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therenlover · 4 years ago

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Heartsick (A James Patrick March/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: When you fall ill, James is given a forceful awakening about how he’s been neglecting your needs and what he must do to prevent harm from befalling you again

Tags: Fluff, Sickfic, Cuddling, Marriage Proposal

Rating: 16+

Warnings: Language, Potentially Triggering Mentions of the Reader Being Ill for a Long Time/Almost Dying of an Unnamed Illness, Planning Your Own Death

Word Count: 3700~

This was crossposted to my AO3 under the same title!

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James Patrick March considered himself a fairly patient man. He had to be, in his line of work. Some things didn’t deserve his patience, like lazy workers or angry hotel guests, but when it came to things that did matter, he was willing to go to extremes. Murder, for example, deserved his patience. Once upon a time, the Countess did too. Yes, patience was a rare virtue Mr. March had possessed all his life.

When it came to you, though, he found his patience running short.

You had been a revelation all your own when you first walked through the doors of the Hotel Cortez with not even a suitcase to your name, radiating purity with every shallow breath. James had been excited to find you in some dark corner of the hotel and rip the life from your body. That is until you found his little nook at the Blue Parrot Lounge and seduced him with your charming personality and sweet smile. From that moment on the Countess didn’t matter anymore. The whole world was just him, you, and all of the deliciously naughty ways he wanted to debauch you.

James had insisted on moving you into your own suite on the seventh floor that very night, just a few short hallways away from his own, and given every luxury he could offer. He was nothing if not a gentleman. It just wouldn’t be right to move the one he intended to court directly into his bedroom, especially while he was still married to his previous wide. Despite the distance, things between the two of you went swimmingly. Even the murder, which James initially worried could drive you apart, was now a delightful shared activity when you chose to grace him with your presence during a kill.

That’s where the problems started.

Mr. March was a man stuck in his own time. That’s why, after 5 splendid years with you at his side, you still weren’t moved into room 78. This also meant your suite was a place he wouldn’t enter unless he was invited. Sure, you had a healthy sex life, but the Countess still had the March family engagement ring tucked away somewhere. He wouldn’t move you into his quarters or impose himself on yours until the two of you were at the very least engaged. The plans for his and the Countess’ divorce were moving, albeit slowly, when you stopped opening the door for James.

The first day he thought perhaps you were simply elsewhere, but after a week of nothing, he began to get angry. It was one thing to deny him your company, but to ignore him while he made a fool of himself banging on your door? That was a punishable offense in the March family playbook. So, he decided if you wanted to play hard to get, he would too. In his mind, James could practically envision you rushing back into his arms once you got over whatever was souring your mood. It wouldn’t be long until the whole nasty affair was behind the both of you once and for all, right?

Wrong.

A month since he last dined with you, James sat at his table in the Blue Parrot lounge alone nursing the remains of his 4th glass of scotch.

Liz was slow to walk out from her place behind the bar. “You want another?” she asked, holding out a crystal decanter, “or should I fish out the absinthe fountain a little early this year,”

“No, no I do believe I’ve had quite enough. Besides, it’s not as if I can actually get drunk anymore,” he huffed. Whether it was the drinks or his growing rage, Mr. March found his collar feeling a bit tighter. He reached up to pull at his cravat but paused when thinking about the ghastly wound it hid. In the end, he let his hand return to its place on his glass.

“Suit yourself,” Liz quickly returned the decanter to its place and began polishing glasses.

Somewhere in the distance, Iris picked up a phone and began to take an order for room service. James had an epiphany.

“Liz!” he shouted, getting her attention, “has Y/N been ordering much room service lately?”

Liz shrugged. “Only once a day for the past month. Why do you ask?”

“I find myself in a bit of a predicament. You see, Y/N began ignoring me about a month ago. I’ve been giving her a taste of her own medicine for quite some time now, and yet she has made no attempts to seek me out. Do you think, perhaps, there could be something wrong?”

The energy in the room began to still.

“Wait, Y/N hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

The dirty glasses were abandoned as Liz let out a humorless laugh.

“Damn you, woman!” James rose with a shout, slamming his glass down on the table, “what is she hiding!?”

“She’s sick,”

James’ heart would have stopped if it were still beating. He sat down again, bewildered. “What?”

“She’s sick. Fever, puking, tremors; the whole shebang,” As she spoke, Liz came back to the table and sat down on the plush booth across from him.

“But it’s been a month! Influenza shouldn’t last that long…”

“Well, it’s definitely not the flu, I can tell you that. Last time I brought down her dinner she nearly choked on her toast. She was so weak that I had to sit there feeding her soup because she couldn’t lift up the spoon long enough to feed herself,”

It was as if James’ whole world had come collapsing down on him all at once. Mortified, he let his head drop into his hands. “Why didn’t she inform me? Am I that pathetic a lover that she would rather suffer in silence than tell me she was ill?”

“Well, to her credit, you don’t exactly look like the most comforting type. When did she move in again?”

“Almost five years ago, it’ll be the anniversary of her first entering the Cortez on the 20th,”

“And how many times in the past five years have you, I don’t know, cuddled with Y/N,”

“You insolent-”

Liz lifted her arms, offering up a white flag. “I’m just asking a question,”

James opened his mouth to offer up a rebuttal but found he had no way to defend himself.

It was true that his relationship with Y/N tended to fluctuate between chaste and lecherous at the drop of a hat. Once they had made love, it was the only habit for him to leave her in bed and return to whatever was keeping him busy at the moment. Post-coital intimacy was simply something he had never experienced or needed. Unfortunately, seeing that the only time he spent with Y/N outside of their trysts were formal meetings or dinners, there had been no time for gentility or softness between just the two of them. If ghosts could blanch, he would have.

Noticing his sudden shift in mood, Liz rose, backing off. “Now, usually I like to stay out of your business, but because your little relationship makes Y/N happy I’ll give you some advice. Go down to the kitchen, have Ms. Evers heat some broth, and give Y/N her dinner personally, maybe even give her some extra attention as a little treat. That should fix the bulk of your issues. Got it?”

He was never one to take orders, but surprisingly James nodded. He stood quickly, smoothing his suit. “Thank you for your advice, Ms. Taylor, but I must depart. My paramour needs me,”

She nodded. “Any time,” James began to hurry down the stairs, but suddenly Liz shouted. “Wait a second,”

James paused. “Yes?”

“Only the living get sick, Mr. March. Maybe, after five years, it’s time for Y/N to extend her stay at the Cortez... permanently. Just something to think about,”

He gave her a sharp nod before disappearing down the stairs to the kitchen. 15 minutes later he was waiting outside your door with a rolling cart in hard. He had already been stalling there for 5 minutes when he finally, with a deep, steadying breath, unlocked the door.

The room was dark and silent, almost like a tomb.

Your voice rang out like a bell as James pushed the cart forward. “Iris?” you called weakly, “is that you?”

“No, darling,” he responded, closing the door behind him. Slowly, he bent down at turned on a small lamp. “You won’t need Iris to bring you your dinner any longer,”

“James,” You whispered, half reverent and half shocked.

He was far too taken aback by the severity of your condition to form an immediate response.

You were curled up in bed, folded in on yourself as you wheezed for breath. As Liz had mentioned your body was weak and wracked with near-constant tremors while you tried your best to prop yourself up on the headboard. James had to abandon the cart with your dinner on it in favor of rushing over and helping you sit up. As he took in your gaunt face, his heart broke.

Your soft voice snapped him from his thoughts.

“Am I dead?”

James shook his head. “No my love, not yet,”

Tears began to spill from your eyes. “I thought you’d left me, James. I thought I was going to have to rot in this awful, dark room for eternity, that maybe ‘cause I died while I was sick my ghost was too damn weak to get up,” As you spoke, you tried to grip the back of his suit, but found you were far too weak to actually hold the fabric. Your inability to even do the simplest of tasks only made you cry harder.

Mr. March was quick to pull out his handkerchief and wipe your eyes. “Oh, my dearest, that couldn’t be farther from the truth, but none of that matters now. I cannot apologize enough for my abhorrent behavior as of late,”

“Will you stay?” your words were laced with desperation, “just for a little bit?”

“Of course, my dearest. I think you’ll find it very difficult to get rid of me from now on. Besides, I couldn’t leave my beloved paramour without doing what it is that I set out to do,”

“Which is?”

James stood and quickly returned with the room service cart. As he removed the silver tray-topper, you found he had brought you a bowl of soup, a small plate of crackers, and a tall glass of ice water.

“I intend to make sure you are well-fed and taken care of,”

“James, you don’t-” you tried to argue, but he cut you off.

“Nonsense! There is, unfortunately, no way to sugar coat this, but I will try my best,” he whispered as he sat on the edge of the bed beside you, “I have neglected you, darling, not just for the past month when I found my pride and ego keeping me away from you, but also for the past five years. I ignored your needs out of a false sense of propriety by bending to rules that are long dead and considered inconsequential. For that, I fear I may never forgive myself. Things will be different from now on, though. I hope to win back your heart properly now that I have realized the severity of my mistakes. Would you…” he paused, gulping, “would you be willing to humor me?”

You offered him a soft smile. “Oh, my beloved Mr. March, there’s no need. My heart has always been yours,”

Your words soothed him, and he offered you one of his debonair grins, the kind where his little mustache scrunched before his lips parted that never failed to sweep you off your feet.

“Now where were we!” he exclaimed.

“Dinner,” you responded.

“Ah, yes! Soup!” He was quick to get a spoonful of the warm broth and bring it to your lips. “You needn’t worry, my sweetling, I watched Ms. Evers prepare this herself. Nothing but the best for you,”

It was easy to accept the spoon into your mouth. Something inside of you knew that James would be taking care of you from now on.

The rest of dinner passed in relative silence, but you didn’t mind, far too tired to take part in any meaningful conversation. Instead, you simply enjoyed the attention. James had never been shy about his affection, but that affection always tended to come in the form of gifts or sex instead of close, intimate touch. It hadn’t bothered you enough to tell him. You always just assumed he didn’t enjoy that kind of love. Now that you’d had a taste, though, of his gentle yet constant affection, you knew you could never get enough.

Too soon the bowl was empty.

James stood, returning to the door with the cart as you relaxed and rolled onto your side. “When will you be back?”

He chuckled, opening the door. “Did you think you could be rid of me so soon, darling?” The cart was quickly pushed out into the hallway as James turned back towards you.

Your face flushed. “I just assumed…”

“Assumptions, assumptions,” he tutted, “It hurts that you have such little faith in me, but I admit I haven’t given you much reason to. As I said, things will be different now,” James perched himself on the edge of the bed with a smile as he untied his shoes and slipped them off.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes, darling, so I can join you in bed,”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had been imagining the first time James would actually stay in your bed to cuddle since the beginning of your relationship, but it had been years since you had given any thought to that silly fantasy. Could it really be happening?

Apparently, your surprise was evident on your face because Mr. March paused once both his shoes were settled neatly on the floor. “Is something wrong, my dearest?”

“Nothing, darling, nothing at all,” you were quick to explain, “we’ve just never done this before,”

James smirked like a predator who had just found his prey. “Such an innocent gesture from such a naughty little minx. I don’t recall you being so… flustered the night we met when I took you up to my suite and-”

“James!”

“Alright! Alright, my love, no more vulgarity from me until you’re fully healed and back on your feet. Well, hypothetically on your feet,” he emphasized his words with a dirty wink. Then he crawled into bed beside you as if he belonged there, scootching over until he was resting pressed against your side. You slotted into place, with your face resting in his neck and your leg thrown haphazardly across his hips as if you were made to fit his body. Holding James was like coming home.

You let out a soft, pleased sound at just how good it felt to be held.

James took this as positive feedback. As he settled in, he began running his fingers through your bedhead, combing through the loosest of the knots. Sensing something strange, he paused to put his hand on your forehead. It was uncomfortably hot. “You’re still feverish. Do you need anything? A cold compress? A wet washcloth? Some water?”

It was funny to hear him fussing over you, but it also warmed the deepest parts of your heart.

You made a negative huff against his neck. “No! You’d better not move. Your skin feels too good. It’s nice… cold. The only thing I could possibly want right now is for you to dim the lights and take your damn shirt off so you can cool more of me off,”

“I would, darling, believe me, but there’s just the small issue of the wound on my neck,”

“James,” you glared up at him, “I have literally ripped a dying man’s dick off in front of you. We have dinner with Jeffery Dahmer on your birthday every year, where I have to eat my salad as he zombifies whatever poor sap wandered into Sally’s clutches across the table. Hell, just a few months ago we fucked in that bathtub filled with some businessman’s blood. Your neck is just another part of you, James, it doesn’t bother me. Shirt. Off.”

“Have I ever told you that I adore when you take charge?”

You grinned as he undid his cravat and the top few buttons of his dress shirt. “Once or twice,” The thrill only lasted a moment, though, because before he finished unbuttoning his shirt he pulled away from your arms and got off the bed. A high-pitched whine escaped from your lips. “I thought you said you were staying?”

“I may be a ghost, dear heart, but my clothes can’t just disappear,” Always one for the dramatics, he shed his shirt and suit jacket to the floor with gusto. The sight of his bare torso made your heart beat faster. You had to remind yourself that you were sick and it would probably kill you to go for even a gentle round with Mr. March. Ah, but what a way to die…

James dimmed the lamp before returning, undoing his pants, and stripping down to his boxers. “Is this better for you darling?”

You nodded and reached your trembling arms out to your lover. “Much. Now come back to bed. You have five years’ worth of cuddling to make up for Mr. March, and I don’t intend on letting you wheedle your way out of even a second of it,”

He gave you a gentle smile as he found his way beneath the covers again. “I wouldn’t dream of it,”

Your face quickly found its way back into the crook of James’ neck. It was inhumanly cool, easing the constant burn of your fever and soothing your sore skin. The slit across his throat truly didn’t bother you. As you said, it was just another part of him for you to love, nothing more than a cosmetic imperfection.

Nuzzling closer, you took a deep inhale of his intoxicating scent. Perhaps it was the cologne he wore at the time of his death or even just what he naturally smelled like, but his pulse point radiated notes of sage and bergamot. God, how you loved him.

The pair of you were quiet for a moment with only the sound of your ragged breathing breaking through the air, but something urged you to speak your mind.

“You know, James, when you walked into my room tonight I assumed you were here to kill me,”

He chuckled. “I can’t say I didn’t think about it, my pearl,”

“Of course you did…” you went silent for a moment, “I wouldn’t have minded. This sickness is hell. I’m wasting away by the day and the pain never stops. I don’t mind dying, not when it means I get to spend the rest of time here in the hotel with you, but I don’t want to go out like somebody normal. My death needs to be special… I want to be the crowning glory of your murders, the most fantastic piece of art you’ve ever created,”

Pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your hair, James sighed. “Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but the moment I thought of you, wasting away in the darkness and succumbing to some common germ, I knew I couldn’t kill you. Not yet. I refuse to have my bride accompany me through eternity bearing a constant reminder of my failure,”

Your breath hitched. “Bride?”

Slowly, his hand made its way to your throat. There was no threat in it, he wasn’t using even an ounce of pressure. It was more of a gentle reminder of his presence; a physical conduit of his passion.

“Yes, bride. I don’t mind if you can only become Mrs. March posthumously, though I would prefer to wed you alive and enjoy your last moments of warmth in the throes of carnal delight on our wedding bed, it all depends on where your illness takes you next. Until then I will be glued to your side. No more harm will come to you. I shall nurse you back to health with my own hand so that you glow with life long after your death. Yes, Y/N, your death will come, but not until I have done my best to atone for my mistakes in your life,”

“Was that a proposal?” You gazed up at James with wide, misty eyes.

He huffed out a laugh. “I suppose it was, and a poor one at that! To think I stalled for years in the hopes of finding the perfect moment to present you with my mother’s ring only to pop the question in bed with no ring in sight. I do hope you’ll say yes. I’d be rather crushed if you rejected me after all this time,”

You nodded, small tears escaping as you pressed your face into his soft skin. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot. I would’ve married you if you were the poorest man in the world and proposed with a ring-pop,”

“Then it’s settled. You shall be my wife as soon as you are well enough for me to fuck you again! I quite hate that Will Drake, but I believe he’s our best, quickest option if we wish to get you a dress commissioned. I have a few ideas drawn up already waiting in my office… perhaps I should call Ms. Evers and have her take them to him,”

“Shhhh,” you smiled into his neck, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, “we can figure out the details later. For right now, though, your fiancée is sick and she needs some TLC. What are you gonna do about it, Mr. March,”

He growled. “Well, I suppose ravishing you is off the table. Hmmm... what to do to my darling girl to make her feel better?” With a gentle nudge, he tilted your head up and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.

“That’s a start,”

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a/n: I hope you liked it! I’m really leaning towards writing a second part of this where the reader actually dies, so let me know if you’re interested. Also, my requests are open if you want to see any of Evan’s other characters!

Please don’t post my work to other sites, thank you <3

#ahs #ahs hotel #james march x reader #james patrick march #james march #james patrick march x reader #I wrote this instead of something incredibly filthy and terrible I have planned for later...#evan peters #evan peters x reader #american horror story #american horror story hotel #I love this man

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hayden-thefuck-whywouldyoudothis · 4 years ago

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The Inevitable

Hello wonderful people! This is going to be my first ever fanfic that I am posting anywhere, so please be nice. I would appreciate feedback, and I think that if it does well here I’ll post it n Ao3.

I came up with this fic idea a little while back, and I’ve been writing it since 03/13/21. Basically the idea is that while Tommy was in the afterlife, he met characters who died during Tales From The SMP episodes that took place in the past. They told him their stories, and Tommy connected the dots. He goes to confront Karl in Kinoko Kingdom.

This story includes a headcanon that is not mine. I read a fanfic with the mute!Karl headcanon. The story was an absolute banger. If you want to hear a little more about that go read their story Come Home With Me by icaruswontmelt on Ao3

Story starts under the cut .

The Inevitable, by BangHaydenCoven

Death was the one thing that had always been truly eternal. When Wilbur came back as Ghostbur, it had seemed like death maybe wasn’t completely permanent because Wilbur was back. But he hadn’t been brought back to life. He was a ghost, a shell of the person he had been before everything went to shit. Tommy had truly thought that death was the one thing that stayed constant on this god-forsaken server. Being beaten to death and brought back by the person who hurt you so deeply puts a lot of things that were just beyond reach of perfectly understandable, into perspective. In the amount of time that had gone by while Tommy’s life actually went to hell and back, everything had changed. Tubbo had gotten married of all things, He had a kid. And a new best friend as well, apparently. There was, for the first time in a long time, a semblance of peace between all of the factions. Peace smashed, the moment he had been let out of the prison. No one looked at him the same way anymore. No one looked at him like the kid he was. The kid he was supposed to be. All they saw was an anomaly. Not a real, live, breathing person who has feelings and needs validation, just like other people. Proof of something that never should have been real.

Since declaring that Dream had to die, Tommy had holed himself up in his little house dirt mound of a house. When he finally got over the initial panic, the firsthand terror of forcing himself to think about the time he had spent dead, he allowed himself to do it freely. Puffy had told him it was good to think back on the trauma. He wasn’t sure just how much he could trust that ideology, but it seemed to work for the most part. Tommy had spent the majority of his time in the afterlife with the people he had known when he was alive. Wilbur, Schlatt, Mexican Dream. It had been pretty simple. They spent a lot of time playing card games, for some reason. But one day, a fight had sparked between Tommy and Schlatt, causing the younger to storm off into the distance. He had been fuming that day. It hadn’t even been a fight that made sense. Schlatt had thrown some baseless accusations his way, and Tommy had just given up. He needed a break. So he walked away.

He walked.

And he walked.

And he stopped.

