#it is my university giving out free food and trinkets for no reason other than it is a wednesday | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itsmoonpeaches · 4 years ago

Text

Raya and the Last Dragon and Southeast Asian Food Culture

Disclaimer: The following is from the perspective of a Filipino SEA. Please feel free to add or edit from other perspectives. There are *spoilers* under the cut.

A thing that Raya and the Last Dragon got right? The homely, welcoming food culture of Southeast Asia. This is one of the most integral parts of SEA culture. Food defines who we are as a people, not just by what we serve to you, but how it is served.

There are many food scenes in RATLD, but each build up in the movie and really drive to the point what sharing a meal means.

Disney made a short featurette on food culture, but it’s barely the tip of the iceberg.

Ready to eat? Below is a breakdown and analysis of SEA food culture as it is portrayed in this movie.

First, how about food that is familiar to most of SEA? I’m just going to list a few fruits that I saw in this film just casually being thrown about or eaten. I’ve also listed them here in a short post about cultural nods I spotted.

To quote what I originally said:

Random fruits I saw that are native to Southeast Asia: longan, rambutan, dragon fruit, mangoes, jackfruit

Since then I have also noticed that I left out durian, mangosteen, and bananas. The fruits that might be unfamiliar to much of the Western world are linked for your own further reading.

Now, let’s get into the meat of things. No pun intended.

Family

What does food in SEA culture mean more than family? At least, in a Filipino household, oftentimes a family eats together for every. Single. Meal. (Or most meals.) Breakfast, lunch, and dinner? You better be sitting with your immediate family if they’re at home. If your extended family is there? Better eat with them too.

Sometimes it might be considered rude to eat without them when you’re all home together. Unless, of course you’re in a hurry or there’s an emergency. There’s an exception to every rule. Some families might even wait for everyone to be at the table in order to start eating.

Every meal is and should be made for everyone that intends to eat, and you should be eating at the same table. Eating is a time for a family to have a conversation, to share what they are going to do for the day, what they did, and anything new going on.

Raya has an important conversation about trust and togetherness with the other tribes with her father over a meal.

Not to mention that family means recipes. Versions of traditional dishes that you are taught by your parents, your grandparents, or any of your elders really. Cousins, and other extended family might share their food secrets too. You can learn to cook something by watching or learning the ingredients. Or, if your family is a cooking family, you can learn by doing.

Chief Benja teaches his daughter Raya how to make stew with different ingredients and she passes down the recipe later to her friends. It’s lightly touched upon that her father’s way is her own “best” way to cook this particular dish. Because, well, your parents or grandparents always cook it the best. (This is not an opinion. This is a fact. That’s only a little bit of sarcasm in there, but you get the point.)

Wealth

I think this might be something that is universal, but food in SEA culture can mean wealth. What ingredients do you use? How much rice do you have? Do you eat something with your rice?

Now, “wealth” in this sense does not necessarily have to mean monetary wealth. It could be the wealth of the land you live on.

I’ve already talked about how important rice is here. However, here is a quote from that analysis to highlight the importance of the above scene:

There is a scene towards the beginning of the movie when Raya asks Namaari, “Stew or rice?” when asking which she would prefer. Namaari never answers the question, but she says that it is her first time eating rice in a while. Though it’s never explicitly said, it could be implied that it is because they did not have as much rainwater for irrigation at the time.

Namaari’s people lacked wealth of land in the beginning. With rice being such an integral part of SEA food culture, that is sad.

A welcome into a home

One of the first things Raya says to the other tribes at the beginning of the movie is, “Who’s hungry?” You can hear phrases similar to that peppered throughout RATLD. “Have you eaten yet?” is another one.

When Raya asks, “Who’s hungry?” in the beginning, it is to welcome a huge crowd of tribes into their land to share a meal. The first thing someone in a Filipino household would do when someone is visiting is to ask if they’ve eaten yet. If they haven’t there is always a meal that is ready for them. Honestly, the meal might even be prepared for them already even if they weren’t asked.

Here, Raya and Namaari share their first meal together as the very first thing they do before they do anything else. It is food to welcome Namaari and the others into her home.

You can notice that they are sitting on the floor. This doesn’t necessarily happen in all of SEA, but sitting on the floor on top of mats or a spread like banana leaves to eat is common practice, even for royalty.

Togetherness and friendship

Eating with family or to welcome someone into your house are not the only reasons why eating together is important. It is also a symbol of being together. Even if you don’t have a family and you just live with roommates or friends, you might eat meals with them on the daily.

You share the food. That’s important. Say if you lived with a roommate. In this culture, you might cook a meal for both of you, not just yourself. You might cook together and contribute different dishes. That’s not to say there aren’t exceptions, but this is what I’ve personally observed between my own SEA friends versus my non culturally Eastern friends.

This is where culturally, the East and West seem to differ a lot. Western society is based on an individualistic culture. Meaning, the focus is on the individual and independence. There is less group mentality. Eastern society is based on a collectivist culture. The whole group is taken into consideration. This can be true for both East and Southeast Asia.

You can see this as the case in RATLD. As the movie progresses, so do the meals. Raya sits down to eat with her friends, and there is rarely a time she eats without someone.

Gift giving

I’ve mentioned that welcoming someone into your household with food is a part of SEA culture. However, it is important the other way around as well.

Sisu does mention a few times that she thinks that they’re best off giving offerings or gifts to the chiefs to show that they mean well. Now, it is common practice in some SEA cultures (and particularly from a Filipino lens), to give someone something when you visit. This doesn’t have to be every time you visit, of course, but it’s seen as nice and polite if you give a host something if you plan on staying there a while.

For example, if they are providing room and board for you on a visit for a few days. Even if the host is a family member, you should offer them something. Anything could work, but food is a good option. And it’s a great, safe option. Who doesn’t like food?

Sisu does try the gift route in Talon. She tries to buy a bunch of trinkets, which inevitably fail. The second time she tries? She snatches a pot of (what I’m assuming) is congee to offer to the chief of Spine.

It’s also interesting to note that this is the only time in the whole movie that gift giving doesn’t backfire on them. In Spine, they meet an enemy-turned-friend, Tong.

Trust

Ah, the theme of the entire movie...trust. What does sitting down for a meal equal? Trust. You’re trusting someone to feed you, to give you something good to fill your belly, to essentially be vulnerable with you. Sleeping is a vulnerable time, but eating is as well.

You naturally let your guard down when you eat, and if someone cooks for you, you don’t expect to be poisoned by it.

In the start of the film, Raya is skeptical of the congee that Boun makes. She eats it anyway when she sees that Sisu isn’t poisoned. Obviously, this is a particular issue specific for Raya’s character development. However, it is a part of the process.

By the time we reach the end credits, things come full circle.

Raya expresses throughout the film that she wishes she could eat a meal with her father again. I’ve also pointed out how important it is to eat together with friends. All of that is showcased in the credits when the cultural importance of food, trust, and togetherness return.

Raya and Namaari share a meal again. This time, as real friends. (Maybe even...lovers? I cannot unsee it, Disney.) This meal they have together is more of a snack, but that is something of note as well. It’s something intimate because they’re sharing sliced green mangoes with shrimp or fish paste dip (bagoong in Filipino Tagalog). They trust each other enough to share the same dip, to cut up the same mangoes, and to sit together over a meal.

If that isn’t the essence of SEA food culture, I don’t know what is.

#raya #raya and the last dragon #ratld #ratld spoilers #raya spoilers #disney #raya analysis #analysis #raya and the last dragon spoilers #sea #southeast asia #philippines #food culture #this is what i did instead of writing what i should've been writing #sisu #namaari #boun #tong #kumandra

224 notes · View notes

katnissmellarkkk · 3 years ago

Text

Andddd here’s my chappy three thoughts 🥳🥳🥳

Hmmm Katniss saying that her mother has a dress made of velvet is actually really interesting because it shows that Mrs. Everdeen Lily-Rose really was well-er off before she married Katniss’ father Hunter.

Or did she get the velvet dress from Maysilee? Oh well, who knows.

Aww, Katniss’ nervous habit of touching soft things repeatedly to soothe herself 🤧🤧.

“Crying is not an option. There will be more cameras at the train station.” — someone tell that to Peeta 🤣🤣🤣.

Okay I gotta stop picking on Primmers, I know but like. How small is she that she sits on Katniss’ lap like a toddler but then in the following year is the same height as her? Doesn’t matter I know but still I wonder.

Okay so Mrs. E is the doctor for the people of the Seam? Idk I never thought about this but who does people like Peeta or Madge or Delly go to if they’re sick or hurt? Is there a still running apothecary shop that Katniss never mentions? Are her grandparents still running the family biz?

Also okay, I gotta stop having so many thoughts on all the lil details I know but like. Katniss says here she’s familiar with the herbs her mother doesn’t grow on her own so like a). Katniss is more of a healer than she leads on because no average person knows what kind of plant is medicinal and b). Her mother is just growing herbs and Katniss never mentions it again in the whole series? Or I just missed it.

Okay imma move on from this one singular paragraph but Gale and her made a pact a year ago that they’ll supply each other’s family with game if they were to be reaped... I’m feeling like their close friendship is probably only one year old then? Idk. Just my interpretation.

Honestly I love Katniss getting mad at her mom here.

She’s sixteen, for God’s sake, of course she’s angry at what her mother’s illness put her through.

Also I lowkey like that her mother got mad back because that lady in the movies had zero personality.

“Boys who are two to three times my size.” She sounds so little, omg 🥺🥺🥺.

“I don’t care if we’re rich, I just really want you to come home” 🤧🤧🤧😩😩😩😩 okay Primmers, you got me here.

“the Peacekeeper is at the door, signaling our time is up, and we're all hugging one another so hard it hurts and all I'm saying is ‘I love you. I love you both.’ And they're saying it back...” this is so sad leave me be 😫😫😫😫

Katniss is burying her face in a pillow to block out her emotions this is too much for me 🥵🥵🥵

Omg I forgot Peeta’s father visits Katniss 😅

Why does he visit Katniss?

She describes Peeta’s father as a “big, broad-shouldered man.” And then describes Peeta as stocky. Idk the comparison of the two descriptions has always led me to think Peeta is gonna be a big dude when he grows up like his father. This made no sense and had zero correlation but I thought, so I said it, no regrets

Oh he brought her cookies 🤧

WAIT WAIT WAIT. I just had a new thought, y’all. What if instead of the baker bringing cookies being a thing he does for all tributes, what if he’s bringing the cookies because Peeta asked him to, because he made them and wants to give them to Katniss and knows she’ll never accept / trust them coming from her competition? What if that’s the real reason the baker visited her in the first place? Because Peeta asked him to? This was such a shipper comment but idc, no regrets, remember?

Omg Peeta’s father is just mute 🤣🤣🤣

Between an abusive, angry mother and a mute for a father, the Mellark brothers must have had a fairytale of a childhood 😅😅😅😅.

But seriously #PoorPeetaMyBaby

Aww Peeta’s father is gonna help keep Prim alive 😭

Omg I just remembered he’s her mother’s ex boyfriend. Haidon Mellark, as I named him in my fics.

That one fic where he was thought to be Prim’s real father is just playing now in my head, rent free.

But does Katniss not realize that he may be offering to help Prim as a favor to her? Like she claims Prim is just so wonderful people adore her but there’s like zero evidence in the text that make her endearing? Okay I need to turn this bus around, I need to find a love for Primmy Deen.

Madge is not one for preamble apparently. No “hi, how are you? I’m sorry you’re gonna die? What will your last meal be?” Just right to “here, wear this family heirloom of mine, k thanks.”

I like that Madge had to kiss her cheek for Katniss to realize they were friends 😅😅😅.

I remember always loving her and Gale’s hug here. I’ve always felt like it was platonic, but especially when I first read the books and had zero preference one way or another for Gale or Peeta, I really liked how she said even with nothing romantic between them, “when he opens his arms, I don’t hesitate to go to him” or something I’m paraphrasing ok I’m lazy

Also though, this is the first time they’ve ever hugged? Idk why that surprises me? It shouldn’t because where is a hug gonna fit into a hunting trip 😅🤣😂 “I just caught a deer!” “let’s celebrate with a hug!”

I like that Katniss remembers how her father even failed to make a good bow sometimes. Random, I know.

I like that the Capitol weren’t entertained by the people freezing to deaths because it wasn’t bloody enough 🤭🙃

“How different can it be [to kill a human vs an animal]?” She’s about to find out, Gale 🥺. And when she comes back you won’t understand 🙄😔

What did Gale want to say before the Peacekeepers dragged him away?

I used to think it was a confession of love but I’m actually sure it wasn’t now? Just the wording “remember I-“ doesn’t sound like it, considering he never confessed anything prior to her coming home.

I’m assuming now he was just gonna give her some more advice to stay alive 🤷🏼‍♀️. Clearly if it were relevant it would have made its way to the others books.

Aww, she’s never been inside a car before 😭😭. I didn’t even know they had cars in this universe but okay.

I notice though how she says “In the Seam, we travel on foot.” So is Peeta just riding his trolly down the street every day with the other merchants then? 🤣

Peeta just openly crying on camera 😅😢.

I like how Katniss is like “ooo is this an act to get sponsors?” when in reality Peeta’s like “no, I’m just a soft and genuine boy ™️”

Omg I just realized this totally goes along with Peeta’s thing later on “I want to die as myself”

He’s refusing to hold back his emotions because he thinks he’s doomed to die and he’s already refusing to pretend to be or feel something ingenious.

But a Johanna mention in book 1 chapter 3 woohoo 🥳🥳🥳 also Katniss comparing Jo and Peeta is kind of like foreshadowing of their shared torture in book 3.

Omg she just called Peeta broad-shouldered and strong. 🥰🥰🥰 my headcanon for his post-canon body is confirmed

Also why does Katniss keep allotting his strength to carrying bread trays around? Are they heavy? Why have I never once heard of people who carry bread trays being strong? I always thought Peeta was really strong because he learned to fight in order to defend himself against his mother but that’s probably wrong.

But if a mother is abusive, it can lead to one of the kids being physically violent as well and we know Peeta isn’t but he has two older brothers I’m gonna cut myself off now but I think we all smelled what I just stepped in.

Also I just find it so fascinating now how she regards herself vs Peeta here.

When talking about herself, she says, “The competition will be far beyond my abilities. [...] Oh, there'll be people like me, too. People to weed out before the real fun begins.” But when she talks about Peeta, she immediately says, “It would take an awful lot of weeping to convince anyone to overlook him.”

It’s just funny how she discounted herself right from the start but thought he was a real contender and then come to find out, Peeta believes it’s the exact opposite 😂🙃. They’re both so stupid I can’t even take it.

Wait did they actually give the location of the Capitol and the location of District Twelve in today’s world? And I just overlooked it? Brb I’m gonna go to google maps right quick.

Okay so basically what I gathered is the Capitol is probably in New Mexico and District Twelve is somewhere between Kentucky and Alabama. Irrelevant I know. But just a reminder now to everyone that Katniss and Peeta are literally speaking, crying and screaming in thick, backwoods southern accents.

It’s literally so sad how everything for Katniss is about food. Like every motive she has, every action she does is about preventing starvation ever again. 🤧🤧🤧

First mockingjay mention 🤭🤭.

“My father was particularly fond of mockingjays” 😭😭😭 I bet he was 😭😭😭😭

We always go on and on about how Katniss is a mockingjay or her children are mockingjays but Katniss herself here says mockingjays represent her father imma cry, y’all 😫😫😫😫

“It’s like having a piece of my father with me, protecting me” shut up shut up shut up shut up

Awww, Katniss has never had food like this before 😔😔😔

Neither has Peeta 🤧🤧

Katniss disliking the way Effie put the two kids from the year before down and so began to eat like a pig just to prove her point, is so her. And the beginning of her fighting for the underdog.

Omg the Rue introduction 🥺🥺🥺

Bahahahaha the commenters calling District Twelve backwards but charming 😅😅😅 they really are the hillbilly district

Peeta’s unexpected laugh 🥺🥺🥺 I love you, baby

“He was drunk. He’s drunk every year.” “Every day.” Katniss and Peeta are already finishing each other’s sentiments and teaming up to get on Effie’s nerves I love them so much 😍

Oh my God, Effie, you selfish jerk. They’re kids having fun for like one second, no need to throw in their faces they’re gonna die if the drunk won’t help them. I’d forgotten why I don’t really like the book version of her. I actually prefer her as comedic relief in the movies.

I actually just realized I really dislike Effie Trinket, I hope they never speak to her again Post-Mockingjay. Idc how you’re raised you don’t need to treat teenagers who are sentenced to a probable death badly just because they laughed at you 🙄🙄🙄😡😡😡😡. They didn’t even really laugh at her, she’s just annoying and awful, we don’t stan Effie in this household.

Okay, that’s all for my thoughts on chapter three! Until next time, y’all ! If anyone actually read this long mess of a post.

#thgagain #this is so long I’m sorry #also yes I’m gonna use a Jennifer gif again

40 notes · View notes

purplesurveys · 3 years ago

Text

1277

Who are you most nervous about introducing potential significant others to? Ooooh moving forward, probably Angela hahahaha I have no idea how I’d break it to her if ever I do start seeing somebody again. She’s well aware of all the shit that I let slide so she might get intense with the scrutineering.

What is the most exciting thing about your life right now? Just the fact that I feel on top of the world these days. My days of being depressed and picking at my insecurities seem to be far behind me and the change has looked to be apparent coming from friends who’ve told me I seem happier, louder these days.

What was the most important non-academic thing you learned in high school? To not be scared to fight harder for the things you believe in or what make up your identity, coming from having to hide a same-sex relationship during that period. That feeling of being constricted and having to hide to stay on some conservative seniors’ good graces really pissed me off so high school was really crucial in letting me discover just how much I’d be willing to fight and test the waters to be able to live as me.

Have you ever had a job that deeply affected your personal life? How so and do you still work there? Hmm no, not really. If anything my job is one of the things that helped make me a lot livelier and happier.

Do you have a “one who got away”? It felt that way at the start when my view was still skewed, but it didn’t take long until I realized she was not a loss at all.

If you were in a superhero movie, would you be the hero or the villain? Hero.

If you found a mouse in your house, would you be frightened? Mice or rats are the literal worst fucking thing I could see in my house. I definitely see myself making a big deal out of it lmao, especially rats.

Have you ever tried to perform magic tricks? Nobody ever taught me, so no.

Can you do more with a yo-yo than just "go up and down"? Nah, which kinda makes me feel ashamed because considering it was a Filipino who invented the modern yo-yo, I feel like it should be my responsibility to know a few tricks LOL.

What is one form of technology that you wouldn't be able to live without? Instant messenger.

Did you get an allowance, growing up? Why or why not? Starting high school. Before that I was living in our family’s duplex, so my grandma could make packed meals for all of us – not to mention the fact that my parents were also still on their way to establishing themselves at their respective workplaces so we weren’t all that well-off yet.

When we moved into our own place, we started with my mom making our meals but eventually it just proved to be time-consuming and a lot of work considering she also had a job to go to. With that and the fact that both my parents at that point already got a couple of promotions, we switched to allowance.

Would you rather go to a water park or an amusement park? Why? Amusement parks though I would only probably head to the safer rides and food stalls with all the deep-fried offerings haha. I cannot handle more intense rides. On the other hand, water parks have always sounded nasty to me.

What is one instrument you wouldn't mind learning how to play? Piano.

What's the longest amount of time you've had to wait in line for something? The stupid LTO, because you can never count on government agencies to be efficient. Technically my whole time in there took a couple of stages, but all in all I spent eight hours there.

What is something that you would like to learn more about? Korean. I just graduated from my Basic Korean 1 class but I already have plans to enroll in the following course, since I seemed to do well and I want to keep the momentum going.

What is something that one of your family member collects? Mom has a large collection of chef-themed figurines and other sorts of trinkets like a chef timer, shot glasses, etc - but mostly the figurines - that she has displayed in a glass case. I should keep that in mind for when I start Christmas shopping, actually...she hasn’t updated that collection in a long time. Thanks for the idea!

Have you ever moved to a new school before? If so, how did it feel? No, not in the middle of the same period since I went to the same school from kinder to high school for 14 years. I only “moved” when I started college. Like I’ve said in previous surveys, it felt freeing to finally not under be the hands of an environment ran by...well, Catholics. It was a culture shock to see rallies everywhere, to find out I could wear short shorts or even go to school naked if I wanted to, and to see boys in my class (I went to an all-girls), but it was all the good kind of shock.

Have you ever legitimately forgotten to do homework? Always, because I never wrote them down.

Do you enjoy autumn leaves or spring flowers more? Why? I experience neither season.

Depending on where you live, why might a day of school get canceled? Typhoon.

If you could meet any fictional character from a book, who would it be? Melanie Hamilton from Gone with the World.

What are some common places that people tour when they come to your city? I rarely see foreigners here since my area isn’t particularly known for tourism; most go to the island provinces like Cebu, Aklan, Palawan, etc. If I had to recommend spots here, I’d tell them to go for Pinto and maybe the rooftop bars that offer a view of Manila’s skyline.

