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gerudoevernight · 13 days ago

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Do Not Call Demo

Alright, @watcheraurora requested something from Do Not Call Any That You Cannot Put down, so below (under the cut because LONG and I don't want to scroll through that and probably neither do you!) is an excerpt from one of the demos I did of Joel and Etho! Warning because this fic is M-Rated and it CERTAINLY earns it and part of the reason why is on full display in this demo. It's not super graphic but I'm letting you know. BE WARNED. Very SmallEtho.

Also, for those who are interested in my Do Not Call AU in general - a lot of things have been changed since this demo was written. It should still be accurate to the most current version of the AU (since it's in a relatively untouched spot), but the finer details and things being referenced are probably not exactly the same.

(Suggestive content, depiction of trauma, flashbacks to situations of graphic violence)

It was a quiet morning for once, though part of Joel wasn’t sure if that was still just in his head or if it actually was quiet. Gunshots from last night’s fight still banged around his memory, and he had to stop and listen for a moment, wondering if there actually were gunshots.

There weren’t.

But there was another sound: small, almost-imperceptible clicks of a pen on a tablet. Joel knew this sound and located the source as he emerged into the main room of his and Etho’s apartment. Sitting at the desk, turned away from the dawn’s glare, Etho sat, his drawing tablet on his lap and pen in hand, working at…something. Joel paused for a moment to observe him, which might’ve been blummin’ creepy if not for the tingling on his lips, a memory from last night. Better than the gunshots, he supposed.

And the blood.

Joel shook his head. Etho hadn’t looked up yet, though for why, Joel couldn’t guess. And he was a vision; the morning sun streamed in the window, lighting up Etho’s perfect white hair, perfectly braided as Etho did every morning. His black eyes were focused, and there was a furrow in his brow. For once, Etho had his mask off, the black fabric pooling around his neck looking like a scarf and exposing his perfectly-chiseled night-black lips. The forest green tank hugged his form perfectly, pride welling up inside Joel. He’d bought that tank. It was almost maddening, to see his wonderful – friend? Partner? Lover? Whatever they were – in clothes Joel had bought for him. And looking so hot, Joel wanted to kiss him. Again.

Etho looked up.

A blush sprang to Joel’s face. “Are-are you really so obsessed with me that you’re wearing my colors after…” oh gods he did not think this through.

After all that.

“You did buy it for me,” Etho said. He licked his lips, the black tongue running over foxlike fangs – “are you sure I’m the one who’s obsessed?”

“Gods, we’re a mess,” Joel breathed before he could stop. He laughed. "Hot blummin' mess."

“Our whole life is a mess,” Etho said, clicking something on his tablet and putting it on the table. Joel could see what he’d been drawing; a scene from several years ago, back when the two had barely met.

And a demonic laugh dragged Joel down memory lane.

Chaos.

That was fine, though. Lore could deal with chaos. What was not fine was the screams from people who could only run. That was why Lore twisted, putting himself between another blast of fire and some civilians biking away.

Why was Impulse so destructive lately? Normally he didn’t fire at civilians so much.

“Brave,” Impulse’s dark, almost demonic voice chuckled. “But you’re alone.”

He was.

But so was Impulse. And Lore would take advantage.

Why –

“…you need to breathe, love, you’re fine, we’re safe,” a soft, comforting voice filtered through the fire and acrid tang of smoke in Lore’s lungs. He lay on something soft, but firm, no lights except the sunlight filtered in through a window.

Etho.

And he wasn’t Lore, right. Not here. That was what they agreed to. In these walls, they were just Etho and Joel.

Joel took a deep breath.

…and the fire was green, why was it green, what was Impulse burning…

“Joel. Joel!”

Etho.

Joel reached out for Etho and clung. The man in the green tank top paused for a moment, and fear bolted through Joel. He clung tighter, and Etho clung back.

The sounds of crackling green flames and gunshots slowly faded back amidst Etho’s calming voice and heartbeat, the in-out of his breath, the cool minty floral scent of his laundry detergent.

Etho, Etho, Etho, his mind chanted.

Gods, I’m obsessed.

Last night slowly filtered in as his mind reminded him that, yes, he was obsessed. Two bodies flush together, the other man’s fangs against his own searching tongue, the taste of Etho’s skin, the feel of his mouth and hands on bare skin, all bare, nothing to hide and nothing to feel ashamed for.

Gods, he wanted this man.

“You back?” Etho’s voice broke into his awareness, a starburst against the black hole of his mind.

“Yeah,” Joel breathed.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Etho asked gently. They hadn’t moved yet, Joel’s face still tucked against Etho’s chest, the other man’s arms around him as they lay on the sofa.

“Green fire.” Joel didn’t need to say any more.

Etho went quiet. Under Joel’s ear, his heart rate picked up.

That was not a good day.

“What were you drawing?” Joel asked quietly.

“That day,” Etho sighed. “Getting it out of my head.” Etho does that. They’re alike in that manner. If they don’t get things out of their heads, they’ll obsess over them and spiral.

“What was even up with Impulse?” Joel asked to nobody in particular.

“I don’t know,” Etho sighed.

Words spilled from Joel’s mouth, tumbling over the coffee table and their mango-colored rug. “And all the villains in this city – has the world gone mad? What’s even going through their blummin’ minds? The only one I can even understand is Doc, and that’s because the guy’s obsessed with trying to hurt me. You remember that time he dropped me in lava, right? Did I tell you that Impulse made the lava? Blummin’ lava. As if he weren’t already bad enough, apparently the guy can make lava. Freaking melted the stone TFC yanked from the ground. And for a while there he made so much green fire, what was even up with that? I don’t like it. I don’t like that I don’t know why. This world is mad and I’m mad and I just wish those stupid gunshots would stop ringing in the back of my head – ”

In one swift movement, Joel found himself sitting up and black lips on his. The kiss was chaste, with something soft Joel didn’t know how to process behind it – and brief. Etho ended the kiss after only a few seconds.

Silence. Joel realized the gunshots had faded, too.

“Are you okay? After last night?” Etho asked slowly, hesitantly.

Right. Last night. When they’d slept together.

“I’m freaking amazing,” Joel said. “Are you?” Etho nodded. Joel recognized that nod. It was Etho’s ‘genuine’ nod, with a sparkle in his eyes. Joel reached a hand back to caress Etho’s cheek. The man leaned into the touch, and Joel ran his thumb over Etho’s scar. “I would love if that weren’t the last time,” he whispered in a voice he hoped was sultry but was probably actually raspy.

#do not call any that you cannot put down #it's not as bad as it makes it seem but I'm being careful #fanfiction #angst #gerudoevernight writing #smalletho #boat boys #trauma

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running-in-the-dark · 2 years ago

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I've never had an easel, mostly because I never really needed one until I started using acrylics, but I finally bought one for the first time! it's just a used table easel but I think that'll definitely be enough for now.

this has been the slowest buying process ever though lol. I first messaged this person two weeks ago, and now she's not at home until next week so I have to wait even longer until she can ship it.

on the one hand that's pretty frustrating (I want it now!!! 😭), but on the other I'm trying to stop spending money impulsively, and this has given me more than enough time to consider if I really need it. I also waited several months and sold a couple things specifically to buy it, so I think that's definitely progress. I just hope I'll actually use it as much as I'd like to.

#I mean. it's still a stupid idea to buy it now because we have no money. but I want to paint so so soooo badly and it's really #uncomfortable without an easel. my body sucks and starts hurting very easily so it's kind of a big deal 😐#idk I feel like this is a step forward and I'm improving and trying to get away from that 'I deserve a treat' mindset #because in the end it's all just crap that won't make me feel better long-term and end up in a landfill eventually #but buying one thing that I've wanted (/needed) for at least 6 months now and that'll actually make a big difference feels on #I compared and waited for one that was inexpensive enough that it felt ok #instead of just ordering one on amaz*n or whatever and getting it the next day just because I want it immediately #I'm way more excited about it than I would have been if I had done that too #so it's nice!#anyway this has been my regular tumblr therapy post lol #personal #*feels ok not on

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wateringpastelgreen · 5 months ago

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I need a fic about lego nerd Rin, lego is hella therapeutic 🛐

I want to expand on this and so here is— ✨

MY HEADCANON ON THIS AU!!!

Sae bought Rin's first ever lego set by himself with his own money. It was an impulse purchase, it's not even a significant date like Rin's birthday or for any kind of celebration, Sae just wanted to give Rin something different for once and he thought that Lego would be just perfect for Rin. He didn't expect Rin to be attached to it so quickly, but he's happy for Rin so he keeps buying him more and more until their bedroom is filled with lego and Rin had to convince him to stop buying more because they ran out of space and Sae could barely put his toys anywhere and Rin can deconstruct and reconstruct his toy as much as he can with Lego so please you don't need to waste your money nii-chan you can use it for yourself!

Rin's ideology and perception of self is forever changed. But his brother issue still prevails because Sae left him and came back so differently he doesn't fit into Rin's life anymore. Sae was the most important piece in Rin's world, Sae was all about rationality, calculation and efficiency—he was what Rin based his perception on. Sae was the most natural thing to understand and rely on. But nothing about the current Sae makes sense to him, he doesn't click like he always did, he was so different and Rin doesn't know how to react. Sae abandoned his dream—he abandoned Rin.

In a desperate attempt to keep Sae with him, Rin was forced to destroy and put himself back together again and again and again to fit the current Itoshi Sae in his life, yet no matter what he did, how much of himself he changes, or what shape he assumed, his brother never stayed. He doesn't fit anywhere in Rin's world. Because Sae is his rationality, it doesn't make sense for Rin that Sae doesn't make sense. Does that mean Rin is the one irrational here? What did he do wrong? Sae can't be irrational, wouldn't it make more sense that the world itself is irrational???

And so instead of thinking that Sae actually doesn't make sense (blaming and wanting to crush Sae, as per canon), Rin thinks that Rin himself is the one at wrong for not being able to make sense of Sae, he blames the world for making him irrational. It drives him to break over and over, and rebuild himself piece by piece. In the process, he makes himself more irrational. His anger doesn't show outwardly but rather inwardly—it doesn't explode like in canon yet it hurts him all the same.

Meanwhile Sae is a guy who doesn't know how to communicate himself through words well. He knows deep down that Rin's current state of madness was his fault, but he is at a loss as to how he could help Rin—because the current Rin doesn't make sense to Sae either. Their perceptions of each other are so disconnected and utterly unaligned. And as long as they don't talk for real, this cycle will never get broken and neither of them will get better.

Lego AU Rin understands himself perfectly. He can make distinct versions of himself by stacking pieces of himself differently. Each time it makes him think and act a tad stranger than the last which results in unpredictable decision making.

Isagi hates Rin's play style to the bone because every time he plays with or against Rin it feels like different guys altogether.

This Rin is more honest with his expression and body language, he doesn't have anything against people, his problem is with himself. He is rather sociable if a bit inept and territorial. Rin is insanely self critical. He is willing to sacrifice a lot for people he cares about.

Rin is trying so hard to fit his irrational self on this completely irrational world where the only thing that (should) make sense to him is Sae. This world is maddening and Rin is looking for something or someone who can anchor him even a fraction of what Sae had been. One that makes sense. One that doesn't drive him insane.

+Bonus! (Beware of fun and feels~)

Rin brought several sets of lego with him to Blue Lock at the beginning of NEL, he was itching to get his hands on something to fiddle with when he's got downtime. (One time he almost threatened a janitor to give him a tool kit so he could disassemble a treadmill by himself, it's very tempting.)

Rin assembles lego while doing some yoga stretch in the bedroom, he might look ridiculous while doing that but tbh he doesn't care. Rin is comfy and nobody ever told him not to do that.

His roommates Karasu and Nanase often joined him. Rin will never allow them to touch the themed set, but he let them play with the regular ones. He has so many of them and he can't use everything at once and he doesn't want it to get wasted, so he is willing to share.

Who would've known that being Itoshi Rin's mentee will involve getting tutored on how to build lego structure? Not Nanase, for sure. But he enjoys every single moment of it because Rin looks very happy when he's playing with lego.

Nanase had never touched a lego in his entire life—he lived in the countryside and these things are kinda expensive you know? So he just makes whatever shape and most of the time it is senseless, Karasu makes fun of him.

Karasu is a pro at separating the bricks, he shows off how he can detach 1x1 with his bare hand.

Somehow it becomes their little bonding exercise and their room is filled with rows upon rows of lego structure. Nanase is eager to recreate his home in lego to make Rin understand him better.

Little by little he is cementing himself as a point of rationale in Rin's nonsensical world. Rin doesn't know if it was good or bad but he still keeps that piece of Nanase in his mind, not allowing it to slot in the construct called "Itoshi Rin" just yet. Nanase is simply that simple to understand and just as easy to love.

One particular morning Nanase didn't notice a lego brick was stuck on his sleeves, it dropped to the ground on his way to the canteen and a barefooted Shidou stepped on it. Cue loud expletives from the pink cockroach who swear to hell and back he will find out who brought lego into Blue Lock and make them run on it.

That threat doesn't really work for Rin because he grew up stepping on lego it doesn't feel like anything in particular. Though Karasu and Nanase are careful not to let anybody but themselves and the faculty staff have a look inside their lego filled dorm room, they dreaded the day they have to move out of that room.

Karasu started to prank people to step on lego bricks and willingly spread the chaos to the other strata by giving Otoya and Hiori some lego pieces, they might rope Aiku into this. They're thinking twice about Manshine cuz Chigiri might step on it and get shooketh he hurts his leg which Ego will (maybe) chastise them for sabotaging an enemy and also anyway they don't know who they're going to reach out for in Manshine.

They unanimously threw MC under suspicion of being the culprit of this prank cuz none of their players stepped on lego lmaooo

If you reach this far, thanks for reading this long rambling.

I love you~~💚

You know what toys would’ve been perfect for little Rin?