Looming over him was a building that was like nothing Tommy had ever seen. It was old, dusty, and cold. It belonged in the afterlife, to put it simply. It fit. It was a simple embodiment. Then, laughter filled the air. Frightening, drunk laughter that was cold but inviting. Tommy followed the spine-chilling noise into the building where he found four people. Three were dressed like they were from the Wild West. Cowboy hats, cowboy boots, and simple revolvers at their hips. The fourth was also clearly from the same time period, put was dressed simply. When he walked into the building, they just stared at him. Cold, level stares that made him feel like he would rather die all over again then be stuck under those gazes for the rest of eternity. But suddenly the looks of the people softened as they beckoned him over, introducing themselves as Connor, Mason, and Jack Kanoff. They were group of bandits called the Democrat Haters, and a simple bartender named John John. They told him their story, to put it simply. They told him how they died.

That was only the beginning.

Tommy wandered for a week straight, meeting people, hearing their stories. He met higher members of society who attended a masquerade only to die brutal deaths at the hands of a possessed butler, the members of a village with a crazed murderer that didn’t know haw to stop, that killed people brutally, among many others. And every single story Tommy heard had a one thing in common. There was always one man, in every story, who appeared out of no where, wearing colourful clothing and iridescent goggles perched on his head. He didn’t always use the same name, but he was always there, no matter when it had happened. As Tommy moved around his home to prepare, one thought rang true in his mind.

Karl was getting a visitor tomorrow.

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Walking to Kinoko Kingdom had taken a lot longer than Tommy had originally thought and planned for. Not that the little settlement was close to the rest of the Greater SMP, but it wasn’t far either. Regardless of distance, it was still far too long of a walk for Tommy to be in a good mood when he arrived to find Sapnap of all people tending to the garden in Kinoko. Usually Tommy would have snuck up behind Sapnap and scared him to intentionally piss the older man off, but that was the old Tommy. The old Tommy had stayed dead. Instead, he announced his presence by kicking an acorn at the other mans head. There was a loud yelp, followed by a string of curses that matched the flowers in the garden with how colourful they were.

“George, I swear to god, if-” his sentence dropped of in a look of pure disbelief as he turned around, expecting to see his best friend that deserved a good scolding. A dead teenager was definitely different. And confusing.

“Shit...” Sapnap mumbled, “Tommy?”

“Hello Sapnap. I must say its very nice to see you doing something other than killing pets. Or your fiances.” He smirks.

“Well it’s definitely you. The question is how. How are you alive?” he says as the shock on his face fades into confusion mixed with disbelief. Tommy freezes.

“Only if your okay with it of course. Don’t answer if your not comfortable. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up. That was insensitive of me...” he trails off as he realizes Tommy seems less stressed at the fact that Sapnap isn’t going to make him talk about it.

“Sapnap,” Tommy started, “I need to talk to Karl. Like, right now.”

“Alright,” said Sapnap, nodding slowly, “I’ll go get him. Stay right here.” As Tommy watched the other man walk away to retrieve one of his fiances, he really hopes that what he is about to accuse Karl of is wrong. Maybe one day they’ll laugh about this. Probably not.

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As Sapnap entered the house, looking for his fiances, he couldn’t help but wonder what it was that Tommy so urgently needed to talk to Karl about. Not finding his fiances on the first floor of their shared house, he went upstairs to continue his search, not wanting to keep the teen waiting for too long. As he opened the door to the throuples bedroom, he let out a small huff of affection when he saw his fiances, the loves of his life, asleep in their bed. Quackity had his arms around Karls waist, with his wings over both of them like a blanket, reflecting the golden light of the sun filtering through the window. Not wanting to disturb the scene in front of him, he let out a small sigh of annoyance as he forced himself to wake up Karl, and by extension Quackity.

“Theres someone here who wants to talk to you.” he muttered softly in Karls ear.

“Who?” Karl signed sleepily.

“Tommy. It seems pretty important. He’s down in the garden.” Sapnap said a little louder, seeing that Q was now awake, so there was no reason to stay quiet.

“Alright.” He signed, “Let’s go.” as he got up, he tugged on Quackity’s sleeve lightly. “Are you coming, Q?” He nodded and gave a small smile.

“Alright,” Sapnap said, pulling Quackity into a quick hug, and giving him a quick kiss on the temple, “Let’s go then.”

As they left the house and approached Tommy sitting at the picnic table in their back garden, they exchanged a small conversation in sign language.

“Is he okay?” said Quackity with some concern clear on his face, his movements slow and scuffed from sleep.

“He looks really tired.” Sapnap added.

“Q, could you run in and prepare some sandwiches and lemonade?” Signed Karl, “We’ll bring Tommy inside and we can all have lunch together while we talk.”

“Of course, my love.” Said Quackity, giving Karl a small kiss on the cheek before hurrying inside to prepare some lunch.

Turning to Tommy to thank him for waiting, he was met with a face of absolute, genuine confusion. As Tommy stared at their hands, then looked back over to Karl, his face quickly changed to a look of understanding.

“I forgot,” he said as he stood up sheepishly, “that Karl was mute.”

“That’s okay Tommy.” Karl cut in before Sapnap could say anything, “I know you’ve been through a lot recently. It’s okay to forget things from time to time. I should know.” Karl signed slowly so that Tommy could keep up with his rusty remembrance of sign language, adding a small smile at the end of his sentence.

“Thank you Karl.” Tommy said with a sigh of relief.

“Would you like to come inside and have lunch with us? I know you have something to talk to me about, but you look hungry. We could talk right after though. How does that sound?” Karl signed with a smile on his face.

“That sounds great.” Tommy said after a beat of hesitation.

“Perfect,” said Sapnap, “let’s head inside. Q is making some sandwiches.” They all headed inside, one dreading the talk that would come after, the other two wondering what could possibly be so important to cause Tommy to come all the way out to Kinoko Kingdom to talk to Karl.

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Tommy and Sapnap sat down at the table in the dining room as Karl went into the kitchen to help Quackity. Usually it would be all three of the in the kitchen, making food and having a good time, but Sapnap needed to take advantage of the situation at hand. Since he hadn’t visited the main SMP in a while, Tommy gave him the rundown of the current and recent events he knew of. Nothing too bad, but Sapnap knows you can never be too careful. A few minutes later, Quackity and Karl emerge from the kitchen carrying some plates and the food. As they sit down and start to eat, Sapnap and Quackity make small talk that Karl contributes too every once in a while with some one handed movements, putting his sandwich down when it was necessary. But Tommy stayed quiet, which the fiances found quite odd. Clearly whatever the boy had been through recently, on top of all his other trauma, had really messed with him. The loud, boisterous teenager they had known before was gone, replaced with someone they didn’t recognize in the slightest. So Tommy stayed silent the entire time, not noticing the quick, worry filled glances the trio sent his way every so often.

Soon enough, they had all finished eating. They were sitting in the fiances’ living room together, Tommy on one couch, the tree of them on the other. The room sat in an awkward silence as Karl, Quackity, and Sapnap waited for Tommy to talk to them, and as Tommy decided what to say.

After a moment, Tommy said, “Are you sure you want them here for this?” Karl’s eyes widened at how blatant he had been.

“Of course I want them here.” He signed quickly, “They are the people who matter most to me. Whatever you need to say to me you can say to all three of us.” Sapnap and Quackity nodded, not wanting to disrupt anything.

“Alright,” Tommy sighed, “Where should I start...” Karl’s hands stayed firmly in his lap to give Tommy a moment to think. “Well, I guess I’m just going to say what I came here to say, and pray to Prime that I’m wrong.” Karl nodded, once, slowly. Tommy took a deep breath before opening his mouth and saying...

“Your a time traveler, aren’t you?”

Silence.

And then laughter

All he could hear was laughter.

Sapnap and Big Q were laughing.

Karl was not.

Karl wasn’t laughing.

The look on his face was not one of someone who had just been accused of some laughable fallacy.

A fantasy, really.

Sapnap and Quackity had stopped laughing.

They seemed to have come to the same conclusion that Tommy had.

“Karlos?” Quackity started, “There is no possible way...” he stopped, a look of pure disbelief on his face.

“Tell me that he’s lying Karl.” said Sapnap. “Please.” Karl’s hands started to move, making aborted and scuffed movements as he tried to figure out what to say.

“No,” He finally settled on, “he’s right. I’m a time traveler.” Sapnap started crying at this, and Quackity gave him a hug as he buried his face into his fiances neck. Karl looked completely torn. He clearly wanted to comfort his fiances, but he knew he shouldn’t while Tommy was still here. But he also didn’t know if he could. Karl didn’t know if he was even still allowed to comfort them after keeping this big of a secret from them, and for so long. Karl started signing again, this time with clear urgency behind each movement.

“Two things, and then I need you to leave. Understood?”

“Of course,” said Tommy, “I will leave immediately.” Karl nodded.

“Thank you. First things first,” he signed, “how did you know?” Tommy sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this. But Karl deserved to hear the truth.

“When I died, I was in the afterlife for a little while,” Tommy said softly, “One day I walked away from the people I knew in the afterlife, Schlatt, Wilbur, and Mexican Dream. I walked for so long I came across a building I had never seen before, and when I went in I met a group of people from the Wild West.” Karl’s eyes had gone wide.

“You met Jack and Mason and Connor?” he signed.

“Yeah, and John John as well. They told me what happened the day they died, and they mentioned you. Not directly, but they mentioned a man that had showed up out of nowhere wearing bright colours and iridescent goggles.” Karl looked wistful, remembering his time sent in the Wild West, even if it hadn’t been an exceptionally fun trip at the time. Tommy continued. “I also met the people who visited the masquerade, same story. But this time they mentioned your name. And lastly I met the townfolk of the Village that went Mad. Same story, but no name once again. I just connected the dots.” Tommy fell silent, waiting for Karl to tell him something. Sometime during his revelations, Sapnap and Quackity had left the room to comfort each other. Karl clearly wanted to tell them he was sorry, but he couldn’t do that until Tommy had left. Turning back to the teen, he started signing once more.

“Thank you for telling me, Tommy. I just have one thing to ask of you, then you can leave.” Tommy nodded his head, and Karl continued, “You cannot, under any circumstances, tell anyone what you know. It would put everyone in grave danger. Is that clear?”

“Of course. I won’t tell a soul.” Karl gave him a small smile. “Now I think you should go talk to your fiances.”

“I will,” he signed, leading Tommy to the front door, “Goodbye, Tommy. Have a good trip back.”

“Goodbye, Karl.”

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As he walked towards the door of their shared bedroom, he could barely hold himself back from running to the room to comfort them. But Karl couldn’t be sure that they would ever be the same again. It broke him to think that, but he had lied to them, for a long time. They probably hated him.

He stopped outside of the door, hearing faint sounds of crying on the other side of the door. He slowly opened the door to see Quackity and Sapnap cuddled up together against the headboard of their bed, with all of the lights out. Sapnap was asleep against Quackitys chest, tear tracks all over his face. Q wasn’t much better.

“Hey Karl.” Quackity said softly, sniffling a little.

“Hi.” he signed back, gong to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m so sorry.” he signed after a beat of silence. “I have no excuses. I just wanted both of you to be safe from it.”

“But... what is it, Karl? Why couldn’t you tell us? Are these the trips you’ve been going on? Does it have something to do with your memory problems?” Quackity rambled, question after question. He cut off when he realized how tense Karl looked. “...sorry.” he said, lowering his voice once more.

“Woah, Q, it’s okay. But I can only answer one question at a time.” Quackity nodded. “It is the In-Between,” he started, making the ASL sign for between, then spelling it out, “I don’t actually know what it is, but I managed to get away from it recently. It was stopping me from telling you about my time traveling. It told me that telling you guys would put you guys in grave danger. I couldn’t let that happen. So I kept it a secret.” He stopped, hands dropping when he couldn’t figure out where to go from there. Quackity opened his mouth, about to ask a question, when he felt Sapnap stir at his side.

“Hey babe.” Quackity said, Sapnap just let out a little huff. “Sap, do you feel up to talking right now?”

“...yeah...is he here?” he mumbled, voice heavy and slurred with sleep.

“He is.” Quackity answered. Sapnap looked up at him, then looked over to Karl.

“Hi Sap.” he signed, not making eye contact. “I want to apologize to both of you. For not telling you. There really is no valid excuse that I have. The In-Between was crazy. I just wanted to keep both of you safe.”

“What is the In-Between?” Sapnap asked. Before Karl could answer, Quackity cut in.

“He doesn’t know, Sap.” he whispered.

Sapnap continued, “I want you to tell us the whole story. Please?” Karl looked conflicted.

“Alright.” he signed, “I’ll start at the beginning.” So he did. He told them the whole story. By the time he had finished, all three had tears running down their face. “Do you understand now?” Karl wiped his eyes before continuing, “It wasn’t safe to tell you.” Sapnap nodded, eyes red and puffy from crying.

“You need to stop traveling Karl. Me and Sapnap wouldn’t be able to live with ourselves if you forgot everything.” said Quackity, pulling Sapnap even closer. Karl sighed.

“I can’t control the traveling. I don’t know if it will ever stop. All I need right now is you two. If I hadn’t wanted to get home to you guys so desperately, I would have forgotten long ago.” Karl got up and grabbed his journal. “Fill it.” he signed, after he gave it to his two fiances, “fill it with everything I need to remember. And when I come back each time, help me remember. Please.” Sapnap looked up at him, then glanced at Quackity, coming to a silent agreement. They would do anything to keep Karl with them.

“Of course we will, mi amor.” said Quackity, opening his arms to invite Karl to come sit with them. Karl smiled, tears running down his face once again, crawling into their warm embrace. And as they sat there, holding each other close, Karl took each of heir hands, pressing his favourite symbol in ASL into their palms.

“I love you.”

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Thank you for reading!!! Once again, if you like this, leave a comment or something, idk. And make sure to go check out the story linked at the top of this post for more about the mute!Karl Jacobs hc.

Have an amazing day, wonderful people.

#karlnapity #afterlife #karlnapity fic #ficlet #fanfiction #dream smp #dream smp au #quackity #sapnap #karl jacobs #tales from the smp #the masquerade #the village that went mad #the wild west #time travel #mute character #headcanon #canon divergent au

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yzkhr · 4 years ago

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take me laser tagging and then push me into a corner and kiss me. then shoot me and walk away.

Today was almost the perfect definition of a relaxing day for Tokyo University's criminology student Kudo Shinichi. The weather was nice, with some of the sun's warm rays making it's way through the gaps of their window in the living room. The place was quiet, free of any random advices from his father and constant doting of his mother.

With him laying comfortably on the soft couch with his hand holding his favorite mystery novel and a cup of steaming hot coffee on the near table, today was just a nice day to chill.

Not until his girlfriend came in ruined it all.

Stomping her feet rather aggressively, Mouri Ran made her way towards her boyfriend whose obvious comfort in his position made her already bad mood turn worse.

He felt her presence but decided to pay no heed to it, not wanting to peel his eyes of the most exciting part. However, ignoring her was proven impossible as she literally flopped her body down on top of him, startling his composure.

"Ran" he reprimanded. However, looking at her innocent—still with a hint of annoynce—face, Shinichi decided to just let her be. Besides, having Ran close to him was never a bad thing.

Then she just had to insert her head in the crook of his neck, making his previous calm heartbeat faster. He tried to focus on the book, but the warm inhaling and exhaling on his neck wasn't making it any easier.

But, the last straw of his ability to be comprehensive was gone when Ran started kissing the side of his neck lightly.

Feeling his entire body slightly tremor, he tried to say something—anything— but his thoughts were cut off when she slightly sucked a sensitive spot. He couldn't help but let out a grunt.

The so called precious book in Shinichi's hand was now gone, as he was grabbing on to something more important. Feeling his hands around her waist, Kudo Shinichi's little tease finally spoke.

"Shinichi?" she asked, deliberately whispering into his ear.

"Hmm?"

He tried to gather his thoughts but they were all blocked out by pleasure.

"You love me right?"

It was a weird question, seeing how utterly submissive he is right now to her but he answered nonetheless, although with half of a mind.

"yah."

"You'll do anything for me?"

On any normal day, he would have been frightened at such a question but today wasn't a normal day. Specially if his girlfriend is already slightly nibbling at his left ear.

"yah.."

"Then, you'll go laser tagging with me?"

At this point, his mind was already somewhere else. Without even thinking about it as he's focusing on her kisses and nibbles instead of words, Shinichi instinctively answered.

"yahh.."

One second she was on top of him—making him lose his focus and ability to understand a thing except for the fact that she was kissing him—the next Ran was already on her way to her room, skipping lightly.

After a few milliseconds, Shinichi's brain catches up, finally getting the purpose of Ran's unusual and sudden actions a while ago. He hastily stood up and started making his way towards her and knocked three desperate times.

"Ran!" he protested, not wanting to leave his safe haven(that was completely destroyed) but Ran only answered in a muffled voice through the walls of their room.

"You said yes!" she even spoke in a sing-song manner which implied that she was already almost done dressing up and backing out would be unacceptable.

Kudo Shinichi ruffled his hair in frustration, the events just a few minutes earlier repeating in his head.

"She got me." he whispered, defeated.

It was a good thing joypolis was not far away from their house so they can get in the laser tag place easier and get out of there faster as well.

As they got into the vest room after the short briefing of the game, Shinichi was still very contemplative if wasting time at a game of laser tag more worth it than finishing his mystery novel back at home but seeing Ran's bright smile as she's wearing her vest similar to a child definitely made Shinichi lean on laser tagging.

As everyone—except Shinichi— get ready to enter the gaming arena, Ran pulled him out of his inner thoughts by slightly elbowing him at the side.

"Why do you look so bored Shinichi? Come on, it'll be fun." she chided, as if forgetting she dragged him out of the house.

"Sorry but my definition of fun today would be finishing my mystery book at home."

His girlfriend only raised an eyebrow and grinned at his remark.

"But that's boring. Laser tagging is so much more fun!"

He gave up, knowing clearly their definition of fun differ too much from one another.

But, maybe Ran could be right. Maybe Laser Tagging could be entertaining and not boring. Not to brag or anything but, Shinichi was pretty sure he can beat everyone with his eyes closed so he just hoped the game wouldn't be over in just a few minutes.

He lied. They were losing.

It wasn't even because his team was bad, it was because the other group were just a lot stronger. What frustrated him even more was the fact that it was only a single person that made the other team stronger. Of course, it was none other than his karate champion girlfriend.

Half of him was proud, this being the proof of her speed and good reflexes but the other half was annoyed, knowing he was losing and he can't do anything about it.

It was almost impossible to caught a Mouri Ran off guard. Before they can even get close to her, she would already feel their presence and turn around to shoot them. They also can't go face to face. There was nothing left except to--

Well, Shinichi was pretty sure he was going to get his ass kicked if wouldn't work, but it was worth the try.

Ran was confident. They were winning by a landslide. It was fairly easy compared to her battles with Kasumi-senpai. Her enemies were quick to spot and with her quick reflexes, she can shoot them in no time. She was sure that nothing would get in the way of their team to win.

If only she didn't get so cocky.

Ran was about to turn around a corner to try and find her targets when a cold hand yanked her to the opposite direction instead.

Having no time to react, she found herself being pushed into a close corner, her back making contact to the frigid wall. Since it was dark, with only a few placed neon lights in their area, she couldn't see the culprit. The stranger's hands were now on both side of her shoulders, successful at pining her. Despite the situation, she did take note how gentle they were, making sure that she didn't get hurt from the push.

Finally finding her voice and composure, Ran attempted to scold whoever the person was only to lost them again, this time, through a kiss.

For a second, she didn't know how to react. Involuntarily, her clenched fist was on their way to her kisser's face, only for Ran to stop it halfway, tasting a familiar minty taste from her mouth.

'Shinichi' Ran immediately thought.

Still having a little bit of her sanity left, she tried to break away—weakly, being distracted at how nice the kissing was—but to absolutely no avail.

In fact, he only leaned in harder, pushing his tongue inside her mouth, this time, making her totally blank.

The rational part of her was practically screaming, telling her how wrong and embarrassing the scene was but all the irrational part wanted was to pull him even closer and deepen the kiss more than ever. So she did.

Ran wrapped her armed left hand and empty right hand around her boyfriend, coaxing him closer.

