write it properly!) While I don't think I'll ever be happy with a first chapter (not as a concept, but the writing — part of me will always wish that the reader just had all the information already lol), this one is in the right place.

It pays its respects to the story of the broken helmet at the foot of a spaceship, and how it reconnects Madigan with all the people who'd suffered from being tethered to the planets when they yearned to fly, but the Beast punished them cruelly for it. It makes him feel phantoms of their efforts. The tone is exactly what I needed this story to start from: melancholy and numbly hopeless, against the backdrop of the Beasts's echoed cries.

Rain Through the Universe

Unlike 'quiv, because RoaN and AoS are way more plot-heavy, it's not as easy to change things willy-nilly (whereas 'quiv was all about character bonds and dynamics). As such, it's very similar to draft 1. Because of that, I'll frankendraft next (select and combine drafts 1 and 2, rewrite to connect them) and afterwards I'll try something I've always wanted to. (Scrivener keeps hinting at it!) I'm gonna split the chapters into scenes, and focus on those individually and how I can just rewrite them and set their purpose in stone<3 I'm excited!

As for the chapter itself, gods, I love the atmosphere. Just the wreckage of a sundered ship, and Madigan’s sudden madman appearance making a lasting impression on Spica, because how could it not. They no longer answer distress calls in that age, it just means more dead bodies. In fact, they're forbidden to. Madigan instead brings him what he himself lacks: hope. And a lot of crawling around while dreading the Beast's lambent eye opening, and oh my, the moments are really flying by😈👏 extreme fun for me as the writer.

Aberration of Light

If you remember, the books follow two timelines, which will connect at some point. The first and main one is Madigan and Spica’s story. The other is Holloway’s, in the distant past of that universe, and who’s been dubbed the most selfish man in existence. That’s important, because of how the Beast came to be. But that becomes important later. For now, a weird-ass new recruit has joined the ship, and the witchy crew will very soon start making bets if she’s the Beast in human flesh, which really wouldn’t bode well for their future.

Night Falls On Their Reflection

Draft 2 became Spica’s draft. It was high time. He didn't exist in the original idea beyond chapter 2, but he refused to die with his story untold. And now he's one of the most independent thinkers I've ever written. Now he's Madigan's son (yes, even at 25), best friend, back-to-back partner all in one, and I could watch the trust and mutual respect between these two forever. To be sure: Madigan comes up with the dumbass plans, and Spica's only too happy to follow him through everything (it is good fun.)

He's repaying the incredible kindness Madigan's shown him when answering his distress call, after all.

But it goes a bit further than that, doesn't it? Madigan is used to watching over myriad people. He's the Superintendent of his planet, and while he genuinely loves people, kindness is his default. It doesn't go further than that for him. He doesn't necessarily think people need, much less desire his presence there beyond Madigan extending help, and most of the time, he's content with that. Kindness does make him happy. And it should be the same with Spica now, shouldn't it? He's kind, but he's not Spica's family, nor ever will be. Yet he immediately feels a connection with the boy, that has nothing to do with bonding over escaping-a-cosmic-disaster. And so does Spica.

This is the moment when Madigan starts feeling guilty, for stepping where he should not. But here's the beauty of Spica's character: he's nothing if not dead sure of his own feelings, and what he sees with his eyes. It's okay if Madigan keeps unexpectedly taking steps back. For very long, there'd been nobody to support Spica's beliefs. So he does the same, as when he followed his heart to go into dead space: he believes in himself and Madigan, and that their paths aren't meant to diverge. They mean too much to each other for that to ever happen.

(In short, and legend says you can still hear me screeching about these two ten thousand years later, I love these two so much, and especially the parallels between Spica going alone into outer space and loving Madigan.)

(And, okay, obviously all these developments don't happen in a single chapter, but I couldn't stop gushing🤭🥰.)

Who Puts These Tombs in Ice

Overall, I think draft 2’s Luitgart performed worse than draft 1. Mainly it's the setting I want to revert (still an icy, sempiternally dark hell, but with different ice constructions) because some of the beats are a huge improvement, and again, I gotta combine the two. Otherwise, I’m still as obsessed about the Luitgart arc as I’ve ever been, and huge thanks to it for being so strong it could function as an ending of its own, allowing me to split the book.

Gettin’ into spoilery territory, but I have to un-kill Madigan so many times it leaves me in hysterics. That was what I was supposed to fix this draft. It got worse. Considerably.

(One constant: the chapter being a love letter to Madigan, and how his first answer will always be to help the other, no matter if they deserve it or not<3 and finally, finally, he gets acknowledged for it, and the favor returned.)

ACT 2

Lemon-Dotted Days + Remnant

Two Holloway chapters! I’m actually massively pleased with how they’ve turned out. Last year, I said the main issue was that I had an outline, and that never works for me. So I did what I do best and rewrote everything from scratch, and the result is both uncanny and… unexpected.

Unexpected, because I never in my life thought Holloway’s voice would make me laugh so much. He’s supposed to be unsympathetic, but then you get his interactions with Saintlark (the new crewmate, possibly Beast) where they’re contemplating the harvest of a nebula, and he’s harshly critical of it, which gives Saintlark hope… only to go deadpan One Moment Later: if they’d used the nebula to prolong their lives instead of bolstering the war, they wouldn’t have died like clown idiots.

And, they could’ve maybe stolen immortality from the nebula. They would've had to share it with him, of course. Or he would've murdered them to get it.

That, my guys, is his personality in a nutshell.

I have a lot of feelings on Holloway now, and most involve me huffing and slapping my forehead while groaning, but oh my gods. Was it ever so fun. And wait, wait, wait. Since I'm talking of humor (apparently a lot of comedy fit into this horror lmfao) I have to show you guys the following section🤣🤣👏:

Corpse Snow

The drifters are set howling on the ice. They share glances, five separate vehicles nodding at each other. Madigan revs up the engine, splitting the air with a jet of steam and vibration.

The last of the marines are climbing into the box. A figure flashes past Madigan’s drifter — and he leans over, teeth grinding because of his ribs, and he does his very best to grab someone by the back of their suit and pull. Workout days were never his strength, though. He only succeeds in stopping them in the frost smoke.

It’s Spica dangling from his hand, expressionless.

Lieutenant Hahn instantly seizes on the situation. He throws Madigan a long, withering look. “Whatcha doing, Boss?” he asks softly, about to unhinge his jaw again.

Madigan nudges Spica into the drifter. “Picking up your boy.”