Legos

They’re literally made to be put together and destroyed

#bllk #blue lock #itoshi rin #nanase nijiro #nanarin #blue lock headcanons #alternate universe #lego kid itoshi rin au #itoshi sae #karasu tabito

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mama-ghostie-61542 · 2 months ago

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Synchronicity--Chapter Thirteen

Kinda fluffly, but still NSFW So NO MINORS!!!!

Synchronicity— The term synchronicity (syn = with, chronos = time) is the simultaneous occurrence of events (or coincidences) which apparently have no clear cause but are deeply meaningful.

However, please remember this small detail........There is no such thing as coincidence. Every single meeting was planned on the other side of the veil before birth. It was given to you in the dossier you are supposed to read before you are sent off to be washed of memory.

"Actual dialogue"

"Phone calls"

^Telepathy^

*Astral speak*

Memory(--ie; ^Telepathy^ or “Actual Dialogue”)

Chapter Thirteen

Yoongi

The frustration over the distance between us had compiled so much over the past two months that I felt like I had no choice but to run, as I did NOT want her in Korea. She is enough of a fireball that she’ll own the place by the time she leaves. Or burn it all down. I secretly booked a first class ticket on a flight from Seoul International to STL and then the private charter to PIA, discreetly alerting the airline staff that I would be on board, and wished to keep my arrival and departure a secret. As I packed, I kept thinking of things I could leave at hers. Several pairs of socks and a fair few of my down-market Levi's went into the bag, along with several hats, two hoodies, and at least a dozen t-shirts. My entry was through an employee entrance where I was met by security, who were quick but discreet. The flight was long and uneventful, with no one knowing I was on the flight at all. I ended up sleeping through most of it, so I was well rested by the time the first flight touched down at 7am.

After arriving in Peoria, I texted Joon to let him know where I was, so he didn't worry and could do his thing there to keep my impulsive ass outta trouble. In all honesty, at the moment, I didn't care if I got into trouble with corporate. I mean, what were they gonna do, fire me? Can you imagine the backlash if they fired their best producer and talent? Army's would have a field day. Next, as I was the first to exit the plane, I was escorted to one of security's private rooms where I went through all the TSA checks and passport stuff before being escorted to a waiting car.

The car took me directly to a dealership in the area, where I bought a car. Granted, it would stay in the long-term parking at the airport most of the time, but I wanted something I could just get into and drive myself home.

Home.

That had been a relative term until I had physically met Annah. I had always known that wherever she was, was my home. But for the longest time, I thought it meant our little nest, not realizing for years that she is home. Trust me, that was an epiphany, that the place mattered little as long as I was with her. I remember telling her, through our shared telepathy, ^I was wrong. Home isn't a place on the map. It's you and this feeling between us. You are my home.^

At the dealership, I paid cash and transferred the entire amount; tax, tag, and title, out the door. I added it to my insurance in Seoul and started for home. Thankfully, the dealer had filled the tank for me, so I wouldn't need to stop anywhere along the way. I knew it probably wouldn't get stolen as I had purchased a manual transmission, but to be on the safe side, I made sure it wasn't flashy. In the end, I bought a green Chevy Cruze, not only because it wouldn't stand out, but also because the four cylinder engine in it made it more economical. I mean, no one would steal the two-year-old, pine green, standard, domestic in the long-term parking lot.

When I pulled in, there was a bicycle on the patio, and I saw the curtains move in the front room. I wondered if her ex had crashed at hers last night before the kids finally went down. I don't like that he's around all the time, but with not one, but two, special needs boys, I am glad he is. Sometimes, she needs the back-up, but I wish it wasn't him.

Although, when he met me at the door, he was jovial and let me in.

"She's still asleep. You are welcome to wake her up, but it's your funeral."

I just chuckled, "Watch this shit, Brah," as I walked to her doorway and sat next to her sleeping form on the bed before leaning over her to whisper on her exposed shoulder, "Ba-By."

She rolled and grunted.

I smiled because I knew waking her up from a dead sleep would be a challenge. After taking a selfie with her, and tapping send, I leaned back over, "Ma-Mi," I whispered again, this time on her cheek, "C'mon, Honey, wake up."

This time, I felt the hurt and bittersweet longing more than I physically felt her awaken.

She gathered the blankets around her and grunted, "Ugh."

"Baby, wake up, please."

In her deep, gravelly, morning voice, I heard, "No."

"But, why, Baby?"

"Cause you're a dream," I heard her whisper.

I snorted at that. "Woman, I can guarantee you that I am no dream," I growled. "C'mon, Ghost, UP!" and then I gathered her hand in mine and bit her knuckle.

"Oww. Haka," she half grumbled, half cried.

"Ya can't feel pain in dreams, Ghost. Gonna annoy you until you wake up."

"Go’way and lemme sleep."

"No, Darling, I have a surprise for you."

"Don'wan’it, wanna sleep."

It hit me then that waking her up is like waking me up.

"Darling, you are going to want this surprise. C'mon, my love, up, up, up," I couldn't hide the smile on my face. In all truth, I was grinning on her right shoulder now and petting her head as I spoke.

She rolled to her tummy, her face to me. One ocean eye rolled open, and I took the opportunity to lean forwards to where I knew I would be in focus; my lips resting on her arm.

"Good morning, my Queen," I grinned.

Suddenly, I had my arms full of sobbing Ghost. It was all I could do to hold her, rocking her while she cried. "Darling, don't cry. I'm home. Told you I was no dream."

"Damn you, Min Yoongi," she giggled as she wiped her face. I could tell when she actually woke up because she stopped and looked at me, sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling softly at her. Blinking a few times, she asked, "How are you here? You are gonna be in so much trouble," she whispered as my phone started to ring.

It was Joon. I gave her the international signal for quiet and answered, in English.

“Joon! How goes it?”

“You are in soooooo much trouble, old man. If you hurt my mom, I'll skin you myself.”

It wasn't until she snorted as he was going off about me running out just before midnight, that he caught on that I had him on speaker.

“MA! Are you ok?”

“I'm fine, dear. Your father decided to surprise me this morning, that's all.”

“Ma, He's in a lot of trouble. He took off in the middle of the night and didn't tell anyone where he was going until he landed and then just shot me a text. I didn't even know he knew where you live until he sent me a selfie with you asleep next to him.”

“Artem Ra,” she interrupted, her growling bark bringing up a memory of her barking orders at troops. “Your father is safe and sound. Relax, son. However, remember that even a king needs downtime. Besides, you and I both know he has a wild streak. I mean, where did you think you got it?”

Joon sounded shocked that she knew, “Ma!”

That is when I noticed the tears dried on her face. Without thinking, I licked my thumb and set to wiping the salty residue off.

"Yoongi," she said as she slapped my hand away.

"Just lemme," I started as we tussled, me trying to get the streak off her sweet face and her trying to keep my hands out of her face.

The whole time, we were both laughing and Joon was shouting, “Stop acting like kids!”

I had her caught around the shoulders when she yelled, “Bye, Joon! We love you!” and hit the end call button on my phone.

"Why, you,” I laughed as I grabbed her and fell over on the bed with her, tickling her.

Her laughter was like an angel song to me.

"Stop, stop, stop," she laughed.

"Why,” I asked as my fingers stilled.

"Cause I gotta pee."

"Oh, well in that case," I chuckled as I let her up, swatting her butt as she moved past me. "P.S. That's a FANTASTIC ass."

Haha. Caught her off-guard and speechless with that one. I smiled, sitting on the bed waiting for her to return. When she did, she smelled like strong soap. I instantly tackled her and set about to covering her sweet face in kisses.

"Yoongi," she giggled as she tried to push me off.

"Nuh-uh. I owe you, like, a billion kisses for all the time I was away. And you saved up all your kisses for me, too, so shush."

#original writing #my writing #soul connection #soulmate #soul family #astral projection #twin flame #fanfic #bts fic #kpop fic #yoongi x oc #yoongi fic #min yoongi #min suga #bts suga

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cyggiestardust · 1 year ago

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Honestly?

I don't know when I'll be ready to talk about the majority of what has happened since the last time that any of you really saw me. It's not something that I'm proud of and honestly what it feels like in my body is that I just started combination venlafaxine and klonopin withdrawal at the same time.

I don't recommend it. It's brutal shit. I feel like I've done micro razor cuts into my muscle directly and then applied...vodka with salt. Liquid that should be washing this stuff out of my system just makes it feel worsse than when I originally started.

I'm just going to get to the biggest piece of it, because that is honestly the worst part of it:

My relationship has fallen apart, violently so. (No one is in any danger, despite all the people who seem to think that I am one.) It happened last week. Day before Colonizer Food Day.

(Well I sure as fuck don't have much to be thankful for, so leave me alone on my word choices there. Also fuck off I'm half Mayan I'm not celebrating the men who bought and sold my people. Fuck you thinking.)

I had one of my anger outbursts the day before I went on grippy sock vacation. The trigger: I lost my keys. I lost my keys and suddenly I was in the space between the living room, the hallway, and the kitchen, freaking out because I was in absolute apocalyptic trouble for losing the keys, the last thing that I had a responsibility for.

Is this minor? Fucking yes. But it still happened. Pillows went places, furniture got punched, and have you ever heard a draconic therianthrope primal scream because there is just no way to get that shit out of the body otherwise? I felt like I was on fire, and things needed to fucking die. The inside of my head knew oy th desire for destruction, and there was only one way to get it out of me, because apparently people freak out at my volume. Another trauma. I'm not currently worried about pulling that rabbit out of the hat right now. There is too much shiti to take care of to do that right now.

By the end of the outburst I was in the other side of when these things happen: the guilt, the shame, and the wanting to absolutely fucking die. That thanatic impulse was so strong that day that when I shut myself in the back room I made a concerted effort to perforate a major artery in my arm with a medium point ink pen that I immediately managed to lose on the first stab.

...which was just as well becaause as much as I wanted to fucking die right then and there, this right here would have been a very permanent solution to a very temporary problem.

So I picked up one of my older belts, one of the ones that has actually come with me from every place that I've lived. Its front is worn, the elastic stuff on it almost worn soft.

In other words, the perfect flogger for a former Catholic with tendencies to take violent urges out on zirself rather than trynig to fight everyone else.

By 100 lashes in all that I had left to sit with was the anger again.

Usually that fixes it. This time it did not.

I did somethng that I always second, third, fourth-guess when it came to talk to my...

...Christ, what do you call them when your handfasting falls apart? Is there a word for that? Do we need to make a word for such a depressing situation? (I mean probably.) (At any rate I'm going to stop trying to look it up in the library because this is actually making me intensely mournful. It's bad enough I need my breakup playlist to do this in the first place.)

Anyway, I was honest about how bad it was. That I needed help.

I should have remembered that never goes well.

-----

Several things happened while I was in there: There were so many Trauma Bumps before we ever even really got together, but I think the straw that broke the sacrifical llama's bac was my going off on them when the phone went straight to voicemail trying to call in when I finally woke up situatued. I panicked. I was ugly. I lashed out at them because I thought I was being abandoned.

Again.

The breakup came over the phone, where other people in the bin were able to watch me break.

Something my head snapped. The time I finally admit that I can't do this alone, I...have to.

The good news is, I have a place to stay while I fight these people on my disability.

It's all so complicated. I might need a few days to explain how everything is fucked. My head is fuzzy and I don't think I can keep thinking today.

Unless I know you well, no questions right now.

#cyggie ramble #update #long post #hospital mention #sui ideation mention

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peytons-depression-land · 2 years ago

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This Post is Not About My Day Trip to Santa Barbara

I rode Amtrak’s California Surfliner from LA to Santa Barbara and back for a day trip a couple weeks ago. I had a good time, took notes, took pictures, and fully intended to write up a something about the experience. I tried to write the post the day after I took the trip. But, only about six paragraphs in, I impulsively typed the following:

“Is anyone actually reading this? Does anyone care? This is horrendously boring isn’t it. Why did I kid myself that anyone cares what I think or do or write. It’s all pointless bullshit. My existence is pointless. I should just stop even trying to write this boring fucking article and go out and buy some rope to hang myself with right now.”

That’s essentially been what my writing process has been like for the last year or so. Crippling self-doubt at every turn. Even the act of trying to recount something I enjoyed doing, in which I took steps to aid me in retelling – which I also enjoyed doing – feels like pissing in the wind. As I sit here alone in my bedroom, several weeks later, my head slightly sore from drinking on an empty stomach and forgetting to take my Cymbalta and Lithium today, I’m still wondering if it’s worth trying to write this. But I feel like I need to write something, anything. My energy to work on scripts has all but seemingly drained out of me. All I’m doing day in, and day out is a glorified customer service job with the veneer of an entertainment industry entry point. The last 10 months I’ve been about as creative as I would be in a coma.

I’ve tried putting the words down so many times, in so many ways. As I already mentioned, I have a whole other word document of a scrapped previous attempt. But something inside me is just fundamentally averse with trying to write this story. But why? The trip was great. I rode an Amtrak train for the first time: something I’d wanted to do for so long. Yeah, it’s lame, but as a fan of rail systems and as someone who believes we should have a better one in the US, scrappy little Amtrak is all we got, so I had a blast finally getting to take even a short trip on it. Upon boarding there were conductors at the door with the little hats they wear! I bought a reasonably priced but kinda shitty cookie and diet coke in the charming little snack car area. There was a LED sign in the passenger area that just constantly read “AMTRAK” for some reason, as if it feared that we Americans are so unfamiliar with the concept of traveling by train we’d forget we were on one if not continually reminded while en route. I even snuck into the mostly empty business class section with the nicer seats for half of the ride (well idk if I snuck in or not, it was unclear if I was supposed to be in it – but they never asked for my ticket so who knows).