At that moment, all that mattered was his lips on hers and their body making contact with each other as they push and pull.

When Ran wanted to go laser tagging, she meant it with every sense of the word. But perhaps, stuff like this would happened and it wouldn't be so bad. In fact, she might even prefer it than shooting beams at light vests.

Not being contented with just her lips, Shinichi went for her neck, and sucked it lightly, the same spot she did his earlier that day.

She definitely preferred this.

This wasn't the plan.

He was just suppposed to kiss her lightly and distract her for a short period of time so why is he still there, pining her against the wall, desperately kissing each other like there's no tomorrow?

An eternity pass but neither one wanted to pull away. He should've been running out of ari by now. But for him, kissing Ran had never been so tiring. In fact, Shinichi could do it all day if he was permitted to. The odd sweet taste that only she have—not that he kissed any other girl before— he wanted to name it.

The two of them completely forgot about the ongoing game, with them playing a more exciting and pleasurable game on their own.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—a tiny bit of Shinichi came back to it's senses by hearing a faint shooting sound, bringing him to his current task at hand.

Knowing that if he stayed longer kissing her, he'd just be sucked in again so he move to her neck, sucking it, with both the intent of distracting her and something else.

Seeing Ran completely dazed, he slowly held his gun up to her stomach while still kissing her, albeit less aggressive for fear he'll lose himself and never stop.(which doesn't sound so bad.)

With one last smack, he pulled the trigger.

The loud sound effect of a shooting beam broke Ran out her trance with her slightly nodding her head off. She was breathing hard, still trying to catch air from the activity.

Seconds passed as the post-kiss effect was finally gone, that's only when she noticed one of her lights were off. The previous sound of a shooting beam came back to her.

She looked up to see Shinichi grinning, slightly waving his gun off. In that moment, everything clicked.

Ran's face warped from the state confusion to anger almost instantly. Shinichi took that as a sign to get away.

"Shinichi!" Before she could even begin to run after him, he was already gone. Advantage of a spccer player with strong legs.

Having the kissing scene played out in her mind, she sighed with mixed in feelings in them.

"He got me."

I'm new to writing kissing scenes so please bear with me :))

#detective conan #shinran #one-shot #fluff

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1dcraftawards · 4 years ago

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October Author of the Month...

Drumroll please... our author of the month for October ended in a tie between three wonderfully talented authors!

@bopbopstyles @oh-honey-styles @stylishmuser

Congratulations to all three of these absolutely amazing girls! Check out our interviews with each of them below!

Author of the Month interview with @bopbopstyles !

Did you start writing fanfiction for One Direction, or was there another fandom that you wrote fanfiction for before this? The only fanfiction I’ve ever written has been 1D! I wrote Liam back in the day (oof) but now I’m a Harry girl - but I’ve been considering doing Niall at some point!

How old were you when you started writing fanfiction? I think I wrote some bits of fics back when I was probably 13 or so, but I wouldn’t really say I *wrote* fanfic at that time. I only started writing fanfic in January of this year, but started doing it a lot this summer.

What’s been your favorite fic that you’ve written to work on so far?100000% Rose Colored Glasses. I write historical fiction outside of my fanfic writing life, so RCG was the combination of all the things I love: history, Peaky Blinders, boxer!Harry, and as my agent calls them “cinnamon roll boys”.

Is there a fic that you really wanted to write, but you just never did? I have this idea for a time travel fic but haven’t decided if I want to take that idea and use it for a non-fanfic story or not yet, so I haven’t written it. It would definitely be a similar vein to RCG if I did write it though!

What’s your favorite trope to write? FRATBOY HARRY HOLDS MY HEART! (If you couldn’t tell by my multiple fratboy/college!harry fics lol) Also, friends to lovers. The pining. The character development. Ugh. I LOVE.

What’s your ideal space to write in? I can kind of write anywhere, but lately I’ve been writing the best in the evening on either my couch or at my desk! Just someplace that’s comfy and I can completely focus is the main thing. I’m also a bit coffee shop writer (but not when doing smut!!!!!!!)

What inspires you to write? Everything. Music is probably the biggest one, second would be television and movies. I love taking something creative someone else has done and twisting and reinventing it. But also things I see, people I know, my own experiences, art -- everything. (Bad For Me is literally based on my best friend, for example.)

Do you typically like to listen to music when you write? If so, what do you listen to? ALWAYS. I’m genuinely always listening to music, and it influences my mood and my writing, so it’ll change depending on the project and the scene. I’ve had playlists for some of my work, but a lot of times it’ll be some moody or lovey playlists I have, other times I’ll just listen to an album I’m loving on repeat. Completely depends! For Elevated Surfaces, for example, it was mostly written to frat party music because that’s where the story was set. You can check out my Spotify here if you want to see some of what I listen to!

Do you have any plans for any future fic ideas you’d like to pursue?I’ve been dying to write my Jane Austen series but haven’t gotten the time yet! It’ll take a while, so I’ve been putting it off, but I reaaalllyyyy want to do it at some point. There’s a couple others, but that’s one I really want to do at some point.

Do you have any advice for other writers in the fandom? Read, read, READ. That’s my advice for writers in general. Read widely (across genres, age groups, etc) and read critically! A lot of what I learned about how to write has come from analyzing books I read. I used to review books, actually, and it has definitely helped form how I write. I think for fan fiction specifically, though, I think a lot of people have a tendency to struggle with feeling pressured to write or rushed or judged for what they write. It’s definitely the result of the way we consume fan fiction, but I also think that it’s helpful to think about why you’re writing. For me personally, I write because it just genuinely brings me immense amounts of joy and I like sharing that with people. Writing for yourself takes a lot of the pressure off, I’ve found. It’s when you start writing for others that it can turn into a more difficult place. So: try to write for yourself first, before others!

How long does it normally take you, idea to posting, to post a fic?This completely depends on the fic! Once I get an idea I can write it pretty quickly, so I can churn out content quickly if I have the time. However, my pieces are long (most are in the 15-30k mark) which usually will take me a few days. Usually I’d say somewhere in the ballpark of like 10-20 hours total per one shot, but completely depends. Multi-chapter definitely take longer!Right now, for example, I haven’t written fanfiction in two weeks because I’m working on other projects. It really is dependent on what else I have going on in my life, because I also work full-time now, and so my posting has definitely declined in the past two months.

Is there a schedule you follow in terms of when you write? Or are you more impulsive and just write where and when you can? 100% impulsive, but mostly I write in the evenings and on weekends (aka when I’m not working). But no specific schedule -- I think if I schedule it then it takes some of the fun out of it.

What is one thing you wish you would’ve known before you started writing? How much FUN it is! I genuinely adore writing fanfiction and have made so many amazing friends through it. I wish I’d started earlier, in some ways.

What do you prefer writing, multi-chaptered fics or one shots? One shots for SURE. I don’t really plan on doing multi-chaptered again for a while, actually. Partly because it’s just more work, but also because it prolongs the wait for people to read it, and part of why I love fanfiction is the immediate gratification you get from it.

What was your favorite scene to write in “The Only Exception”?OOOOOH. I loved the early scenes when they were still getting to know one another. I’d say probably the scene from Harry’s release party and their emotional conversation after (from Ch.3) were really fun to write because they were so vulnerable. Also their fights. LOVED writing their fights. The Dunkirk premiere from Ch.3 and 4? One of my favorites. So probably the entirety of Ch. 3, I guess!

What is one moment from “Rose Colored Glasses” that you never got to write but wanted to? I struggled SO MUCH with their reunion scene. I re-wrote it like twice and played with a couple of different ways it was going to go, before settling on the final result. I had this one concept, though, where Cicely was going to ride her horse into Birmingham and Harry was going to be called to the stables to pick her up, and Cicely was going to just be so happy and excited to see him and Harry would be so overwhelmed he wouldn’t care about what his friends saw and would just be so tender with her.

What scenes/scenarios are most fun for you to write? I adore writing pining. The pining in Good Together is probably my favorite I’ve done -- the photo shoot scene? *collapses* I also love banter, which was one of the reasons Behind the Bar will always hold a special place in my heart.

Some readers are wary of leaving feedback because they're unsure how the writer will take it, how do you personally like to receive feedback? Do you want to be critiqued, or would you like to just know if they did or didn't enjoy what they've read? Feedback is literally what I thrive on. I’m in constant need of validation, to be honest, so please tell me when you like what I write! I love it! As far as types of feedback, I think that for my fanfiction, I’m not really posting it to get critiqued. Personally, it doesn’t help my writing in any way, because I’m writing for myself more than for others -- their enjoyment is just an additional plus. So I take critiques in kind of an “okay?” sort of way. It just doesn’t really affect me. I think the other thing about critiques (sorry I’m going off on this question lol) is that you don’t have to take them. I have people in my life whose opinions I trust and those are the people I want to critique my writing. The one caveat here is if my writing is offensive in any way. In that case, I want to be told so that I can fix it, learn from it, and make my future writing better. I will also say that I think part of it is that my fanfiction isn’t really the writing I’m the proudest of. I write outside of fanfiction, have an agent, etc. and so that part of my life is definitely what I care more about. For those projects, I desperately seek critiques, but from people whose opinions I trust!

Is writing a hobby or do you have aspirations of writing professionally outside of fanfiction? Writing professionally is the dream for me! My agent and I put my last project on submission but it wasn’t picked up, so I’m working on something new right now. Hopefully that will end up getting published, but we’ll see!

And finally, What's your purpose for writing? What do you hope to accomplish? I hope that my writing brings people joy and helps them learn something, whether that be about themselves or the world. Books are what helped me learn about the world and have brought me such happiness over the years, so I hope that mine can do the same.

Author of the Month interview with @oh-honey-styles !

Did you start writing fanfiction for One Direction, or was there another fandom that you wrote fanfiction for before this? Just for Harry! He’s that obnoxiously endearing, isn’t he?

How old were you when you started writing fanfiction?Okay okay, I guess I wrote something that resembled fanfiction (non-Harry) when I was fifteen or sixteen. That was all extremely idealistic cringy teenage angst that will live under a rock for eternity. But as far as Harry fanfiction, it was about a year ago when I started ‘Met Your Match’.

What’s been your favorite fic you’ve written to work on so far? My personal favorite is ‘January in Japan’. It was the first time I really dreamt up and developed my OFCs. Between Harry’s healing from heartbreak storyline, as well as Stella’s strong, feisty personality, all mixed together against the backdrop of Japan. The entire vibe was, and still is, so special to me. Plus, Japan!H is something else - peak boyfriend material.

Is there a fic that you really wanted to write, but you just never did?I mean, sure, there are always ideas floating around. But nothing that’s really kept nagging at me.

What’s your favorite trope to write? Fluffy mutual pining between strangers/friends to lovers with a tiny dash of angst.

What’s your ideal space to write in? I don’t really have an ideal space! But I will say, I’ve found that writing tends to really flow during AM hours. I’ve written most of my stories laying in bed, in the dark, between the hours of midnight and 4AM.

What inspires you to write? That bloke Harry Styles is the most endearing menace, so he’s generally my number one inspiration. But I also have a few bad ass women that inspire me more than they’ll ever know. They are my ride-or-die encouragement whose writing and brilliant ideas continuously motivate me to be a better writer.

Do you typically like to listen to music when you write? If so, what do you listen to?This is probably an unpopular opinion, but I don’t! I do have artists/songs that inspire my stories (for example, The Sugarhill Gang for ‘Hazy’ and ‘Rise Up’ by Andra Day for ‘Black & Blue’). But for the most part, I love silence while writing.

Do you have any plans for any future fic ideas you’d like to pursue?At the moment I’m only focused on ‘Collide’. However, it really doesn’t take long for the bug to bite!

Do you have any advice for other writers in the fandom?Well, since I started writing, I’ve been extremely lucky to have amazing advice poured into me by some of the most phenomenal writers in the fandom. So I guess one thing I would pass along is that writing fic is meant to be fun! Continue to write as long as you’re truly, truly loving it. If you’re not having fun writing or enjoying the process, step away and circle back during another season in life. When fic becomes a stress or a burden, it’s time to step away.

What is your writing process like?Honestly? (insert cringe face) It’s a hot mess. I don’t typically do outlines and if I do, they’re always changing. I usually write raw dialogue first and then add in the rest. Sometimes I’ll write a scene out from beginning to end, but I’m generally filling in the gaps. I always keep a doc open on my phone for ideas that pop into my head throughout the day (a conversation or a visual). And then once a scene is completed, I send it off to my betas and they’re the ones who let me know if I’m completely off my rocker or not.

Is there a schedule you follow in terms of when you write? Or are you more impulsive and just write where and when you can?100% impulsive. I write and post when inspiration hits and when life allows it.

What is one thing you wish you would’ve known before you started writing? That once you start, you can’t stop. The writing bug is fucking relentless.

What do you prefer writing, multi-chaptered fics or one shots?All of the above! Multi-chapter fics are nice, having the freedom to really develop your characters as well as elaborate on a concept. But they’re definitely exhausting. And one-shots are such a good way to bust out an idea with no strings attached. I really enjoy writing both.

What has been your favorite scene to write so far in “Collide”?‘The Wedding’ has been my favorite scene in ‘Collide’ so far. I absolutely adored writing the initial nervous attraction between Harry and Franki. It’s really the initial point in the story where they start to realize that there may actually be deeper feelings there on both sides. Plus, who doesn’t love a nervous, flirty Harry?

What is one moment from “Met Your Match” that you never got to write but want to?Oh wow. ‘Met Your Match’ rounded out pretty well, but I guess I had one moment in mind that I never wrote. It was basically a scene where Harry and Kate are in LA on their way to a BBQ at Niall’s house. One way or another it comes out that Niall was Kate’s favorite during the 1D era. The scene would have included loads of teasing and maybe a tinge of jealous Harry.

What inspired you to write “Collide”? How did you come up with the story idea?The whole concept of ‘Collide’ came about when quarantine happened and the world went into lockdown. With there being hardly any new content, we were all basically just reblogging old Harry posts. So each part is inspired by and based off of a past Harry photo/event etc. It's been really fun to tie them all together in one story.

Some readers are wary of leaving feedback because they're unsure how the writer will take it, how do you personally like to receive feedback? Do you want to be critiqued, or would you like to just know if they did or didn't enjoy what they've read? Every writer loves feedback. Honestly, feedback is the most incredible gift a reader could give a writer. Pressing ‘post’ on your own blood, sweat and tears is one of the most nauseatingly nerve wracking things ever, so to be acknowledged for it (through messages and sharing) is priceless. As far as a critique goes, there’s a fine line. Personally, if there’s something I’m writing that’s offensive or off putting, I absolutely want to know (in a positive, uplifting, non-anon-asshole way). But if my story’s just not their cup of tea, I’d rather they move along to the next fic out there.

Is writing a hobby or do you have aspirations of writing professionally outside of fanfiction?Only a hobby!

And finally, What's your purpose for writing? What do you hope to accomplish? My purpose in everything I write is to provide a little escape for myself and my readers from this crazy world. Most, if not all, of my stories are meant to be lighthearted and fun - a decent way to step out of yourself for a short moment.

Author of the Month interview with @stylishmuser !

Did you start writing fanfiction for One Direction, or was there another fandom that you wrote fanfiction for before this?The first ever fanfic I wrote was actually for Gossip Girl. It was horribly written, but I had so much fun. After that I wrote Harry Potter fanfiction for about a year, and then I started getting into 1D, and I don’t imagine I’ll ever write for another fandom.

How old were you when you started writing fanfiction? I think I was a sophomore in high school, so… 16, maybe?

What’s been your favorite fic that you’ve written to work on so far?Oh this is hard to answer, to be honest. It probably sounds cliche but I’ve had a favorite aspect in every one of my fics. I think Timeless will always have a special place in my heart, but I have a favorite thing each one of them.

Is there a fic that you really wanted to write, but you just never did?Oh hmmm I think there are a lot of tropes I want to try my hand at, but I don’t like writing a story that’s been done a million times before, so it’s kind of finding an aspect or angle to it to make it different.

What’s your favorite trope to write? Idk if it’s a trope but, angst with a happy ending!

What’s your ideal space to write in? Honestly, I can write almost anywhere. It just needs to be quiet. I like to write in my living room or at the kitchen counter at like 2 am when everyone else is asleep.

What inspires you to write? I really just like to tell stories. I think words kind of have this power to them. I also am inspired by Harry and Niall, their lifestyles/music/careers, and telling stories about/for WOC. When I was growing up, I always thought that people like me didn’t really deserve love stories. So I guess it’s kind of destroying that notion that inspires me too!

Do you typically like to listen to music when you write? If so, what do you listen to? I used to, actually. That first fic I ever wrote was fueled by listening to Mind of Mine on repeat haha. Now I like the quiet, but sometimes if I’m stuck I’ll listen to the playlist for whatever story I’m writing.

Do you have any plans for any future fic ideas you’d like to pursue? This made me laugh because I have four in my mind at any given time. You’ll have to wait and see what they are!

What is your writing process like? It goes something like this: vague idea > random scene ideas that bug me into writing it > visuals > outline > actually writing it.

Do you prefer Au or OU? I prefer OU because I like writing about the music aspect of the boys’ lives. AU is fun too, but it’s a lot more work in my opinion. It needs to be a specific idea or trope or I’ll just go with OU.

Is there a schedule you follow in terms of when you write? Or are you more impulsive and just write where and when you can? I try to keep myself to some sort of schedule, like 1000 words a night or 1 chapter per weekend or I get off track.

What is one thing you wish you would’ve known before you started writing? Oh hmm… I think I would go back and tell myself that it’s okay to want to write WOC characters and it doesn’t matter who likes it, or who doesn’t, or how many notes you get. I think it’s really easy for writers — no matter what they write — to feel like they aren’t living up to whatever popularity standards are going on in their fandom, but at the end of the day it’s about what YOU love to write about. That’s what makes a good story, in my opinion, and as a reader you can tell when an author is really putting their heart into something, and that’s kind of inspiring.

What do you prefer writing, multi-chaptered fics or one shots? Multi chapter. I freak out about one shots now because they end up being 15 or 20k words anyway when I write them haha!

What has been your favorite scene to write so far in “Rumor Has It”? I think my favorite scene from that story was either their first kiss, the morning after they get intimate for the first time, or the scene where Ishika comes clean to Harry about how she feels/why she lied. I remember those three scenes came so clearly to me, I was just stabbing away at my keyboard like a cartoon.

You have such complex characters that readers adore, do you have any advice on planning well written and planned characters? AH that is a very nice thing for you to say! Thank you! I like to think of characters in terms of fatal flaws. It sounds weird but like: What makes your character cry? What keeps them up at night? What makes them happy, or mad? What makes them, them? That’s kind of how I approach it. It’s kind of finding a balance of those characteristics and ‘why are you so frustrating I want to THUMP you’ and ‘I adore them, let’s protect them at all costs.’

What inspired you to write “Kiss and Cry”? How did you come up with the story idea? So I watched this show called “Spinning Out” on Netflix and kind of geeked out about figure skating. I knew nothing about it, which is kind of what got me thinking, this would be cool to learn about and writing for me is the best way to learn. At first I was like, nobody cares about a figure skating fic, and then I was like: good, write it. So here we are!

Some readers are wary of leaving feedback because they're unsure how the writer will take it, how do you personally like to receive feedback? Do you want to be critiqued, or would you like to just know if they did or didn't enjoy what they've read? I think feedback is a really personal thing, but there’s a really fine line (haha) approaching it. I really think constructive criticism is an important part of feedback — but it’s often done very poorly. There is a big difference between pointing out to an author what they could’ve done better, or even asking why they wrote something the way they did (because I promise you, they did it the way they did for a reason), and simply telling them they are either a bad writer, have poorly written something, or something worse because god knows we’ve all gotten it lmao. For me, I don’t mind either. But if you’re going to criticize my writing, do it one on one, not on anon where you can add a bite to your words. Feedback is kind of a two way conversation, and I think that’s often forgotten about — especially on Tumblr. And it’s very, very obvious when people do want to act unkind, and say unkind things behind the anon veil on purpose. It’s ok not to like the way someone wrote something, but it’s not ok to be vicious about it, ESPECIALLY on anon. That just makes you a coward. I guess my rule of thumb is: Is what you’re typing out going to hurt the person on the other end? Is it worth it to do that? Or can you reword it in a way that starts a conversation instead of bullying someone for putting their work out there, something that’s vulnerable no matter how many times you do it. But, this is just how I feel. Every writer is different (and valid!)