Spica gets the hint and deposits himself into the front seat, glancing from his father to his Superintendent. He seems to give up on whatever’s going on, and makes himself cozy in the frosty spot. And Madigan, of course, pretends not to notice Hahn’s drifter sliding closer.

“And you didn’t consider I might want to have my son with me?”

Madigan looks up and sighs. “Lieutenant, dear Lieutenant,” he starts pleadingly. “Why won’t you show some leniency to a poor, wounded man?”

Hahn’s drifter stops, summoning a breeze across the icy floor that gently rocks the other vehicle. His breathing distorts the comms with static. “And what exactly is my son right now?”

“My trusty navigator,” Madigan answers easily.

“Sir’s emotional walking stick?” Spica pipes in at the same time.

They both look over. Spica’s quietly turned to the navigation, as serene as daylight, seemingly oblivious to how Madigan's expression changes, lightning-fast. He quickly hides it under the guise of a polite mask, as the marines stir and turn their attention on them. They’re snickering.

Lieutenant Hahn throws up his hands, giving up on everything.

This is also the first 30k chapter I’ve ever written. It's everything I've ever wanted to do with ice.

Heart of the Void

The end of the book. Originally, it was the ending section to Corpse Snow, but since it already got so ungodly long, I chipped off that bit and I have to say I’m very happy with how it works as an epilogue! So it ends the frosty, weary journey, and I can’t see the two books as separate yet, but here we bid goodbye to the first.

Aberration of Sunlight♧♧♧

I did the unthinkable and created a fifth arc. This might not seem like much to you, but I was screaming bloody murder you guys😭😭😭. Sigh. It’s so sigh. For so long, AoS consisted of four clear-cut acts, but it was necessary. With the introduction of Sycamine, and making it two books, it was just needed. It’s still one of the worst things I’ve ever done because I was used to four😃💔

(The chapters continue from where RoaN left off – from chapter 10, to 21.)

ACT 3

Retro Spectrum

Sycamine, oh Sycamine. Definitely the break I needed before Days in Darkness. It made for a really neat beginning. It’s calmer, focusing on the knowledge they have on the Beast. It’s also a reflection on Procyon (their main star) and the story of the two straggler dog constellations, and what they'd been running away from. I liked the direction it took. It veered away from the Beast for a bit, so the tension kept expanding in the background. And when it returns, well... maybe they shouldn't have been so eager to see it again🤭.

It suffers from the same syndrome as draft 1’s first chapter… it’s there in the vicinity of the idea, but too much to the left. Not bad for a first attempt. The setting annoys me – I really don't enjoy writing cities, and AoS didn't change that. So, for our next try, I was thinking... maybe we don't need to be on the planet, but up close and veeery personal with it. It's a secret❤.

And, oh gods. I put a moustache-twirling villain in this. And then I couldn’t stop myself from naming some sucker Sweetman Calories. I don’t know what happened to me during those days, but I’m crying🤣🤣🤣.

Toast to the Light

Holloway and Saintlark’s story is slowly coming to an end. Unexpectedly bleaker than draft 1, yet it feels much more sincere. Holloway has a way of saying everything Saintlark needs to hear. No surprise. They did that to themselves.

Dissonant Recognition

Ahhhh, the Madigan-is-slowly-losing-his-grip-on-reality chapter, or maybe he should really stop staring into the suns. One of my favorites<3 Also because it features Moren (!!!) who has a blast staying in the grey morality area, because she doesn’t know if her actions could ever matter, or if she could change anything. Does she just exist? Is she a player or just pawn? Who knows. Besides that, she gets along great with Spica. They form such a teasing duo, the level of mutual respect they felt for each other on sight was a delight to write. My favorite ally of theirs, even if her destiny lies elsewhere.

Night Beneath the Elevator

Best title hands down, dethroning Solgesis. I’m going batshit crazy about the visuals, it's exactly my thing. This half-light slanted over an elevator waiting in a rundown basement to be boarded. And there's something underneath it, and always has been. Something insidiously creeping up and waving its tendril fingers at you as you're just waiting for the fucking thing to ascend. Immaculate, guys, I'm telling you, and I'm cursing my hands because I can't make a wallpaper of this. I want to eat that atmosphere.

Time-sensitive missions, y'all.

And why the heck did nobody inform me I was going to add Command as an actual character and have them talk with Madigan?! That entire convo, made up entirely on the spot but somehow with a direction, made me realize what an idiot I’d been for not doing it sooner. They mean so much to Madigan, after all.

(And Mariya. So much Mariya in these chapters.)

ACT 4

Loop System

Like Who Puts These Tombs in Ice, draft 1 might’ve done it better. Not Spica and Madigan, though, because of the sheer development Spica’s been through and the dynamic he’s managed to form with the crew. It's different from Madigan’s, but similar enough that it’s got Hahn commenting lightly: [Spica’s] picked up quite a few habits from Madigan, hasn’t he? Almost as if they’ve gotten very very close, huh? How about Madigan tell him more?

(I adore writing Hahn.)

Outreach

Another Holloway chapter. Doesn’t have the punch of the kids subplot from draft 1, but this just makes it worse for Saintlark personally, because, this time, the consequences are on her.

Days in Darkness

I knew the moment I first got the idea this would be my favorite chapter. Well, it finally happened in draft 2: when the entire crew is here, this time, and ready for the final countdown, to relive the experience of being trapped in a ship that's disintegrating. No more heroes left behind. I'd been so tired writing this chapter in draft 1, but this time around it was incredible. Everything went up sharply from here, both in terms of events and how on fire I was.

(Maybe less than the gorgon, but I was.)

ACT 5

Echo Terminal

The first of the two log chapters.

I've never written smoother, more visual chapters than in this period. Days in Darkness changed me so much, I was writing day and night by this point and couldn't get enough. Well, I hit my limit in the second half of the very last chapter, but I am beyond satisfied. Even the Beast's metamorphosis took me by storm, because I'd been wondering what the final verbs, the final images, the final design for it was going to be. I didn't expect it to come to me this early, and with such thrill. Those were my very best days of the year, and I toast to them.

(And I knew it was going to be fantastic when Halo's Warthog Run OST started blaring in my head, with as much adrenaline.)

Where, Now? + Solgesis

My beloved. The second and last of the two log chapters, but it’s Noelle Saintlark’s log.