The ever present Amtrak sign

Why was trying to recount all this such a chore; why did it feel like the most boring thing in the world to try and tell people about it? I enjoyed it, and isn’t that enough? Isn’t it enough that I found a certain beauty in the progression of the scenery outside the train? First passing through the industrial wasteland of greater LA, the storage facilities, trailer parks, and graffiti covered warehouses of The Valley. We then moved into patchy green hills marked with tan rocks that jutted out, tunnels going through the low mountains, peaks off in the distance still snow-capped from the recent freak snowfalls. The train even passed by an old, disused movie backlot, probably a relic from a time before streaming services and the internet. Why was my mind screaming at me to hate myself for trying to write? Why is it still?

Sitting in the business class we finally reached the portion of track that rides along the coastline. There are oil rigs off in the distance. The roads next to the tracks are dotted with hippie surfer vans and road trip retiree RVs. Only about 30 minutes behind schedule, which as I understand it is pretty good for Amtrak, we reach Santa Barbara.

Business class, on the coastline

I need to keep writing. I need to finish this so I can know I can move on. Should I go next door to the 7-11 and get an energy drink to try to keep me awake to finish this? It’s almost 1am. I don’t work tomorrow so I can stay up, but I don’t want to. But I need to just get this done now and move the hell on with my life. Like who is gonna read this bullshit melodrama about my embarrassing struggle to write a damn blog post and think it’s good. This is gonna be a piece that – if I’m ever lucky enough to reach any notoriety of any sort – people will find and use to make fun of me. They’ll point out how self-obsessed I am. How nothing all this is. How emblematic of a cultural emptiness a vain writing like this is. Acquaintances will find this and shit talk me behind my back. No one will respect me. I will be laughed at on podcasts.

God I could use a drink right now. But I can’t. I’ve already hit my 1500 calories for the day and I don’t want to go over my limit. I need to stick to my routine. But fuck do I want a drink. I’ve just been drinking more and more recently. I finally get the appeal. I didn’t really start drinking until after I turned 21. Not out of some sense of following the law, but I simply wasn’t interested in drinking for some reason. Call it a fear of losing control, having something I knew would affect my mind. But now I get it. It makes me feel better, even just a bit. Helps me feel less sad. I want my mind to be affected. It’s better than its default state. Drinking was part of the reason I took the train to Santa Barbara. Not driving means I could just walk around all day and drink, and then just ride home. Day drinking two hours up the coast from where I live.

Santa Barbara is a sleepy city. Google says its population is right around 88k, but you wouldn’t guess it on the day I was there. It felt like a place where no one lived, only visited on day trips and weekends. All of the buildings downtown where white with red clay tiles on the roofs. I’d later learn this is a kind of architectural standard imposed on the downtown area, so even the 7/11 looks like a building in an old Spanish village.

Fairly quiet by the train station

The thing about Santa Barbara is it’s not actually historic, at least what you see today isn’t – comparatively speaking. It was all built in the 20s, riding off a regional fad of recreating old Spanish architecture, like the grand courthouse built in 1929, which is meant to recreate a Spanish castle. It’s all fairy tale facade; the beautiful grand mural room in the courthouse painted by a guy who did the storyboards for Cecil B DeMille, famous movie director and co-founder of the place I’m indentured as a servant. But just because the town - the courthouse is a facsimile doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful, because it is. The cavernous halls of the courthouse, which is still functioning (meaning that while you tourist around inside you occasionally pass serious looking conversations between lawyers and clients), is filled with stylish oddities like phone booths housed in ornate wooden doored alcoves, or fire extinguisher cubbies with stained glass doors. The garden courtyard of the place a seemingly popular spot for wedding photos, as exemplified by the lesbian couple in matching pristine white suits that stood yards away from me.

The courthouse entrance

Courthouse entrance hall

Still contains working payphones

Probably don't break the glass even in case of emergency

But the inaccuracies are there. I stumbled my way onto a free tour given by a docent of the building’s historical society. A knowledgeable and enthusiastic older man prone to curtness if asked any questions by those on the tour. He pointed out things like how the grand doors, that on a real Spanish castle are built large enough to allow riders on horseback to pass through, are built at the top of a flight of stairs and horses can’t climb stairs. Or how the building mixes designs of the three coalescing religions of Spain, blending catholic angels with Islamic tiling, and Jewish stars. The docent pronounces Muslim like “moslum.” Saying this feels eye-roll worthy, but I can’t help feel some sort of parallel with falsehoods of the city, the veneer masking the truth inside. Typing that sentences makes me start to feel self-conscious again. Damn, I was starting to really get on a roll there for a minute.

The docent in the mural room

Several shops in Santa Monica seem to fit my interests quite well. I browsed a cluttered bazaar of antiques – my favorite type of antique store, one in which things are piled and hidden on packed shelves, not some overpriced boutique experience but a real treasure hunt. There was the Book Den, a nice little bookstore with a large amount of old paperback pulp and detective novels, something I really enjoy. I left with a 1978 copy of Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep (I had just finished reading The High Window) featuring an illustration of Robert Mitchum on the cover, the film adaptation staring him advertised bellow the title, as well as a more recent printing of Bukowski’s Factotum (I’ve never read anything by Bukowski but look forward to digging in). I stopped in a comic shop, in which I considered buying the complete SCUD book, but decided against it since I didn’t want to lug it around the rest of the afternoon. A 30-something man who I assume had some type of neuro-atypical condition paced around the store talking to himself about the comics he wanted to buy, excitedly holding a book up (I didn’t see what) and exclaiming “I heard James Gunn wants to adapt this!” to the uninterested cashiers who feigned interest out of niceness. After chugging down a happy hour sangria in a forgettable trendy, exposed ceiling bar, I tipsily browsed a record store that for some reason had glass cabinets at the back containing ridiculously breasted anime women figurines. The place had no Steely Dan or Warren Zevon records– disappointing. However, I did get a copy of the soundtrack to the film The Midnight Express, the film my mom says was the first ever R-rated movie she was allowed to see in the theater. I’ve never seen it but love its soundtrack as it contains seminal works from the electronic and disco music pioneer Giorgio Moroder. Carrying around the handle-less paper bag the record was put in was a bit inconvenient for the rest of the afternoon.

If there was a theme for the food I ate that day it was the ocean. For lunch I had a lobster roll that was good, but overpriced, as many restaurants in California are. The place I got it from was decked out in neon, looking like the juice bar the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers hung out at when not fighting evil mixed with an episode of Baywatch. The theming was fun but felt hollow in that “intentionally trying to be eccentric” way trendy places in LA often are.

The crab roll was good. The chips were underwhelming.

For dinner I wound up at Mexican place where I had octopus tacos which were great, unlike the extremely bland rice and a salad covered in some awful, cloyingly sweet dressing that tasted like bubblegum flavored medication that was served on the side. That’s ok, the chips and salsa were enough to compliment the great tacos. A couple tables over from me where the two mothers – I think they were friends, not lesbians – with 5 children, who I’d witnessed almost get the youngest child, no more than 5, killed by an oncoming car earlier. After going across the cross walk, the mothers had realized the youngest girl wasn’t crossing the street with them, so they yelled for her to catch, only to realize at the last second that the light had already changed and they had told her to run across the path of an oncoming car. The car was thankfully going pretty slow and was paying attention, so crisis was averted, and the two mothers appeared to pretty much immediately move on from the near child-death, or at least that’s how it looked to me from across the street. Now, across the patio, they ate dinner while the kids shouted at one another across the table, all with apparent amnesia to the near accident from 30 minutes prior. After dinner I walked across the street and had a small ice-cream cone and was able to pay in exact change thanks to my book purchase from earlier in the day. I had let myself eat whatever that day, take a break from the routine. I don’t normally indulge as much as you’re reading about.

One of the last places I saw in Santa Barbara was the pier. If you’ve ever been to the chaotic, crowded, vendor cart and tourist gimmick-filled Santa Monica pier in LA, the Santa Barbara pier is pretty much the exact opposite, or at least it did that day, to me. It has quiet, despite being decently busy. No one shouting or yelling, blocking paths so they could stop and take pictures. Only one cheesy gift shop and a couple local restaurants. Down at the end of the pier sat big palm trunks on their sides, a creative way to make benches for the patrons. The sunset was nice. I was still a little drunk from the sangria so maybe that’s why I liked the place so much. They even had some free telescopes you could use to look out across the water. A seagull landed beside me.

Seagull friend

I finished my ice-cream cone and waited for my train home to finally arrive. The two mothers and the kids waited, all five of them screaming in unison and running around, even getting precariously close to the tracks. God help these kids survive to adulthood. When the train pulled in, I made sure to sit in a different car from them. The alcohol from earlier was finally starting to wear off so I bought a $7 canned margarita from the snack car (still cheaper than most bars in LA). The buzz of the drink felt good. Riding the train is like taking a plane, only much less oppressive. There’s more room to move around, its less crowded, and no security theater causing a hassle. I finish my book and my drink.

The Midnight Express - sans Turkish prisons, and actually just at 6:50pm

I reach my stop, and it seems to be just in the nick of time. While I wait for the train to pull in, the conductor makes an announcement on the PA box near me. They’ll be waiting at my stop for an indefinite amount of time, as it seems there’s a car stuck on the tracks up ahead. With exasperation she mentions to the handful of us waiting by the door how occurrences like this happen every day. She says something along the lines of “it seems like automobiles are just always interfering with trains.” I sympathize with her frustration, and whether she knows it or not she’s just described America’s central problem when it comes to effective national rail transit. I exit the train. And with that I was home.

I… I did it. I wrote about my trip. Kinda. Good enough. Why was that so hard? Once things got going the only thing that was difficult was how tired I am. Maybe that’s the key. More tired less self-conscious. But it’s good I wrote it all out, I needed to. Just like I needed to take the trip. Because I love trains. I love going to cool places and learning about their history. I love eating good food and finding cool shops. I needed to go because I spend a lot of my time hating myself, hating life, hating the state of things both personal and at large, thinking about death, and I need to try to find ways to break out of my trench and remind myself of reasons to live. Ok, writing that part makes me start to worry again. Is that too saccharine of an ending? I guess it doesn’t matter, because as long as I couch what I write in ironic detachment and meta-analysis of the writing process, I can claim innocence. Them’s the rules. I feel like this might have all wrapped up too quickly, but, again, this isn’t a post about my trip to Santa Barbara. So, it doesn’t matter if I don’t have a good ending. It just matters that it ends.

Until next time.

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dogbunni · 2 years ago

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dude your nendou HCs?? on fucking point.

anyway!! if you'd like to: nedou and saiki! friendship hcs!

OUGH friendship hcs??? let's see

[sits bolt upright as my eyes start flickering and emitting light] [several nendo&saiki headcanons are projected onto the wall]

-nendo is an extreme extrovert and saiki is an extreme introvert. now we've all heard of extrovert/introvert friendships and how the extrovert adopts the introvert and yes absolutely nendo did adopt saiki but also get this: nendo is an extrovert who struggles to make friends. he is loud and crude and not super smart and most people find him a little off-putting. saiki on the other hand is an introvert with an insanely high stat in charisma for no fucking reason and most definitely against his will. people are drawn to him despite his best efforts to push them away. therefore nendo and saiki are the dream team. they compliment each other. nendo's unlikeability keeps the normals well away from saiki, whereas saiki's baffling magnetism attracts the weirdos not put off by nendo's nendoness. nendo finally has the friendship group of his dreams, and saiki gets his likeability score tanked every time nendo calls him "pal". incredible.

-theyve been friends long enough now that they can do that weird BFFL thing where they can finish each others sentences and guess pretty accurately each others train of thought. this caused a crisis for saiki bc for a minute he thought nendo actually could read his mind.

-when I say saiki can pretty accurately guess what nendo is thinking I mean that nendo is pretty much always thinking about ramen

-nendo however will have real conversations with saiki where saiki says nothing. not even with his telepathy. nothing. nendo just knows through BFFL magic what saiki would say. saiki loves this, despite being a bit scared that nendo is always right on the money

-sometimes saiki indulges nendo's weird impulsive thoughts. they're both teenage boys. saiki is repressed, but also a silly little guy at heart. he has pushed nendo down a very steep hill in a shopping cart, while nendo stood upright in it, T-posing and screaming the whole way. he fell out and split his lip on the pavement.

-they play saiki's weird bargain bin games together. you can't convince me that they don't.

-they absolutely bully each other and yes it is a love language. sometimes you just need to tell your best friend that he is ugly and a freak of nature and that is okay <3

-they clown on saiki's dad together. saiki likes the challenge of pranking kuniharu without using his powers. nendo just likes seeing kuniharu suffer

-they once bought up every single coffee jelly for miles and then had a taste testing tournament involving a sticker chart to find the best coffee jelly factoring in best quality for money. granted, saiki did a lot of the heavy lifting for this one, but nendo enjoyed putting stickers onto the chart. it holds the record for the most saiki has ever smiled in one day

-once kusuke came over and tried to pull some bullshit while they were hanging out and they just looked at each other and then started throwing shit at him. like;

kusuke: KUSUO I HAVE COME TO EN-

kusuo: (throws TV remote at his head)

kusuke: TO ENGAGE YOU IN-

nendo: (throws a half eaten sandwich at his head)

kusuke: IN A BATTLE OF W-

kusuo: (throws a water bottle at his head)

kusuke: OF WITS- STOP THROWI-

nendo: (throws his chair at his head)

this only ended bc kuniharu thought it looked fun and tried to join in. they then started throwing things at him instead.

-nendo got them matching "I LOVE MY BEST FRIEND" t shirts. saiki has never worn his and never will but nendo wears his fucking constantly

-saiki retaliated by getting t-shirts that said "IM WITH STUPID" and "IM STUPID" on them. jokes on him tho bc nendo loves that shirt too.

#@fixation-central i hope this suffices #also thank u <3 #i love nendo #nendo posting #saiki kusuo no ψ nan #saiki k #the disastrous life of saiki k.#nendo riki #nendou riki #saiki kusuo #tdlosk

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phoenixyfriend · 4 years ago

Text

Rey Gives No F*cks About the Grandfather Paradox

Okay so since nobody’s suggested a fic under these terms, I ended up expanding on this post on discord and things snowballed. We kept to the basics of the entire plot revolving around Rey really hating her grandad and leveraging her blood relation to not be unalived about it.

