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catiuskaa · 3 months ago

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SAUVAGE.

jupiter, you’re hard (to get).

sum. jupiter may not smell like woody ambery trails or smoky accents, and he may seem like just a really big planet who’s really far away, but juno will always find him.

wc. 3.2k

cw. spacecrafts, stars, and planets, roman mythology, kudos to sabrina carpenter’s juno, producer!reader x idol!han, friends2lovers, a beer (if i must content warn you, i will) smut! car! heavy on kisses with a side of unprotected piv sex (don’t!) switch!jisung x switch!reader (undefined tbh)

scent. (♡) the perfume saga.

[🔺☆ 🚀 ☆🔺]

Jupiter is the fifth planet from the Sun and the largest in the Solar System.

It is a gas giant with a mass more than two times that of all the other planets in the Solar System combined, and slightly less than one-thousandth the mass of the Sun. Its diameter is eleven times that of Earth, and a tenth that of the Sun. Its name derives from that of Jupiter, the chief deity of ancient Roman religion. Jupiter orbits the Sun at a distance of 5.20 AU (778.5 Gm), with an orbital period of 11.86 years.

However, Han Jisung isn’t quite as big or gaseous. He likes to believe he isn’t made up of metallic hydrogen, but rather stardust, he had said once —and you remembered, of course, because how couldn’t you—. He isn’t the oldest planet in the Solar System. He doesn’t run hotter than the Sun. He doesn’t have many many moons (95!) that spend ages to rotate around him.

Well. Not moons, anyways.

Juno is a NASA space probe orbiting the planet Jupiter.

It was built by Lockheed Martin and is operated by NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Juno entered a polar orbit of Jupiter in 2016 to begin a scientific investigation of the planet. After completing its mission, Juno was originally planned to be intentionally deorbited into Jupiter's atmosphere, but has since been approved to continue orbiting until contact is lost with the spacecraft.

Thing is. You’re not a spacecraft either. You weren’t built by whoever Lockheed Martin is. You can’t orbit around planets. And most definitely, you don’t keep in contact with NASA. Nevertheless, a part of you can’t help but relate, because, somehow, even after your mission was ultimately done, you couldn’t stop orbiting around Jupiter.

Well. Not Jupiter, anyways.

you: let’s do some cardio next day

jisungie🎀💫: cardio, you say? 😏

jisungie🎀💫: not even a coffee before taking me to your place? 🤨📸

Jupiter couldn’t even reach to make you feel the giddiness that Han somehow could trigger and make it overcome you. You kicked your feet, but when you entered and found your reflection in the elevator mirror, you clicked your tongue.

“Don’t be such a schoolgirl”, you mumbled to yourself, pressing the button, and heading up back home.

you: tsk tsk, you’re always thinking about food

And you’re always thinking about him, a mean voice in your head snapped back at you. You cursed, damning your own mind for betraying you. But, to spare you, it wasn’t that serious, you thought. You two interacted just the right amount.

He was an idol, for god’s sake. You weren’t catching feelings. That would be dumb on your side, the least.

So of course, when your phone chimes in the specific ringtone that, of course, you hadn’t set just for his contact, of course, you didn’t almost drop your purse when you read what he replied.

jisungie🎀💫: as if, silly

jisungie🎀💫: i ain’t eating no one for free

The text made you dizzy, so you forced yourself to back off from replying the first thing that came to mind.

Hungry? Eat me.

“Think straight for once,” you cursed out loud, passing your hands through your hair. Closing the door to your apartment and knocking your shoes off while your mind went off to other, far more interesting places and memories.

You clearly remembered the moment you met quirky, loveable Han Jisung. How inevitable it had been to just start orbiting around him with the excuse of your mission— producing one of his solos for an upcoming skz-record.

Headphones. It had been such a silly first encounter, yet so fitting for you two that you couldn’t help but cherish it dearly.

Lost in thought, you hadn’t been paying attention to where you were headed. Neither had he, and, which had ended with a little crash against each other. A meteor, not quite as devastating as so to kill a couple dinosaurs, but to leave a crater in your heart and create a small moon out of the pieces that scattered away shyly.

“Sorry!” You bowed your head, then stared at him.

“Hi,” he had said in a sheepish tone, hints of panting that you attributed to how he must’ve run back in hopes of catching you. “Guess you like wave to Earth too?”

And while he giggled, you told yourself you weren’t going to fall, but both Jupiter and Juno knew.

They had said the same thing about Rome.

jisungie🎀💫: entering jyp

you: at 21:43? jeez

jisungie🎀💫: what? i ain’t afraid of success bbg 💪

jisungie🎀💫: come over if you want

What would happen with any other person was that they’d smile and turn off their phone.

Well. Not Juno.

Not you, no.

[🔺☆ 🚀 ☆🔺]

The studio smelled like bubble tea, and that’s how you knew he was still there.

“Oh, hey! I wasn’t sure if you were coming in.” Han smiled.

Sleepiness oozed off of him, and you grinned, cleaning the table from leftover crumbles as you set your bag down. Your heart twirled imaginary hairs when Jisung’s hands —hands with several rings, something that could sometimes be a lot to manage— left the keyboard and settled on his thighs, softly stroking them as he turned the chair to face you.

“Yeah. Wanted to work on a demo I owe to the girls,” you mentioned, taking your jacket and your mask off.

“Actually,” he started, and your hands tingled with the feeling that you’d help him in whatever he needed. Damnit, hands. Damn you, heart. “Could you help me with this demo? Jeonginnie asked me to go over it.”

You sipped from your own drink, as if to fake giving it a bit of a thought. You were going to say yes, of course. But instead, you scratched your arm, frowning lightly.

“Innie asked you?”

“It’s for his solo stage.” He clarified, turning back to face the computer. “We all have them for our tour.”

The way he entered the recording booth seemed distant, and a part of you couldn’t help but wonder why as you fidgeted with your necklace and settled everything on the desk comfortably. Ji turned the light off, something slightly weird. He never did that with you, after all these years, and considering you two were the only ones there, you asked.

