#i might have to write a mere snippet of this for that last part alone tbh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heyidkyay · 1 year ago

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And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Thirteen

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: I'm sorry it took so long!! I really struggled to write this part ngl, but once it came I just went with it:) lots of emotions this time around, AS WELL AS some healthy pining in store! So we're finally getting somewhere, finally. Anyway, thanks to @procrastinatinglikeapro for the idea surrounding Mouse's gift to Matty- was struggling with that whole concept but we're going w it now! Hopefully you enjoy, thanks for all the love on this series too, means a whole lot xx

> Just a reminder! We left the last update with a surprise knock at the door:) You can look back here if you'd like, or just read the last little snippet below!

Masterlist

Watching them was all too lovely as well. For someone with such a cool front, Matty seemed to melt around Teddy, succumbing to that of the boy’s charm and easy going nature. It was sweet to see, surprising, but endlessly sweet. Had me losing track of time, in truth. Which is why I jumped and cursed the way I did when the door finally knocked.

“Mémé!”

...

“Mimi?” Matty murmured to himself as he followed the instruction Mouse had left him with, clearing away the wrapping paper Teddy had so carelessly tossed about the room earlier in his excitement and settling the little guitar up onto the sofa.

His eyes lingered on the wooden instrument for a short second, recalling the moment when he’d first spotted it. He hadn’t thought much about what he’d been doing when he’d walked on by the shop window only to then find himself stumbling inside, spending God knows what on a little boy he’d only really met just the once. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it though, even with how nervous he’d been for Teddy’s reaction.

Speaking of Teddy though, the little boy had practically charged the front door the second it had rang a few minutes ago, jumping up and down and tugging at the handle in his obvious excitement, whilst the woman sitting opposite them had frozen completely in her seat, like a soldier experiencing shellshock.

Matty thought they’d been having a good time overall, a brilliant time even! But then the doorbell had sounded and all of her smiles and her carefree laughter had been drenched in water, washed away as soon as she had stood up to answer the knock.

“Mé. Mé.” Came a drawn out voice behind him then, obviously having heard Matty’s shoddy attempt at it and deciding to sound the word out for him.

Matty spun around on his heel to catch sight of the toddler hanging off of the living room door. The kid was like their very own little monkey, always swinging off of something. Matty raised a brow at the correction he’d been given. “Me-me?” He tried again, beyond perplexed and wondering what the fuck everyone was going on about.

Teddy giggled happily at him and then shook his head, curls flying with it, Matty briefly questioned where Squeaks had gotten to.

“Mémé.” The boy sounded it out for him again and this time Matty caught the different accent that had filtered in, it was so prominent when the boy spoke that one word.

Matty’s forehead creased. “Mémé?” At Teddy’s buoyant nod, he grinned at having finally grasped it, “And just who might that be, mate?”

Teddy glanced over his shoulder before he pushed off of the door, letting it swing slightly as he hurried his little feet over to where Matty was currently standing, bin bag in hand. The latter dropped it though to take a seat on the settee, hoisting the little man up onto his knee.

One thing Matty had quickly learned in his short time of knowing the kid, was that Teddy was clingy. Not that that was a bad thing, Matty knew he could be just as bad some days. If not worse. But having someone seek that sort of comfort from him, out of all people, in such an intimate way made him feel necessary, as though he served a real purpose.

“Go on, let me in on the secret then.” Matty prodded, jerking his chin out ever so slightly to nudge Teddy's shoulder. He relished in the soft giggles it earned him.

“Mémé’s my Mémé!”

“Oh! Well, that makes so much sense, don’t it?” Matty remarked in return, rolling his eyes fondly at the unhelpful reply before he tickled the boy’s sides, “Don’t it?”

“Stop, Matty! I tolds you, I tolds you!” Teddy squealed, laughing so hard that he nearly slipped right on out from under Matty’s hold, but the singer propped him back up all too easily.

“You didn’t.” Matty grinned, having relented on his attack of the toddler, settling Teddy more comfortably into his side. He enjoyed having someone smile back at him with no other intention than just the simplicity of enjoying his presence, with kids there was never any ulterior motives. “Where’s your mum anyway, huh?”

“Right here.”

Matty’s head shot up to find Mouse now standing in the doorway wearing a strained sort of smile, a single suitcase behind her and then, “Oh.”

“Mémé!” Teddy pointed, dragging his eyes back up to meet Matty’s weary and startled face as he bounced excitedly.

Of course ‘Mémé’ would've had to have been Squeaks’s mum, because who else could it have possibly been? Who else would have such impeccable timing?

He was fucked. And Matty knew it.

Mouse must've seen the realisation that hit him too, because she used the moment to try and disguise the utter horror dawning on Matty’s face by clapping her hands and promptly glancing back at her mum from over her shoulder. “Mam! This is Matty. Matty,” She turned back to him, thankful to find that he’d sort of wised up to the situation they’d been shafted with and shut his gaping gob, “Matty this is my mum, Anaïs.”

Matty tried extremely hard to commit the pronunciation to memory, which proved to be a little bit easier when the toddler hanging off his hip started parroting it over and over again.

“Eh, excusez-moi! It is Mémé to you, mon chéri.” The woman answered Teddy with a soft sort of smile as Squeaks stepped aside to let her mother further in, aged eyes honed in on her giggling grandson.

Matty took the moment to admire the older woman, focusing on all the things her daughter had obviously inherited, the way she held herself, and the strength of her gaze when it finally landed on him. He swallowed thickly.

“And you are Matty?” Matty nodded at her, not really feeling the way Teddy was now tugging on his fingers whilst the woman stepped even closer, gracing her daughter with a quick look that Matty couldn’t quite make out. “Ah.” She breathed before she finally smiled at him, a small thing, so different to the one he’d previously seen when she’d been teasing Teddy. “Ana is fine really, it seems you people always have a difficult time with it.”

There was humour there but Matty didn’t want to brush her name aside just for the sake of struggling, he’d get there in the end, he was sure of it. Just like how he’d gotten through a setlist full of songs edited by George, replacing most words with- well, probably best not to think of those two very separate things in the same context.

Matty struggled to control his sudden urge to grimace.

“Anaïs?” He stumbled slightly but then tried again with an apologetic smile and dipped brows, “Anaïs.”

“Mémé!” Teddy cut in with a uninformative correction, reaching upwards to poke at Matty’s slightly stubbled cheek. He was in need of a quick shave but seeing as he’d be heading up north for the holidays he’d foregone it, knowing his mum preferred him clean shaven. ‘Makes you look so much healthier, Matthew!’

The man glanced down, a thoughtless chuckle skipping out of his mouth like a rock over a lake as he shook his head closer to the boy’s own, letting his curls tickle Teddy’s tiny face. “Matty!” He laughed again, squirming before he too was shaking his hair in retaliation.

Matty couldn’t quite help his beaming smile when he looked back up at the woman, who seemed very content with just watching the pair of them. His eyes trailed over her shoulder briefly to spot the way that Squeaks was currently chewing on her lower lip, silently fretting.

“Sorry, I’ll get it soon enough.” He told Anaïs with as much genuinity as he could muster up, oddly wanting to keep the woman on side. “It is lovely to meet you though, Anaïs.” She smiled in turn at the use of her name, even with Matty’s slight wince, and then dipped her chin at him. “I didn’t realise I’d be stepping on any toes dropping by.”

“Non, you are fine.” She assured him with a slight shake of her head, waving his apology right off, “My flight was delayed. I was worried I’d be keeping them waiting, so you did me a favour.”

Matty physically felt his shoulders sag with sudden relief at the woman’s words, glad to note that he hadn’t fucked much up by stopping in without a warning. Although, he tapped Teddy’s leg softly then to get him moving, “Don’t you wanna go say hello then, monster? I’d best be off now.”

Teddy’s eyes widened at that last bit and Matty was sure he’d never seen anyone move so fast. “No!” The boy exclaimed, wrapping his chubby little arms around Matty’s neck and holding fast.

Matty’s eyes widened just as he adjusted his grip better around the kid, beyond perplexed by the sudden change. “God, little man! Tryna take me out here?” He chuckled as best he could, voice a tad bit strained by the surprisingly strong hold Teddy had on his neck.

“Teds!” Matty heard Squeaks gasp out quickly, before she was already rounding her mother in a hasty beeline to help. “You can’t just-”

She huffed when Teddy only tightened his grip and Matty couldn’t help the other chuckle that slipped out.

“Teddy.”

“It’s fine, honest.” Matty assured her, a hand splayed on the toddler’s back whilst he stared over at Mouse’s oddly harassed expression. “Teddy, mate. I’ve got to head out now, but I reckon I can promise you a visit soon though. If your mum doesn't mind much.”

The pair of them shared a look then, but Teddy didn’t take to the ruse.

Matty pursed his lips to keep his growing grin at bay, knowing it wouldn’t earn him any points with Mouse, and then moved at an angle in an attempt to see the little boy’s face that was still hidden away in the curve of his shoulder.

“Teds, look. We can make a plan, yeah? ‘Cause I proper enjoyed that last little outing we had the other day- you know, the way you went down that slide at the park was crazy! “ Matty peered in closer and smiled at the sight of a blinking eye. “Or maybe you can come ‘round mine. I’ve got lots of guitars there, reckon we could mess about with them and annoy your mum until she goes mad.”

That had Teddy pulling further away, but only by a fraction. Matty noted the way not just Squeaks, but Anaïs too, was watching him now.

“Play ‘tars?”

Teddy’s small voice snapped him out of the apprehensive feeling that had started to coil. He blinked down at the kid, “Yeah, if you want. We can do whatever, yeah? Zoo, the park-” Matty sort of frowned then and glanced back up towards where Squeaks was now crouched before them, “What else do kids like to do?”

His whispered ask was rewarded with a breathy chuckle that lit up the girl's entire face and had her giggling away to herself even as her son squirmed excitedly in Matty’s hold.

“Zoo?” Teddy questioned him with big pleading eyes, “With the ‘guins? And the tigers?”

Matty felt his face pinch, “‘Guins?”

“The cold birdies, Matty! ‘Dem ones.”

Ah.

“Yeah, ‘course the penguins will be there!” Matty nodded resolutely, then turned back to Mouse, “London Zoo has penguins right?”

She snorted unhelpfully but Teddy paid their conversation no mind at all, apparently far too excited with the sudden prospect of an adventure to the Zoo. Looking at his face, Matty knew he’d have to find a way to make it happen.

“Right, we all settled then?” He asked the toddler, raising an eyebrow down at the tyke, suddenly wondering how he’d gone from pleasing a crowd full of fans to bargaining with a four year old. How his mum had ever managed to cope with the likes of him at this age was maddening.

Teddy looked up at him then with eyes squinted from the strength of his smile, he took a long second to deliberate the whole ‘letting go thing’ and then finally released Matty from his chokehold.

“Cheers, monster.” Matty laughed softly, ruffling the kid’s curls before passing him off over into Mouse’s awaiting arms.

“Hear, mum! Hear Matty?” Teddy quizzed her immediately, bouncing on her hip as she stood.

“I heard, love.” Squeaks chuckled softly before she turned to flash a smile in Matty’s direction, both apologetic and grateful. “You wanna say thanks to Matty for your present before he goes?”

“Ta!”

A bright laugh burst from Matty at that, but he shook his head and then forced himself back onto his feet, reaching out to tickle the little boy’s leg. “Welcome, mate.”

And just like that Teddy was squirming to get down and go see his grandmother who appeared to have watched the whole scene play out from the sidelines.

Matty dimmed his grin into a smaller smile and let his eyes linger on the girl beside him, on the love she obviously had for her son and mother both. He wondered briefly what having that much love might feel like.

“I cleared up, by the way.” He mentioned quietly now that he was watching Teddy too, leaning into Squeaks’s side a little. “Figured it was only right, seeing as I’d been the cause and all that.”

She tittered lightly to herself, then pivoted to face him. “I appreciate it, all of it.”

It was obvious she wasn’t just talking about the clean up.

“No worries.” Matty shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling suddenly self-conscious, which wasn’t new but was also not appreciated. “I’d better be off, though, got a long drive and all that.”

Her brows rose ever so slightly before she nodded, as though she’d only just remembered he was meant to be on his way. “Yeah, yeah right. I’ll walk you out.”

Matty smiled, then turned back to the remaining two. “Monster! I’ll be seeing you! Be good and keep practising those chords for me, alright? I’ll be checkin' in.”

Teddy nodded buoyantly from where he had dragged his grandmother over to the sofa to view his gifted guitar, “Bye, Matty. See soon!”

Kid was a right little charmer.

Matty grinned back at him before allowing his eyes to meet Anaïs's own. “It was lovely meeting you, have a Merry Christmas.”

Anaïs granted him with a soft smile, one that Matty had only ever really seen mimicked by his own mum. “It was. Joyeux Noël, Matty.”

He nodded quietly to himself, the French infiltrating his mind. By the time both he and Mouse had made it back out into the hallway, the living room door now closed behind them, Matty allowed himself to voice his sudden thoughts, “You never said you were French.”

Squeaks quirked a brow at him in return, already pulling his coat off the hook and handing it over to him. Matty slowly shucked it on.

“Half.” She informed, watching him now from her place by the bannister, “And there’s a lot you don’t know about me yet, Healy.”

It was teasing but Matty knew that truth rather intimately, Mouse was a maze of secrets. Her name, her son, her origin. He wondered over what else she had kept so carefully hidden, but bit his tongue when he thought to ask. Yet, she had said. Matty could deal with a ‘yet’.

“Seems so.” He hummed sarkily, although he was smiling again. He always seemed to be smiling nowadays. Then he went to double check he had everything in his pockets only to realise that his jacket still homed one last gift. “Shit.” He muttered under his breath.

Mouse’s brow dipped, “What?”

A surge of anticipation surged through him at that question, what indeed. What the fuck had he been thinking, more like.

He’d gifted presents to women before, friends, girlfriends, staff at gigs. But this one left him feeling all weird. The type of weird that you often felt getting caught with a girl at school, or mentioning a silly crush to one of your mates on the playground.

His eyes flickered up to meet hers in the dimly lit hallway, fingers dancing over the envelope he had tucked away.

“Matty?”

Matty forced up that familiar bravado of his and stepped on closer, plucking the present from the confines of his coat as if he hadn't actually had a second thought about it, and then held it out towards her with a sly grin.

“Realised I couldn’t come bearing just one gift.” He told her, widening his eyes and prodding the envelope closer so that she’d finally get the hint and take it. Her fingers grasped it carefully, like she was wary he’d snatch it back.

Then her warm eyes met his own again, “Matty.”

He didn’t think he would ever get used to the sound of her saying his name. No matter how she said it.

Matty straightened at it though, already knowing she’d try to give it on back before even opening the thing, and waved her on, “Go on, it’s right rude to deny a present, you know?”

That spurred a soft laugh out of her, ever entertained by his absurdity. But before he could cajole her a little more, her face was lighting up with a sudden realisation, “Hang on a sec.” She said to him and then darted back down the hallway, leaving Matty blinking in her wake.

It didn’t take her all that long to return, though the suspense she’d left him with had now jumped to new heights.

“Sorry,” Squeaks smiled sheepishly, the envelope still in her hand, only weighed out now by the small bag she held in the other, “Forgot this.”

Matty was back to blinking again, startled by the fact that she had thought to get him something at all, let alone in return. “Um,” He murmured, rendered dumbstruck, before her light laughter broke him free. “If there’s something dirty in there, I will be telling your mother.”

Her eyes narrowed but her lips curved, “If you can make it to her in time.”

“Ooh sending out threats now, are we?”

That smile of hers was both devious and full of amusement, “Always.” Then she pushed the bag towards his chest, “Go on, open it.”

Matty shook his head, though he still accepted the Christmas patterned bag full of red tissue paper. “I gave you mine first, so I can’t open this ‘til you open yours.” He shook the bag to further accentuate his point.

“That's how it works, is it?” Squeaks commented, eyes creasing in her mirth, but Matty was as stubborn as they came and met her stare head on. “Fine,” She relented with a gentler smile, as though she already knew she wouldn’t win this particular battle, and moved to hold the envelope between them, thumbing the seal. “But this better be something nice, Matty. If it’s stupid I will toss you out.”

He laughed at the fact that they were already standing by the door, “Already are, sweetheart. But nah, you’re alright. Just hoping you’ll like it.”

Those eyes of hers flickered between his own again, left, right, then like ripping off a plaster she opened the envelope within a blink. As she grasped at the pages tucked within, Matty felt his resolve crumble somewhat, vaguely embarrassed by the many emotions he currently felt warring within him and the fact that he couldn’t wage how Mouse might react.

But all those thoughts and feelings were immediately sidelined when he heard her gasp, this breathy little thing that echoed in the small space between them and had Matty’s mind reeling.

“Matty.”

He reckoned that if he could get away with asking her to only say his name again, exactly like that, he’d record it and give it its own side on their next album. Fuck anyone who’d argue otherwise.

Her expression was one Matty had never witnessed on Mouse before. He’d seen her surprised (that day he’d turned up out of the blue at the studio), seen her happy (messing about with Teddy on Facetime, listening to the boy ramble and rant), he’d seen her awkward and stressed (at that charity event where he’d been all but glued to her side), and he’d also seen her tired (when those late night calls of theirs had ended with bleary eyes and sweet smiles).

Matty swallowed at the heavy feeling he felt corrode his chest.

“I can’t take these, Matty.” She argued, all but pulling him back to the present when she tried to hand the gift back to him.

He swatted her arm away, shaking his head with a tiny smile. “You can take them. What the fuck am I gonna do with 'em otherwise?”

She rolled her eyes but let his hand linger on the back of her own. “It’s way too much. I mean, how did you even manage it, how’d you even know?”

Matty laughed at that, “You’re really asking how I knew? Squeaks, babe, you bring him up almost every time we talk, you sing his songs when you’re cooking on call, and you never fail to mention him on your show. Even Teddy pipes up when he’s playing on the radio!”

Mouse had the nerve to look abashed at that. “It’s still too much.”

“Of course it’s too much. But I am, if anything, extreme.” Matty snipped back, smirking.

“But it’s Billy Joel, Matty! You can’t just buy a girl tickets to go and see Billy Joel!” Squeaks immediately argued back, though Matty noticed the way her eyes shone whenever she looked down at the tickets and how her fingers toyed with the paper ever so carefully.

“You’re right,” He agreed again, surprising her, “Good thing I got you two then.”

She gave him a huffy sigh in retort, one that had him grinning. “Matty.”

“Mouse.”

Her nose scrunched then, at the use of her name or the way he'd parroted, Matty couldn’t tell. “How am I meant to compete with tickets like these?”

Matty rolled his eyes at the stupidity of that question, “You don’t, I didn’t just give you them thinking I’d get something in return, Squeaks. I want you to have them.”

He was met with a drawn out silence then, her stare drifting back and forth between the tickets, himself and then back again. “Thank you.” She finally said, looking up at him with a wonder in her eyes that made Matty question whether she’d ever just been given anything for the sake of it.

“You’re welcome, love.” The smile he wore grew when she looped her arms around his waist to pull him into a hug.

Hugs were a rare thing with Mouse, Matty had noted, unless you were four and had a mop-full of curls then you’d best not even think about offering her one. Though he had that last bit down tap, they didn't really do that sort of thing past a greeting.

Still, hugging her settled something within him, something he couldn’t quite comprehend but allowed to wander all the same.

She squeezed his middle once before they parted again and Matty did his best to ignore the slight sheen her eyes now held and the way she slyly wiped at her nose. “Really, Matty. It means so much.”

Matty felt his heart stutter at the tender look she wore, then smiled. “Just make sure you send me the odd video, alright? Or at least a pic of you all dressed up.”

She laughed when he winked but he didn’t let it deter him. He wasn’t a constant listener of Old Joe but a classic was a classic, and the man was exactly that.

“Won’t need to.” Squeaks told him firmly and when he raised a brow she grinned hopefully, “You’ll be coming with, won’t you?”

Of all reactions, it was baffling to Matty that he had not expected that.

“Me?” He asked her, needing her to clarify.

“I don’t see no one else standing here.” She snorted, but her grin dampened all too quickly at the expression that must’ve been plastered on his face. “You don’t have to, I know you’re busy and got stuff going. Just thought…”

She finished that with a needless shrug which had Matty reaching out, hand cupping her right cheek, fingers slipping gently into her hair, it was soft. “‘Course I’ll come. Nothing could stop me.”

Her eyes had widened momentarily at the unexpected touch, Matty was quick to notice, but couldn’t bring himself to pull away just yet, especially when her face softened and she leaned ever so slightly into his hold.

–

‘Course I’ll come. Nothing could stop me.

Those words played on a loop in my head for the rest of the day, taking me through into the late evening where I was currently stood in the kitchen making another round of tea. Chamomile for mam, green for me.

The words were a promise I couldn’t quite find myself believing.

Too many people had promised me things; promised to keep my secrets, promised to keep me safe, promised to be there, promised to come. But only a fair few had ever followed through.

Matty was an anomaly though.

In himself, and in everything he said and did.

It always left me thinking, wondering...

It was just as I was stirring the honey into the mug that wasn't mine that I startled at the soft brush I felt beside me.

“I was just coming.” I attempted to say, glancing over at my mum who now stood beside me at the counter, gazing out the tiny kitchen window.

She waved me off with a tender smile, taking over honey duty as she slid her cup closer. “Your mind has been elsewhere today.” She accused me and immediately I felt my hackles rise, ready to jump into defence mode, but she merely casted me a careless look. “You never mentioned this Matty before.”