What's one food that you did not enjoy as a child, but do as an adult? Chicken curry, which I used to dread.

Would you rather have a mermaid tail, a fairy's wings or a unicorn's horn? I guess the wings just because I feel like it’s the only practical one.

What is an animal that you'd like to have as a pet but it's not allowed? I don’t think that way about animals I can’t keep as pets anyway.

What are some things that you do to make the world a better place? I always clean up at restaurants (my mom doesn’t understand why I do it because “the servers are here for a reason, Robyn”) but I always see the relief on their faces when they see I’ve stacked up the plates and cups so I don’t see a reason to stop doing it. I keep the door open for people who happen to enter/exit a building the same time as me, share dog adoption posts, don’t make a fuss about or towards a shop staff who messes up...things like that. I hope it’s able to help, even if just in a small way.

Has the last person you had sex with ever had sex with someone besides you? I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has already.

What’s your favorite store at your mall? We have several malls within the vicinity but I like frequenting NCAT.

Have you ever done a workout DVD? No but my mom is fond of those.

Who usually takes out the trash in your family? Either of my parents.

What song are you currently obsessed with? My Universe is soooooo good. It’s Coldplay’s classic sound but they somehow managed to perfectly blend in BTS’ style as well, so I love how it turned out.

When you go fishing, do you make someone else get the fish off the hook? I've never gone fishing.

Do you take any prescription meds? Nope.

What happens if you don’t take them? Who was the last person you dreamt about? My dad.

Do you prefer your tea sweetened or unsweetened? Sweetened, though I don’t usually actively look for iced tea. I’d have it if it was served, but I don’t typically order it for myself.

How often do you honk your horn? As long as I am annoyed, which gives my mom a mini heart attack every time because she insists I just let people have their way to avoid getting into fights. Sometimes when she’s driving and someone’s being stupid on the road I lurch forward to do the honking for her and it pisses her off soooooooooo much but it also gets the job done so *shrug*

Do you have any children? If so, names and ages? I don’t.

Have your parents ever witnessed you doing something inappropriate? What? TMI but I almost got caught doing the m-word once but my reflexes were at lightning speed that day so when my door opened I was able to fix myself up and appear as though nothing was happening lol. My mom also saw a hickey on me once but I was able to veer the conversation away when she started inquiring.

Did you get babysat a lot as a kid? No, I did the babysitting.

If you were the principal of a school, what would you do differently? Actually deal with teachers who mistreat or make issues towards their students. I had several teachers I know didn’t like me but I could never do anything about it because there was no way in hell the school was going to take my side.

Are you doing anything fun tomorrow? Continued from yesterday. If I took this question yesterday to refer to today I would’ve answered yes because we actually have a really fun PR stunt scheduled for execution today, wherein we get to sponsor someone’s whole wedding from food to flowers to the host and fillm crew :D :D But tomorrow is just Monday so the real answer to this is no.

What is something you'd like to receive as a housewarming gift? I dunno the usual housewarming gifts, but I would appreciate anything practical, or anything that you’ll need at the least expected times, like batteries or even like Sticky Tack.

How old were you when you first experienced the effects of puberty? Oooh I was an early bird – I was 9 when I could first tell my first period was on its way; it came a month after I turned 10.

What is your least favorite holiday, and why? I don’t dislike any holiday because they all mean a day off work lol.

What were some outdoor games you played as a child? We usually played piko (hopscotch), our local version of freeze tag that we dubbed “Ice ice water” for whatever reason, and a garter game that we call 10-20. Dodgeball was a favorite during recess and lunch, too.

Did you accompany your parents on "Take Your Child to Work" Day? That’s not observed here, but my mom did use to take me and my siblings to her first workplace. Are cemeteries peaceful to you, or do they freak you out? They’re actually more interesting to me than anything else. I like learning about the different lives of many different people, even if I only technically know them by their birthday and date of death. Sometimes the inscriptions would be more detailed and tell more about their life, sometimes I’d come across babies who only lived a few days...and it’s just interesting to have those glimpses into life.

Which ancient civilization would you be interested in learning more about? Filipino, because Western colonization destroyed proof of most of it.

Do you have better long-term memory or short-term memory? Long.

What was the last situation that made you cry? Describe. I cried this morning. Nothing bad or heavy, I just found myself thinking again about my mental state last year.

Which forest animal would you be most afraid to encounter? Anything that wouldn’t hesitate to tear my limbs apart.

Do you believe in anything supernatural? (ie: spirits, etc) No.

Has anyone close to you ever gone to war? No. The closest link I have to the military, other than my dead great-grandfather, is Angela’s uncle who’s like a general or like a colonel or something, idk titles.

Have you ever experienced altitude sickness? Yeah, occasionally. Pressure in the ear is a bigger nuisance to me, though.

Is there anything, any event, you wish you could remember more clearly? The last time I saw my grandfather. My only clear memory of him that day was stepping out of the house to leave (my mom and I were visiting) and him sending me off with the message to always be kind and good. If I had known I would never see him again, I never would’ve left.

Have you ever rubbed anyone’s feet? Hmm no, not that I can recall.

If you had to get advice from someone of the opposite sex, who would you go to? I’d go to Hans for certain advice, but not for every single situation. He’s the only person that comes to mind.

What was the last new food/drink that you tried? So last Wednesday I finally got to try this Instagram-based doughnut shop that I’ve been eyeing since August and it turned out to be even MUCH BETTER THAN EXPECTEDDDDDD. Like yeah their photos were always mouthwatering but I didn’t expect it to taste as good as it looks, since most pretty food I’ve encountered usually end up just tasting meh. Anywho, I got two orders of their sampler box and they served me their specialty bacon doughnut, signature brown butter, and a bunch of their chocolate and peanut butter variants and I loved every single fucking thing.

Have you had a good day today or was yesterday better? Oh it’s hard to tell, it’s only 9:05 AM. Both days might be uneventful, though.

Have you ever played Sudoku? I don’t actually get how to play it hahaha. I feel like I’m too stupid for sudoku.

Do you ever take surveys for money? I tried it last year when applying for jobs was still a bitch for me, but the thing is most of those surveys look for employed participants so there was rarely ever a survey that fit me anyway.

Do you like Barbie or Bratz better? Bratz.

Do you prefer purple or green grapes? I don’t like grapes.

Who was the last person that made you laugh? Idk, probs one of the boys since I was watching videos of them earlier today.

Where does your best friend live? A nearby city.

Who did you last confide in? Angela.

Does your car have an alarm? Sure.

Where was your mom born? Somewhere in Metro Manila.

What can always make you feel better no matter what? My dogs.

What is something you’ll never eat again? Why? I don’t think there is anything. I feel like I’m always bound to retry things and that I would be open to doing so, even fruits. One thing I’m firm about never drinking again, though, is coconut water. Get that SHIT away from me.

What is currently happening that is scaring you? I’m not feeling scared these days.

Have you ever found a stranger’s note somewhere? If so, what did it say? Probably. But nothing sticks out.

#survey #surveys

2 notes · View notes

ptilopseth · 4 years ago

Note

🐚📚 🥰 for whichever f/o has been on your mind tonight or lately! [@ofieugogyshz]

thanks i’ll die for u... also while we’re here i love ur passion & enthusiasm for your ship with lance it’s so cute....

will do with ptilopsis, evan, mostima!

ptilopsis

shell emoji: What do you do to feel close to each other when you have to be apart? ptilopsis keeps a little pressed white lily on her person, probably fashioned like a keychain. i have a pic of her and i in my wallet...

books emoji: How do you spend your free time together? Do you usually go out or do you prefer to stay in? kal’tsit gives us very little free time BUT on the occasion that ptilopsis and i actually DO get a day off it’s usually spent kinda lazing around, relaxing, since being part PMC is very taxing. we both sleep in super late (ten am is comparatively late), maybe get breakfast at some lungmen cafe (or DIY breakfast which i always burn), hang out at the flat and watch some tel of vision.. or take a nice walk around lungmen.. you know... cool things

hearts face emoji: What was the first thing that attracted you to your FO(s)? What was the first thing that attracted them to you? Who fell first? meta answer: i was a fan of ptilopsis for a while ‘cause she was an aoe healer (queen), and i liked her personality/voicelines and the way she expressed herself cos of her oripathy, and also i remember watching some CN videos and hearing her ‘tactical support system online’ voiceline and i was like Oh whos that i love your voice. i figured out it was ptilopsis & then a while later i decided to invest in E2ing her and then it turns out that was a really good idea (she’s my first maxed out operator!!), idk where i’m going with this lol but it was just her in general... in-universe answer: i think i’ve said this before but i admired her from afar for a little, and then it was essentially the same thing as the meta answer (you just seem really cool) and i think it was all history from there? see the covid-19 type beat fic

stupid cringe ass

shell emoji: What do you do to feel close to each other when you have to be apart? so because of the way 1.3 works there’s never really a reason we wouldn’t be near each other, unless evan’s in the lab.. BUT post-1.3 when (i assume) we move back to primary gracetown & we have to spend the day apart for work/life reasons.. he probably has one of those locket/opening keychains u can put a photo in, cause hes corny like that and all... i have a couple pieces of paper in my wallet of his poetry that he gave to me ;3;

books emoji: How do you spend your free time together? Do you usually go out or do you prefer to stay in? okay so the funny thing about this one is that because of marrian-eliza’s general... location... we kind of Have to stay in, and also going out into the actual facility itself COULD get us killed, so mostly it’s just evan’s dorm since i don’t have one lmao (not in my pay grade also eliza probably hates me). evan doesn’t get a lot of free time with the medusa project and all, but on his off days he probably works on a lot of different art stuff, usually poetry... i work on art/writing and stuff, or messing with my ES, which delights him

hearts face emoji: What was the first thing that attracted you to your FO(s)? What was the first thing that attracted them to you? Who fell first? meta answer: this is hilarious because he came from my own brain and i’m pretty sure i sat down and engineered him to be exactly my type so i really have no answer other than ‘uh. .yeah?’ in-universe answer: probably his just entire everything. the aesthetic, the way he carries himself, he really gives no fucks and lives for causing a scene. also he’s very pretty... and yeah i definitely fell first there’s absolutely no question about it, i’m just that kinda person fkjsgh

mostima

shell emoji: What do you do to feel close to each other when you have to be apart? urgh this one hurts. mostima’s very fleeting as it is in canon so even tho she loves me i feel like we still spend a lot of time apart unless she’s at RI (in her eyes time probably passes real fast cos of her time powers but uuhh not for me). she goes back on her phone and looks at the texts we’ve had/pics we’ve taken together.. subconsciously when she’s out i spend a lot more time looking at the clock than usual, or just studying clocks/timekeeping pieces in general.

books emoji: How do you spend your free time together? Do you usually go out or do you prefer to stay in? again kal’tsit gives us/me no free time but on those rare days mostima LOVES to take me to different (close) places to show me all her favorite food joints and hole in the wall shops. we buy lil trinkets and snacks and stuff it’s a very very enjoyable time. i kinda fall asleep on her shoulder as we take the metro home fsgnhsdg...

hearts face emoji: What was the first thing that attracted you to your FO(s)? What was the first thing that attracted them to you? Who fell first? meta answer: her aesthetic! i’ve said this before but her third skill is so fucking cool and i fell in love with it instantly. i looked her up but forgot about her since i didn’t know the banner schedule but then i saw her come up again, did one ten roll, and now we’re here. in-universe: i heard about her from PL/kal’tsit, then when she finally joined RI i read her case file(s) and i was like... oh shit... but then we hung out more and as it turns out she’s super chill and really cool... i don’t wanna say this but mostima fell first >> i’m really chill and i (try to be) a good listener... so she was like... love you...

5 notes · View notes

theveryworstthing · 6 years ago

Photo

(pounding fists on table) fashion, fashion, fashion, faSHION FASHION...

it is time to release the fruits of my patreon sponsored Dwarf Week to gen pop. the theme was the long awaited history of dwarven punk (furthermore known as Lunk) and woo did it become A Lot. music genres and fashion movements don’t just come from nowhere and transplanting a human genre that started from specific human times and sensibilities onto another race without thinking about why a thing ain’t my style. so! i’m gonna give you a nice chunky lore post and follow it up with some posts about Notable Lunk Ladies. let’s begin.

A Long Short History of Lunk To really talk about Lunk we gotta talk about the rebellion. And to talk about the rebellion we gotta talk about the flood in the Mander Drop cave system.

Two Disasters. - The Mander Drop cave system was fairly small as dwarven cities go. It was also very remote, and as far as top-sider territories are concerned, outside of the Woods. So when a devastating flood/cave-in combo forced survivors up to the surface they found themselves in the human kingdom of Luxterra, and therefore on the land of the recently appointed King Regiis The 27th. For a while this seemed like good luck. The king welcomed the refugees in and happily provided them with housing and food. How could they be anything but helpful to the first dwarves seen in Luxterra for generations? Especially since, whether they knew it or not, the royal borders made it so that these were clearly their people? Their brethren? It was just too bad about all the blasphemy. The King and his religious advisers all agreed that they’d have to do something about that if their newly discovered people were to be Saved with the rest.

Now religion can be a force for love and safety and a link to important cultural heritage. But also. You know. Sometimes it sucks. Rolism, which is what Luxterra had recently adopted as their primary and only religion, sucked. The Incomparably Holy And Absolutely Complete Sapient Bestiaries was a collection of books written by a young failed anthropologist/failed fantasy writer/failed(eventually successful?) cult leader with an unchecked ego and a down right girthy god complex named Sir Adam Brightcrown (real name:Rod Flaff). They were said to contain the true and holy roles of every sapient being barring demons, who were not in the books outside of mentions of general badguy behavior and their penchant for the perversion of nature. The series was barely older than the current king himself and had flown completely under the radar until the former king Regiis The 26th, received the books as joke gifts and got way into them. Like, into them enough to abolish all mentions or practice of any other religions in Luxterra and turn the church over to the author of the Bestiaries/voice of god, Sir Adam.

The Mander Drop dwarves did not act the way dwarves were described in the Bestiaries (a common theme for any race described in the Bestiaries). They thought themselves all women, even as they wore long beards! There was no gleam of avarice in their eyes when they walked past the golden ornaments hanging throughout the royal gardens! They weren’t even violently rowdy alcoholics!

Scandal.

It couldn’t just be that they were survivors of a horrible disaster reeling from the loss of their homes and families as they tried to be polite to human hosts who knew next to nothing about their actual culture.

No, they had to have been Changed. Touched by demonic forces that all Good People knew lurked beyond their righteous borders.

But they would surely come around with a little instruction and the church got to it right away, sending their missionaries into the hospitals and dwarven camps to spread the word. But the word did not spread as easily as they would have liked. The word was kinda chunky. The dwarves were very set in their ways and the loss of their home had made them very touchy about altering their traditions too much. So after enough badgering, the remaining Elders decided that maybe it was best to leave Luxterra as soon as their wounded could be moved and take their chances in The Woods. They even went so far as to tell the royal council that they did not see themselves as true Luxterrans and so felt that they should not be beholden to certain church guidelines. The King took this pretty well and told them that he would respect their wishes and support any decision they made. So a few weeks later, when everyone who hadn’t passed was stable enough to ride with a caravan, they sent messengers out with pleas for help to other cave systems.

They never saw those messengers again.

A freak flash fire broke out in the dwarven camp that evening. All of the Elders and the adults most resistant to the church’s advances mysteriously did not make any moves to escape as they were burned to death in the meeting tent. Most of the possessions and goods salvaged from the Mander Drop caves were also reduced to ash . In the end, all that was left were a few resilient trinkets and a vast amount of mostly orphaned dwarven youth that had luckily been away at the time. The king’s detectives declared that it probably was and accident, but the remaining dwarves should move to the land behind the royal monastery for a while just to make sure it wasn’t something more…unsavory. And so the survivors were put under absolute royal protection. Which meant a settlement furnished with everything the holy books said that a dwarf could want, entry into St. Adam’s Rolism School for the young ones, round the clock guards to ensure safety standards were met, and many other…perks.

All the king asked for in return is that they work the mines to repay him for his generosity. Since they were not actually Luxterran citizens, they could only receive a certain amount of aide without incurring debt from their hosts, and that line had been crossed long ago. But no worries! Once their debt was repayed and they felt stable enough, they could leave with the kingdom’s support and blessings.

House Arrest- The dwarves had a bad feeling about this whole deal, but weren’t exactly in a position to refuse. The initial agreement to pay for the refugees room and board looked completely fair despite their awful feelings toward it but like everything else in their situation, it sucked. Hidden, vague stipulations in confusing foreign languages and weird time frames made them inescapable. The mining conditions were so hazardous that many didn’t live or stay healthy long enough to pay their due. Children inherited debt from their parents and were locked into the system as soon as they were old enough to enter the work force (an age that inched ever lower). As far as the king and the church were concerned, the dwarves had a sizable community debt not just from enjoying Luxterra’s gracious hospitality but for having their souls saved by being shown their proper Roles. And that debt was so great that it made sense that it was impossible to pay off. Also, trying to escape the contract was as much a death sentence for you and your family as ‘consorting with demons’. Leaving the kingdom or rebelling against Regiis’ rule was akin to stealing the prosperity they had surely enjoyed and no one stole from the king. It was rehabilitation from the church or death.

And let’s be real. It was usually death.

Besides, the Holy Bestiaries stated that dwarves lived for mining and their generations of work had made Luxterra prosperous beyond measure. Why would they want to leave?

Basic Rolism Dwarf Rules- Dwaves are masculine. Dwarves are brutish. Dwarves smith and mine but they do not craft. Dwarves only love Gold and treasure. Dwarves only take joy in fight and drink. There’s more but you get the idea. There were other random rules around appropriate use of the dwarvish language (no use. No use is what they wanted) that included acceptable names (most families got to keep their last names because they were appropriately Aesthetic but first names were changed for most people). These rules weren’t in the books, the church just decided they were for the best.

Music - music was the biggest and most freeing coping mechanism the dwarves had during the three generations of life in Luxterra. This makes sense, as screaming rhythmic complaints is a known stress reliever for many sapient races. What culture could be recovered or remembered, which wasn’t much tbh, was used heavily in the Lunk (short for ‘spelunk’ which some dwarves did in secret to recover relics from the ruins of the Mander Drop caves) scene, and that included attempted replications of traditional instruments and songs. It was way different from classic dwarven music due to the new instruments, influence from human underground (not that kind of underground) musicians, and enhanced Angst, but like all of lunk culture it was good enough.

Dwarves were expected to sing per their entry in the Bestiary, and so were never bothered about practice during the work day unless snitch human coworkers or guards heard…less than tasteful lyrics. This meant anything treasonous or ‘contrary to their nature’. Fighting and drinking were okay subjects but critique of religion, the social order, or the king? Literal devil music that was cause for possible arrest and ‘rehabilitation’. To be fair, a lot of human miners weren’t too fond of the king either (Rolism didn’t just affect dwarves) so they let a lot slide unless a dwarf got uppity and they were a huge bastard. Also fighting and drinking persisted as song themes long after they were freed from their restrictions because those are almost universally fun topics to scream about in a cave, but still.

While plenty of singing went on in work areas, actual concerts and events were held in deeper decrepit mines than were usually condemned for one reason or another. It was…not safe. But that was kind of the point. If it wasn’t safe for dwarves then humans certainly wouldn’t want to venture down there, not that they didn’t. Human friends could come to shows if they were vetted by enough dwarves, kept their mouthes shut, and brought their own safety gear. Crouched figures with oxygen tanks, harnesses, and dusty mohawks weren’t as rare as you would think. Especially when the war started and the king really kicked his religious fervor into high gear.

Strangely enough, none of these venues ever killed or injured their occupants. Future dwarven musical scholars would say that the shows tied into ancient protective ballads that are sung in unnaturally excavated areas, a bit of accidental protection magic, but at the time they just considered themselves lucky.

Music Part 2: Themes In Screams - Classic lunk was angry rebellion music, but it was also very fantastical and tended to veer into a surreal dreamy territory that at times produced echos of ancestral dwarven music. This was purposeful, as the descendants of the Mander Drop dwarves had a lot of culture scrubbed out of them, but they fiercely guarded and celebrated what remained. Lunk also had a kind of fun hopeful romanticism to it once you got through all the verses about beheading the king and pissing down the stump. Besides regicide and bar fights, major classic lunk themes were a mix of gender, identity, and love. Lunk was a perfect medium to explore their heavily repressed femininity and sexuality because as far as the Church was concerned all dwarves were manly men who only touched through punches and dwarven babies came from special chunks of gold and rocky debris found in mines.