Holloway’s timeline ends here. Or maybe it just gets carried into the future. I thought I’d want to rewrite his parts again, make the plot just a tiny bit more psychedelic and nonsensical because it’s so close to the Beast… but Solgesis put all my fears to rest. Even the formatting and layout is a bit of that special thing I’ve always wanted to try, and it really changes the perspective of the previous chapters. There's a new confession that stands at the heart of Holloway's stories.

Honestly, the only thing that needs urgent working on is the anger at the end of the chapter.

Anger is so hard for me to write sometimes. Not because I don’t connect with it, but because I feel self-conscious writing it. The wildest I felt it was when I tackled 'quiv's chapter 3 and Imera's Turning speech, both in quick succession (before I'd even written draft 1. I'd been taking notes.) Since then... I just thing back to how keenly I'd felt that anger, and I kind of intimidate myself out of it. Kind of like a natural resistence, I quench it from myself. Which is actually hilarious when you think about it. It’s like I’m going I BANISH THEE FROM MY BRAIN because generally, as a person, I dislike feeling and operating on anger. But no worries. I’m going to find a way around it.

Watch me😎.

What Goes Around…

(Now it’s the time for me to start crying some rivers, and, alright, it won’t be visible so I’ll say it: the chapter titles are holding a conversation, guys. They speak to each other. And sometimes it’s both sides of the same coin, like how What Goes Around (comes around) hints here. If you take two chapters, one from the beginning and one from the end (for example 1 and 21) it'll tell you a little secret. Okay, What Goes Around and Rain Through the Universe communicate through their plot, which I can’t spoil but of course it has to do with Madigan and Spica and how they first meet… but there is one title pair that does it best visibly.

Lemon-Dotted Days and Days in Darkness.

And I hadn’t even planned this. All the parallels I wanted to draw… I feel like they built themselves, guys. They really did, and it makes me so wildly happy I don’t even know how to stop my hands from flailing.

And, with them being 21 chapters, they meet in the middle, on the one unpaired chapter.

Called Toast to the Light.

I friggin’ love everything.

New Sunrise, Forget-Me-Right

Of course, Forget-Me-Right is a play on Scorpion Grass. But it’s also such a gentle name for the chapter, because everything ends here. Lying on their backs, staring out into the universe, and it really, really is over. Just a dark horizon on which stars flare and bloom. And suddenly, that maddened rush to make every sacrifice count, to remember every soul they’ve encountered because the legend says the Beast absorbs you when it kills you – all that suffocating pressure dissipates. Lightness remains. Because they’ve protected each other.

For the first time in my writing journey, blood rushed to my head with such emotion I had to stop writing, which never happens. I had to look up and exclaim, holy fuck. But how could I not, considering how the story ends for the Beast? I am speechless. A lot of gorgeous surprises this draft.

Conclusion□●□

Whew, what a year it's been! As for how 2024 will probably look like, though I don't like making plans: finishing the beta stage for 'quiv, and tackling RoaN and AoS's draft 3. Thaaaat one I'm actually starting on Christmas, when I can (finally!!) reread draft 2 with my mug of hot cocoa (or maybe mulled wine for a change) and, no surprises here, I'm hyper stoked for that<3 <3 <3 I legit can't wait to see where the new draft brings them. I might not have set any expectations for them, but they're vying to keep up with 'quiv and I adore it🤭❤

As for my lovely friends... well, you know by how I spam your tags how much I adore you and wish you happiness forever🤩🥺🥳 I don't know what my activity will look like in the near future, so for now I won't be saying anything, and my semi-hiatus continues. Semi, because you're unforgettable and I crave to see what everyone's been up to and (!!!!) what you've written!

So let's meet in 2024 again, and all the best wishes to you, the reader🥰🥂❤.

#ayearofwriting #2023 #aquiver-aglow #aberration of sunlight

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mikuni14 · 10 months ago

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Pit Babe - Ep 13

I don't have much to write about this, because with the exception of Way and his potential partners, nothing else really interested me in this series. And it's good that people who know the novel were throwing spoilers left and right without warning, because thanks to this I could mentally prepare for what will happen to Way 😶 Thanks to the fact that Way in this episode just stood there, then jumped, and then died, making it all about Babe anyway, and thanks to spoilers, his death didn't really affect me. It was oddly funny tho, when I thought wistfully again how great Pavel and Nut are together and how I wish they were together as a pair (this is my unfulfilled ship in this series). I watched for a bit after that scene, hoping that maybe Way had somehow survived, hehe, but it was a vain dream 🤡 I honestly chuckled in disbelief when PeteWay was reduced to Pete's little sadness and a montage of some 4 of their scenes, and when I realized that they didn't even have Kenta there to mourn his brother. Tbh I skipped through the rest of the episode, and since I wasn't interested in the rest of it in the first place, that was the end of my adventure with Pit Babe 🥳 Despite knowing the spoilers, I had quite high hopes that Way would survive, because he was actually VERY popular in the Pit Babe fandom, and killing off a fan favorite is always a risky move. Way could have been punished for what he did in many ways, he could have left the team, cut off contact with Babe, left the country, anything. Even go to jail, like in History 3: Trapped! And yet they chose something so final. Nobody even called an ambulance for him....

I liked that it was Kenta who ended The Tony problem, and that he wasn't overwhelmed by his own actions, didn't lose control and stopped Tony when he tried to hit him. It was actually my fav part of this ep. (and the whole Winner and The Boys scene lol) As I understand it, Kenta didn't have any more scenes after that? Even to cry over Way? Am I wrong? I ask, because maybe he did appear after all, and I have missed him by skipping scenes.

If you are a Charlie fan, don't read this part: Even though I'm allergic to Charlie and CharlieBabe, I forced myself to watch their scenes at the beginning because I was curious how Babe would deal with the fact that Charlie was alive, he lied to him in a most fundamental way, broke his heart in the worst possible way, sending him into mourning and a destructive need for revenge. Babe handled it with flying colors like a model grief stricken patient 👌 Can't help but wonder, why there was a ENTIRE episode about the grieving Babe when he acts now like Charlie came back safe and sound from visiting his mean family during Christmas. I don't know if I could be with someone who actively chose the most cruel way to hurt me but "for my own god", I certainly couldn't just forgive it, but that's just me 🤷��♀️ Babe was used, abused, hurt, never asked for his opinion, for what HE wanted by everyone around him, over and over again, and everyone knows it and everyone continues to use him and hurt him because they know they CAN and there won't be any consequences. When Charlie, beaming happily, announced the reason for faking his death and traumatizing Babe, and Babe was liked, oh ok, I thought to myself, haha, ok, guys, you know what, I actually envy you this simple life of yours. This scene confirmed only one thing for me: yep, Charlie and this pairing irritate me just as much now as at the beginning 😏

I don't know if I understood correctly, Jeff had a vision and knew that Way was going to die? As I recall, he tried to stop his previous visions from becoming reality, and now he did nothing? Can someone confirm this for me or have I missed something here?