Is writing a hobby or do you have aspirations of writing professionally outside of fanfiction? I’d love to write professionally one day! We’ll see what happens. I think whether it happens or not, I just love it so much, I’ll do it for a long time because it’s a big part of who I am.

And finally, What's your purpose for writing? What do you hope to accomplish? My purpose of writing… that’s so philosophical. I guess, I honestly just like to tell stories that are important to me, and remind people that life sucks but it’s also pretty damn good at times too. I hope to keep making myself happy writing whatever it is I’m writing, and challenge myself to try my hand at stuff that’s daunting, and hopefully people like what I’m doing and if not, that’s ok, because I do! And to remember that’s my real purpose for writing, it’s never been a numbers game or keeping score, it’s been about telling stories that I love crafting.

#author of the month #aom #October 2020 #aomoctober2020

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whitherliliesbloom · 4 years ago

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hope for the future

[ ffxivwrite2020 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #25 - wish ]

[ wol/alphinaud ] ��★ [ 1,595 words ] ★ [ post-canon ]

illya skawi & alphinaud leveilleur ♡ occurs an undefined amount of years after canon.

and we will build bridges up to the sky. and heavenly lights surrounding you and i

"They say a prayer upon a shooting star grants any wish."

The navy of his eyes glisten with sanguine as they tilt up to gaze out the window upon the midnight sky. And while he had momentarily been captivated by the brilliance that was the shimmering gems of stars hung upon a majestic pitch black curtain, his eyes were quickly stolen away by the luster he found his fingers threading through. Each strand like the milky way, its pure white hue as radiant as the sun and moon combined. He'd run his hands through her hair from the roots of her silken diamond like hair down to her back, watching as the other half of its length cascaded and pooled around her on the bed.

He'd brush her hair with his own hands in search for a single knot he could gently tug apart - a husband's service to the woman who was his entire world.. and yet even as he'd find none, he continued to stroke her head, pulling the lalafell closer to his chest as he does. He likes this excuse to stay close to her - knew he’s already missed out on a thousand lifetimes of getting to touch her and hear her. He wishes not to miss any more.

The woman on his lap hums, shifting ever so gently to turn her head up and poke the tip of his pointed nose with the supple pad of her finger tip.

"I think I of all people should know if that saying is true or not, Alphinaud." There's a hint of red mischief glimmering in the midst of tranquil violet in her eyes, but he's long learned to not think any differently of her regardless what hue her eyes shone. "I'm an astrologer. The constellations are meant for divining the future."

"Ah, yes. And you are also, among other things, a non-padjali white mage. AND the most dangerous sorceress I've ever had the fortune to meet." Alphinaud's grin widens, and he reflects the mischief in her eyes twicefold as he dips his head down to nudge his head against hers in a manner that reminded her starkly of a needy puppy. "Need I mention an accomplished artisan?"

Sometimes Alphinaud found the mood to tease her - listing the many and more talents she possessed that he'd looked up to as she'd scurry away and shrink herself into a flustered, blushing mess. It had been his foolproof way of eliciting that adorable reaction out of his eternally bonded, and a way to help her curb with her less than ideal self-esteem both.

"Oh, and your singing of course.. how could I forget the voice of the most captivating songbird in all of Eorzea?"

"A-alphinauddd pleaseee..." Darling Warrior of Light is thoroughly flushed in the face now, and she's resorted to burying herself into his chest to hide her embarrassment while he it was all he could but to laugh heartily, and the boyish glee in his voice that rose in volume stirs at her pounding heart even more.

There were many things he loved about his lady, the woman he'd been so blessed to reunite with - so utterly undeserving of her gaze as he was. Even their past lives aside, he was a flawed man who so nearly saw the last grains of sands that was his second chance slip through his fingers and wash away into the sea of souls for good. If Illya had not been courted by a taller, darker, stronger and more gifted person, fate surely would have stolen her light from him.

She bloomed like a rose, beautiful yet laced with thorns. Her spirit was like the ocean, tranquil and still on a calm night, yet her might amidst a midnight storm was dangerous and unparalleled. And more than anything, he saw an angel in her, selfless and ever boundless in her blessings to others.

And in the midst of reflecting back on her many deeds, a finger gently tracing the discolored scars that lined her skin across her collar bone and shoulder, he wondered silently with some amount of melancholy what exactly the world has done in return for their savior. Certainly not enough - not even close.. and he, of all people, has the most to repay her for, a debt he owes her across the span of countless stars.

If she could wish upon a shooting star - just what kind of deepest desires did her heart hold?

“Make a wish, Illya.” Alphinaud whispers, as he leans back against the headboard of the bed and moves his hand to gently clasp hers. His wife moves back ever so slightly to look at him with wide, curious eyes.

“A wish?”

“Aye.. if you could have any wish in the world granted, what would it be?”

The lalafell pauses, pursing her lips as she thought in silence, and glances out the window upon the myriad of glittering stars. She contemplates for a moment, before furrowing her brows and looking back up at the elezen.

“I would wish for eternal world peace.”

Oh, typical. The answer had entirely been predictable, but Alphinaud was no less disappointed after hearing it. Ever the sacrificial hero, a girl who would sooner give her life than to forsake the world even in an imaginary scenario.

But it was odd to hear that whilst she wore her dainty little night gown, feet in woolen slippers and her body held close in the safety of his arms. The room was warmly lit by a mixture of golden light fixtures and glowing pink lily lamps, the scent of lavender and chamomile drifting through the air. And atop their bedside table left a pair of matching aetheryte rings, and a silver locket bearing a glowing amethyst gemstone whose shine was only second to Illya’s eyes.

This was their home - their safe haven.. a place he made doubly sure would keep them safe, and most importantly - make Illya feel at ease.

He didn’t want to hear the wishes of the Warrior of Light - the front of a hero she has to wear every waking moment of her life and the bravery she’s proven many times over to already possess. He wanted to hear the wishes of Illya Skawi - the woman whose smile he swore to preserve for the rest of eternity.

“That’s.. very valiant. But I want to hear your own wish.. a wish you have for yourself.”

Illya tilts her head with a slight frown.

“Wishing something for myself when the world is ever in desperate need somehow.. isn’t that selfish?”

“Illya.. I think you’ve earned every right to be selfish. You more than any other person in the world.” His hand raises to gently nudge her chin up, and he tilts his own head down to plant a gentle kiss upon her forehead before exhaling heavily. His breath tickles her, and he smiles at her singsong giggle.

“But for the sake of easing your constant need for philanthropy.. Let’s say your wish for world peace comes true. What then?”

Her silence is lengthier this time as she contemplates his question, turning to obscure her eyes beneath the shadow of her bangs as she rummaged through a hundred different thoughts in her mind at once, searching for any glimpses of selfishness she has had to bury under a mountain of responsibilities.

She finally thinks of one - a simple and basic wish.. but one she never dared hoped she could attain so many summers ago. And that fear still lingers even in the present, for as ideal of a scenario as Alphinaud proposed, she and he knew that the world will never truly be at peace for long.

But the world was ever wanting for heroes such as they, fighting through as many presents of chaos as it takes - hoping and wishing for a happier, brighter future - much like her own selfish desire.

“I wish we’ll be together forever..” Her voice is soft, sheepish from her embarrassing words, and she presses her face against his neck as she murmurs her remaining words against the warmth of his skin. “To be happy.. and.. for you to be as well.”

It takes a good amount of his will for Alphinaud to not crush her in a tight embrace then and there, and he so nearly does as his arms circle around her waist to pull her closer. His eyes blur for a moment, lips parting in an effort to speak against his speechlessness at her pure, honest wish. But he fights against his own habit of speaking excessively to let the peaceful silence hang in the air, and only when Illya finally looks up at him in a silent request for a response does he finally reply in a whisper.

“Of course we will be... I’ll make sure of that.”

Illya beams up at him, her effervescent smile stealing his breath away again, and Alphinaud finds the corners of his lips curling upwards in turn.

“And what of you? What would your wish be, Alphinaud? In the event of um... world peace, that is.”

“Me?”

The man hums, narrowing his eyes for a moment.. but it doesn’t take long for him to grin brightly once more, before slipping his hand down to rest against Illya’s tummy.

“I already have my wish.” His heart soars as he hears Illya laugh heartily, and he leans forward to speak to his future with a gentle stroke of his hand. “Isn’t that right, little one?”

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2020 #ffxivwrite #alphinaud leveilleur #alphinaud #illya skawi #we've come so far #fanfic #mine #kiwisffxivwrite2020 #YEAHEYAEHAYEAHEY WOOO WOWOO WOOOOOOOO I FINALLY GOT TO WRITE TEETH ROTTING FLUFF IM WOOOOO

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goldeneyedgirl · 5 years ago

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Fic-Mas Day 3: Jessamine & Alice

Day 3 <3 Today I bring you a larger section of the Jessamine/Alice fic I posted about previously; today was meant to be something else but I think it was a really unsatisfying post, so I’ll rework it/find another fic for tomorrow.

Today was spent putting my mother’s giant, elaborate Christmas tree up, so I have no other thoughts. Hope everyone is having a good day!

(Warning for internalised homophobia; ‘//’ signals a time jump, as there are large chunks still unwritten.)

When Alice wakes up, she isn’t Alice.

She just is.

Her eyes open, her lungs fill and she exists for the first time in her memory. Her heart is still in her chest, her eyes draw in every detail of the forest around her, of the grains of dirt in the mud smearing her legs, of the beetle crawling up her leg.

And then she sees the girl with the blonde hair, and that is when the world slowly pieces itself together. Mostly with a soft smile and a gaze that strips her down to the bone, and a soft, “Alice”.

That is when she is Alice. She wants nothing more than to be that Alice, an Alice that inspires that smile, that gaze.

There’s a lot that she still doesn’t understand, and her throat is burning, but she knows two things.

Her name is Alice.

And she loves that girl.

Alice has a tiny hotel room in a terrible neighbourhood. It smells of dust and mildew, and is barely large enough for the mismatched bed, wardrobe and desk. The wardrobe is open, and Jessamine sees three dresses hanging there – yellow gingham, red polka-dot and blue floral. They are so small and remind Jess of doll’s clothes, with the ruffled hems, the puffy sleeves, the tiny buttons. She is wearing a filthy tweed skirt and threadbare blouse that was once grey that she peeled off a past meal, and this girl… she has actual tissue paper stuffed into the toes of the shoes in the closet.

Alice is perched on the desk, beaming at her with barely disguised excitement. The emotions that she can feel coming off the tiny girl are ones of excitement, joy, awe and pure adoration. She is utterly charming, with her pink dress and blue coat, her tiny gloves and curled hair.

The clothing Alice has chosen her are… nice. Nicer than she deserves – a dark blue shirtwaist dress, stockings and flat shoes. A pair of tailored pants and a blouse, in dark blue and yellow. Even underwear, silky and brand new. It is more than she’s owned in seventy years. More than anyone has ever given her.

When she finally emerges from the bathroom, months of dirt and blood washed away, Alice’s eyes light up, at her in her new blouse and pants, her hair damp around her face.

“You are so beautiful,” Alice coos, and is at her side, practically vibrating, and Jess doesn’t know what to say.

The kiss is so unexpected – Alice on her tip-toes, leaning up to kiss Jessamine on her lips. It is a moment so sweet and so impossible, Jessamine freezes and isn’t sure what to do.

This isn’t right. This isn’t right.

Alice knew that they would be tentatively welcomed at the Cullens – Jess is apparently rather intimidating (she doesn’t see it herself) and her own gift is a dangerous one. But the Cullens are peaceful people, do not seek out battle when there is any other alternative. They will sooner pack their things and leave, than claim their territory through warfare.

But she also knows that it will be their relationship that will throw the Cullens. That they live the closest approximation of a human life that they can manage. Husbands and wives, daughters and sons, brothers and sisters. There are no grey lines, just right and wrong. She sees religious iconography in her visions of their house, and that worries her a little.

She also knows that this is what Jess needs, more than anything. A peaceful retirement, a place where she is loved for herself, and not what she can do.

Once they arrive, it takes a few days for the family to realise. Edward has a pinched look on his face the first time Jess’s thoughts turn away from defence back to her Alice, and she is glad she cannot read Edward’s thoughts, because they would not be flattering. Rosalie has a slightly quizzical expression on her face when she catches Jess dropping a kiss to Alice’s lips in the hallway, and Esme just becomes flustered, but in a sweet way that overcompensates in her desperation not to offend them.

Carlisle is no less gracious to them, though – later – Edward will tell Alice that he was torn. Over the half-remembered lessons of his youth at his father’s knee, at the human principles he clung to with all his life, the ones that have guided him, with moderate success, this far in his afterlife.

But of everything that he has seen in his centuries of life, is a pair of mated females really that extraordinary? The idea that the bond could form between two souls, despite time and gender and all of the other minutiae that had to align is not so impossible, or he would not have found and lost, and then found Esme again.

And he watched them, to see the way they move in sync, the constant contact, the long looks that could be entire conversations, and the peace that surrounded them. To see the way Jess anchors Alice, contains the boundless energy and joy that is the slight girl; the way Alice brings Jess back to life, banishes the ghosts that haunt her gaze.

Carlisle knows that he cannot condemn that sort of soul-deep bond, cannot turn them away for their most genuine love because of old, narrow-minded teachings, because of social expectations that should have been discarded generations ago. Whatever brought them here, they did so for a reason and he will trust in a higher power, and Alice’s visions.

Emmett is the last to realise, in the middle of a hunt, and his mouth drops open, staring between the pair – standing apart from the rest of them, Alice tucked under Jess’s arm.

“They share a room,” Edward says slowly when Emmett splutters, still clutching his bear corpse. Alice can feel the tension in Jess’s body, waiting to protect and defend, should Emmett’s opinion threaten her.

Emmett contemplates them for a second, and Alice can almost see the wheels turning in his head, as he reevaluates their interactions with this new information.

“Oh well. Esme’s still got you to marry off, Eddie,” Emmett says cheerfully, and drags his bear corpse off to be buried and Alice tries not to laugh at Jess’s expression at Emmett’s response, at Edward’s scowl, at Esme’s bright smile at idea of Edward getting married.

After Italy, there was celebration, relief, hope. They were coming home to Forks, and everything would be okay once again. Even Edward thought that everything had been righted.

But then, he’d never seen Jess in full-flight. Alice had caught one of her fits of temper in a vision, before Peter went back for her, but had never witnessed the full scale of Jess’s wrath in person. Peter and Charlotte had both alluded to the temper that had made Jess such a legend in the south on occasion – it was rare that she was ever ‘out of control’; usually it was cold rage with a clear aim.

But when she lost her temper, well, neither Charlotte nor Peter had words for it, aside from a warning that it usually involved some property damage.

Perhaps the fact, according to Peter, was that even Maria backed down when Jess was in a ‘confrontational’ mood was the best indicator, to Alice, of how terrible Jess could be.

It was never planned ahead, and Jess was probably second only to Carlisle at keeping Edward out of her head.

The pacing was what caught Alice’s attention, and by then it was too late to stop Bella and Edward from coming into the house. And if her sight was any indication, the sooner the confrontation happened, the better off they’d be.

Edward realised the issue a moment too late, but there was no way to get Bella somewhere ‘safe’. And from the look on Rosalie’s face, it was clear Rose thought that Bella witnessing the result of the trauma of their eternal lives would probably be good for the girl.

“Jessamine,” Edward had said cautiously, and Alice wanted to bang her head against the wall. Only three people called Jess by her full name – Carlisle, as a mark of respect for her age; Alice, on occasions when she wanted to be taken seriously, and Charlotte, as a sign of deference for her former leader and creator. Peter called her Jessie, Maria had called her Major or Majorette, depending on her mood, and everyone else knew her simply as Jess.

For Edward to use her full name was a red flag to a bull, and Alice just knew Edward was going to be without some extremities by the end of this.

Jess hissed outright at Edward, and Bella was backed into the corner, eyes wide. Esme had ghosted over to the human girl, obviously to sooth and protect, and Alice just perched herself on the side table, waiting for the fireworks.

The argument was loud and unspeakably nasty, ending with Carlisle, Esme, and Emmett gaping in Jess’s direction, Jess putting her foot through Esme’s solid oak coffee table, Edward having his right arm snapped clean off at the shoulder, Rosalie enjoying herself immensely, and Jess storming off to cool down.

“I’m sorry about the table, Esme,” Alice hopped off the side table. “I’ve got another one ordered. It should arrive in a few days.”

Bella and Carlisle were already crouched beside Edward, reattaching the severed limb.

“You knew,” Edward said between gritted teeth. She shrugged.

“Did I know she was angry? I did. Did I know she would confront you? Yes. Did I let this happen? Only because if I had interfered, it would only delay the inevitable,” she said. ‘It would have been so much worse, Edward. So, so much worse.’

‘That’s the first time I’ve been scared of her,” Bella said, her eyes wide. Rosalie snorted at that comment.

“Don’t, Rosalie.”

#TwilightFicMas2019 #twilight fic #twilight fan fic #alice cullen #jessamine hale #jasper hale #alice/jasper #alice jessamine #twilight lgbt #twilight lgbt fic #my fic: jessamine and alice #my fic #my writing #wip #twilight: life and death

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aimsirxdreokt · 4 years ago

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MIDAS EARED

MIDAS EARED is a collection of particular pages from my diary, reflecting on my life between 2015 to 2020.

It is an audio-visual project that has been under work since 2017, shaping as time passed while I began to notice similarities from my past. It is an attempt on illustrating instances of my life that have impacted, shaped, broken and made me the individual I am while I wrote this.

The album reflects on the (lack of) judgments I made that led me to these moments of my life, how they affected all that came after, my journey towards reforming myself, shedding light on my life as an individual and how it defined my art.

Click to stream/download the album.

ABOUT THE ARTWORK:

The artwork represents the timeline of my journey from 2015 to 2020. The tracks are named and grouped as clusters of different eras and time-frames. That has also been translated into the distance between each semiotic on the right side.

The blur and fragmentation on some of the names and symbols represent the characteristics of the tracks and their narratives.

The concept behind using a black and white scheme was to emphasize more on the content and minus the possibility of distractions and lack of attention in any form.

The art has been represented on a paperlike background as the album is a collection of various particular pages from my sonic diary.

ABOUT THE MUSIC:

GIGNOSKEIN

To know; recognize.

The first track from my debut album, "MIDAS EARED" is an attempt on recognizing and introspecting on the recurring patterns of my life from the period 2015 to 2020.

The first three pieces of the album are influenced by Andrei Tarkovsky's visual storytelling, Forest Swords' sonic narratives and the game INSIDE's audio-visual experience.

ABOUT THE ARTWORK:

I ended up with two waves, depicting the two impact sounds that are present throughout the piece, seismographs reflecting life, movement and anticipation for what's to come, setting up the album's introduction.

1/3

1/14

ABOUT THE MUSIC:

PLEXUS

A network of nerves or vessels in the body.

The second piece from the album "MIDAS EARED" reflects on the initial conflict I had within myself early on in 2015, a period that went on to shape my direction as an artist and individual.

This period was a battle between the 'old' and 'new' versions of myself back then. My decisions, actions and purpose in life, moulded and defined.

It was a rebirth in some way, a chance to steer where I wanted to see myself and how I could build towards manifesting that reality.

The first three pieces of the album are influenced by Andrei Tarkovsky's visual storytelling, Forest Swords' sonic narratives and the game INSIDE's audio-visual experience.

ABOUT THE ARTWORK:

I resulted with a sequence of saws and distorted the composition in order to enhance the sonic experience, jarring sounds present in the music and the friction reflected throughout the piece.