The change of subject threw me, enough that I frowned and was quiet until she wandered on over to take perch at the table with both our drinks. I blinked, feeling the fight drain out of me, then followed after her.

The chair scraped against the tiles as I pulled it free and I cringed at the silence that followed, hoping it hadn’t stirred Teddy who had not long fallen asleep down the hall.

When the quiet remained, I finally took my seat, wrapping my fingers around the warm mug and pulling it in nearer. “I didn’t think to.” I told her, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. I was quick to drown it in tea.

My mum merely hummed, sipping elegantly at her chamomile. “He seems comfortable here. Teddy likes him too.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. Thinking about earlier, the present Matty had gifted me, the one I’d given him in turn.

I could still feel the press of his hand against my cheek. So gentle, I’d almost wanted to break.

“They met about a week ago, an accident really.”

She hummed again, staring off ahead, and so I picked up my mug to keep myself from talking any more.

It had felt wrong, not getting Matty a present, which seemed so strange considering the circumstances. On how we’d only known each other a few short months. But I still couldn’t find it in me to ignore the feeling.

I could recall his face when he’d finally pulled away to peer into the gift bag I’d handed him, he’d been chewing on lip trying to dampen the sincerity of his smile...

Wary and still reeling off of the tender moment we’d just shared, I fidgeted with the envelope I held in my hand. It looked to be black but in the light it shone blue. It felt expensive, though I could see the way it had been fidgeted with, or held, like someone had kept picking it up only to put it down again.

Matty opened the bag with the same fragility I’d shown his envelope, rustling the tissue paper inside without much fanfare.

When he pulled the woolly item out from inside I felt all too stupid. What were his concert tickets to see one of my favourite musicians compared to a simple hat? I fretted.

I fish mouthed for a brief moment when his fingers swiped over the soft material, before my eyes finally darted up to meet his honeyed brown.

“You got cold, that time we took you to the park. Teddy said it would be good for the next time we go.” I stumbled slightly, it wasn’t the whole truth, no. But I wouldn’t dare mention the hours I’d spent searching for the right one, none of them feeling anything like ‘Matty’ until I’d seen this redcurrant coloured beanie.

He stared down at the gift for a long second, leaving me to wallow in my pitiful gift and the hastily given thought behind it, before he smiled. It was kind and it was genuine and it had the air fleeing from my lungs.

“Well, I’ll wear it and think of you both.” Matty murmured breathily, his voice catching ever so slightly on that last word. I swallowed thickly and without thinking took his hand in mine.

He looked down at the joined pair and smiled, but our quiet moment was then interrupted by rather loud strumming that echoed out.

Shocked, we both jumped a tad at the sound but then laughed, listening to Teddy call for his Mémé to watch him play.

I went to let go and Matty almost let me before he lightly tugged my hand closer, pressing the woolly hat into my palm. “Put it on for me?”

Blinking, I grasped the beanie tighter and watched as his hand fell away. I nodded when I glanced back up at him, his eyes watching me closely, then stepped forward, fumbling to carefully place my envelope in the back pocket of my jeans before fixing the hat over the top of his dark unruly curls.

Having to tiptoe, I let my thumb skim the brim of it, just above the skin of his brow, so that I could fix it a tad. Then peered into his warm eyes once more, “There you go.”

Matty smiled, and oh did I love seeing him smile.

We didn’t speak as he roped me into another hug, arms latching around one another's middles. We didn’t share many of those but somehow they always felt right, and then when he stepped away I felt the faint graze of his lips against my cheek.

His fingers were catching the latch on the front door before I could even react, his smile still there, his eyes now shining with some sort of emotion I couldn’t place.

“Merry Christmas, Squeaks.”

I came back to then, at the feel of my mother’s hand cradling mine atop the kitchen table, my head turned to search her tender stare. “Glowing, ma chérie.” She reminded me and oddly, I felt caught.

“Maman.” I whispered, looking away, but all she did was gently pat the back of my hand before pulling back.

“Petit à petit, l'oiseau fait son nid.” Was all that she said, throwing me back to days spent when I’d only been a little girl curled up in her lap.

Little by little, the bird makes its nest.

Slowly but surely things will change. I just had to remind myself that change wasn’t always a bad thing.

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ronearoundblindly · 2 years ago

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Ro's Bi-Weekly Edit

[skipped Feb 26th-Mar 11th, included here]

March 12th - March 25th, 2023

In case you missed it, here are the fics and ficlets posted within the last four two weeks!

Below the cut are links and snippets of 4 works from 3 series:

Threadbare, Part One Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

You are a ninja with the tape measure, gentle hands sliding over his chest and waist and—Steve swallows—his hips, all while rattling off numbers…which no one writes down. Steve moves his arms and legs when told. When you’re kneeling on the edge of the platform, eye level with his crotch, Steve decides to distract himself and get some answers. “I’ve been looking forward to my first meeting with Mr. Tovarich. When might he arrive?” Tony clears his throat, wincing. “Not possible, buddy.” Steve tenses. “I thought that—“ “You can’t meet him for the first time.” Tony holds up a hand before Steve can move. “You already did. She’s measuring the distance between your balls and the floor.” Steve startles out a ‘what,’ snapping his legs shut with your hand between his thighs. “Captain Steve Rogers, please meet your favorite designer,” Tony beams, shoving his tongue against the inside of his cheek and hiking up his eyebrows. Steve shrinks, face burning. “Hello, Captain Rogers,” you introduce yourself with a lovely smile, “I will…need my hand to make your suit, sir.”

The Root of All Ransom, Part Six/Finale, Rated Mature Ransom Drysdale x Rich!Reader

Because Ransom needs money. He had money long before he had you. It’s what he needs the most in life. He loves money. If losing you is what it takes to keep the money… That’s the thought he can’t finish as control of the urge to come slips from his bruising fingers. His desire for his status quo is faltering. His equilibrium’s been changed. He does love money. He does. Now, to Ran's surprise, he loves you, and he has no fucking clue how to love both. He doesn’t know if can keep both. But friction is friction. He’s surrounded by the feel and sound and smell of sex. It’s familiar and more than a little haunting to him if this is the last time, but Ran crests that mountain before any coherent thoughts form. He can’t trust himself to speak. He might repeat what he never should have said aloud.

Threadbare, Part Two Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Tony lifts his hands in surrender and starts retreating to the door. “Look, I hate to take credit—“ “No, you don’t.” Incredulous, sagging eyebrows dip below his frames. “—but I am very, very good.” He points a finger back and forth between you and Steve. “You’re welcome.” He tries to peek under a pile of sketches atop your work tote, and you rush to slap your hand down. Stark might see the other designs you’re working on, and just like he can’t know about Fisk, he can’t know about those. “Fine.” Tony puts his hands up again. “I’m going.” Steve steps to your side, apology loud in his eyes, and asks if he can make you a tea or something stronger, ya know, because Tony has that effect on people. “Yeah—“ you stare off toward the elevators where Stark remains lurking “—he’s still there,” you whisper. Steve huffs a laugh and shifts to bridge the mere inches left between you, his hand gently landing on your upper arm and planting a kiss on your forehead like a breeze. “Better make it look good then.”

The Dignity of His Choice, Reflection: Part One, Rated Mature Steve Rogers x Wife!Reader from Fools Rush In

That’s the epic truth you lost touch with when Steve was out-of-touch. People always grow; it’s just not always in the same direction. Steve has made a point to grow alongside you, and he deserves not to be alone in his efforts. You cannot fathom all that Captain Steve Rogers has endured in the last three months or the last century, but you can try. Love is walking beside someone when you can’t see the path beneath: one or both of you could have no footing, and you’ll still take that step. One stumbles, the other balances the weight until equilibrium is reached. There are plenty of steps forward, but for now, Steve melds to you, plants his feet beside yours and carries the burden of it all because he let go of your hand when he stumbled. He let go, and you still held him high. He would fall without you. He shouldn’t lose the love he walks beside, the warmth he feels close to his soul, solely because he stumbled in fear. He still stumbles as a dancer though. That consistency, at least, is as comforting as ever. Song by song, you reminisce, slowly evolving from smiles to chuckles to laughter that shakes both of you. You missed him. You missed his perspective. You missed his purity. You missed your perfectly imperfect partner. Steve’s the One in every way. He always was.

#ro's bi-weekly edit #in case you missed it #threadbare #the root of all ransom #fools rush in #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fanfiction #steve rogers smut #ransom smut #steve rogers fluff

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yukidragon · 4 years ago

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Our Life Snippet - Adrift

So... time for more first draft novelization clips from Our Life: Beginnings & Always by @gb-patch. As always, I want to thank all of you who like these clips I'm sharing here, especially this lovely game's equally lovely creators. It's all so motivating for me to keep going with this passion project.

I noticed that there’s been some call in the tags for some fanfiction of Cove comforting Jamie, so I think I shall oblige that desire... by starting off with the hurt part of the classic hurt/comfort equation. After all, comfort isn’t as satisfying without showing why it’s necessary, don’t you think? ;3

Don’t worry, the comfort half will be posted soon. It’s just showing the whole thing at once is wayyy bigger the usual slices of snippet offerings I toss up here. It’s a lot bigger than usual even when sliced in half like this.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy my take on the moment from Step 2 that started me writing this novelization in the first place - Family.

...

The air in the house felt stifling. It wasn’t an overly hot or humid day, but the air felt too thick. The lack of oxygen made it hard to think straight. Jamie needed to go outside. She needed to get her thoughts in order. She needed someone to talk to about this, someone who could help her sort her head out so she could figure out what she could do about all of this.

She needed Cove.

Jamie returned downstairs. She caught sight of her mothers standing around at the kitchen counter while Lee sat awkwardly alone on the sofa, but her gaze slipped away from them quickly as she kept walking towards the door.

“I’m going out,” she said before worrying that the abrupt statement might give her family the wrong impression. “Just for a little while.” She threw her moms another carefully crafted smile, but still didn’t meet their eyes. “I’ll be back before it’s really late.”

Neither Noelani nor Pamela said anything, merely nodding at their daughter. They trusted Jamie to make the best call for what she needed right now. Jamie loved them for that.

“I love you,” Jamie said as she opened the door, but she didn’t give her parents a chance to respond in kind before closing the door behind her.

The walk to Cove’s house never felt so far. Jamie ached to see him. She needed to be with him. Right now. She was at a loss for what to do with her family, her thoughts adrift in a stormy sea. But if she was with Cove, somehow it would be alright. She was sure of it.

Jamie readied to knock even before she reached the front step, but a voice stilled her hand just above the door.

It was muffled, coming from inside the house, but she recognized the voice as belonging to Cliff. She couldn’t make out the exact words, but he sounded jovial, obviously having a good day. A moment later, a lighter, more tinkling voice answered with equally good cheer - Kyra.

Jamie took root on the doorstep of the Holden household. She wanted to see Cove. She needed to see Cove. Yet, in order to see him, that meant talking to his parents. His parents who only recently started being friendly to each other in front of him. She could just see them smiling at her if either one were to answer the door, oblivious to the turmoil in the Leimomi household, asking her about how she was doing and what was going on.

Why did that terrify her so much?

What if they noticed something was wrong? What if they asked her about it? She couldn’t tell them about what was going on with her sister. It was too personal. Yes, she liked Cliff and Kyra - they were great people, they were Cove’s parents, and their families were close - but this was a step too far.

Telling Cove that Elizabeth was heartbroken about losing the family she was born to was one thing, but Jamie couldn’t confide something so personal to anyone else.

Besides, things were already rocky at the Holden household. They were just starting to be alright again for Cove, despite the rough patches that hit this summer.

The worst of which being when Jamie herself opened her big fat mouth and told Cove about the twenty dollars.

Jamie dropped her hand, letting it hang limply at her side. She still ached to be with Cove, but she couldn’t, not until she could be sure she wasn’t simply tossing another emotional hand grenade in his lap just to make herself feel a little better.

Cove deserved better than that.

Jamie had barely dragged herself two steps away from the door when it opened behind her. She jumped at the sound of Kyra’s voice, no longer obstructed by the door.

“I’ll be right ba… Huh?” Kyra blinked, clearly surprised by Jamie’s presence on the way out to wherever it was she was going. She brightened immediately, however. “Oh, hi Jamie.” She smiled knowingly, not that the blue-haired girl could see it. “Are you here to see Cove?”

The words got stuck in Jamie’s throat as she panicked for a moment, scrambling for how to answer. All she had to do was say ‘yes’, but…

Jamie couldn’t handle the feeling of Kyra’s questioning gaze on her, piercing through her back. Kyra was expecting to see her usual smile and friendly demeanor, but she couldn’t be that right now. Her attempts at a smile felt too tight, too unconvincing, so she kept her face turned away from Cove’s mom, her eyes glued to the pavement as she forced herself to take another step away, then another.

It was hard for Jamie to sound normal when she finally forced words from her tight throat. “I… I’m just… walking.”

“Really?” Kyra asked, the disbelief in her voice clear as she watched Jamie walk away with a gradually increasing pace. “Okay then. I guess he’ll see you later?”

Jamie merely nodded as she forced herself to keep moving.

Time passed without meaning as Jamie focused on her feet as they led her forward. Where she was going, she had no idea. Her only plan had been to talk to Cove. Without that, without him, she felt as though she had been cast adrift in a stormy sea with no sign of land in sight.

Whenever a familiar resident of Sunset Bird gave Jamie a typical greeting as she passed them by, she pretended not to hear them, carefully avoiding looking in their direction. Their eyes lingered after her with silent questions she didn’t want to answer, she could feel them clinging to her skin even after she left the roads behind.

The eyes of tourists weren’t much better. There were so many of them when her feet crossed from grass to sand. Fortunately, the tourists didn’t care to talk to her, particularly to potentially ask her probing questions. They didn’t know her or suspect anything was going on with her. They would have no idea about what was troubling her or the turmoil happening with her family. They wouldn’t care to ask her about them. They were just there to have fun at the beach then leave. They were little different than noisy shadows she drifted past.

Except for their eyes. Jamie could feel their eyes following her too.

Jamie did her best to focus more on the sound of the waves crashing against the shore instead of the chatter of people enjoying the last few minutes of the sun’s rays, or the noise inside her head. Her thoughts came erratically, constantly interrupting each other and overlapping until it all garbled together into something like radio static.

Jamie kept walking. It was all she could do.

What did Jamie think she was going to say to Elizabeth anyway? ‘Sorry, sis. My parents are dead too. Do you want a hug?’ It was absurd to think she could’ve talked to her sister sooner when she couldn’t even think straight now.

What if something awful had happened to Elizabeth to make her want to see her biological parents?

What if Elizabeth wanted to be with her biological parents instead of them?

And what of their moms? They must have felt miserable because of how Elizabeth lashed out at them. They didn’t deserve that. Neither did Elizabeth.

Everything was awful. The world was crashing down around Jamie, and she had no idea how to help anyone. She couldn’t even do something as simple as see Cove, which came as naturally to her as breathing. A day like Cove was a day without sunshine. She felt cold, an empty part of her inside aching for him more than anyone else.

But Jamie wasn’t the one who needed comfort right now. She was fine. Biological parents weren’t something important to her. They had never been important. What was important was her family. Elizabeth and their mothers were suffering. She had to fix this.

The question was how. How? How?!

When the tourists thinned out, and Jamie could finally raise her head without risking catching anyone’s eye, she turned her gaze to the water as her feet continued to propel her forward. She watched the waves rhythmically crash along the shore, the water stretching out along the wet sand, her feet occasionally caressed by foam as she kept walking until finally she was sure no one would see her anymore.

The only one she wanted to see right now was Cove.

The water wasn’t blue, but instead a striking shade of pink shifting slowly to orange. Jamie watched as the orange gradually transitioned to purple. There were few things as beautiful as watching the sunset over the water.

Would she have ever seen a sunset like this with her biological family?

Vaguely, Jamie recognized the area her feet carried her to - it was one of the sections of beach the tourists rarely ventured, a place the locals enjoyed. Certainly, it was one of the more out of the way spots, one mercifully empty of anyone but her. It was one she had been to before with Cove when other parts of the beach were crowded. It was someplace that would be perfect to have fun together, just swimming, surfing, playing volleyball, or…

Would she even like those things if she wasn’t a Leimomi?

Jamie finally stopped walking. She focused on thoughts of Cove, but even those filled her with regret. She wanted to see him so badly. Why didn’t she just see Cove when she had the chance? All it would have taken was just a single word to Kyra. She had managed some, so what was one more? All she had to do was say so and things would be better right now, she knew it. Why couldn’t she even handle something so easy?

Why could Jamie never say what she really wanted? Why was it just so hard to say that she wanted to be with Cove?

If her original parents hadn’t died, she never would have met him.

Or her moms. Or Elizabeth. Or Lee. Or everyone else.

They would be strangers. Everyone important in her life would all be strangers. They wouldn’t know her, couldn’t love her. They wouldn’t even know she ever existed.

And… it would be the same for her towards them. She wouldn’t be able to feel anything for them just like she didn’t feel anything for her dead birth par…

Jamie covered her mouth and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, feeling her stomach roil in rebellion despite how empty it was.

When Jamie got the urge to retch under control, she took a deep breath until her lungs ached before letting it out slowly and shakily. She tried to quiet the screaming static in her mind by focusing on the scenery around her.

It was a futile effort, but it was all she could do.

Jamie kicked off her sandals, abandoning them somewhere in the direction away from the shifting tide. She focused on the cool, wet sand beneath the soles of her feet, squishing between her toes. The water caressed her, washing the sand away and pulled her towards the sea. The feeling was intimately familiar, almost playful. It tempted her to swim. The idea of floating in the water, letting her worries drift away with the tide felt so appealing to her chaotic mind.

But the last thing her moms needed was to deal with her coming back in soaked clothes covered in sand on top of everything else.

Jamie breathed in deep, focusing on the scent of saltwater carried on the wind. The ocean was soothing, it always had been. The way the color changed with the time of day was endlessly fascinating. It had become blue again once the sun disappeared completely, but instead of the beautiful greenish blue of the day that always reminded her of Cove’s eyes, it was the deep rich blue of night. The surface of the water, far off in the distance where the waves tapered off to nothing, was a mirror reflecting the sky as it settled into its final hue for the day.

She had to get herself together if she was going to be of help to anybody.

At some point, Jamie found herself seated on the ground, close enough to feel the waves caress her feet, but just far enough away that she wouldn’t get her pants or skirt wet. She could brush the sand off later so she wouldn’t track it in the house.

Was Elizabeth still in her room crying and wishing for a life that had been stolen from her? A life without her or their moms?

Were their moms beside themselves with worry that their family was falling apart at the seams?

Why was Jamie just sitting here when her family was suffering? She should be back at home doing… something at least. They needed her help, damn it!

Did she even deserve to be here at all?

...

Cove was having a great day. Despite the rough start to the summer and the rough patches that happened on occasion since, it had been like a dream for him to have his family back together, even if temporarily.

Today, Cove and his dad had the opportunity to show his mom many of the things about Sunset Bird that made living there so enjoyable. There had been a couple awkward moments here and there, but they had been few and far between, giving the three of them a rare day filled with smiles, sunshine, and laughter. Fishing, shopping, tennis, and even some time at the beach had left the three of them in high spirits.

Now they were back home together were back home, hungry and eager for dinner, which his dad was only too happy to provide. The conversation the three of them had while eating was light, as the tension that hung in the air between them faded little by little as they spent more time together.

The only downside to having a fun day out with his parents was not being able to see Jamie. Cove resolved to remedy that after dinner.

“You know, I saw Jamie earlier,” Kyra said in an off-handed manner.

Cove clanked his silverware against the dish. The timing made his face warm a bit, but he paid rapt attention to his mom.

“It was right before dinner,” Kyra said. That meant it was only half an hour ago at most. “It’s funny, I thought she was coming to see you, Cove. She was right outside the front door, but I guess she was just taking a walk on this side of the street.”

“What?” Cove said, his eyebrows raising.

That was strange. Why didn’t Jamie ask him to join her if she stopped by the house?

Cove turned to Cliff. “Did you hear her knock, Dad?”

Cliff shook his head and threw his son a grin. “Nope, and trust me, I wouldn’t have missed it.”

Kyra gave Cove a knowing look, her smile taking a teasing bend to it. “Oh, I already asked Jamie if she wanted to come in,” she said before her smile faded a little. “But I guess she was really set on taking that walk. She said she’d see you later though.”

It shouldn’t have struck Cove as strange as it did, but he knew Jamie better than that. If she was just going on a walk and already at his house, there’s no way she wouldn’t have asked if he wanted to join her. If she was busy with an errand or something like that, then he would understand, but just a walk? It wasn’t as if she could’ve mistakenly believed that he wasn’t home if his mom thought she was stopping by to visit.

Something about this didn’t sit right with Cove, no matter how much he tried to tell himself that he was just overthinking things. It made him that much more determined to stop by and see Jamie as soon as possible.

With his dinner finished in record time, Cove was quick to excuse himself to head next door. He pretended not to see the looks his parents gave him and outright ignored the comments they threw his way that held a teasing note to them.

It took a little longer than Cove liked before someone answered at the Leimomi house. Pamela stared at him after opening the front door, startled by the sight of him, but a moment later she managed a smile, though it was feeble and forced.

“Oh, hello, Cove,” she said. She sounded tired.

“Hi, Mrs. Leimomi,” Cove said with an awkward smile of his own.

“Sorry, but Jamie isn’t here right now,” Pamela said before Cove could even ask the usual question.

Jamie was still out on that walk? It was already after sunset.