So. PeteWay and PeteKenta have carried this series for several last episodes, these ships have been heavily promoted by the series and the show's cast. The ending of these ships with Way's quick death, which is not even about him but about Babe and the disappearance of Pete and Kenta from the plot, in my opinion, is an insult to their fans who have invested their time, energy and emotions in this series (this is not about me, I mean all those people whose hard work I furiously reblogged, I love you besties). It sort of looks like baiting now , I thought Thai BL series of all were above that 😄

Sending hugs and kisses to Pit Babe fans and fans of things that could have been 😘 As for me? I hope there will be a lot of content with Nut from now on 💖

Pretty pics from @infinitelyprecious

#pit babe the series #pit babe #bl drama #thai bl

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thotsforvillainrights · 1 year ago

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congrats on the pregnancy!!! 🥳💕 any ideas for baby names yet?

also, if your title is right and requests are open, could i request some protective redestro headcanons or a scenario/imagine? like his s/o or a teammate/other family member gets hurt during a mass fight or threatened by another group? (bonus if he gets all monstrous)

thats the good shit i cant stop thinking about 😩

(Thank you! Unfortunately 10 million names for a girl and about 5 for a boy. Luckily my husband has stepped in with his list so we can do a formal comparison eventually!)

(And thank you for the Des content request since he's been on my mind heavy lately!)

~A Different Person~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

"A different person" is the right way to describe the situation at hand. The man standing in front of you was not the man you thought he was...

It probably started about a month ago when you overheard his conversation on the phone with a rising rival group trying to usurp the Liberation army and bring a bad name to Destro's legacy. Of course you weren't worried about it. The stronghold of the MLA could withstand any little group. Trumpet's magnificent hold on the people of Deika, Chitose's bold ability to clear the path in front of her, Geten's sheer determination and will power, Skeptic's advanced technology and his calculated use of meta ability...no one would could come close to shaking them up. So you shrugged and went about your day as though nothing was wrong. However, as the days went on, you grew more and more concerned with the air around you. It always felt as through you were being followed and this time not by Skeptic's usual surveillance. No, there was something more sinister at play.

After weeks of feeling odd, the day you finally went to announce your concerns was the exact day this rival group decided to strike. While Everyone was else was busy making quick work of the members around them, you were unfortunately on your own. Although it only lasted long enough for you to get a small gash on your arm, it was still the most uncomfortable 5 minutes of your life. The minute the other group attacked, Rikiya had set out to find you on his own. Much to the other's dismay of him leaving Detnerat himself, he ventured out and didn't take long to find you.

Oh but we he found you and saw that gash, it was probably the first time you'd ever seen this man angry in all of the time you've spent together. Even more so, this was the first time you'd seen his meta ability in action and also the first time you'd seen blood on his hands as well. And it was that very same blood stained hand that lowered itself in front of you. You hesitate for a moment before stepping onto the palm and grabbing hold of his thumb. You didn't let go of the large appendage until he made it back to Detnerat. He carefully lowered his hand and waited for you step off before shrinking back down to size. It seemed impossible to make eye contact with you in the moment. It truly shocked him when you pulled him into a tight hug before uttering a shaky 'What the fuck?'

Out came a long winded explanation and solid apologies strung out for nearly 20 minutes it would feel like. "I hid myself from you because I'm well aware a meta ability like this isn't exactly the most desirable in a partner." You sighed and shook your head. "So you mean to tell me that you spent all this time hiding yourself from me because you were scared of running me away?" He stares flatly before raising his hand up and showing it to you you again. "Is this not something that terrifies you?" He asks, gesturing at the blood covered palm. "This meta ability has killed..."

"And it's that same meta ability that has protected me today and who knows how many other times without me even knowing! It's not like I'll cower away from you now, silly. I've fallen in too deep at this point and besides." You smile and close the space between you two as you pull him into another hug. "It's no more scarier than Tomoyasu's puppet ability. Scared the crap out of me 2 weeks ago when he turned one of the filing cabinets without me knowing." Rikiya chuckled lightly and reciprocated the hug. "Let's get you to a hospital. I'm absolutely unhappy with the size of that gash right now." His voice muffled in your hair. You laugh quietly.

"Can you turn really huge again? I kind of like riding in your hand. It's like a carnival without ticket costs."

"Hmmm, perhaps another time. Hopefully for now..." He pauses and lifts you into his arms. "maybe this will suffice?"

You smile and nod.

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #meta liberation army #mla #rikiya yotsubashi #redestro #is this okay?#scenario

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didnt-eat-for-three-days · 2 years ago

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May 2023

Sw: 75 Cw: 61,3 Gw: 60 Ugw: 53

75 74 73 72 71 70 69 68 67 66 65

64 》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》

63 62 61 60 59 58 57 56 55 54 53

-------------------------------------------------------

31th didn't weigh myself (I was scared).

30th 64

63,2 - I wanna kill myself ngl.

I ruined all this month progress 😵‍💫

25-29th

De viaje. No me pesé.

24th...

No me he pesado y me da miedo... 😨

23th 61,7

Hoy viajo a Lima y después a Guadalajara (con escala en Ciudad de México). Estaré fuera hasta el próximo Lunes, por lo que no podré pesarme. Debo ser muy cuidadosa con mi alimentación para no subir de peso durante este viaje.

22th 62

I'm... so disappointed ngl

21th 61,3 🥳🥳🥳

Desbloquee un nuevo hito!!!! Estoy muy feliz!!!! Estoy a solo 1,3kg de mi meta mensual y a poquito más de 8kg para mi meta final de 53kg!!!!!

Debo empezar ya a hacer ejercicios. De ese modo mi cuerpo empezará a tomar la forma que quiero.

I... BINGED 😫!!!! LA PTM!!!!!! ME ODIOOOO POR SER TAN DÉBIL!!!!!!!! 😫😫😫😫

20th 62,4

A 9 kg de mi meta final y menos de 2 y 1/2 kilos para la meta del mes. Aun quedan 10 días. Sí puedo bajar!!!!!! Sí puedo lograrlo!!!!!