With contributions by @atagotiak, @dracothulhu, @thepallaspalace, and several others. The title comes from @gelpenss.

The basic thing I absolutely need is this: Rey gets thrown back to the middle of the clone wars, and the subsequent plot leans in really heavily on her being, genetically-via-clone-dad, the daughter of the guy running the entire galaxy.

Nobody knows what to do with her.

The timing is mid-TCW for the past (because I want Ahsoka there) and vaguely between Episodes 8 and 9 because I... never watched E9 and don’t want to worry about the timeline. The only things that matter is that Luke is dead (he can die as he did in canon) and that Rey knows she’s Palp’s granddaughter (not the way she does in canon).

We'll say Luke found out from Anakin's panicked force-ghost and just went "well, fuck, okay, I should tell her this before she ends up in a situation like mine and finds out mid-battle or something."

Luke, prior to time-travel: Okay, so, now that I'm dead I know some things I didn't before. Like who your parents were. In the interest of full disclosure because I was in a very similar situation and I don't want you learning the way I did, I'm just going to come right out and say that your father was a clone was Sheev Palpatine. Rey: ... Luke: Are you okay? Rey: I don't know who that is.

(She grew up on Jakku, the history education was a little subpar.)

Setting The Scene

Imagine Rey showing up during or immediately before the clone wars. There’s this phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater who tells you that if you ran a paternity test, it would probably pop up the Chancellor. She may or may not bring up cloning. She accuses said Chancellor of being a Sith Lord.

Your other phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater, who may not be a teenager anymore but only barely, is very offended by this because Palpatine’s a Very Nice Old Grandfather Figure, but also he’s a little full of side-eye because if the blood test comes back as proof, then Palpatine had a kid and didn’t even know about them, or lied to Anakin, and that’s! Bad! Family’s important!!!

Palpatine hears about this daughter he apparently? Has? And is very confused because the timing doesn’t match up with ANYTHING he was doing, so the kid isn’t natural, and he says as much. (There is an explanation! It’s not a correct explanation, but he does come up with one.)

Finn and Poe and BB-8 all get dragged along because why not have the gang there? Nobody that’s already born, because [handwave] conservation of souls or something, IDK, point is the only person dragged along that’s even remotely close to already existing is Luke’s Force Ghost, who mostly hangs around begging Rey to be less impulsive. Finn is good because he is a nice polite boy, but for actual useful information they need Poe. The unfortunate situation is that the three do not land together. They land at the same time, in completely different corners of the galaxy. This means that nobody is there to curb Rey being her most impulsive self.

Time travel Rey knows two things. Luke’s dad ends up evil. Palpatine has always been evil.

She can solve one of these problems by killing the other, yes?

Rey: Ready to Rumble

See, the initial idea was this: Rey tried to break into the senate to kill Palpatine, got arrested, and then used the "he's biologically my father" card to get out of jail free. (Force Ghost Luke follows her like “please take five seconds to think this through.”)

But.

It would be very, very, very funny if The Force just dumps her in a flash of light in the senate building and she just attacks Gramps on sight. Just a shouted "YOU!" and no-hesitation attempted murder.

Palpatine has no idea what's going on.

Rey took maybe two seconds to get identity confirmation and then started swinging.

[Image Description: An individual in a green metal helmet with an eye slit, holding a pistol. In the upper left, upper right, and lower middle are the phrases “I do not know who I am...�� “I don’t know why I’m here” and “All I know is that I must kill.” End description.]

Of course, she gets arrested. There are Master Jedi in the Senate. There are Clone Troopers. Palpatine isn’t the weak old man he pretends to be. Of course she’s stopped.

But she isn’t executed in time for Palpatine to stop her from ruining his entire reputation.

Immediately after Rey fails to kill her Shitty Granddad, Luke's ghost shows up and begs her to not talk about the Sith thing because it will completely undermine everything she's trying to do. Pass off the attempted murder as something else!

Rey, panicking: "that fucker left me on a desert planet for 10 years!" "You owe me 19 years of child support you son of a Hutt!"

The Jedi have to do the investigation, because the girl showed up with a laser sword, and the conversation is, uh... interesting. (“Where did you get that lightsaber?” “I got it from a mysterious old pirate lady I never met before. I don't know, I was being shown around by a smuggler and a Wookie.”)

Interviewer: Why did you try to assassinate the Chancellor? Luke: Say it wasn't assassination. Rey: It wasn't assassination. Int: You weren't trying to kill him? Luke: Assassination has to be politically motivated. Rey: This was, um... not political. Assassination is political, right? Int: You mean this was personally motivated? Rey: Yes. Int: I see. What personal motivation? Luke: Jakku! Rey: He's my grandfather. Int: ... Rey: Possibly father. Nobody was very clear on that. Int: ... Luke: Tell them to run a paternity test. Rey: Oh hey, a blood test would tell us which, right? Int: ............ Rey: I spent ten years as an orphaned scrapdealer on Jakku. He's my father. I'm kind of a little angry. Int: ........... Luke: Good job, kid. You bought yourself some time. Int: I'm going to get a medic to see about that parternity test.

Obviously, it comes back positive. Congratulations, Sheev, you’re the father.

Rey comes with a ready-made built-in excuse for hating Palpatine that nobody can question or fault her for!

Rey, pouring Truth into the Force: I didn't even know I was related to the Chancellor until a few months ago, but it's his fault I grew up the way I did, and he should take some responsibility!

The entire thing is mostly kept hush hush but someone leaks it to the press and Palpatine's ratings tank.

"Chancellor, I think we'll need to waive family visitation until she wants you a little less dead." "I would like to find out why she wants me dead, and indeed, where she came from." "...sir, for your own safety--"

Who would win? A master plan years in the making spanning decades of manipulating and work? or One (1) paternity test

"Okay, so, Rey Palpat--" "Ew, no, I don't want his name." "You--okay. Sure, we can understand that. Is there a name you would prefer to put on the paperwork?" Rey, who would have gone by Skywalker in honor of Luke but can't do that when Anakin is right there and all: "Can I think about it?"

Rey: I don't know what I want my last name to be but I know I don't want his, and most of the people I’d want a name from have famous families like you... Luke's ghost, pointing out the Literal Nobody that she cares about a lot: How about Solo? Rey: ...Solo, then.

(A few months later she runs into Poe again and he offers for Finn and Rey to both take his name because honestly they need SOMETHING but at that point she’s already decided on Smuggler Dad.)

Backtrack a bit. We’ve got a bigger cast.

They all arrive separately. Poe, for one, does better than Rey, who is aiming for a murder, but not quite as well as Finn, who is currently being adopted and hidden like a secret cat by a bunch of Alpha Clones on Kamino. He vibes with the names-or-numbers thing. He doesn’t necessarily tell them where and when he’s from, but he’s very sweet and a great liar and they adopt him wholesale anyway.

The Finn situation is just... "Buir Ti, we need you to hide this man, we've decided he's our little brother but if Nala Se finds out she'll make him leave."

Of course, this leads into Shaak Ti teaching Finn how to Jedi.

Maybe consider Finn needing to almost be tricked into learning Jedi things because he willfully forgets it could apply to him. Finn does not like to think of himself as special, which is super valid, but frustrating for Shaak Ti when it comes to, you know, getting him to acquire knowledge. Finn's training at some point is "here, levitate objects with the Force to entertain the tubies." It’s a lot easier to convince him to practice when it involves the babies.

(Everyone on Kamino looked at Finn and went “oh I love him I’m keeping him and teaching him things.”)

(He’s just very lovable.)

Poe, meanwhile, buys the trust of Anakin Skywalker via R2D2 declaring BB-8 the absolute most baby of droids. R2D2 met BB-8 three hours ago but.

"Hey Obi-Wan this is Poe I met him like five days ago but R2D2 says he checks out because his droid is a baby." "That's nice, Anakin, did you know the Chancellor has a daughter who tried to assassinate him in broad daylight yesterday? Because guess who had to stop the Chancellor from getting assassinated by his daughter in broad daylight yesterday."

A summary so far:

Finn, on Kamino: Hey, um, I don't know where this is, but it's not where I was a few minutes ago. Do you think you could get me a comm? What's your name? Poe, on [dice roll] Denon: Oh, hey, you're General Skywalker? Nice to meet you, I'm so sorry about my droid, she's a little excitable and thought your R2 unit looked like a friend of hers-- Rey, on Coruscant: DIE, GRANDFATHER

Finn: [Peacefully vibing on Kamino, unaware of the chaos and bonding with the clones] Poe: [Trying to explain how he knows someone who tried to kill the chancellor and defend Rey] Rey: [Arrested for trying to kill the chancellor]

Just... just...

Anakin: Some guy ended up lost on base yesterday with his droid, how’s your day going? Obi-Wan: I had to stop someone who claims to be the chancellors daughter from murdering the chancellor after she seemingly blinked into existence in the Senate building. Poe: 😐

(Poe: Oh, so that's where Chaos^2 went.)

Poe: In her defense, she is his... well we don't know if she's his daughter or granddaughter, but she's definitely related to him, and she definitely grew up in a shitty situation that was his fault, so...

(Poe is trying very hard to explain this and not get arrested on the military base.)

As you’ve probably guessed, what's especially funny about all of this for me is the fact that Palpatine is fully aware that this girl shouldn't exist, but can't find a single piece of evidence about where she came from. He didn't start any experiments that could result in a female child, and he didn't have sex in that period of time, so where the hell--

Rey spends so much time in jail... BUT they do eventually assign her a Jedi Master. Possibly before she actually proves her evil grandfather is in fact evil. Most votes went to either Plo Koon or Obi-Wan. Plo, because he’s dad-shaped, and Obi...

"Obi-Wan, you already raised one feral desert child with implausible amounts of power, you handle this." Rey in return is very "Sweet, you vaguely remind me of Master Luke," and nobody knows who the hell she's talking about. Obi-Wan is NOT on board with this plan, she'd really be better off with Plo or like........ Mace.

Reunion Tour

What I need out of this is the eventual Finn and Rey reunion scene that is just excited screaming while someone in the background explains to Shaak Ti that yes this is apparently Palpatine's terrifyingly force-sensitive daughter who hates him.

(Finn senses Rey’s approach and just. Gathers the everyone to wait. He’s just :D REY MY FRIEND REY GUYS MY FRIEND REY IS COMING.)

Anakin shows up with Poe--just a guy who signed on to the military, no big deal--and then Poe and Rey are EXCITED and everyone's just like "Cool, how do you know this literal terrorist child?" And Poe has to scramble and "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh she saved my droid from a scrapheap once and BB-8 is basically my child so I owe her one."

Rey knows that Anakin ends up evil so she’s maybe not actively hostile but definitely very “I’m watching you.” That said, she vibes with him on a lot of things that he maybe doesn’t actively notice.

Rey picks up a snake, snaps off the head for venom avoidance, and starts biting off chunks. Obi-Wan's reaction: [undisguised horror] Anakin and Ahsoka: Ooh, where'd you find that? (Obi-Wan: And now I’m up to three feral children.)

What Does Palpatine Even Do?

OBVIOUSLY at a certain point, Palpatine is just phoning up every ally he has to figure out who broke protocol to synthesize a daughter for him.

So of course, Palpatine blame Plagueis.

She'd have been born five or so years before Naboo, just a few years younger than Anakin. It's such an EASY theory to build a conspiracy around. It is ENTIRELY WRONG, but it’s plausible! And anyone who might have been involved to say otherwise is probably dead!

A random bio-kid shows up you can’t possibly have contributed genes to? Maybe it’s the evil bio spark that did it.

Palpatine tries to placate her with the ‘my genes were stolen for an experiment and I didn’t know’ thing. It doesn’t work because her actual main complaint is he’s evil in her future but he tries.

It'd be a struggle to even get access to her, because of the aforementioned “maybe don’t try to talk to the daughter(?) that hates you” thing, but you know who Palpatine does have access to? The Chosen One.

Rey kind of decides on her favorites early on (she gravitates to Dad Energy and Sad Old Men so Plo and Obi-Wan are on her list, and that means decent time around Anakin and Ahsoka). It's really easy to talk Anakin into helping to some degree because "he'd like to connect to a daughter he never knew" and "a child of her power on a planet like that, you'd know her struggle, my dear boy" and so on. Anakin tries to connect! He tries to play up Sheev’s kind political work and how it can’t have really been his fault! It doesn’t work. Rey does not believe a word of it. Mostly she doesn’t even seem to hear him.

Rey's just like "...oh right, you're the melted mask that Kylo Ren was always ranting about," which means absolutely NOTHING to Anakin, but he mentions it to Palps, who loses his goddamn mind trying to figure out what she's talking about, because it also means absolutely nothing to him.

Here’s the thing: Rey’s already decided that Obi-Wan is cool, because Luke said so, and Plo Koon is dad-shaped, and she also gravitates towards earnest kindness in general, like she made friends with Finn real quick, so Ahsoka? Already getting along great.

She doesn’t dislike Anakin, really, he isn’t evil yet, he’s just... meh. She’s a little suspicious and she likes him less than the others but... Anakin.

Rey, to Anakin: You are my least favorite. Anakin, to Palpatine: YOUR DAUGHTER HATES ME???

And he goes from “she’s a lil standoffish” to “she doesn’t like me” to “she hates me” as is normal for Anakin.

It’s just an escalation of this one time Palpatine wants Anakin to not have rifts and trust issues with a person, at least not until later, because he needs information.

Meanwhile, that very moment, Rey is just like "huh, nobody here is listening to me about how make a sixth-hand carburetor work, where's Luke's dad?"

Anakin is venting to Palpatine about how hard it is to talk to Rey, and she's over in the Temple just like "Hey, that guy was useful last time, I should ask him," but also she only ever thinks of him as Luke's Dad.