“Did she say where she was going or when she’d be back?” Cove asked, with growing unease.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Pamela looked past Cove to the street for any sign of Jamie returning home, but there was no sign of her absent daughter. “No,” she said eventually, though she was still looking past him. “Sorry, we don’t know where she’s gone.” She sighed and shook her head. “Don’t feel like you have to sit around waiting for her. We don’t know when she’ll be back.”

That set Cove on edge. “What?!” he blurted out, his eyebrows shooting upwards. “Why?”

Pamela hesitated, reluctant to speak. She glanced back at the house towards the kitchen where Noelani was holding a mug of something hot and soothing. Their eyes met, and although her wife was too far away to hear the conversation, it wasn’t hard to figure out what it was about. She waited for Noelani to nod at her before looking back at Cove.

“Jamie… needed to get away for a while,” Pamela said, the words coming out slowly as she chose them with care. “She’ll probably see you tomorrow.”

Every word was like a lead weight that sunk into the pit of his stomach, and for a moment Cove could only stare at Pamela, scarcely breathing. The word ‘probably’ stood out in particular, prodding into him with its sharp edges.

Something happened to Jamie today, something bad.

Something bad enough for her to not want to see him, not just today, but maybe tomorrow too.

Cove was off like a shot. He didn’t even think to give the usual parting pleasantries to Pamela before he was running. He had to find Jamie.

The first place Cove went was poppy hill. It was the obvious choice. Jamie had been coming here practically every morning this summer to play her guitar, but there was no telltale sound of music on the wind. The hills were empty.

Next was the playground, but no one was there either. Cove practically would’ve welcomed seeing Jeremy there at this point, if only to ask if the crabby boy had seen Jamie at all that day.

Cove shot down going to the shopping district or any location deeper in the heart of Sunset Bird. If Jamie was trying to get away from everything so badly that she was avoiding even him, then she wasn’t going to want to be around people right now.

That left only one real place left to search. Cove took off sprinting along the beach as fast as his legs could carry him. There was a lot of ground to cover.

#Our Life Beginnings & Always #Our Life #ourlifeba #Jamie Last #Cove Holden #Pamela Last #Noelani Last #Lee Last #Cliff Holden #Kyra Preece #My Writing #Jamie Leimomi

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thoughts-on-bangtan · 4 years ago

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Let’s talk about ‘Friends’ by BTS

by Admin 1

Friends is the subunit song by Jimin and Taehyung (co-written and co-produced by Jimin) from Map of the Soul : 7 which was released in February 2020. Interestingly enough, the Korean title is actually 친구, a word that is only used for friends of the same age, which is how ARMY figured out that it had to be their subunit prior to the release of the album.

On a very surface level, Friends is about the bond between Jimin and Taehyung recounting different little stories over the years, including the now famous dumpling incident which was first presented to us as a conflict that merely took up a few hours. Actually though it was a conflict that grew big enough that Jimin and Taehyung barely spoke to each other for two weeks and it culminated in Jimin getting drunk with Yoongi and then meeting Taehyung at a park at 4 am to make up. Yes, the same park at 4 am that Taehyung and Namjoon sing about in 4 O’Clock. That song, like many suspected, really was about Jimin and Taehyung as well.

But, while Friends might seem simple and fun on the outside, especially due to the upbeat melody and anthem like chorus, I think there is far more to it than meets the eye. Stella Jang, who co-wrote the lyrics, said in an interview with K-Pop Herald that BigHit sent her an email which contained the song as well as long stories about Jimin’s and Taehyung’s bond and based on that she was supposed to write short lyrics. She also had a friend, who is an ARMY, help her truly understand the depth of their bond. That alone to me shows that this goes far deeper than most might assume, and others wish for it.

Hello my alien We’re each other’s mystery Would it be why it’s more special

This verse for me is very interesting, especially since Jimin reclaims a nickname that people used to call Taehyung by which he hated. Instead Jimin turned it into something endearing, something that now belongs to them instead of others. It’s also noteworthy that that specific line is in English, not Korean, and he says my alien, so basically telling the listener that he takes some kind of claim over Taehyung, connects them in a way that anyone would understand, and unmistakably highlights that he’s the only one to call him like this because Taehyung is special to him, much the way you’d call someone dear to you/someone you love by an endearment such as ‘my darling’ or ‘my love’.

More below the cut:

The mystery part could refer to the early days of their friendship, the times when they were just getting to know each other and trying to figure out their dynamic and each other in a more general sense. We know they almost instantly became friends, stuck to each other and spent a lot of time together, despite constantly getting in little fights, but perhaps those struggles were what made the end result that much more special to them. Interesting to note is also how Jimin once said that when he saw Tae for the first time he experienced many different emotions (he didn’t specify which ones though), and how to this day he remembers Tae only wearing those red shorts and snapback and how even then he already looked like an idol/celebrity.

But the line could also refer to something more recent, or something more overarching, like a secret about themselves that only they know about, that they share and guard together.

Someday, when these cheers die down, stay hey Stay with me by my side Forever, keep staying here, hey

and

Someday, when these cheers die down, stay hey You are my soulmate Forever, keep staying here, hey You are my soulmate

These two might just be the most important parts of the song, and the ones that seem to be the hardest to swallow for some. This is basically Jimin and Taehyung asking each other to stay together forever, even when (or especially when) their careers will be over and BTS won’t be such a main and overarching reason for them to stay by each other anymore, so to speak. It implies that what they have is something they want to last forever, that it reaches far beyond them just being two best friends inside a group, but that they are rather two people who found ‘their person’ in each other. They know they’ve found something one of a kind, once in a lifetime, and want to hold on to it, to each other. It’s also them proclaiming and reminding everyone once again that they are soulmates, that this isn’t just something ARMY made up, some shipping agenda or anything like it, but that it is truly the title they see most fit for each other, that it basically feels like their bond was destiny and they were always meant to be together. You are my soulmate is also in English, something that every listener will understand, something so important they specifically made it this way so you wouldn’t need to look up translations from Korean to get it.

Sidenote--somehow soulmate has become a very debated term in connection to vmin so lets look at the definition for soulmate that wikipedia gives us: A soulmate is a person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinity. This may involve similarity, love, romance, platonic relationships, comfort, intimacy, sexuality, sexual activity, spirituality, compatibility and trust. Most of these are rather connected to the most traditional way in which people imagine soulmates, as in two people destined for each other, lovers perfect for one another. Of course there are friendship type soulmates, but those are far more rare in peoples minds. The point I’m getting at is that Jimin and Taehyung never defined which type of soulmate they are, and until I saw non-vminies have a fight about how they’re definitely just platonic ones, I never even really saw the word soulmate in connection with ‘platonic’. In a way you could argue that both sides are right, that they are both friendship soulmates but also romantic ones as well, their bond encompassing both. But in the end, of course, that’s something only they can confirm yet I thought I’ll mention it anyway.

Like your pinky, we’re still the same I know your everything We must trust each other Don’t forget Instead of an obvious thank-you, you and I — let’s promise that we won’t fight tomorrow, for real

These lines may seem so simple, short and sweet, but I think there is a lot of meaning to them, a lot that’s written between the lines and potentially only something they understand the true extent of. I know your everything is another reminder that they are each others secret keepers, each others closest confidants, their person to go to and laugh or cry or celebrate with. Jimin and Taehyung have something that is rare, one of a kind, and it’s something beautiful that should be regarded with respect and wonder since it’s close to a miracle that they met and formed their bond in such a manner. After all Jimin is from Busan and Taehyung from Daegu, chances are, if BTS hadn’t happened, they might’ve never met, though looking at everything BTS have said about each other, they seem to believe they were all destined to meet regardless if as members of BTS or as normal people. The same most likely would’ve also have been the case for Jimin and Taehyung, and Friends is a beautiful piece of proof of that.

Many dismiss Friends as just a song about their friendship, but I think once you truly think about the lyrics and the thoughts that must’ve gone into it, you might change your mind. Even more so when you take into account what Namjoon said about Friends in his MOTS:7 vlive, how he wouldn’t even dare try writing any of the lyrics because he could never, ever do them justice, and how just thinking about the bond Taehyung and Jimin have, he gets goosebumps. That alone already says a lot, implies a lot of different things, very deep and (in my opinion) potentially more than just friends type things. There was also a moment during Bon Voyage 3 in Malta where Namjoon and Seokjin were at a restaurant together and somehow they brought up Taehyung and Jimin and both just shook their heads at how they are just--something, something apparently meaningful enough neither dared to voice it.

Friends might not be something you’d call a traditionally romantic or love song by any means, at least sound wise, but I’d argue the lyrics tell a completely different story, one of a bond that binds two souls, that combines friendship and love (both the love you have for a cherished friend, but also the one you feel for a romantic partner, I’d argue). The song, as well as 4 O’Clock are far more than meets the eye, you just have to be open and willing enough to see it.

After all Taehyung did say: “95z is love.” The biggest clue of them all.

(Lyric snippets taken from 친구 (Friends))

#bts #vmin #Vmin friends song #song analysis #song commentary #taehyung #jimin #kim taehyung #park jimin #BTS V #map of the soul 7 #4 o clock #bangtan seonyandan #bts jimin

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realm-sweet-realm · 4 years ago

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Lasting Melodies, chapter 2: Now I Only Sing Alone

About ten days ago, I thought I’d make a story for Jack Fain and Sammy Lawrence, showing their snippets of their lives together from their first performance to Jack’s untimely death. I was not planning on it being two chapters and almost four thousand words long.

I hope you all enjoy this.

---

“And that’s how ah lost my old set of keys to a pack of stray cats! Anyhow, can ya tell Sammy that I’ll need to borrow his? He’d probably kill me if I did it myself!”

“Sure thing, Wally. Just... try to make the next set last a few weeks, alright? Budget is tight.”

It wouldn’t have been the first, third, or probably tenth time Jack had visited Sammy during their supposed break period for just that reason. Jack knew by now how much Sammy hated being taken out of the zone while writing music, so he just wrote down that Wally needed keys, put the note on Sammy’s desk, and tried to leave as quietly as possible. Just as he was leaving, he heard Sammy laugh drily.

“I couldn’t avoid you here if I wanted to, could I? It’s like a diet I keep cheating on.”

Jack didn’t know what to say to that. Sammy turned to look at him.

“Well, whatever. Let’s consider this break period over. Let’s get some lunch today, discuss some things.”

Thankfully, noon came fairly quickly- Jack’s heart rate hadn’t settled since Sammy invited him to lunch.

“So... obviously keeping my distance didn’t work, but we can’t just go back to the way things were, either.”

“Yeah. Look, I know that you’re with Susie now, and that’s okay. But have you figured what you wanted out of life, yet?”

Sammy sighed. “I guess. I always figured I’d be doing something bigger with my life, but Joey does treat me well. It’s hard to admit that you’re just comfortable enough to settle.”

Jack nodded. “And I mean, you are making a name for yourself! Joey worships you, most of the music department either fears you, envies you, or lusts after you, and everyone knows your name. It must feel great.”

“I meant making a name for myself outside the studio. But yeah, as far as working in Joey Drew Studios goes, I guess I’m pretty lucky. Are you staying here, too? I know a part of you wants back in the limelight.”

“Nah. This is a crazy place, but hey, I get to dedicate myself to my favourite thing and work under my best friend. I do miss being a stage personality, but that was always a long shot. And I’ve realized that I don’t need people to notice me like that.”

“Good, because there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you. So... Susie already knows that I’m bisexual. I haven’t asked her yet, but if you could join us, would you?”

Jack was taken aback. A part of him wanted to say yes, but he knew it wasn’t a good idea. “Sammy, no. You might swing both ways, but I don’t.”

“Then don’t sleep with her?” Sammy said as though the solution was obvious.

Jack sighed. “Fine. That’s not my hesitation. Look- if we did that, who would you be showing off to your parents on Christmas? Who would you be saying your vows to?”

Sammy became defensive. “It’s not like I can give you that anyhow. Susie wouldn’t be taking anything away from you that wasn’t already out of reach.”

“You aren’t getting it. I was fine with keeping ‘us’ a secret, but I don’t want to be your dirty secret while you’re openly with someone else. Especially not... someone you kind of left me for. I’m sorry. Plus, I’ve been seeing someone else the past couple weeks.” He said it as gently as possible, but he knew they weren’t the nicest words to hear.

“Oh,” Sammy said, annoyed and disappointed.

Jack searched for a way to soften the blow. “Susie does seem like a great girl, though- I’d love to get to know her better. Why don’t you bring her to that new bar in town this Friday night, and I’ll bring my new partner so you can meet him?”

Sammy muttered a “sure,” finished up quickly, and left, clearly annoyed.

Sammy’s annoyance had dissipated by Friday night, thankfully. Susie and Jack’s new partner got along, and things seemed to have gone back to normal between him and Sammy. It seemed like they’d be just fine as friends.

---

“Just so you know, Jack- Susie recently underwent a serious life change. It’s not exactly easy for her, so please just be supportive, okay?”

“Sure- isn’t that what I do best?” Jack promised. Neither of them were exactly strangers to Susie Drama- something similar had happened a few weeks ago when Susie had been replaced as the voice of Alice Angel. Or so Jack thought until Sammy pointed her out from the crowd.

“Susie?”

“Yep.”

The woman bore little resemblance to any human being. Her skin was white as chalk, her arms and torso were too thin and elongated, her eyes were too big, and she had horns and a painful-looking halo growing out of her skull. It was as though an alien had read a written description of an attractive woman and attempted to make one out of plastic.

Jack forced himself to look away out of politeness.

“Yeah, please don’t act shocked. She’s gotten enough of that already,” Sammy requested. Jack nodded in response.

Later in the day, when she was sure Sammy wasn’t around, Susie confided in him that she was already having second thoughts about her new body. “Don’t tell Sammy,” she’d said. “He’s... a part of this, and he’d feel awful if he knew.”

For the first time, Jack began to question just what Sammy was involved with.

---

Sammy had been looking over sheet music when he felt Susie’s ice-cold black hands squeeze his arm like a vice.

“Sammy, I need you to lock me up!” she begged, fear and hot tears building in her eyes.

“Susie, why-”

“Just do it! No questions, please!”

“Calm down... Uh, I’ll...” were there any rooms in the studio that could only unlock from the inside?

Suddenly, Alice shoved past him, into the middle of the music room. Allison, who had been speaking with Jack, barely had time to turn and notice her before Alice had tackled her against a wall. Everyone backed away in terror as Alice ripped off Allison’s chestnut-brown hair and began banging Allison’s head against a wall until there was blood on her scalp and dripping out of her nose. Norman could be heard descending the stairs from his projector booth. He pushed through the crowd and tore Susie away, leaving Allison, bruised and half-bald, to crumple to the ground.

“Okay, someone call the ambulance for Allison,” Norman barked, still restraining Alice as she squirmed and struggled. Then, he turned to glare at Sammy. “And you get the people who will look after this.”

Sammy shuddered, suspecting, not for the first time, that Norman knew his secrets. But he couldn’t not handle the situation, and so he did as he was told.

Within five minutes, Alice was being escorted away by three large, burly men in dark green GENT uniforms.

“Tell them to record what you can without me,” Sammy muttered to Jack. “And tell them not to bother me under any circumstances. And... can you meet me after work?”

“Of course,” Jack replied.

Sammy nodded in response and then disappeared into his office for the the rest of the workday.

When Jack met up with Sammy at the end of the day, he still looked as fragile as spun glass- understandable after what had happened.

“Hey... do you want to come over for the evening, see if we can distract you from this?”

Sammy said nothing, but stood up and wrapped his arms around Jack. Jack held him for a while and let him cry. Jack was shedding a few tears, too- Susie had been a good friend, and it seeing her snap like that would have shaken anyone up.

“It’s okay. I’m sure that wherever they took her, she’ll be fine. They’ll help her get back to normal. Hey, if you want, we could visit her in the asylum, see how she’s doing-”

Sammy looked to Jack, trying to find the words as to explain that that wasn’t possible without saying too much. Somehow, Sammy didn’t think Jack would let him cry on his shoulder if he knew that Susie would never see the light of day again, and it was partially Sammy’s own fault.

“I know you want to tell me something. You don’t have to right now. Alright?”

And for the moment, he didn’t. But in the future, he’d have to be more careful.

---

Susie’s capture was felt by the whole music room, and not just because she was no longer lighting it up with her smile. There was an air of unease, of mystery on everything now, as though the next act of violence could be perpetrated be anyone and at any time. It pushed Jack to spend more time holed up in the sewers, and Sammy to build his own private sanctuary. Once Allison returned to work a few days later, the distrustful feelings gradually began to dissipate for most.

But not for Sammy. The effects of Susie’s capture, or something related to it, seemed to linger on him for months.

Sammy had grown paranoid around the others, and more people spoke amongst each other about what might have snapped in his brain than were willing to risk speaking to him directly. Jack worried for him, but Sammy refused to say what was bothering him, and increasingly refused his (or anyone else’s) company. He felt as though there was little to do to help him.

---

The sound of a beating heart echoed off the walls of the sewers. The ink demon grinned. The walls of the infirmary had been no match for him, and though the sewer’s thick concrete walls would most likely present more of the problem, being able to stretch his legs after months spent in one room was extremely satisfying in and of itself.

Meanwhile, Jack was frozen in fear. The creature- lord only knew what it was- hadn’t seemed to notice him yet. Jack holed up under his desk, praying that it would pass him by.

The pumping sound grew nearer.

And nearer.

Until it seemed to stop directly in front of him.

Jack carefully put his head to the ground, trying to get a peek from under his desk without making a sound. It only allowed him to see a couple feet in front of the desk, but it was enough to show that the shadowy tendrils that surrounded the creature were mere inches from him. The creature took a step forwards, and Jack could feel the creature’s shadows wrapping around him, stealing his heat, and spreading from his hands to encompass his whole body. He was paralyzed.

The ink demon tipped over his desk, grabbed him by the leg, and dragged him over his desk and to the center of the sewer, where it held Jack’s head under the tar-like ink until he drowned.

---

Not for the first time, Sammy stepped into the passenger seat of Joey’s Pontiac. It was Thursday, and they always met on Thursdays to study and practice magic together. The experience was usually, well, magical- Joey had finally found the way to be a God in Sammy’s life. But apparently, not today. Sammy sat, arms crossed and silent, for at least a minute before speaking. “Where is he, Joey? What happened to Jack Fain?”

“You tell me!” Joey said in earnest surprise. “What’s happened to him?”

“He’s been missing for four days. That’s what’s happened. He punched in on Monday and never punched out. He won’t pick up his phone, and his partner doesn’t know where he is either. Don’t tell me you didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“I honestly didn’t.”

“Nothing new came out of the ink machine?”

Joey sighed heavily. “A new searcher came out of it. But that doesn’t mean anything! It could be anyone!”

Tears sprung up in Sammy’s eyes. “Drop me off at my place. I don’t want to do this tonight.”

Joey didn’t believe for a second that Sammy was only quitting for tonight. He was losing him unless he did something. “Really?” Joey said gently, “Something like this, while tragic, should encourage you if anything, shouldn’t it?”

Sammy looked to him with tired, mournful eyes.

“Think about it- if we don’t keep learning about the machine, we’ll never learn to reverse its process. Susie, Jack, anyone else who ends up connected to it- you need to keep working with me here so that we can set them free.”

Sammy laid back in his seat. “Look- I’m not going to be good company tonight... but that’s your problem. Go on, drive to the studio. Let’s do this.”

“Good. Good man.”

That night, along with the ink angel that bore no resemblance to Susie and the four or so other ink creatures that Joey or some GENT worker had locked up previously, Sammy saw a swollen searcher in a cage. If it recognized him at all, it showed no sign of it. It was a few days before Sammy managed to sneak down and give him back his hat.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #my fanfiction #sammy x jack #sammy lawrence #susie campbell #Jack Fain #joey drew

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fireinmoonshot · 5 years ago

Photo

CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE RISE OF SKYWALKER.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN | PART EIGHT | PART NINE | PART TEN | PART ELEVEN Summary: Armitage Hux finds himself strangely fascinated by you, a Resistance fighter and pilot, even though he knows he shouldn’t. You know that there’s much more to him than you see on the surface. Pairing: female!Reader x Armitage Hux Fandom: Star Wars Word Count: 1936 Warnings: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER SPOILERS A/N: I promised I wouldn’t make you wait too long for Part Twelve, but this part was really strangely hard to write, which also explains why it’s so short. But there is also a point in making it so short as I do want it to just read as a snippet of time, as that’s what it is, and a part of time where Armitage and Reader are just sort of... floating in their uncertainties. And then things will start getting on track in the next part for a finale in the next three-four chapters! Anyway, sorry for the wait and I hope you enjoy it! Read it on Ao3 here.

It’s ironic.

The fact that, when you both leave Arkanis, it’s not raining. That there’s a hint of sun on the horizon, and you’re flying away from it. Both of you sat in silence, both of you wanting to say things but not knowing what to say. There have been a million possibilities in mind over the past few hours, but none of them seem right.

You can count the times that you’ve spoken to each other since on one hand.

He hadn’t joined you yesterday, on your final day on Arkanis. He’d chosen to explore – or so he said. For all you know, he could have stayed on the ship all day. You’d been busy back at the markets, making a list of contacts that you could hand over to Poe when you got back.

And then there was the matter of Poe.

You hadn’t left on good terms. You’d left with Poe being wary of Armitage, and you defending him – and now you’re returning barely on speaking terms with Armitage himself. It’s a strange, uncomfortable full circle and you’re not looking forward to the confrontation that’s inevitable when you touch back down on Ajan Kloss.