19th 63,3

A 10kg de mi meta. Al inicios de mes solo eran 9kg. En fin, sí llego a 60kg este mes. Empezaré a hacer ejercicio 5 veces por semana. Lo bueno es que como viajaré a México y estaré sola, podré perder peso ya que distribuiré mejor mi comida. Debo pesar 58 kg para el día del panamericano. Eso es menos de 1 mes. Ponte seria!

Update: Me vino la regla.

18th 64

Ok. Time to get back to exercising

17th 63

16th 63,7

15th 63,3 / BINGED

14th I didn't weigh myself... on purpose / BINGED

What the hell is wrong with you?

Seriously

What's wrong with you?

Don't you want to weigh 120 pounds???? How in hell are you gonna achieve that if you just keep binging???? Like wtf!!???? Shut your fxkin mouth and stop eating like you are underweight because you are not!!!!!!! Stop eating!!!!! Dammit!!!! You want to lose those +25 pounds for the THIRD TIME??? HAVEN'T YOU SUFFERED ENOUGH???? THE PAIN??? THE SHAME???? THE LITERAL FREEDOM FROM THAT WEIGHT??? DO YOU WANT TO LOSE YOUR PRETTY PRIVILEGE???? DO YOU WANT TO FEEL INVISIBLE AGAIN???? DO YOU WANT TO BE IGNORED AGAIN???? MOCKED OFF AGAIN???? WHY???? WHY DO YOU DO THAT TO YOURSELF??? WHY MEEMS WHY???? HAVEN'T YOU SUFFERED ENOUGH GIRL??? IS FOOD THAT IMPORTANT? ARE A COUPLE OF HUNGRY DAYS MORE IMPORTANT THAN RECEIVING COMPLIMENTS???? EVERYBODY AROUND YOU IS SAYING YOU LOOK SO MUCH BETTER THAN A YEAR AGO!!!! WHY???? WHY YOU WANNA LOSE THAT??? I DONT GET IT FOR FXKS SAKE!!!!! PUT YOUR SHT TOGETHER MOVE YOUR STUPID ASS AND CLOSE YOUR FXKIN MOUTH!!! DONT GAIN ANYMORE WEIGHT FOR FXKS SAKE!!!! LOSE IT!!!! LOSE IT ALL!!!! DAMMIT!!!!!

Don't you want to be feminine? Don't you want to be small and dainty?

Don't you wanna disappear between his arms?

How a man can be in love with a woman that is bigger than him?

He doesn't love you because you are not attractive enough for him to marry you.

He doesn't love you because you're not thin and delicate and small and feminine enough... yet

You are 10 kilos away from that

It's not impossible sweetheart

Not for you

You're incredible

You lost all those pounds

You're halfway there

Don't eat

Don't ruin your progress

Don't lose him

Make him love you

Make him look at you

He'll look at you when you're pretty enough for him to look at you not before so you have to lose weight

Don't you want him to look at you?

Don't you want him to embrace you?

Yes you do

Don't you want a life with him?

Yes you do

Well, how is he gonna fall in love with you if you're not pretty enough to him to notice you?

He's what you want

Be what he want

Will you do it?

Don't lie to yourself

You're not doing this for you

You're doing it for him

But that's good

It gives you a goal

It gives you a motivation

Don't eat

Don't eat and achieve it

Don't eat and you'll have a marvelous life with your marvelous husband

Don't you want a marvelous life with him?

Don't eat then

Seriously

Don't eat

Eating is ruining things for you so don't do it

Ok?

Ok then :)

13th 63,5

Retrocedí un hito. Tres días de excesos tenían que tener consecuencias. A partir de hoy volvemos al buen camino. Tenemos que llegar a la meta de los 60 para fin de mes.

12th 62,5 / BINGED

Three days of binging in a road 😱😭

11th 62,3 / BINGED

10th 61,3 / BINGED

9th 62,3

8th 62

7th 61,7

Quiero llegar a 60kg para fines de mayo. Empezaré a hacer 10 minutos diarios de hiit. Eso me ayudará a perder peso y ganar músculo. No quiero verme "gorda-flaca". De momento, me siento contenta al poder entrar al hito de los 61kg a pesar de darme atracones de vez en cuando y no hacer ejercicio desde mediados de febrero.

6th 62,1 / 31,5%

5th I forgot to weigh myself

4th 63,3 / BINGED

Tengo el abdomen distendido por culpa del café del trabajo (contiene lácteos y azúcar). He tomado gaseosa en los últimos días, además de comer demasiado. Mal. Debo volver al buen camino. Me siento muy distendida. Me duele y me siento pesada (además de verme panzona).

3rd 63 / BINGED

2nd 62,8

#journal #2023 #may 2023

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lathalea · 2 years ago

Note

Hello there! Did you really think I wouldn't participate in this ask game? Well, here I am, and of course, this is about Thorin😂 😈

One thing about myself: I love books, and more importantly, I love talking about books with just about anyone (as if you didn't know that lol)! Basically I'm just a bid old nerd who wants some cuddles while reading together.

I'm a sucker for forbidden love (again, shocker, right?) but this time let's go with friends to lovers. Gimme all the fluff!

And my chosen au is the au that's not actually an au because we all know the Durins survived, aka everybody lives au!

Why hello there, stranger! 💙 Did you really think I'd forget about your ask? Not a chance!

First of all...

(Sorry about the delay though. The heatwave is killing me.)

And now, let's get down to business 🥳🎈🎁 This is both the Imagine Ask Game imagine (💞 - Friends to Lovers with Thorin) and my newest fic for the Armitage Summer Splash event so I hope you'll excuse me the almost-a-fic-but-a-bit-like-an-imagine general style of the story.

WEEK 4 - PROMPT 28

Here are the tarot cards for your ask:

And here is the prompt:

WEEK 4 - PROMPT 28

Trope: Dream Quote: “Let’s skip to the good part.” Image: link

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit) Rating: G Wordcount: 4165

You can find this fic on AO3.

Khuzdul: Amrâlimê - my love

Dream Come True

Smaug was dead and Erebor was being restored. Leaving Ered Luin and moving to your homeland was like stepping into a fairy tale. You were born in exile, but your grandmother told you many amazing tales about the true home of your clan. When the time came and Thorin Oakenshield reclaimed the Lonely Mountain, you and your family joined a caravan and headed east.

When you arrived in Erebor, you instantly fell in love with the place. It was even better than your grandmother’s stories. Luckily, your family’s old home wasn’t overly damaged, so you started your new life fairly quickly after moving back in.