(At one point, Obi-Wan is having a bit of a break down, and then Anakin starts having a breakdown about that, meanwhile the clones are (badly) trying to hide Finn behind their backs, Rey is watching Ahsoka practice and being like "I want two lightsabers," and Poe is trying to keep R2 from stealing BB-8 and Force Ghost Luke is just face palming in the background.)

(Rey deserved a saber staff, maybe one that can detach and turn into a jar’kai set. Possibly a pike. Mostly I just wish she got more chances to whack things with a big stick.)

#Rey #Finn #Poe Dameron #Sheev Palpatine #Luke Skywalker #Anakin Skywalker #Obi Wan Kenobi #Darth Sidious #Plo Koon #Shaak Ti #Ahsoka Tano #r2d2 #bb 8 #star wars #time travel #Rey and the Grandfather Paradox #Phoenix Posts

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americachavez · 4 years ago

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Ask and ye shall receive lmao. Anyways this whole wedding shenaniganery takes place like 2 years after the finale. Dean DID get cas outta the empty but he is bad at words so instead of saying anything TO cas he just kinda. Avoided him until he couldn’t stand it anymore and then kissed him. And then fucked him. Dean assumes that cas will be able to interpret this as “I love you but don’t know how to say it”. Cas does NOT interpret it like this. Cas basically thinks that dean is giving him a pity fuck, but doesn’t turn it down because he has massive massive issues and tells himself he is content with whatever scraps of affection dean will give him. This interpretation is reinforced when dean isn’t affectionate outside of sex because he has Issues (internalized homophobia and several complexes about intimacy). Eventually cas is like dean we can’t do this anymore, this meaning their perceived fuck buddy arrangement. But to DEAN they aren’t fuck buddies, they’re dating and in love. So dean takes this. Poorly. And they end up having ANOTHER divorce.

Anyways in this mamma Mia but slightly to the left au dean is Donna, obviously. He is bending over backwards trying to give Sam the perfect wedding because he deserves it, dammit!!! He may not like the idea of a big white wedding but by god sammys wedding is gonna be the best goddamn wedding these stupid motherfuckers have ever SEEN. Sam is Sophie, but instead of inviting three potential dads, he’s inviting cas. Cas is, of course, pierce brosnan.

Some key facts:

-nobody actually KNOWS that dean and cas used to fuck. Dean was way too repressed about it. All anyone knows is that they were extremely close, and then they weren’t. Sam has like. An inkling. But that’s all.

-u know how Sophie is trying to hide her three potential dads from Donna for like half the movie?? Sam is doing that with cas. Everyone else knows cas is there but Sam thinks that if dean finds out he will, quote, “flip his shit”. So he’s just stashing cas in increasingly weird places until dean spots him.

-in this au dean is Donna, which means he retired from hunting and decided to buy a big, old, condemned house and turn it into a bed and breakfast. The house is in idk. Georgia?? Wyoming?? Either way dean found it while he was on a hunt. It was extremely haunted, he un-haunted it, and then impulse bought it for a couple grand.

-it’s a nice house. An extremely nice house. It’s so nice that Sam is having his reception there. The ceremony is at a church in town. I haven’t decided if Sam is catholic or a Unitarian, but either way there is a church, and he is getting married in it.

-the reason dean is planning most of the wedding instead of Sam is because Sam is a bridezilla and needs everything to be perfect, but has no idea WHAT perfect looks like. So every time sam tries to plan the wedding he ends up spending six days looking at napkins. Dean, being a self-sacrificial big brother, basically takes on all the planning duties.

-Eileen does not give a fuck. She’ll marry Sam in a fancy ball gown, she’ll go down to the courthouse, she’ll happily spend the rest of her life living in sin with him if that’s what Sam wants. Eileen is hashtag woke and thinks that marriage is nothing more than paperwork and a couple of tax benefits wrapped in false narratives about romance. She is, of course, extremely right about this.

-rowena tries to upstage Eileen at the wedding because she has winchester derangement syndrome and is acting how we all think Crowley would act at the deancas wedding. It does not work because Eileen is a girlboss.

AnYways dean finds out cas is at the wedding thee NIGHT before and predictably flips his shit. The day of the wedding there’s a winner takes it all type convo right before they head into the church where they’re like *this* close to communicating enough to understand what’s going on between them BUT BEFORE THEY DO, dean storms off.

The church scene plays out EXACTLY like it does in mamma mia. Dean and cas have it out in front of the whole fuckin wedding party. Cas finally realizes that dean thought they were dating the whole time, dean finally realizes that cas DIDNT. During this absolutely insane shouting match it is very clear that they are both still hung up on one another and very much in love. Sam is like actually Eileen I DONT want to get married yet!! I was just doing this because even though it’s been a decade, I still feel like I have to be normal. Only I don’t want to be normal!! I want us to hunt together and live together and maybe one day I want to elope to fuckin. Idk. The Bahamas or some shit.

Meanwhile the poor officiant is like. So... y’all aren’t getting married?? And Sam is like no, sorry. It’s a shame tho bc we spent all this money... and then cas is like wait. Dean. Dean. I know we only just figured out our shit, but I love you. I never stopped. We should get married. And dean is like yeah ok. There’s always divorce right?? And then they get married and go back to deans house and throw the party of the century.

this is probably the most insane thing anyone has ever put in my askbox and I WOULD read 50k of this but I’ll take the nearly 1000 word outline you’ve gifted me. thank you

#reply tag #spn tag #themauvesoul #im ngl to u homie i for sure thought tumblr asks had a word limit aadjlfkasjfldj

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succulentsunrise · 3 years ago

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A Chance of Courage

- Small talks, small actions and small decisions lead to something momentous.

My piece for the YamiChar Week, Day 2! It is both a stand-alone and a continuation to my Day 1 fic 🥰

Edit: I've added a small directory!

Day 1 | All | Day 3

It is funny how sometimes even the smallest things can become an obsession in one’s mind. For Charlotte Roselei, this was the meeting she had had with Yami Sukehiro in the gardens a week prior. A cordial, common meeting - but the substance of it empty. Her mind kept replaying that meeting, her heart aching and leaping into conclusions. She knew that the more she thought about it, the more she was adding things into the scene. More meaningful stares. More subtle hints. The reality was probably something more reasonable.

“Sis?” Sol’s voice woke her up from her thoughts.

Charlotte turned towards the younger woman, straightening her back and trying to concentrate on her surroundings. They were sitting together outside, in the garden. Ah - that was why her thoughts had turned to the meeting again. The thought distracted her once more. She was in some aspect conscious that Sol was talking to her, but she found it difficult to concentrate on that. Sharing a moment like this with Yami would be impossible. He wasn’t the type of man to sit outside and read poetry. Charlotte liked poetry. It was proper and beautiful and oh - so romantic. She blinked, trying to listen to Sol again. What a beautiful morning it was…

“Sis, you’re not listening.”

The accusation wasn’t without reason, causing Charlotte to look slightly embarrassed and apologetic. She spoke gently, her eyes lowering down to the poetry book on her lap.

“My apologies, Sol.”

“What’s on your mind?” Sol asked, her young face painted with curiosity.

It would be too embarrassing to tell. Too difficult to tell to Sol. Charlotte shook her head with a small smile.

“I was wondering what inspired these authors to write so beautifully,” she lied.

“They probably couldn’t say what they wanted out loud, y’know,” Sol laughed with a grin.

Charlotte considered her for a moment. Sol was a vibrant person, full of life and brashness. She didn’t stop to consider things yet. She lived in the moment. Charlotte knew Sol looked up to her. Sol was still easily impressionable. Any opinion Charlotte presented, she echoed louder and coarser. Yes, Sol wasn’t refined, not like a noble. Perhaps it was what endeared her to Charlotte. Perhaps she liked coarse people. People like Sol and Yami. They both disarmed the wall of thorns she had built in her quest for control over her own magic.

They probably couldn’t say what they wanted out loud.

Charlotte found it a rather apt remark. Perhaps she should write one? No. Yami wouldn’t understand anything about poetry, and in any case, it would be rather too embarrassing. It was already embarrassing to try to come to terms with the fact that the ruffian had stolen her heart. With a sigh, Charlotte shook her head.

“You do not admire the ingeniousness of the poets,” she remarked to Sol. “Perhaps because you always have the right words for everything.”

Sol laughed a little more, its gay sound ringing in the air.

“I’ve got the words, alright, but sometimes they come out wrong! Or sometimes I mean to say something, but I say something else instead, something that I wasn’t supposed to say at all!”

“That’s because you speak quicker than you think,” Charlotte suggested, turning back to her poetry book.

Sol didn’t seem to mind her comment, and instead returned to her own project. She had decided to try embroidering on Charlotte’s insistence. So far, she seemed to be somewhat frustrated by the actual process, though delighted by the results.

Later that evening, Charlotte visited the marketplace at the Royal Capital. She never quite liked these trips. There were too many shouts, too many men staring, too many awed sighs. She steeled her face into a cold stare to keep people from approaching her and simply strode towards her destination: an antiquarian bookshop. It was a gold mine for old poetry books, and she had become a regular there by now. Her visit there was simple and sweet. The shopkeeper recommended a new arrival - a rather old poetry book by a rather old poet. Flipping through the pages, Charlotte had approved of its contents and taken it. Then, business concluded, she left. As she glanced around herself on the road, her gaze picked up a familiar figure far in the distance. The combination of dark hair, black cloak and the relaxed style of walking was impossible to not recognize. Yami. Next to him was one of his subordinates - Charlotte couldn’t quite remember his name. She considered for a moment going after them and talking, but her pride won over. She wouldn’t know what to say. In any case, it was too embarrassing, running after a man. Charlotte turned to the opposite direction, deciding to take the long way home. This time she tried specifically not to think of Yami. She avoided the parks of the Royal Capital with the exact purpose of not remembering their meeting. She kept the poetry book she had just bought out of her sight and she stopped herself from wondering about what Yami was doing here. She tried to concentrate on the other people wandering around: a group of young girls giggling and whispering in a group, several workers sitting together on a break, young children running across the street…

It was an impulse that made Charlotte stop at a street food vendor. She wasn’t especially hungry, but it had passed enough time from the last time she had eaten. A sweet smell had caught her attention, and the sight of the first berries of the year had enthralled her. She happily bought a snack and found herself a place nearby to eat it. Then, Charlotte sunk to her thoughts once more. She should’ve taken Sol with, most likely. Sol would’ve liked such a sweet snack. It’d be difficult to take one with, though. Would it stay good - and if she took one, wouldn’t she need to buy the whole squad some? No, it was too much trouble. Charlotte leaned her face to her hand and sighed. She’d just have to bring Sol here some other time. She couldn’t take the whole squad. For now she would just enjoy the atmosphere of the city, eat her little snack and go home. There were still some reports to be written. Charlotte’s thoughts became immediately busy with planning. She’d first write that one, then turn to the mission business - and then there was that case of misconduct from one of the girls. Yes, that would be very important to investigate. She would make sure there was something in that accusation before she’d let it slip through her fingers.

A series of voices caught Charlotte’s attention as she pondered her duties.

“--it’s great for all tastes, Captain!” a warm, insistent tone explained, half-apologetic, half-excited. “You could bring anyone here and they’d find what they’d like!”

The young man speaking was dressed in greens - Charlotte recognized him immediately as that subordinate of Yami’s. Her gaze moved quickly next to the man. Yes, Yami was with him. Scratching the back of his neck as he was squinting at the street vendor’s food, he seemed unimpressed and unwilling to be there.

“Just get what you want, and let’s go,” she heard Yami grunt.

It was clear they were here because of the subordinate. Somehow, while Charlotte had tried to avoid them, they had run to Charlotte. She felt a slight flush come to her face. Yami moved away from the vendor, waiting at the side for the subordinate to pick what he wanted. Charlotte stood up, impulse taking over. Several things jumped in her mind: the meeting, the fact that poets couldn’t say what they wanted, the fact that Yami was right there and that Yami was coarse like Sol, and that Sol spoke quicker than she thought. They didn’t make much sense like that, but they were what drove Charlotte to walk up to Yami.

“Oh, hey.”

Yami’s greeting expressed his surprise well. The eyes that stared at her were shrouded in that dumb gaze. Charlotte spoke fast and breathily, forgetting to draw air while speaking. She didn’t want the subordinate to hear.

“I was wondering if you’d meet me tomorrow evening.”

“Tomorrow?”

Yami’s gaze flickered to the skies. He scratched his cheek.

“Look at you,” he then answered, and Charlotte could swear there was a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Sure.”

“Tomorrow then. Let’s say at six, at the--”

“--at the Grove,” Yami interrupted with a smirk.

Charlotte’s composure faltered, the stream of words sputtering to an end. She felt her face become fully red as she tried to regain her ability to speak. The Grove? It wasn’t the one she had planned to suggest, but it was an alright dining place. Not as fine as she had thought of - but it wasn’t that big of a deal. Perhaps because she hadn’t planned it out properly yet. From the corner of her eye, she saw Yami’s subordinate turn to look for his captain. She didn’t want him to see this.

“Cat got your tongue? The establishment not good enough?” Yami teased.

Yes, it was teasing. Charlotte could recognize it, even when his expression looked hurt and insulted. He had perfected that look.

“It’s fine,” Charlotte muttered, embarrassed and caught off-guard.

Yami smiled.

It was a smug smile.

Charlotte whirled around and went back to where she had been sitting, picking up her things and leaving with her half-eaten snack. She couldn’t bear to stay there any longer. No, she needed to go and work on the reports.

That was - if she could concentrate on them after this.

#Yami Sukehiro #Charlotte Roselei #black clover #yamichar #yamichar week 2021 #yamichar week

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hacawijo · 4 years ago

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Alright, If We’re Gonna Play with Az’s Bonus Chapter, Let’s PLAY with Az’s Bonus Chapter (Pt. 1)

I’m going to do a close reading of this bonus chapter, because this whole thing is stressing me out and I want to write out what I think I know what I definitely know and what I’m worried about. Here. We. Go.