“Is it a high register?” You wondered, pressing the button on your left so he could hear you in his headphones. You blinked when you saw his figure slightly jolt in something like surprise.

“Uh, no. It’s just the… style of the song,” he giggled, putting his beanie on and tucking in the hairs that fell over his eyes.

Oh. That’s the one you gifted him.

“Sure. Mind if I give it a listen first?”

“Go ahead,” he replied without looking at you through the window.

Helping him came off naturally. The track for the girls was an excuse, one you had already forgotten. And as he started singing, you weren’t sure you’d remember any time soon.

“T-those are some bold lyrics, huh?”

Hallucination.

Jisung covered his eyes with his beanie, giggling.

“It’s Innie’s fault. He gets it from Chan.”

“What’s Chan’s solo about?” You asked with a laugh.

You didn’t expect Jisung to stare at you and swallow dry.

“He says it’s about trains.” He shrugged, as if he had remembered suddenly that he was supposed to answer your question.

When you both were done, it was late. Really late. He insisted you two grabbed a beer in the convenience store nearby, but you took a juice, claiming you had to drive.

“I’ll uh, I’ll get the bus, seriously,” he raised his hands as you both exited the store, beer in hand.

“Ji,” you deadpanned, finishing your juice. Thank God you liked him, because sometimes you wanted to hit him. Softly. With a pillow. “Shut up. I’m taking you.”

[🔺☆ 🚀 ☆🔺]

“How come I didn’t remember you have a driver's license?” Han smiles sheepishly.

The drive to his apartment is silent, as if you two were submerged in a no-conversation. No words, no nothing, just the sound of the tires against the asphalt and the yellow lights from the streetlights that lightened your way.

It’s late enough that there are little to no cars on the driveway. But weirdly, Jisung sips from his beer and sighs.

“Actually, could to take a left here?” He says softly, his voice surprisingly low.

“That’s not the way to your apartment, is it?” You ask, as softly as him, turning anyways.

“Nah, it’s this place I found and I wanted to show you.”

Alcohol doesn’t get easy to him —not from a beer, at least—, but he’s smiling like silly, and you can’t help but smile too.

You park where he tells you, and surely enough, there’s no one there. It’s a secluded, empty area, far from the center and high enough so that the city can be seen clearly.

“Think I left my jacket here last time I came.” He snickers, and you can’t help but chuckle. His hand travels to your knee and he squeezes it gently. “I’ll come back in just a second.”

One blink. Two blinks.

Hot fucking damn.

Your head falls against the steering wheel as soon as he closes the door.

Get your shit together.

Looking up, the car tells you it’s way past midnight. Your head tells you you’re crazy, your heart giggles at the fact, guilty as charged. Sighing, you raise your face enough to look at the stars. Only to find Jisung’s silhouette, now with a dark jacket on, waving at you as he stands in front of the car.

You’re blushing, but you wave haphazardly, smiling, and still frown when instead of getting back to his seat, Jisung goes and opens your door instead.

“Hey,” he giggles, and your grin matches with his.

“What are you doing?”

Jupiter can sometimes be seen from Earth, when the Sun’s light hits it just right and the night is dark. Still, its shimmer doesn’t compare to that of Jisung’s eyes when he rests his forearms on the car’s roof and bends down to your height. You haven’t moved, your own eyes fixated on how he licks his lips.

“I think I’m being stupid,” he chuckles. You’re a goner, not even noticing how his hand slides in for a moment and turns the headlights off, leaving you two only illuminated by the shy light in the car that indicates that the door is open and by the moonlight, who cheekily shines at the both of you.

Instead, you blink. Normally you just get him, just as he gets you, but you’re almost as lost as how you feel when you stare into his dark brown eyes.

“Stupid?” You smile lightly. “Why?”

At your tender tone, Jisung lets his head fall down, shyness getting the best of him. And yet the little alcohol he’s had boosts him back.

“I, uh, had a dream. Been having these dreams for like, a bit over a month,” he swallows dry, much like he did at the studio, and his eyes suddenly feel darker than before, maybe because his gaze stops avoiding yours for longer than a minute.

A meteor shower threatens to fall over your heart.

“You were there. And I was there, too.”

For someone who composes and uses words for a living, he was struggling a lot to piece together what he wanted to say.

“This… there was… this… feeling, like, inside of me. Here.”

Not only does he not use his hand, but he takes yours from the steering wheel and settles it over his chest. His heart.

You’re frozen. Completely out of it. Is it possible that maybe you fell asleep in the studio and that none of this is real? Could that be it, you wonder, until Jisung groans and leans his forehead against the roof of the car with a thud.

“I’m being an idiot, am I?” He snickers, with an undertone that lingers in something that resembles resignation. “I just- I saw you the other day, and I was… you were with Hyunjin, and I…” he clenches his fist, and he tries to back off, rubbing his face and passing them through his hair.

“No, Ji, wait.”

He chuckles breathlessly. “I made it awkward, right?”

“Ji.”

Your hand pulls him back closer by the zipper of his jacket, and only the crunchy-like sound of the gravel beneath him as he walks echoes through the night and follows how you move your hands toward his wrists. Towards his own hands, stopping him from picking on his nails further.

“Tell me, Ji,” you mumble. “What were you saying?”

His voice threatens to tremble before he speaks. His eyes don’t move from yours, and you think you’re completely out of your mind, just as much as he thinks of himself too.

“I keep having these dreams where I see you and the ache of wanting you swells up in me, like I’m on a raft that’s sinking and I just can’t even escape thinking about you when I sleep because I-”

He’s rambling, but with a sudden move from your side, he’s not anymore.

The cold of November doesn’t hit you when you stand up bluntly and you link your arms behind his neck and kiss him like you have been wanting to do for years.

His lips crash against yours like the sea crashes against the sharp rocks against the shore, even if the coast is much further away than you think, but you don’t mind, because you can’t think.

You’re kissing him. Finally.

You’re kissing Han Jisung.