2/3

2/14

ABOUT THE MUSIC:

FINK

An unpleasant or contemptible person.

The third piece from the album "MIDAS EARED" is a continuation of the second track, "plexus." The piece represents how the new version of myself from then took control and was leading a haunting path, led by self-loathing, pity and self-destructive patterns. This new version of myself believed I was different from what I once was, however, was still in many ways, the same.

The first three pieces of the album are influenced by Andrei Tarkovsky's visual storytelling, Forest Swords' sonic narratives and the game INSIDE's audio-visual experience.

ABOUT THE ARTWORK:

This artwork is a continuation of the previous art (plexus) in a way, reflecting on chaos but channelling that energy towards a more focused direction, however faulting occasionally, hence the stutter in the middle and the fade on the edge.

3/3

3/14

ABOUT THE MUSIC:

AIMSIR.

Time; epoch.

This interlude is a sonic reference to how my life was unfolding in 2017. The piece reflects on the eerie and haunting time right before I had begun the aimsir. project and embarked on a trip to the Himalayas with the hopes of seeking redemption and peace. In turn, composing the debut project, "Time Is A Good Storyteller."

The sonic exploration and structure of this piece is a reference to that of when the aimsir. project had just begun.

ABOUT THE ARTWORK:

The artwork for this track is a continuation and buildup on the art created for Gignoskein. The waves showcase movement while the saw waves depict the conflict in this movement, coming to terms and fighting doubt. The art reflects on the emotions of moving forward through it's pulsating beat, distortion depicting conflict and creating an atmosphere that sets up what's about to unfold.

1/3

4/14

ABOUT THE MUSIC:

TSURIS

Difficulties; trouble.

The first piece post the new era (aimsir.) reflects on accepting the mistakes I made, reforming my identity, experiencing the otherworldy (Himalayas) and as a result, reality hitting me harder than ever, hence the sonic structure of heavy percussions and sharpness.

Tsuris reflects on the time right before I began university during late 2017, still reeling from the experiences I had in the mountains where I felt reborn (aimsir.), once again.

This piece was also used for Ninaad Kothawade's visual:

From the pursuit of identity to an attempt to place yourself in an oversaturated world. These concepts explore the space beyond gender, moods and presumed personalities.

ABOUT THE ARTWORK:

I wanted to represent moving up and onwards, like a graph or line that depicted progression as the track is about growing and reforming myself. However, every reformation is never easy, hence the horizontal saw waves representing a back and forth, past and present motion along this progression.

2/3

5/14

ABOUT THE MUSIC:

RUMINATE

Think deeply; lose oneself.

Ruminate is a reflection on the time I began university in Pune in late 2017; shifted cities as the university shut down; restarted my university life in Bombay, joining in the third year after only one year of study in Pune; and then travelling to Singapore post my final term in Bombay (mid-2019) before coming back to Pune.

This period was quite something I never imagined to experience. The people I met, learned and taught; the things I saw, experienced and created; the memories and emotions we poured in together. A period I am forever grateful for having experienced.

However, the scenery I painted with serene landscapes and lush atmospheres that felt warm, pleasant and calming - ruminating, was only a reality I created for myself and lived within, and when it burst, I began drowning.

ABOUT THE ARTWORK:

The artwork represents the desire of going back from the point I arrived at (Tsuris) and how I distorted my reality to accommodate the comfort of this new reality I created for myself.

3/3

6/14

ABOUT THE MUSIC:

OTIOSE

Indolent; idle.

After the false reality I created for myself burst and actuality finally caught up with me, I began to realize that these escapes won't last for long, it is all bound to come crashing down.

It refers to the period I was in Singapore in 2019, my life began to crumble once again, this time for worse. I began to spiral, lose faith and reflect on all my actions that led me up to this point in my life. I was stuck. I came back to Pune, brooding and shut-in.

ABOUT THE ARTWORK:

I wanted to create and showcase the feeling of spiralling out, reality hitting in regular periods and the cycle of this constant loop.

1/3

7/14

ABOUT THE MUSIC:

PROPHECY

Looking ahead.

After having come back to Pune in 2019, I found myself in the same place I was in 2015 (plexus). A conflict arose within, coming to terms with what was and what is bound to follow as a result. Accepting my past and anticipating the consequences I had to face. The inescapable struggle that would lead to my redemption.

ABOUT THE ARTWORK:

The artwork depicts a diagram reminiscent of the eye/vision diagram. It also showcases the concept of looking into the future and the many perspectives and paths present from that point onwards.

2/3

8/14

ABOUT THE MUSIC:

AMBEDO

A melancholic trance.

The second piece post the redemption reflects on taking it all in and wanting to just simply feel alive at the end of it. The good, bad and everything in the middle. Life is a pendulum. This cycle will repeat itself with every one of us. We must live and let live.

After coming to terms with what had happened, still absorbing this new alien reality, with the help of a few friends, I began to see life in a different light. I wanted to make more of it and live in what was rather than making what-ifs that only exist in the realms of my mind (ruminate).

ABOUT THE ARTWORK:

I wanted to depict the emotion of waves, flowing back and forth just like the sonic elements in the track. The blur in the waves representing the fine line between the possibility of slipping back into untrue realities (ruminate) and the truth of the moment.

3/3

9/10

ABOUT THE MUSIC:

PERIPETEIA

A sudden reversal of fortune. This interlude is a reference to the time right before I was to leave for my final year of university to Coventry, UK. I had the good fortune of meeting some beautiful people with whom I made wholesome memories and meaningful relationships with, leaving me longing for tomorrows rather than resenting them. A time of my life I wish I could live in for eternity and one I look forward to manifesting. ABOUT THE ARTWORK:

No journey seeking redemption is ever straight and easy, this artwork aims to represent that journey, the change in events and fortune, leading towards another end.

1/4

10/14

ABOUT THE MUSIC:

NISUS

A perfective urge; endeavour. The beginning of an end. Nisus was composed as a reflection on how my life has shaped since I left Singapore in 2019. This piece is an attempt at reflecting on the emotion of acceptance and vulnerability. The definition of nisus is to mentally or physically attain an end; that is essentially what the piece is about - to learn, let go and move on from one's past. Nisus is the first piece that directs towards the new era of art, music and life I am heading towards - drēokt. ABOUT THE ARTWORK:

I wanted to depict the contrast between my past and future; reflecting on the two from a third person's perspective and seeing my life for what it truly is.

2/4

11/14

ABOUT THE MUSIC:

DIAPASON

Harmony This piece follows the narrative of "Nisus," reflecting on my past, but instead ruminating on the pleasant and calming memories I have made in this period. Monsoon is my favourite season of the year, one in which I feel warm and closer to the earth. There is harmony in the rain and atmosphere that calms my thoughts. Diapason is an attempt on reflecting that harmony. ABOUT THE ARTWORK: The concept was to reflect on my past and embrace the imperfections. The line represents going back in time and celebrating the highs of my past.

3/4

12/14

ABOUT THE MUSIC:

VIGNETTE

A brief evocative episode. The final portrait before the beginning of the new era, drēokt. This piece is a reflection of the journey my life has taken in the last five years. From it being born into something warm to mellow; instances that changed my life instantaneously to calming it down, leading me to find myself. This journey has been much like that of waves in the ocean, clashing, calming, all over the place and yet always moving forward. It's not the end that matters but rather what you found along the way is what defines the destination, I guess. ABOUT THE ARTWORK:

I wanted to create a visual that encompassed the sonic narrative within one frame. My inspiration stemmed from creating several graphic scores and notations depicting each piece individually. After having created them, I began to single out properties that evoked what I wished to convey through the music. I resulted with a series of semiotics. The artwork represents waves, depicting the journey of life and movement, showcasing my life in a frame.

4/4

13/14

ABOUT THE MUSIC:

MOLEDRO The feeling of a resonant connection with an artist you have never met, who may have lived centuries ago and thousands of miles away but can still get inside your head and leave behind morsels of their experience. A new era. ABOUT THE ARTWORK:

I wanted to create a visual that encompassed the sonic narrative within one frame. My inspiration stemmed from creating several graphic scores and notations depicting each piece individually. After having created them, I began to single out properties that evoked what I wished to convey through the music. I resulted with a series of semiotics. A clean slate, a new beginning and a new direction. I wanted to depict an open space for myself to create my new art on and the new era I'm headed towards.

1/1

14/14

Thank you for reading. If you would like to know more about the project, do feel free to reach out to me on my Instagram. If you would to support my art and music, do share and support me on my Bandcamp.

Thank you once again. x

2 notes · View notes

lokimostly · 5 years ago

Text

Home from War (Ch.5/8)

James Conrad x Reader Word Count: 3,015 Warnings: character death, injury, depictions of violence and gore Fic Summary: One year after you lost the love of your life, a last-minute decision changes everything you thought you knew. Now only one question remains: how to make it out alive, and return home from war?

A/N: Whoo. I could have posted a day ago, but y’all know me, I’m a perfectionist to a fault and I had to make sure everything was *chef’s kiss.* Also, I split the chapter AGAIN cause it was way too long (and I like where it ends better, anyway). I’m looking forward to your comments on this one. <3

As you and the group travelled west across the island, the feeling of dread in your stomach began to tie itself into knots.

Everyone but Colonel Packard and a few of the soldiers were visibly on edge. No one would meet your eyes, focused instead on the forest around them, and what could possibly be in it. Particularly what wanted to eat you alive.

You took solace in walking with Conrad. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like, stuck on this island without him. But he too looked tense, every tone muscle in his body taut like a coiled spring. If Conrad was nervous, how could you not be?

The trees thinned. The air was thicker, and sick-smelling somehow. You began to pass huge, moss-covered pillars that jutted from the ground: giant bones. Thousands of them. They were overgrown by vines and trees, the only remnants of ancient creatures long-dead – and whatever had killed them.

You came over the crest of a grassy hill and your breath caught when you saw the valley below.

Filled with putrid smoke, polluted with gaseous vents and littered with the monolith bones of two former giants, the smell alone was enough to make you gag. The bones of the giants were still bloodstained. It may have been years since they’d died, but not so long ago that whatever killed them hadn’t stopped gnawing on their bones.

“You smell that?” Marlow said in disgust. “That’s death.”

“What the hell is this place?” Slivko asked weakly, pushing up his bandana and looking like he might throw up.

“This is what’s left of Kong’s parents,” Marlow said, clenching his jaw.

“I’ve taken enough photos of mass graves to recognize one,” Weaver deadpanned. She stared ahead with a sour expression. The mood of the group dropped even further and settled into heady discontent.

Colonel Packard, on the other hand, was unfazed. “The crash site’s just on the other side of this valley,” He nodded, gesturing to the terrain below you with his rifle. “We’ll cross through and make it to the highest point west.”

You looked down into the crater of bones, which was so polluted by fumes that you could hardly see into it, much less across to the other side.

Yeah, this was not a good idea.

Marlow gaped at the Colonel, astounded that he was still set in his course. “Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head, vocalizing your thoughts. “This place is a real no-no, sir.”

“We need to be going to the north side right now!” One of the LandSat scientists piped up quickly, riding the wave of insubordination.

The Colonel turned to look at him sharply. “And you’re welcome to do that, my man,” he snapped. “By yourself!”

He turned back to the rest of you, looking from face to face obstinately. “Now who’s with me?”

The soldiers looked between each other with uncertainty. You and Mills glanced shared a glance and he gave you a severely disgruntled look behind the Colonel’s back.

“We can make it,” Conrad said. His eyes were fixed on the valley. Your mouth opened in shock and you stared at him, screaming in silent disbelief.

Are you kidding me? You thought.

Conrad glanced at you and tightened his jaw.

“Mighty right, we can make it,” Packard nodded. “Now, stay sharp, keep an eye out.” And with that, he began walking down the hill.

Most of the soldiers fell into line automatically, some more reluctantly than others. You stood on the ridge for a moment, looking at the path ahead. Marlow adjusted his cap with a stony expression.

“I’ve only been here twenty-eight years, what do I know?” he muttered, shaking his head and following them downhill.

You sighed, rubbing your face and shaking your head into your palm. Everyone else began the descent. You felt the ghosting touch of a hand on the small of your back as Conrad passed you, glancing up to make sure you would follow.

“Stay close?” He said, raising his eyebrows. A promise.

The two of you had already made so many promises.

You nodded. “I will.”

The air was thick with smoke. Your vision was dangerously cloudy– you could see only a few yards ahead. The ground itself was treacherous. There were random outcroppings of rock and half-buried bones, and giant, gaseous vents that seemed to go on to the center of the earth.

The group kept a loose single-file behind Packard, treading softly along the floor of the valley. Everyone with a weapon in their hands held it raised, attentive and on edge.

Gradually, you spread out. Your breathing became a little less quiet as you grew more familiar with your surroundings. For the moment, there were no monsters around. It gave you time to scope out your surroundings. You were quietly stunned at the amount of dinosaur bones and other geological marvels littering the ground like discarded baubles. This place was an archeologists’ dream -- if their dream included meeting monsters face-to-face.

Soon, the only sound wasn’t your own measured breathing. A few of the soldiers were brave enough to talk in low murmurs as they walked in groups. Randa’s flash camera made a high-pitched whine every time he took a photo.

Your backpack was much heavier than before your groups had joined up together– you and Slivko had taken on some of the weight of Griffin Co’s cargo. Bullets and gas cans, mostly. Not for the first time, your thoughts drifted to the medical bag stored in the Sea Stallion with Chapman.

If you made it that far, at least you’d have something to look forward to. The constant discomfort of being parted from your tools was not a feeling you wanted to get used to.

Conrad stood alone, kneeling on the ground and pressing his hand into the dirt. You made your way over to him, watching as he pondered over an enormous, three-clawed footprint pressed into the earth.

Like I needed a reminder that Skull Crawlers are here, you thought, and shivered.

You looked away to distract yourself and saw Mills nearby, walking slowly alongside Cole as the older of the two lit a cigarette.

Mills turned and saw the stick dangling from Cole’s mouth, and his expression turned to indignation. “Cole, we don’t got time for that, man,” he chastised quietly. “Put the cigarette out.”

Cole paused in lighting the cig and stared at him for a moment before reaching up, taking a drag, blowing a puff of smoke, and then discarding it with an absentminded flick of his hand.

There was a boom as the cigarette’s ember flame ignited the gas coming from the vents. A fiery cloud blasted against your front and you turned away, ducking down to avoid the flames.

You coughed as the smoke cleared and looked up at Conrad, who held his shirt over his mouth, looking watery-eyed.

“Watch those fumes!” Randa shouted from across the field, shaking his head and mumbling something under his breath. The camera in his hands fizzed and sputtered as the lightbulb flickered.

“Let’s go!” Packard called through the smoke, rallying the group to him. “We gotta move!”

Conrad coughed and dropped his shirt, standing up. The two of you jogged back to the group, falling into line and catching your breath. Everyone else did the same.

Just as your boots found their rhythm, you heard a familiar sound: hollow screeching in the distance.

Your blood ran cold.

There was a split-second of silence where nobody breathed. Conrad had already moved towards you in one step, shoulders squared and gun raised protectively.

Then Marlow shouted, “RUN!”

You and Conrad sprinted through the smoke, dodging giant pillars of bone as they appeared through the fog.

“Here! Hide!” He said, pulling you down with him against a fragment of skull. It was curved inward, just big enough to shield the two of you when crouched down and pressed together.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest and you struggled to catch your breath. The Skull Crawler screeched again: closer, this time.

“Shhh,” he soothed, reaching a hand out to squeeze your leg before he shifted his grip on his rifle and tightened his jaw, leaning his head back against the bone.

It was silent as a tomb. You forced yourself to calm down as the monster came closer, its heavy footsteps reverberating through the ground. Every pounding step drove fear into your mind like a hammer to a nail, until it was right on top of you.

The monster’s throat warbled in a howl loud enough to burst your eardrums. Your own terrified shout was lost in the noise as you buried your face against Conrad’s shoulder. You felt his hand squeeze your thigh.

The roar changed into a disgusting, retching sound. Its muscled throat convulsed and, in a spray of bones and stomach acid, it disposed of what it couldn’t digest.

You pulled away from Conrad’s shoulder and stared at the bones tumbling across the ground, rolling to a stop in front of you.

Among them, a skull.

Around it, a dog tag.

Dripping with acid, the punched letters read: Jack Chapman, Lieutenant.

You put your hand to your mouth to stifle a whimper of horror.

“Breathe,” Conrad whispered. His grip tightened when the Skull Crawler retched a final time. Its muscled throat warbled, and with a swing of its tail, it thundered off.

It felt like eternity before the rumbling of the monster’s footsteps subsided. Then, silence.

Conrad let out a breath he’d been holding and pulled you against his chest. Your bottom lip trembled and you fought down a wave of tears, nearly overcome by the feeling of near-death. He reached up to cradle your head, hand tangled in the loose strands of your hair.

“Shh. It’s all right,” He comforted, pressing a kiss to your forehead and exhaling heavily.

“Rally up! Rally up!” Came Colonel Packard’s voice.

You forced yourself to pull away from Conrad and stand, fighting the taste of bile that came whenever you thought about Chapman. Conrad snatched up the tangled dog tags and shoved them into his pocket, following behind you.

“Somebody cover the civilian’s six, let’s move!” The Colonel ordered. You beckoned to Weaver and the others to follow you.

They came quickly -- all except Randa, who lagged behind. He lingered in front of one of the dinosaur skulls while trying to take a picture. The flash bulb of his camera popped again, and began to malfunction, flashing at random. He turned it around. The bulb flashed. There was a low warbling behind him.

You turned around just in time to see the Skull Crawler’s giant mouth snatch Randa from thin air, throwing him from side to side before engulfing him whole. As he travelled down the monster’s throat, the camera’s lightbulb flashed erratically, glowing underneath the reptile’s skin.

Everyone opened fire. The Skull Crawler screeched, swinging its heavy tail towards you. You ducked, feeling the wind as it passed inches above you, before the gunfire drove it way and into the smoke.

“Set up the 50!” Packard ordered. A few soldiers jumped to the task of anchoring a 50-caliber machine gun to a half-buried skull, but everyone else stood still.

The silence was deafening. Your sweaty hands gripped the cold metal of your gun, finger floating above the trigger. In the distance, the camera flashed. Again. And again. The monster was moving quietly now– the only way to know where it was hiding in the smoke was the telltale whiz and pop of the lightbulb.

Beside you, Mills was sniffing as he tried to keep his composure. Slivko was on the verge of the same mental breakdown. You would have offered words of comfort, but you were feeling just as terrified.

Suddenly the Skull Crawler screamed and charged out of the smoke.

“Run!” You shouted, sprinting away immediately while the other soldiers opened fire. Mills followed you, catching up when you took cover behind a curved rib. The two of you gasped for breath, watching as the Skull Crawler rammed into the dinosaur skull where the 50-cal had been firing away and doing no damage.

It caught one of the soldiers with its teeth as he flew through the air. He disappeared with a sickening crunch. The Skull Crawler snarled, and set its eyes on another target: Mason Weaver, who was armed with nothing but a camera.

Your eyes widened and you jumped to action. “Stay here!” You told Mills. You ran out from your cover and followed the Skull Crawler as it chased her. She wasn’t stupid: she ran from cover to cover, dodging the monster’s snapping jaws until there was nowhere left to run.

Mason slid underneath the curved ribcage of one of the skeletons, buying herself a fraction of time. The Skull Crawler smashed into the bones with terrifying force and began digging at her with its claws. She screamed, covering her face while its powerful jaws snapped and frothed angrily.

You skidded to a stop next to one of the soldiers, who stood dumbfounded.

“Torch!” You screamed, snapping him from his trance and pointing to the chemical backpack he was wearing. “Now!”

He let fly a sea of flames, dousing the Skull Crawler in fire.

It worked– to distract it, at least. The Skull Crawler shrieked angrily, digging its claws into the ground before swinging its monstrous tail and sending the flamethrower flying. You watched, mouth dry, as he fell into one of the vents.