I’m not going to directly quote supporting info in this post, but I will be using a LOT of quotes in the next few weeks, so if anyone wants me to confirm a certain statement I’m making here just let me know and I’ll drop the receipts :)

Also this is super long but I had a lot of thoughts I’m excited about! My commentary is in bold italics!

The river house had finally fallen quiet after the raucous Winter Solstice party, the faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow here is an example of contrast between light and dark, which many have made salient points on regarding the counterbalance of Elain/Azriel and their relationship of the longest night of the year.

Amren, Mor, and Varian had finally gone to bed, but Azriel found himself lingering downstairs.

He knew he should get some sleep. He’d need it come dawn, for the snowball battle up at the cabin. Cassian had mentioned no less than six times tonight that he had a secret plan regarding his so-called impending victory. Az had let his brother boast. Especially since Azriel had been planning his own victory for a year now. Had been planning his own victory for a year now, and had one the past 199 years’ worth of fights.

Cassian wouldn’t know what was coming for him. And Az fully planned on capitalizing on the fact that Nesta likely wouldn’t let Cassian sleep much tonight.

Az snickered to himself, to the listening shadows around him. Note the differentiation between himself and the shadows around him - he snickers to them outside of himself, as they are not HIM, they are his companions.

Sleep, they seemed to whisper in his ear. Sleep.

I wish I could, he answered silently. But sleep so rarely found him these days. Again, engaging in a conversation with them. Though he does say that they SEEMED to whisper sleep, which is interesting. He seems to communicate with them beyond worded language, this is a case where he’s translating whatever that communication is into words.

Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike Yeah this guy needs some therapy for sure, love him but this feels very much like the state of avoidance that Nesta found herself in. Too many wants and needs left his skin overheated and pulling taut across his bones. so he slept only when his body gave out, and even then only for a few hours. This feels very much like an extreme, one that certainly didn’t exist all of the time with Mor (otherwise he’s truly not been sleeping for…ever). I have a very, very hard time believing he would have this reaction because of lust or a coveting kind of obsession.

Azriel surveyed the empty family room, presents and ribbons littering the furniture. Cassian and Nesta hadn’t reappeared downstairs, though that came as no surprise. He was elated for his brother, and yet...

Azriel couldn’t stop it. The envy in his chest. Of Cassian, and Rhys. This is almost exactly the sentiment expressed by Cassian in ACOFAS/ACOSF

He knew he’d be swallowed by it if he went up to his bedroom, so he’d remained down here by the dying light of the fire.

But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. Entering the foyer for what? Entering in order to go to bed? Or was he drawn there, somehow knowing Elain would be there? I really don’t know the answer and I don’t have a preference as to whether or not they are mates, but it’s worth thinking about. Also important to note that the SHADOWS ARE NOT ENOUGH FOR AZRIEL. They are his friends, an important coping mechanism, but they are not the sum of who he is, nor do they even represent the part of himself that is most realized or fulfilled.

Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was.

The faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat. Again, imagery to highlight a contrast between the two of them, Elain as the sun at dawn. Note that it’s talking about dawn, not day. SJM has repeatedly used language about Summer, Dawn, Spring and such to describe Elain, which makes me wonder if her light is meant to transcend the courts - in the same way that the shadows are not the sum of Azriel, the sun (the Day, the Dawn, Spring, Summer etc.) is not the sum of Elain.

“I...” He watched her swallow. She clutched a small gift in her hands. “I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. I forgot to give it to you earlier.” One thing I noticed on closer examination, she went downstairs to leave it in his pile, not to see him. I wonder if it hurts her to be around HIM as well. Elain has said several times in this book (either on the page or in second- or third-hand account) that she is committed to this court, and I wonder if that same commitment that had her going to the Hewn City is what also has prevented her from ending things with Lucien. It’s not in her nature to be disingenuous, and so she cannot fake certain feelings for him, but it IS in her nature to be selfless, and she probably understands what their mating bond means and how important Lucien’s alliance is. I wonder also if she is unsure as to Azriel’s feelings or if she knows somehow, as Azriel sort of implies she might below.

Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn’t need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face. She’d waited until everyone was asleep before venturing down, where she’d leave her gift amongst his other, opened presents, subtle and unnoticed. This is another instance in which Azriel sees her when no one else does, even when she’s not intending or someone to see her. Also, of course, important to note that he can read her without his shadows - a crutch that he uses in interactions with many other people.

Elain closed the distance, and her breathing quickened as she again paused, now a scant foot away. She extended the wrapped gift, her hand shaking. “Here.” Elain makes ALL the moves in this scene - she approaches him, she asks him to put the necklace on her, she leans in, she says yes etc. etc. I think Azriel is actually very respectful and restrained throughout this whole interaction.

Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift. Azriel is ashamed of his scars, and is ashamed of them with Feyre and Mor as well as Elain, this is an across-the-board part of his characterization. She hadn’t bought her mate a present. But she’d gotten Azriel one last year — a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind The headache powder: proof that Elain has been seeing him - specifically seeing him rub his temples. Not to use, but to look at. Which he’d done every night he’d slept there. Or attempted to sleep there.

Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid. Elain is not a casual person, she can’t even handle it when Feyre (her sister) tries to talk to her and Nesta (her other sister) privately about High Fae menstruation. For every lack of flourish or formality that Elain gives Azriel, that is another measured degree of comfort she feels with him - she wouldn’t give an unsigned, familiar note to just anyone.

Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, “You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you...”

He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. “No wonder you didn’t want me to open it in front of everyone.”

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Nesta wouldn’t appreciate the joke.” Elain and Azriel have similar senses of humor. Not necessarily in content, but in the way it sort of crops up off-the-cuff and sometimes unnoticed. I like that Elain makes him laugh.

He offered a smile back. “I wasn’t sure if I should give you your present.”

He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn’t stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much.

Elain’s large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days. Alright so, this is really curious. Does this mean that they both seem to be aware of the other’s feelings AND aware that the other is aware of their feelings? I really do wonder if, in this case, Az is an unreliable narrator- maybe assuming more certainty of Elain than she actually has. Again, I don’t think he would have such a visceral reaction to Elain and Lucien being in the same room (and not even close to each other at all) if he was just infatuated or in lust with her

But tonight, here in the dark and quiet more juxtaposition, with no one to see... no one to see, except the two of them, who always see more than others and who always see each other more than anyone else He pulled the small velvet box from the shadows around him. Opened it for her.

Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They’d always been prone to vanish when she was around. If Azriel is aware of the fact that his shadows disappear around Elain, and is still almost certainly in love with Elain, I think we can gather that it’s a positive thing for his shadows to give them privacy- which- btw, is what I think they are doing. The shadows feel to Azriel, to me, the way that the HoW feels to Nesta. The HoW doesn’t dislike Cassian, but also doesn’t need to be as diligent with Nesta when he’s around, because the House trusts Cassian with her.

The golden necklace seemed ordinary — it’s chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the truth depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. So I don’t think he’s saying that Elain is a thing here. I think he’s saying that HIS FEELINGS for her are a thing of secret, lovely beauty. It’s been made pretty clear that Elain’s physical AND inner beauty are decidedly visible and prominent. She is, the opposite of secret- though she is often described as lovely. I think what’s more interesting here is the time dedicated to describing this gift and the time dedicated to describing Lucien’s gift of pearl earrings (more on that later, but spoiler-alert, that’s the extent of the description)

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets this word choice is notable because it’s an indication of layers and depth and different sides, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows he let them do it, again the way he interacts with his shadows does not make it seem like they ARE him. It would probably say “Azriel’s shadows whisked away the box” or “Azriel used his shadows to…” etc. whisk away the box as she said softly, “Put it on me?” Again, Elain is driving the action

His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck. That this situation is described in such slow, delicate detail evokes a sense of intimacy and gravity to the reader. Every tiny piece of this little bite of interaction means something to Azriel and probably to Elain.

He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin this word choice is admittedly a little strange, but the use of this and later of the word sacrilege is FAR from the first time SJM uses religiously-coded language to describe a romantic/sexual/intimate situation. In this very book, Cassian describes his sex with Nesta “as close to a religious experience” as he’d ever gotten - furthermore, there is often talk of the worship of bodies. More on this in another post! ALSO, of course he thinks about touching her in relation to himself. He is himself, for one thing, for another, one of the most reinforced aspects of Azriel’s character that has been made clear to us as readers is his belief that he is unworthy. This comes up not at all just with Elain, it comes up everywhere. It comes up when Azriel volunteers for the most dangerous assignments, it comes up with Mor A LOT, it comes up with Rhys and Cassian. I HAVE A LOT MORE TO SAY ABOUT AZRIEL SO I JUST NEED TO STOP TYPING RIGHT N. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered that’s hot and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp.

Azriel’s fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine SUCH precise language, so agonizing. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.

It had never gone this far. They’d exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. Another important line in reiterating the fact that there are two people participating in this interaction and the broader relationship, with the use of ‘exchanged’ and ‘their.’ It could easily also say something like, “Azriel had never gone this far. She’d sometimes caught him looking at her and he her, and every so often he’d taken the risk of brushing his fingers against hers.” Elain’s agency in these interactions and this relationship is SO IMPORTANT! It is the difference between Az viewing Elain as a two-dimensional and unattainable figure and as a real person with wants and needs.

Wrong — it was so wrong. Azriel knows, just as well as Rhys, what is at stake in Elain’s relationship with Lucien. He also has reverence for the mating bond in the same way that many other fae and faeries do. Of course he thinks it’s wrong!

He didn’t care.

He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue — There is literally so much talk in Feysand and Nessian of tasting and eating out. Both Rhys and Cassian make it very clear that they spent a lot of time thinking about what their partners would taste like and how they might go about finding out for sure.

Azriel’s cock strained behind his pants, aching so fiercely he could hardly think. He prayed she didn’t peer down. Prayed she didn’t understand the shift in his scent.

He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Because he knows it’s a fool’s hope. He never thinks about this as a viable path! Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep again a recognition of the separation between him and his shadows. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she’d make. See above: Nessian and Feysand are just as dirty and graphic (especially Nessian) and Rhys and Cassian are JUST AS WORSHIPFUL of their partners.

Elain bit her lower lip, and it took every ounce Azriel’s restraint to keep from putting his own teeth there.

“I should go,” Elain said, but made no move to leave. Again, they are BOTH cognizant, I think, of the risks and dynamics at play here.

“Yes,” he said, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat.

Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He’d beg on his knees for a chance to taste it Rhys’s WHOLE THING is that he kneels before Feyre in reverence. But Azriel just stroked her neck again. SJM repeatedly uses the scent of arousal as a way to confirm sexual interest beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Elain shuddered, drifting closer. So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars. I personally think this is Azriel being self-deprecating. I think that Elain is a seer, and probably has some idea of what Azriel does. Does this mean he puts her on a pedestal or that he views her as pure? It’s possible, but I think Azriel views most people whom he loves as pure compared to himself in one way or another— even Cassian. There is a line I’ll cite eventually where Rhys muses on the similarities between himself and Azriel, since Rhys is the only person Azriel allows to see the full scope of his rage. Ditto with the pedestal.

Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege same story as my point above on the word immaculate, but again I do totally admit that it’s a strange word. I just think that we have had so little of Azriel’s perspective that we can’t really say whether this is a perversion of his connection to Elain or if this is a regular sort of attitude for him for his fingers to touch her skin, tainting her with his presence.

But he could have this. This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it. AND THAT WOULD BE IT. HE DOESN’T THINK IT WILL GO FURTHER!

“Yes,” Elain breathed, like she read the decision. You fucking go Elain get that ass Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother interesting choice of words given Nesta’s association with the Mother and Nesta’s apparent tacit acceptance of Azriel’s feelings for Elain (more on that later) might witness them.

Azriel’s hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain’s mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before flirting shut.

Offer and permission. OFFER AND PERMISSION. ELAIN WANTS THE SHADOWSINGER D!!!!!

He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers.

Azriel. And suddenly, the one time they both are comfortable with how they’re being seen (that Azriel is being seen by no one else BUT Elain, that Elain is finally being seen intimately, by someone, in the dark, namely, AZRIEL)

Rhys’s voice thundered through him, halting him mere inches from Elain’s sweet mouth.

Azriel. So if you were to ask me what the biggest sign of Elriel’s longevity in this chapter is, it is this: that they did not kiss. SJM built a very tightly worded and wound tension around this moment with her language, and. the fact that it is not fulfilled is frustrating, right? We know that he touched the knob of her spine - we know that she shivered. For that level of intimacy not to end in a kiss, means something. Rhys could easily have interrupted them after their lips had already touched, and if this relationship were a device serving another, that’s what would have happened.

SJM knows that the tension is built and unfulfilled, and I think she also knows that this wouldn’t have been the right time for them to have their first kiss - which is what I think many readers have noticed in so many words. Where my thoughts differ is that I think SJM is walking a line between romantically coding the moment AND acknowledging that this moment is not ideal, and that it doesn’t deserve to be fulfilled satisfyingly, especially given Azriel’s self-loathing. MORE LATER :) Which should maybe be my catchphrase.

Also, them not kissing can’t just be about the fact that it’s a bonus chapter. You can’t make that argument about their not-kiss and then argue that the interaction with Gwyn is essential to the coming story. Which, I think it is significant, by the way, I’m just not sure how yet :P

Unrelenting command filled his name, and Azriel looked up. Rhysand stood atop the staircase. Glowering down at them.

My office. Now.

Rhys vanished, and Azriel was left standing before Elain, who still awaited his kiss. His stomach twisted as he pulled his hand away from her hair and stepped back. Forced himself to say, “This was a mistake.” UGH. The capital P Pain.