And then, just a beat after what you’ve done —what you’re doing— sinks in, he reacts. His hands travel underneath your jacket and in the blink of an eye, he’s letting you push him against the car. No words, no nothing, only the scent of his cologne that suddenly fills you.

You tremble beneath him, and he pants.

He’s not blinking, his eyes glued to you. He can’t think either.

You should say something. What should you say? ‘Me too’? That’s lame. How come your brain can’t work when you most need it?

As if to answer your question, Han kisses you this time. Of course you can’t think, not when his hands travel underneath your clothes and he twists you in a way that somehow it’s your back against the car now. He’s not breathing, and neither are you, because you’re not kissing anymore, not when your lips can feel the teasing dent of his teeth nibbling on them and when the only thing you can taste is his tongue.

You’re not against the car anymore, because he closes the driver’s door with a kick and he opens the one to the backseats while he keeps kissing you.

Crazy. You’ve gotta be, because dreaming something as wild as this and for it to feel real, as real as it gets, as real as it could ever be, it has to mean you’re crazy. And you’d die on that hill if it means you get to keep dreaming how Jisung takes his newly-found jacket off and throws it to the front seat, in the same foreign path as where he throws his shirt, or how you two barely fit in the car and so he settles his knee between your legs to help you move back enough so that he can close the door.

And now you’re there. Alone together.

He gasps against your neck, as if he remembered that he had to keep breathing to live, and you don’t lose your opportunity, taking your sweater off and throwing it towards the trunk.

You lean your head back, the car feeling heavy with only the sounds of both him and you panting.

“I… fuck, I need you to tell me you want this.” Han swallows dry. “I need you to say it. Please. I want this too much.”

A meteor shower? Scratch that. This is a meteor storm.

“I think this is a dream, but still, I want you. Please.”

No words, no nothing, just the sound of the leather against your sweaty skin when you sit up straight and kiss Jisung like you mean it. It’s all nasty, teeth and tongue and a string of saliva that lingers when you break the kiss to fumble with his zipper.

“What if it is a dream,” you gasp, out of breath, out of control, completely and irrevocably out of it as your eyes stare at his. “I want you. Even if I wake up right now.”

Your shirt is discarded as fast —if not faster— than the rest of your clothes before.

“So if it is a dream, let’s keep going until we wake up.” You swallow dry too. “Until the stars can’t be seen.”

The kiss is like a heroin kick, although it is one that seems familiar. Or maybe it’s that your lips have become used to kissing his, considering that breathing has become a second priority with how raw is the need to consume him. A wave of pleasure takes claim inside of you with each caress of his tongue, with every touch of his fingers on your back, with every eager breath next to your jaw. He pulls you closer and moans with his mouth buried in your skin unfinished phrases that drive you crazy little by little —more than you already were.

“It may end right away,” Jisung says in a hoarse voice, clinging to one of the headrests that are closest to him. “But I’ll make it up to you. With my mouth. Or with my fingers. Or both. Yes, fuck...”

It’s a mix of quick and ruthless kisses, mouths open. Wet and urgent, almost in bites, as if you’d want to eat the other alive as he takes his pants off and helps you with yours, going down to kiss your neck.

“You’re so... f-fuck, ah...” he mumbles while he runs his tongue down your throat and to your collarbone. “I never want to wake up.”

His lips taste like the feeling that overcomes you when you look at the sky on a starry night. Emotion. Ecstasy. You want to drink it whole until there’s not a single drop left. Drink him.

Jisunh squeezes your ass, while your mouths are a mess, while he bites your lip and pulls it, smiling like a cheeky bitch, while your mouths fight for the control of the kiss and your tongue caresses his, and before you can piece together that the windows are foggy because of the two of you, he’s sliding inside, his hand lacing with yours.

God, you want to moan. Moan so loud. And so you do, because there’s nothing in this dream that could stop you.

And he moans, too, because you are like a dream come true.

Juno and Jupiter.

[🔺☆ 🚀 ☆🔺]

~kats, who accidentaly went full autism, space and mythology on the meaning of ‘juno’ by Sabrina Carpenter.

catiuskaa, november 2024 ©

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fuckyeahisawthat · 2 months ago

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Fully prepared for this to be a minority position but I am deeply emotionally invested in Paul and Chani not getting back together in Dune Messiah. Not just because I love angst and tragedy (I do) but because I don't think there's a way to do it without undermining the narrative and character arcs that Dune Part Two executed so well.

Paul and Chani's relationship in the Villeneuve films exists on a totally different foundation from what's in the books. It's a political love story and you simply cannot separate out the politics from the romance. Their connection starts with the politics and the love is built on top of that.

It's not just that they happen to fall in love while fighting together in an anti-colonial guerrilla war; that is why she falls in love with him. Because he is willing to take the same risks as her in fighting for her people's liberation. Not by trying to impose himself as a leader (at first) but side by side with her as comrades and equals. Let me fight beside you. That's all I'm asking. He is quite literally willing to put his body on the line for a struggle that's been with her all her life, that she cannot escape, but that he could walk away from if he chose. And in fact he proves himself to be an asset and not a liability in this struggle and they start winning. And yeah that shit's romantic as fuck!! Kudos to whoever on the writing team was like actually direct action solidarity is sexy af because they were right and they should say it! There clearly is some attraction or at least interest in Paul on Chani's part from fairly early on, but it's only after he's proven his political worth, in battle, that she allows herself to trust him on a personal level enough to begin a romantic relationship with him. (And it's only after Paul takes off the Atreides ring, the symbol of the fact that he came there to rule over her, that the narrative permits him to advance to this point.) They could have been comrades but not lovers, but never the other way around, because there's no other version of Paul that this Chani would have fallen in love with.