Music Part 3: Instrumentals - a lot of scavenging and creative instrument construction went on to make lunk possible. The dwarves were limited to crafting weapons, tools, and armor due to their Role in the Bestiaries, but used their time combing scrap yards and dumps for forge materials to smuggle out other interesting tidbits. Using knowledge gained from discarded manuals and spare parts hidden among mining equipment, a workshop (called the Ironing Board for its red walls and duel purpose as a place that outlaw seamstresses hung out while doing clothes alterations and fittings) was established in an empty side tunnel, and secretive tinkerers would spend their spare time churning out strange stringed things, portable piano adjacent items, and drums that were honestly, Too Much. Some of the better sounding instruments became staples of the genre and were mastered by most players but there were a lot of funky one-offs only used by specific dwarves.

As for singing, Lunk started as a mix of dwarven throat singing, very energetic yelling, seductive crooning, and rare operatic belting. Mostly it’s just Loud. Microphones weren’t a thing and being heard over the instruments meant positioning yourself in the cave for maximum acoustic effect while wearing your lungs out.

Some original music from the time in Luxterra still exist in dwarven museums and private collections. Recorders were retrieved with the rest of the spare parts they hid down in the tunnels, and the ones that weren’t taken apart for instruments were used to record shows. The quality of these recordings is middling to pretty bad, but considering how few of those bands survived the war with all their members, they’re treated like the exquisite treasures they are.

Aesthetic:

Hair- Mostly bald or buzzed short with bangs but short thin mohawks or rat tails were also acceptable. Usually bleached completely golden blond or streaked with blond chunks as a sarcastic nod towards The Bestiaries stance on the dwarven race’s supposed obsession with gold. Besides, bleach was cheap and easy to get. Hats were worn constantly above ground to prevent questions about the styles from nosy humans.

Beards- Styled to hell. Gelled monstrosities that were sometimes bleached and often dusted with mica powder until they resembled shimmery stalactites /stalagmites. Lunk beards are dyed a variety of colors these days, but in the past mica powder was easy to make/steal and a dusty beard was easier to explain away than a rainbow one. Beard style varied, some cut them short and shaved them into easily spikeable strips, some only shaved the chin and wore the rest in two braids laced with found bits of metal and ribbon, and some went with the dwarven classic: letting it grow to ridiculous lengths. It really depended on how closely they were monitored and what they felt they could get away with safely.

Clothes Makeup and Accessories- The goal was to be a visually blasphemous fuck you. Rolism gave dwarves very strict very masculine fashion guidelines that favored rugged disregard for appearance over careful grooming. Makeup and any accessory deemed too feminine was prohibited. Colors were restricted to shades of brown with an occasional splash of white or gold. All jewelry was bits of rough blocky metal with very little detailing. Free dwarves have an androgynous style that flips from feminine to masculine and everything in between depending on cave system and activity but the Lunk style aimed for less gender androgyny and more gender discord. In the beginning dwarves turned up to shows in a mix of their least ruined set of work clothes and whatever super ‘feminine’ items they could get their hands on. This made for some very patchwork looks like heirloom pearl necklaces and gaudy costume jewelry earrings were paired with grungy button ups and ripped jeans. As scavengers got bolder and seamstresses got better they started experimenting with castaway human sized dresses (and the rare ballgown) that were ‘harvested’ by being hacked apart and put back together to make two or three slightly scandalous smaller dresses and taking apart discarded heels to recreate them in dwarf sizes. Patches were made from leftover scraps and either sewn over holes on clothing or embroidered with slogans and symbols to decorate vests, jackets, and bags.

And oh man the underwear.

It’s seems weird to bring up underwear as a sign of rebellion but the church only provided the worst boxer shorts you can imagine and ill fitting ‘undershirts’ used for binding chests too big to be ignored. The first seamstress to reverse engineer a comfortable bra and make underwear that wasn’t constructed of congealed depression was regarded as a goddess. And the great thing about the underwear was that unlike their other clothing which had to be stored in the tunnels 2/7, they could wear them anywhere as long as they made sure everything was covered up and washed them out of sight. That little act of rebellion carried a lot of people through and though great creativity and care was put into all the clothing made underground, underwear were by and large the fanciest and best taken care of items.

Now back to accessories where everything was spikes. the style was meant to mimic the stalactites/stalagmites and jewelry was made with random polished rocks and fabric scraps when actual pieces couldn’t be found. Makeup was little more than getting creative with charcoal for eyeshadow and lipstick (it had to be something that didn’t stain easily and the dregs of old makeup they would find caused enough eye infections and cold sores to be undesirable at best unless you were really willing to risk it for that great pop of color) but eyelashes were more important. Dwarves naturally have long eyelashes but they were ordered to trim them to prevent gender ambiguity so of course this meant that super long false lashes became a big thing. What else were they gonna do with all that beard hair they were shaving off?

Art- Outright rebellion would have meant death for every Mander Drop dwarf, so all Lunk activity was on the down low to a degree that it might as well have not existed to humans not in the know. It was very easy to tell where humans weren’t hearty enough to work though because there was Lunk graffiti everywhere. Most graffiti was chiseled or scratched into available surfaces with re-purposed broken work tools or pocket knives. A lot of it was standard sentient species graffiti, tagging, poetry, declarations of love/hate, badly drawn pornography, puns, calls for regicide, memorials, cryptic messages, well drawn pornography, ect. But there were also a ton of illustrated instructions. Popular clothing patterns in different sizes were etched into the walls of the Ironing Board by seamstresses. Important instrument parts and building shortcuts were sketched out for crafters to reference. Tips for smuggling contraband, finding the best garbage, and lists of which humans were to be trusted (and who was to be ignored if they happened to fall down a mine shaft one day) were also present. A lot of this art was lost in the ensuing escape cave in, but now that dwarven archaeologists are allowed to venture into the mines again much is being found and displayed in Woodland museums.

Tattoos- Tattoos were very important before the flood drove them topside but the church declared the dwarves’ traditional designs blasphemous, going so far as to decree that those that couldn’t be hidden at all times be magically removed. If they really really wanted a tattoo in Luxterra it had to relate to Rolism in some way. This meant that most dwarves did not have tattoos unless coerced into doing so to prevent punishment. So while makeup and drawn designs like the Mander’s Drop (the raindrop and circle worn on the forehead) were frequently used, tattoos weren’t a thing in Lunk culture until after the war. After the war, when they didn’t have to worry about hiding identifying features and they had the freedom to choose what designs they wanted, a lot of dwarves got inked up. Tbh, the result was less desirable than the absolute high of real choice but being able to get their Drops properly tattooed instead of drawing them on in secret every day helped soothe the identity problems some dwarves came out of this mess with.

New Blood - While the Mander Drop dwarves took solace in their music, King Regiis The 28th and head priest Adam III were working on plans to take their forefathers’ conversion of the demonic touched races a step further. It obviously worked for the dwarves, why not send missionaries into the Woods and actively enlarge their congregation? Or failing that, why not kidnap dwarven travelers and stick them with the tamed-I mean pious dwarves until they shape up and join the church? That should work.

It didn’t work.

The new dwarves, upon waking from the heavily drugged sleep brought on by the free food from the previously mentioned missionaries and getting an inside look at this whole Situation give a healthy internal scream and started planning their escape. Their goal was to warn everyone in the Woods that those kind of annoying human missionaries were a vanguard for something much worse and nip this in the bud before it got (more) out of hand.

They kept their distance and didn’t really trust the Mander Drop descendants at first as they assumed that they were brain washed weirdos. They eventually came around after then elder, Thorgold Buckmarble (a common and ‘traditional’ dwarven name from the Bestiaries I swear) was instrumental in making sure the new blood didn’t get murdered by guards for demonic behavior within a week. With her help they were able to gain the other dwarves’ trust and realize that their pious behavior and shows of loyalty to the crown was all an act.

Thorgold was the one who introduced them to the lunk scene, and with her gentle guidance and constant threats to ‘come over there and chuck you idiots down a mine shaft if you don’t cut it out’, everyone was able to get along. Mostly. The newcomers’ insistence on escape and tales of dwarven culture outside of Luxterra intrigued the locals, and as they became more involved with each other lunk started to change from a simple music scene, to a movement.

Spread The word - The Mander Drop dwarves didn’t know any dwarven and the newcomer dwarves only barely spoke Luxterran but both sides were eager to learn. The misunderstanding were making things more difficult than they should be. The exchange had an unintended effect however. The few trusted human acquaintances ended up learning dwarven too. And dwarven turned out to be a pretty good language to be treasonous in. And treason was starting to sound pretty cool for the small population of people who weren’t keen on what was shaping up to be a bloody crusade over a religion that they didn’t really believe. Of course the dwarves and their sympathizers didn’t want all this treason traced back to them, so they created a code to talk trash in and tentatively labeled it Lunk-Speech. This new code language was used for more than light treason though. It was also used for elaborate escape plans and HEAVY treason. With the king growing more paranoid by the day and war becoming more likely, the dwarves used their human comrades to sneak Lunk S.O.S. messages into The Woods. Lunk code was also used to make literature criticizing the king and the church, which made the ranks of sympathizers swell dramatically.

The king did not like this.

He only heard the barest of doubtful whispers. Even with the secret growth of the lunk movement, most humans in Luxterra were sippin’ the same flavor kool aid that he was. He had no real reason to be concerned about a few weird notes but paranoia sure is a thing. The demonic forces had clearly crossed his borders. No more missionary trips. No more acclimation experiments. It’s holy war time.

The Second Jewel Towne Fire - Faking their deaths seemed as good a plan as any. There wasn’t gonna be a search for dead dwarves.

The messages did their job and rescuers in the Woods got to work. The least crushed bits of the abandoned Mander Drop cave system was rediscovered and tunnels were connected to one of the dwarven-only work areas of the smaller royal mine. As soon as the escape route was open the signal was sent to every dwarf. 3 days.

By the time the king got word of the flash fire at the dwarf village, now called Jewel Towne, the flames were a wall of rainbow fury from the metallic dust burning off of the clothes and buildings left behind and the thought that anyone could survive the inferno was laughable at best. Instead they focused their efforts on saving the monastery and other adjacent human buildings.

Meanwhile, the dwarves were making their way through their escape tunnels. Their last act was to detonate their exit.

It had taken three generations, but the Mander Drop dwarves were free again.

Free Agents - So the Mander drop dwarves faked their deaths. Now what? Freedom was amazing but it wasn’t smooth sailing. They never completely fit in with the Woodland dwarves after their ordeal, and while they appreciated the help from the outsiders who freed them, they felt iffy about moves to coerce them into the Woodland army. This led to them being a pretty solitary nomadic tribe. They did their part though. It’s not like they magically stopped hating the king, they just didn’t want to give anyone else a chance to use them. During the war they worked alongside woodland forces as spies, info dealers, assassins, and Luxterra experts. They were a boon for anyone looking to infiltrate enemy ranks, pose as slave traders to free captives, or safely escort refugees. They also served as an early warning system for different communities and provided hand transcribed copies of The Bestiary so that people could hide ‘demonic behavior’ from roving Luxterran forces looking for an excuse to go after them. These blasphemous reproductions included translations for common Luxterran phrases, inventive curses to yell at captors/raiders, beauty tips, song lyrics, and a variety of very raw comix. The info didn’t always work because if someone really wants you to be guilty you’ll always be guilty and many holy raids were just cover ups for land grabs and kidnapping, but they helped a lot and were pretty much how zines in the Woodlands were born.

You would think that trying to stay out of direct combat would mean they were relatively safe, but many Mander Drop dwarves fell during the war. They were most often the first to warn towns of approaching Luxterran forces and last to leave, which meant they got into a lot of skirmishes. They also had a habit of always trying to rescue P.O.W.’s , kicking in the teeth of slave traders, and generally freeing anyone they could from the Rolism colonies (it seems dwarves weren’t the only people that the church had captured and tried to convert). Very touchy on the subject of stealing people those Mander Drop dwarves. Very willing to risk their lives for any opportunity to stomp on a Rolism priest’s nuts.

And besides all that there was the fact that now that they were free, they were very loud and open about their seething hatred of Luxterra. They couldn’t let the enemy forces know that they were their former captives since they were still pretending to be dead (and in fact had stopped using the Mander Drop title in exchange for just calling themselves Lunk dwarves and adopting new names for themselves) , but they spread the tale like wildfire and turned a lot of would be allies against the Luxterra. Most of the groups that were the loudest, most widely spread, and biggest pains in the collective royal ass were led or assisted by Mander Drop dwarves. It was so much of a thing that in the Lunk scene people used bounties and wanted posters like stylish accessories. This of course meant that anyone with a heavily styled beard and a mohawk was enemy number one.

Some Woodland forces pegged this as reckless and suicidal behavior, but they won more than they lost and their work with the goblins who created the Guides saved a lot of people so no one really said nothing to them. Plus Lunk musicians were still making tons of morale boosting music in between missions and were regarded as some of the greatest war bards the Woodlands had ever known. You came to their shows talking smack and you had better have had a good reason or great brawling skills.

End Of The War- Stomping on slave trader necks was fine, but it was the spies that really helped bring an end to the war.

Intel from human allies still living in Luxterra revealed that the king was going to try revive his weird dwarf collection and use them as spies. This would be his downfall however, as it gave a few of the top Mander Drop spies a way to get in there and just mess things up real good.

The ladies who took on this mission were Basaltherick Boulderboar, Thorgold Buckmarble, and Brickarth Dirtraven. They posed as miners who had been trapped by a cave in right before the deadly fire, claiming they’d been wandering the underground for over a year, surviving only on water and mud (which The Bestiaries totally said they could do in hard times). It was almost suspicious how quickly they were believed and offered the job. If there was any Divine meddling going on, it definitely wasn’t for the king’s side.

It takes another year, a lot of sabotaging the hidden camps holding the heavily guarded healer P.O.W.’s that the Luxterran forces had been using the keep their army borderline unkillable, the accidental seduction of the king’s cousin, the death of a brave comrade, a few murders here and there, and getting a real tasty peasant uprising going, but eventually the crown was scooped up off the floor next to the guillotine, dusted off, and placed on the head of King Renn. His two dwarven advisers, Ladies Boulderboar and Dirtraven, stayed in Luxterra for the rest of their lives, and later became peaceful dignitaries. To this day they are still a constant presence in the Luxterran courts in what totally isn’t keeping an eye on on whoever they didn’t kill/get killed the first go round. They are also founders/joint leaders of the less peaceful secret society who totally are making sure that that bullshit never happens again.

Dwarves age amazingly but they both look very young for their respective ages. Just a fun fact.

Also they are still spiking their beards.

Post War - Everyone kind of expected the Lunk scene to die out once the war was over, but changing out a king doesn’t entirely change out the ideas implanted in his people so even today there are still pockets of Rolists causing trouble so in turn there are still Lunk girls carrying on the family tradition of stomping on their nuts. It was eventually revealed that the Mander Drop dwarves had faked their deaths, and negotiations started on declaring their ancestral cave system as dwarven land entirely separate from Luxterra. Today the system is mostly restored and serves as a dwarven historical landmark but few people took up residence there right after the war. They were happy to have access to their home again but the feeling of being in Luxterra borders was just…too much. The majority of the Mander Drop survivors decided to spread their wings a bit and explore the Woodland on quests for insight into free dwarven culture. The bands that were still whole and didn’t hate each other toured wherever folks would have them, picking up new musical skills and spreading the Lunk sound across the land. The fractured bands did similar, banding together or training up new members from other cave systems. Seamstresses used their skills to transform the post war fashion industry into something weird and wonderful (and one has a granddaughter who’s the current talk of the non-human fashion world with her Chainmail Bikini brand). Some of them went into crafting apprenticeships. Some helped rebuild Mander Drop.

Some, maybe more than people talk about when discussing the Woodland’s victory, never recovered from Everything and it’s a shame what happened to the ones who got smothered by all that ugliness. That’s what these things do to people though.

There are worse happy endings than this.

#fashion dwarves #dwarf #small guide #dwarves #lunk

374 notes · View notes

agirlinhell · 6 years ago

Text

WHAT THE F.U.Q

The following are frequently unasked questions and answers regarding my portrayal of Clementine. Enjoy! 2/?

Q: Does she have any inner demons?

A: Ahaha. Yes. She has a lot. Likely her biggest one is hostility/spite? If you wrong her horribly once or give her any reason to make her hostile or spiteful, she may never let it down unless she believes you’ve genuinely made up for it (even then it’ll still burn in the back of her mind). And depending on the wrong that was made on her, this can make her grow incredibly violent or make her angry or furious. And when she is furious she is 100 times likely to attack to kill. She hates it - especially after the whole James-AJ fiasco in the cave - but can’t figure out how to deal with it and it scares her, because she doesn’t want this trait to reflect onto AJ.

Q: What are her self care tips?

A: Self care… She does a lot of this? Mental, physical, emotional, spiritual, etc. She takes supplements and herbs nearly everyday, rarely has a lot of sweets or foods high in salt due to the lack of resources needed to make sweets until later years. Drinks lots of herbal tea, prepares good meals if she has the ingredients or enough food to do so.

She knows to treat herself, perhaps more than she should. Rarely pushes herself too far, takes time to rest and feels better, especially after the amputation of her leg. Physically, she pretty much feels as if she is glass and can break easily? She’s gentle with nearly everything she does, not using too much physical force/strength to do things.

Q: What does Clementine do when she can’t sleep?

Goes for a walk or a ride on her mare, Epona, in the forest, or do something time consuming. If available and not already doing so, she’ll go find someone she’s close to (regardless if they are asleep or not) and cuddle with them. Other times, she’ll practice her piano lessons and sing quietly to herself, or stargaze while pondering and dreaming of better things to come.

Q: What would she impulse buy at the grocery store?

A: If she ever was at a shop or store she’d either buy food, clothes, pet stuff or random books, crystals, and trinkets. Or gifts for people. Or even buy shiny things, tiny things, fuzzy things. Honestly she might take whatever she sees (and might not buy it).

Q: What order does she wash things in the shower?

A: She doesn’t have a shower but usually focuses on her hair.

Q: What sort of apps would she have on her smartphone?

A: Obviously modern verse but she’d have Instagram, Snapchat, Spotify, Youtube and Netflix. things to entertain or challenge her.

Q: How does she act around children?

A: Very kind, very gentle, very sweet. Treats them nicely, though often stern if they have done something wrong. She allows them to be excited or coaxes them to speak about their interests, etc.

Q: What would she watch on TV when she’s bored and nothing she really likes is on?

A: Again modern verse but probably anything cooking shows. or Oasis/Love Nature channel (lots of animal/nature shows owo )

Q: What kind of weather does she enjoy most?

A: Other than water and snow, Clementine adores the sky. Sunrise, sunset, stars, clouds, etc. Within the school’s areas of the forest she knows some of the best places to see the stars, even within some of the tallest and most sturdy trees. She’ll spend hours out, usually around sunset and late into the night. Or if she can’t sleep she will go outside to see the stars, usually returning by sunrise. But the sun is Disagreeable. It’s too bright, it leaves a mark in her vision if she looks at it, it blocks out her view of the sky.

Q: Is there a certain scent that brings about nostalgia? If so, describe a memory this scent brings back.

A: Flowers. Many types of flowers, many different scents. A giant bunch of different flowers. It reminds her of her mother. She used to tend to and grow flowers and plants when she was little. She’d often sit with her while she harvested or set bundles together. She was, and still is a mama’s girl so anything relating to her happy times with her mother is cherished. Different flower scents reminds her of certain days or memories with her mother.

Q: What about nature do they find calming? What about nature do they find disagreeable?

A: Clementine is certainly a fan of nature, her biggest interest being the diversity and endless sights to see. What she finds most calming is any form of water in nature. Rain, a river, a waterfall, snow, ice covered surfaces. Being within the forest she doesn’t see as much snow as she’d like to, but the school is right beside a river. It’s often where she goes to relax or think. What she finds disagreeable is quite actually the forest. Perhaps it’s because many of the battles she’s fought have taken place there, or that there’s just tree after tree after tree. She enjoys seeing the sky, especially at night, and the large trees tend to cover it in most spots. She has and will climb trees just to see the sky. She often used to take AJ up into the tall trees and they’d watch the stars together.

Q: What is something that causes her to question herself?

A: What doesn’t cause her to question herself? Clementine is often questioning herself about everything. A common example of something that she questions is motives to kill someone. Even if she believes someone deserved to die, she’ll figure out maybe twenty reasons why they didn’t. She’s a very guilty person. It’s the same with everything. In an argument, if she says something harsh– maybe she shouldn’t have. If she makes a comment about pretty much anything, later she’ll ask herself why. She’s quite a bit at war with herself over everything and it’s quite fatiguing for her, but she’s literally been mostly alone since she was nine. She’s often set in her ways, but wonders if her ways are the best ways to go, especially after her recent conversations with James.

Q: How does Clementine interact around her friends?

A: Clem is quite loving towards her friends. Once she finds a friend she can be close with, trust, or share struggles with, she tends to care a lot more for them than most others, even if she argues and fights with the friend. Tends to consider them family, and shows a side of herself that others rarely see. Fiercely protective, has and will kill for her friends’ safety. So far, she’s only had very few friends like this.