When you settle into hyperspace, Armitage excuses himself from the cockpit, and you wonder, ever so briefly, if possibly Rey and Poe had been somewhat right all along.

–

Armitage exits the ship before you do, his bag over his shoulder and a slight scowl on his face. He leaves you to pack everything else up, of which there luckily isn’t too much, and you’re half way through doing so when Poe appears behind you, arms crossed.

You assume he’s seen Armitage, then.

“How was your trip?” He asks, a little smugly.

You fix him with a glare. “If you’ve come in here to gloat, I’d really rather you not, Poe. I don’t know what Armitage has told you, but it’s really a lot more complicated than you’re obviously assuming right now.”

Poe furrows his eyebrows. His cheeky mood is gone. “Armitage hasn’t told me anything. I just saw him go, and you didn’t follow. Did something happen?” He’s feeling protective – you can hear it in his voice.

“Do you want me to admit that you told me so? Is that why you’re here?”

He scoffs. “No, I don’t. I’m asking you earnestly. What happened?”

For the first time, you stop what you’re doing and stand up straight. You look him in the eyes and are surprised to find actual, genuine concern in them. But his comments from before are still whirring in your mind, and he’s not the right person to confess everything to. You can’t confess things to someone who might throw it all back in your face later, and so you settle for the next option.

“Is Rey back?”

Poe gives you a look. “Yeah, she’s in the Falcon. Are you going to tell me–“

“No.” You speak simply. “Because honestly, I’m not sure what happened myself.”

You smile weakly at him and hang your bag over your shoulder before you exit the ship yourself. You don’t even contemplate stopping by your quarters as you leave. Your first and only port of call is the Millennium Falcon and Rey. Because if anyone is going to have any kind of advice… you hope it’s her.

–

Rey looks at you with no judgment in her eyes, and it’s exactly what you were hoping to get from her. That’s not what you need right now, judgment. You need understanding. You need to be able to understand what happened yourself, and with Rey being the only other person on Ajan Kloss who had truly had a connection with someone in the First Order other than you, the two of you had created your own bond. Her relationship with Kylo Ren, or Ben, as she often referred to him, was entirely different than yours with Armitage, but you’d found similarities.

“You never tried to talk to him about it?”

“When I did, he shut it down. I don’t want to push him. It’s not fair on him.”

She gives you an unimpressed look. “It’s not fair on you, either.”

You shrug a shoulder and slump down a little in your chair on the Falcon. It had been easier to stay and talk here, because you knew nobody would overhear you. Armitage is… well, you have no idea where he is, but he isn’t anywhere close, and that helps with confessing everything. Everything you’re sure of, anyway.

“I think I just need to give him a bit of space. It’s only been – what, two days? He probably just needs some time to figure out his mind. And even if we never talk about what could have happened… he’s a friend, you know? We all need to come together right now, not split apart. I can’t handle truly losing a friendship… not after Leia.”

Rey reaches over and wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Don’t beat yourself up for what did or didn’t happen. Things will sort themselves out. I trust that. And you should trust that too.”

You give her a small smile. “I’m really glad I didn’t beat you back to Ajan Kloss. What would I have done if I arrived here and needed advice and you weren’t here to give it?”

She laughs a little at that. “I think you probably would have found Rose instead.”

“Speaking of Rose, you wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you?”

Rey nods. “Last time I saw her she was talking to Beaumont by Leia’s ship. Why?”

“Us girls, we need to stick together.”

That was more important now than ever.

–

Armitage, as soon as he steps inside your quarters, lets out a long breath of air and buries his head in his hands. He’s ruined everything. He can’t even look at you properly anymore, and any life he felt he was starting to form here on Ajan Kloss may as well be a mere memory in his mind.

He allows himself to wonder, briefly, how different things could be if you hadn’t been interrupted that night. Or if you’d still be mad at him – because you had to be. You had to be ashamed of his actions, of his lapse in judgment. He’d never felt a feeling quite like the one he felt with you that night, and he’d been silly enough to actually try and follow it. He hadn’t known not to.

He sighs and looks down at his makeshift bed, still on the floor of his quarters, and then moves to dismantle it. He can’t sleep here anymore. He’ll find alternate quarters. But he won’t put you through dealing with his company any longer.

He ensures that he picks up his old First Order uniform, and then he leaves your quarters, blankets and pillow in hand, too, intending to find a new place to sleep. A place where he could try his best to move on.

–

You see Armitage again for the first time all day at dinner that night. He’s sitting alone, eating at the very opposite end of the tables that have been set up for you all, and you’re sitting with Rey and Rose. You’ve never wanted anything more than to walk over and sit with him.

But he probably wouldn’t be very happy with that if you did.

Rose notices you staring. “You’re just torturing yourself, you know that? Why don’t you just go and try to talk to him if you’re just going to stare at him anyway? He can probably feel your eyes burning a hole in the side of his head.”

You tear your gaze away from Armitage and back to Rose. “No, I’m giving him space.”

“Then actually give him the space and stop staring,” Rose hums. “I could really use your help tomorrow. We’re packing up a bunch of old files and taking them out to be properly archived. There are more there than we realised.”

It doesn’t take long for you to agree to help. Especially because you know it’ll help to get your mind off of Armitage, at least for a little while. And that’s what you need right now – Rose is right. You’re giving him space, and you need to follow through on that.

For the rest of dinner, you mostly play with your food rather than eat it. But you are happy to be home, since Ajan Kloss seems to be more of a home than anywhere else, even Arkanis, nowadays. You’d managed to find a good thing on Arkanis in the locals that were willing to talk to you, despite being thrown out of the bar, but many of your good memories had been marred by the incident with Armitage.

You can’t blame yourself for wanting to get back into the swing of things on Ajan Kloss sooner rather than later.

But it’s an entire accident when you run into Armitage while taking your plate up to be emptied and washed. He’s standing right beside you and for a second, you don’t even realise it. Rey and Rose are staring at the both of you from afar, wondering if they should intervene, when Armitage suddenly speaks.

“I should tell you that I’ve removed my belongings from your quarters and moved them into my own,” he starts, and you feel like your heart is in your throat. “With people leaving, there are quite a few spare now. I should have moved out sooner.”

You hadn’t even thought about that. About Armitage sharing your quarters, and you do your best to ignore the sting of disappointment at his confession. “Right, well… if that’s what you want, I won’t argue.”

He nods. “It is what I want.”

You nearly flinch at the harshness in his voice. But something else pushes you to reply – even though nearly everything in you is telling you to just walk away before things get ugly. It might be the way he speaks with you now in such a dismissive way, or it might be something else entirely, but your idea of giving him space just… isn’t going to work if he’s going to act so strangely with you in the times you do run into each other and find yourselves unable to help it.

“Listen, Armitage,” you turn to face him, and he meets your eyes for a second before turning to stare down at his feet. “I don’t know what happened on Arkanis. But I want you to know I’m not mad at you. I just– I’d really like it if we could be friends, or at least something similar to friends. I can’t take anymore heartbreak right now, not after losing Leia, not after Snap or any of the other pilots and friends I lost in that attack on Exegol.”

You hold out a hand towards him.

“What do you say? Friends?”

And he places his hand in yours.

–

Rose and Rey look at you strangely as you sit back down at their table.

“I’m guessing you saw all of that?” You ask, with a small smile.

“Uh, yes,” Rose nods. She turns and glances at where Armitage is still standing, emptying off his plate where you’d left him. She shakes her head, slightly amused, and then turns back around to look at you. “You like him.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Of course I like him. We’re friends, despite everything that didn’t happen on Arkanis. We just agreed to be friends again. I like you and you’re my friends.”

Rose and Rey share a small look, and they slowly start to smile.

–

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#rebel #armitage hux #armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars x you #tros #the rise of skywalker #general hux #general hux x reader

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joachimnapoleon · 5 years ago

Text

“Perhaps you love me still in the depths of your heart.”

Finally finished translating the Murat letter I mentioned in this post. I was just going to post some snippets of it, but decided I’d rather put it up in all its unabridged, rambling glory, because the totally random campaign details and assorted minutiae Murat starts throwing in through his alternately sarcastic, bitter, and angsty tirade are a nice glimpse into his (admittedly chaotic) thought process; they’re his way of trying to convince Napoleon that Murat’s Sicilian campaign is actually going quite well and is perfectly winnable if only Napoleon would just let him carry on with his business without further interference (which Napoleon won’t).

Some brief context: Murat, in the summer of 1810, is attempting to wrest Sicily from the Bourbons and reunite it with Naples. Or so he thinks; the reality is that Napoleon’s primary motive for sanctioning this campaign--though Murat is apparently oblivious to this--is to keep the British troops in Sicily distracted as long as possible so they don’t go reinforce those fighting the French in Spain. While this is going on, Caroline Murat is in Paris, alternately helping Napoleon’s new Empress to get her household up and running, and trying to keep her husband’s relationship with Napoleon from unraveling any further than it already has been for over a year now (and very likely beginning an affair with Metternich as well). Louis Bonaparte, who has been quarreling with Napoleon, is on the brink of losing his throne in Holland (he will be forced to abdicate by his brother less than a month after Murat writes this letter); Caroline is afraid of Napoleon’s wrath coming down on them in a similar manner. Napoleon begins interfering with Murat’s ongoing preparations for the Sicilian expedition; a letter from the Minister of War is sent to Murat instructing him that “the Emperor regards the enterprise as impossible, unless there are the means of transporting 15,000 men at the same time.” (Murat has the men, but not the means to transport them all simultaneously.) Additionally, Napoleon has the Minister “remind you that the French troops are to be commanded by French generals”--meaning, if it came to it, that they could refuse to obey Murat’s orders if they view those orders as contrary to Napoleon’s. Lastly, an aide-de-camp of the Minister--and a mere colonel, compounding the insults to Murat yet further--has been sent to Naples to inspect Murat’s fortifications and report back to Napoleon personally on any potential inadequacies.

At which point Murat has a bit of a meltdown (neither his first nor his last of the year) and writes Napoleon the following letter. (From Lettres et Documents Pour Servir à l'Histoire de Joachim Murat, Vol. 8.) (Any translation errors are my own.)

***

Joachim Murat to Napoleon Scilla, 11 June 1810

Sire,

I just received a letter from Your Majesty's Minister of War, which announces to me your will relative to the expedition of Sicily. Your orders are going to be executed, and I regret not being in Naples in order to support the mission of the aide-de-camp of the minister whom you sent there to take secret information. Sire, no one will ever provide you truer information than me. The minister, speaking to me of the expedition, explains in these terms: "The Emperor orders that you only attempt the expedition with the certitude of success, and only if you can cross fifteen thousand men at the same time." Sire, when I possessed your confidence; when I could count on your kindness, this double condition would not have stopped me, but today everything announces to me that everything is changed for me and I foresee what must await me, if Fortune were to abandon me in this circumstance.

Sire, the expedition will not be attempted, because there is always some uncertainty to face, and no maritime expedition especially is exempt from this. The plaza of Gaeta and the forts of Naples will be armed and provisioned. I think that there will be very little to do in this regard, Y.M. might have convinced himself of this, if the state of this place had been brought to your attention by your Minister of War. All the French soldiers that Y.M. order returned from my guard are going to receive the order to return to their former corps. The convention passed with Broadwent never had its effect, and this American was not able to introduce muslin into the Kingdom; it would be very cruel to have exposed such falsehoods. Would I have written to Y.M., if I had wanted to leave you unaware of what I might have done with this man? Everything that you ask for my navy will be executed, and, in a word, command in Naples and you will be obeyed, perhaps better than in Paris.

As to the secret mission of M. the colonel Leclerc, I regret not being in Naples in order to facilitate for him the means of fulfilling it, but I dare to assure that my ministers who know my sentiments for everything that comes from Y.M. will procure for this officer all the information he will need. May he consult public opinion, I don't fear judgement!

At Compiègne, I begged Y.M. to tell me if he wanted me to make the Sicilian expedition; I presented it to him as necessary for the repose of Italy and to prevent English contraband, and a plan was given and approved, because the Duke of Feltre wrote me in these terms: "The Emperor approves your plan of operation against Sicily in all its extent." I had thus to prepare the means of its execution, the paranzella barques* from nearly all the Kingdom were required, gathered at different points and loaded with everything that might contribute to the expedition, and the convoys have followed one another since 8 May, so that as I write, everything that should've been part of it has left Naples and is in the moorings of Pizzo, Tropea, Bagnara, and Scilla. The convoys of the siege artillery have not advanced, I think they are in the golfs of Policastro or at Palinuro; all the troops are cantoned or encamped from Monteleone to Reggio; all the batteries are armed to be able to protect them; and I await only my siege artillery in order to attempt the passage, the success of which no one doubts, not even the English. Such is my position, Sire, at the moment when I received the letter from the Duke of Feltre, and I am going to make arrangements accordingly.

However, Sire, who was able to bring about a change that makes me so unhappy? What have I done to be able to lose in an instant so many rights to your kindness? How did my enemies, who still number more than yours, manage to break an instrument that has never ceased to loyally serve you, and what are my wrongs? I am unaware of them and you will only ever find in me the one whom you have cherished like a father, like my benefactor. Am I not your creation, your pupil, are you not the author of my elevation? Have they hoped, my enemies, to make me revolt against Y.M. and to succeed in making of Italy a new Spain and in reversing your vast projects? Ah! sooner perish my fortune and my happiness, and your brilliant destinies be accomplished! Sire, there, there are my feelings; they are immutable, they are sincere, and you would have no trouble believing them, if only you would recall all my past conduct. Have you ever seen me change? Have I not heard you say: Murat is the only one of my family who has never given me cause to complain of him? Hasn't general opinion always shown me to be your minion, and do I not still have that reputation? And which of my actions could have bred suspicions about my loyalty? About my gratitude? There is only one: my opinion on your marriage; yet this was dictated by my attachment, I could be mistaken, but my heart alone was culpable, because it thought it was acting in your interests. What was it to me if Y.M. married a Russian or an Austrian? What did I want? Your happiness and some children, and I hope and I am sure that the current Empress shall give you the one and the other; so I was fully reassured when I was able to to appreciate her brilliant qualities. So I had nothing more to desire than the conservation of your kindness and some occasions to be able to prove to you my zeal, and I've lost these, and I have no more hope of being happy, since a letter from an ambassador who wanted to pay court to his master has rendered me suspect and has made me lose your friendship forever. Yet you loved me, I am sure of it, and perhaps you love me still in the depths of your heart. Sire, was it not in spite of myself that I came and returned to Naples? Did I not write you in Vienna that if you wanted to reunite the Kingdom of Naples, I would demand it and work for it accordingly? Didn't I beg you in grace during my second-to-last journey to keep me with you? And why is Naples not reunited today? Recall me to you. You spoke to me at Compiègne of a dignity of general of the cavalry of the Empire; create that for me; Sire, at the first battle, under your eyes, I will justify such a kindness, I will regain your friendship, your affection of which I am still worthy. Sire, why do you want to dishonor me in the eyes of the people you have destined me to command? Why do you send junior officers to my capital where it has begun to be said: "The Emperor doesn't want the expedition." Some particular letters are soon going to tell this to the army and to Sicily, and Stuart, whom I see very embarrassed from here, will resume his original attitude. How to palliate the abandonment of the enterprise? Since I can wait a while longer in my position and no one is master of the secret, I will see later what it will be better to do. Yet a great result has been obtained: Corfu is free and resupplied and I have the certitude that the English troops who occupy the islands of Cephalonia, Zakinthos, and Saint Maure, have returned to Messina. Yesterday still around 400 arrived, among other the cannoneers, all the batteries of the coasts have been rearmed and I could bring from Puglia all the oil, without fearing the crossing of the strait, which I am going to secure and complete its armament. The provinces of Calabria will be purged of the brigandage and I will ensure the progress of their administration. There is work night and day on the opposite shore, there are movements every instant; we are assured that Stuart has lost his head, since three days ago, that is to say since he was convinced by his attempt on Bagnara that he would neither be able to prevent the union of my resources, nor destroy them. This morning I saw the raising of some tents and the arrival of new troops in Faro. Since the taking of the gunboat, the removal of all the Neapolitans from the command by the English is assured, because they don't trust them, and I know they are not wrong. The Duke d'Orleans left on the 23rd of May for Spain where he has been called to command; the Sicilian troops aren't moving, they are still in Palermo. Yesterday I saw a vessel, three frigates, and a corvette enter into the port of Messina, later two empty transports, and today another. In several days I will know positively what is happening. I am assured that the Sicilians desire us very much; a pound of meat sells for fifteen sols in Messina and bread in proportion.

I just wrote at great length to Your Majesty. I wish that he may read me, I wish above all that he will give me his kindness and friendship. I present my homages to Her Majesty the Empress.

I am...

Joachim NAPOLÉON

***

[Murat’s Sicilian expedition will continue into the fall of 1810 and will ultimately fail, considerably widening the rift between Murat and Napoleon. In my view this is the real turning point in their relationship; but that’s another post for another day.]

#Joachim Murat #Napoleon #Napoleon Bonaparte #letters #Naples #Sicily #19th century #translations #history #Napoleonic wars #Napoleonic history

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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 5 years ago

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2020 SU Fic Sampler - WIP Showcase

So in my continued attempts at distraction, I trawled through my SU fanfic folders, looked at the ol’ endless WIP pile. Figured I’d do a little roundup of some that are in something resembling a decent state. Maybe even see where interest lies and all that, get some attention and validation, you know, all that good stuff one craves. Of course, there’s loads more than this, and I might one day post some things I wrote but never quite managed to finish up, or that got super jossed in ways I couldn’t get myself to work around.

Now, in no particular order, here’s 8 draft snippets totaling almost 6000 words - not very polished, obviously, some quite rough around the edges, some long, some short, some that work better without context than others. But here they are anyway, with an utterly predictable array of focal characters. Any missing segments or my asides/notes in the text are [written like this], because I usually write very non-linearly. Hope you all like mood whiplash!

P.S. I live for comments.

Like Talking To A Wall, aka Bismuth making friends with the wall, statue, and floor Gems. Early precursors to radicalisation and “I would have liberated everyone”, perhaps. Started as one of my first reactions to the Diamond Days episodes.

“Hey, thanks for listening.”

“Anytime. You’re lucky I’m so supportive,” Mica piped up from up on her arch.

Bismuth laughed. Bittersweet. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

Then, with a surprisingly gentle hand pressed to the carvings she’d been so careful about, she added a soft: “I’ll miss you.”

“Chin up! It’s gonna be a lovely off-planet adventure for you,” Granite rumbled from just above her head. “A brand new colony! Think of the sights!”

“You can tell us all about it when we see you again.”

Bismuth leaned back, pressing her whole back against the wall, reluctant to leave, even if a snooty shift supervisor was bound to come around and chase her off soon. “Yeah, I’ll make sure to do that.”

They all knew very well that, as always, when the building was done, it was goodbye. The chances of there being a need for repairs or remodelling - and the exact same bismuths being brought in to do them - were incredibly slim.

But pretending was nice, sometimes.

Hey, Steven, think I could get a moment before we leave? I won’t be long.

They were right where she’d left them, and the years had done very little to change them. A bit of a patina there, some dust, the tiniest bit of wear on sharper corners.

“Bismuth?” Several familiar voices cried out to her in shocked recognition.

She knew she must look a sight - battle-ready and battle-worn, but armour still gleaming, and with a bearing of one who had been through much and was always ready for more. She felt her back had never been so proud and straight, her shoulders so resolutely set.

“I think,” Bismuth grinned, “you’re gonna start seeing changes around these parts.”

---

One for that favourite Pearletariat/Pearl Solidarity fic sub-genre of mine: Clever Pearls Cleverly Getting Around Badly Worded Orders. A bit of an origin for an as-of-yet unnamed pearl OC, because I sure don’t have enough of those!

In the untold thousands of years of Homeworld and Gemkind, and the hundreds of thousands of commands given to hundreds of thousands of pearls, nobody ever thought to Order a pearl not to think. That would imply a they mattered at all, and who would ever put stock in a pearl’s thoughts? Most Gems weren’t sure pearls could think, anyway. I mean, if they could, all that standing around would be intolerable, wouldn’t it? And imagine not being able to say no to anything, even crushing your own gem - shards, at least I’m not a pearl!

They were, occasionally, when dealing with an owner’s important, private, confidential business, Ordered to forget, or, a bit less esoterically, Ordered never to tell.

And [OWNER] has always been all too eager with the Orders. As if she went to bizarre lengths in her thinking that pearl couldn’t - or wouldn’t? - do anything upon merely being told, let alone by herself. Every little thing, from sweeping up the shards of a broken decorative plate to taking down the minutes of an important meeting [OWNER] was presiding over - (im)pressed upon pearl with the crushing weight of an Order.

But she could still think.

Even when Ordered to wait by the door, freezing her limbs and anchoring her legs to the ground with all the force of a starship mooring mechanism. Even when Ordered into silence for days and planetary rotations on end because [OWNER] had wanted to read an important document without being disturbed and it simply didn’t occur to her to lift it when she was done.

In the wake of the Rebellion and the Renegade Pearl, it only gets worse, and soon enough pearl can barely remember the last time a single movement she made was voluntary.

---

SU Future-era Bismuth and Steven convo I scribbled down in between some of these recent eps - after Growing Pains in particular I think - because Bismuth is the absolute pep talk queen.

“You already said you were sorry for trying to kill me in the Forge, and really, it’s okay, it was all a misunderstanding. Besides, it’s more than a lot of people have done!”