It's important that they meet in circumstances where Paul has no structural power over her. Chani never would have trusted the Paul who stood in the colonial palace and pledged to "honor" Stilgar by offering him hospitality on his own fucking planet. Because she would have known, just as Stilgar did, that such an offer of fellowship, no matter how genuine and well-intentioned, is not made on equal terms. It's only once Paul has been forcibly separated from his colonial privilege that they have even a chance to approach each other as human beings. (And, in a sort of dark irony, that violence becomes a bridge that connects them. That Paul is driven not by abstract power games among the Great Houses but by real grief and anger over the violent death of people he loves at the hands of the Harkonnens must surely be something Chani understands. And it builds a level of trust and empathy between them, that she doesn't have to explain the stakes of what they're fighting for. He knows it in his bones.)

It's not a coincidence that all their explicitly romantic moments are shot through with politics. Their first kiss is wrapped up in a conversation about what it means to be Fremen and I would very much like to be equal to you. (Yes, he's flirting his ass off with that line, but I do think he is sincere.) Their single post-coital scene has I'm no messiah, I'm a fedaykin of Sietch Tabr--not just a commitment to her people and her home but to her specific form of political struggle in which he is joining her. Throughout their whole relationship, the personal and the political are so interwoven as to be indistinguishable from one another.

This kind of commingling of emotional commitment to a person with political commitment to a culture/people/cause could have very easily slid into something tokenizing or fetishistic, but the writing manages to avoid that by sticking very strongly to a couple of guardrails. One, Chani is not some passive prize to be won, but an active agent of her own liberation, whether Paul is in the picture or not. She is the Fremen liberation struggle within the political allegory of the film; she is its voice and embodiment from the moment we meet her. On a character level, she is doing her thing and it's up to Paul to either follow or get out of the way. Even though we know he is afraid of her dying, he never once suggests she leave the front lines of armed struggle (can you imagine?) because that struggle is such a fundamental part of who she is and what he loves about her.

Two--and this one is important for what comes next--the narrative never trivializes the political side of their relationship in favor of the romantic. The second Paul reaches for any kind of power over the Fremen, over Chani, the trust between them is broken and the romance cannot continue. She might still love him as a person--you don't just turn that off--but she cannot be in love with him as the Lisan al-Gaib, fulfillment of a false prophecy she hates; as the Duke of Arrakis, her colonial overlord; or as the Emperor of the Known Universe, overlord of her overlord. As soon as he pulls that shit he is just another colonizer and she's done with him.

And like, kudos to the narrative for being absolutely uncompromising on that point! That's what makes both the political allegory and the personal tragedy hit so hard! Paul, bro, you fucked that one up good and now you are Experiencing a Consequence! I LOVE that in the end, love isn't enough. All the love in the world isn't enough to keep Chani from walking out at the end of the film, because the foundation that love is built on is broken and cannot be repaired.

(I do believe that by the time he is declaring himself Emperor, Paul thinks he has no choice, that this is the only way to save the people he loves from any number of worse fates. But that, too, is a betrayal, of a kind I don't think Paul fully understands. Because either you think the Fremen are capable of governing their own planet or you don't. Deciding unilaterally that having a "friendly" imperialist in power is the best you can hope for is a profound denial of the agency of the people Paul claims to be doing this in the name of. It's either paternalism or despair, and neither are acceptable modes of thinking for a serious revolutionary. Chani would tell you as much.)

The thing with making a bold writing choice like that is that...you cannot then walk it back in the next film with Chani choosing to forgive Paul or coming around to seeing the world his way and understanding that yes it's politically unsavory and he's manipulating the people he said he was in solidarity with but this was the only way! If you do that then the whole framework of what the first two films are trying to say about power and imperialism and resistance and solidarity collapses into incoherence. On a thematic level Dune Messiah is all about the consequences of Paul taking power the way he did and these are the consequences.

And on a character level...I just don't see any way to come back from such a deep betrayal. Even if some part of Chani still loves him. Even if she's pregnant with his child(ren). (We have like, zero information about how movie Chani feels about family and pregnancy and childrearing that would indicate that she would care one bit about her children's biological father being involved in their lives when he is otherwise busy being a space dictator.)

There are several categories of scenarios I can think of to get Paul and Chani interacting again (she goes back to him as a spy/assassin; she's brought back to the palace under some sort of duress, "for her safety" or even as a political prisoner) but none of them involve them being genuinely together as a couple. I could also see them not interacting at all for most of Dune Messiah. What I cannot see is any scenario in which she genuinely forgives him or ever fucking trusts him again. That shit is over and there's no getting it back.

#dune #dune part two #dune messiah #dune messiah speculation #paul atreides #chani kynes #paul x chani #paulchani #managed to tease out a lot of ship thoughts i have been having in one form or another in this post #let some character choices be irrevocable #it's narratively satisfying even when it's sad

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thenightshadowqueen · 18 days ago

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Death for a Dollar watchthrough thoughts

Holy shit, this was unhinged. I loved it so much. (That’s too many italics, but I don’t care.) I’m kind of speechless; the number of times I actually covered my mouth in shock (usually because of Sam, but Tom was insane in this one, too) was staggering. I adore this play.

Anyway, I’m going to get into my actual thoughts instead of just rambling.

Just to start, ‘Death for a Dollar’ is a great title, so kudos to whoever came up with that

Oh my god, Hank and Gareth 2.0!!!!

“You don’t know what he did for this place.” “That—Tell me!” This is off to a strong start

“Where was your showmanship?” I love it when they work mini games of Change into the plays

Mr. Twilliger is an incredible name

“This is me being the bartender, getting the stories out of the customers, so they reveal things, and then they want to drink more because they’re reliving their trauma.” I mean, it’s a valid tactic to get more money; yay, capitalism! (sarcasm)

AJ forcing Tom to be musical… Caesar and Juliet, anyone?

I love that Luke knows off the top of his head how many keys a piano has (I’m honestly not surprised)

Is Sam’s hair a little longer than normal? Because it looks really good

“I got three keys, three teeth, three toes. I’ve been through a lot.” I love Tony the piano player (who was also referred to as Bill once)

“My mind can take an awful lot; there’s not a lot in there” I love him, actually

“You ain’t trying to seduce him!” “But I get bigger tips when I do!” Sam

Can I just thank whoever edited this for giving us that little shot of Tom laughing? Because I love it when we get to see him actually laugh.