Q: Is she proficient in musical instruments or in music in general?

A: Clementine used to sing when she was younger but stopped after the age of ten after Omid died. She began singing again when she began taking care of AJ in hopes it would soothe him. She has a good singing voice. Although she’s open minded about many genres, she tends to prefer gentle music, or upbeat types with a soft edge to it. Music she can get lost in and feel free of worries. Daydream music. She loves playing music to the sound of rain, and may often sit outside or with a door/window open to hear it at its loudest. Otherwise she often plays a flute or a harp by the river beside the old fishing shack, to the sound of water flowing over the rocks and downstream. Louis teaches her the piano and it’s a very stress relieving hobby for her.

Q: Would she kill if they had to in order to protect a loved one?

A: In a heartbeat. She is very loyal and devoted to others and would see killing another as a sacrifice worth making, to protect those she loves. If her “loved one” has proven themselves to be strong and capable, Clementine will rarely act in her way in front of them. The best she does is get defensive, protective or angry. She will, however, get rid of threats in secret. If she catches word of a plan to kill someone she cares for, sooner or later that person may turn up dead or go missing. It’s happened before and she won’t hesitate to do it again.

Q: Does she consider herself a good person?

Not at all. She knows she is disagreeable to some and is aware of many of her flaws. She’s often had many angry outbursts that hurt people she cares for, and finds this shameful and unacceptable. She is aware of her apathy and limited care for others outside of her two inner circles - family and close friends - though she doesn’t see it as particularly bad. She knows others do. She often bases if she is good or bad on how many times she has hurt or upset people she cares for, and currently she sees herself as a terrible person.

Q: Is Clementine honorable?

A: She likely has more honor than most people around her in an apocalyptic universe, though Clem herself isn’t sure of it. Since there aren’t many rewards or mentions of honorable acts, duties or behavior in an apocalyptic universe, she tends to do her own thing, for honorable acts mostly get one killed. In her experience, those with honor in their hearts always end up dead. She’s seen it happen many times.

Q: Would she seek revenge against someone who’s harmed her or the people she cares about?

A: Usually yes. More likely towards those she cares for. Most times, however, its as long as she remains angry/furious, scared or hurt. If the feelings die down, apathy often takes over and she blocks these things out. She isn’t the type to strive for revenge over countless years, intense planning or travel miles upon miles to enact it. It’s more of a spur of the moment revenge, until she is calm again. Often she even ends up feeling bad about the revenge she has made.

Q: What does she think of ‘good’ and 'evil’?

A: Clementine is a bit vague when defining good and evil. She feels the definitions change from person-to-person, and can’t often see another as blatantly evil. In place of “evil” Clementine sees others as disagreeable. People that enjoy murder or torture and destroying innocence (killing/abusing young children, harming animals, etc) she finds greatly disagreeable and may (be tempted to) get rid of the person... permanently, if given a chance. However, anyone that claims they are a good person receives serious doubt from Clementine. “Good” and “evil” can only be defined by others, not oneself. To say you are a good person means she’ll believe that you are not, and instead think you are full of yourself. It’s best to refer to that as others see you as a good person, and she’ll look to see why, and if she agrees.

Q: When would she tell a lie?

A: This is dependent on who he is telling the lie to, and the situation. If she is scared of the response or scared of hurting someone important, she’ll lie about something. There were times she would lie to keep people away, keep them unable to know who she was. But this she is currently moving away from and is opening up to try trusting few others again. She also gives innocent lies for fun and teasing or joking. It’s a form of playing to her, and often does so affectionately.

Q: Would she manipulate someone to get what they want?

She is rather manipulative, so yes she probably would. That doesn’t mean she would often use people or lie to get close to them and toss them aside when finished. (Unless she finds said person disagreeable in the sense that person kills/abuses young children, harming animals, etc.) She often manipulates in forms of persuasion or bribing, often enjoying the bit of control she gets from it. She is also not afraid to manipulate others and even resort to blackmail to get what she wants, especially if it means protecting AJ. However she doesn’t think of it particularly as “manipulation” or controlling others. In fact half the times she isn’t completely aware that she is doing it, she simply wants things to happen and works towards it. She enjoys Things Happening™

Q: Does she believe in luck?

A:A bit? Not enough to fully trust, rely or believe in luck. She’s more keen to believe in actions and causes. She won’t argue that there’s no such thing as luck, at the very least.

Q: Favorite animal(s)?

A: All. Cats of any type, foxes– for sure. Many kinds of reptiles and amphibians; snakes, turtles, lizards, geckos, chameleons, frogs, axolotl. Opossums, ermines, skunks, ferrets, narwhals, owls, bats, wolves, otters, most birds, lemurs, minks, weasels, etc. And many, many more.

Q: Favourite food(s)?

A: She’s omnivorous and doesn’t have a preference, but she loooooves apples and chocolate. Big on fruit, enjoys vegetables mostly when cooked or seasoned. Many kinds of sweets and ice cream.

Q : Favourite weather?

A: Gentle breezes, snowy weather, partially cloudy days. Likes warm days (not hot) as long as sun isn’t beating down on her all the time. More of a fan of winter, though does have favourite summer weathers. Hates wind and straight, hot sunlight.

Q: what’s a physical attribute she is attracted to?

A: Tallness - though in her case this isn’t quite that hard. Honestly she prefers “stronger” and “larger” men and women. Not too large and buff though, she thinks there’s a point where it’s excessive and unappealing. But she does prefer people with a larger body size than her, or have defined muscle, etc. She loves freckles and dimples and smiles that reach the eyes. Tattoos and scars are a BIG bonus.

Q: what’s a personality type she is attracted to?

A: Kinda that “tough to understand/distant/closed off” type. She feels it’s more rewarding to build up trust and try work at understanding and getting closer to people. Again, there is a point where she can’t take it anymore and it’s unappealing, if the person is too closed off or never shows signs of being able to open up– she won’t waste her time and will take it as someone not being interested at all. She really likes kind and honest people, and the ability to make her laugh s something she truly adores. If you make her laugh, you bet she’s into you.

Q: Does she prefer love or lust? Why?

I’m going to use her adult verse for this question but a bit of both? Lust is much easier and less stressful for her, she can get the attention she needs and craves and ideally break off with no strings attached to another person, not having to be forced to commit to someone nor having to deal much with the emotional struggles of relationships. Her experience with love has been incredibly difficult and painful but she does enjoy some of the feelings that come with it. It is much more stressful and she often never seems to get what she needs with it either due to separation or death. It’s excessively difficult and sometimes she feels it isn’t worth it, until she’s around the people she’s interested in and she’s screwed over again. There is a sappy, soft side to her that wishes she could find someone for her, but she feels her time is running out so she’s somewhat stressed about it.

Q: how good/bad is Clem at following rules?

A: Really depends on the rule and/or who gives them tbh. If someone she dislikes gives a rule, regardless if it’s good/bad she’ll rather spitefully do what she can to break it or refuse. If someone she respects or accepts gives a rule she’ll be more likely to follow it, though much more hesitantly if she does not agree with it. If committed, she can follow rules perfectly.

Q: How about art?

A: She is fairly creative and expresses it in various forms of art. She was taught at a young age to make things. She is very good at painting and drawing. She loves painting mostly scenery or sky, but very rarely does she have the time to do so. She gets a lot more time to do this after her leg is amputated.

Q: Swimming?

A: Much better underwater than above water. She’s able to hold her breath for quite a while and has often preferred swimming underwater than above. It’s too noisy and splash-y above the surface, with awkward flailing and splashing about and she really dislikes it, especially since it could potentially draw walkers and prefers the calm, muted and odd noises underwater. After her leg amputation, she feels very saddened that she’s unable to swim anymore.

Q: Singing?

A: Often Clementine enjoys singing when she’s alone or around people she is comfortable with. She isn’t bad and can carry a tune well, but she’s a bit self-conscious of it and will be quieter if uncomfortable. Prefers lullabies and soft melodies. Often can be found humming or “singing” wordlessly. If she sings to you, you’re very special to her.

Q: Cooking?

A: Not as amazing as a cook as Omar, but still a great cook! She has had to cook for herself since a young age (used to make food like pancakes for her mother). She has experimented a lot over the years, though with limited resources she hasn’t been able to make a large variety of items.

Q: What’re some amazing or cool feats that she’s done outside of the canon timeline or at the very least in timeskips between seasons or offscreen?

A: She was trained in the art of war by Ava in between taking care of the wounded soldiers and the young infant AJ after her initiation in The New Frontier and learned Morse Code, how to shoot bigger rifles, what was alright to eat in the wilderness and parkour and David Garcia often watched them spar. She infiltrated and escaped in and out of Prescott - a heavily guarded city - without being undetected four times. She rescued an abused foster child by running her motorcycle through their house. She ended up owning her own little bar and a piece of land in Prescott with her own passe and entourage at twelve years old, and she didn’t even flinch when being held at gunpoint by a hostile rival gang in Prescott. During her time in the city, she was a spy, an arsonist, a thief, a beggar and a child mercenary for hire all in one little package. She held her own in a shoot out against rival assassins and once broke a drunken man’s nose because he threw a bottle of whiskey at her and a space just above her eyebrow to bleed. During her time spent in Prescott, she never gave out her real name and gained notoriety for being the youngest survivor in town and given the alias “Hellgirl” and she gladly took that name with pride. She rooted out a coalition of gangs and reported them to Tripp only for him to hang them for treason, thus gaining his trust. She is sassy and doesn’t take shit from anyone.

Q: You mentioned that post-The Final Season that Clementine is a Pagan. What style of Paganism does she follow?

A: She’s currently delving into different types, but she is Pantheistic and believes in the Greek gods and natural spirits, albeit after all of her experiences in the apocalypse, there is a darker twist to it. She takes an intrigue in Kemeticism and necromancy, witchcraft and has been interested in Voodoo. She’s also very animistic and believes that every animal and every part of nature has a meaning, a soul and a name. Clementine takes a huge interest in the occult and anything grim, and often collects crystals, flowers and herbs to use in her spells. However, it should be noted that she is a beginner and she’s learning things little by little.

#YOU'RE A WEAPON GIRL &&. WEAPONS DON'T WEEP. ( HEADCANONS. )#( DID ANYONE ASK FOR THIS???? NOPE!! BUT I DID IT ANYWAY )

7 notes · View notes

kurara-black-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Alexander Hamilton

Date: 01/12/18

Warnings: Langst, song fic, Hamilton lyrics, stranded Lance, lots of OCs, winged Lance (mentioned).

Tag: @moonsworllld ; @xarphay ; @skydisneylover ; @mutantgurls ; @spooky-the-owl

A/N: So, there's some things I love very much: Lance, Hamilton, hope and FREEDOM! Guess what's this all about? I dunno if I’ll do the whole soundtrack, but this project is going to be big!

ALSO! The characters wil change roles, so, for example, Lance won’t always be Alexander, sometimes playing the role of Aaron Burr and some others.

ALSO ALSO! I plan on using songs from other musicals for some special chapters.

The song used for this chapter is (obviously) Alexander Hamilton.

NEXT: Aaron Burr, Sir

“What are you mumbling over there?”

“Hamilton.”

Lance didn’t even bother to remember that the Balmeran had no idea what Hamilton was. No, at that moment he didn’t have enough strength to explain to a sentient space rock what Broadway was and the absolute genius of musicals, Hamilton in particular. He was too tired from fighting Death to do that.

It was supposed to be a simple journey. Just go to a planet, talk to the King of a relatively peaceful race. Get some nice plants for Mama and some trinkets for his nephew and niece.

Simple.

Easy.

Right?

It was supposed to be a simple travel. But no, life couldn’t be easy for Lance even for a bit. He really glued a nasty piece of gum in God’s beard to have such bad luck.

It started weird enough, with the Fortress of Lions—cheesy, yes, but the Captain Al-Lan was a cheesy alien with a fascination for Voltron—refusing to go near the very system the planet—named Phanet, by the way—was localized, no matter how much it’s captain pushed and huffed in frustration. It was like the spaceship had suddenly acquired a mind of it’s on, to the point it turned off all the lights when the princess tried to go forwards again. The plan then changed, they’d try to go around it and send scientists there as soon as they were back in the safe, known universe.

He should’ve guessed something was wrong by the ship’s reaction. He should’ve known something was wrong by how it seemly wouldn’t move, forcing them to get on the escape pods in hopes of leaving.

There definitely was something wrong when his communicators suddenly stopped working.

There definitely was something wrong when he got out of the pod—he had been “lucky” to be alone in one pod—and found himself in a jungle forgotten by God.

There definitely was something wrong when he was attacked and kidnapped by Galra after a few hours walking in said jungle.

There definitely wasn’t anything right when he got shoved in a cell with a Balmerian.

Boy, don’t let him get started on the experimentations.

A few more lyrics went past his once soft lips.

“Seriously, talk-a-lot, what are you mumbling over there? Also, you should eat something.”

“I told you, rock buddy, it’s Hamilton.”

“My name’s Vak and I have no idea what Hamilton is.”

“Name’s Lance and Hamilton is a musical about Hamilton.”

“What?”

With a sigh, Lance willed his tired limbs to move him from the cold and hard floor to the cold and hard sheets the Galra dared to call beds. He grabbed the bowl from Vak’s hands, silently thanking him, before filling his stomach with food goo that wasn’t much different from what he had back in his days in the Castle.

Coran would love to hear his food was considered prison food.

With a sigh, Lance stared at his cellmate. The idea of telling Vak about one of his passions was weird. Not because Lance didn’t want to—God knows how much he would love to ramble away his pain—, but because he wasn’t used to the level of attention the alien was giving him.

Vak reminded him of Hunk. Tall and large. Probably could carry the Red Paladin for some time without tiring out. Yellow eyes filled with kindness, although he did a better job at hiding it behind a wall of salty annoyance than the Yellow Paladin could ever do. He was dressed the same way Shay and the other Balmerans dressed, a bit more ragged here and there, but what to expect from a prisoner? Besides, it wasn’t as if Lance was in a better situation, his armor had been removed with no hopes of knowing where it was and his under suit could very well be called a colander.

Lance noticed that, in truth, he was used to being tuned out by Hunk, his best friend, his best bro, the man he swore friendship for eternity. It stopped aching too much after a year with almost no contact.

Maybe that was the reason why, after swallowing spit—and hopefully the upsetting thought—, he started talking.

“A musical is, like, a play, but with songs.”

“A play?”

“Yeah, man, a play. You know what plays are, right?”

“Of course I do. I’m just wondering why anyone would put singing in it.”

“Why wouldn’t anyone put singing in it?”

“Point for you… man.”

A smile crept on Lance’s face. Oh, he liked his cellblock buddy more and more. A sentinel passed the cell door without giving them a glance. The Galra in that place must’ve been really confident to not worry about the prisoners. Well, better for him.

“Ok, you told me what a musical is, but what about Hamilton?”

“It’s a musical.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

Lance let out a small chuckle, relaxing more where he was laying.

“So, there’s this country in my planet called United States of America—”

“Wait, your planet has different civilizations?”

“Yeah, with different languages and cultures.”

Vak looked awestruck, like he couldn’t even fathom the mere idea of having more than one civilization in a planet. The boy could understand his surprise, considering how most planets he had visited only had one civilization. He wondered if humans just liked to be more complicated. He let his new buddy take some time to mull over the information by softly continuing the song.

“So, this country, America for short, started as a colony. Of England, the most powerful kingdom of that time.”

“Like the Galra?”

“Along those lines, yes. England started asking more than America was able or willing to give. And, well, if there’s a certainty about human nature is that when you push a human, they’ll push back eventually.”

“Let me guess, a rebellion?”

“A revolution, my friend. America didn’t want to just give less, America wanted to be free.”

“And that… musical, Hamilton, is about that?”

“Yes, but it focuses more in the life of one guy.”

“Was he the leader of the revolution?”

“Nah, he was one of the men that helped shape America. He worked directly with the leader. That’s why he’s a Founding Father.”

“There are others, then. So, how come he gets a musical?”

“He was almost forgotten by the country, never as famous as the others until the musical came out.”

Lance looks at Vak just in time to see the man wince. Yeah, being forgotten didn’t sound good no matter the reality. No wonder Lance was so afraid of it happening to him.

Already happened with his team.

“So? What’s the guy’s name?”

“Alexander Hamilton

My name is Alexander Hamilton

And there's a million things I haven't done

But just you wait, just you wait...”

“… You were waiting for me to ask that just so you could sing that bit.”

The cheeky smile Lance managed to send him before the guards came to get Vak for his fight on the arena was enough answer.

Sometimes he wondered if he was singing for the sake of singing or for the sake of his sanity. He guessed both, considering how he’d repeated the first four songs of the musical for days.

“Can’t you sing a lullaby?”

“What’s the fun in that?”

How long had Lance been in that prison? He honestly didn’t knew. His biological clock would tell him it was dusk, but the minuscule hole the Galra had the courage to call a window showed him the sun announcing noon. His mind told him it had been a day, but the hole told him it had been a month.

That planet was weird, really weird, as if it played by its own rules, completely disregarding the Universe and its Laws.

“And Alex got better but his mother went quick”

“Well, that’s depressing.”

“I’ve been singing this for you for some time, you’re only noticing now?”

“Oh, I have noticed it all the other billion times you sang it.”

He started retreatin' and readin' every treatise on the shelf”

“That Alexander was smart. If there’s no one to help you walk, make your own crutches.”

The human sighed—he was doing that a lot—and moved on his “bed” so he could look at the alien, avoiding let his back touch the floor at any costs. Vak had many scars scattered around his body, and some soon to be scars still fresh, looking ready to start bleeding again. He truly looked like someone forced to fight everyday so he could survive to fight in the next.

Suddenly, the human remembered the girl in the lab. The poor girl—Altean, by the markings—whose screams made a symphony with his own. The one he had named Esperanza seeing as she couldn’t remember her name. The one that shared his pain.

The big pair of white wings attached to his bloody back shivered, and he shivered together with the feathers. He was still trying to wrap his head on the fact he had now extra limbs. Esperanza made it look so easy.

“What are you thinking about?”

“We need to get out of here. We will get out of here. You, me, the others. Soon.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Yes. Absolutely insane.”

His feathers were shivering again, but this time in anticipation. Millions of plans running wild inside his head.

He wasn’t the smartest. The fastest. The strongest. No, he had none of those unique skills his old teammates had, just a handful of random skills he picked here and there.

“It’s time to start making crutches.”

But, he found out after he started travelling around in the Universe, he didn’t need to be anything else but a survivor.

Lance liked to sing. When he was happy. When he was sad. When he was angry. When he was afraid. When he was nervous.

He liked music and he liked singing and he liked his own voice.

The only thing that maybe he liked more was to be correct. Not right, no, but correct.

Liking music came with a quite nice perk: He was a good listener.

So, in between his screams of pain and his singing, he let himself drown in someone else’s voice.

Vak’s tales of his Balmera. Esperanza’s babbling about her cellblock partner—that sounded suspiciously like Slav, but less paranoid—. The guards whispered talks. The scientists clear techno ramblings.

He learned about the Rebellion. He learned how complicated to world right outside that prison was. He learned that not everyone agreed with what was happening. He learned that some just didn’t care anymore. Most importantly, he learned his way in the place and whatever more he would need to finish his plan of escape, like the guards routine.

“You’re afraid.”

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve been your… cellmate for some time now. I picked some of your weirdness.”

“Thanks, man, real comforting.”

Vak only shrugged.

“We’re going to do the impossible tomorrow. Of course I’m afraid.”

“I still ain’t sure how this plan is going to work, but I trust you.”

“Thanks, Vak.”

Silence took over for a few minutes, Vak watching the boy mull over the plan once more. It had taken movements—phoebes?—for him to prepare everything, but the day had finally come. Not for a second Vak doubted the plan, not when Lance had so carefully plotted every possible variation and considered every possible situation.

The Balmeran had never seen eyes burning with so much raw determination.

Didn’t take long for Lance to start singing again, trying to match the trembling of his fingers with the determination in his eyes.

“In New York you can be a new man (Just you wait)

In New York, New York

Just you wait!”

That last line sounded less than a verse and more like a promise.

A promise Vak full-heartedly believed in.

Vak knew Lance was singing.

Even if the boy was far away, deep in the labs of that hell, Vak knew Lance was singing under his breath.

Probably Hamilton.

Vak could hear the human’s voice resonating inside his mind, calming his racing thoughts. He didn’t have time to panic. He had to keep his part of the plan going. There were people depending on him; he could hear their labored breaths as they made their way to freedom. The freedom Lance wanted to give them. The freedom Lance would give them.

Outside of the Galra base was a cold night, stars tiredly yet dutifully showing them the way together with the round moon. They were almost free. Almost. Almost. They just had to keep going forwards.

He didn’t stop when he heard people approaching.

He didn’t stop when it was confirmed it was the rest of the prisoners.

He didn’t stop to look back at his friend.

He didn’t need to.

Lance certainly was there, in the very back, making sure no one was left behind.