An explosion rocked the ground and blasted you several feet backwards. Slivko went flying, landing on an unforgiving outcropping of bones and rock.

Slivko didn’t get up. The contents of his backpack spilled onto the dirt: punctured cans of toxic gas. They whistled dangerously, like a kettle sitting on the stove for too long.

You groaned and pushed yourself off the ground, trying to ignore the high-pitched ringing in your ears. Your head throbbed as you came unsteadily to your feet.

This is too much, you thought weakly, leaning against a bone pillar and trying to snap out of your dazed state.

You heard Conrad’s voice cut through the air. “Slivko!” he shouted, but his voice fell on unconscious ears. “Gas!”

You watched the cans burst in an explosion of green.

Clouds of poisonous smoke filled the air and you pulled up the fabric of your shirt to cover your mouth. A whirlwind of yellow birds appeared out of nowhere– the very same terrors who had devoured LandSat director Nieves only hours earlier. They dive-bombed at you and the soldiers, and a fresh wave of terrified screams filled the valley.

Meanwhile, the Skull Crawler was fully enjoying the hunt: chasing down man after man, devouring them in a single bite. The screams would haunt your nightmares.

As soon as your vision cleared, you took your own gun and aimed – not at the Skull Crawler, that was a lost cause – but at the birds. Mills and Cole did the same. They fell out of the sky one-by-one. You were no excellent marksman, but you could hold your own. That is, until something distracted you.

You saw Conrad out of the corner of your eye as he sprinted past, picked up a gas mask mid-run, and pulled it onto his face before charging into the smoke. You watched him in horror. Saving Slivko or not, it was reckless and unspeakably dangerous.

You weren’t about to let him go alone.

Pulling on a mask of your own and shooting at the birds as you ran, you sprinted through the gas. He had Marlow’s sword in his hands, using it deftly the cut down the low-flying monsters.

When did he learn to use a sword? You wondered vaguely.

As Conrad plowed ahead, you raised your gun and shot the birds that he missed, keeping them off of his back.

The two of you came out of the gas at the same time. You pulled off your gas mask, and sucked in the fresh air, coughing.

“Slivko!” Conrad shouted, spotting his unconscious body lying in the dirt. You dropped your mask and ran to him, landing on your knees.

“C’mon, Sliv,” you urged, pulling him onto his back. He stirred and mumbled something incoherent. You gasped in relief, shifting him into a sitting position as he regained consciousness. “That’s it. Easy,” you soothed. His head was bleeding profusely.

“Help me get him up,” you instructed. Conrad obeyed. You both looped Slivko’s arms around your shoulders and pulled him up.

“Hang on, Sliv,” you stalled, reaching frantically into your pockets for something to wrap his head-- gauze, cloth, anything.

Somewhere in the distance, Colonel Packard’s voice rang through the valley. “This thing’s moving!”

You barely had time to feel dread before you saw the silhouette of the Skull Crawler coming towards you, jaws gaping. Rows and rows of teeth flashed in its bloodstained mouth. Its forked tongue lashed out and it screeched, churning up the earth beneath its feet.

Your hand felt something cold and familiar in your pocket.

Without any warning, you dropped Slivko’s arm and pulled the lighter from your pocket, running towards the Skull Crawler.

“Y/N!” Conrad shouted, his voice cracking in terror, as he watched you run to you doom.

You skidded to a stop as the Skull Crawler appeared in the gas and pitched the open lighter as hard as you could.

One little flame, but it was enough.

The lighter arced through the air and flew into one of the vents. An explosion, bigger than any of the others before, rocked the ground below you and caught the Skull Crawler in its wake.

You, Conrad, and Slivko flew back through the air. They landed on their backs against the softer ground, coughing and groaning as they came to their senses.

You weren’t so lucky.

Your back slammed against one of the giant, half-buried ribs and there was a sickening crack. Pain shot up your left leg like a bolt of lightning.

You hit the ground and everything went black.

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! And thanks for all the kind messages lately. Tag list is still open! <3

Tag List: @tarynkauai, @jessiejunebug, @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi, @fire-in-her-veinz, @daylight-swiftie, @un-consider-it, @torntaltos, @majahu, @et-puto, @kinghiddlestonanddixon, @awesomefandomsunited, @damalseer, @uinen-ulmiel, @fire-in-her-veinz, @naspter1129, @fandomdarlings, @embracingtom, @alina-margaret, @bthtallmadge2, @larryspantaloons, @lady-loki-ren, @captainsherlockwinchester110283, @holacherrycola90, @indelwen-of-mirkwood, @marveloushiddleston, @ladybugsfanfics

#james conrad #james conrad x reader #james conrad x you #captain conrad x reader #captain conrad #captain james conrad #kong #kong: skull island #kaiju #fanfic #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #reader insert #series #whump #angst #conrad x reader

139 notes · View notes

precuredaily · 5 years ago

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Precure Day 156

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 08 - “Rin and Karen’s Compatibility: Zero?” Date watched: 14 October 2019 Original air date: 25 March 2007 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/JGs54VL Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

that’s it, that’s the episode

The five ideals represented by the Precure team are hope, passion, effervescence, tranquility, and intelligence. Passion and intelligence tend to represent opposite sides of a coin, and we’ve seen Rin and Karen butt heads before. This episode pits them against each other in a classic Red Oni, Blue Oni dichotomy, to great effect, and it almost spells the end of their friendship.

The Plot

Rin and Karen have a small disagreement about what flowers to decorate Natts House with, which creates tension between them because they’re both invested in their decision. Later, a disagreement about what kind of tea to drink with their snacks causes more of an argument and the other girls can’t calm them down. Suddenly all they can manage to do is get in each other’s way and annoy each other. Rin taunts Karen about being her Precure senpai, despite the seitokaichou being the elder girl. When Rin comments that it’ll be a good day for sports, Karen chimes in that the weather forecast predicted rain. It gets to the point where they just stop talking to each other, despite the other three trying to intervene. However, Arachnea has been dispatched by Nightmare to capture the Dream Collet, and once again she emerges from the sewers (what is it with her and sewers?) as Nozomi, Urara, and Komachi walk home. They transform but she captures them in her webs this time, taunting Coco to leave a message for the other two girls about what happened, and to bring the Collet if they wanted to save their teammates. Karen and Rin run into each other as they leave school, exchange tense small talk, but they put their dispute aside when Coco tells them what happened. They trek into the sewer, snarking each other along the way, and finally find Arachnea and their teammates. The two transform and fight against a Kowaina made of sewer pipes, and despite their differences, they manage to work in harmony. When Arachnea demands to know how they can be so tenacious, they each respond that they can’t afford to lose to each other, and Nozomi manages to free herself and use Dream Attack to finish off the Kowaina. Afterwards, Karen and Rin make up and say they’d like to visit each other sometime to share their love of flowers. However, at Natts House the next day, they can still be found arguing over the placement of a flower, because some things never change.

The Analysis

Something I thought was really interesting about this episode was Rin’s point that the two girls didn’t talk much before they became Precure, so going back to that isn’t really unusual or a sign that they hate each other or anything. Despite their animosity, both girls are fine with just not having much to do with each other to resolve the problem. I thought that was a reasonably mature response, as opposed to constant bickering, however, this is a show about making friends and overcoming hardships, so that’s not going to stand.

Precure squabbles are a time-honored tradition at this point. Nagisa and Honoka did it several times, it’s been the running theme of the movies, but now we get to see it translated to a larger team and the result is interesting. I appreciate the portrayal of how different people in a friend group may not be equally friends with each other, how they sometimes clash in major ways, and how that affects the team harmony. Interestingly, in this episode, their fight doesn’t hurt the team in battle in the traditional way, but it does affect group harmony outside of it, and of course when it’s just Rouge and Aqua against the monster, you get to see that.... they’re not that at odds. You would expect them to trip over each other and argue with each other, the usual side-effects of squabbling cures, but in fact they work together pretty well. They harumph a bit but they have the same objective and are mostly able to put their differences aside in the heat of battle to save their friends. The fight sort of puts things in perspective for them and allows them to vent, as well as hear each other out, and they apologize afterwards. It’s a really good take on things.

(I made a gif of a scene to emphasize my point, but it’s too big to upload, and I’m having trouble embedding it from imgur, so here’s a link: https://imgur.com/8Ge5EsA)

The thing that stands out to me about this is, of course, this isn’t the first time the two of them have butted heads. They’ve never out-and-out fought like in this episode, but they did have some gruff encounters before. The one that stands out to me is in episode 6, where Karen is explaining to the girls why she cannot become a Precure, and Rin snarks that her approach to rejecting them was rude, and Karen snaps back at her to be quiet. Rin has often been opposed to Karen becoming a cure, not maliciously but she didn’t think the Student Council President would be a good fit, so there was a basis for this. It’s funny how it all comes to a head, though. It starts as the two just disagreeing over what flowers to place in the shop, with their personal biases coming into play because hey, each one wants to display the ones they brought, and then after that every single thing they say or do is wrong and annoying.

Also, aggressively eating out of spite is a goddamn mood.

I like the scene at the beginning where it all starts and the tension between them is reinforced by the dramatic music and quick cuts and closeups. That’s some quality cinematography.

vimeo

Switching gears, this episode finally shows us the big bad of the show, Despariah! Kind of. We see her from the back, and an extreme close-up of the bottom of her “face”, which is actually covered by a mask.

She tells Kawarino her goal is to grant herself eternal life and youth while ruling the world with absolute despair. You know, a normal Tuesday for a villain. But it does shed some light on the environment she has set up. One can assume the masked boardroom members are people she has previously brought despair to. Also, perhaps the Kawaina masks are based on her own? It’s not the last time in this show we’ll explore what really goes on in those things.

Of note, all the girls (except Nozomi) transfer their captured Pinkies from their Pinky Catches to the Dream Collet, including Karen, who has not actually been seen catching a Pinky yet. This will be the first of many that are caught offscreen.

Urara and Nozomi are adorkable this episode. Urara seems almost oblivious to the tension in the room and, in what is becoming a running gag for her, spouts a non-sequitur answer to a question. In this case, when the discussion is whether to drink black or green tea, she confidently says she prefers milk!

Nozomi can at least tell there’s a fight going on and she tries to settle it in the most Nozomi way possible: by combining all three!

that would probably taste terrible

Bless her, she is trying.

I don’t really have a lot more to say here, it’s a solid episode about two girls overcoming some personal strife, friendly fighting to outdo one another, and protecting their friends. We also get a little insight into the villains. Next time we meet the best girl that isn’t a Precure, Masuko Mika! Look forward to i!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 1 Kettei!

#Precure #Pretty Cure #Yes! Precure 5 #YPC508 #PCD156

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testedtransgressor · 5 years ago

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Why

Category: Post Shock Rating: T Warning/s: Death, post-apocalyptic Originally Written: 21st February 2020

The sun was low in the sky by the time they finally reached the old shack.

Anna had seen it from the top of the rickshaw, and Alaric had made a beeline for it once she told him, but they hadn't been too hopeful about the safety. Most places out here were abandoned and left alone for good reason.

Anna stood nearby, readying herself to run as Alaric stomped heavily across the front porch, thumping a fist against the weathered siding beside the door. After a few moments of silence, he raised his gun and torch, and moved inside. Silence followed, and Anna bit her lip as she waited. There was the occasional sound of shuffling from inside, and Alaric's heavy footfalls across the floorboards, but it felt like an eternity before he returned to the door.

"It's clear. C'mon in. Bring your pack."

Anna hurriedly grabbed her bag and ran to the shack, ducking under Alaric's arm as he held the door open for her. They had a safe place for the night, it seemed.

After the fire was going and some food had been cooked, Alaric finally settled onto the moth-eaten sofa and relaxed. Anna was brushing out her hair, and looked over at Alaric as he put his feet up. His face was so lined that she wondered how old he really was. She knew it was rude to ask, but her curiosity sometimes got the better of her - and he looked like he was in a good enough mood to answer her.

Sometimes, however, he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.

"Fifty-six,"

Anna stared at him, her mouth dropping open. "Huh?"

"I'm fifty-six, Annaleigh."

"How'd you know I was gonna ask?" She asked.

"'Cos you always do," he snorted softly, but it seemed like he was laughing. "Any time we've found a safe place for the night and fed well and get comfortable, you ask. And if you don't ask, you get this look on your face, like you're gonna ask. But you don't, not always. You just stare."

"I'm sorry," she dropped her head, feeling embarrassed, "I know it's rude to ask--"

"It's only rude if the person you're askin' gets upset," Alaric told her. "A lot of things ain't polite to do, but if nobody knows you're doing it, nobody's gonna get upset. Remember that, Anna. You'll need that cunning one day," he muttered to himself. Anna looked down at the brush in her hand, before looking back up at Alaric. He seemed to be in a better mood than usual, so she decided to press her luck.

"Alaric?"

"Hm?"

"I miss Elizabeth."

He opened his eyes, staring at the wall for a few moments before sighing deeply.

"Me too."

Anna frowned slightly. Did he regret sending her away? She knew that sometimes he'd wake up at night with nightmares, and Elizabeth used to be the one to throw cold water in his face so he would stop panicking. Anna was always too scared to get close, so she would just wait for him to realise that the dream was over.

"Anna," Alaric sighed again, "Do you know why I had to send Elizabeth away?"

Anna shook her head, pursing her lips. "No."

Alaric sat up and leaned forward, looking at Anna carefully. "Anna, what happened about... thirty years ago?"

"I don't know. I wasn't born then."

"Daemons spread," he stated. "Now, thirty years ago, I was twenty-six. I had a wife. Most beautiful lady you've ever seen. She looked like Cinderella, with big blue eyes and beautiful dark blonde hair."

Anna didn't know who "Cinderella" was, but she guessed that Alaric must have thought she was really pretty, just from what he was saying.

"We married way younger than most thought right," Alaric explained, "We weren't even out of school, but we knew it was right. Probably a good thing, too, because my folks got sick when I came out of school. Med bills weren't cheap, so I joined the military to help ease the pain of the bills. Did two tours in Mongolia, saw some shit, then got out and came home. I took shrapnel to the leg while on duty, and they botched the surgery not once, not twice, but four times. So, they let me out, paid out the rest of my expected salary, plus all the bonuses, and a nice little somethin' extra so I wouldn't go runnin' to the media about it. I was fine with that - the money was enough to pay off my folks' medical bills, and buy myself a house, and give Gisele the weddin' she deserved. It was worth it to see the way her face lit up when she walked into that church," he shook his head, smiling with his eyes closed. Anna closed her eyes as well and tried to imagine what "the wedding Gisele deserved" might look like. All she came up with was something like that wedding they went to in Sarc, where there was lots of dancing and fun. She decided to add a few more flowers to her mental image - she figured Gisele might have liked flowers.

"We moved into my house together, and within a year she gave me a daughter. We called her Sienna, and her little sister Demi followed four years later. And that's... where things got bad,"

He exhaled softly, as if trying to keep himself calm, and Anna wondered if she might need to get some of the washing water to throw at him, in case he started to panic. But he seemed to get a hold of himself, and shook his head. He looked over at the fire they'd lit, watching the flames.

"Where we were, it was pretty safe at night. The daemons had already happened, and by the time Demi was ten, they were everywhere. We mostly knew how to avoid them, so we kept our house surrounded by lights at night and if any of them did dare to come too near, we'd throw them poisoned or rotten meat. They'll eat anything, as you've seen, but they had a semblance of intelligence then. If a few of them got sick eatin' at one place, most of that pack would stay away from that place. Daytime, we lived normal, night time we stayed indoors and hoped they didn't develop immunity to light."

"Sienna was around sixteen when she started to chafe. People've since told me that it was normal. Teenagers start arguin' with their folks a lot sooner, that we were lucky we had so many good years before puberty got the better of her. But it's no comfort. See, I don't tell them that I told her to go outside that night,"

His voice was shaking, and he took a moment to compose himself. Anna was watching him carefully, watching as he tried to stop himself falling into the emotions.

"We were arguin', like we usually did. She didn't want do the dishes, wanted to know why she always had to do the dishes and Demi never had to Demi was twelve by this time - just like you and Elizabeth," he added. "She'd been tryin' to get Demi to help with her chores, since she had started doin' them when she was twelve. But Demi... Demi was a bit clumsy. She was more likely to run the water too hot and burn herself, or accidentally cut herself washin' up knives. We had her doing the less dangerous chores, stuff like helping with the laundry, or dustin' the sideboard. Sienna had a bit of a tantrum, and I lost my temper. Told her if she didn't like it, she was welcome to find somewhere else to live. So she grabbed her coat and a torch and went outside, into the night."

Alaric dropped his gaze to the floor, screwing his eyes shut, but Anna could tell from the shake in his shoulders that he was fighting back sobs.

"I thought she'd come back..." he finally managed to say, his voice tight. "But when she didn't, I went out to look for her. And while I was out... I-i don't know. The power went out, and--"

He didn't need to continue. Mr Fischer had told her a long time ago. Daemons were a constant threat to life almost everywhere, so it was no surprise to her that they'd swept in and seemingly claimed everything that was left. It was a story many people had told her already; they'd turned their back for just a few seconds, and when they turned back, their family and friends were gone.

It took him a long time to recover himself, and she waited silently and patiently, letting him have his grief. She looked away, watching the fire while she heard him pulling himself back together behind her.

"Elizabeth fought with me, a lot like Sienna did," he finally said, "Sometimes, I'd forget that I was talking to Elizabeth. Horrific things like the things I've seen, they do funny things to your brain. When something sets it off, "triggers" it... It puts me back in that place when the bad things first happened. The last fight we had, me and Elizabeth, I forgot I was fighting with Elizabeth. I was lookin' at Sienna, yellin' at Sienna. And it was Sienna who said she could make it on her own, but that wasn't what Elizabeth said. I didn't hear Elizabeth, I only heard Sienna."

It was starting to fit together. Anna had heard of the brain problem Alaric was describing. A nurse at Sarc had told her about it. PTSD. She didn't know what the letters stood for, but sometimes it would make people just stop, unable to go on - and sometimes, it would make people forget where they were, what they were doing, and make them think they were in a different place, different time, with different people. It could make people violent and aggressive, or make them silent and submissive.

She knew Alaric had it. The nightmares were a symptom, the way he'd sometimes stare vacantly, or ramble almost incoherently about how things "used to be". Mr Fischer had said that he could get help, but he wasn't and didn't seem to want to. Anna knew she should suggest he get it fixed, but she didn't think it was her place to make that comment.

"It was because of that, that I knew Elizabeth couldn't stay," Alaric admitted finally. "Oh, I've been keeping track of the man she went off with. Noah Everett. Don't know where exactly she is all the time, but Joe keeps in touch with him, and he mentions her from time to time. She's doin' okay. And I think that, given everything I was goin' through, it was better to send her away with someone who'd keep her safe, rather than keep her here. I learned from last time, I guess."

Anna had turned to look at him, curious now that he'd mentioned Elizabeth. Why didn't he ever tell her that he knew she was safe?

Once again, he seemed to know what she was thinking, and smiled slightly at her, waving a finger in front of her admonishingly. "Don't you go runnin' off after her, Anna. I still need you. She'll catch up with us eventually, I'm sure of it."

#post apocalyptic #post shock #survival game #zombie apocalypse #Annaleigh Johnston

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thereluctanthedgewitch · 5 years ago

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Mara Goes on a Late Night Rant

Started this last night. Finished it tonight.