I love Mrs. Prostitute (and I love Tom for including positive representation of sex work)

“This is what feminism looks like” West End Big Boys flashbacks

“My mum is crazy” SAM

Also I think my favourite thing about the microphones is that we can hear them laughing so much more clearly (brought to you by Luke, on this occasion)

I adore Sam’s weird little harmonica thing he does in western-genre pieces

Ooh, younger versions of characters being played by different actors; I don’t think we’ve seen that before

I love Sam being confused and Tom’s response being to start clapping

I love Sam being annoyed and retaliating at AJ with a bald joke

“I told my daddy that I was real fast with a pistol, and that maybe I could go and work in law enforcement, but he wouldn’t have it.” “No! No son is going to go work for the government!” AJ trying to paint his father as the villain and Sam trying his very best to make the audience like him… This is gorgeous

“Telling a man if he’s allowed to own people or not” okay, never mind, I take that back

I don’t know why Sam picked the Watson-clown voice, but I’m glad he did (also I love that the voice made Luke break)

“Many Fingers Pussy” Jesus Christ, Tom

“They thought I had the devil in me” god damn it, now I feel bad for Bill

Sam is so good at playing wide-eyed innocent characters

“God, I wish they had that law in America in the modern day” I wish I had enough faith in people’s judgement to wish that

“I didn’t know you could do magic” I love it when Sam causes trouble

I can never see a reference to a one-man band like that and not think of Mary Poppins

“I can’t wait to hear those four white boys do those accents” oh dear

Luke speaking Spanish!!!

You know what, that vaguely Mexican accent could have been a hell of a lot worse, so well done, Sam

“So you can work on a farm, or you can jerk people off” oh my god, Sam

“He offered me a job” and then AJ realising what it sounded like and walking it way back

Tom entering the scene and waiting for a moment to join in and then Sam just throwing him in without warning is amazing

“I work here jerking people off” Tom

“She said she helps people el secrete-o” SAM

“Hand stuff Jesus is okay with” Sam

I don’t know why the fact that Tom knows little bits of Spanish brings me so much joy, but it does

Holy shit, Luke speaking Spanish with an American accent might be my new favourite thing

I love Maria, the bank robber/prostitute

You know what, I get Bill; the little, slightly mosquitoy “yeah”s are alluring

Half-kiss!!!

“A beautiful flower turns to a crooked leaf” I fucking adore AJ’s weird little sayings

“It’s a well-known expression” and then the advert with the merch saying ‘more well-known expressions’

“Something went worse than wrong. It went really wrong.” Gorgeous.

Sam’s slip oh my god

I know I already said Sam’s hair looks good, but Sam’s hair looks really good

I already said it but I will never be over Luke’s Spanish-in-an-American-accent. Never.

“I’ll keep my hands moist for you” it seems like Tom like using the word moist (the moisturiser fairy comes to mind)

I love audience participation

I’m sorry, as someone who struggles with mental math, that quick multiplication from Luke was impressive

“Got a lot of spunk in you, have you?” I love Tom using his English degree to make dirty jokes (obviously this doesn’t require an English degree; I just mean that it’s a wordplay joke)

I love Sam making sure to bring the story full-circle, with Tony losing his teeth and toes

Jesus, Tom

“Have we invented the electric chair yet?” I looked it up, and it looks like it was invented in the 1880’s, so not quite, but it wasn’t nearly so far off as I thought it might be

“I’ma travelling electric chair salesman” … honestly, I’m not even surprised at this point

Tom is right; this is really dark

I don’t think Sam knows how electric chairs work (affectionate)

Okay who the fuck let Sam wink like that

“Well, I guess that’s the end of the Shoot from the Hip show” I love when they get meta

“What could go wrong with giving a southern American teenager a pair of guns? I’ve got school tomorrow!” Holy fucking shit; may I present Sam Russell, the king of risky jokes

“…when we faked my death…” I love Tom so much

“I think this is the first time we’ve used the principle of the unreliable narrator” I actually love this so much; this is such a cool concept, especially for an improv show

Tom is unhinged in this one and I love it

I love this so much

I already made as post saying this, but it bears repeating: this is BUS levels of insane

#you know every time I make these I think they might come out a reasonable length #but no #anyway in case you couldn’t tell #I adore the insanity #this was an amazing play #nightshadow’s watchthrough thoughts #I know I always say this #but if anything came across as negative #that wasn’t the intention #I adore everything about this play #shoot from the hip #sfth #Death for a Dollar

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orbital-inclination · 2 months ago

Note

From Summer to Fall for pallette, Swad!Dream for character. (I think your version was named Helios?)

Sorry about the wait! I lost a critical battle with my arch nemesis, my brain. >:(

On a side note, I don’t think that was me? But Helios is a fantastic name for a dream variant! kudos to whoever came up with that! <3

Swap!Dream @.song_a Link to the Color Palette Challenge thing

#utmv #underverse #swap dreamtale #swap!dream #swap dream #Swad!dream #swad dream #dream sans #dreamtale au #my art #color palette challenge

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karaspal · 2 months ago

Text

kudos to whoever came up with that ship, i shall now ship it! it’s perfect!

#vi #gert #arcane

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inkedinfusions · 5 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger chapter 3

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.

── ★ ˙ ̟ . 🗝 .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist

⊰– prev next–⊱

𝟎𝟑 | 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

chapter word count: 3.1 k

content warnings: blanket warnings

a/n: Third chapter! First of all, I want to say thank you to everyone reading this, your comments and votes slash likes slash kudos do wonders for my motivation. I currently have written up to chapter five, and have a rough outline of the next chapter, so expect those updates soon.

Thanks for reading!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒 filter through your window, coating your room in soft light, like morning dew on plants. The paneled window lets in a slight draft, making you stir in your sleep.