Singing under his breath.

“We fought with him”

The weird alien—Fun was his name—was wrapped around the Balmeran’s shoulders, silently watching the scene. Vak could swear he heard the creature mumble about realities and percentages, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Our chances of actually getting away are rather high.”

“You have Lance to thank for that.”

“Oh, believe me, there isn’t a reality where I don’t.”

“Me? I died for him”

The wish to take flight was big, but Esperanza fought it with all her might. It would just jeopardize the carefully crafted plan Lance made. Soon, she promised herself, soon she would be free to fly as much as she wanted. Soon she would stretch her wings and touch the skies.

But for now, she would follow her friend, her leader, Lance.

Letting his whispered voice wash away her tiredness, she took another step towards freedom.

“Me? I trusted him”

General Uvoid of the Rebellion had heard about the explosion in the Galra base. She had heard about the pandemonium that was caused by an unknown force.

She knew that unknown force would be of great help in the war that was to come.

So she and some of her best men went to go rescue as many survivors there were as soon as notice of the escape attempt reached her ears thanks to the spies working there. She surely didn’t expect for so many people being freed, though, and marveled about the impossible happening right in front of her eyes.

Whoever was the cause of all this, was a key to victory.

She was almost certain it was that fragile-looking alien with burning blue eyes mouthing words without sound.

“Me? I loved him”

“Did you hear that, Khamael? I think something happened to the prison!”

“Chemie, unless it affect us directly, I don’t think that matters.”

“No, no, Lavina! Think like this: If they can get away, so can we!”

“Prince, that’s impossible.”

“It is impossible to run from the prison, yet that seems to be happening right now.”

“Whatever you say, Chems.”

“Lighten up, Lavi. We’ll get out of here, you’ll see!”

“And me? I'm the damn fool that shot him”

Trayir Riylor. It was a very well known name in between the rebels. A pureblooded Altean with some impressive fighting and diplomatic skills. A man of grace and intelligence.

A man of pride and greed.

That night sitting on his makeshift bed in hopes of recovering quickly from his injures, Trayir felt as if something was shifting. As if a piece of a big puzzle was finally moving to take its rightful place. As if the missing link was finally found and History was rearranging to make it fit.

Trayir knew something like that would happen.

He had been waiting for it.

“There's a million things I haven’t done

But just you wait!”

Lance surely didn’t expect to be rescued by the Rebellion, but he sure was glad. His plan went so far as to guarantee most of the prisoners would be able to flee, but where exactly they would be going was a mystery even for him. He was surprised when he saw Uvoid, the Galra General of the Rebellion herself, make her way towards him, more because of who she was than what she was. He stopped to sing just as she stood in front of him.

“You. Were you the one who came up with the plan to run away?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You did a great job.”

“Not really. Not even half of the prisoners are here, if only we had more time…”

“You could’ve ran away and let all those people behind. You didn’t. You saved them, be proud of yourself, drut.”

Lance wasn’t sure what “drut” meant, but if the soft look and proud smile in the woman’s face was anything to go by, it was a good thing. So he stood a little bit straighter and smiled a little bit brighter, thanking her.

When Uvoid asked for his name, he had bit back the next lyrics of Alexander Hamilton, feeling that it wasn’t the time to bring Broadway references, nor to explain to a Galra what Broadway was and who was Alexander Hamilton.

What's your name, man?

“Lance.”

#voltron #hamilton #clara writes #langst #alexander hamilton #voltron lance #vld lance #hamilton lyrics #hamiltron

39 notes · View notes

honeylikewords · 6 years ago

Note

Please...feed us with that poe content...i need it... Pls... I'll give you one (1) chip... Pls...-B

what kind of chip. i like kettle cooked chips because i Love the Cronch.

but since i also Love You, here is some Poe content, free of charge! you can save the chips for later!

Here are some miscellaneous Poe HC’s just for fun!

While dental is A Thing in the Star Wars universe and Poe certainly could’ve had it done, Poe elected to never have his crossed front teeth ‘corrected’. He likes ‘em crooked. He is fond of them because his mother had something similar, as her front teeth were slightly turned in, and she used to say his crossed teeth gave him character and personality. He’s never wanted to change them, and never will.

Poe is actually a hideously bad liar and can’t make up excuses. When he’s caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing, he either stutters out a half-baked, random, crappy explanation, or he just straight up confesses. And likely continues what he was doing.

Poe is not ‘shredded’ and doesn’t have a lot of visible muscle, but is actually really strong. He lifts a lot of very heavy metal on a pretty daily basis, and building and re-building his X-Wing has kept him in really solid shape. Still, he has a little bit of a soft tummy, and is especially ticklish there. And he has a big, round butt. That’s just how it is.

Poe is a commitment junkie. He literally carries his mother’s ring on his necklace in hopes of one day giving it to his future spouse. I’m not even making this up, it’s canon. Read about it here! As such, Poe is very up-front and dedicated to his partner. Whoever he ends up with, he’s determined that they’re gonna be his one and only, from here to the ends of the universe.

Poe eats a lot of junk food. It’s one of his vices; he just loves snacks that might not be that healthy for him! He can’t help it! He likes some sweets, but he’s more fond of savoury and spicy snacks. He also likes stuff with a good crunch! He’ll try any food on any planet (provided it’s not absolutely gross-out icky!), and he’s always on the hunt for new and exciting options.

Poe wishes he could be a late sleeper, since he’s such a snuggler and cuddler, but he’s also a busy bee. He wants to run around and do stuff all the time, so he can’t sit still or contain himself! He just is so go-go-go that it’s hard to deal with it sometimes! He’ll get outta bed and start bustling around at early hours and it’ll wake his sweetheart up, which can be really annoying... that is, until he realizes his mistake and quickly ducks back into bed to kiss his beloved’s face and apologize between smooches for being such a “noisy nuisance of a lover”.

Poe gets really grumpy and angry if he can’t get his way. He’s very headstrong and determined, and while he’s willing to give leeway to ensure that his loved ones are cared for and safe, he gets... really pissy if he can’t do what he’s chosen to do. He’s got a big fire burning inside of him, and he refuses to be quelled or repressed. Once he has his sights set on something, he’s not gonna give up until he gets it. Of course, that does get him in trouble...

Like in his pursuit of his future spouse. Sometimes, Poe forgets that he comes on strong. He mistakes his intensity for passionate pursuit, and then his beloved will feel overwhelmed. Like the time when he sent numerous droids to the door of his beloved’s sleeping quarters, where they all sang very loud love songs in their squeaky chirps and beeps. He also follows his sweet one around like a lovesick puppy and constantly asks them questions, prods them with jokes, tries to get a reaction out of them. He’s kinda like a little boy yanking the pigtails of the girl he’s got a crush on. He just wants to be paid attention to by the apple of his eye! What he doesn’t realize is that some people find his undivided attention unbearably annoying... But, at the very least, he’s cute, so once he learns to calm down and be a little more respectful of the feelings of others, he’s irresistable.

Once married, Poe refuses to sleep alone. He hates it. He wants his sweetheart in bed with him. His spouse is one of the only comforts he has during his night-terrors, which he gets often, especially after being tortured by Kylo Ren. As much as he wants to pretend he’s a big strong hero, completely untouched by his numerous scrapes with death, his heart aches and he’s covered in scars, both physical and psychological, from his terrifying run-ins. After the incident with Kylo Ren, Poe’s mind has an uncanny and unsettling connection with some of the Dark parts of the Force, and he sees and hears things he wishes he could forget. At night, sometimes he can see awful horrors all across the galaxy, or relives the agony of what Ren did to him. In those sweaty, frightened hours, the only thing that tethers him to reality and to his true, Light-filled heart, is the feeling of his spouse’s arms around him, holding him safe through the night.

Poe gets abruptly angry at anyone he sees being unfair and unjust. If he sees another pilot bullying a new recruit, or one of the troops kicking a droid, or someone being cruel to an animal, Poe will freak out. His shift from jovial and light-hearted jokester to snarling,vfurious warrior is shocking. It’s unexpected and many people forget that Poe is a captain in the Resistance, and that he earned his position. He’s stronger than people give him credit for, and watching him get angry reminds people that he’s more than just a pretty face. He walks the walk, talks the talk, and fights the goddamn fight every single day.

Poe loves kids. He hopes one day to have a big, huge family of his own, and a wide, sprawling place to raise them. He kinda wants to go back to Yavin IV or a similar planet, one with lush vegetation and broad fields; that’s the kinda place he can imagine building a house and living with the one he loves, their kids running wild and driving them insane. He hopes he has a whole horde of rugrats who are as fiery and troublemaking as he is, and he can’t wait to be their loving father. He can’t imagine not wanting kids, or not wanting to be around for the growth and development of one’s own children. He wants to be there every step of the way, and he’s excited to get there!

Poe is very sentimental and holds on to a lot of trinkets and odds and ends from his life. He can’t help it; he puts a lot of emotional value into even the smallest of objects, and those little totems remind him of memories he cares about. He struggles to let go of anything that he even vaguely associates with his loved ones. He keeps pictures of all of his family and loved ones in a special holo-disk, and whenever he’s sad, he looks at those pictures, at their smiling faces, at the moments they had together. He loves them, and being reminded of what he cares for most, his reason for living, re-ignites that fire inside him, and his determination to keep fighting the good fight.

That’s just a few! I hope they whet the palate and spark even more interest in my beloved and dearest Poe!

#messages #gif warning #poe dameron #long post /#i tried to use they/them pronouns to make this more generally applicable #esp since i hc poe as being pan(or bi!)#but i think later i'll be using she/hers unless otherwise specified!#star wars #Anonymous

11 notes · View notes

kurowrites · 7 years ago

Text

Christmas Morning

Happy Holidays to everyone! Here’s some holiday-related Stevetony fluff for everyone! Please enjoy (and reblog if you like)! :D

Tony slowly opened his eyes and blinked into the soft morning light. It was still early and quiet, but there was a strange sense of expectation in the air.

Oh, right, he remembered; Christmas morning.

He turned around and pulled the pillow over his head. The bed was soft and perfectly inviting in its warmth, making it all too easy to doze off again.

Christmas was officially work-free, and he wasn't even on the emergency roster this year, so there was really absolutely no reason to separate from his fluffy comforter just yet. In fact, fusing with it seemed like the idea to go with.

He mentally congratulated himself. Stroke of genius, that one. Get your sleep while no megalomaniac super-villains threaten to destroy the earth. Or business rivals try to take over your company. Or some obsessed stalker tries to get to him. Or-

Whatever. He snuggled deeper into his comforter, letting go of his thoughts in favor of sleep.

His all too rare and precious drowsing was eventually interrupted by someone intruding in his bedroom, not bothering to knock.

“Tony,” Steve's voice came from the entrance, sounding far too awake. “It's Christmas.”

“I know,” Tony mumbled into his pillow.

“The youngsters are desperately waiting to open the presents,” Steve said, stubbornly ignoring the vibe of 'please leave' that Tony was giving him.

“What's keeping them from doing that, then?” Tony mumbled, twisting his pillow just so and... ah, this was it. Perfection.

“You, apparently,” Steve replied. “I think they have something they really want to give you, and you're ruining the surprise.”

Tony made the mistake and stiffened lightly, and Steve was on to it like a shark smelling blood, poking Tony in the shoulder.

“Come on,” Steve cajoled him. “For them.”

Tony turned his head so he could freely glare up at Steve's far too chipper face.

Steve wasn't cowed at all, it seemed. Instead, he held out a red and gold dressing gown to Tony.

Tony looked at the item suspiciously. That definitely wasn't one of his.

“Do I even want to know where you got this?” he asked.

“Probably not,” Steve replied, the faintest of smiles gracing his lips. “But I'm fairly sure it's something you'd actually wear.”

There was really no point in trying to go back to sleep now, so Tony grabbed the dressing gown and slithered out of his wonderfully warm bed and into the gown. He checked his reflection in the large mirror on the wall, and yes, Steve was right. The dressing gown looked good on him. Not quite as as good as an actual armor, but now was probably not the time for that.

He turned away from the mirror and went over to the window, pulling the curtains back and letting the room be fully flooded by bright sunlight. The world outside was covered in a thick white coat, as brilliant in its sugary perfection as one could possibly hope for on a Christmas morning.

“At least the weather is spoiling us this year,” he remarked.

“Right?” Steve asked, sliding next to Tony and handing him a large cup of hot coffee. “Just the right amount of snow. It feels like we accidentally landed in a Christmas commercial. We haven't even had any emergencies yet.”

Tony stared at the cup that Steve had handed him. It had a vintage design of Iron Man on the front, complete with a cute little Santa hat. Where did Steve find these things? It was definitely new, he'd never seen it before.

He took a sip of the coffee, and it was strong and smooth just like he preferred it. It was, however, a different blend than the one he usually used.

“Christmas blend,” Steve said with a smile, still looking out of the window.

“It's good,” Tony said after a moment of silence, the surprise in his voice evident even to himself.

“That's what it's supposed to be,” Steve hummed. “Come on, it's time to go and let the kids have their fun.”

Tony blinked into the the bright morning light one last time, wondering for one moment in what parallel universe he'd woken up today, and then followed Steve out of the bedroom door, towards the living room.

The living room had been decorated lavishly for many days already, with a huge Christmas tree standing at its center. Now, everything was fully lit up, lights flashing everywhere, and the room was filled with Avengers.

All kinds of holiday wishes were cheerfully shouted at each other, and food and drinks were passed around. There was coffee and hot chocolate and tea, but Tony was pretty sure that whatever Thor had in his mug, it wasn't any of that. Someone shoved a plate of cookies under his nose, and he carefully picked one out. The cookies were usually excellent, but careless choices might bring about unwanted adventures. He took a speculoos (you couldn't go wrong with that one) and nibbled on it between sips of his coffee.

As expected with so many Avengers in one room, it was mayhem. Several young Avengers were standing in front of the hi-fi equipment, squabbling over the music that was being played. Their opinions apparently widely varied, with no consensus in sight. Tony rolled his eyes as he passed them by and silently gave J.A.R.V.I.S. a sign that he should play Tony's own Christmas playlist, filled with songs that were festive, but not too cheesy. He smirked at the startled youngsters over the brim of his cup. As long as they weren't able to hack him, they hadn't yet earned the right to choose.

Jan and Natasha were in one corner, snickering about something, which meant that nothing good could would come from there. Rhodey and and Carol were standing by the tree, gazing into each others eyes adoringly as they sipped on their hot chocolate. It was honestly both adorable and nauseating how sweet the two were ever since they had gotten together. Tony couldn't help the light stab of jealousy seeing them like this.

Tony chanced another glance over to Thor. Apparently, he'd now managed to rope Clint into a drinking contest, which was such a terrible decision Tony wanted no part in it. Next to Thor, Peter was dangling off the Hulk, using him as his personal playground.

Peter lit up when he caught sight of Tony, nimbly climbing the Hulk's bicep and launching himself across the room, ending up directly in front of Tony's feet.

“Merry Christmas, Iron Man!” Peter cheerfully declared. “Welcome to the Avengers holiday bash!”

“I'm pretty sure this is my house and my party, but thank you, Peter,” Tony replied with a huff, but he couldn't suppress his smile. “Is there some cake for me yet?”

“Sure!” Peter chirped, already reaching over to get him some. “But then it's presents time!”

Tony sighed. Leave it to the kids to be absolutely thrilled by the idea of ripping colorful wrapping from silly trinkets. (Not that his presents were silly trinkets, mind you. His gift-giving skills were finely honed.)

He took the plate that Peter handed him and poked at the plate while he watched Peter gather everyone around the presents under the Christmas tree.

“So, now that we're finally complete,” Peter declared loudly, “it's PRESENT TIME!”

A few of the younger Avengers enthusiastically whooped. As per tradition, someone dove in and picked up a random item, looking at the name tag and calling the name written on it. The first one this year was Jan, who got a very lovely new lipstick from two of the girls. After unpacking and and enthusiastic thank you, Jan then took the next present and gave it to its recipient. One by one, the presents littered around the tree were picked off like that.

Most names had been called more than once already when Tony's name was finally called for the first time. He stepped forward to receive a small unadorned black box. It was light, and didn't look like much.

“It's from all of us,” Peter said helpfully, grinning.

“Thank you,” Tony replied, a little dubiously. With hesitance, he reached out for the lid and opened the box.

Inside where small cards, approximately the size of a business card, but each of them in a different color and with a different design.

Tony picked a gold-embossed card out of it and read it.

Voucher for one weekend in Asgard, no expenses spared. - Thor

He put it back and took out another one, this one steel grey.

Voucher for a trip to the moon and back (that's what we have these suits for, baby). - Rhodey

Next, he picked a bright yellow one.

Voucher for three karaoke battles with the team of your choosing at the Nocturnal Bar, food & drinks included. - ♥, Jan

He picked out one card after the other, and each of them contained some kind of activity chosen by the Avenger listed on the bottom of the card. The activities themselves ranged from museum visits over handicraft activities to overnight trips.

Speechless, Tony simply shuffled through the cards, reading all the different ideas they had gathered. No two ideas were the same.

“Am I supposed to do all of them in one year?” he eventually asked the room at large. “I'll be very busy, then.”

“Looks like you'll have to make time,” Carol teased.

“You don't have to, like, do all of them,” Peter said nervously. “We just thought you'd, uh, appreciate the choice?”

Tony smiled at him. “All the ideas are great. I love them. Thank you, everyone.”

His gratitude was answered by loud whoops and applause.

“Now,” Tony said, clearing his throat, “on to the next present.

It took forever until the last present had finally been unpacked, and by that time, everyone was stuffed to the brim with cake, cookies and all the other delicious foods that had been passed around. Sated and drowsy, the groups eventually split up, some people absorbed in their Christmas presents, others naturally falling into conversation with their friends.

Tony watched them all for a moment before he quietly withdrew and returned to his bedroom. He carefully put the box with the vouchers on his bedside table and stripped out of the dressing gown. Sighing, he finally relaxed and went into the bathroom to take a long, hot shower that was really overdue. All of the Avengers had seen him in much worse shape other than a little sleep-rumpled, but it still felt like a relief to stand under the comfortable pressure of the falling water at last. He always felt a little more human after that.

When Tony finally managed to turn the shower off and step out, he was in no hurry to get dressed and return to the living room. Scrubbing his hair, he wandered back into his bedroom and found Steve waiting there for him, seated in the large armchair by the window.

“Hey,” he said, throwing the wet towel on the bed. “Enjoying the view?”

“I've seen worse,” Steve replied serenely.

Tony snorted and wandered over to his walk-in wardrobe.

“Is there anything you wanted?” he asked, rifling through his pullovers after he had slipped on some underwear. It was Christmas, but he was really feeling purple today. Well, it wasn't like they had a theme. He pulled out one of his comfortable cashmere pullovers in plum.

When Steve didn't answer his question after a few moments, he stuck his head out of the door, looking at Steve. Steve seemed strangely... contemplative.

“I did notice that there was no card from you,” Tony said, nodding towards the box on his bedside table. “Not that I'm reading anything into that, mind you. Just an observation.”

Steve sighed. “I thought about it, you know. But it seemed stupid to suggest one of our usual activities. And other than that...”

“What would you do?” Tony asked.

Steve looked at him. “Hm?”

“What would you do?” Tony repeated. “If you could choose anything. Wish for something.”

Steve clenched his jaw and stared out of the window for a few moments. The sun was still out, reflecting brightly in the snow.

“Time,” Steve eventually answered. “Sure, a weekend in Copenhagen or Singapore is great, and jumping from a plane is fun, and so is going dancing. But when it comes down to it, it doesn't matter. What matters is time.”

Something we all have preciously little of, Tony thought to himself.

“Once, I thought that I had no regrets,” Steve continued on. “But then I came back, and only now I realize just what I really missed. I'm afraid that I'll do the same thing all over again.”

“I'm afraid the Time-Turner hasn't been invented yet,” Tony said, smiling when Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “I would refer you to Reed Richards, but honestly, I really don't recommend that.”

“You scientists,” Steve sighed. “Always trying to fix everything with technology. I like that color, by the way. It looks good on you.”

Tony looked down at his chest, now covered in the plum cashmere pullover.

“Oh. Thanks.”

He retreated into his closet once more and picked out a pair of black slacks, quickly pulling them on.

“I do approve of that Iron Man dressing gown you gave me, though,” Tony said once he had returned to the bedroom. “Very classy, if I may say so myself.”

Steve chuckled. “Of course you would.”

“Says the Star-Spangled Banner,” Tony shot back, raising an eyebrow. “There is literally nothing classy about that, no matter how you twist or turn it.”

Steve only shrugged at that. Honestly, Tony knew he was smart enough to realize that the costume did have a certain level of utter ridiculousness, although he assumed that came with the entire being Captain America thing. There was a certain amount of ridiculousness necessary to pull being Captain America off. No one would really take him seriously if he was just like anybody else.

“So, what are you planning to do with your time?” Tony asked. When Steve looked uncomprehending, he added, “You are here, I am here, we have time. So, what is it?”