Bismuth blinked at the pinkish sheen around Steven’s cheeks, around the downturned brows - strange trick of the light, that. “Steven, come on. Just listen to me for a minute.”

“Okay,” Steven sighed, and leaned against the railing Bismuth had fixed just that morning.

“Point is, for me, the war had never ended. It wasn’t only yesterday, it was today. It was over for everyone, it seemed, except for me. And getting over that, getting used to that, really seeing that as the truth, not living every day buzzed up with that anticipation of the next battle, just waiting for Homeworld to come down hard on us with whatever new horror they’d come up with… that took a while. And it took help.”

[sudden apparent non-sequitur but It’s An Allegory, Steven.]

“When you make a sword, you can’t make it rigid and unyielding. You can’t just temper it into toughness and hardness and make it unbreakable. It needs to have some give in order to be durable, it needs to be able to bend so as not to shatter on impact. And sure, maybe the first parry or strike wouldn’t be the one to do it, but the tenth, the hundreth, the thousandth? Any time you might just find yourself holding on to a hilt with the jagged remnants of everything, and shards scattered on the ground. And if you’re very lucky, that’ll happen during friendly sparring, not in the heat of battle.”

Steven shrugged without response, and seemed to be shrugging off all the words as well. Back to the direct approach it was, then.

“Now you, Steven,” that at least got a bit more attention, “Sure, you can brawl with the best of ‘em, and you put that gem to damn good use. You’ve got great technique drilled in, too - I’d expect nothing less from one of Pearl’s students. But that’s not how you won, in the end, is it? You never won because you were tough, or strong. You have a diamond in you but you’re not hard at all. Well, except on yourself.”

“In the end all of this was possible because you were soft. Just malleable and pliable enough when it was needed. And that takes guts.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Bismuth put a hand on his shoulder, and even with all the very human growing he’d done, he still seemed to almost disappear in it. “You put yourself out there for others… maybe it’s about time you let them help you.”

---

The next chapter of the His Dark Materials/Daemons AU which I am sooooo painfully late with it’s not even funny anymore. Already posted some excerpts [here] and [here].

“She’s been... away on business, but we’ve sent a zeppelin for her and she’s well on her way back. Hopefully.”

“You have a zeppelin?” Rose was rapidly failing in all her efforts to keep her voice down.

“Of a sort. We, er, we... stole it.”

“Stole-!”

“Yes, well, stole might be a strong word,” Pearl tapped a finger against her chin. “You see, there was a small decommissioned postal craft left below the southern mail station aërodock that nobody would ever miss, all I had to do was fix it up a bit and-”

Rose blinked. “You fixed a decommissioned zeppelin.”

Pearl waved a hand almost casually. “I had some help, but yes. Svalbard, understandably, is hard to reach with other means of transport, and Bismuth needed to be able to go back and forth.”

“You,” Rose began, awed, “are utterly wasted on bringing me my slippers, I’ll tell you that.”

“Well then, maybe,” Pearl blushed, but there was nothing hesitant about her smirk and the strikingly proud tilt of her head, “maybe you could take them off with a bit more care than kicking them halfway across the room and sending them off under the cabinets and- and then I wouldn’t need to do that at all. And I could fix all the zeppelins in the world.”

[more from the super secret backroom rebellion meeting]

“They’re with the Consistorial Court of Discipline, no doubt. Always on the lookout for,” Bismuth grimaced, “heretics. A lot falls under that. A lot of good excuses to snatch someone off the street and do who knows what to them. And they’ve been funneling people there, people vanished by the CCD. Not lacking in test subjects lately.”

“How did you get this? Where?” It was Sapphire, this time. Ruby seemed overwhelmed, and sat clutching her hand desperately as the tiny frog and hare both whispered something to her.

“We traced the funding for all this. It was difficult and deliberately obfuscated, but we managed. A facility like this, an entire operation, cost a pretty amount, you’d assume - and you’d be right. It had to come from somewhere. And whoever was paying for it was likely to want to know what was being done with their investment.”

“So we followed the trail. And it turned out I was… ideally positioned to… to, erm, procure what evidence there was to be found. Because, well...” Pearl trailed off, and lifted one of the stolen report sheets for all to see.

It was as clear as day, the family crest right above the astronomical amount being granted. Four diamonds, neatly arranged.

Neshu’s ears were flat against his mane, and Rose found herself wishing the ground would simply open up and swallow both her and him and the chair that she sat on and he’d tried to duck under.

Bismuth spoke up, grim, every drop of earlier exuberance gone from her. “When the Diamonds look out from the windows of their mansion, they don’t see people. They see tools, toys, and weapons. Nothing else.” She sounded more tired than angry. “It’s just what they’ve always been doing, but writ large.”

---

And then, of course, the Longass PearlRose Fixit because I hate the gag order but at the same time want it gone… slowly and organically. Alternating Rose and Pearl POVs spanning throughout the rebellion era, all sorts of flashbacks and Imagining Things included. At one point they end up attempting to essentially jailbreak Pearl, because Pearl is, as we all know, absolutely the most hardcore. Also thank you SU Movie for confirming all the awful Alexa-flavour fanon/headcanons and giving me an excuse to dive into a bunch of Gems-as-AI tropey stuff, on top of everything. [another previously posted fragment here]

“I don’t want to. I never want to do that to you again.” She stops, takes a breath, reconsiders. “And I know it’s a lot to ask of you, the trust I just… trampled over. So I want to make sure that it’s not just that, you trusting me not to make the same mistake again, with no reassurance anywhere. I—I want to not be able to. Nobody should be able to do that to you.”

“Nobody should be able to do that to anyone,” Pearl corrects readily.

“You’re right,” Rose smiles, only a bit wry, “as always. My brilliant, brilliant Pearl. What would I do without you?”

“Never get back to the point you were trying to make, I imagine,” Pearl quips with something resembling sauciness, and Rose feels at least some of the weight starting to lift off her.

“Right,” Rose agrees, chastised, and tries to focus. “I just… I’m not sure how, or what I need to do at all. It’s not like there’s much precedent – ownerless pearls are unheard of. Even when their owners get shattered, it’s only ever temporary, and, with such high demand, very brief.”

Pearl nods in agreement, and hums. “Luckily, we’ve seen plenty of unheard of and unspeakable things here.”

[echoes of Scabbard convo]

“I want to know, I want to be certain, that you’re here because you want to be.”

“So do I.” Pearl responds quietly, letting their fingers entwine.

[Giving an order not to follow orders doesn’t work, failsafes exist. Then they try a sort of ownership transfer thing, and try to make the new owner Pearl. It doesn’t register, “invalid transfer target”, even when Pearl tries to hack it - some odd gem tool that scans and pokes at her gem - she gets all bummed out because she can’t even reprogram a very basic and modifiable handheld tool/device to recognise a pearl as an actual gem and person. What chance does she have against hearts and minds and an entire ingrained culture of an entire sprawling empire?

“You changed my mind,” says Rose all softly and earnestly.

Have I really? Pearl asks herself but doesn’t let it escape out loud. Still. Step by small step, she admits to herself. Incremental, slow, but persistent work. She can do that. Even as down on herself as she is, she can do that.]

“The… the override.” Pearl breathes out suddenly.

“What?”

“The administrative override - you, or, well... Pink Diamond should be able to trigger it, even without a Rejuvenator. We shouldn’t…” Pearl looks strangely scared now, swallowing small gulps before pushing onwards, hands trembling and fingers knotting together, “w-we shouldn’t need a full reset, really, but. But we can try modifying the owner identification...”

Having to… turn into Pink again (turn back into yourself, you mean, a small voice whispers, who are you trying to fool) doesn’t sit well with her, of course, but. Get a hold of yourself, Pearl certainly has it so much worse in this scenario.

[more here about how they both need to kind of “revert” a bit to try this and it sucks, because no! unpleasant poking of holes in the elaborate fantasy! For the greater good, but still.]

And oh, Pearl looks just about ready to either cry with some strange terror Rose has never seen her display, or dissipate her form on the spot - the small dam of coldly throwing around terms like administrative override activation and owner identification variable providing just enough distance for her to carry on.

“It shouldn’t be too risky if we’re… if you’re careful.”

[Pearl trusts her with everything, her literal entire self - with this thing that is such a blatant violation of her being and her person, that she now wants to turn against itself, using one of the most humiliatingly clearly objectifying aspects of her status as an instrument of her liberation. It is all A Lot.]

Rose remembers, also, with a sting, the way she grumbled and sulked over the gaping pit of guilt in her stomach and refused to even look at the glowing, floating shell Blue was so insistently pushing her towards. She wanted her Pearl back, not whatever White and the others had decided to foist upon her now. Not a pale replacement, nothing they deemed suitable.

“Please state preferred customisation options.”

“Come on, Pink,” Blue urges, softly but mercilessly as ever, large hands enveloping Pink almost whole from where they’re planted on her shoulders, “White had her specially made, just for you! And we helped as well - only the best for our Pink. Now it’s up to you to put your finishing touches, as is proper-”

“What for? You’ll just take her away when you feel like it anyway,” she grumbles into her arms, curling up on the floor and resolutely refusing to look even as the glow spreads from the corner of her eye, insistent.

Just as insistent as the awfully familiar little voice. “Please state preferred customisation options.”

“I. Don’t. Care!” But now with a newly noticeable, if strained restraint - not, like her usual, punctuated with a slam of her fist on the floor tiles, perfectly shiny and pink. No, she couldn’t- do something like that again-

“Default setting selected. Please stand by.”

Yellow scoffs and moves to leave. “Come on, Blue. No point to us wasting our time being here if she’s just going to throw one of her tantrums.”

But Blue refuses to leave it at that, and makes sure to cut with parting words, before slinking through the large pink doorway. “I am very disappointed in you, Pink. To act like that, and with White personally making sure you got such a lovely gift even after everything...”

“Waste of good nacre, if you ask me,” Yellow muses from somewhere up above. “At least try not to break this one.”

The glow intensifies with a hum, and Pink screws her eyes shut and pretends not to see or hear anything.

By the time she opens them again, the others are gone.

But then there is another presence at her side, hovering just behind, as is proper court protocol. The shuffling of tiny, soft slippers on the polished stone - weren’t pearls supposed to be endlessly, effortlessly quiet?

“Leave me alone,” she preempts quietly. The shuffling moves away.

“Please identify yourself.”

Calmly, now, calmly but firmly, just like we planned it. Don’t mess this up now. She’s counting on you. She trusts you. “Pearl.”

“Please state preferred customisation options.”

They’ve discussed this too, of course - extensive (over)preparation and planning down to minutiae is Pearl’s go-to at the best of times, and something she clutches at for comfort at the worst of times. And she’s always, to a sometimes comical extent, despised that ridiculous dress. To a wonderful extent, too, all things considered.

“Revert to last implemented appearance.”

“Settings selected. Please stand by.”

[Of course this doesn’t work because all it does is change the $username$ variable, not the actual identity of the person imprinted: it’s still Rose/Pink, she’s just nicknamed “Pearl” now, but she can still give orders and everything.]

[evolves into Pearl literally hacking herself… the most hardcore of modders]

---

Pearl Playing the Field aka “why not hyper-analyze that one brief shot of the notes and phone numbers in Pearl’s gem and write 9 meet-cutes”. Pearl goes out to “find herself”. Whatever that is supposed to mean. Supposed to be set pre-ASPR, but also extends past it. Ended up with some Bispearl in it too because I am predictable and can absolutely not help myself.

“Your hair is wonderful!” She feels like she almost has to shout to be heard over the din of the bar’s ill-chosen soundtrack, and she doesn’t appreciate it. Definitely not one of her favourite places she’s decided to visit recently. And the ventilation is atrocious.

But still, she’s come all this way, so she may as well make the best of it. And while the preoccupation with hairstyles during first meetings seems like a bit of an odd running theme (can it really be termed a running theme, though, if it’s happened all of two times?), it’s certainly worked in the past (recent, very recent, and hardly bursting with relevant instances, Pearl!). Oh, and this particular one is just too fascinating. Approaching a work of art, Pearl would dare say. Especially, well. Especially when paired with the lovely eyes and striking jawline and strong neck it seems to deliberately be drawing attention to.

Pearl leans on the bar, in the bit of space the woman happily makes for her, and tries to look confident and well-informed, but not smug, no, never smug. “I know... about the, uh, goop, of course. I know how one accomplishes this.”

The woman gives a bemused smile. “Thanks! Not too shabby yourself.” She leans in closer. “I'm actually in school for it.”

“School?” Pearl casts desperately back to what she's heard from Steven and Greg's often hasty instruction. That was for educating human children, wasn't it? She'd put one together for Steven that one time, with desks and a blackboard… and Connie attended one regularly...

“Yeah, kind of a late game career change.” Pearl nods along as she realises - or, rather, remembers - she is absolutely terrible at gauging human ages. “But I thought... after almost 30 years in accounting and not going anywhere I wanted to be going... it’s not like we have all the time in the world, right? So I figured, why not? Go for something I'm actually invested in and that I've always wanted to do, y'know?”

“Oh. Oh yes, yes I do.” And for once, she really does. Well, not the time-related bit, perhaps, but the very particular delight of getting to pursue one’s genuine interests after a long while of being denied? Absolutely. “I’ve done something of the sort myself, actually. Go for it! As they, uh, say.”

The dramatic gesture of almost punching the air with a closed triumphant/defiant fist might have been a tad over the top, but it wins her a smile that doesn’t seem unkind. The woman winks and tips her glass at Pearl, then finishes her drink - something sweet-smelling and almost as colourful as her hair.

“I had a classmate do this one for me, and I did hers after.” Pearl is nodding along again, leaning in to hear better as the woman’s voice dips lower. “I kind of like to experiment, push the limits, go wild with it. Hey. You interested? Promise I won’t go too wild on you.”

Pearl's mind goes blank there for a moment. The woman is… very close, and there are unignorable implications unrelated to hair styling so obvious here even she is picking up on them without issue, and the music hasn’t gotten any quieter. Interested in what, exactly, she wants to ask, but she came here for wild new experiences and exciting novelty, didn’t she, so instead comes out with a rather strangled-sounding: “Eughhhhh...uhhh.... Ye...s?”

The woman’s expression goes serious. “Hey, come on, we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

---

Forge Showdown AU - aka in a twist of fate Bismuth poofs Rose during their confrontation and revelations happen that change the course of… well, pretty much everything - one of a bunch of AUs where the PD reveal happens earlier and under different circumstances (I had an idea of doing a 5+1 of those at one point).

The glow of the lava coloured the quickly dissipating smoke more orange-red than pale pink, and Bismuth stared numbly at where their revered leader, Rose Quartz herself, had been standing mere moments ago. She’d lashed out, true, but she hadn’t really been expecting the clumsy blow - more of a warning, or underlining a point in their continued argument-turned-fight - to land. In all their many sparring sessions, Rose had never succumbed to something like that, would have never so much as let it brush against her. But she’d been- frozen, distracted… by what?

There, scraping softly against the ground as it rolled with leftover momentum...

That was not a rose quartz gem.

Bismuth raked her mind feverishly, thought back through the last few, oddly blurred seconds.

“We’re not using this, Bismuth! It’d make us just as bad as them!”

“No! You’re the one who’s as bad as them- look at you, lording over all of us, thinking it’s your right to command me, order me around, like you’re, what, my diamond?”

It… it had to be some kind of imposter, or spy. Right? Some kind of… awful Homeworld plan, trying to tear the Rebellion apart from the inside. Where was Rose, then? The real one? Captured? Being interrogated somewhere, her whereabouts kept strictly secret to minimise the chance of rescue? Shattered? Impossible, they’d never hear the end of the victorious crowing.

When could it have happened? The last few battles and meetings had been nothing out of the ordinary, and Bismuth couldn’t think of anything odd or off about Rose recently at all. Not a single hint or sign that anything was amiss. Not a single misstep. Homeworld would have trained and conditioned its agents well, but Rose- Rose was singular, and utterly one-of-a-kind, and how could they possibly capture all of it so perfectly-

Bismuth startled out of her thoughts as the beginnings of light seemed to gather in the core of the gem, and all but threw herself onto it, encasing it in a bubble.

Rose was rather special, wasn’t she? And not just in what she said or what she did or how she behaved or what she led and encouraged them to do, but…

Her endless array of wondrous powers. Her sheer strength, overpowering ruby fusions and quartz battalions alike almost single-handedly. The healing which Bismuth herself had been on the receiving, lifesaving end of countless times. The way she called upon the organic creatures of the planet to fight for her, fighting in their name. And then, her regular absences. The way she seemed to know exactly what the Homeworld troops were up to - that wasn’t just some kind of tactical brilliance.

She dared to look at the gem again. Its hue was changed some by the bubble, but that was still in no way a rose quartz gem. No, it was an altogether different shape, but a terrifyingly familiar one.

But it made no sense!

Bismuth ran a slightly trembling hand down her face.

Pearl. Of course, Pearl would have to know, if anyone. About… whatever this was.

But if this, if she was… her, then Pearl-

Bismuth’s insides twisted in horrible ways as the implications began to flitter through her mind, each one worse than the one before it. There was the old call-and-response ringing in her ears, making her feel disoriented and sick with what had to be the beginnings of anger, could grow into a great fury, leaving her unnecessary breaths ragged: Who do you belong to? Nobody!

But-

Not Pearl, then. At least, not at first. Garnet. Garnet would know, and Garnet could See. They’d get to the bottom of this.

---

A metric ton of rebellion era ficlets, vignettes from my eeeEEeeEEeeEEE Bismuth collection mostly, which I’ve been accumulating since 2016 and have only posted some - Pearl, Rose, Garnet, Bismuth centric, occasionally with my takes on namedropped characters, some of which would now need an update to match actual canon.

Snowflake was there, held in Garnet’s arms. The familiar pattern of white speckles on black skin, the tight silver coils of hair sticking out every which way.

“We got her back. She wanted to see you.”

“Me? And you just listened to her? Are you out of your mind? How can I help? Have you taken her to Rose? If her gem- if she-”

“I’m right here!” Snowflake struggled out of Garnet’s hold, and stood up - wobbly, barely upright, but determined, on those legs that ran circles around Homeworld, and ran interference and messages faster than any Wailing Stone, in a pinch. “And I’m fine!”

“You don’t look fine, Snowy- listen, please just-”

Snowflake walked up to her, not stumbling a single time, and, gritting her teeth, looked right at her. The hairline fractures in her gem were visible from here, and Bismuth couldn’t help a wince. “Snowflake, come on-”

“I didn’t tell them anything.”

Bismuth wanted to clutch her to her chest and scream a thousand things at her, but You don’t have to prove anything to me and I’m proud of you and I’m going to make them pay for ever laying a finger on you all waged a war in her throat.

In the end she just settled on holding her close, very gently, until Garnet left, unheard, and came back with Rose, tears already in abundance.

[Later:] “I never properly thanked you, Garnet. For bringing Snowflake back.”

Garnet shrugged. “It was a group effort.”

A familiar voice sounded at the entrance to the Forge. “Now come along, it’s just here. Bismuth? Do you have a moment?”

“You know I always have time for you, Pearl,” she called back, putting her current project away. “What did you nee- oh.”

Bismuth blinked.

“Uh... wow,” was the only thing she could manage as pearl after pearl filed into her Forge, soon taking up most of the space around the anvil in impressively neat rows. “New recruits? A whole bunch of you, too.”

“Yes, well,” Pearl made her way to the front of the group, carefully avoiding brushing against the others on her way. She was fidgeting again, long fingers tangling and untangling rapidly, and that was one sure sign of mounting distress. “Garnet and I had planned out an attack on one of Blue Diamond’s supply lines. There was supposed to be a shipment of weapons coming in today, but it turns out it was… pearls.”

There was something rather off about Pearl’s tone, too. Bismuth made a note to ask later, and do her best to catch her alone.

“Well, all the better for us. Nice to have you all on board.” Her jovial tone was only slightly forced - the pearls all looked like they clearly needed something resembling friendliness, but their skittishness was palpable. She turned towards a pale green pearl right at the front of the group. “Now, what do I call you?”

There was nothing but mild confusion, vague fear, and general quiet shuffling. “No ideas yet? Don’t worry about it! There’s plenty of time to decide and find something that fits.”

[she does indeed manage to talk to Pearl alone, later]

“What’s the real problem, Pearl? You can’t fool me. I can tell something’s wrong.”

The rather flimsy front finally crumbled at that.

“I just… we- we took out the citrines they’d sent with the shuttle, and Garnet boosted me up so I could force the hatch open and I did, but then...” Pearl let out a distressed little half-sigh half-sob, one hand gesturing weakly. “They were all looking at me so wide-eyed and...”

She took a moment to at least attempt to collect herself.

“I don’t mind having them here, it’s not that at all. It’s just that… we were standing there, with all these newly-made pearls and… obviously I couldn’t just leave them there, in the middle of nowhere! And after what we did, whoever found them, they’d just have them shattered. Because of me. They were compromised. You’ve heard what they do now, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard. They’re the monsters, Pearl, and it’s not on you. It’s not you doing that to pearls, it’s them.”

“But it is on me! It quite literally is because of me, because of what I did, and continue to do. I made myself visible and played at being important and look what it got us,” Pearl was near tears, a frustrated blue colouring her face, “a handful of runaways and the rest being treated worse than ever.”

The tears were out in full force after that, and Bismuth put an arm around Pearl’s shaking shoulders. “Hey, hey, none of that.”

“We ended up taking them with us, but it feels like… it feels like I forced them to come here. Is it really any better than what Homeworld does? All I did was say you’re going to be rebels instead of you’re going to serve and they never got a say in anything.”