Let me preface this by saying that I have been sick as all get out for the last week, I haven't been getting as much sleep as I should, and since the only other reliable employee is sicker than I am I have had to work. So, there will be some over the top ranting, more anger than is reasonable, and tangents that go nowhere. That said, strap in people, because I am pissed and I have a blog, so everyone is gonna hear about it. Okay. The five people that actually read what I have to say are gonna hear about it. So last week I stumbled across a cute little podcast about Greek Mythology that was absolutely lovely. But it was mythology, not religion. So that got me wanting. I want podcasts about religion. Specifically Greek and Norse. I found a wonderful YouTube channel that had some Norse myths and stories, but I wanted more. Besides, I didn't like the stories about Loki. This is where I get angry. Not because I can't find any, but because of what I found. Hate. Hate is what I found. I have become used to the hate and disrespect that Loki gets. I don't like it. I get frustrated. But the blinding anger has dissipated. When even fellow Lokeans show disrespect to their own God, who they are supposed to love and respect above all others, you finally lose your voice and sit in misery. I have begun to avoid most work that talks about Loki because I just don't want to see the hate and blatant disrespect anymore. So, I thought, let's check out the Greek podcasts. I need some love tonight. I did not find it. Let's start with Hades I found quite a few that told the story of how He gained His beloved Persephone. So. Many. Hateful. Words! Basically, what every single cast I found boiled down to was this: Hades was a poor, pitiful, lonely man who hated his position in the Underworld and wanted to drag someone down with him to keep as a possession. He saw poor, clueless Persephone and thought ''oh she is hot I want her." He went to Zeus who said sure you can take her but don't let anyone know, especially Demeter. So he pops out of the ground and scares away her guards and drags her away. Once he finds out that Demeter has found a way to save her daughter, he tricks said daughter into eating something so she has to stay. He is outsmarted because Persephone only ate 3 (or 4, or 6 depending on the translation) pomegranate seed, and so he has to let her go home for 1/3 (or 1/2) of the year. All is right with the world because evil Hades has been outsmarted and the defenseless flower child is free for part of the year. How fucked is that?! Hades isn't evil! Most of them justified this assumption by comparing him to Voldemort, saying no one would say His name even when giving Him offering. No. Just no. There were REASONS for not stating His name. And He has many names that He is called by. Just like everyone's favorite shiny God, Apollo. He has many different names, depending on His role at the time, and even depending on who is worshiping Him. So, that argument is invalid. Next. Another justification was (I quote here) "even when they gave Hades offerings, he was always given offering last, after all the other Gods". Um DUH. Idiots. He rules the realm of the DEAD! When you have nice fresh meat and veggies to give as offering, you give it to the Gods that want that! Do you give lemon to a God that wants sugar? No! Certain Gods want a freshly killed deer as sacrifice. Others want desiccated meat. You give the God what He wants or the offering is pointless. So, you wait. Hades wants super dead stuff because, you know, that's HIS DOMAIN! Morons! Utter morons!! (I quote again) "and when they would give him offerings, they would bury it in the ground and look to the ground and away. They couldn't even bring themselves to look at him for fear" Nooooooo...... out of RESPECT! UNDERworld, people! UNDER. THE. GROUND! Of course they buried offerings! You gonna look to the sky if you believe your God is under your feet?! Of course they looked down. And averting your eyes is common sense. *growls in frustration* Hades is the God of the realm of the dead (don't even get me started on the idiots that were calling Him the God of Death. Do your basic research, dumbasses. He rules the realm of the dead. Thanatos is the God of Death. *sigh*). There are basic rules when one honors Him. Death is the one constant. It is the END OF THINGS. So, He would get offering last. Not in disrespect. In acknowledgement that He is the one we all go to at the end of our lives. He is cold and distant to us, yes. Because He truly has no reason to interact with us while we live. "I will see you at the end of your days. Live your life, we have eternity later." He is cold because death is cold. Emotionally speaking. Cold is not evil. Respect is not fear. Now. My Lady Persephone. Someone please please PLEASE for the love of Olympus and Valhalla, tell me how the FUCK someone can call a GODDESS weak and clueless and easily tricked. HOW?! Persephone is a dual Goddess. She is the wildflowers in the fields. She is the death of winter. She is a Goddess in Her own right and a motherfucking QUEEN of the Underworld. If Hades had kidnapped and raped Her, if He was keeping Her there against Her will, do you honestly think She would be RULING by His side? Do some minimal research and you will find that SHE had more say, more rule, more POWER than Her husband when in the Underworld. How is this possible if She is a defenseless little meek thing like they were insinuating? In all honesty, I would rather face down Hades, Cerberus, and Thanatos before facing The Queen. (please don't make me! I beg you. I was only saying it to make a point, not to invite trouble. I would rather not face any of them tyvm.) She is scary when angered. She is in no way meek. She knew what She was doing when She ate those pomegranate seeds. She WANTED to be there. He didn't kidnap Her and hold Her against Her will. She got on that chariot because she WANTED to. And don't even think you can say, "but He raped Her!" No. No He did not. Rape did not mean the same thing then as it does now. These words are translated from ANCIENT GREEK into Latin and from Latin into English (and possibly a few other languages between them). Languages evolve. They change. Words are updated. Definitions are altered. Look up the history of awesome. Or terrible. Or any other number of words. The word rape, even now, does not mean "to force sexual acts on an unwilling person", or at least that isn't all that it means. Now, it also stands for many forms of violation. But "the rape of Persephone" didn't mean what people today think it means. The title of the story is literally "The Rape of Persephone" but does the content of the story have sex ANYWHERE? Not anywhere I have found. Please, if someone finds a version, a HISTORICALLY ACCURATE VERSION, that tells of Hades forcing Himself on Persephone, show me. On the topic of rape, let's go to Zeus now. If I hear one more podcast that calls Zeus ''rapey Zeus" I am going to scream and throw my phone! Again, I say, RAPE DID NOT MEAN WHAT IT DOES NOW!!! Yes, He was what many people today would call a horndog. But please, stop placing your mortal and societal views onto the Gods. And why place all that judgement on Zeus? The other Gods and Goddesses got around as well. Admittedly, not as much as Zeus, but please. Would you rather tell everyone that you got it on with the King of the Gods, or... I dunno, Hermes? And it doesn't really matter how many Gods, Goddesses, or mortals he slept with. Our morals are a social construct. They are mortal views. Not the morals of our Gods. Beyond that, they are GODS! Who are you to judge Them?! Who are you to scoff and shame a God for what He or She may or may not have done?! I may not be as close to Zeus as I am to Persephone and Loki, but it still pisses me off. And.... since I am here, and in a ranting mood. Can I just ask.... If you call yourself a Lokean. If you say you are devoted to Him. Why. Why do you disrespect Him so? You say you love Him and then in the same breath, call Him a "little bastard" and a "shit" or even a "fucker". Why? You flippantly post online how some people give great pomp and ceremony to one God while giving a grand offering that took hours to prepare and you just toss a donut on the altar and say "here you go I guess. whatever". No. No no no. How is this respect? How is this devotion? Yes, there are days where Loki wants a donut as offering. But shouldn't you give that as much ceremony as if you were pouring the finest wine? Beyond that, why announce your rudeness to the masses? Disrespect Him privately if you think that is the relationship you have. Fine. I am not one to judge your relationship with your Gods. But don't show people this! It isn't funny. It isn't bragging. I have had moments in my relationship with Him where I have said things that could be seen as disrespectful. But do I post them online? NO! The closest I have gotten was posting a glitter bomb situation when He was being especially playful. And I removed the one disrespectful comment I made in the screenshot of the text messages. It doesn't make me angry anymore. It makes me sad. We, as pagans, are faced with hate and disrespect from many outside our religion. We shouldn't encourage the same among our own. Our community, our religion, should spread love and respect, not hate.

#religion #pagan #greek #norse #rant #disrespect #hate

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austennerdita2533 · 6 years ago

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A/N: Okay, so. I couldn't stop thinking about time and how it could affect how Klaus and Caroline would relate to both themselves and each other prior to/after his near-death in 5x13. (Near-death because I reject canon in all forms. Self-care at its finest!) And this is what came out. (Post-TO Finale AU + Light angst + Fluff)

**Disclaimer: The first half of this is literary in nature. It’s written in a more removed POV, and while I usually save that kind of experimentation for my original writing, that's what wanted to come out. I also couldn’t seem to shut OFF the poeticism. So I went with it.**

GOD HELP US ALL BECAUSE THIS IS SO MUCH WORSE THAN I WANTED IT TO BE BUT I’M OVER IT.

Kudos to anyone who can guess which famous work/author I punned for my title, btw! Happy reading!

(A03) (FF.net)

xx Ashlee Bree

For When The Clock Chimes

The hands of time continued to turn because they could, because they brokered no resistance from anything in physics or grimoire magic. At least not to anyone’s knowledge.

It’s how they functioned. They existed to move, to tock away in subsequence. Their only purpose was to track the moments that the rest of the world took for granted or disregarded completely.

And so many people did: squandering each one with the flutter of an eyelash, or an exhale of the lungs that wouldn’t keep, couldn’t stay, their voices rubbing against the edge of a thought before they let the words fade into letters the mouth couldn’t spell or name out loud because it was too soon, too late, not right or so wrong. The look on someone’s face making a person swallow them all back down where they didn’t belong, and never could since the stomach refused to digest omissive lies in any shape, any form. They’d spurn back up to the surface with a rough lurch so it hurt. Scraping at silence until it stung. They’d burn the esophagus into disrepair the whole way like a warning that wouldn’t ground down or away. “Admit it or else, admit it or else.” Screaming bile into blisters because the truth shouldn’t cower in corners forever, and it wouldn’t. It’d always crawl back out because time waited for nothing. And no one.

Time wouldn’t wait for decisions to be made or listen to a voice as it begged “slow down, slow down; please, please, please won’t you slow down.” Wonderful things fluttered past in the same cadence as the awful, the sad, the loving, the wrenching, or as the missed opportunities which were impossible to reel backwards for someone who’d let them skip past like rocks already.

People probably always would overlook these moments. Waste them, too. So few of them wanted to hear how many more ticks they had left before the quality of everything in their lives diminished, or worse, ended altogether. Killing the future in ways that couldn’t be resurrected.

After all, who could bear to tally all the seconds as they fell? As they died?

Why would anyone want to capture the Before? Catching it, wrestling it into trapped silence with thumbs, knees blackening and blueing from too much squirming on top of it merely to preserve the faint sputters of oxygen it expended. As if such a thing could be rewound or duplicated so that Before’s clockwork stores were always full of hours one could revisit with a blank slate, a new page, yet would never need to be scribbled through with chipping chalk or passed by with a feeling of what could’ve been instead.

Only, that’s not how it worked. The past could not be rewritten. It could not be recalculated for a redo, either.

Why would anyone try to cling to this dream when the dust from the After was bound to choke a person with its grittiness again and again regardless of the promises it’d made to keep the throat clear and dry? Free of regret. Unspoiled by grief. Untainted by all those nasty ‘if’s’ that tasted like tarred feathers on the tongue.

Who would care to listen to each beautifully fleeting moment as it gusted away like a dandelion wish on the end of a swollen green stem? Who wanted the pleasure, the pain of cataloguing them?

How long before each second started to sound less like a soprano note in the fabric of infinity and more like static burnt deep into eardrums? Krshhhing with the noise that all middles made as they neared their endings.

When was it wrong to count the stones of time like precious particles no one wanted to throw away? When was it right to grasp them tight, not letting go? Not giving up. Never, never surrendering to bruises or the fight for more un-lived life.

What happened if someone didn’t? Wouldn’t. If one refused to pay out time in elapsing dividends because it was unfair, because the future currency one was already contracted was about to be stolen from out of pockets before it could be spent.

What happened, for instance, to a girl with a woefully devoted, often under appreciated heart which had been taken, broken, or disappointed one too many times to be able to forget how it felt to be denied - what ruin it wrought inside of her when something or someone left her alone again or far behind in a place where she couldn’t follow so that she was the only one who was missing out on everything she wanted? Everything she almost got, almost loved, but might not receive.

What did it mean when she clung to each peal over her head because a part of her was terrified this was the last bell of extraordinary she was meant to hear? To want. To almost reach out and touch. To nearly have it in the palm of her hands, obscured, but lost in a way that was about to be found. Making her feel strong and certain in herself at last - in them, too - her heart open, adrenalized, embracive of the teethy edges which were to chomp through one of her deepest chambers soon, not long from now. Marking her with a brand of unapologetic readiness, of confidence she owed to the creature she was today.

This girl didn’t need extraordinary on her own - not all on her own - but she desired it with this man here before her. She knew that without a doubt now. Just as he was set to disappear.

The only problem was this: she wanted him out there somewhere still living. Still existing like the constant he was, or came to be over these uncountable years. She needed him to stay a fragment of light that’d never fade, that’d never fall from its spot in the sky so she could see it always - with her eyes closed, soul stretched through every shadow or curve of darkness - so she could chase it with feet one day knowing he’d be there waiting for her on the other side.

It was imperative that his coming seconds continued to stretch. Bend. Twist. Multiply. Endure.

But what happened if the hands of time stopped revolving because they intended to sweep the constant of him away for good? How did she feel to know it was nearly over between them? The end? Their last moment? This goodbye becoming the most rotten she’d ever tasted on dry lips since they still thirsted for the hope of another kiss.

It might be the end of every possibility…

The dropping curtain….

The final eclipse…

The threads of a vanishing eternity plunging into a hole that would fray its edges like the snap of a coffin lid…

So what became of her? Of him? Of them and this nearly-something which never came fully to fruition?

What next? What happened after the clock froze with a loud ding to assault their ears, catching their hearts off guard when it resounded out loud into the night with one last chime? Because if they couldn’t reverse the ding above their heads at midnight, if this fate was impossible to prevent, then how come those clock hands halted like lungs holding in a breath before a sigh?

Pssst, let me let you in on a little secret:

Out of time is not where their story ended.

It’s where it stopped—

then started all over again.

Caroline loved to cycle through the city. Preferred it, really. Given the option, she always chose a spontaneous ride over an aimless or idle stroll through the streets when a wandering mood struck her, as one often did. Restlessness dug into her as deeply as fangs anymore; or had, more specifically, for the past three decades or so.

“You’ll hear no complaints from me over it. Wanderlust leads where it wants, where it must,” her companion often said before they kicked off from the curb near their home. “I’ve embraced it myself many times over the years, to be sure, so I have no qualms about following wherever it is it drives you next.”

“Good,” she’d nod, releasing the kickstand. “It’s comforting to know you intend to try and keep up for once, Lance Armstrong. Instead of, you know, tailgating my backside a few tire revolutions away. Like a creep.”

“What can I say? I’m fond of a good chase, especially one with as lovely a view as you.”

“You always were, weren’t you? Fond of chasing me, I mean,” she’d reply with an arched smile, the words soon blurring into an echoed look-back over her shoulder.

“And I will continue to be,” would come the un-ironic answer from somewhere close behind, “thanks to you.”

“Thanks to me, Bonnie, and a few Japanese grimoire spells, you mean,” Caroline would correct in that chirpy, heart-of-the-matter way of hers.

“Certainly. Whatever you say.”

Then off they’d jet together without another word: no particular direction or destination in mind.

As it was, kinetic motion made Caroline more comfortable with her place in the world seeing as how she could travel anywhere inside of it. And she longed to see everything now - every town, city, country, continent; each day or night; the kinds of things nobody could dare to forget when one fought to remain aware. Alive.

She yearned to be everywhere and nowhere all at once these days, and cycling, she was. It’s why she loved it so much.

There was something about the feel of pedals flat against her soles, the bikey breeze cooling her skin before it blew tendrils loose onto the nape of her neck, the wheels beneath her spinning, screeching smoothly with speed as they weaved along windy, bus-trafficked roads or twiggy park pathways to gain that rush of adrenaline that clattered her teeth with joy. With freedom. Or maybe it was the way in which her butt bumped up and down on the triangular seat while a midsummer dusk descended with a multilingual hush over boats, which were docked bow-to-stern in the stilled green canals to her left, the day’s end cresting beyond the architectural diadem of the Tower Bridge as she continued her odyssey, then later, peaking atop the hedged copses and lush treetops in St. James’s Park to illuminate a family of ducklings as they paddled through the golden ripples. Or maybe it was how the moonlight reflected off rows of bricked homes in the borough of Bermondsey as her tires crunched gravel and debris to dust without slowing. It was in how everything whizzed by her in an indecipherable rush of buildings, cathedrals, faces, vibrated conversation, smogged tedium and bustle. Alerting her to the blended chaos of it all. Her ears buzzing with the familiar novelty of progression, of diversified populace and soon-to-be-digitized antiquity.

Caroline was hastened forward through the city, through a still-untapped eternity, by wonder. Diversion. Exploration. Temptation. Love. Each second tickling the hair in her nostrils as it passed before, then behind her.

The moving world around her became an anomalous combination of fast and slow, and the dichotomy thrilled her. It was something she could race alongside or immerse herself in by grasping the handlebar breaks - hopping off her bike with a swing of her leg to trot into a shop, a pub, an outdoor theater; dawdling along the choppy waves of the Thames with this man’s arm wrapped around her waist like it belonged there (and who’s to say it didn’t?) - but also something which she’d never be able to catch fully no matter how hard she tried. And Caroline was okay with that. She didn’t mind.

The truth was she relished a camaraderie with the world no one else besides the man next to her sensed, or understood, so it gave her the luxury to simply be. Feel. To open herself up to the unvaried rhythm of time as it carried them around every bend in this labryinth’d metropolis. Allowing her to bask in London’s steady changeability wherever she rode.

Caroline adored the taste of life rolling by her as her legs rounded harder, faster. Muscles burning with exertion. Slickened with sweat beneath her jeans, taut against her hamstrings.

She inhaled with eyes closed, breathing it all in without stopping: all the honking cars and laughter, the alcohol mixed with blood many tourists smelled of as they paused by some monument to snap a few Instagram photos, the clink of the Tube rails, applause within the Globe Theater, multicultural cuisine, fresh cheeses huddled within market stalls for selling, couples of all ages, pints of beer drunk in crowded avenues, the lift of a cyclist’s arm as she signaled to turn right, a full moon tacked to a twilight sky, music, tea and crumpets, a gentleman’s eye lingering on her legs too long to be accidental, the pruned sidewalk trees. Most of all, though, she reveled in Klaus’s easy proximity. His pride and contentment to be here, to be with her still (even if that meant flanking her rear sometimes), was more tangible than the kiss he left on her mouth at the last stoplight in Parliament Sqaure.

“How do you do that?” she said as they waited at the intersection with their foreheads still pressed together.

“Do what, love?” he asked.

“Make me want each new moment we share together to last forever.”

“My kisses are that potent? How lovely. I didn’t realize,” Klaus smirked.

Caroline shoved against his chest playfully, “Cut it out, I’m serious!”

“Say it again then.”

“No.”

“Come on, say it. Say it…please?”

Shaking her head, “You’re such a glutton for flattery, you know that? It’s exhausting. Seriously,” Caroline teased.

“Ah, but only when it comes from you, sweetheart. No one else. And just so we’re clear—” Reaching out with his hand to stroke her cheek then, his expression liquified, his irises gleaming with an affectionate blue blaze she’d come to recognize as hers, and hers alone. Klaus’s voice was deep, so much barer in emotion than he ordinarily liked to betray, “I’d gladly surrender it all to live in one such a moment of forever with you. I could pick but one, were it required. However, I‘m greedy so only if forced,” he added with a languid stroke down her spine.

“As could I, no doubt,” she smiled softly in answer, her lips poised near his ear and her fingers tangled in the necklaces at his throat. “Still, I’m glad we don’t need to choose.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Limitations suck, o’hybrid of mine. They leave us feeling stunted and starving to surpass them.”

“True, too true…”

“Plus, I’d rather have all of time ahead and behind us like we do now,” she said just as the cycle light changed to GO. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Truth be told, love, I just want us. This. You.” With a thumb hooked through one of her belt loops, Klaus shrugged while Caroline listened, “To hell with all the rest,” he said.

“And you’ll have me, okay? You absolutely will. I know it.”

“How?”

“Because we happen to have forever, you and I. We won back time, we got a second chance to sample everything the world still has to offer,” Caroline said with meaning before she leaned in to kiss him. “And there’s nobody dead or alive I’d rather spend it with…than you.”

After drawing away from his mouth then and settling herself onto her bike once more with a turn of the pedals, Caroline giggled because Big Ben cut in with its midnight song from Elizabeth Tower right as they disappeared back into the London night in unison, the clock hands illuminated almost in omen, or like a reminder gilded in moments that rang out with the words don’t waste me, don’t waste me. Which they didn’t, and never could again.