“Shouldn't it be you making that decision?” Steve replied after a moment of silence. “After all, it was me that didn't give you a gift.”

“Details,” Tony hummed. “But if you insist, I could go for a walk. To go and enjoy the Christmas commercial.”

He tilted his head at Steve and got a smile in return.

“Let me get my coat,” Steve said, and retreated from the room.

They wandered along the meandering paths of the park silently for a while. The snow was sparkling in the cold air, the sun not yet strong enough to melt it. A few children were playing in the snow, building snowmen and having snowball fights, but the rest of the world seemed oddly muted, the usual noise of the city reduced to a far-away humming.

At a street vendor's stall, Tony had bought hot cocoa for both of them – less for the cocoa and more for the additional warmth – and so they walked slowly, carefully sipping at their beverages.

“It's surprisingly cold,” Tony observed, watching his breath turn into little clouds, drifting away. “I thought it would be warmer, in the sunshine.”

“It's easy to underestimate how cold it really gets here in the winter,” Steve replied. He looked at Tony's stylish black coat with a considering gaze. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yes, mother,” Tony chuckled. “I'm quite warm. Don't worry your pretty head.”

He paused for a moment.

“Would it be rude to ask you the same question?”

Steve looked confused for a moment, before his expression became one of realization. The ice.

“I don't actually associate the two things with each other,” he explained, a little hesitantly. “It's really not the same thing. And to answer the question, no, the cold doesn't bother me.”

“Does it now?” Tony asked, lips twisting into a wry smile. “So that probably means you don't want to hold my hand?”

Steve's eyes turned wide and round, and he nearly tripped over absolutely nothing.

“I-” he turned a flaming red, “uh, yes – I mean no! I mean- ah, fuck-”

Tony laughed quietly and held out his hand, waiting for Steve to take it. After a moment of hesitance, Steve reached out and enveloped Tony's hand with his own. Large and warm, just like one would expect it to be. Surprisingly gentle.

Tony considered their clasped hands for a moment, and then used the chance to tug Steve down to his level, leaning in to whisper into his ear.

“Aren't you glad I made time for you?”

“You're a little shit,” Steve said, but there was no heat behind his words. “See if I ever bring you coffee again.”

“Don't worry,” Tony chuckled, “I'm sure I can convince you somehow.”

“You aren't half as convincing as you fancy yourself to be, Mr. Stark,” Steve countered, using his bigger body to gently shove Tony.

“Hey,” Tony complained. “You oaf. Do you even know who you're talking to?”

“Yes,” Steve said, sending Tony a brilliant smile. “I think I have an idea.”

#kuro writes #stevetony #stony #a bit of fluff for the holidays #and now I need to go and do my actual work #ugh

132 notes · View notes

thelittlemissfortune · 7 years ago

Text

I was tagged by quintley to answer some oc questions! Right back at you @quintley I tag you if you’ve got any others! Also @radariant, @kitether and @whimsicallydandy I’d love to see your characters if you’ve got any! Under the cut, my loser drow man.

GENERAL

Name: Alton Baenre

Alias: Trying to hide his surname: Alton Tathor, which is just his father’s first name. Lazy lazy

Gender: Male

Age: 160. Old as balls. But it’s about the equivalent of 33 I think.

Place of Birth: Underdark.

Languages: Undercommon, elvish and common. He’s not very good at reading/writing common.

Sexual orientation: Gay.

Occupation: A non-magical healer for many years, who has recently gained the abilities of a cleric. Has also been a failed soldier, as well as failed attempts at illegal activities!

APPEARANCE

Eye colour: Red

Hair colour: Off white

Height: 1m 60 he’s tiny.

Scars/burns: A ton, he’d look more like a fighter than a healer if he wasn’t so small. A big ugly scar across the left side of his face. A big scar across his right ribs. A badly healed broken nose. In game he acquired stab wound scars in his back and a burn across his neck. (I imagine wounds that knock characters out will leave little scars magical healing be damned. He spends half the games unconscious lmao).

Weight: Thin, lean.

FAVOURITES

Colour: Royal blue.

Hair colour: Blonde? Eh he doesn’t care much.

Eye colour: He doesn’t care.

Music: He finds it generally annoying. Especially the team bards haha.

Movie/TV: N/A would probably watch boring documentaries.

Food: Anything expensive.

Drink: Fresh juice. He’s not really a fan of alcohol, only drinks it for social reasons, or if it’s free.

Book: He has a lot of books on very basic magic: he’s always wanted to be a wizard, but he doesn’t have the talent or intelligence. His trinket is a book magicked so it can’t be written on. A somewhat mocking gift from his brother.

HAVE THEY EVER

Passed university: Nooope. Had a basic education in the Underdark, then was apprenticed under a kind of shitty healer on the surface.

Had a job: Apprenticed as a healer, then set up his own healing thing.

Had sex: Yes.

Had sex in public: No.

Been/gotten anyone pregnant: Definitely not.

Kissed boy/girl: Occasionally.

Got tattoos: Ha he had a tattoo forced on him in the first game. It gives him abilities and drawbacks, and looks like to hands stretching out from each other, one holding a dagger, one empty. He didn’t choose to have it, so he hates it.

Got piercings: A cartilage piercing and normal piercings. He had a ton more in the past, I imagine male drow are big into them, but he thinks he’s too ugly for them.

Had a broken heart: Yes. Although he’s usually the one that breaks it off with people/causes the break up.

Been in love: Probably unrequited. He’s too awful at relationships and loses feelings quickly if he’s in one.

Stayed up for over 24h: For any of his occupations, yeah.

ARE THEY A

Virgin: No.

A cuddler: Nope, it would probably weird him out.

A kisser: Not overly.

Scared easily: Nope, he’s pretty level headed in tough situations. Although he does have difficulty managing paranoia.

Jealous easily: Absolutely.

Trustworthy: Not generally, but he can get pretty loyal to people if they’re useful to/kind to him.

Dominant/submissive: Personality wise, kinda both? He was pretty much raised to be more passive, and have little power, but to constantly strive for more? He hates that he can fall into following others leads, and sees it as an enormous flaw.

In love: Nope.

Single: Yep. I rolled a 6/20 for attractiveness, come get him boys ;)

RANDOM

Have they ever harmed themselves: Indirectly. When he first left the Underdark he was a really terrible person and forever antagonizing people and throwing himself into dangerous situations. He got hurt a lot, and thrown in jail quite a bit.

Thought of suicide: Yes.

Attempted suicide: No. Oh, indirectly? He tried to heal some people infected by a plague like disease, knowing he’s probably get it and die. Instead, his deity granted him powers, and he was able to heal himself. The motivation wasn’t out of any kind of morality. It was out of perfectionism among other things.

Wanted to kill someone: Yes, and succeeded.

Ridden a horse: Yes, he prefers walking.

Any fears: Dying before he’s achieved anything is a big one. That he’s worthless, giving into apathy and despair. Being controlled and powerless. He’s terrified of Lolth, the Drow deity of sorts. He has a whole lot of paranoia about eating/drinking things that he hasn’t prepared himself, due to some fun ol poisoning times. Terrified that nothing will be permanent; his health, his cleric abilities. He’s generally pessimistic and afraid of the worst.

FAMILY

Siblings: Four siblings, two deceased. Valyn and Vascice Baenre are his living brother and sister. They’re awful too and I love them.

Parents: Jaelryn and Tathor. They’re probably alive and living in the Dwarven Kingdom.

Children: Nope, never.

Pets: Joint custody over the party horses?

#he's a totally loser he rolls ones all the time and his spells never work #he also rolled a nat 20 and incinerated a friendly npc #he also helped the ghost of a fellow soldier pass on to the afterlife #and his deity visited him and gave him the nicest pep talk I felt so touched #dnd #oc #long post #I tried not to ramble too much I love this loser and have way too much info on him #also he has the voice of Johann from that zone of adventures thing you know the one #thank u quintley you made my day even though I only got to it a week later!

4 notes · View notes

ellanainthetardis · 7 years ago

Photo

I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know!

{FF] or [AO3]

21. Twenty-five weeks

Haymitch deepened the kiss, doing his best to ignore the flickering lights and the high-pitched voice coming from the kitchen where Elindra was trying to get through her phone call despite the statics on the line. He would grant that to the Capitol woman, the couch she had picked was very comfortable – and perfect for making-out.

“Are you trying to give my mother a scare?” Effie chuckled against her lips. “Horrify her into leaving the house?”

“Maybe.” he snorted, before kissing her again.

Not that it would do any good right now.

They had tried to put Elindra on a train three days earlier but the station had been closed in anticipation of the snowstorm that was supposed to hit Twelve. It had finally reached them that morning. They had woken up to a world of immaculate white, snowflakes slamming down from the sky, and no hope of safely getting out of the house, not even to reach the kids’.

Haymitch had never minded being snowed in. The house was stocked with wood, the fireplace would be more than enough if electricity failed – and from past experience and given the flickering lights, he knew electricity would fail – and they had enough food to last them a month. It also assured a certain tranquility he usually enjoyed.

Now though not only did he have a pregnant woman and a restless puppy on his hands, he also had a Capitol woman he couldn’t run away from. Being locked in with Elindra Trinket wasn’t fun. The house felt small, terribly small. Even when he stuck to their bedroom with a book, he couldn’t help overhearing her talking downstairs – if Effie was loud, her mother was worse.

“She will be gone soon.” she promised, pecking his lips one more time before drawing back. “You have been very good with her. I… Thank you.”

He shrugged, preferring to leave that unanswered.

Truth be told, a part of him felt grateful for the woman’s presence. They could have managed without her, they always had, but… She had been helpful in a way. He would never have thought of completely redecorating the living-room to prevent any potential trigger, for instance. And whatever she had done to get Effie downstairs…

It had gnawed at him to see Effie like that, the terror so obvious on her face. He hadn’t known what to do and hadn’t been able to stomach doing nothing. Peeta’s attempt had failed. He hadn’t wanted to argue with her again so he had kept his peace, choosing to give her space and time in the vague hope it would sort itself out…

When Elindra had requested he left for the day, he hadn’t been sure. He didn’t trust the woman. Not only was she Capitol but he knew she had hurt Effie’s feelings in the past – something he had trouble forgiving. Whatever it was she had done though… It seemed to have worked.

Effie still spaced out sometimes and there were still nightmares but, for all intent and purposes, she was back to her usual self.

“I like the books your dad sent.” he said eventually, trying to find a positive spin to this invasion of their home. He was grateful to Elindra but he wouldn’t be sorry to see her leave, to get the house back, to go back to how things usually worked. Having the kids over, going to their house for dinner… Being a family again. To her credit, her mother had tried to respect what they had going but she didn’t fit in.

“He will be glad.” Effie hummed, pressing against her back. She made a face. “Would you…”

“Yeah.” he sighed.

She flashed him a beaming smile and turned around so he could work on her back. She was growing huge. Well… Maybe not huge but she was usually so tiny, she looked huge to him. And she had been tired for the past few days – one of the reasons why he was wary of the storm, because it meant they were cut off from any potential help they could need – her back particularly bothered her. He was rubbish at massages but it relieved her for a little while.

“I wish he wouldn’t kick so hard.” she complained, placing a hand on her belly.

“Maybe he’s impatient to get out.” he snorted.

“Well.” she huffed. “If he intends to act like this for the next three months, I am impatient for him to get out too. So young and already so unruly. There are no doubts about who his father is.”

“Sure.” he taunted. “’Cause you’re the soul of obedience.”

“I will have you know I am very well behaved and have always be very obedient.” she retorted.

“The things one must hear.” Elindra scoffed from the living-room’s threshold. Haymitch’s hand froze on Effie’s back, not sure how long she had been standing there. It must have been long enough because her face was schooled into her usual polite casualness. “You were the most unruly child, Euphemia. Quite the rebel. Whenever I said blue, you had to pick pink. You liked to contradict me just for the sake of it. Oh, it used to drive me crazy.”

“Lyssa was always the good daughter.” Effie joked with obvious bitterness and he slowly went back to work, trying to relieve her aches. “I had to improvise.”

“You maneuvered behind my back to get hired as a model at seventeen, I remember.” her mother insisted, shaking her head. “I was quite against it.”

“You did not think I would be successful and were afraid I would tarnish the family name.” she hummed and then chuckled without any amusement. “I suppose in the end your fears were justified.”

“I was simply wary of you getting hurt.” Elindra retorted. “There are some blows one’s pride does not recover from.” Effie turned her head to study her mother. They stared at each other for a while until the Capitol woman cleared her throat. “Is your back bothering you again? The heating patch was quite effective the other day, wasn’t it? I could fetch one for you, dear.”

“Later maybe.” Effie dismissed, clicking her fingers together. Snowball lifted his head from where he was slumbering in his bed and seemed to evaluate the distance and effort it would take to reach her. That puppy was spoiled and becoming lazy. “Come here, my pretty baby…”

The coaxing seemed to work. The dog paddled to the couch and then jumped up, curling into a ball in front of her and going right back to sleep with his head on her leg while she treaded her fingers in its fur.

The atmosphere was tense and awkward.

It was Haymitch’s turn to clear his throat. “So, what kind of rebel kid were you, sweetheart?”

“I was hardly a rebellious child.” Effie huffed.

“Come on, there must be funny stories…” he insisted, seeking Elindra’s gaze. Maybe he should have dropped it, let them deal with their own business but they had been doing better and he was kind of curious about her childhood.

“She did convince the hairdresser to dye her hair pink when I specifically wanted it purple.” her mother sighed. “She was eight but she already had a gift for convincing people to do her binding.”

“You had her fired.” Effie countered.

“Of course, I had her fired. I left very specific instructions and they were not met.” Elindra waved a dismissive hand. “I believe you learned a very valuable lesson that day, though.”

“I learned to be more cunning.” she snorted.

“As I said.” her mother insisted. “A valuable lesson. When you started smocking behind my back at fifteen, you were smart enough not to get caught.”

Effie frowned. “How do you…”

“Oh, please.” Elindra scoffed. “Did you truly think I did not know?”

“Lyssa told you the cigarettes were hers.” she exclaimed defensively.

“Very noble of your sister.” the Capitol woman smiled. “But utterly ridiculous. Unlike you, Lyssa is not gifted for games of deception.”

Effie shrugged his hands off. “Are those stories funny enough for you?”

“I’m in stitches.” he deadpanned, reaching out for her again, focusing on her lower back.

That time, he didn’t try to lighten the weird mood.

Elindra breathed out a small sigh and flashed them a polite smile. “I will retire for the night.”

“Night.” Haymitch said automatically, a little too happy to be rid of her probably. Effie remained silent. Elindra waited for a second or two and then left the room. He heard the soft click of the study turned guest room’s door getting shut a moment later. “That was harsh.”

“Don’t you dare judge.” she hissed.

“Not judging, sweetheart.” he shrugged. “Just thought you were getting along better, that’s all.”

Her whole body tensed and he thought she might bolt away. She relaxed against his chest instead and he wrapped his arms around her, pressing an instinctive soothing kiss against her shoulder.

“We are.” she said softly. “Talking about the past though… We will never raise our child like I was raised. Promise me.”

“Promise.” he granted easily. It hadn’t been his plan to give their kid a Capitol upbringing anyway.

“He will be whoever he wants to be.” she hummed, guiding his hands on her belly, where the baby was kicking the hardest. “We won’t force him to play a role. He will be free.”

He kissed her neck, under her jaw, gently rubbing her stomach.

Their son would be free. There would be no threat of arenas dangling over his head nor the looming shadow of the mines… Twelve was a different place now. Panem was a different place. Everything was possible. Everyone could be whatever they wanted to be.

He would have killed to have that opportunity in his youth. For him. For his brother…

“He could go to an university.” he mused out loud.

It had been a long buried secret yearning of his in his youth… He had always been curious, thirsty for knowledge of all kind… The schools in Twelve had always taught the basics and hardly more and his attendance hadn’t been stellar. He had made his own education afterwards, in the long days after his Games that the booze alone couldn’t fill. He had read every book he had been able to put his hands on: philosophy, history, politics, biographies, novels…

There were only a few universities and they were all in the Capitol. But by the time their son would be old enough maybe… Panem was morphing so fast, he was sure there would be other places to go in closer Districts.

“If he wishes to.” she hummed, turning her head to nuzzle his neck. “Should we sleep down here?”

“Yeah.” he nodded, reaching out for the blanket folded on the footrest and tossing it on her. They always did that when the blizzard was too strong… It was better in case the electricity, and thus the heating, gave in. It was warmer closer to the fireplace. They settled on the couch, on their sides, spooning – once again, he was glad Elindra had good tastes in couches. His mind kept wandering though and he couldn’t quite drift off. “He knows how to suck his thumb by now… I’ve read that in the books.”

“Yes?” He could hear the grin in her voice. “I love him so badly already… I am afraid of what I will feel when I hold him in my arms. It might be too much.”

“Won’t be.” he denied. “Won’t ever be too much.”

“Katniss is already planning on teaching him how to hunt.” she chuckled. “And Peeta… Peeta is eager to teach him how to paint with his fingers… They will make such a mess…”

He smirked against her hair, amused at the kids’ eagerness. It was one of the reasons he knew they would be alright with a baby. The kids would help. He wasn’t sure how everything would work out but he knew it would.

“New name ideas?” he asked because she spent most of her time the nose in those books, making list after list. Researching, as she called it. They weren’t having much luck on that front though.

So far, the shrimp was still the shrimp.

“I thought maybe Ilario. It means cheerful.” she told him. “Although given how much he is kicking me, I am not sure we should encourage him to be cheerful.”

“Ilario.” he repeated. It wasn’t the worst she had offered. He still ended up making a face. “No. He’s not an Ilario.”

“Somehow, I knew you would say that.” she chuckled. “Your turn, then.”

“Devin.” he suggested.

“Not refined enough.” she declared. And he wasn’t any more surprised by her refusal than she had been by his. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

“Maybe when he’s born.” he joked. Or maybe they could just stick to shrimp…

They fell asleep slowly, lulled by the irregular popping of the logs in the fireplace and the hissing of the wind outside. Haymitch never quite managed to completely surrender to slumber though, the blizzard was making a racket, sometimes rattling the blinds, keeping him on edge. Effie didn’t have that problem, she was out cold, her face tucked in the crook of his elbow, sometimes letting out a soft groan when he felt the baby kick under his palm.

It really seemed like that child couldn’t stand still.

He was startled from his dozing by noises in the kitchen, quiet banging that couldn’t have been the wind. He knew that, logically, it could only be one person given that Snowball was sprawled on their feet, absolutely not alarmed, but his sleepy mind wouldn’t accept that at face value.

He needed to be sure that Effie and the baby were safe.

He needed to be sure it wasn’t another mad man eager to kill his family.

He needed to be sure.

Extricating himself from the couch without waking Effie up or making any noise was very difficult and not helped in any way by Snowball’s whimper of protest. The dog immediately took the warm spot he had vacated. He tried not to be jealous at being so easily replaced when Effie rolled over and wrapped her arm around the puppy but he couldn’t help a smirk. They were cute.

The floor was cold under his sock-clad feet and he tried not to hiss when he left the floorboards for the even colder tiles of the kitchen.

As he had thought, there was no burglar, just Elindra, wrapped in a newly-purchased woolen dressing gown – she had complained about the plain colors in Twelve’s shop for forty-five minutes at dinner the other night, leaving him and Katniss to exchange fed up looks while Peeta and Effie commiserated – fumbling with the steaming kettle.

He almost took a step back when he actually saw her face. He didn’t know if it was the harsh neon light or the fact that it was bare of any make-up but it was… horrible. The numerous plastic surgeries had given her skin an unnatural aspect that didn’t quite manage to hide how old it was, it looked thin and stretched to its extreme limit to avoid lines. She had next to no eyebrows to speak off, either waxed away or bleached, he wasn’t sure, her eyes looked ridiculously small and lost in the washed-out paleness of her complexion. Her loose turquoise dyed hair framed her face, some strands loosely curling at the edge in a way that reminded him of Effie’s.

“Oh, dear!” Elindra exclaimed, turning her back on him to better hide herself. “I did not expect… I did not think…”

“Sorry.” he winced even though they were in his kitchen and he shouldn’t have had to apologize. “Heard a noise. Wanted to check.” In retrospect, it was probably a good thing the generator chose that moment to stop working. The lights flickered once and then snuffed out at the same time as any appliance in the house. Elindra let out another alarmed gasp, as if the thought of finding herself without electricity was absolutely unconceivable. “Bound to happen.” he grumbled, heading for the dresser’s drawer. He didn’t like the dark, not to say he hated it. Ghosts lurked in the darkness. He didn’t need to see to orientate himself in his kitchen though. He found the drawer and the perfumed candles Effie kept there before making his way to the counter where they kept the matches. It took him a few minutes to have three candles lit and reeking of chemical vanilla. Better than darkness though. “Blow them out when you’re done, yeah? Can’t really afford a fire right now.”