“Have you asked them?”

“They don’t know what-”

“Hey. Just ask them, okay? Ask them what they want. We can help them either way. Of course I’d love them to stay. But it’s not up to me, and if they want to go to wherever it was they were supposed to go- we can do that, too.”

[Rose discovers her healing tears in a dramatic fashion - they come up with the idea to make the fountain - and thanks to Save the Light we have a pretty good idea of who lovingly made all those statues]

She gently wiped away some of the chiselling dust with the flat of her thumb, just like a tear. A magnificent, healing, life-giving tear.

This was familiar work. But with none of the endless chafing, none of the hated reminders of her former station - Bismuth couldn’t find anything in herself but reverence. And… inspiration. She was a Gem, stars knew she didn’t need rest, breaks, anything of the sort, but still - this pace wasn’t something she’d felt driven to in a long, long while. All day under the burning summer sun, and every night under the light of her own gem. All alone, as the sanctuary took form under her hands.

To get the curls just right, tiny detail by tiny detail, somehow communicate the softness of those cheeks in stone… it took drawing upon the very depths of her well of skill, because how else could she ever hope to capture the likeness of someone as extraordinary as Rose Quartz?

With small, careful movements, she formed the roundness of the lips that could spit fiery words of rebellion, inspire like no other, scowl fiercely in the heat of battle, smile contagiously, bellow out an outrageous fireside guffaw, murmur comforts so softly, kiss…

And then she did it again, and again, and again.

[in the end, Rose is presented with a veritable shrine to herself]

“Rose? Is something wrong? You… don’t like it?”

“No, no, Bismuth, it’s… it’s incredible.” The smile Rose turned on her was as beautiful as anything, but it wasn’t hard to notice it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

#steven universe #oathkeeper writes things #INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO:#pearl #bismuth #rose quartz #bispearl #pearlrose #daemon au #the pearletariat #pearl playing the field #those stars of brightest magnitude #let's get down to bismuth #steven universe future #i love pearls just... bury me in a big pile of pearls honestly #endless wip pile #fanfiction #my fic

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des8pudels8kern · 5 years ago

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Just 500 words, I said. A writing exercise, disconnected ficlets and snippets, I said. It’ll be quick, I said. Second day of the 500 words challenge. The Witcher, 1405 words of post-monsterfighting with softness, continued from yesterday but can be read alone. Mention of blood, potions, and alcohol.

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

There is movement ahead. First, he manages to make out Geralt’s hair, pale and silver under the moonlight, then his body begins to take shape as he comes closer. Jaskier has already begun his assessment before he’s even dropped his branch and slipped off Roach.

Geralt took his time getting back; mere minutes longer and Jaskier would have gone into the lion’s, eh, monster’s den to look for him. Still, he is moving under his own power, so that’s something. Head low with the inevitable exhaustion that always follows the rush of a fight, arms swinging at his sides as he walks rather than protectively cradling some broken ribs – oh, and there’s something clutched in his right hand, perfect, that’s the evidence for the villagers right there, no need to go back to the dead beast later – and both legs present and accounted for and not even limping.

Honestly, for all that his poor nerves have suffered the last seven-three-quarters songs, things are looking pretty good right now. Geralt has done his witchering, he’s got his kill trophy, and now it’s time for Jaskier’s performance. He shakes the stiffness of the wait out of his shoulders, clears his throat, and moves towards his audience to gauge the mood of the evening to decide how to play this.

“Great! I am so glad you have finally decided to grace us with your return. Did you take a nice little post-battle nap while Roach and I were languishing here tortured by uncertainty?”

Geralt’s approaching form grunts at him in reply, which… could mean anything, really. This is Geralt.

By now, Jaskier can see that his face isn’t merely shadowed but still black with poison from his cheeks to his forehead. It’s been a while since Geralt dosed himself up and left Jaskier and Roach to wait for his return. If the black hasn’t started to fade yet, hasn’t at least retreated enough to only leave his eyes dark and sensitive in a too-pale face, then he must have taken more during the fight.

Godsdamned.

Most of that stuff is poisonous enough that a decent-sized sip would make Jaskier very, very sick or maybe do some permanent damage to his liver, brain, or other precious parts of him. Geralt with his freaky witcher constitution may be able to just throw back a few bottles and wake up the next day sick to his stomach and with a raging headache, but he also handles his potion-hangovers less gracefully than Jaskier does his alcohol-induced ones. Unlike Jaskier after too much vodka, though, there is cure for that, and Jaskier at least has his wits together enough to make Geralt drink it. If left to his own devices, experience has shown that Geralt himself will usually insist that the poison is already fading and not worth wasting the Oriole on (which might well be true - some of those witcher potion ingredients are worth their weight in gold, and Jaskier trusts Geralt’s judgement enough that he doesn’t try to push it on him when Geralt refuses in complete, coherent sentences.) That, or he’ll be too out of it or too busy bleeding to take it when he would need it the most.

One of Jaskier’s hands dips into the bag at his hip and rummages around, fingers moving from bottle to bottle and feeling out the knotting at their necks until he finds the Golden Oriole. He pulls it out, unstoppers it, and holds it out to Geralt.

“There, drink that. As romantic as the woods at night may be as a concept, the reality of them is uncomfortably damp and fucking cold, and some of us can’t afford a sore throat because singing is how we earn our living and I know you don’t want to be the sole breadwinner of this little enterprise for the next two weeks.”

Geralt has come to a stop in front of him now but not made a move for the bottle, Jaskier freezing his arse off probably being the highlight of his night, so Jaskier shakes it a bit, like a treat for a child. If Geralt can be a little shit, then so can he.

Rather than harrumphing at him and jerking the potion out of his hand, though, Geralt merely takes one more step, well into Jaskier’s space, and raises his head. Under the light of the moon, Jaskier can see the placid expression on his face, mouth relaxed and lips open just a bit, as he calmly looks at Jaskier in expectation.

Oh. One of those times, then.

Jaskier doesn’t know if it’s a conscious decision of Geralt’s, a sign of trust, an indulgence he allows himself when he is tired and feels like he has earned it, or if the fight and exhaustion and potions strip him of his defenses sometimes and leave him in a strange, unguarded state halfway between waking and sleeping. Jaskier has never brought it up afterwards, and Geralt has never let on how clear his memories are on what happened after he crashed.

Either way, it does not matter. Whether given consciously or unconsciously, it’s an honour, and Jaskier’s self-imposed duty as Geralt’s friend and a decent human being, to take care of him. The Path may be Geralt’s calling, and a witcher’s life one of hardship and pain, but Jaskier’s no witcher, he’s human, and a rather hedonistic, comfort-loving one at that. While Geralt walks his Path alongside him, the suffering will be kept to a minimum, thank you very much.

He lifts the bottle to Geralt’s lips and dips it carefully, slowly raising the bottom as Geralt drinks the potion.

That done, he restoppers the bottle, puts it back in the bag, and moves in on Geralt’s side.

He runs his hands over his hair, gently and methodically checking for bumps or the stickiness of bodily fluids. He knows Geralt can heal from just about anything, even head injuries that are so tricky and insidious in humans, but he’d rather not find out if he can recover from his brain literally leaking out of his skull, and if nothing else they bleed an unreasonable amount and should be wrapped before Geralt adds blood loss to the list of things to recover from. There, above his left ear, an area that’s swollen and hot to the touch and has Geralt breathe in sharply when Jaskier’s fingers probe it. No blood, though, so Jaskier decides they are good for now.

He’ll just wake Geralt up a couple of times during the night, the way he always does in cases like this. If witchers can take a blow to the head and not need to be woken up at intervals to reduce the risk that, when they do so on their own, they’ll wake up with junks of memory missing, or an entirely different person, then Geralt has never told him so, even when Jaskier’ wake-up calls have left him grumpy and growling.

“There, all done.” It’s not; this close Jaskier can smell the stench of something that must have spilled on Geralt, his hands have rooted around in dead monster, and he’ll have a closer look for cuts, bruises, and anything else that might benefit from attention later on by candlelight, but there’s no need to get into that now. This is not the time for words.

The blackness around Geralt’s eyes has faded wile Jaskier did his little examination, but his eyes are still dark pools that could be looking anywhere. Jaskier would swear that he can feel them on him, though.

He shifts one hand and cups Geralt’s cheek, warm against Geralt’s skin, stubbled and clammy dried sweat. He wills the touch to tell Geralt what he can’t process now in words, not when part of his facilities has clearly already chosen to retire to sleep off the events of the night. Geralt makes no sound, but he sighs and leans into Jaskier’s palm.

One of those times.

Jaskier steps aside and slips an arm around Geralt’s back, leading him to Roach and then to the barn where they’ll spend the night.

They make the trip in silence, no sounds but the creaking of leather, Roach’s hooves on the ground, and their combined breaths.

This is not the time for words; words are what Jaskier fights his battles with, and he will not use them when Geralt’s own defenses are so low.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #not!fic #500 words challenge #nsfr #will i manage a simple day of 500 random words tomorrow?#only time will tell #but hey i challenged myself to 500 words a day and am almost at 3000 words after two days so go me?#...will i sit myself down to write at some point that is earlier than *after dinner* tomorrow?#uhm #let's not talk about that

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 5 years ago

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what more can you do?

WOO! this week’s episode was sad and weird and badly paced and startlingly, unevenly mature in true titans fashion. i loved it (with reservations)! let’s talk about it in excruciating detail:

SPOILERS ahead.

1. i can’t say that i’m awfully thrilled about the show following up on a character’s literal suicide attempt by... not addressing said suicide attempt at all. maybe it’s the awkward way an entire episode’s worth of flashback was shoehorned in between the end of 2.07--where dick literally talked jason off the ledge while in the throes of a psychotic break of his own--and the beginning of this one, but it’s honestly not just bad storytelling, but irresponsible storytelling.

1.5. in a general sense, tho, the tableau at the beginning of the episode is so egregiously unfair--so shockingly, plainly one-sided, with a slump shouldered dick facing the world, only kory on his side, that it’s quite apparent that it’s the lowest these heroes can go. and i do think their individual reactions to dick’s confession provide an interesting insight into their characters. hank and dawn have been operating alone for so long, each a reminder of their traumas and losses and very human frailty to the other, without even the resources that dick and the batman enjoy. it’s been them v the world for so goddamn long; is it any wonder that they were looking for the first excuse to bail out of there, to not Deal with the idea that what they were doing to deal with their traumas and guilt was clearly not working, and dick was--and has been always--so willing to be the scapegoat? hank punching dick was utterly unwarranted--but i can accept that as part of the unaddressed emotional outbursts arising out of years of accumulated head injuries from both college football and vigilantism. (this isn’t to excuse what he did but to contextualise it within hank’s history and personality.) their instinct when facing ugly truths is to retreat to what they think is familiar and what they need--except, as hank realises later in the episode, that’s exactly what’s fucking them up further.

rose is understandably upset at being lied to about her brother’s death and the titans being complicit in the same--but i’m curious that her reaction was to merely leave and not try and fight them. maybe after being defeated by dick while sparring and nearly being killed by rachel she was sensible enough to realise that she couldn’t take them on all at once? i don’t know--she’s curiously been a bit of a cipher this season. jason leaving with her made sense tho--unburdened of the weight of being the team’s scapegoat, understandably miffed at dick for keeping a secret that nearly cost him his life and left him with a great deal of trauma, just Angry at the world in general, he gravitates towards rose, the only other outsider/rebel who tried to reach out to him when everybody else shunned him or looked at him like an impostor. i think the decision was more impulsive than anything--they still look confused and uncertain in the taxi as they leave the tower behind. but--i don’t know. theirs is the storyline that i’m the most perplexed about. we just don’t have a lot of information about either of them, rose especially.

(a part of me still thinks she’s slade’s mole in the tower. but why would she leave if she is? to keep up appearances bc to react in any other way to the news of her brother’s death would be suspicious? maybe she left because her job is done and the titans were splitting up? maybe she was part of the long game to seduce jason over to slade’s side--seeking revenge for dick swaying jericho over to the titans’? am i going to stop asking myself questions in this post? am i ever going to write a review that’s not just stream-of-consciousness nonsense? only time will tell.)

DONNA. oh, donna. her decision to leave seems to me a logical continuation of her s2 arc that i’d talked about in a previous review--paranoid, insecure, retraumatised, and taking out her frustrations on jason and dick. it’s also very interesting to me that she complained to rachel about dick treating them like “soldiers” and only told them things that he deemed that they “need[ed] to know.” it was because of jillian and whatever mysterious business that themyscira was conducting in sf that she and garth and slade ever landed up in that airport at all; even worse, jillian deemed it was something that donna didn’t need to know until it was too late. donna lost so much in that fiasco--the man she loved, her friends, several members of her amazon family, and her sense of purpose, her belief in her strength and her destiny and her faith that other people trusted her as a warrior and as a leader. she’s projecting all that pain onto dick--who again, doesn’t deserve all this shit but takes it anyway because of his own issues.

1.8. and, like. as much as jericho’s death became the Traumatic Event that overshadowed almost everything else in dick’s life for the last five years and helps explain a lot of his hang-ups right from s1, it just doesn’t have the same significance for the others. don’t get me wrong--i’m sure hank, donna and dawn are devastated and guilty about the part that they had to play in manipulating jericho and his eventual death. but their issues with each other, with the titans tower and with their past run deeper and in different directions, and i think all of that came into play when they each decided to go their separate ways.

1.95. idek what the fuck is going on with rachel. i felt every ounce of dick’s heartbreak and devastation when she got up to leave with donna. for all that she saved dick in the first episode of this season, she still hasn’t reached the point where she’s willing to unburden her emotions and issues on him. it must be frustrating and sad for her to realise just how much dick didn’t trust her either. but there’s something else going on as well: maybe she’s realised she has no real control over her re-emerging powers, and, carrying on with the fatalistic attitude she had at the end of 2.05, she wants to spare the titans the chaos and darkness that she carries around with her. (she’s used to running away at this point, after all.) she goes with donna bc donna knows her the least: it would therefore be easy to fool her and escape.

2. more faddei! and kory backstory! \o/

it’s curious that they never once bring up trigon, because s1 gave the impression that she’d come to earth with a specific mission to seek his portal out and destroy it before he could, y’know, Fuck The Universe Up. faddei makes it sound like kory just went on this fun little sabbatical before taking up royal duties, which kiiinda undercuts a lot of what was cool about her s1 arc. i realise you aren’t entirely happy with your freshman season, titans, and s2 looks like it might be a soft reboot, but you don’t have to mutilate it like this!

but seriously. the stakes just got upped exponentially for kory, and it would be really interesting to see where she goes from here. apart from a promise to rachel, she doesn’t really owe the rest of the titans anything--not that i think she views relationships in such transactional terms, of course. on the other hand, abandoning her responsibilities on tamaran has led to its takeover by an unfit leader and the deaths of several of her family and friends. the choice shouldn’t be a choice at all. she should go back home. and yet--she waited too long, and the choice has been taken away from her. faddei is dead, both of their ships are destroyed, and she is stuck on earth, grieving and frustrated and furious. kory is usually very clear headed about exactly where she stands emotionally, but after such a big event, she must be feeling so much pain, guilt, sorrow, anger, even resentment. it’s so easy to look at kory’s level-headedness and open, empathetic personality and use her to prop up other characters, but i hope that this isn’t always the case, and that she’ll be allowed to really work through these emotions while somebody else looks out for her.

2.35. (the little snippets of faddei and kory just enjoying the shit out of the Little Things that humanity has to offer is just... it filled me with so much warmth. i wouldn’t mind an entire episode of them just chilling and exploring and annoying each other with badly-applied out-of-context pop culture references)

2.5. blackfire! i don’t know much about comics!blackfire beyond “she was starfire’s sister, Evil, and possibly sold her sister into slavery??? yikes” so i’m just going purely off what the show has revealed about her so far. it was honestly disconcerting to see so many references to her possible disability (?) and to see both that and the efforts to accommodate her spoken about in... i want to say mocking way? i don’t know. i just saw a murder mystery/thriller movie today where the serial killer was revealed to have been both disabled from birth and mentally ill, and maybe i’m just feeling extra sensitive to the truly disturbing and pervasive trope of having disabled characters be Evil--and tying their Evil to their disability.

2.8. anyhow, blackfire appears to have accumulated a fair bit of power in the time that kory’s been gone: not only can she remotely possess other tamaraneans but she can blow up their ships too. (and didn’t faddei say that she had goons on the ground, looking for starfire?)

2.9. it’s a Lot to deal with this late in the season. maybe kory will leave for tamaran to deal with blackfire once and for all at the end of the season. and if titans ends up cancelled, wouldn’t that be a bittersweet ending.

(wherein ‘bittersweet’ translates to ‘devastating’ ofc)

3. oh where do i even start with dick

his worst fears came true. after his confession, not only did his old friends up and leave, but so did rachel and jason, which he found more heartbreaking than anything else. utterly consumed by guilt and convinced more than ever before of his culpability, he actively seeks out ways to self-flagellate, first by going to adeline to apologise, then by banishing himself, then by making sure he is punished (tho i have my doubts on that last one; will elaborate a little later). after watching him have an extended psychotic break and dash into not one but two suicide missions, watching dick grayson do this to himself feels like watching an extended feature on human suffering. it’s not fun, or pretty, and i can feel it reaching its nadir so that dick can bounce back up again, but i hope it happens soon.

(dick’s natural tendency to internalise guilt and responsibility into a hard little diamond core at his centre and his long training with batman with all the emphasis on secrets and subterfuge with a healthy underpinning of paranoia ironically means that he does so much goddamn emotional labour for this team. he’s the glue that keeps them together, that gives them purpose. he’s trying so hard to do good by everybody that he isn’t really able to achieve it with any of them, which leads to another self-flagellating spiral and him determining to try harder and the cycle just keeps going on. only kory seems to have ever broken this cycle, because she’s never demanded anything of him, nor he of her. it’s really sad to think how bereft dick feels right now, and more than that, how it’s stopping him from being there for the people who really do need him and trust him, like gar and rachel.)

3.25. adeline makes a very good point about how merely apologising doesn’t mean you’re owed forgiveness, and that seeking it out after all these years is a self-serving exercise in itself. but i can see dick taking it hard, especially after discovering that she’s letting slade--the man who actually killed her son--recuperate at her home. (and let’s be clear: however good her intentions, she participated in lying to her child about the truth of what his father actually does. wow, jericho was really just fucked over by pretty much every one he loved, wasn’t he?)

but i am glad to see dick isn’t so far gone that he takes the blame for jericho’s death in front of slade. he’s very aware that slade has permanently broken the team and very aware of the threat slade poses if they ever try to get back together again, but he’s not going to completely surrender every last shred of his self-worth and dignity to this man, and that was refreshing to see.

3.5. so he banishes himself to the farthest place he can think of with nothing more than the shirt on his back and a single duffel bag. it’s so over-the-top yet so... dick grayson.

3.8. BUT WAIT! ~PLOT TWIST~

ok so here’s what’s happening, all right? strap in:

a) jericho is one hundred percent inside slade. i have no doubts about this. adeline knows this too. it’s why she was so even-keeled while talking to dick, why she confidently said that jericho loved dick, and why she said “they” might be willing to forgive him. i’m thinking when slade crawled back home, jericho took advantage of his father’s momentary weakness to tell what was happening to his mother.

b) jericho tried to communicate to dick. i saw something somewhere which said that slade had gestured something very specific in asl while conversing with dick? i’m willing to believe that was intentional.

c) when dick was turning to leave and slade called him one last time and gave his “banishment sentence” jericho likely jumped bodies from slade to dick

d) so why did dick get himself arrested at the airport?

- dick was going through, as others have speculated, a dissociative episode. given how he’s exhibited signs of mental illness throughout this season this isn’t that far out of the realm of possibility, but it’s a weak and redundant narrative bridge and wasn’t shot in a way that suggested that it was a mental break. so i’m ruling this out.

- jericho took over. maybe he felt that this was the only way he could force dick to stay in sf. maybe some of his father’s anger/resentment leeched into him and he wanted to dick to experience some actual punishment instead of scarpering again. maybe he was overwhelmed by dick’s own self-flagellating tendencies and chose the shortest route to maximum pain. maybe it’s a combination of all three.

- dick finally got his brain into gear and realised at the last minute that jericho had possessed slade and was trying to tell him something. why he then proceeded to get himself arrested instead of running out of the airport is a mystery.

personally, i’m leaning towards the ‘jericho possessed dick’ possibility.

4. gar is such a sweetheart and i am so glad that he took centrestage this episode, even though, like always, it was to support another character and ended up with him crying and begging for help from an unresponsive dick. *sighs*

4.5. much like dick himself, he’s trying to do good by everybody, only to end up badly misjudging a situation, and all alone.

5. oof. this has gone on for far too long and i am Tired. more thoughts to come later, because right now my brain is as disorganised as... as disorganised as a titans episode. hah! self-burn!!!

#titans #titans spoilers #dick grayson #koriand'r #garfield logan #hank hall #dawn granger #donna troy #rachel roth #slade wilson #meta #aaaah this is 2.6k+ words long I'M SORRY

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hunnybadgerv · 5 years ago

Note

Writer Ask Meme 3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing? 10. Pick an author (or writing friend) to co-write a book with 12. Which story (or: stories) of yours do you like best? why? 17. What things (scenes/topics/character types) are you most comfortable writing? 29. Is writing more of a hobby or do you write with the intention of getting published? 36. Post a snippet 49. Favorite fictional world?