She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, “I’m sorry.” See, this reaction makes me think that she is not as aware of his feelings as he thinks she is. That she later returns the necklace (or did she?) reinforces this. I think that if she was certain how he felt about her, she would be frustrated and maybe angry in the way that she has responded to Feyre’s comments about her mating bond with Lucien, not hurt and confused.

“You don’t — Don’t apologize,” he managed to say. “Never apologize. It’s I who should...” He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness he’d brought to her expression. “Goodnight.” But at least it definitely confirms her feelings to Azriel.

PART II IS BEING POSTED BACK-TO-BACK!

#acosf #azriel bonus chapter #azriel shadowsinger #elriel #elain archeron #rhysand #gwyn acosf #acotar #acotar theory #feyre archeron #close reading #line by line #evidence #nessian #lightsinger #elain x azriel #shadowsinger

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azucanela · 4 years ago

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chapter iv

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

summary: the internet is enamored with the idea of y/n l/n and bakugou katsuki, two renowned pro heroes, dating. the first issue? the pair rarely interacts. the second issue? apparently, they hate each other, not that anyone knows about that bit. of course, after one night of many mistakes, the whole world knows.

warnings: mentions of blood. violence. injuries. cursing.

word count: 2k

[series masterlist] [wattpad] [ao3]

THIS HAS TO BE A DREAM. Y/N really doesn’t want to be dealing with this right now, this is literally the last thing she wants to be dealing with right now. She has half the mind to just disappear into the shadows using Telen’s quirk, seeing as she hadn’t returned it yet.

‘Returned’ probably isn’t the best way to put it, after all he can still use his quirk but… she’s never really had a different way to explain it. But, Y/N is capable of using his quirk until she’s returned it to him, meaning his pain is hers and so is his quirk for the time being. Not that it matters right now, because she’s currently staring down Bakugou, who looks just as shocked as she does.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asks, scowling.

In response, Bakugou is rolling his eyes, allowing the door to shut behind him. “You don’t own this café,” he grumbles out.

That was actually incorrect, Y/N had bought the set of buildings on this street to make sure that the café wouldn’t go out of business, she was sentimental in that manner Meaning she technically had authorization to kick him out, something Bakugou seems to catch onto as his eyes narrow at her, “of course you do.”

Y/N scoffs, looking away from him, “only legally. I have too much respect for Rosalyn to tell her what to do with her business.” She waves him off, “they’re getting something from the back, you’ll have to wait.” Y/N finds that she’s wishing she had a little bit less respect for Rosalyn, because maybe then she would have the guts to kick Bakugou out.

Bakugou says nothing, simply eyeing Y/N as he moves to grab a bag of chips from the stand, awkwardly standing by the cash register he waited for them to return. Of course, Y/N had a feeling they wouldn’t be returning anytime soon at this point. She wouldn’t be shocked if Lily had done something to make this happen, all to torture Y/N.

Although Lorelai might consider this the perfect time to apologize, Y/N finds it her personal hell. And she’s fairly sure Bakugou has the same sentiments as she begins to tap her foot rhythmically against the floor. The space is silent aside from that, and Y/N almost wishes a stranger would come in and end her misery.

A sudden pain courses through her, and Y/N’s brows furrow as her mouth gapes open slightly, hand coming to her stomach, though her thoughts are interrupted as Bakugou snaps, “could you quit tapping your damn foot?”

And Y/N does stop, but not because he asked, instead to say, “you can always leave.” There’s a sarcastic smile on her face as she glances at him, preparing to continue tapping her foot despite the throbbing that had appeared in her leg as well.

If Y/N had to guess, something had happened to Telen. But that wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary in hero work, and given how high profile Hawks’ agency was, they had a healer on call. She had no doubt that whatever injury he’d somehow sustained, he would be fine. And yet, Y/N can’t help the frown that washes over her, a certain fear and anxiety that definitely doesn’t belong to her suddenly drowning her senses.

Y/N is about to make a phone call when she hears Bakugou, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

She’s about to make some sort of witty comment in response, only to see that he’s looking outside, where the presence of paparazzi has become apparent. Though they hadn’t started their mobs yet, any trained Pro Hero was well aware when they were being followed. Despite attempts to hide, Y/N could easily see that there were several people hidden throughout the area, trying to catch pictures of the famed Y/N L/N and Bakugou Katsuki together.

They were probably hoping the pair would start arguing, maybe even get into a physical fight knowing Bakugou. Though, if that did happen, Y/N was fairly sure Lorelai would have her head.

That and the fact that the shippers on Twitter were going to love this. But Y/N certainly wasn’t, scoffing as she came to a stand, “did they follow you here?” Her tone is accusatory, she knows that. But if Y/N is honest, she has no shame being upfront about her emotions with Bakugou, not anymore.

He glares at her once more in response, placing his order down more roughly than necessary, “obviously not. If anything it was you they followed here.”

Y/N comes to a stand, inhaling deeply as she reminds herself that she and Bakugou are currently the stars of the show that is the media. Everyone who's anyone, and anybody that’s a nobody wants to bear witness to their interactions if it means advancing their career. And Y/N has no intent of further damaging her reputation, or giving the media the easy way out.

Though she wouldn’t mind putting an additional dent in Bakugou’s already horrid reputation, there were bigger things than that. And at the end of the day, they were stuck together for the time being, until things died down that is.

So, Y/N finds herself heading over to the counter with her items in hand– discarding them behind the register to make sure that Lily would hold onto them for her— before looking to Bakugou, “we need to leave, now.”

Bakugou is frowning, eyes falling on his order, but he simply nods as he returns his gaze to Y/N, “and how do you suppose we do that?”

While she’s grateful he elected not to argue— probably because he’s well-aware of his own dwindling reputation and wants to salvage whatever he can, like the selfish bastard he is— Y/N finds herself narrowing her eyes at him, simply turning around and gesturing for him to follow her, “come with me.”

“What, we can’t just go out the front door?”

She’s not shocked by his proposition, though Y/N is also aware that Bakugou isn’t a fool. He may be impulsive at times, and extremely confrontational to a fault, but he was not an idiot. Even if he seemed to be just some annoying brute.

Y/N glances back at Bakugou, looking to him incredulously, “the moment we step outside, we will be bombarded with questions.” A bitter laugh escapes her, “and we both know how you’ll probably respond to that.”

“Oh so this is my fault?” He asks, taking a few steps closer.

Bringing a hand to her temple, Y/N looks up to him, “we don’t have time for this.” Comes her response, “either you come with me, or I leave without you.”

With that, Y/N turns on her heel, hand shoved into her pocket as she pulls out a set of keys and begins to flip through them in search of the right one. She can feel Bakugou’s eyes on her as she finally finds the right key, the one that leads to the hallway behind the second staff door. Most people don't have access because if you take a wrong turn you’ll end up in the studio apartment of the owners. But, if you continue down the hallway, there’s an exit into the alleyway that Y/N intended to take.

Finally, she pushes the door open. Y/N doesn’t bother to look back as she steps inside the hallway, dimly lit, in fact some of the lights are even flickering. But she can see the bright red ‘EXIT’ sign not too far away.

Y/N doesn’t hear the door click shut, and with a sigh she turns back to see Bakugou had planted his foot in the door, kicking it open while his hands remained shoved into his pockets. Wordlessly, he stepped inside, and Y/N simply returned her gaze to the exit.

Until another spike of pain coursed through her. Her steps falter, though Y/N manages to catch herself on the wall, hand planted firmly there as she inhales deeply.

To be fair, the average person would’ve passed out from the pain by now, and Y/N didn’t have her hero suit to help cushion the blows of pain nor was she necessarily prepared for sudden pain— she wasn’t in battle. Though her pain tolerance is high enough that it's manageable.

Bakugou seems to notice, no— he definitely notices. Looking to her pensively as he pauses behind her, Y/N doesn’t want to meet his eyes as she huffs, pushing off the wall. “Let’s go.”

He says nothing, and Y/N is grateful as they continue down the hall.

It’s a short walk to the actual exit, but Y/N’s head is pounding so she doesn’t really notice anything out of the ordinary until Bakugou’s arm comes to stop her. She bumps into it, frowning as she looks up to him ready to speak in protest, to yell at him for touching her— though there's no skin to skin contact so she doesn’t really have much to worry about yet.

Until she realizes blood is coming from under the door. Evidently, she had a lot to worry about.

Y/N looks up to Bakugou, offering him a nod that he returns. A silent communication between the pair which brings Bakugou to press his separate hand against the door, brows drawing together before he rapidly pushes the door open and the pair steps out into the alley.

And there lies the body of Pro Hero Telen. Y/N recognizes him instantly, and it makes sense given how badly her body is throbbing with pain.

Her mouth gapes open, but Y/N is no fool as her back meets Bakugou’s, each of them surveying the area for the hero’s attacker.

But there’s no one to be found.

Y/N looks back to Bakugou, who simply nods, prompting Y/N to drop to her knees despite the blood that begins to seep through her clothes. Eyes falling on Telen as a hand comes to his chest. Nobody has ever died while Y/N was using their power, and if Y/N had to guess, Telen was still alive. There was no need for her to check for a pulse, simple as that.

“He’s alive. Call for backup.”

When Bakugou doesn’t reply, Y/N turns, and she can see the explosions sparking in his palms but there are no enemies nearby. But Y/N recognizes the look on his face, the frustration, the anger. But he’s not angry with anyone other than himself right now.

“Bakugou.” She repeats, an attempt to pull him out of his thoughts. They don’t have time to be distracted right now. While the attacker clearly isn’t around right now, there was a possibility he’d return. Not that Y/N was too worried, if they had any sense of bloodlust, she’d notice them.

He inhales sharply, simply nodding stiffly once more before pulling out his phone. But all Bakugou can think about is the fact that the Stain Copycat was here, and they’d targeted a member of Hawks’ Agency. The Number 2 Hero. Which meant whoever it was, they were getting bolder, and even worse, two of the best upcoming Pro Heroes were just next door and they hadn’t even noticed.

Even if the new Hero Killer had failed to finish the job, it didn’t matter. This would be a sign to all. A bad one. A message even. It felt as though this copycat was mocking him with every move.

The only thing that Y/N can think about, is how dark this alley is, how easy it should’ve been for Telen to escape from his attacker. Which can only mean one of two things, the perpetrator had done something to prevent Telen from escaping into the shadows. Or, it was someone he trusted enough that he hadn’t felt the need to. Not until it was too late, that is.

This was a problem. A big problem.

note: short but eventful chapter? and look at me go, updating on an actual schedule thats a first!

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sithsecrets · 4 years ago

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exchange | din djarin x reader

the crest’s one and only crewmember buys mando a few shirts, and he gives her a gift in return.

---

2k words

mentions: none, this is fluff!

this is part 1 of my valentine’s week special! you can find the other parts here!

---

You take notice of it when you’re doing the laundry.

Mando’s got the Crest cruising through hyperspace, course set for Nevarro, and you’re catching on up on chores in the meantime. The baby’s three little outfits are clean and stain-free, you’ve set aside a pair of your own pants for mending, and Mando… Mando, you come to find out, has two shirts. Total. As in, two shirts including the one he’s currently wearing under his armor. You know he had more than that the last time you did the washing, but— but shit, he got cut by a quarry last week, and another one of his beat-up long-sleeves ripped and bit the dust shortly after that. So yep, Mando’s small wardrobe is now even smaller, and that makes you sigh. Even now, the brown cloth you have in your hands feels thin and worn, rough fibers catching your fingers every now and then. You think about telling Mando that he needs some new clothes, but you know he’ll just put it off or insist that whatever he has now is fine. And so you decide that you’ll resolve the issue yourself, knowing that something from the bazaar will probably do.

Sure enough, you find just what you need. The textile vendor says he can match Mando’s measurements without a problem after you show him Mando’s singular extra shirt, and a droid whips up the garments for you right there. You come away with two black and two brown, all long-sleeves and all made from the same material Mando seems to preder. Two are a bit thicker than the others— something for him to wear in the cold— and you decide that they’ll do nicely for his needs. Back on the Crest, you leave the stack of clothes on Mando’s bed and then promptly forget about them, distracted by the baby’s antics further back in the hull.

Mando asks you about the shirts later, holding the stack out to you like he’s looking for an explanation.

“What are these?” he asks, and you’re too busy with dinner to make a big deal of it.

“Those are for you,” you tell him, cutting the heat under the stew you’re making. The baby’s trying to get his hands in the pot, so you snatch him up, settling the little green boy on your hip as you add the finishing touches on tonight’s meal. “I realized you had like, two shirts when I was doing laundry on the way here.”

Mando sounds absolutely floored. “You bought these for me?”

That earns him a little laugh, and you hand him the baby. “No, Mando, I stole them off an Imperial transport vessel. Yes, I bought them for you! What kind of crewmember would I be if I let you run around looking ragged?”

“I…” Mando trails off, settling the Child in his arms. “Thank you.”

And then the two of you don’t talk about it again, the matter quickly forgotten in the midst of the evening ritual and your departure from Nevarro.

Week later, the Crest touches down on a distant planet, a place you’ve never been that Mando knows well. He tells you that the three of you will be spending some time here, and that makes you happy. It seems like a nice place, and the locals are kind.

Two days into this little excursion, you’re about to crawl in bed, only or stop short when you see a little satin pouch sitting on top of the covers. It’s pale blue, blue like the sky on your home planet, and no bigger than your palm. Curious, you pick it up gently, examining the little white embroidery on the edge, the way the drawstring pulls the fabric together just so. It pulls open easily, and you dump the contents into your palm without a second thought.

Scores of pale, pearly little beads glint in the light, strung neatly on a thin, delicate chain. Nothing about the trinket is particularly special, but it’s the simplicity that makes it stunning, in your eyes. You’ve had jewelry over the course of your lifetime, naturally, but never anything so dainty and pretty as this. The beads and the way they’re strung are styles unique to this planet, and you’ve seen countless people wearing necklaces similar to this one over the past few days.