As a serious book-lover, you had one dream: to become a librarian. Since your grandmother used to be one of the librarians under the Mountain back in her day, she had taught you all you needed to know to become one. She was too old to return to her former work, but her recommendation along with your earlier work experience in a cosy little bookshop in the Blue Mountains made it possible for you to work at the Great Library of Erebor.

In the beginning, the job meant mostly cleaning up the mess Smaug left and trying to rescue the damaged books or at least copy their content before their frail parchment pages perished forever. You often stayed up late at night, trying to decipher faded runes on the yellowed pages of yet another ancient volume, but it was worth it. So what if half of the time you actually spent on reading books instead of mending or sorting them? You had always made sure to finish the most urgent tasks before treating yourself to another chapter of “Brok The Barbarian” or “The Wuthering Red Mountains” or “The Haunted Manor of Mirkwood”. Well, almost. Sometimes Mistress Gudrun, the head librarian, would find you surrounded by a heap of books you had been sorting all morning with one of them in your lap as you devoured its contents. It was completely not your fault. That book simply happened to open of its own accord—by accident—on a very interesting page. Mistress Gudrun would shake her head with a chuckle and then leave you be. She knew you were one of the most passionate of her apprentices, even if rather easily distracted. But some things could not be helped. Besides, you reminded her of her younger self a little bit.

One night you were still at the library, finishing the task of cataloguing the “Art of War” section when you heard a suspicious noise. A sound of a door being unlocked and opened. And it was not just any door – it was the side door that was only used by the staff to enter and leave the library at any time through a conveniently placed tunnel. It even had a sign: “NO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL”.

Then you heard slow, heavy steps. They didn’t sound like any of your colleagues’ steps. What if it was a thief?! You grabbed the heaviest tome you could find and stalked towards that door. In the flickering light of the library lamps, you saw a shadow of a movement ahead of you. Without thinking, you gathered your courage and attacked the supposed burglar with the leather-bound tome. That would teach them not to steal!

The book hit something hard. You heard an “Oof!” and then your priceless weapon was torn out of your hands before you could react. You blinked and your mouth fell open at the large silhouette in front of you. In the faint light you saw none other than your king, the legendary Thorin II Oakenshield. You recognized him, of course, you’d seen him in the Blue Mountains many times before, but never from such a close distance. He stood there, tall and proud, with his dark locks majestically flowing down his shoulders… and massaged his arm with a frown on his face. “Do you assault all the visitors who come here to read?” he uttered an irritated growl.

You swallowed. You had just attacked your king. You hoped that the infamous dungeons of Erebor weren’t as full of hungry giant cave rats as the rumours said. After muttering apologies to your king, you explained the situation and, to your surprise, heard his explanation in turn. He was in need of some light reading after a long day and this entrance to the library was the closest one to the royal chambers. And, of course, he had the key. He was the king of this mountain, after all!

It was your lucky day: he didn’t imprison you or hang for treason and instead you offered him a few books that would make good evening reads. He took them gladly, even “The Crucible”, one of your favourites, a lighthearted story about a Dwarf, an abysmal cook, who tried to make the perfect stew for his three beloved wives. Don’t judge, okay? Culinary novels are an important element of dwarven literature!

This was how your friendship started. Yours and the king’s, not yours and that stew’s of course. Thorin and you bonded over the written word and he became a frequent late evening visitor in the library. Since then, you spent many hours – or even whole nights – discussing the stories you had both read or criticising the authors who wrote too much angst and not enough fluff. And sometimes, you would simply talk about anything and everything.

Thorin appreciated these visits more than you knew. Even if he spent a tiring day with his advisors, he knew that he’d find you in the library in the evening. With you, he could forget about his duties for a short while and enjoy both your quick wit and your charming smile. You helped him rekindle his old love for books, something he hadn’t had the chance to enjoy much when Erebor was lost. But now it was different. He reclaimed his kingdom, his people were safe, and he was finally able to find some time for leisure. So he spent it with someone he learned to appreciate and admire. You. The person with whom he could be himself. Someone who wasn’t an advisor, nor a sparring partner, nor a courtier. Someone who didn’t want to get into his good graces just because he was a king; who didn’t expect favours nor special treatment. Someone he had been thinking of as his close friend for a while now.

One day Dis approached her brother and discreetly let him know that there were rumours of him having a dalliance with a mysterious lover. Apparently, someone saw Thorin sneaking out of the royal wing late at night; someone else saw him returning shortly before dawn, and several nobles commented on the shadows under his eyes when he arrived at the morning council meetings. Some even wondered whether Thorin acted dishonourably, having trysts with an unsuspecting young lady, but not courting her openly. Or worse – what if he seduced multiple innocent maidens under everyone’s nose?! Was that conduct worthy of a king?! “Preposterous!” Thorin exclaimed. In anger, he told Dis what he had been doing and whom he was meeting. She replied, “I suspected as much. I can see that she makes you happy and it fills my heart with warmth. Have you told her of your feelings yet?”

Thorin had no idea what his sister meant. You were his good friend, nothing more! But then Dis told him that he should stop acting like an empty-headed mountain troll. She reminded him that she was not blind and spoke about all the little glances he cast at you when he thought no one was looking. Or about that meeting at the marketplace the other day when you both stood in the middle of a crowd together, oblivious of your surroundings, passionately discussing the ending of a book you had both recently finished. Oh, and the fact that he would rather spend nights in the library than sleep in his own, comfortable bed spoke volumes, too. And what about that tiny issue of him rejecting every single suggestion of marriage she or Balin proposed?

Thorin started seriously thinking about what Dis said. Was it possible that something more than friendship blossomed between you? He recalled the way you smiled at him whenever he appeared in the library. He remembered the reluctance with which he said “good night” to you every time he had to leave. And each time he did, he saw some mysterious emotion twinkling in your bright eyes. The eyes that made him think of precious gems. And then, there was that warmth he felt deep inside. And that tingling sensation whenever your hands accidentally met.

He needed to think.

***

It had been over a week since you saw Thorin last and you started to worry. It was unlike him to disappear this way without telling you in advance that he would be busy with matters of state or that he had to leave for a diplomatic visit somewhere. As far as you knew, he was still in Erebor.

Around that time you noticed that whenever you passed through the library, people would stare at you and whisper. The elderly Master Wurf, the biggest local gossip and the chief of the fine arts section, tsk-tsked at you and told you he expected more of you.