In fact, if the chimes of the near-death past had taught these two lovers anything, it was that they needed to chase and cherish every year, day, hour, minute, and second of eternity they were gifted because it wasn’t a given in this life no matter how “unkillable” or White-Oak-stake-prone one pertained to be. So chase and cherish is what Klaus and Caroline did. It’s how they chose to spend their passionate, nomadic existence for however long it coiled forward into the future. They loved it minute-by-minute, chime-after-chime…

Together.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #half agony half hope #ashlee bree's writing endeavors #i've been stewing in-hate with this #for a week-and-a-half #because there should be more to this #more places; more dialogue #more examination of where they are or where they've been in the interim #how they've grown together and when #but the ambiguity isn't necessarily a bad thing #plus i couldn't bear to edit it any longer #so i *sings: let it go; let it goooo*

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ambivalentangst · 7 years ago

Note

Could you do the locked in a cage bingo thing? I think you could do it well. Maybe the galra captured our lance or maybe on a different planet they find something about lance that is really rare or something. You know?

Of course! I kind of combined your two suggestions, so I hope you don’t mind, but I like the outcome a fair amount. Thanks for the prompt, and enjoy your fill!

Want to help me reach bingo? Check out this post for more info

tw: brief threat of self sacrificial suicide

Lance’s feet kicked lightly at the night air from where they hung off the roof of the temple he sat on, leaning back to put weight on his palms. His fingers ached from hours upon hours of driving back sentries and organic soldiers alike. The Quelfinians had an intricate city, designed from the visions of their first king, apparently. Whatever the hell had inspired the painstaking twists and turns and tunnels of the thing, it was hellish to both attack and defend. Voltron would secure one entry point, but then they’d get a call about another and when they finished that, they’d be back at the other one. If Lance closed his eyes memories of slicing and blasting and fighting—both to kill and to stay alive—flashed before him, and he couldn’t stand it.

Sleep wasn’t an option for Lance tonight.

Regardless, he tossed his head back and blinked tiredly at the twinkling, unfamiliar blanket of stars above him. The planet was a little more Earth-like than most, but the massive rings encircling the place was a constant reminder that he was not home, and likely wouldn’t be for some time yet.

Lance’s eyes cast themselves to the ground sadly. At times, battle was a welcome distraction.

Lance had been forced, over time, into a state of hypervigilance. He wasn’t the worst out of them, of that he was aware. Shiro was always on edge from the arena, and Keith for reasons he never disclosed, but Lance speculated about at times like these when the idea of sleep was painful despite how his body craved rest. Still, in some way or another the constant paranoia and their collective, precarious position on the edge of an incredibly sharp knife got to them all. Even so, the scuttling of pointedly non-human feet wasn’t enough warning for Lance to stop strong arms from wrapping around his torso and hands from clamping over his mouth.

He lashed out with a bony elbow that had cleared paths through the halls at the Garrison, bit at the plated hands dragging him from his perch, but there was a cloth being pressed over his nose and mouth, and no amount of assholery in school had taught Lance how to resist chloroform—or something like it, anyway—and he succumbed with nothing on his mind but concern for the others. If they had them too, Lance would do whatever it took to bust them all out.

He woke on a cool, metal floor that swayed from side to side when he sat upright too suddenly and sent the world quite literally spinning. Lance blinked a few times to clear the blurriness in his vision remaining from a lack of sleep. What the hell?

When he rushed to the bars of wherever he was being kept he saw that the ground was shockingly far away, and surrounding him in equally terrible predicaments were examples of exotic creatures Lance had seen depicted in their most sacred murals and statues, all looking undeniably miserable. His lip curled in disgust. Sure, being locked in a cage hanging from, going off of what he saw the other prisoners in, a chain attached to the ceiling sucked, but it was one thing for him to suffer. Lance rarely had as good of a time as he would’ve liked lately, but he was alright sacrificing that enjoyment if it meant other people—creatures—got it instead. Seeing something like this just really, really pissed him off.

His hands slammed onto the bars, rattling them as best as he could.

“Hey!” he shouted angrily. “Hey! Let me out of here! What’s going on?” Lance listened to his voice echo around the cavern where he was being housed and die out with no response. He yelled again, something rather similar but made a bit more colorful with the addition of a few choice words. Again, silence and Lance retreated to the corner of his current quarters to stew, but not after calling out one last time.

“You’re all rude, you know that?”

He hoped that at least being abrasive—a true talent of his, if he did say so himself—would garner some attention, but nada. Zero, zilch. Goose eggs.

Lance huffed. His hair was greasy since he hadn’t gotten to wash it after the battle, and that was insult to injury. He spread out on his back and tried to busy himself with that one stupid song about beer on the wall to distract himself from the fact that he a, felt gross, and b, couldn’t do shit about anything happening to him right now.

If there was anything Lance hated, it was being stagnant.

After a seeming eternity of foot shaking and finger tapping, he heard scuttling. Lance perked up, rushing to the sides of his trappings to see what was going on. Doing so with his speed sent the thing swaying again, but Lance was too busy watching the Quelfinian below him move around on its creepy multitudes of legs to even notice.

“Hey, you!” The creature looked up with its cluster of beady eyes, antennae twitching in alarm, pointing to itself warily. Lance nodded angrily. “Yeah, you! Is there any other thing in here that can understand me?”

From off to the side, Lance heard a sound that sounded equal parts a cat’s meow and a donkey’s bray. Lance ducked his head bashfully, throwing his response over his shoulder quickly.

“Sorry!” His blue eyes went back to the Quelfinian below him but found they had all but disappeared into thin air. He shouted and kicked at the bars, only to yelp as he got a jolt of electricity as his unwanted reward.

Another cry from, presumably, the same creature, and Lance traced it back to an animal that looked vaguely moose-like, save for the fact that its pupils were slit and it moved on paws while its forked tongue flicked at the air. Lance was a little off put by that, he wasn’t going to lie, but whatever it was was the only thing around that could maybe understand him, and Lance wasn’t going to waste the company.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Another bray, which wasn’t really as helpful as Lance was hoping it to be. He frowned but devised a solution quickly.

“Bray once for yes, twice for no,” he instructed, before clearing his throat and getting ready to unleash the best friendly interrogation he’d ever done in his life. His questions died in his throat as he heard more alien footsteps, and did a one eighty to glare down at the same Quelfinian from before, and the one seemingly leading him. Lance gave the creature his best glare, and it waved with one set of pinchers.

“Paladin of Voltron!” it called. Lance flipped it off. It frowned, or as best as something could frown when it had the mouth of a fly. Its pinchers clicked nervously and looked to the first.

“What does that mean, Xocti?” Xocti shrugged, and creature huffed, slapping it roughly while Lance’s head drew back in alarm.

“I told you not to aggravate him! What if those Galra come back? We need him in top shape. Don’t be rude.” Lance snorted, hands on the bars of the cage again. At the moment, they weren’t shocking him. The one who had spoken and seemed to be in charge looked up to him in a mixture of wonder and bemusement. “What’s brightened your mood, paladin?” Lance held up a finger as if to shush him.

“One, the name’s Lance, not paladin. Two, what makes you think I’m about to protect anybody who has me locked in a cage,” the bars shocked him again, and Lance hissed, “Nonetheless a cage that keeps attacking me?” Xocti shrank back, and the eight eyes of the other Quelfinian blinked up at him in surprise.

“Apologies, Lance. I should’ve asked, but you were a little indisposed, forgive me. I myself am the esteemed Freg, high advisor to the priestess.” His creepy mouth spread in what Lance thought was supposed to be a smile. His blue eyes narrowed. “And of course you’ll defend Quelfin! Aren’t you a paladin of Voltron, sworn to protect the universe?” Lance arched a brow contrarily.

“You bet your ass I am, but we don’t have to do shit, Freg.” What a horrible name, honestly. It sounded like a title for an accountant from the Lord of the Rings or something. Needless to say, Lance was not impressed. “We protect people who need protecting. If anything, we have a habit to attack guys who, you know, kidnap us.”

Freg stared at him and then looked back at Xocti.

“Xocti, you were originally saved by Lance, do you think he is being serious?” Lance gritted his teeth.

“He is right here.” They both ignored him. Xocti nodded.

“I am afraid so. He is speaking very similarly to how he communicated with his fellow paladins. It is in line with what I have seen of him.” Freg turned back to Lance, looking distinctly displeased. He stamped a cluster of spindly legs, voice coming out in the nasal whine of a child being told they weren’t going to get their way.

“Why not?” Lance stared incredulously at him.

“Why not? How about because I’m dangling twenty feet above the ground with some other assorted victims of yours, and you’ve shocked me a bunch with your dumb cage!” He smacked the side of it for emphasis and pretended the jolt it unleashed didn’t hurt. Freg looked upset.

“Well, paladin, I’m a collector. You can’t expect me to allow my things to just run amuck! What would happen if I lost one?” Lance stifled his disgust to the best of his ability.

“Living things aren’t supposed to be collected.” Freg’s eyes practically shone, and Lance gulped nervously, doing his best to keep his gaze steely.

“But of course they are! You don’t seem to realize it, Lance, there’s an entirely unique thrill to having something nobody else can. For example, Xocti tells me you were speaking with my Vohgt!” He scurried over to stand beneath the cage of the not-moose-thing, which looked to Lance nervously and brayed. He sympathized.

“Don’t you worry, I’m gonna’ get you out of there, buddy!” Freg frowned.

“You most certainly are not,” he scolded Lance, a gland on the top of his head puffing out unattractively. “It’s the only one left on Quelfin, worth a fortune. There’s no other like it.” Lance ignored the rest of the ramble that persisted from there in favor of meeting the Vohgt’s eyes, blinking at him nervously. Lance swore that when he got out of the stupid cage, he’d let the creature trample Freg. Lance’s attention was brought back to his captor with another shock from the bars, and he glared sharply down at the alien.

“So,” Freg began slowly, “You stay put and keep me safe, and none of my precious, living possessions get hurt.” Lance blinked in surprise. Apparently, the tangent he’d spaced out for wasn’t all pompous bragging about the enslavement of endangered species. Lance scoffed.

“As if you’d actually hurt anything in here. You’re too shallow for that.” Freg seemed offended, and Lance smirked at the way his antenna jerked in alarm.

“Don’t test me, Lance!” he cried, voice going up into a crack. Lance snickered behind his hand. Freg was fuming at his amusement with it all and turned to Xocti.

“Xocti, bring me the Vohgt. We have to show the paladin, Lance,” he spat his name like it was a bad bite of food he couldn’t stand to taste a moment longer, “That we are not to be trifled with!” Lance raised a brow, watching the cage carrying the creature descend with the press of a button on a remote Lance now noticed in Xocti’s grasp. Freg was incensed.

“Oh, I’ll show you, Lance. You will defend me with your dying breath,” he hissed, voice growing into something less human, monstrous in its hissing clacks and faint buzz. Lance merely grinned, ignoring the faint sense of unease curling in the depths of his stomach. Freg looked really mad, and as much fun as he had watching the creature waddle around in a fit, the cage was getting awfully close to the ground. Surely, though, he had to be bluffing. In its swaying confines the Vohgt paced from side to side, paws brown and soft against the metal. Lance smiled down at it.

“Don’t worry, you’re gonna’ be fine,” he told it, and it made a low, fearful sound in response that felt like thorns pricking Lance’s heart. His gaze shifted, locking on Xocti, who was unlocking the cage.

“Touch it the wrong way and Voltron is going to burn you and this place to ashes,” Lance hissed. Xocti froze, looking back to Freg fearfully. He waved his pinchers, motioning for him to continue.

“The Voltron paladins don’t know where we are. Lance is full of empty threats. Continue.” Lance’s hands gripped the bars so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled as Xocti crept up on the poor thing, hissing from the corner of its trappings. Lance saw the dull claws the Vohgt tried to unsheathe, and shook the walls harder, voice climbing up into a shout. “Hey! I’ll protect you and do whatever else you want! Don’t touch it!” A shock came, but Lance kept his hands glued to the bars, throwing himself at them more violently. Freg looked pleased, crossing his arms. Still, no order to stop was delivered, and Lance grasped at any straw he could.

“Stop! Stop now and I’ll fight for you, or I’ll break my bones getting out of here and I’ll chuck myself off the top of this cage so you don’t have a paladin at all!” Lance’s chest heaved, watching the fear in the wide pupils of the creature, who after careful examination Lance now recognized from the tapestries adorning the halls of the main temple. Freg finally motioned for Xocti to stop, grinning wide enough to span the spread of all eight of his eyes.

“Agreeable as ever, Lance,” he told him, all traces of anger washed away as a very relieved Xocti backed out of the cage and slammed it shut. The Vohgt whimpered softly, and Lance settled onto the floor. He supposed he needed to get comfortable.

#lance #langst #lance mcclain #light whump #bad things happen bingo #Ask Ambi #ambivalentlangst #ambi exchanges

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entitynotincluded · 6 years ago

Text

April 5th 2019;

2:56 am/4:05 am

I cant sleep and my whole body is physically aching. All these people that hurt me keep cycling through my mind.

First my dad... Luis... Why could you never show me love or even that you were proud of me. My youngest memories are of you being drunk and passed out. Yet I still loved you and idolized you with all my heart. You were my strong and hilarious dad! No one could stop you! You were out all day keeping the bad guys in jail so how could you be bad? When the divorce happened and you disappeared entirely. Any part of you that I thought I had was gone and I lost the dad I had grown so attached to. Any love that I felt you had for me left and it felt like an eternity till you said “I love you” to me again. I know you’ve said you love me before.. But that was when I was so young. I barely remember it. After all this time why? Why did you finally say it right as you left me again.

Mom... I don’t remember much before the divorce.. I wish I did. I wish I could remember you’re smile from back then. Who you were before my dads lies and cheatings were discovered. I see all these pictures of you back then. You looked so light and happy. Now when you smile I feel uneasy at times. When we left dad you started to drink and party... a lot. Living with Nana feels like the begining of the nightmare. That’s when you would go to work, come home to change and then head out again. Till you’d come home covered in the scent of booze, cologne and sweat. You’d just climb in bed, laughing because I had turned your creepy dolls away from me so they werent looking at me, then pass out. You never could tell that I had spent all night crying... worried you wouldnt return. I sat in that room staring out the window just waiting for you. I just wanted the mom that would read and sing me to sleep back. I wanted so badly for you to just be my loving mom again. I thought you being gone was the worst. Soon I learned you being there was living hell.

When you were with Luis still sure you guys would pull my ear and spank me... That was so rare though. After the split though... It was like a switch flipped in you and I became the punching bag to all your frustrations. It felt like everyday you would be hitting my ass raw. Pulling my ear so hard and constantly that it felt like it would fall off. Shaming me in public. Did you feel powerful bending me over in those stores, all those people watching, and just hitting me till I was screaming in pain because I could barely stand anymore. You would be worse behind closed doors. I wasn’t allowed outside a lot because I was always grounded or I hadn’t cleared my plans with you at least a week in advance. I lived in constant fear of you. When the front door opened.. what mood would you be in?? How long could I hide in my room before you came for me?? Some days you would just come home; tell me to go to my room, take off my pants and bend over. Thats you be there soon with the spoon or spatula. I can still remember how that wood felt on my bare skin. The marks that were left. The tears that would seem to never stop. “I’ll stop when you stop crying. Why are you still crying?” I learned to not cry because of that. Emotions would only bring me pain so why did I need them? After you would leave though and that door would close (that is if it was allowed to be closed, which it usually wasnt) I would just cry. Forcing myself to be quiet so I wouldn’t draw your attention again. I’m an adult now so you don’t do that to me now. Yet I still feel so much fear to you sometimes.

Harleigh/Zeih... You were supposed to love me. Did you ever really care about me? Or was I just someone you dated cause why not?? You were polyamourous, yeah I was ok with that. I just wanted to know I had a special part in your heart. You could do what you wanted with people and I would have been fine with it. BUT you hid it from me. You withdrew from me and slept with some of my at the time closest friends. I had to learn from your roommate that you were having sex with these people. Then to have your dad call me and defend you? All I wanted was for you to reach out to me.. Talk to me. For when you saw me.. AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN!! To come after me and just show some form of guilt or caring. But no.. You iust watched me break every time and cry while trying to run and hide.

You probably never learned this but... one of the people you were busy spending all your time with... Romancing and screwing... That son of a bitch would later take advantage of me. Thats for later in this hell of a post though. First you Harleigh.. You get to know how what you did affected me... I already had trust and abandonment issues. You knew this... After this though... I just lost all sense of trust. Those I dated after you were because I felt the need to say yes not cause I wanted to. I remeber one guys name after you and thats cause I know I hurt him and for that I’m truly sorry. It took YEARS for me to finally, FINALLY feel attached to someone again. To fully love them. He is so much to me but god damn am I terrifed. I’m so scared of history repeating. You know why I’m so scared?? Because of you Harleigh... Harleigb you are the reason my heart fucking turned to dust. After you I stopped eating because maybe you found my body disgusting?? I identified as Asexual at the time but had been willing to have sex if that was what you really desired from me. I was willing to be that vulnerable with you. Yet you twisted it and shattered me. I stopped eating, my body would just start puking everyday... I lost all sense of time.

That is until Sam.

Sam... You through all of this had been there for me to go to and cry. When hugged me it felt like a shield. I thought you were my genuine friend. I called you my older brother sometimes for gods sake. But no... You took my trust and shattered it too. I just wanted a ride to my best friends house after a long day of guys being creepy and flipping my skirt up. You offered me a ride so I could avoid the creeps on the bus. Did you plan to take me up to that hill/mountaint that day? When did you deside that was the destination? All I remember is Ninja Sex Party playing in your speakers and driving past my friends house. I was so confused but I trusted you.

I got out of that car and looked at the view you had wanted me to see.

I sat on the rock like you told me to.

I was being the good little girl everyone told me to be.

Then next thing I know.. your mouth is on mine. Your hands just touching and clawing at my chest. Suddenly you had pushed my skirt up.. it felt like you were clawing at my tights... like you would rip them off at any second.. You had asked if I wanted you to go in my underwear. How many god damn times did I say no and shake my head??? Were my tears not enough for you?!!!! Apparently not. Your strong hands that had held me so many times suddenly were violating me. I remember your touch on my vagina.. You made a comment about how I shouldnt be embarrassed that I wasnt bare down there. You finallt took me to my friends house when you were done with me and after that you never spoke to me again.

Dylan... you were a minor part in all of this. You were just a boy that wanted his dick to get sucked. And I was just a boy that wanted some weed. Yet that wasn’t all... you knew I had a small crush on you... You joked about it to me. You led me along and ditched me right as one of my close friends that you liked started talking to you again. You left me like some road kill. Why couldnt you at least stay and be my friend?? No. You had to completely stop talking to me. So for that fuck you. You never cared when I cried. Never came when I was crying and on the verge. Just begging for some form of help.

After all this I tried to stop eating and existing. I went to an out patient program and acted like a good recovering depressed child. I just wanted to play happy until the day I snapped and killed myself. Now though... Now I feel so happy. Everyday I get to talk to the love of my life. He sees my pain. It scares him yes. But it doesn’t scare him away. If anything it brings him closer. He wants to be there for me and I want to be there for him. I don’t have to be fake happy anymore.

I just get to be genuinely happy!

He makes living through all of this worth it and so much more. There will be hard times in the future. I accept this. Yet I feel so much more prepared to face it as long as I have my soulmate, James. He makes me not hate the world anymore. In fact now I don’t hold hate towards any of these people except you Sam.

My mother: I love her dearly even though she terrifies me

My father: I want to trust you and feel a bond if that were possible

Dylan: We were both so young I just hope you learned and are a better person now

Harleigh: I hope you find joy in your life. Though it would bring me so much joy if you could see like once in public with my James. I just want you to see how much better of a person he is than you will EVER be.

#ramblings #feelings #text

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