Behind the Scenes of Fic Writing: 30 Questions for Authors

3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing? Getting started. Once I’m writing, I can usually find the zone. But it’s getting started that is always the hardest for me. Like this morning, I didn’t know where to even start. So, I opted to edit, since it is something I wanted to accomplish this week. And I know that in the revision process I also tend to refine my prose, i.e., write, so my editing and writing work today coincided.

I have, however, written every day this month and I’m hoping to continue that trend. But regardless of the time of day, getting started tends to be my biggest obstacle overall.

10. Pick an author (or writing friend) to co-write a book with. Must it only be one? Gosh.

There are so many great writers I know, more than I could ever even try to consider for this.

I’ve always admired @theoriginalladya for the uniqueness of her ideas and character development are second to none; I equally love and hate when she and I talk about her characters because I get super excited about them because of how amazing they are. Then I quickly become obsessed, which may or may not be the only “bad” thing. @painterofhorizons has angst super powers; even in a snippet of text she can rip your soul clean from your body. Her writing is so evocative and emotionally striking. Then there is @chyrstis, whose ability to seamlessly weave humor into her fics sparks more than envy. She manages to put characters into such believable, yet laughable situations that it only serves to endear them to readers.

I’m not sure I could ever co-write a piece, but I would count myself lucky to write with any of the writers I regularly associate with, especially one of these three. Apologies to all the amazing writers I know who I did not mention by name, but I already didn’t follow the question in the first place by mentioning three rather than a single one.

12. Which story (or: stories) of yours do you like best? why? Oh gosh. This is so cruel. One story! Really? That’s all. Honestly, First Watch of the Night (Guardians in the Darkness Series) is one of my favorite. I think that might be in part because of nostalgia--it is Nyx Shepard’s WIP. I actually have it planned all the way through ME3, though I’ve currently stalled in the revision process in the ME1 timeline. I’m not sure why either.

I find myself wondering if the reason I have not finished it is because once I know what happens, maybe I won’t have the drive to finish writing it. Maybe I can’t get past the block because I’m worried that finishing their story will vacate those muses from my mind, which I kind of don’t want. I really have grown quite attached to Nyx, Kaidan, and her crew.

Honestly, I think that might be the struggle I end up in with all my longer fics. Short fics in collection are so much easier because the story never has to end. A long fic follows a certain line and has a definite conclusion, which I think worries me.

17. What things (scenes/topics/character types) are you most comfortable writing? Umm, If you were to look at characters like Tayen Quick, Nyx and Feign Shepard, Furia, Remy McGinnis, Mari Ryder, Cyna Mahariel, and Laerke, you’d see a common thread connecting them. I tend enjoy writing strong female characters, especially those that are flawed or broken in some way. Honestly, Nyx and Furia, also to some extent Leah Rook, all share imposter syndrome to one degree or another--so does Mari. I always tend to have one or two characters that share a flaw. I have Mari, Laerke, and Furia who have all lost their entire families. Characters that come from big families. But I tend to write female protagonists more so than males.

29. Is writing more of a hobby or do you write with the intention of getting published? I published a short story in college. And I really would like to be published some day. Right now, I am mostly writing for me. I’ve got original fiction ideas, but I don’t work on them currently. I focus on my fandom work in order to practice and hone the skills and plans I have for future pieces.

I want to write something in the mix of fantasy/sci-fi. But I also have a strong sense of realism. I still hold tight to Mark Twain’s statement that the difference between real life and fiction is that fiction has to make sense. Things have to stem logically from one another in a story, and I always try to ground my writing in experience--sights, smells, sounds, textures that my readers can be familiar with--in order to add some sense of connection. I try to make my characters flawed in ways that feel accurate to them.

A part of me screams in the back of my head that I am a writer. I can be an author, but a part of me worries that perhaps it may not happen. I keep writing. And I keep trying new things. I’ll always be a storyteller. I will keep writing and falling in love with fictional beings and places that I cannot resist exploring.

36. Post a snippet This is from First Watch of the Night. I really love the characters and depth I managed to capture in this piece. Honestly, it’s one of the pieces of my own writing that intimidates me ... a lot. I don’t write the same way anymore. I feel like my writing lacks the same emotional depth right now. And I’m not sure why. It might have to do with how disconnected from other humans I have been in the last decade.

The scene here is Nyx Shepard and her father from Chapter 18:

The two Shepards watched one another for a long moment, before Taranis returned his attention to one of the soft cherries. The commander sighed, sipping her tea quietly while the captain waited. It was his usual tactic. He knew there was more and he could always wait her out. Nyx would talk to him in her own time, even if it had to be in carefully crafted abstractions. His daughter knew the drill. Taranis' methods were nothing new to her. He would take long pauses, allowing her to consider all the things she was not telling him. Then he would ask careful questions in case it was actually related to her current or a classified assignment--since need to know could interfere with her desire to disclose and his fatherly curiosity.

Whatever it was, Nyx held onto it much longer than usual, which told him she really did not want to bring it up. Despite this, Taranis knew she would relent because she kept glancing over at him with a look that suggested she was merely trying to find the way to bring it up. Nyx always came first for him; he redirected his career to give her the life she had, a life where there was always one parent there to hold her tight when things weren't just so. He knew it was not perfect, but he did everything he could to be there for her.

Nyx sighed as she set the tea cup on the table between them. "Fine," she breathed heavily.

It took another few moments for her to look up at him. Then she scooted a little closer, lowering her voice in discretion. Watching her carefully Taranis could not quite be sure what she was going to say, but she bit her lip and winced a little when she finally asked a question he never expected to hear.

"What did you do when you met Mom?"

Everything froze for a second or two as he stared at her. The little blush on her cheeks threw her father for a loop, but made him smile. "Well, damn."

The commander shook her head at him, trying to discourage him from thinking too hard about what she had just asked.

"Answer the question, please."

Captain Taranis Shepard rubbed his hand through the short stubble on the back of his head as he stared at his daughter in stunned silence. "I avoided her. Tried to just keep my distance. I even put in for a transfer," he admitted with a wry smile. "It got denied because I did not put in what command thought was a valid reason. Then, on leave, I talked to your Grandpa Shepard about it."

Nyx smiled and laughed. "And what did the old devil dog have to say about that?"

Her voice held a note of disbelief that her father was not surprised to hear. Taranis' father was a stickler for rules, regulations, expectations. He was strict and set high expectations. The captain could tell by the way his daughter eyed the dregs in her tea cup that she was as completely unprepared for what her father was about to say as Taranis had been when he heard it.

"He told me it was not a weakness to want someone to be part of your life."

Nyx's eyes darted to his. She was easily as shocked as he had been. Moving the tea cup, Taranis laid her hand out in his and covered it with the other.

"I told him all the things, I'm pretty sure you're telling yourself right now. All the excuses about regs, concerns, and bad experiences and stories you've heard," Taranis said quietly as he stroked the back of her hand lightly.

She leaned toward him. Her voice was tight with emotion. "And?"

Holding her hand tightly, her father smiled at her softly. "He told me that there are some things that outweigh the regs."

They were both quiet for a moment as Nyx let herself fall back in the chair. Her mind was clearly racing. Kirk Shepard had always stern, at best; he still was totally by the book in everything except when he met his wife. That was the only rule Taranis could think of his father ever even bending, let alone breaking out right. Nyx had been very close with both her grandfathers; she respected them as men and as marines. For her they were role models, people she that influenced her greatly.

"I'm going to tell you something you probably don't know. My parents met in the service, too. We Shepards seem to fall for our brethren," he said playfully. Nyx did not look relieved in the slightest. "He almost lost her on a mission. Even in love, your grandfather was still the same man. He couldn't justify risking the primary objective. The mission at all costs, you know?"

Taranis knew she understood it. Hell, he knew she lived that decree just as solidly as his father.

"She made it out alive, barely. Your grandfather, sentimental bastard, proposed to her when she woke up from surgery. Grandma Amelie was just as stoic as he was. Told him she would consider it, but only if he promised to do always put the mission first, even if she was in his command. She believed him when he said he would. Even lived up to it. Had to put her at risk once more in the field before they got married."

"And he told you this when you asked him about Mom?"

"Yep," Taranis said, nodding as he studied his daughter's reaction. "I was rather hoping I wouldn't have to tell it to you, but I guess it was too much to hope you'd break the trend of falling for servicemen."

She shrugged and looked at their hands for a long moment. "Seemed to be going well for a while," Nyx said quietly.

"Just tell me it's not the Zingel kid."

Her laugh made him smile, and brightened her eyes. "No, it's not Caz."

Taranis leaned back in his chair, fidgeting with his uniform for a moment. "So, tell me something about this fella."

The way she tilted her head at him suggested that the question might have been her maximum.

"At least tell me his name so I can start checking up and get a little peace."

"Da."

"Fine." Taranis let his hands fall on the arms of his chair. "Don't relieve your old father of the undue stress he is now placed under worrying about what kind of man his plucking his daughter's heart strings."

"Seriously?" she replied with a doubtful look.

They both knew she did not see herself as the type of woman who was plucked, but Taranis had a long and vivid memory and he could still recall the girl with the romantic sensibilities.

"What? I remember the shelves of Austen, Gaskell, and the Brontes. Then there were the sonnets your grandmother always sent you. And if I recall you were planning on marrying Captain Wentworth." He tilted his head at her slightly. "Perhaps I should have seen this coming after all."

They both laughed. Then Nyx sprang forward and hugged her father around the neck. "I've missed you, Da."

"I love you, Nyxy-girl."

Her lips were warm on his cheek. "Love you, too," she repeated before she stood. "I should probably go."

"We should do this again," her father offered, as he stood and proffered his arm. "Soon."

His daughter smiled and looked away for a moment. "Sure. As soon as I can."

Once they exited the little shop, they stopped and he touched her cheek before he bent and kissed her forehead again. He did not like her chosen phrase. Taranis knew she meant it, but he also knew the schedule she had kept for the past several years and there was little hope of relief given the most recent change.

"I'd prefer sooner," he noted.

It always killed him to say what he said next, the phrase was tradition, but always made his heart ache because he knew there was always a chance that he could lose his girl in the line of duty. He had been in her boots and hung them up for her. She had taken them up with fervor and so much more skill and determination than Taranis ever possessed.

"Good hunting, Commander," he said, a waver in his voice, as he saluted her sharply.

Nyx returned it as smartly as she would to an admiral. "Thank you Captain."

Taranis watched the girl with her mother's hair and his eyes weave through the crowds in the wards. He remembered meeting a boy once, at her basic graduation. Keith or Kyle or something that started with a K. He managed to stick around until a few months after her graduation from Exeter. Somehow the kid had stuck it out through three mission deployments before the relationship ended without so much as a whimper. The captain could not remember his name or much else about him. Even after a few years together, his daughter never hinted at the question she just asked. It elated and scared the hell out of him.

49. Favorite fictional world? I really enjoy writing ME and in SWTOR. They are amazing worlds full of science, magic, adventure, and drama. Though I’m also drawn to fantasy for the same reasons. But I think futuristic worlds and space are some of my favorites.

#Behind the Scenes of Fic Writing #30 Questions for Authors #Writer Questions #long post #painterofhorizons

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seven-oomen · 4 years ago

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Hi, Ben! Gonna try and get this typed up before work, but we’ll see. Managed to watch the trailer, and I liked it, at least. I mean, the fact that you made a trailer is impressive enough, regardless of content (you’ve seen my photoshop attempts). And everything seemed to line up well, from what I can tell (and even if it hadn’t I would have just assumed it was my ancient cell phone. XD)

And I don’t know why you don’t think that little snippet is good writing. I feel like one sign of good writing is writing that causes the intended reactions in readers, so as long as that intended reaction was dolphin-like screeching while sitting alone in their car over how ridiculously adorable it was, then you’re golden.

Also, because I apparently can’t stop me from hurting myself; did Claudia know about everything? Because I can’t decide if that makes the pain worse or better. Also curious how Vicki going to join up (at least I think I saw her pop up on the tree?) with the gang. Randomly wondered if Noah still has the scar from the glass table in this universe, since his healing abilities weren’t as developed back then, iirc. Also wondering if any of the extended pack will show up in this story, or if they’ll wait until the sequel.

Part of me wants to try to write little fluffy holiday one shots for the cheer, but part of me is just like …urgh…effort…

I’m sure there were other things, but it’s getting close to clock in time, and I’ve kinda got cotton candy brain today, so. I hope your day is going well so far, and you’re feeling better! And even if you’re iffy on them, other people like the stuff you make! Take care! *Hugs!*

Hey B! I really hope you’re doing okay and that work’s been treating you well. My day went okay as I spend most of it taking it easy, editing and writing.

And I’m very glad you liked the trailer! Makes me very happy ^^.

I guess, it’s mostly because it’s not according to the rules or like literary writing and I find myself comparing my writing constantly and upholding it to impossible standard. Even though I know I shouldn’t and I should just write what I like and frick the rules. Which I’ll try to do more from now on again.

Because you’re right. Good writing is getting feelings out of people and making them happy or sad or even horny with your writing. And for the record, dolphin screeching was probably what I was going for as I wanted people to feel genuine happiness at these little scenes I’m writing now.

I think Claudia suspected who the real sire of Melissa’s baby was. I think she had a feeling or a hunch but she also respected Melissa and her decision to marry Raphael and step out of everything. Bit of a; if you’re not with me at least you’re happy idea. Even though eventually, Raphael ended up hurting Scott and they separated anyway. And Vicky will pop up in this story.

Still haven’t made up my mind if I’ll put everything in this one story or if I should put S3 and it’s storyline (since I’m skipping S2 as that focused on the Kanima mostly) in the sequel. Because what I might do is introduce the new pack members at the end of OUAT before they are bitten and then continue their story and the take over of the school by Jackson and Lydia in the sequel. Because I think that also has merit. And that way I can also set up the Alpha pack and Deuc’s return much more eloquently.

And I have also set up Ben’s storyline with Mack that I definitely want to address further but don’t know if OUAT is still the best place to do that anymore so I might move that to the sequel as well.

Noah does have the scars from the glass table, glass included. There were some scars he kept as he got older. No matter how badly they may hurt on cold days, it’s a reminder to him of what he survived and a reminder of what he never wants to become. So he has that scar. And he kept it.

And because I know your work is probably really, really taxing and I want to share an awful dad joke with you; here’s a snippet of what I wrote for chapter 13 and Jackson showing that he absolutely has the ability to make awful jokes too. (Peter is so proud, and you know Noah and Chris are too, secretly.)

With most of them wide awake the true challenge in front of them was unpiling their puppy pile without anyone becoming fast friends with the ground. A feat which they would have managed to do if it weren’t for Jackson unceremoniously dumping Scott and Stiles off the bed when he couldn’t wake them up to free the others. It was noted that both Scott’s and Stiles’s protests and groans went unacknowledged by Jax and the blond teenager merely smirked at his brother and his friend. And his quip of; “You snooze, you lose.”

Was met with a chorus of groans, a few chuckles by himself, Chris, and Peter, and Stiles’s declaration of; “Oh my god, dude, lame.”

He shot a look at Chris who had taken Ben from Peter and was cradling the sleepy child in his arms. “You sure that one is yours?” He nodded at Jackson.

“Considering how much trouble he was to get out?” Chris sighed, “Yeah that one is mine… at least he’s pretty.”

Jackson looked mildly offended at Chris’s words. “Okay one, I had a three point five GPA at my last school and two,” He gestured to his own face, “I am very pretty and very proud of that.”

#once upon a time comments #my convos with anon #B #ben says stuff #submission

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wistfulcynic · 6 years ago

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The Parquet Man

Not long ago, on a Discord not far away, @thisonesatellite posed a simple question. “What is Captain Floor?” she asked. The answer... spiralled. And turned into crack fic ideas. One of which she wrote. And I DIED LAUGHING.

When I came back to life it was as one inspired... to write the same story, from a different point of view. The result... well, Stephanie and I have always known we share a brain, but this may be the reason why the two halves were separated in the first place.

@mariakov81 and @stahlop bear some responsibility as well. Particularly Maria, for EGGING THIS ON.

I am going to tag @kmomof4 for REASONS and @darkcolinodonorgasm because I know you love Captain Floor. Also @snidgetsafan for helping me think of puns on perfect/parquet. And @teamhook and @thejollyroger-writer and @shireness-says and @resident-of-storybrooke JUST BECAUSE.

AO3

Rating: T

Words: <3k

Part One, By @thisonesatellite

I am a gorgeous hardwood floor. People say that all the time. It’s the first thing I hear when people enter the apartment in which i make up the walking surface. Seriously. Everyone who comes in says, “Oh, what a gorgeous hardwood floor!” I’ve tried not to let it go to my head, especially since I technically do not have a head, but what’s a floor to do? When all you can do is lie there and be gorgeous. I mean, I’m not bad. I’m just laid that way. In intricate parquet inlays, thank you very much. I was a lot of work.

So anyway. The last family who occupied the apartment had two small children and a dog, and now some of my blocks are loose. It’s really no state for a decent floor to be in. I’m very happy they finally moved out. If the agent weren’t showing the apartment all day every day. And I really don’t mind hearing “Oh, what a gorgeous hardwood floor!” every hour on the hour, but seriously people, can you take your shoes off? It’s snowing outside! You are tracking slush across my beautiful finish, and I---

Oh. My. God. Wait a minute. Wait a goddamn minute. Who is this gorgeous specimen of a human male? AND WHY IS HE NOT COMMENTING ON MY BEAUTY?

I’m calm, I’m calm. I’m perfectly calm. But really, you would lose your varnish, too, if you had seen this dish of a man. Do people still say ‘dish’? I was laid 60 years ago, I don’t know from vernacular. Stop laughing.

That man is gorgeous. And not looking at me at all. He is flirting with the real estate agent in the loveliest accent, and now he’s all “Oh, lovely space, lots of light”-- yes, we have windows, it’s not the Eighth Wonder of the Ancient World! -- and admiring the wainscoting. Seriously? I’m right here in all my honey-colored hardwood glory! And now he’s walking around looking at the paneled ceiling and ---OOOF.

WOW. Hello there. He slipped in one of the puddles people have been tracking in here all day and has fallen face-first on top of me, and I think that counts as a genuine kiss. His lips touched my blocks.

I will never be the same.

Oh god - his eyes are so blue. He’s just so beautiful. And now he’s looking at me. I can hear the agent sputtering apologies in the background-- could you please shut it and give us a moment? “That’s a very nice floor.” Finally, he notices me. I just love his voice. Could you please stay--- oh, he’s getting up. Oh, the feeling of loss. I really hope he--- yes, that’s him saying he’ll take the apartment.

I’m in heaven.

-/-

His name is Killian and he’s been walking all over me for several months now. He takes his shoes off like a gentleman, although he did not put enough padding under the couch when he moved in, and I now have three scratches in the upper left hand corner. But that’s OK. They’re practically love bites. He wears nice soft socks, and sometimes he slides across me on his way to the couch, and let me tell you, that does things to a floor. Lovely things. I love him so much. Especially when he gets into the rum. Twice now he’s gotten drunk and slipped off the sofa and slept the night on top of me. I rearranged my blocks both times so he wouldn’t get edge imprints on his gorgeous face. I do have some mobility after all.

But recently a woman has been stopping by. Ugh. The first time seemed innocent enough - it seems she needed a screwdriver. Apparently she lives across the hall and had a loose cabinet. Or something. He went to help her - didn’t I tell you he was a gentleman? - and I thought that was the end of it.

But now she’s been coming over. And I don’t like the way he looks at her. I mean - he looks at her the way he looked at the stupid wainscoting. Anyone can be a panel! It’s a wall covering, people! It takes skill and intricacy and craftsmanship to be a parquet floor!

So anyway, this woman. Emma. The way he says her name makes my glossy finish go dull in places. It’s revolting. And he’s taken a break from the rum. He hasn’t slept on me in weeks. As a matter of fact, he hasn’t slept in his apartment in weeks. He must be spending his nights at her place, and from what I hear, she has carpet. CARPET! It’s a travesty. And a tragedy. He’s just leaving me here to dwell on my thoughts, all alone. While he goes somewhere with carpet. I’ve got two different kinds of wood! I guess men are not that familiar with wood. I miss him.

So next time she comes by, I take action. What’s a floor to do? I shift my inlay and make her stumble into the wall. With a lovely, loud thump. Immensely satisfying. And Peter lets me know that the impact was sizeable. (Peter’s the side wall. We have a good rapport. He gives me all the gossip. He borders the window, so I know everything that goes on outside.) And Killian gushes all over her. Asks if she’s all right, and can he get her anything, and will she please sit down, when I’m the one with the dislocated block! I SEE, IT’S ALL ABOUT THE BLONDE NOW!

I am fuming. That’s not a good look on hardwood, let me tell you. But then he comes up and shoves my block back into place and---- oh, honey! That was a little rough. I like it. OK - that almost makes up for the fact that he’s still fussing over her. I’m just going to have to--- OOOMPH. A kiss! He kissed me again! Now, that was not my fault. He just stumbled over the coffee table, but really, I’ll take him any way I can get him. His scruff scratched all along my varnish, and oh, baby. OH BABY.

OK, OK, I’m good now.

Wait. I just caught a snippet of their conversation and they are talking about moving in together. INTO HER PLACE. NOOOOOO!!!!! Apparently, Emma doesn’t feel safe here. I CAN’T IMAGINE WHY. Come over here, strumpet, and I’ll re-introduce you to Peter, the wall. You could be very happy, banging together on a regular basis. Do people still say ‘strumpet’? I told you I don’t know from vernacular. Oh god, my life is ending. He’s going to LEAVE ME. I am floorboardbroken. Be still my beating inlay! How will I survive? I’ll just warp and buckle, you’ll see. Not a day will go by when I won’t think of you……

-/-

It’s been two long, long months since Killian left. I miss him so much. I miss his socks, and the way he just slid over me. No one will ever be able to take his place--- WHOA.