When you asked him what he meant, he simply replied, “Do not feign innocence, young lady, it does not suit you. Have you no shame?” Did it have anything to do with the fact that he stumbled upon you and Thorin late at night in one of the secluded areas of the library a few days before? Master Wurf refused to say anything more. In fact, he started openly avoiding you, and he was not the only one. Even your friends began treating you in a very weird way, suddenly interrupting their conversations whenever you appeared or making themselves scarce. One of them even had the audacity to ask whether you could fix them with a permanent position as a royal clerk since you had “access” to the king. He winked and chuckled when he said it, but you found nothing funny about this. Things turned even less amusing when the amount of crude remarks towards you multiplied and you even received several very improper proposals. And then one day you heard your nosy neighbour speak to her husband, “Look, that harlot is coming! I wonder how much the king pays her for…”

“Stop wagging your tongue, woman, and give me my dinner!” her spouse bellowed.

“Woman?! Woman?! After 157 years of marriage you have forgotten my name, you smelly boar?! I’ll teach you…”

The familiar sounds of their customary weekly fistfight ensued followed by their passionate exclamations of love that usually came after, but you did not hear it. You ran home, teary-eyed, and locked yourself in your room. “The king’s harlot”. Those words stung more than they should. But what hurt even more was that Thorin stopped seeing you so abruptly. In these circumstances, you came to a conclusion: he did not want to see you again. His reputation as a king was worth more to him than your quiet friendship. He did not even have the decency to speak with you in person. Perhaps you were not as close as you had thought you were. Those late night conversations, fiery discussions, private jokes you shared… all of it was gone now. You were left only with memories of those moments, of his cerulean eyes, and of that low, velvety voice speaking your name.

Now, your reputation was ruined. You could wave any hopes of finding a spouse goodbye. No one seemed to believe you, and it was probably a matter of time until Mistress Gudrun would dismiss you from the library for indecent conduct, even if it was just based on some gossip.

As you wallowed in self-pity, there was a knock on the door and before you could say “enter”, your grandmother barged into your room.

“My dear girl, are you sleeping with the king?” she asked in her charmingly blunt way, staring you straight in the eye.

“Of course not, granny!” you exclaimed. That one time when you and Thorin both dozed off late at night in the library and your head happened to rest on his very comfortable shoulder surely didn’t count! You still remembered the moment when you both woke up, staring sleepily into each other’s eyes, his lips barely inches from yours. No, that dot not count even a bit!

“What a shame,” she sighed and sat next to you with a grunt. “So all those things I hear are only unsubstantiated rumours?” “I’m afraid so,” you reached for your handkerchief in an attempt to dry your cheeks.

“And here I was thinking that at least you had some fun!” “Grandma, he is the king!” you gasped. “Oh yes, he is, and he is quite a handsome one, is he not?” she grinned.

“Come on, granny! Thorin and I are just friends! He sometimes visits the library, nothing more!”

“Are you well, my dear? Your cheeks are red. You are not blushing, are you?” “Of course I am not blushing! It is the heat, I must have put too many logs into the fireplace, that is all,” you tried your best bluff.

“If you say so, dear,” your grandma nodded, patting your hand. “Then I guess there must be some misunderstanding with that royal messenger at our door…” “What? What? What? What are you talking about, granny?” you almost jumped up.

“A nice young fellow has just arrived with a dinner invitation for you from king Thorin,” she smiled sweetly at you. And when your grandma smiled sweetly, that was an equivalent of a shark baring his teeth.

“Tell him I’m not unavailable! I’m sick! I’ve gone to visit our relatives in the White Mountains!” you panicked.

“Truly, child? Is that the best you can do? All my teachings for nothing…” she hung her head theatrically. Our last relatives in the White Mountains moved away from there over 200 years ago during the last Orc War. Do you want the king to think that you are related to an Orc?”

“No! Granny! Oh no! I just… I don’t want to see him! Because of those horrible rumours, he’ll probably tell me that… this is the end of our… our friendship,” you sobbed while your heart raced like crazy in your chest. “I can’t… I can’t face him. Not now. I just want to be left alone until it all blows over.” “Very well, my child,” your grandma gave you a reassuring hug. “If that is what you want, I will make it happen.”

***

You spent several peaceful days at home, taking a sick leave. Even your granny agreed that you deserved some rest. Secretly, you hoped that the rumours would soon die down and everyone would once again leave you alone. It felt strange to spend the evenings at home with your family instead of copying the old parchments and waiting for the familiar squeaking sound of the opening door, along with Thorin’s customary “Good evening”. Oh, how you longed to hear his voice once again, to sit with him and simply enjoy his presence…

Instead, two more dinner invitations came, each of them written with golden letters on the best parchment you have ever seen, but you refused them both. Those were the formal invitations from the king, not your friend Thorin, and they did not bode well.

After that, a mysterious package arrived to you with no return address. Inside, there was a rare edition of a book you have always wanted to own. There was a fresh rose sticking out from between the covers and when you opened the book at that page, you saw a note. It contained a very short and very clumsily composed poem about your eyes being compared to gems. You recognized the elegant handwriting at once. And the rune “T” at the bottom of the page.

It was not possible. It had to be a mistake. Thorin never really liked poetry. And what about that beautiful flower? And the precious book?

“Are my old eyes failing me or is this a threefold gift?” your grandma asked, putting her book away.

“Granny, we both know you have eyes like a hawk! Wait… a threefold gift?” you forgot to breathe. The rose. The poem. The book. Three pieces. Exactly like the tradition said. Oh, shoot.

“What will you send him in return?” your grandma’s tone was alarmingly casual. “You can’t keep a courting gift waiting for too long, you know…”

“That’s… I don’t plan to send him anything,” you put the beautiful gift box aside, not wanting to look at it any longer.

“Do you know when was the last time Thorin Oakenshield sent his last courting gift?” you heard your granny’s soft voice.

“I don’t,” you admitted, your throat tightening.

“The answer is: never. The whole kingdom assumed he was devoted to his craft and therefore uninterested in marriage. It seems that we all were wrong and he found someone special after all,” she mused.

“You don’t understand, granny. Thorin is an honourable dwarf. He knows about that gossip and he realises how damaging it is to my reputation so he is trying to do what he feels is right out of his sense of duty. Plus, I’d make a very bad queen…”

Your grandmother just shook her head and, to your surprise, said nothing, leaving you with your dark thoughts.

***

The next courting gift from Thorin came a week later. Another exciting book, another clumsy but sweet poem, and another flower (a daisy, as pink as your lips, as the new poem claimed). Your grandma simply looked at you from behind her half-moon spectacles but, again, did not say a word.