Your eyes flutter open, and you shoot up from the covers before the confusion is replaced by recognition, your eyes slowly taking in the unfamiliar scenery. You flop onto the mattress again, turning over so that the glare of the sun is not directly over your eyes. The cotton sheets feel soft beneath your fingers, and you numbingly trace invisible patterns over and over again.

The clang of metal pots downstairs spurs you to life, prompting you to get up from the cocoon of blankets you were nestled in. You trod towards the dresser, picking some nondescript clothes to change into. The dress and shirt you choose feel weird on your body, and you're not sure if it's because they look like they came out of an old movie or simply because they are new to you.

You sit on the made bed, mulling over your next step. Zeke and Yelena are in Marley, so, like yesterday, you know that you are in the window of time in between the Scouts discovering the ocean and the envoy arriving to Paradis with the Volunteers. That gives you around three years before Zeke and Eren meet again, four before the rumbling.

Convince Zeke of moving up his plan in the timeline to get you home is not plausible – and why would it? As much as he is, in a way, something of a good person, he won't change his plans for you, a girl he just met.

You remember Johann Grice’s face, one he shares with his youngest son, one who has a stronger bond with Zeke that you currently do. Falco had been unlucky he consumed the wine, and even unluckier when Zeke, even if remorsefully, screamed, turning him into a titan.

So, the other option left is Eren and Historia. Small problem though, they are on the other side of a sea you have no way getting across. And what would Historia even do, if she wasn't a pure or intelligent titan? You didn’t feel comfortable sacrificing her for a ticket home.

You sigh, combing a hand through your hair. Well, you'll burn that bridge when you get there, or however the expression goes.

After carefully storing the clothes you arrived in and tidying up, you make your way downstairs, following the sounds that woke you up. There, in the kitchen, you are treated with a very bizarre image.

A steaming pot at the stove gives the kitchen a faint smell of coffee, and Zeke stands next to it, stirring another with what seems to be breakfast porridge. He turns your way when you approach, your footsteps announcing your arrival, and offers you a bowl. You accept it with a greeting.

“Good morning.”

“Morning, kid. Sleep well?”

You nod, shoving a spoonful of porridge into your mouth, relishing in the warmth it gave off. You didn't realize how hungry you were before, the only thing in your stomach being last night’s biscuits.

Zeke chuckles at your newfound energy, matching it with his own after grabbing a bowl. The clock on the walls ticks away unreadable numbers, provoking Zeke to draw you a page with the different variations of numerals at your request.

It's pretty simple, and you thank Isayama or whoever made the writing system for the fact that it follows the same logic your own does, just with different symbols.

“I'll see if I can get some simple picture books for you to practice,” Zeke says as he writes up the last number, the one standing in for nine. “But for now you'll have to be content with my chicken scratch.”

That elicits a small snort out of you, the idea that someone that's currently causing you anxieties has something as pedestrian as bad handwriting being ridiculously funny. He starts writing another one for the alphabet, reviewing with you the way they matched up to yours.

“What, did you fail calligraphy 101?” you ask, falling back into lighthearted banter.

“No, but I did receive glowing grades in porridge cooking.”

Your shoulders shake as you laugh, and somewhere in your consciousness you blame the lack of restful sleep and outlandish situation for the ease with which you snicker. Econ major Zeke was not on your bingo card for today.

You and Zeke finish your breakfast simultaneously, and he takes your bowl with him as he stands up, heading towards the sink. You follow, knowing that you'll feel bad if you don’t help, even if it's just a couple of bowls and mugs.

Soapy water runs down the dishes as Zeke cleans them, and you do your best to guess where each goes after you've dried them.

“So what are we doing today?” you ask, locating the cupboard with mugs.

“I–” Zeke emphasizes, “–will be going to a meeting with my comrades.”

“Comrades?”

“The Warriors. They are chosen to serve Marley, and each holds a special titan within them.”

“Oh. And you are one of them?” you question, remembering the explanation he gave you the day before. You had carefully cataloged the information you were given, as to prevent any future slipups.

Zeke nods, handing you the last bowl before drying his hands with an embroidered towel. You notice it matches one you saw at the Jaeger’s yesterday.

“As for you, well, I'm going to ask you to stay here a while. Practice your numbers, or if you feel confident enough, take a crack at some books.”

Your brows furrow as you close the cabinet’s door. While you recognize that going into a city you know nothing of is at the very least disorienting and at most dangerous, you don't want to feel trapped in the house.

“Can’t I come with you?” you try to bargain, already knowing the answers going to be no. You hope it's a no, anyway. Meeting the Warriors immediately after meeting Zeke would permanently raise your blood pressure.

“No.” Ah, there it is. “But I'll take you some other day to meet them.”

Huh. Unexpected compromise, and not one you really accounted for.

“If you do need to go outside though, for any reason, be sure you are wearing this,” he points to his red armband. “It's something that is required of us.”

You nod, mentally jotting down the books that you could try to read with the twenty six letter codex Zeke had given you.

Zeke bids you a goodbye afterwards, and you stand in the threshold for a minute before going to your room, pulling up some paper to do line drills. You meticulously write the ten numbers over and over again, losing yourself in the repetition.

The writing gets tedious after a while, so you let your pencil fall to the paper and stretch upwards, relieving the tension in your bones. You lay your head in your arms, parallel to the desk, and watch the window, fluttering leaves intermittently filling the view.

It would be easy to imagine being home, if you closed your eyes. This could just be another impromptu nap after finishing homework, and you would sleep until a shout would wake you up for dinner.

You drift away, engrossed in your memories, before you are suddenly pulled out of them by an impatient knock on the door. You consider ignoring it, and just then, the knocking doubles in speed, making whoever is on the other side of the door someone with either an emergency or an inability to wait.

You trudge downstairs after retrieving the key Zeke had gifted you yesterday, using it to unlock the front door. A small fist enters your vision, and you register a small, brunette girl attached to the other end of it.

She blinks, surprised, and hastily retreats her hand.

“...Hello?”

The girl just stares, not saying anything, and you look around to see if maybe someone responsible for her is near. As you do so, the girl speaks.