The real estate agent just brought in the next prospective tenant, and hellooooooooooo gorgeous. WOW. Wait, wait - what’s your name, I didn’t quite catch… ah. Ruby.

Well, honey. You have curves in ALL the right places. And your stilettos - you know, I’m usually a stickler for people taking their shoes off, but your heels are doing amazing things to my pieces. Ooooh - they’re like pressure massages.

OK. I like you. Please take this apartment. We are going to have an epic time, I can already tell. You’ll just have to wax me on occasion.

_________________________________________

Part Two, by @profdanglaisstuff

Killian Jones considers himself pretty damn knowledgeable about floors.

Not in a professional capacity, of course —he’s a librarian, not a builder— but as someone who routinely finds himself face down on a variety of flooring surfaces he’s quite certain he counts as an amateur of Olympic standing.

He falls down a lot, okay?

His mind has always worked much faster than his body, specifically his feet, and the results… well, they haven’t always been pretty. There was that time in the woods for example, with the patch of poison ivy, and— yeah, he’s never gone hiking since.

So when he chooses flats he tends to go for ones with wall-to-wall carpeting. Or at least some area rugs. Which is a shame because he’s also a man who appreciates an older house with some good wainscoting and the carpeted places tend to be newer. They’ve got no style. And whatever Killian Jones does —even falling on his face— he does it with style.

He likes this flat immediately— it’s got great natural light and the wainscoting is fabulous— but he’s concerned about the parquet floor. It’s beautiful of course, but it looks like it might leave marks on his face and he’s pretty sure he spotted a few loose boards. That’s just asking for trouble. Regretfully, he decides not to take the flat but as he turns to ask the agent what else is available he slips in a puddle of slush and falls…

Onto the gentlest floor he’s ever encountered. He’d swear it caught him, cushioned him, and when his lips press against the varnished wood he’s not sure if the floor kisses him back or if he’s just losing his mind. It might not matter.

“This is a nice floor,” he says, staring at it.

“Yep,” the agent agrees. “It’s original.”

Killian stands, feeling a small pang of loss when the floor is merely under his feet again.

“I’ll take it,” he says.

-/-

The first few months in the new flat are rough. He’s drinking a lot, still trying to get over Milah. He moved to a new continent to forget her but she’s still in his dreams unless he drinks her out of them, and when he does the floor is there for him.

Literally. He wakes up sprawled out on it more times than he cares to count. But never, he notices, with parquet marks on his face.

He’s glad of that. His face is a damn good one, if he says so himself. And he does. Often.

The floor takes care of him and in return he tries to take care of it. He takes his shoes off at the door —he is a gentleman, after all— and sometimes he slides across it to get to the sofa, Risky Business-style. This is the first floor he’s been able to do that on without falling on his arse. He appreciates that.

He buys new socks to wear on it. Soft ones. Cashmere. It’s the least he can do. He may be a leetle bit in love with this floor.

But everything changes when he meets her. Emma. The goddess from across the hall. He’s been trying for weeks to work up the nerve to talk to her and then she just knocks on his door like it’s no thing, asking for a screwdriver.

He barely manages to stop himself from making a seriously offensive remark, something about if she needs a good screwing he’s happy to help.

Sometimes his mouth is as awkward as his feet.

Instead he fetches the screwdriver, watches in awe as she fixes her cabinet with a few deft twists of her wrist, and for the first time since Milah died thinks he might be able to move on.

Thank fuck he didn’t say the thing about the screwing.

Emma keeps stopping by; there are a remarkable number of things she’s ‘lost’ or ‘forgotten to buy’ and needs to borrow, and Killian’s been out of the game for a long time but he’s still able to recognise a thinly-veiled excuse when he hears one, and so after the third time she shows up asking for a cup of sugar he takes the plunge and kisses her.

And falls hopelessly in love.

He knows he’s got a stupidly besotted expression on his face when he looks at her and longing in his voice when he says her name but he doesn’t care. He’s completely gone for her and by some monumental stroke of luck she seems to feel the same.

Killian has never been happier. He stops drinking and spending nights passed out on the floor, spending them much more enjoyably in bed with Emma instead, and everything is just about perfect.

That is, until the day Emma trips over one of those damned loose boards in his floor and falls face first into the wall with a resounding thud, and though she tries to brush off his concern he makes her sit down and gets her a drink and when he pushes the loose board back into place he does so hard. That’ll show the bloody floor not to mess with his woman.

He stalks back to the sofa, determined to teach the floor a lesson, and so of course he trips over the coffee table and face-plants on it. Again.

And the floor is just as soft and gentle as it ever was. Damn. He just can’t stay mad at her.

It. He can’t stay mad at it.

He rubs his chin against the grain of the wood to say sorry and gives the boards a little pat as he stands up.

He goes to sit on the sofa next to Emma who gives him a Look and tells him they need to talk.

Killian braces for the worst. He’s found that when a woman says that he’s rarely in for a pleasant conversation.

He hopes she hasn’t noticed about him and Floor…

But Emma surprises him. They’ve been spending more and more nights at her place of late, she says —she’s got the same nice wainscoting he does but her floors are carpeted. Soft, thick carpet, of which Killian strongly approves— and every time she comes over to his one or the other of them stumbles over something. She feels unsafe, she says, and also it’s getting annoying. So why doesn’t he just move in and they can live at her place together?

Killian can’t think of a single reason to object. In fact, he kisses her so hard to say ‘yes’ that she has to push him away before he makes her headache worse. By way of apology, he insists on carrying her home, over the threshold of her flat which is now theirs. He carries her all the way to the bed where he makes love to her until she forgets all about her headache. And he forgets all about his floor.

He moves in officially the next day. He doesn’t have many things, so it only takes a few hours. He doesn’t think about the floor, even once.

-/-

Living with Emma is a dream come true. Their lives mesh perfectly and they are deeply in love, incandescently happy. Their floor is softly carpeted but he falls down less, with her there to catch him. She doesn’t fall at all.

A few months after the move he gets a glimpse of his old floor when Ruby leaves the door open on her way out, running back to grab the purse she forgot, her sky-high stilettos clicking smartly across the parquet. The loose boards seem to have been fixed, he notices, and the surface is waxed to a high gloss.

“You settled in, then?” he asks Ruby. “Everything going all right?”

“Yeah,” Ruby replies. “Though I seem to be falling down a lot. It’s a bit weird. But the floor is really nice so I kinda don’t mind. You know what I mean?”

Killian smiles. “I know exactly what you mean,” he says.

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs fic #cs crack #captain floor #captain swan #parquet/perfect puns #VERY SILLY NONSENSE INDEED #WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THISONESATELLITE AND PROFDANGLAISSTUFF PUT THEIR HEADS TOGETHER?#THIS. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS

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ajoy3fanfics · 6 years ago

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A/N: I’m going to apologize for this upfront. I have NO idea what I was thinking as I wrote this. I just kept thinking about how Hades got a bad rep. He was so much more than the leader of the underworld- a position he did not even ask for. I was considering writing a piece solely on Hades and Persephone, but then of course my Inuyasha brain kicked into gear and here we are. This story is told from Rins (Persephone’s) point of view. It’s a take on her love story, one where she wasn’t kidnapped.

No one asked for an Inuyasha/Greek God mash up, but here it is.

ETA: This has been sitting in my unfinished work for so long. Lens drawings totally gave me the inspiration to get on this and finish it! I decided to make this a multi-part story :)

Also psted on FF

~.~

Persephone

The legends say that I was kidnapped.

The story tellers still spin the tales of my abduction- if you could call what reallyhappened an abduction- their stories striking fear in the heart of mortals- a warning to all young women. Never set foot outside alone. Keep your wits about you. Be prepared for anything, even the ground swallowing you whole. If you don’t, if you are careless, you might end up like Persephone.

Humans and Gods, mortals and immortals alike pity me, pity the waste of my beauty in such a desolate place. How could someone so full of life be condemned to live below the Earths surface, where not even a ray of light breaks through? Persephone, bringer of spring, goddess of grain, Queen of the underworld. They have given me as many titles as they have names; it still surprises me that Rin, my true name, never stuck. Humans are like that though- they will cut away at bits that displease them, at parts that do not fit their stories. Details become less important than the message they are trying to weave.

If I had heard the stories the poets tell of me, I too would feel sadness for the poor young maiden. Forced to marry her captor, forced to spend the better part of her life hidden away, far from the comfort the living world of friends and family. Doomed to spend eternity locked in an unhappy union with the God of death himself.

Of course, my husband is not the God of death. He does not torture the poor souls that make their way here. No, those are jobs best left to someone else. My dear husband does not have that in him- he finds the details of mortals lives far too tedious. Legends, as they so often do, have gotten him completely wrong. An injustice- one he does not deserve. Had the bards knew him better, they could have never accused him of taking me against my will.

In truth, I met him long before he approached my father, respecting the old ways and asking for my hand. Proper. It’s not a word that people associate with my husband, the king of the underworld. Then again, there are many aspects of him that are simply overlooked.

No, I had not met him in the underworld when the Earth swallowed me whole. Instead, I had met him in an almost unremarkable way. How strange the story spinners got that part right.

I met him while picking flowers.

~.~

It had been a splendid morning; the sun was high in the sky, warming the world and all those in it. There was a gentle breeze that with it carried the fragrance of wildflowers in the distance. It was the sort of day I loved; it made me want to run into the open fields, to feel the freedom I craved and go where the wind would scatter me. A fantasy, only that. My mother would never have allowed me to go off on my own, to act in such an unbecoming way. So, on days like this, I would settle on picking flowers.

I liked to do that- to capture bits of the spring that I could plant in places that nature did not bloom- in my room by the stone windows, in the kitchens as the servants cooked. I wanted to bring the beauty of spring inside where It did not belong.

“May I go out today, mother?” I tried my best to get her approval, doing my best to make my voice not sound desperate. Mother sheltered me, even in the best of times. I was her precious daughter- one that she found beautiful, powerful. Long before it was appropriate men would leer at me and without fail mother took notice. She did her best to keep me safe. And while I understood her reasoning- truly, I was lucky to have such a devoted mother- I also craved the freedom she denied me. I wanted time to be amongst my creations. “Please?” I added in for good measure, putting on my brightest smile.

She did not even so much as consider my request. “No, not today Rin. I have too much work to do to keep you company.” She brought a cup of water to her lips, taking a deep sip.

“You do not need to accompany me!” I quickly said. “I am old enough to go on my own.” My mother rolled her eyes. She did not think 16 was old enough for anything. “I just want to go down to the fields to see the flowers, maybe the river bank. Please?”

“Rin, could you not find-“

I leaned on the table, trying to plead with her once more. “Mother, its so nice out today! I cannot be kept locked up inside all day! I need fresh air, and- and- fresh flowers! Mother-“

“You do hear the ridiculousness of your request, right?” she said, raising a disapproving brow, “A goddess of spring complaining that she needs to go outin order to see flowers?”

“Please?” I ended my begging by sticking out my lower lip, looking every bit the part of a begging puppy. Mother threw up her hands in the air, utterly defeated.

“Fine!” She sighed, exasperated. “Take the attendants with you.” I expected that, she was always reluctant to let me go. I gave her a smile as I hugged her from behind.

“I will bring you a beautiful bouquet!” I said, “As thanks!” And with that, I took off before she could change her mind.

Mother was lovely; she was good for mankind, did humans a great deed as the Goddess of wheat. Mother was life itself. But she also had dreams for me, ones which I did not necessarily share. I often thought about how she would like to dictate my life, plan out every minute of it if she had her way. I was constantly torn between playing the part of the good daughter and wanting to rebel.

But when I felt the warm sun on my face, felt the cool breeze on my skin, my mother and her plans were the last thing on my mind. In that moment I was free. Kicking of my sandals I let my bare feet touch the grassy Earth, sprinting ahead, leaving my attendance to trail behind me.

I spent my day like that; basking in the sun, picking flowers and making crowns, frolicking by myself with people just far away enough to remind me that I wasn’t alone, not really. Sure, I had friends. But they were ones that mother approved of, and secretly, I wondered if they were spies for her, telling her little snippets of my feelings and whereabouts. I never felt completely alone, complete autonomous from her. My mother was a lovely woman, and my admiration for her is still strong to this day; but so much control can be stifling, leaving me gasping for freedom. Letting out a sigh, I sank down into the green meadow to relax, flowers beside me as the sun slowly began to lower. The day was winding down and soon mother would want me back in the nest.

That was the first time I saw him. A god on Earth, resting just across the river.

He looked every bit the divinity he was, his back against the dark brown trunk, a sharp contrast to his long silvery hair. Fair skin, so pale it looked porcelain and robes far more elegant than the richest mortal could hope to afford. He was resting, eyes closed, breathing even; I wondered how many people had seen him in this state, and suddenly became uncomfortable with a twinge of guilt, looking in on a private moment. I was struck by his beauty at once, but a handsome God was hardly a rarity. I had heard gossip of Ares and his build, of Hercules and Apollo. I counted Hermes as a personal friend, and he alone was enough to make women swoon. No, it wasn’t his hauntingly good looks that held my attention, but rather the expression on his face; he somehow looked completely at ease, but also supremely pained. It was not a look that showed easily, one had to truly search to find it. But as I stared, longer than anyone would deem polite, I found a deep loneliness, and it troubled me.

I wish I could say I was feeling bold when I made my small jumps on the slippery rocks, making way across the narrow stream, but I was far too intrigued to feel boldness or shame. I was focused on the supernatural entity before me. As I stepped onto the opposite grassy bank, he made no sign of acknowledgement that I was near. He still rested, head reclined at ease. I moved towards him in a crawl, still on my knees from when I raised myself out of the water . For a moment, I was sure that I would get close without him waking. I had no specific plan in mind, only that I needed to be near him; I was drawn and had no idea why.

“Do not come near.” He said, voice steady, eyes still closed. “Not if you value your life.”

The last part took me off guard, making me freeze on all fours, although there hardly seemed to be bite in his bark. Of course I valued my life; I felt ridiculous and ashamed, but unable to move forward or retreat. I was stuck. Biting my bottom lip, I debated what to do.

“S-Sorry.” I stammered, nervousness making my stomach drop. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“If you’re sorry, then leave.” He bit out, finally opening his amber eyes, piercing me in place. I couldn’t have move if Zeus himself commanded me. Never in my life had I seen a being more beautiful. True, I had lead a sheltered existence until this point, but I was sure I could travel the world twice over and still be awed by his magnificence.

In the days since, when my husband and I talked with fondness of our first encounter, we like to bicker over who was more stricken my whom. Was it I, a mere girl laying eyes upon a sleeping sin, or the God of the underworld, captivated by the look of me on all fours, black hair falling over my shoulder, pale pink dress falling off my shoulder? He even jokes that my flower chain of daises was a sign that I would soon be his wife, the spring crown upon my head.

I’ve heard the version where the Earth swallowed me whole, a fine symbolism for his great lust for me, eating the fair maiden alive. I’ve also heard the rather unsavory take of a kidnapping, an act anyone would reject if they knew my husband. Instead, at our first meeting, we stared each other down, a spark between us so strong it could light a fire. We would have stayed like that, spellbound in a trance, if my attendants were not calling for me. Looking over my shoulder I frowned, unhappy that this encounter was soon to be over. I needed to get back, but more than that, I wanted to know this stranger. He raised his finely arched brows, a silent signal that others were coming. I moved closer, a breath away from him. I could practically feel his body tense, as if being in close proximity to another was a foreign thing to him. Reaching up, I removed the flower crown and boldly placed it on his head.

“Cheer up.” I gave him a smile, toothy and genuine. The nymphs called once more and reluctantly, with a heavy sigh, I leaned back and turned to retreat, quickly jumping across the rocks, back towards the sprites that had lost track of me. Looking over my shoulder, I gave him one last long glance, a smile of wanting on my lips, before I cleared the area. My last look was a bewildered God, a chain of daisies around his silver crown.

No, the lord of the underworld did not kidnap as I picked flowers as the stories go. It was the day learned his true name that I found myself in the land of the dead.

#inuyasha #fanfic #Rin #olympus #inufanfic

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miazeklos · 6 years ago

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For the fanfic Ask question, for "astronomy in reverse" s, z, q, f.

Thank you! ^^

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

For this particular story? ‘Meeting in spite of everything’ is probably a big one here, in a ‘meant to be’ way. Just, you know... the thought of them affecting each other’s lives in pretty much the same way regardless of the circumstances is what always gets me. The idea of their fates - mostly through the TARDIS and, along with it, Time itself - is fascinating to me and that’s pretty much the reason why this fic is taking so long; it’s one of the bigger, deeper fanfic projects I’ve tried to delve into.

Telepathy/mind links are also a big thing in it (and also a big thing for me in general, honestly), in the sense that there’s a looot of focus on looking into each other’s thought processes (especially since I want River to essentially be close enough/intertwined enough with the TARDIS to be her daughter in an even more literal sense towards the end).

Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate?

Big fan. I’ve written it plenty of times and it’s mostly for the sake of writing the reaction from the people left behind, so no, I wouldn’t say there’s anyone untouchable for me. In fact, I’ve killed off the majority of my favourite characters the most times in fic, regardless of fandom. ;D As for reading... Less so. It’s not a limit for me or anything, but I’m very sensitive about character deaths and the way they’re carried out - I prefer ‘em the specific ways in which I imagine them and sort of try to ignore the rest.

Q: How do you feel about collaborations?

I like them! They’re a bit tricky, considering that my writing schedule (when mixing with work and uni) is hectic at best, but I do love doing them when I have more free time/am sure that I’ll be able to do my part in time.

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

This one is long as hеll, but I really do love it. It’s from yet another Jonerys Parental Reveal (TM) fic from last summer:

Her gaze darted towards him again. “Does the fire bother you?”

“No.” It was rather warm, now that she’d mentioned it, but not enough to distract him from the swift change of topic. “What does it matter?”

“Give me your hand.” He did. Daenerys intertwined their fingers and brought them closer to herself, her hold light and casual as always even as Jon’s grip tightened around her reflexively at the sudden influx of heat. “Does it burn now?”

“It’s—.” This was important to her, but figuring out how exactly was a struggle. It wasn’t unbearable, but it wasn’t far from it either; just the worse side of ‘unpleasant’. “It is really hot.”

“But you’re never cold.” The statement was stuck somewhere between an accusation and a question.

“I told you; I’m just used to it. I lived on the Wall for years.” Jon didn’t move away, eager to get as close to the bottom of this as possible. “What—”

It was too late – she’d let him go and had recoiled once again, somehow even more distant than before. Her hand was inching closer to the crackling fire at the edge almost absently. Jon forced himself to look away. “It’s nothing.”

Jon suppressed a sigh. He loved her, he knew that much by now, but it was so much easier when she wasn’t holding back so much; when they could be open in their questions to one another.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said at last, voice oddly uncertain.

“It doesn’t?”

“No.” Her smile was much more genuine now. “It doesn’t.”

“How come?”

Daenerys shifted around in the limited space between them until they were pressed closer to each other and Jon could feel the warmth of her washing over him when she leant in, hair cascading over her shoulders and brushing his chest. This he loved far too much already – the occasional playfulness and all the life that poured out of every gesture she made. “Because you’re never cold.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious. Jon wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, but made no move to get either of them in a more comfortable position. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does,” she assured him; a promise as tinged with sadness as it was with hope. Her fingers were tracing over his cheeks, down his jawline, as if she was trying to map out his features to remember later. “It will.”

I love it because it was my best case scenario for this plotline - I wanted Dany to learn it first, somehow, and get the chance to get used to the idea of what it means as far as her idea of family and belonging and Jon goes. Obviously it was never going to happen - the ball had to be dropped on Jon first, since it’s his ball - but it was fun while it could still count as potential canon.

Also, can’t resist, I’m going to add another one under this question because I’ve been going through the outline of the sequel of this fic for literally over a year now and the canon happenings mostly solidified my Lannister-related thoughts on this matter. It’s Jaime and Cersei, in a conversation about kid #4.

“By the time she was born, I had already realised what the outcome of the war might be. If I were to run—” A pause. “She would become a target too. For all I know, she already has.”

“Tyrion wouldn’t allow it,” Jaime protests immediately. “He loves the children, and since you spared his life—”

“I didn’t spare his life because of this,” Cersei says, irritated. “It’s just—Father said it himself: it’s the family name that matters and we’re the last of us.”

Father. Jaime isn’t sure why his siblings keep squabbling between each other when they’re so much alike; trying to defy their family and follow its words to the smallest detail at the same time. For a quick, fleeting moment, he hates them all, but then his sister speaks again. “And I was not referring to Tyrion.”

“The remaining Targaryens could feel threatened by a Lannister heir,” Jaime nods and the mere possibility of that sends a cold frisson of fear down his spine – he doesn’t know either of them well enough to be able to tell what they would do.

“They won’t ever find us again either way,” Cersei shrugs, “but threatened suits me just fine.”

Ah, there she is. This is what Jaime had been trying to coax out of her on their first night on the ship, because it’s what she is, for better or for worse; irrational and frustrating and unpredictable, and the return of it all is only made better by the sailor coming back, this time not alone.

Just... I love character study seen through the eyes of people conflicted about their identity, future, and place in the world, what can I say.

Fanfic-related questions

#fanfic #writing #ask games #ambitious witch

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