You put the gifts into your wardrobe with an attempt to forget about them. As tradition said, if you were not interested in the courtship, the only thing you had to do was simply not to respond to these gifts and leave them be. And that was exactly what you did. After reading the books, of course. The courting traditions did not say anything about not being allowed to reading them. That was what books were for, weren’t they?

The problem was, the third gift came a week later, another one a week after that, and then they just kept on coming. Your free wardrobe space was shrinking rapidly. Meanwhile, your granny and the royal messenger became fast friends and she even began baking her delicious cinnamon buns every Friday — because that was the day he would come with another courting gift from Thorin. At the same time, you absolutely did not feel any anticipation every Friday morning. You were not interested in empty gifts sent to you out of misplaced pity. Not at all. And yet, you still missed Thorin, your dear… friend.

***

Almost two months passed and everyone seemed to have forgotten about your alleged scandalous affair with the king — or perhaps they had simply become bored with it. The gossip mill of Erebor was now busy with another topic: the royal jeweller’s wife gave birth to twins and the rumour had it that each of the babes was supposed to have a different father. When your grandmother heard it for the first time, she laughed to tears together with the royal messenger who, along with that piece of gossip, brought you another courting gift. A brand new, illustrated copy of your favourite “The Crucible”, a touching poem with loneliness as a main theme, and a simple forget-me-not flower. Now you too had tears in your eyes.

One day you stayed at the library longer than usual, determined to finish making the inventory of the newest books that arrived from the Blue Mountains. You were so focused on the task that you hadn’t heard the characteristic squeaking sound of a particular door being opened.

“Good evening,” the rumbly, familiar voice broke the silence that surrounded you. And then you heard your own name spoken in that very special way you secretly adored.

“Thorin?” you almost jumped in surprise. He stood before you, just as he did that first time you had met here, wearing a simple dark blue tunic that emphasised his strapping figure of a warrior, his hair slightly ruffled, his temple free from the Raven Crown of Erebor, but this time there was no frown on his face. Instead, a slight smile danced on his lips. Mahal, how you had missed seeing him. “I am glad to see you here again. May we talk?” His eyes searched your face and one look into them was enough to melt your resolve.

Your conversation started awkwardly at first. Thorin was convinced that he offended you somehow and wanted to know what he could do to make amends. He wished to understand why you refused to see him and avoided him for so long. Brimming with strong emotions, in a trembling voice you spoke of your disappointment and all the misery the rumours had caused you. “... and when you stopped coming to the library, I thought I lost a… friend,” you finally admitted quietly, stifling a sob.

“You have never lost me. I needed to reflect on some matters in solitude, but now I know that I have failed you. I believed those rumours would harmlessly disappear. For that I am asking for your forgiveness and if it will be granted to me, I still would like to continue being your… friend, if I cannot be anything else.”

While listening to his words, you looked at your hands that somehow found themselves in his large, warm palms of a blacksmith. You discovered that you liked the feeling and the sensations that came with it. You did not want him to let go of you even if you probably should.

“And what else would you like to be?” you asked, unable to ignore the effect his closeness had on you. These were the same hands that gently picked the flowers, carefully chose the books and wrote those awkward poems for you every single week while you were apart. And the regal features of his face were now softened by a hopeful smile that reached all the way to his eyes.

“Do you remember that old parchment we once read together? The one that said: ‘Life is but a book and every day – merely a page’?” Thorin squeezed your hands gently.

“I do, but what does it have to do with you and me?”

“I would like to reopen that book with you. But not where we left off. Let us skip to the good part. Let us write new pages for as long as we live. Together. What do you say?”

“Together,” your voice wavered, “as… friends?”

Thorin’s hands moved to your arms, shoulders, then to your neck, and then cupped your face, making your breath hitch. His face was so close to yours now, your nose brushed against his. You could even feel the warmth of his breath and the softness of his hair against your cheek. As you took a deep breath, your lungs filled with that unmistakable scent of pine needles, leather, and ink. So unmistakably, reassuringly Thorin.

“No, not at all as friends,” he murmured, gently pressing his forehead against yours, and then added one little world that turned your world upside down, “Amrâlimê.”

“Do you mean it?” your eyes widened. “Truly?”

Without a word, Thorin took out a little wooden box out of his pocket. There were his and your runes carved in its cover. When he handed it to you, you took it from him and opened it. Inside, you saw an elegant mithril braid bead and a beautiful matching ring adorned with diamonds – symbols of eternal love. No Dwarf would offer such breathtaking gifts simply out of duty.

You wanted to pinch yourself when Thorin took one of your hands and placed it over his heart.

“Truly. I do not wish to only be your friend. Not any longer. I want to share my life with you, if you will have me.”

Your vocal cords refused to cooperate. All you could do was nod and wrap your arms around him, tucking your head under his bearded chin.

“Is that a ‘yes’, Amrâlimê?” Thorin whispered softly while the gentleness of his arms encircled you.

“Oh, Thorin. I didn’t dare to dream that this day would ever come. Yes.”

He took your hand into his a placed a careful kiss on the back of your palm. And then he slipped on your finger the ring he had made with his own hands during that time you were apart. When you met his gaze, the eternal diamonds shone in his eyes.

On that day you learned that some dreams do come true, after all.

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General taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed): @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @amelia307 @anyaspidergirl-blog @jotink78 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @linasofia @legolasbadass @yourqueenunderthemountain @reblogunderthemountain @guardianofrivendell @elrawienthewhite @tschrist1 @nelleedraws @beenovel @vee-vee-writes @mcchiberry @dumbassunderthemountain @errruvande @laurfilijames @emrfangirl @s0ftd3m0n @lilith15000 @kami-chan1512 @ragsweas @enchantzz @aduialel @myselfandfantasy @thewhiteladyofrohan @elliepie1226 @middleearthpixie @i-did-not-mean-to @blairsanne @fckmini @clumsy-wonderland @wormsmith @mailinsblogofstuff @medusas-hairband @xxbyimm @guylty

Thorin taglist: @narniaandthenorth @i-am-the-raven-queen @ruthoakenshield @jaskierthelover @asgardianhobbit98 @thespiritoflife @justfollowtheroad

#happy birthday #legolasbadass #thorin oakenshield #richard armitage #fluff #thorin imagine #thorin x reader #hobbit imagine #thorin fic #tarot #armitage summer splash #tarot ask game #fanfic #romance #friends to lovers #the hobbit

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