He turned around, eager to get back to the couch and Effie’s warm body, but her voice stopped him before he could even reach the table. “Would you care for some tea?”

Again, he had to swallow back the urge to tell him they were in his fucking kitchen and that she was offering him some of his own fucking tea.

She was obviously taking pain to be polite though, for Effie’s sake. And, truth be told, it was freezing and he wasn’t sleeping anyway so he could have done with some tea. “Sure, if you can find the chamomile stuff.”

She lifted her non-existent eyebrows and rummaged in the tea box until she found the bag he was requesting. Her face wasn’t any less scary in the candlelight.

For the first time, Haymitch understood why Effie had always been so reluctant about being seen without make-up and wig back in the days, why it wasn’t socially acceptable for Capitols to show themselves without artifices… When people looked like that…

It was so… unnatural.

“I would not have pegged you for a chamomile drinker.” Elindra ventured, pouring water into two different mugs. “Although I do not suppose I ever pictured you drinking anything other than alcohol.”

The gibe didn’t hurt one bit.

He was a drunk – always would be, even sober – it wasn’t something he was deluding himself upon.

“Helps me sleep.” he muttered, choosing not to address the other issue. He snatched the mug and added sugar, picking up a teaspoon from the dish rack to stir it. He fully intended to bring his tea back to the living-room.

“Do you know I never had to boil water myself before coming here?” Elindra hummed, fixing her own tea to her taste. “Being in Twelve has been quite the experience. I cannot say I will mind going back to civilization though. I do not know how Effie manages on a day to day basis. This District lacks so much… I cannot imagine why it did not modernize more during the rebuilding…”

They modernized plenty. Twelve kept evolving. It had barely anything in common with what he remembered from his youth. The discrepancy between the Seam and the town had disappeared, it was more homogeneous now. There were so many shops they didn’t need, a clinic, the factory… Of course, they didn’t have the fancy showers with perfumed water, the huge screens in the streets or the housemaids and butlers so many Capitols favored…

But Twelve wasn’t just a dead pit anymore.

There was no more coal dust dancing in the air, no more people slaving themselves off in the mines to feed their family and coughing theirs lungs out as a result… People weren’t starving. People weren’t scared of the white uniforms patrolling the streets. People didn’t have to risk getting whipped for a stroll in the woods.

“It has the essential.” he growled, almost a warning. “We’re happy here.”

She’s happy here, he didn’t say. He didn’t need to. It was implied.

Elindra leaned her hip against the counter – stepping back into the shadow a little, clearly not keen on anyone seeing her like that – absent-mindedly stirring her tea. “Yes. I saw.”

Uncomfortable with the reluctant acceptance in her voice, he took a sip of his tea, burning his tongue in the process. He longed to escape but didn’t quite dare. It was new, this uncertainty. He had never played nice with Capitols before, had never cared enough to try really… And, given the choice, he would have liked to keep his world separated from Effie’s relatives.

It was different now, though, because it wouldn’t be just the two of them anymore. He had no right and no intention to keep his child from his grandparents as reticent as he was about letting Capitols into their lives. The shrimp would only have one set of those, after all.

“I suppose I should thank you.” she offered with some bitterness. “I expected you to be a lot more difficult about my presence here. I expected… I did not expect you to be as gracious about my visiting as you have been.”

He pondered his words carefully. “It’s her house too and you’re her mother.”

“That wouldn’t have stopped greater men from forbidding me entrance.” she remarked.

“Yeah, well… I lost mine. I know what it’s like to miss your mother. You’re not dead, so… If she wants to reconnect, I won’t stop her.” he shrugged, staring at the flickering light of one of the candles. “Not any of my business anyway.”

“I sense a but.” she probed, taking a sip of her tea.

He clicked his tongue against his cheek in annoyance, meeting her eyes in the semi-darkness. “But you better not hurt her this time around ‘cause I’ve picked her up after you’ve kicked her down too many times. I’m not sure how many more heartbreak she can take.”

She maintained eye contact for a few seconds and then turned her head away, her lips pursed in a severe pout. “You seem to think I take pleasure in causing her pain. I won’t deny I hurt her feelings in the past nor do I feel I should apologize for it. Everything I ever did was meant to assure her happiness in the long term.”

“Tough love.” he scowled.

He knew everything he needed to know about how Elindra had put Effie down at every given opportunity. He knew because the rare times she had met her family during the Games, she had always come back to the penthouse upset and eager to fuck her brain out, almost begging for him to tell her she was beautiful. He knew because it was at the core of who she used to be, the reason why she had been so thirsty for fame in the first place, and the key to unlocking the true Effie under the escort’s mask.

He had met her when she was twenty-three and she had been so desperate to prove a point back then, to show the world she was it…

The world or her mother, but it had taken him a while to figure that out.

He had thought she was like the rest of them back then. Shallow, clueless, empty-headed… And she had been mostly… Until she had opened her eyes…

“Perhaps.” Elindra granted softly. “Lyssandra has always been the beauty, you know, but Effie… Effie was quick in a way her sister never was. It is never good for anyone to be too bright in the Capitol, not with a heart like hers, at least. It is… dangerous.” She shook her head. “You are not a parent yet. You do not understand the choices one has to make to insure their children are safe. You think I was harsh on Euphemia and I was, harsher than I was on her sister certainly… But Lyssa was made for the life she was born to, she never questioned anything. Effie… She questioned. She wanted to be more, to do more… She was never meant for greatness anyway, that was just a fanciful dream of hers. All I ever wanted was for her to have the best she could have, to be safe…”

He clenched his jaw and brought the mug to his lips, forced himself to wash the bad taste in his mouth with a gulp of scalding tea.

“I can get that.” he muttered eventually, thinking back to the Quell and everything he had kept from Katniss and Peeta. To protect them, yes, even if they would have ended up hating him later on, but also ultimately knowing it wasn’t the right thing to do. They could have handled it, he figured. Peeta, at least, could have handled it. Katniss… Katniss had always been a powder keg. She was a coin you tossed in the air, there was no way of predicting on which side she would land. He understood her better than most but he had known, even then, letting her know wasn’t the best idea. Later, he had thought again and again, later he would tell her everything. Until it had been too late and the decision had been out of his hands.

“Can you?” she snorted. “Because Euphemia hates me for it.”

Just like Katniss had hated him.

Just like Peeta had resented him.

But it was different. He had lied about the rebellion but he had never lied about the rest. He had never put the kids down, had never mocked Peeta’s baking or painting, had never belittled Katniss for her hunting…

There was protecting and nurturing and the two weren’t mutually exclusive.

“Well, you did tell her to get lost.” he sneered. “After the war. You…”

“Yes.” she cut him off, terse. “I did.”

“Don’t get how you can do that.” he snarled. “Toss your kid away like… She’s your daughter. How do you look your daughter in the eyes and told her to fuck off ‘cause your reputation’s more important than she is?” He saw the shame flash clearly over her face in the soft glow of the candle but it was quickly hidden behind a haughty expression he didn’t care for. He scoffed. “Fuck that. She needed you and you let her down.”

“Are you in any position to cast blame?” she retorted. “You weren’t in the Capitol at the time either, I do believe. You left her behind.”

“Difference is, I had to and she knows that.” he snapped. “I would have stayed in that fucking city if that was what she had wanted and if I had had a choice. I had to go for Katniss and she had to stay for Peeta. The kids had to come first.”

“Yes, they always do, don’t they?” she hummed, sounding strangely puzzled by that. “I never thought she would last in Twelve. I thought she would come back to us, lesson learned. I thought…” She waved a dismissive hand, her eyes suspiciously shiny in the glow of the candle. “It does not matter what I thought. I was wrong.”

“Of course, she was going to stay here.” It was almost a taunt and it was unfair because he hadn’t been sure at the time either. They had shared phone calls during the year she had spent in the Capitol but she had never hinted at moving out of the city despite the numerous invitations he had extended for her to visit the children – and him. “We’re her family.”

“And what does that make us, then, pray tell?” she replied harshly. She breathed out a long sigh and clicked her tongue. “No matter. The past is in the past. Things are different now, will be different. Let bygones be bygones.” Her voice became a little anxious. “You won’t oppose us seeing the child, will you? You have been… Like I said, you have been gracious about our involvement so far but we have not been the most supportive of your relationship with our daughter and…”

“Understatement.” he snorted and then let out a sigh of his own. “Look…” The words felt like ash in his mouth but his decision about that had been made the moment Effie had made it clear she wanted to reconnect with her parents. “As far as I’m concerned and as long as it’s alright with Effie, you’re family to that kid.”

“Thank you.” Elindra breathed out with palpable relief.

“But.” he added. “My child won’t go through what Effie did. You won’t put him down even if it’s for what you think is his own good. You won’t sneer at him ‘cause his father’s a District drunk. You will treat him right or you won’t see him ever again. You can’t fuck him up with your twisted Capitol games. It’s gonna be straightforward. That’s the deal.”

“Yes.” she said at once, as if she truly didn’t expect that much.

He wondered what tales she had constructed in her mind about him all those months since Effie had definitely left the Capitol. What had she been imagining? That he kept Effie prisoner? That he tyrannized her with his uncivilized barbaric tendencies?

“I ain’t a… I ain’t a monster.” he spat because he felt he needed to. Not like that anyway, he added in the privacy of his own mind. “I know I’m not what you wanted for her. I know she deserves better, too. But she’s…” He faltered, at a loss for words, not comfortable expressing his feelings on the best day and certainly not faced with a virtual stranger for whom he had mixed feelings. It wasn’t that he cared for her parents’ approval but… When he thought about the kids, about the shrimp… If he were them, he would like to know that… “I want her to be happy. I want her to…”

“You love her, yes.” Elindra clarified, putting him out of his stuttering misery. “Her father thinks she could have done a lot worse than you, that despite the obvious downsides, you are a good and clever man. I must say I remained unconvinced it wouldn’t have been better for everyone involved if she had chosen a wealthy Capitol man with the right pedigree.” She snorted before he could argue his point and ask about the past tense. Didn’t she think that any longer? “Well.. Better for everyone except Effie. She does love you. And… Despite my disinclination toward the match, I cannot deny you seem to be… good for her. You are certainly a more devoted boyfriend than anyone she could have found in the Capitol. None of them would know how to handle those… moods of hers.”

He figured she was referring to the PTSD.

“She’s doing better.” he growled defensively.

“And she made it perfectly clear to me several times that it was only thanks to you.” she argued. “Do not fret so, Haymitch. The time for disapproval has passed. For better or worse, you are the father of my grandson anyway. Now if you would just marry my daughter and make the whole thing proper…”

He rolled his eyes and finished his tea in two longs mouthfuls. The tiles were too cold and he couldn’t really feel his toes anymore.

“Yeah, well…” he scoffed. “I’ll work on that.” He wanted to, all the more so given that she was carrying his child, but every time he hinted at the subject, Effie deflected. She had put it inside her head that he only wanted to marry her because of the kid – and as much as it was a big factor in the decision, it wasn’t all about that – and wouldn’t hear about it. He placed the now empty mug in the sink and rubbed his hands together to warm them. “’Night, Mrs Trinket.”

It felt odd to call her by such a formal name when they had been living under the same roof for a couple of weeks now but she had never offered the use of her first name and he tended not to call her at all if he could help it.

“Mother.” she said, placing her own empty mug on the counter.

He frowned, watching her blow out the first candle – vaguely wondering if it was wise to let her go near a flame given that her face was so full of plastic. “What?”

She snuffed the second candle and he couldn’t quite see her in the dark anymore, he could barely guess at her shape.

“Mother is the proper form of address for one’s mother-in-law in our social circle.” she declared. “You shall call me Mother.”

No, was his immediate reaction. He had one mother, the fact that she was dead didn’t change anything. He had one mother and she wouldn’t be replaced by a Capitol half made of plastic, even if it was in title only.

“I can call you Elindra.” he bargained.

“You could, yes. However that is the form of address reserved to friends.” she dismissed. “You are family now. I insist on propriety. It might not mean much to you but it does to us. I shall call you Haymitch to please my daughter and you shall call me Mother for the very same reason. We are not each other’s first choice but we will compose for Effie’s sake. Now. Goodnight, Haymitch.”

When she put it like that… Refusing would make him look like an ass – something he didn’t quite mind – but it might also result in a longer argument he wasn’t really up to at that moment. Effie would hear, a fight would stress her out and she wasn’t supposed to stress. Stress might trigger another bout of those Braxton X contractions…

“Goodnight.” he said again. “Mother.”

The word was strange, felt absolutely inappropriate and he hated every second of it.

Elindra, on the other hand, seemed pleased. She nodded once and then left the kitchen, looking for every purpose regal, as if she owned the whole place.

He shook his head, blew out the last candle and decided he would pretend nothing had happened the next morning. It had obviously been one of those middle of the night discussions where people shared much more than they intended to.

Once back in the living-room, he stroke the fire, making sure it would keep on burning, then scooped the puppy up and placed it back in his own bed despite his displeased grumbling. Then, he slipped back on the couch, wriggling under the blanket, careful not to wake Effie.

Too little, too late.

“Is everything alright?” she mumbled, snuggling closer to him, letting out a hiss when her feet met his icy ones.

“I think your mother just adopted me.” he snorted. “Aside for that… Sure. Peachy.”

She opened heavy eyelids. “I beg your pardon?”

“She wants me to call her Mother.” he muttered.

“Oh…” she hummed dismissively, tucking her head under his chin. “Well, you are her son-in-law, it is the proper form of address. Not offering would have been a slight. It is nice of her, actually. Goodnight.”

And, just like that, she went back to sleep.

Capitols, he couldn’t help but think, are strange people.

His half-cooked plan of pretending the whole thing had never happened was short lived because Elindra made it clear in the following days that she intended to be addressed properly and, since she made a point of being polite and calling him by his name at every opportunity, he had no choice but to answer in kind or risk Effie’s wrath.

When the storm finally calmed down enough to allow them out, the first thing he did was take Snowball for a walk in the woods – where he met Katniss who looked far too smug when she asked him if he had managed not to murder his mother-in-law.

He was still relieved when the train station reopened and Elindra eagerly boarded the first train that would take her back to the Capitol. It was even funny to watch, really, because Effie went for a hug that her mother suffered for thirty seconds before chiding her about public effusions, prompting him to hug the woman for much longer just to see her turn red with embarrassment.

“You are a mean man.” Effie grinned, waving as the train left the station.

“Don’t you just love it, sweetheart…” he teased.

Her laughter echoed in the nearly deserted station.

To him, there was no sweetest sound.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #april showers

19 notes · View notes

sarkastically · 8 years ago

Text

Not Enough

Spiritassassin Week 2017, Prompt 3: Hurt/Comfort

( Also the poem in this is by e.e. Cummings, which, look, I know that Star Wars exists "a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away", but my Cummings book was *right there* and I couldn't be arsed to make up my own poem so. It is what it is.)

The temple does not fall all at once, though he thinks it would have been better that way, quicker, cleaner. No, it is a slow thing like water eating into the side of a cliff. Little by little the Imperials chip away at everything that they are, everything that they have, until the foundation is too spindly to support the weight, until it falls in on itself, top heavy and reeling. It does not end with a fire or an explosion. There is not a great battle waged between the Guardians and the Empire. It is a waning, as of a moon, until there is just a sliver left. It is easy to force a handful of the disenfranchised out. It is easy to make them give their ground, their livelihood, their world. It should not be, but it is. It is easier than Baze ever wants to admit because it is a shame heavier than everything else in the universe. He who is a mountain. He who is a pillar of faith onto himself. He should not have been moved.

He should have died with the fall of the temple.

It is as simple as that.

He doesn’t know where the other Guardians went, the ones who fled before or the ones who left at the end. It was part of the plan that the High Masters had concocted and set in motion when the first white boots marched into their sacred halls, when the first foreign, uninitiated hands touched their kyber, smearing something yellow and sickly across the Force with every gesture, every motion. Guardians and masters and even some of the higher initiates were sent away with scrolls and datapads and kyber, sent to hide, to find homes on other planets, to lie low until the danger had passed. They never considered that it might never pass, that it would linger, a watermark from high rain on the walls. The idea was that the Whills could not be allowed to disappear into history, it could not be forgotten.

They all knew what had happened to the Jedi, after all. Hadn’t they felt it? The knowledge that crawled across the Force, slouching toward them until it was at their doorstep, until there was no more denying it entry into their hearts and minds. Baze thought it would be something more. Baze thought it would mean something more, but it hadn’t. It had been too large, too much. In the grand scheme of things, it had been unfathomable, unfeelable. If they had stopped to feel it, to put their hands in the water of its sorrow, they all would have drowned. The only thing to do, in the end, was to walk past it like something ugly on the street, ignore it until it was no longer there.

Even though that had never been the way of the Whills.

It was the first loss, the first crack in the bedrock of their temple, the most dangerous crack of all, splintering outward to creep into everything else, destroying them from the inside out.

Baze should have noticed it, should have seen it, but his eyes were fettered, hung heavy with the weight of all the death that was palpable in the Force, almost a taste on his tongue, a cloying thickness in the back of his throat that kept him from swallowing anything more substantial than water for a week. He meditated the entire time, trying to discern the reasons for it and coming up empty handed every time. All is as the Force wills it so there had to be a will, there had to be a why, but no matter how far he reached, how low he sunk, how much he disappeared into himself and into the stream, he found nothing, cupped hands around bloodied water and rose back to awareness sobbing, eyes throbbing.

The first crack was a tragedy too large to be encompassed, too heinous to be understood.

The second crack was the undermining of faith, the first skittering tongues of real doubt. Not the sort of doubt that fueled the questions, the lively debates that they would get into when gathered together, clustered in the library or the common areas or the courtyard, the conversations that could go all night long delving into the strange particulars of the Force and how it worked, the way it flowed. That was productive doubt, one that strengthened faith because it allowed the chance to explore the depths of it and realize that everyone came at it a different way. It was a sharing and an understanding as much of each other as of the Force itself, which was a part of all of them anyway, the one folded into the other, inseparable back then.

No, this doubt was more than that. This doubt was something lumbering in the darkness like the stories that the children of NiJedha told about a monster who stalked the streets in the weeks leading up to the rainy season so you couldn’t look outside, couldn’t go outside, for fear of being eaten up, your blood and bones and bits food for the rain itself. This doubt ate away at the foundations of their hearts until some of the faithful simply walked away, said nothing, argued nothing, just set their things down and turned their backs as if it had never meant anything, as if it had no weight, as it if was that easy.

Baze wishes it was that easy. Then maybe he could free himself as well, unwrap the bonds around his wrists, untie the knots around his heart, all the little ways in which the Force, in which the faith, will seep into you and make you its beloved. He wonders what it feels like to be carved out and empty. He wonders if it feels better than the slowly dawning realization that he has failed the life he swore to never fail, to always protect, to his dying day, but it has fallen while he lives.

And that is the worst blasphemy of them all. That is worse than turning his back. That is worse than just walking away.

To love, but not enough to make a difference.

He does not know when Chirrut Imwe returns to Jedha. The Force does not tell him in any way that he can heed, though he thinks that he should have known, might have known if he had been paying attention to anything, if he had not just been drifting from one thing to another, one day to another, an endlessly, unceasing repetition of days such that he cannot discern one from the next except by what bruises and cuts are new, what small thing he has gained or lost. Baze has always been bad about rising from the depths of himself, and this is never as true as when he is in pain.

He does not know when Chirrut returns to Jedha. If he had, would he have sought him out? Would he have brought him poetry and trinkets and smiles and his favorite foods from the market? Like the way that he did when they were very young and courting, before Baze even really knew that he was courting just that he wanted to see that smile, hear that laugh, have Chirrut look so grateful and pleased and put his hand on his cheek just so while asking him to share the food or read the book to him or show him what the trinket did. Or would he have stayed away purposefully, convinced that he was too dim to stand in the light of the other, not enough to be seen, not enough to be known? Not enough to be loved.

Sometimes, to soothe himself in the middle of the night when it is cold and quiet and he can never stop thinking, can never stop feeling the sad, abandoned pulse of the kyber where it lingers alone in the caves under the ground, searching, calling and finding no one, Baze remembers their first kiss. The attempt of their first kiss. Chirrut giggling and eager, bouncing on the balls of his feet like normal but never stepping away, leaning bodily against him, chest to chest, his head tipped up, his eyes dancing like he was anticipating something that Baze didn’t know about, some Force vision that was beyond the reach of his own meager abilities. Baze altogether shy and bashful and wanting but not knowing if what he wanted and what Chirrut wanted existed in the shared space of their Venn diagram. And Chirrut prattling constantly like normal except that he kept pausing oddly, in the middle of sentences, to lick his lips, repeatedly, purposefully, a signal that Baze had no way to interpret because it wasn’t in his physical language. Both of them getting increasingly agitated for something they didn’t know the word for, Baze’s arms looped around Chirrut’s waist, stroking small circles on his lower back, and Chirrut’s hands flitting across his face and his chest and his neck and his arms, the touches all light and fire, burning, leaving after images of sensation in their wake. Until Chirrut had growled, that petulant, exasperated little noise that he would make in the middle of particularly long and uninteresting lectures, pulled Baze down by his ears and kissed him. And there had been too much teeth and too much haste and neither of them had known quite what to do with their lips and their tongues, but it had been. The best.