There’s only one person that could have placed this here for you to find, and you go up to the cockpit to speak with him not five minutes after his gift falls in your hand.

Mando’s a bit busy when you go up there, fiddling with something on his vambrace in the pilot’s chair. You feel a little shy as you come to stand before him, the string of beads dangling from your fingers.

“Did you buy me this?” you ask softly, and that’s when Mando finally looks up at you.

“I—” The helmet tilts in the direction of your hand, and it’s like he’s a whole different person. Mando becomes nervous, back stiffening in his chair as he looks from you, to the necklace, and then back again. “I, um. Yeah, I did.”

Just hearing him say it makes you feel lightheaded, but you tell yourself not to get your hopes up. “What for?”

Mando stutters terribly, but he does manage to give you an explanation. “You— Well, you got me those shirts a few weeks ago, and you take good care of the baby. And the ship. And me. I just— I thought you’d like it, that’s all.”

You study the beads carefully for a moment, admiring the way they shimmer in your hand.

“I don’t just like it,” you declare, “I love it.”

And then you’re threading Mando’s give around your neck, reaching behind your head to do up the clasp. The jewelry is just as light as you thought it would be, sitting daintily against your collarbones. Mando watches you do all of this, and not the hundredth time do you wish you could see his face.

“Thank you, Mando, really.”

He nods. “You’re welcome.”

---

“Ah, so my suspicions were correct.”

The sound of the fruit vendors voice catches your attention, and you find yourself face-to-face with her satisfied smile when you lift your head up. You’ve been doing business with her every so often for almost a week now, always intrigued by the selection she has to offer. She also likes the baby, and he’s more than happy to coo at her for a free morsel or two.

“Excuse me?” you blurt, completely lost here. The old woman shakes her head at you, white braid swishing from side to side behind her back, and the smile on her face only deepens.

“Your necklace, child,” she says, pointing at the beads strung around your throat. You touch it on impulse, the baby wriggling in your other arm, and grow even more confused.

“I don’t understand,” you tell her, feeling stupid now, but the old woman just laughs. Her wrinkled fingers are soft on your cheek, the mirth in her eyes unmistakable.

“You don’t have to be secretive with me, my dear,” she chuckles, “I knew you were the Mandalorian’s woman from the minute I saw the both of you together. No man watches a woman that closely if he doesn’t care for her. And now he’s gotten you a necklace, so.”

She punctuates this with a shrug, behaving as if the meaning of your new accessory should be obvious, and you think you might actually pass out.

“I—” You huff, grasping for the right words. “I’m not— I don’t know the ways of this planet,” you say finally, mostly because it’s the truth and mostly because you don’t know how to so much as mention anything else the fruit vendor’s said.

It feels like you’ve been slapped across the face, like someone picked you up and shook you and until your brain rattled around too hard in your skull. Mando knows this place, he knows this city... Custom and culture are sacred to him, even if they have nothing to do with his own, and you find it difficult to believe that Mando gave you this gift without first considering its meaning. This is the man who speaks with the Tuskens, a man who has committed himself to a creed, a man who never wants to be rude or imposing unless he’s dealing with an enemy—

No. No, Mando definitely bought this for you on purpose.

In the thirty seconds it takes for you to form these thoughts, the fruit vendor comes to realize that your confusion was no act. You must look terrible, for she puts a hand on your arm as if to keep you upright.

“My dear, surely— I mean, the two of you care for this baby, and he is always watching over you. I simply thought there was something there, several people in this market did. Forgive me, please, I had no idea—”

“No, no, forgive me,” you blurt, rushing to reassure the woman that she has caused no offense. “I had no idea what these meant. I would have— Maker above, I should have—”

The old woman’s bewilderment matches your own, and you realize that you’re raving like a lunatic.

“I have to go!”

And then you are going, going and going until you’re back on the Crest. The baby seems content to laze about in his pram, thank the stars, and you put him down almost without a second thought, mind racing a thousand kilometers a second. You clamor up to the cockpit like a woman possessed, the noise movement drawing you there. Sure enough, Mando’s right where you thought he would be, parked in his pilot’s chair and fiddling with something on one of his blasters. He doesn’t even turn to look at you when you come up, completely calm despite your frantic movement.

“How was the—?”

“Why did you buy me this?” you cut, bisecting his question with one of your own. Mando’s hands still at once, and he tucks the gun back in the holster at his side.

“Someone told you,” he declares, finally turning to face you. All you can do is nod, heart beating so hard it almost hurts. You can almost taste it, this thing you’ve been wanting for months now, it’s right there on your tongue— but you don’t want to speak, don’t want to be the first one to suggest it. It’s never worked out for you in the past, and with a man like Mando thrown into the equation, you’re not sure what that kind of bravery might get you.

Mando sighs, heavy and tired. You watch him more closely than you’ve watched anyone before in your life as he stands, coming to face you. It’s cramped in this little room, and if you took even just half a step forward, the two of you would be pressed flush. He doesn’t say a word to you, just stands there and stands there until you can’t take it anymore.

“If you didn’t mean it like that, Mando, it’s fine, but I just want to know—”

“I… I’m not good at talking.” These first words have you cutting yourself short, and Mando continues like you never spoke in the first place. “To people, I mean. I can do what I need to do to conduct business, but other than that, I’m useless when it comes to things like this.”

“You talk to the baby,” you offer, and Mando nods.

“I do talk to the baby. Sometimes I even talk to you, but not enough.” He takes in a deep breath, seemingly gathering the courage to continue. “That’s why I did this.”

Mando runs his fingers along the beads at your throat, and it takes all you have not to fall down.

“This… This said everything for me. Or it was supposed to, at least.”

You melt at that, shoulders sagging. “Mando, I didn’t know, not until today.”

“I know,” he says companionably. “It’s not your fault I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” you declare, shaking your head. Mando brings his hand up, pressing it to your cheek like he’s been doing it all his life.

“If I’m not a coward, what am I then?”

All you can do is smile. “You’re mine.”

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #my writing #valentine's week 2021

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catxsnow · 4 years ago

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NERVOUS J.T.

Request: Hello! I would love a fluffy Jason x reader where he goes and buys a engagement ring and says 'I'm rly nervous what if she says no I'm not good enough for her' and dick says BOI JUST DO IT and he does and fluff and crying (from both reader and Jason?!!! :000).

Warning: fluff

A/N: I’m losing followers + Raptors won tonight so HA suck it Celtics

Word Count: 1.8k

Jason and Dick didn't always see eye to eye. They had their fights and disagreements. Neither of them could be in a room for too long together before one was storming out in rage and frustration. At the end of the day, they were brothers, as much as they didn't always want to be.

So, when Jason showed up at Dick's apartment, out of the blue and in civvies, he was more confused than anything. Jason didn't just come by to have coffee and a chat, he came by for business and that was it. Nonetheless, Dick invited him into his home and offered him a drink.

The couch shook as Jason bounced his leg up and down nervously. It was rare to see him like this - he always exuded confidence. Dick handed him the mug of hot tea and sat on the chair across from him. Without evening having to ask, Jason started to spill why he was so antsy.

"It's (Y/N)."

"Are they okay?" Dick asked, suddenly concerned. He had been the one to introduce you to Jason all those years ago. The two of you clicked instantly and it hadn't taken long for him to fall in love with you. You and Jason had been through lots - running with the Outlaws, fighting along side the Great Batman, the two of you have even been to hell and back

No matter what it was, you were always at Jason's side - and he at yours. Dick had never seen such a perfect couple together, he didn't know what Jason would be like if he didn't have you. As the two of you grew, so did your relationship. You became a more mature couple, not just the young, reckless kids you used to be.

Crime fighting was no longer the priority, it was each other. Jason was always going to keep you safe, whether it was day to day life or stopping crime. You had each other's backs constantly. Now, it was time to make that a little more permanent.

Jason rustled his hand in his pocket to find the small velvet box that he had picked up several weeks ago. To be honest, he had impulsively bought it. Now, he was unsure of what to do with it and nervous as hell about what you would think of it.

"Holy shit, man," Dick's eyes widened as he looked at the beautiful engagement ring inside the box. He grabbed the ring from his brother to look at it better. If he knew you well enough - which he did - Dick knew that you were going to absolutely love this. It was exactly your style. "This is amazing!"

"You think they'll like it?" Jason nervously asked. He had not once brought up the idea of marrying you. For years, you thought that he was just content on how your relationship was - not that you thought any differently. Marriage never seemed like an option for either you, your lives were far too busy.

Jason hadn't thought about it for a long time. He didn't think that he needed to marry you to prove his love to you. But, as he passed that jewelry store, all he could think about would be how stunning you would look walking down the isle. As soon as that image popped into his head, he knew he needed to make it a reality.

"I think they'll love it," Dick confirmed. He handed the ring back over to Jason, who tossed the box around in his hands. The first Robin could tell that he wasn't quite convinced by his answer. "You don't think so?"

"I don't know," Jason admitted. "We've been together for so long, but what if that's just because it's easier this way. What if they don't actually love me? What if they say no? I don't want to lose them just because I want to take this extra step."

"You're not going to lose (Y/N), Jaybird," Dick assured. There was no one more perfect for Jason, than you. Everyone knew that, the second that they saw you guys together they assumed that you had already been married. Hell, half the time you acted like it. "They love you, more than anything. Besides, (Y/N) is the best thing to have ever happened to you, there's no way you'll give up on that love so easily."

"Has (Y/N) ever talked to you about a wedding?" Jason asked. He knew that you were friends with Dick for a long time, if there was anyone that would hear about your secrets, it was him. As much as he didn't like you being friends with his older brother, there were times that he was thankful for it.

"No," Dick shook his head. You had never even toyed with the idea of marriage, or maybe you had just kept your thoughts silent. Either way, neither of the men had a clue about what you thought of it. "They're happy with you no matter what. Propose to them, they'll be excited. I know it."

"I hope you're right, Dick."

In all your time that you had known Jason, he had never seemed nervous to you.

Jason was always confident in everything he did - or at least showed that he was. Whether it was beating the ever living hell out of someone or flirting with you, he showed that he knew exactly what he was doing. That was one of the things you loved about him - he was confident.

In all your time that you had known him, Jason proved every day how much he loved you. Whether it was making you breakfast in the morning, buying you flowers out of the blue, or being the hidden romantic that he likes to be. There has never been a time that you doubted his love for you.

For the first time in a long time, Jason had offered to take you on a date. The two of you got dressed up all fancy and headed to some expensive restaurant that you weren't sure you could afford. It was a pleasant surprise to see Jason dressed up in a suit. He looked handsome, but when didn't he?

Throughout the entire night, Jason wavered been the utmost adoration for you, and a state of anxiety. You could see this struggle within him, and upon asking why, he didn't give you a straight answer. Jason often shrugged off his feelings, even when it came to you. It wasn't a surprise when he did it again.

In the end, you had a delicious meal, and an excellent time with Jason, even though you were still worried about him. You hadn't noticed, but Jason continuously shifted the small velvet box in his pocket. That was the reason he had been so nervous.

Jason had full intentions to ask you while you were having your dinner. He had chickened out at every opportunity that he had gotten. Now, the two of you were walking hand in hand as the sun set in the sky. Your home wasn't far away, and instead of hailing a ride, you decided to walk. Any peaceful time spent with Jason was well worth anything.

"You've been acting off all night, Jay," You brought up, again. Jason's hand tightened around yours for a brief moment. "Are you sure you're okay? Bruce isn't getting to you again is he? I'll got talk to him, he doesn't scare me, you know." Yes he did.

Jason chuckled at you, just another thing that he loved about you. You were always willing to protect him against all odds. "No, I haven't talked to Bruce in months," Jason assured you. He stuck his hand in his pocket once more, the heat of the box burning through his skin. "I love you."

"I love you, too," you reached up to kiss him. Jason smiled into the kiss before pulling away. His smile quickly turned into a frown. This had only made you more nervous about what was going through his head at the moment. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just," Jason stuttered over his words. Seeing him nervous like this, it wasn't something you were used to. "I love you, more than anything in this world. And I know that this life that I'm trapped in isn't ideal, and I'm sorry for dragging you in it. But, I wouldn't change anything if it meant I got to have you for the rest of my life.

"You mean everything to me, and I don't know what I'd do without you. You're the person that drives me to be better, to come come home every night. You're the reason that I smile and laugh. I guess what I'm trying to say is... (Y/N) (L/N), will you marry me?"

Jason pulled out the box from his pocket. Just as he was nontraditional in every sense possible, he was with this as well. Instead of getting on a knee, Jason held the opened box towards you, an obvious tremble in his hands. He was far too nervous to move from his spot and get down to the ground.

Tears stung your eyes, never had you imagined Jason would want to get married. You always assumed that he was happy with your relationship and never needing to conform to society's wish of marriage. You were content with that, but marriage was always something you wanted, only with him.

All the words you wanted to say were stuck in your throat. You wanted to scream to the world that you were going to marry the man you loved. You wanted everyone to know just how lucky you were. Instead, all you could manage was a head nod and a massive grin on your face. Jason's nerves finally broke.

He matched the grin that you had and wrapped you in his arms. Without any effort at all, Jason hoisted you off the ground and spun you around. As soon as your feet touch the cement, your lips were on his. he had been beyond excited that you were just as happy as he was about this step.

Jason plucked the ring from the box and smoothly slid it on your finger. It suited you just perfectly - as much as he didn't want to admit it, Dick was right. Jason wiped the tears streaming down your face, followed by wiping his own.

"I love you, Jason," You kissed him once more. Jason no longer cared that you were in the middle of the sidewalk. People walking by as you were completely engrossed with each other. He couldn't bare the thought of letting you go, feared that your acceptance of his proposal was nothing but his imagination.

"Dick was right," Jason chuckled. You raised an eyebrow at him, confused as to why he was bringing up his brother at a moment like this. "You are the best thing that's ever happened to me."

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