“You are not Zeke,” she states, and god are you getting tired of people telling you who you obviously are not.

“I'm not. Who are you?” you ask, not appreciating being questioned by a prepubescent girl.

“Gabi. Why are you in Zeke’s house?”

The name she introduces herself with is enough to quell your irritation.

“Oh,” you exhale, buying time to come out of your stupor. “I'm Y/n. I’m, uh, staying with Zeke for a while.”

“Why?”

“My dad died.”

That serves to silence her, the tense atmosphere growing exponentially with your comment. You feel a little guilty when she squirms, uncomfortable, so you sigh and move to the side, letting her in.

“Zeke’s not home,” you say, following her inside. “He went to a meeting, I think.”

“Oh, with the Warriors?”

“How do you–” you pause, your eyes flitting to the yellow armband decorating her bicep. So she was already a candidate then. Sick bastards. Child military in this series was a massive problem.

“I'm going to be one when I grow up.” The pride in her eyes makes your heart stutter. Gabi couldn't be older than ten, and here she was, already willing to die to serve Marley.

“That’s… a big dream,” you conclude, not wanting to quell her hopes, but also not willing to condone her goal.

Gabi gifts you a blinding smile, and begins to rummage through the room. You watch her as she drifts from drawer to drawer, before resigning yourself to the will of an eight year old.

“Are you looking for something?” you ask, ready to go back to being alone in your room.

“Zeke said he had a book about birds for me.”

You don’t recall spotting any other books in the house, only the ones in your room. And maybe Zeke’s room, but no way in hell you would intrude in his personal space. You let out a puff of air, gesturing Gabi’s expectant figure to follow you upstairs.

“It's probably in my room.”

Gabi’s footsteps trail behind you, already over seeing a stranger in Zeke’s house. Maybe stranger danger wasn’t a thing here, who knows. You roll up to the shelves, before remembering that you can’t actually read the titles.

You hesitate, embarrassed, before a high pitched question makes your face heat up even more.

“Why are you writing numbers over and over again?”

Gabi stands in front of your number-filled papers, innocently turning to you when she asks. While children in your world might not be master analysts, Gabi senses the shame written all over your face, and she hurriedly apologizes.

“I mean–” she stumbles over her words, “–you probably wrote differently where you lived, right? I’m sorry, I didn’t want to–”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt her. “I used a different alphabet there.”

You don’t mention that ‘there’ was not in her world map.

“Could you just tell me if the book you are searching for is here?”

You step aside to allow Gabi a better view of the different texts, and you watch as she squirms, her eyes scanning for what she is looking for. After a moment, she looks at you and shakes her head, denoting that it wasn’t.

“Afraid you’re going to have to wait for Zeke, squirt.”

Gabi scrunches her nose at the nickname, and her voice rises with the displeasure of it.

“I’m not a squirt!” she exclaims. “I’m actually tall for my age.”

You chuckle at her grumbles.

“Yes, but you are smaller than me. Ergo, squirt.”

“At least I can read,” she mumbles.

You freeze and your eyebrows raise all the way up your forehead, the comment catching you off guard. Gabi begins to take your prolonged silence as a sign that she messed up, but before she can apologize again, you begin to laugh.

She joins you in laughter a few moments later, and the two of you giggle like sleep deprived school girls. Wiping tears from your eyes, you try to control your snorts, losing it when your gaze catches hers.

“That was mean, squirt,” you tell her as the chuckles begin to subside.

“Not a squirt.”

“Sure,” you reply halfheartedly.

Gabi falls silent again, her eyes looking back at your line drills. Her eyes flit back to you, and then down to her hands, who begin to play with the hem of her shirt. Timidly, she pipes up with a proposal.

“I could bring you some books from when I learned to write.”

Your heart practically melts at her suggestion, and you are quick on taking her up on the offer. You thank her with a smile, which widens when she begins to look more comfortable in your presence. You, not wanting to leave a debt unpaid, speak up with your own idea.

“Can I braid your hair?”

Her brown hair falls longer on her back then it ever did in the series, and she fiddles with it for a moment. When she nods, you guide her to your chair where you begin plucking strands from her hair, forming a simple, triple plait.

“So how do you know Zeke, Gabi?” you ask, making small talk as your fingers weaved through her hair. “Is it through the Warriors?

Gabi begins to assent her head in agreement, before remembering to stay still.

“Yeah. I’m training to be one.”

You hum, adding small flourishes to the braid. “Are you any good at it?”

“Good?” she asks incredulously. “I’m the best at it.”

Oh, to be eight years old and have the confidence of a god. If it wasn't for the horrific implications her situation has, you could pass this moment off as some coming of age scene, where the protagonist states her dreams, only to achieve them at the end of the story.

You suppose that she did, in a way, help save the world from the Devil of Paradis. And she was –or would be– an excellent marksman.

“What are you good at?”

Her question sends you in for a loop, your fingers stilling in the middle of the plait. You find yourself unsure how to answer for the second time today. Although you weren’t particularly bad at anything, it also wasn't like you had something you excelled at.

“...I like to read stories,” you respond, following a pause. “All the more reason to practice reading, huh?”

“Guess so, if you’re into that sort of thing.” Gabi shrugs.

“Didn’t you come here looking for a book?”

“It’s not for me.”

“Oh.” You should probably have expected someone as lively as her to not take much interest in reading. “Who is it for then?”

“A friend. His name is Falco.”

Another name you recognize. At this point, it shouldn’t be a surprise when people reference other characters, but it still manages to catch you off guard. The little boy from the series is Gabi’s age so he’s also young now, younger than when he had to carry an enormous burden to save humanity, younger even than when he killed his own brother in the blast to forcibly become a titan.

“It must be nice to have a friend like you,” you concede, missing your own. It must've shown on your tone, because the next thing Gabi says is a direct consolation of it.

“I can be your friend too,” she offers softly.

“...Thanks Gabi.”

“And Falco has an older brother who I’m sure you’ll like–” you interrupt her as she begins to wiggle her eyebrows, breaking the wistful ambiance.