Until the next kiss. And the one after. Each kiss better than the one before, learning all the ways to make the other moan, what they liked best, what to do more of and what not to do again. Years spent like that, each kiss a blessing, each kiss a gift.

Except the last one.

Sometimes, to torture himself in the middle of the night when it is cold and quiet and he can never stop thinking, can never stop resurrecting the sad ghosts of his brothers and sisters who have fled the temple and will never again wander its halls, now battered and empty, Baze remembers their last kiss. The attempt of their last kiss. Chirrut uncharacteristically sullen, arms folded across his chest, refusing to look at him, refusing to even turn his head toward him, but their knees pressed together where Baze was in the lotus position across from him, watching him, praying for him to pay attention again because silence from Chirrut was worse than any tedious sound in the universe. Baze hadn’t know what to do, what to say, rested his palms on his knees, the tips of his fingers lightly on Chirrut’s, watching, waiting. And Chirrut, who seemed to have never been taught about personal space, who would wrap his arms and legs and fingers about Baze constantly, sleep on his back or his chest, push his lips and his face into the nape of his neck during lectures, rest his fingers dangerously high on Baze’s thigh in the dining hall, just touch him everywhere always, made no move to reciprocate Baze’s shy, idle touches, which was how he knew. That Chirrut was worlds away. That Chirrut might never come back to him. And then the kiss that he pressed, quick, dry, just his lips against Chirrut’s cheek, which he didn’t turn into, didn’t turn into something long and drawn and lingering but just left there as though he had been kissed by just anyone, as though the kiss had meant nothing at all. Not the best. Not enough for even a hint of acknowledgment.

And how Baze had sat there for a good ten minutes after the kiss waiting, wondering, with Chirrut saying nothing at all until he eventually left because he couldn’t take it anymore, slipped out of the room quietly, quickly, trying not to cry. Spent the next day in the library, huddled into the oldest sections with the scrolls yellowing at the edges, smelling the scent of ink and linen that lingered, surrounding himself in the warmth of words written by hand instead of the glow of the data pads. He did not go to see Chirrut off because he couldn’t handle another moment of that silence, of those not looks and the way that Chirrut didn’t touch him. The only parting gifts he gave were that shadow of a kiss and a journal full of carefully handwritten poems pulled from a vast assortment of texts the temple had. A gift too sentimental by far but easier to give when he was just tucking it into Chirrut’s bag when the other wasn’t looking, when he wouldn’t have to face him when he found it and see the way his smile went from amused to glowing in under two seconds. Or how he did not smile. Not at all. Which would have broken him even more.

Baze has no idea that Chirrut has returned until the day he shows up at the temple like a phantom, like a memory that rises from the dust to gather form again, like silent retribution for everything that Baze has done, everything he has failed to accomplish, been lax in protecting. He appears like a punishment sent by the Force itself to wreck its own brand of justice on Baze for what he lacks and how that wanting has resulted in the universe steadily tipping onto its side, just falling over, tumbling heedlessly into the abyss because Baze was not strong enough to rest it on his shoulders and keep it upright like the man in one of the old myths.

It is mid-day and the sun is high, hot, for the cold season has yet to blow across the stones of the temple, and he has not decided what he will do then, isn’t sure if he will do anything at all other than hunker as far down into the lower levels of the temple as he can in an attempt to keep warm thanks to the thermal springs that continue on about their business, altogether unperturbed by the confusion of the world above them. The temple might have fallen, but the gravitational hold it has on him has not lessened in the slightest. He still feels it, the sharp tug in his belly, the twist in his head, when he tries to go too far from it. A week after the fall, after they were forced out with blasters, after the temple was raided, art destroyed and statues knocked over, the remaining texts taken, much of the kyber acquired, Baze left NiJedha, struck out into the sands, thinking that he could live there, he could persist on the edges, away from it all. He could have lived without the hustle of the city any day, especially the ever present reminders of the Empire, the Stormtroopers and the ships and the Imperial stamps on the “approved” market stalls. He could have gone forever without all of that buzzing continually about him. Could live in silence. Could live only with only himself, inside of himself.

What he could not do without, however, turned out to be the feel of the temple, the weight of it, the stones and the courtyard and the hum of the kyber embedded in the walls and the steps, pieces too small for anyone to find, for anyone to have any use for it at all but which sang and whispered to him nonetheless. So he had returned, crept back in the middle of the night, used his knowledge of the twists and the turns and the halls and the hidden places to linger there, to live there without anyone being the wiser.

He should have known Chirrut would find him. If anyone could ever find him, it would be Chirrut. Chirrut always had.

Baze is in the courtyard painstakingly reconstructing an interior wall that no one save him will likely see again, that the Empire might decide to simply destroy, to blow the temple up once and for all, save themselves the trouble of looters and beggars deciding to make it their home now that the Guardians are not there to keep it. Save for him, and he barely qualifies for the title, had only just completed his training, just taken the oath when disaster struck, when the crack appeared and the spider webbing spread. There is no sound of an approach, though Baze is not sure whether he would have marked it had there been anyway. One moment he is alone, stacking stones, and the next a shadow has fallen across him as if a cloud has slid over the rays of the sun.

When he looks up, blinking, frowning, concern pulling at the corners of his lips and marring his brow, Baze thinks he is dreaming, thinks it must be a mirage, thinks the Force has finally decided what his punishment should be.

How else can he explain the image of Chirrut, hands folded peacefully behind his back, standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at him, casting the shadow over him? Chirrut has left, after all, took the station he was offered worlds away, the one that Baze would not, could not accompany him on because it was not Jedha, because Baze could not consider the idea of leaving Jedha, of leaving home. Yet he also hadn’t been able to find the breath inside of himself to tell Chirrut that he wanted him to stay. Chirrut with his big dreams, and his desire to see the stars, to talk to other people about the Force, to exchange ideas. How could Baze deny him anything? How could Baze ever consider keeping him when Chirrut was capable of so much more?

And when the temple was fading away, little by little, Baze had been so glad that Chirrut was not there, that Chirrut was not in danger. He had accepted the fact that he would never set eyes on his lover again, never bask in his touch, never hear his voice; it had hurt, but he had come to terms with it. He had been okay with it because he hoped, wished, that it meant Chirrut was in no danger. Chirrut with his quick wit and free smiles and good heart would do well anywhere, with anyone. People would trip over themselves to help him because they always had. He was in no danger and that had soothed Baze a little, enough to convince himself that it was better if he did not try to contact him, did not call him home.

Even though he had wanted to. Had wanted it so much that he thought his heart would catch fire in his chest from the feeling.

So the sight of Chirrut there, lingering, quiet, seems very much like something that has no place in the real world at all, and Baze wonders how far the Force will take the punishment, how much it will torture him. Not that he blames it. He deserves it, after all, for everything that he lacks, but he does wish that it had decided on something else, another method, another form of driving him slowly mad across the expanse of time. Though he is also somewhat, sadly, glad because the ghost of Chirrut Imwe might be better than not having him at all. Maybe. Perhaps. He will see. There is time enough, he figures, time between now and whenever the Empire decides to wipe the last vestiges of the Whills out of the holy city forever. There is time enough.

Until the mirage speaks, and everything that Baze thought he knew about the situation comes crashing to the ground at his feet.

When Chirrut speaks--his face a careful mask but cracking at the edges, sticking, chipping away, which Baze can understand because he has walked into a place that he once called home to find it desecrated and altogether different, altogether empty and lonely and barren, altogether gone, a place that is no longer a home anymore but some in-between thing, some nightmare thing torn from between worlds and dropped here to lure in passersby with its mystery, with its careful rendition of something once known, once dear--the words are instantly ones that Baze knows. He should know them because he spent hours copying them down painstakingly, over and over again, until he was sure that his penmanship was good enough, until the strokes of the brush against the paper contained as much of him as they could, so that Chirrut could look on them, read them, and feel as though it was Baze speaking the borrowed turns of phrase. “*Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born: yours is the darkness of my soul’s return--you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.*”

You are my Force, Baze had wanted to add in the margins, his own contribution to the love poem, but he stopped himself, stilled his fingers before they could go too far. You have never known how to be, he thinks, anything other than too much or not enough at all. Both ways of being are disappointing. Both ways of being are painful.

There is something in Chirrut’s face that Baze cannot identify, and he wonders at how time has changed them both. He wonders if he could still pull sighs of laughter and moans from Chirrut with well placed kisses and lingering touches. As it is, he is stuck, hands still holding stone, face turned to the vision in front of him, resplendent and perfect in robes, while his own are tattered, torn, burned at the edges. He wonders if Chirrut still smells the same or if he has taken on the new scents of the worlds he visited. He wonders if Chirrut would still know all his thoughts in the dark, still press his hands to the planes of his back to smooth it all away. He is surprised that Chirrut has not flown at him to crash against him in love or hate, to press kisses to his neck or knock him onto the ground, foot on his chest, furious.

“Baze,” Chirrut says, and there is a waver there, a small, sad little hitch that Baze has only ever heard infrequently, but he remembers it. He remembers everything. It is another one of his burdens. “Am I still?”

He finds he cannot answer, puts the stones down, folds his hands in his lap and just looks. Looks like this is the last time he will ever be allowed to look, notes how things have changed about Chirrut’s appearance. Not big things, he has not been gone that long, but smaller, subtle alterations. Always, he wants to say, but he is worried about what that would mean. If he is still, if he is quiet, if he lies by omission because it is difficult for him to lie any other way, maybe Chirrut will leave again, maybe Chirrut will find somewhere that is safe if anywhere in the universe is safe anymore. I cannot protect you. I could not protect the temple, and I cannot protect you.

“Baze.”

“You wouldn’t look at me.” He says, the old hurt, that moment, that last kiss, rising to the forefront of his mind. You are better than this, he chides himself because that was long ago and there are so many more pressing matters at hand. The first, of course, is getting Chirrut away from all this devastation before it burrows into his bones, before it wraps its tendrils around his arms and legs and keeps him there.

They are both stubborn, both statues made of their own types of stone. Chirrut is kyber, blazing and blue at the tips, furious, a prism that paints glittering rainbows across every surface when the light shines through, precious and rare and powerful. Baze is sandstone, rust and yellow and brown, common and durable but weathered by the wind and the rain over time, good for structures, not very powerful, not very rare, not very valuable, but still able to support a great amount of weight. So they stand and they stare at each other as though waiting for the ground to shift, as though waiting for a sign from outside of themselves that will move them.

It is Chirrut who runs out of patience first. It is Chirrut who hammers down the steps quickly, robes billowing out behind him, face impossibly lovely but tight, eyes almost slits and mouth a line. (Oh, Baze would die a thousand times to run his fingers over that line just one more time.) It is Chirrut who hits the ground almost running, who slams his knees into the dirt so that they are face to face, where Baze cannot hide himself because Chirrut will see everything pouring out of his eyes, trailing up into the air like smoke signals, capturing them before the meaning can be blown out into the sands by the winds.

“You wouldn’t come.” It is not the accusation that Baze had expected it to be, but it hurts all the same because there is pain in the words. “You wouldn’t come, and you wouldn’t ask me to stay. You acted like it meant nothing. And then you left that fucking book,” his voice breaks but he continues, “in my bag. For me to find. Later.”

Baze’s hands are dirty. They are covered in sand and clay and dirt. They are covered in calluses and dry and scraped from working with the stones. Logically he knows that they are hands not meant to touch Chirrut, but this knowledge does not stop him from reaching out to brush his thumbs over Chirrut’s cheeks, the contact enough to send a pleasant little shudder down his spine, to leave him wanting more, wanting everything he once had back. He finds his voice in the touch. “Chirrut, I’m sorry if you thought. Of course it meant something. It meant everything.”

my sun, my moon, and all my stars

Enough stars to fill the universe from one end to the other, enough stars to light up everything hiding in the thick, in the void of shadows between one planet and the next. And Baze knows that this is not quite how it all works, not in the particulars of the thing, not in the theory. Yet it is how love works, which is the only thing that has ever mattered when it comes to how he feels about Chirrut. When it comes to loving Chirrut, he has never been sensible, never been calm, always been rash and aching and yearning even when he didn’t have a name to put to the feeling, even when he didn’t know what to do or how to behave.

Chirrut catches one of his wrists and holds on with so much strength that Baze wonders if Chirrut thinks he is the mirage. “I know that. I knew that the instant I read that book. And I was furious that you never said it. If you had said it, I would have.” He cuts himself off, sighs, shakes his head angrily as though this is not what he had wanted to say at all, as though this recitation of what has passed, what has escaped them, doesn’t matter in the end. Maybe it doesn’t. Though they will have to pull those bags out someday, unpack them, shake the dust from the cloth and go over them, piece by piece, until it’s sorted. That day does not have to be today.

“Baze, still?”

There is that shudder again, that questioning, and Baze wonders at that. He wants to ask about it, he wants to pry it open and drink it, see if it will quench his throat that seems to have been parched since the moment that Chirrut left, since that last kiss on the cheek, that first major failure. You were always so certain of everything, he thinks, thumb still sliding over Chirrut’s cheek, the barest hint of contact, fearful of going too far. You were always so certain, you always knew what you wanted, always grabbed it with both hands and held fast. I never thought I would hear you sound unsure of anything.

But, then, the universe is unsure right now. It is shaky and unstable and cracking like an egg. There is no more temple. There are no more bells that peal in the morning and in the evening to call him to prayers. There are no more initiates under foot. There are no more steady days of kyber cutting or sparring or weeding or cooking or cleaning. All the faithful patterns of Baze’s life have been erased as if they never were, though he remembers them and not just in his mind, but in his hands and his heart and his soul. His fingers can go through the motions of weaving without a loom or cloth present. Everything is burned into the fibers of himself, and all he has to do is call them out, let them out. Falling into steady rhythms has always been easy for him.

And when he kisses Chirrut, wondering, hoping that their Venn diagrams of wanting overlap again, his body remembers all the motions that they spent years discovering. Chirrut crawls into his lap, heavier and broader and more finely toned that he remembers him ever being before, a kyber weapon whose tongue traces over his lips until he opens them, until the kiss turns deep and desperate, until it becomes a black hole that Baze would gladly fall into. His heart is thudding when he pulls away, when he takes the first deep breath that he thinks he has been able to catch in forever.

Chirrut presses their foreheads together, eyes closed, hands wrapped so tightly in Baze’s robes that Baze can see that his knuckles are white and straining with the force. He wants to tell him to loosen his grip, but the words won’t come, he gets lost, eyes skating over the planes of Chirrut’s face, identifying all the little changes, cataloging them so that he can trace his lips over them later. Impatient, Chirrut butts his forehead into Baze’s with a small thunk. “You haven’t answered me.”

It would be easy to say still. It would be easy to take that small road, to admit what seems a minor, lesser sort of acknowledgment. Yet that is not enough, and Baze has had his fill of always coming up wanting. So instead he says what he feels, the totality of it for once. “Always,” he says, and the sound that Chirrut makes is so haughty and so pleased and so altogether perfectly him that Baze has to capture his mouth again and drink it down into his own lungs until stars burst behind his eyelids.

#spiritassassin #spiritassassin week #spiritassassin week hurt/comfort #sara's fic

31 notes · View notes

communist-automaton · 6 years ago

Text

Questions for Communists

It’s important to address a number of misunderstandings about what Communism is, what it means for individual human beings, and why it should even be considered as a rational course of action.

Isn't Communism just the "Leftist" version of Fascism?

Communism gets more attention and becomes more vocal in places where and at times when so-called "Conservatism" is descending or has descended into full-blown Fascism. So it is reasonable to expect some people to assume that it is simply extremist "Leftism", or some kind of equally evil counterpart to Fascism, in that (they imagine) it arises in response to political or economic crisis and has a similar disdain for individual liberties.

But really, none of this is true. Unlike Fascism, Communism is not a reactionary ideology that seeks to thwart or silence social and political progress. It is a revolutionary ideology in the sense that the goal of the Communist is always the transformation of Capitalist societies into equitable Communist ones -- it does not seek a return to some mythical golden age, but the abandonment of the shackles that have always prevented human society from achieving a golden age for anyone but the few most wealthy and powerful people at the top.

Unlike Fascism, Communism does not recognize imaginary but politically expedient divisions between people like race, religion, nationality, or sexual identity. It is truly universal: all people everywhere have the inalienable right to determine their own destinies without the interference or restraint of an economic system that seeks to force them into one camp or the other for the good of the ruling party.

Unlike Fascism, Communism does not seek to empower an omnipotent State to determine the fate of every person. It does not recognize any power of any one set of people to oppress or exploit any other set of people on any basis. Unlike Fascism, Communism neither undermines nor augments the basic human rights of any person based on any label.

Communism seeks to eliminate the cultural and economic bases of exploitation and subjugation, and the political mechanisms through which such things are enforced. Fascism, conversely, seeks to impose all such divisions on all people. Even Fascist party elites are at risk under a full-scale Fascist government.

Finally, where Fascism maintains only a fringe existence until called into action by one crisis or another, and then exists only as a means to permanently enshrine the existing economic order through the violent suppression of conflicting ideas, Communism actually has a future goal in mind that it is always and has always been striving for. Fascism wants to ensure the permanent viability of the existing exploitative Capitalist machine; Communism seeks to eliminate that machine and in its place grow a human civilization capable of more than simply buying and selling increasingly useless trinkets.

Wouldn't Communism mean I give up all rights to property?

If you are a working-class laborer, which "property" do you suppose you own now? If you're lucky, you have a small plot of land, a house, and a bunch of personal possessions. For the vast majority of people, the list of their possessions is even smaller, and for at least half of us, we actually "own" less than nothing, because the total value of all our possessions is less than the money we owe to the financial system.

Communism is not interested in depriving individuals of personal possessions, but in the elimination of enormous estates and fortunes passed from generation to generation within the ruling Capitalist class. The accumulation of such "property" at the expense of society at large is the primary reason Capitalism fails; it is the primary mode of maintaining economic and thus political power within the few hands of the ruling class. Communism opposes erasing the notion of hereditary wealth, not personal property.

Wouldn't Communism censor my speech and limit what I can read?

Communism has no need or desire to censor the free exchange of ideas. After all, it is through such free exchange that the ideas of Communism are born, debated, improved, and shared. But the free exchange of ideas does not include the insidious propaganda used by Capitalists to undermine the people's confidence in themselves or their neighbors, or the spread of false and misleading information intended to lead people into fruitless strife among themselves.

The American version of "Free Speech", where all speech is "protected" (except, you may have noticed, where it is cutting and visible to the ruling class) no matter how dangerous or factually incorrect it is, is a mistake. Free speech is a sacred virtue of any truly free society, but not at the cost of the truth itself. A Communist society would not police what you say or read, but it would ensure that mass media is free from lies that undermine the people's ability to govern themselves.

Doesn't Communism oppose all spiritual and religious faith?

What business is it of Communists where you believe you go when you die? We have no need to stop the religious from practicing their religions. We do have a very keen interest in preventing outdated religious ideas from infiltrating and corrupting the governing process, so we would follow the original American doctrine of "a large high wall" between Church and State. But even that is unnecessary past a certain point, when "the State" becomes just another outdated concept.

Religion is welcome in all free societies, and all free societies welcome all religions, so long as those religions are able to exist without preying upon people or imposing their ancient dogmas on anyone who hasn't volunteered for such indoctrination -- including children.

Wouldn't people living in a Communist society just stop working?

Why would this be the case? If the only motivation to work is to accumulate wealth, then the working class in every Capitalist society would have stopped working long ago, as they have failed to accumulate much wealth to speak of, and in fact are now losing their wealth at increasing rates.

The Capitalist believes at heart, even if they don't say so out loud, that people can only be motivated to contribute to society by greed (the desire to become "rich") and fear (of destitution). But this is plainly false -- people were working very hard for thousands of years before Adam Smith showed up. The real motivator of work is to take pride in one's own work, and to know that one is a valued member of society. Many people even continue working even when they might otherwise have retired, simply to have something to do.

Because of the slander of the poor and anyone who dares to fall on hard times and require public assistance, many people have internalized the idea that Capitalism is failing because so many people "refuse to work", and that any system that actually permits them to work, or even divorces their work from their social value as a person, is doomed to failure because it would only exacerbate this problem. But Capitalism is not failing because of "moochers" and "welfare queens". It is failing because every last penny generated by your labor is going to your boss's boss's boss instead of back to you, or to public infrastructure, or to social services. The amount of wealth concentrated at the top of the Capitalist ladder is enough to eliminate poverty several hundred times over. It is not the $300 per month that someone is collecting in food stamps putting your country in the poorhouse. It is the nature of Capitalism to implode.

0 notes