“And you’re done!” You finish up the braid with a tie, and you watch as her hands come up to feel it.

“I also have a cousin who just returned–!”

You shush her, failing to do so as you both begin to laugh again. Gabi thanks you for the plait with a smile, and you chat in your room until both your stomachs begin to rumble. Making your way to the kitchen, you realize that you have no idea of what to make, and less of what ingredients are available.

You and Gabi rummage through the kitchen, hitting jackpot with some vegetables and bread. You make quick work of slicing them as Gabi prepares a sauce that reminds you of your world’s curry.

“Won’t your parents be worried about you being out so long?”

Gabi sticks a spoon in the sauce and offers it to you, nodding proudly when you give her a thumbs up for the flavor.

“It’s fine. They know I’m with friends.”

“Friend. Singular.”

“I could invite Falco and his brother–”

“Point taken, thanks.”

You both settle on the table, and the conversation quiets down as you both start to eat. The freshness of the vegetables mixes deliciously with the dressing Gabi oh so graciously prepared. You split a small loaf of bread and offer the bigger piece to Gabi, who takes it gratefully.

The evening is spent in between banter and games, after Gabi’s unsuccessful attempt to tutor you in your writing and reading. She resigns, regretfully wallowing that the Grice’s would make better teachers than her.

The sun dips over the horizon, and you send her off to her house with a promise for a repeat of the evening some other day. When Zeke arrives in the evening, you are in the middle of cleaning up the cards Gabi had strewn across the room after a particularly bad defeat.

The front door’s knob rattles as he turns it, and he greets you when he spots you in the kitchen.

“Hey, kid. Did you bring a tornado with you?” he says, referring to the playing cards you have yet to pick up. Tornadoes seem to follow you, from your arrival to the mess in the house.

The seemingly innocent question makes your heart speed up, the implicit again in his sentence not going unnoticed by you. The card in your hand draws a droplet of blood when you clench it, making the red mix with the blue ink, swirling around like the dust had when you first arrived.

You swallow, the calm atmosphere you had created with Gabi shattering with the reminder that Zeke was after the mystery of your appearance.

“Gabi came over,” you respond, with you back to him.

You listen as Zeke’s clothes rustle, followed by what you think is his coat being draped over a chair. You rinse your hand in the sink, dabbing off the dark drop in the card while you're at it.

“I see. Was she with Falco? I promised to give him a book.”

You shake your head, turning around.

Zeke hums, muttering under his breath that he’ll have to pay them a visit at headquarters. You have dinner in a tense silence, an utter difference from the lighthearted banter at breakfast. If Zeke notices the disparity, he says nothing.

Maybe it was sleep deprivation what made you lose your wariness. That’s why, after washing your dishes, you bid Zeke a curt goodnight, making the trek up to your room once more.

taglist: @dressycobra7 @xngelsau @bloodchapell @i-think-im-adorable13

ask or comment to be added!

#ann writes #the key #aot #snk #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren #eren x reader #eren yeager #eren jaeger

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maisnamedmoon · 1 month ago

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Identity Reveals #1

I postet this on AO3 too, just incase you want to leave Kudos or follow me :)

Here is the link v

"Coordination only works if you don't have siblings!" (Nightwing)

With the monitors and alarms beeping no one notices when the monotone Voice of the Zeta beams calls out “R24 Richard Grayson-Wayne”. Until the man walks to the front of the room “Good evening Justice League”

“Who are you?”, Green Arrow was the first to react, already pointing an arrow at the intruder, “And how did you get in?”

“I am Richard Grayson, ex chief of police of Blüdhaven and now your link between the police and military force on earth and yourselves.” The raven haired man said, giving a small bow before frowning and turning around to the computer, just for him to press a button and the beeping of the alarms to turn off. “I’m here to coordinate this Alien intrusion”

“We don’t need someone to coordinate our missions” Batman growled.

“I believe you don’t have a choice there, Batman”

“No, he is supposed to be here, I got a call this morning. Nice to meet you” Superman said, trying to calm the still sceptical heroes. Their questions were quickly forgotten, when an explosion rattled the Watchtower. Everyone jumped into action, Grayson quickly turning around, pressing his earpiece, informing whoever was on the other side of it that they were under attack, while typing away on the computer. Batman walked up next to him pulling up files, letting out little grunts and huffs when Grayson throws aspects and ideas for plans.

“Everyone got the new team groupings on their screens, suit up for battle” Batman calls out, still typing.

When the heroes got back into the room, now suited up, they heard what sounded like Grayson trying to not hit someone over comms “Get your ass moving Arsenal and take Red Hood with you ….. Don’t question how I know he is there ….. I literally could not care less if he refuses to take part in this or not ….. Tell him I’ll take his patrol privileges away from him if he doesn’t ….. Yes I can do that, do not test me, Roy ….. he better be” He lets out a huff of frustration and continues to talk, now with someone else it seems “Grayson to troops, status report” With each answer he got cities on the map in front of him turned different shades of orange, yellow and red, marking the severity of the attacks they were under.

And then he started to call out team names and cities, appointing the teams of heroes to different cities all over the US. “Batman, I need you to go to Gotham and coordinate the cave” Who without even the slightest hint of the BatglareTM that everyone, who tried to command him got, turned around and walked to the Zeta tubes.

“How did he do that?” Green Lantern asked looking in the direction Batman just disappeared in. “I don’t know but I’m more concerned with the fact that he knows Arsenals civilian identity” Green Arrow frowned, looking at their new team member.

With Grayson on comms coordinating the different teams, including military forces, the Justice League, Young Justice, Teen Titans and the situation that is Gotham, the whole ordeal was surprisingly easy to deal with. As more and more of the Justice League hero teams came back to the Watchtower, more cities on the map, that were before various shades of red, turned green.

Now with most of the cities Alien free and most of the Justice League teams back, Grayson only had to check in on the teams not stationed on the Watchtower, “Kaldur’ahm, status report”.

Aqualad’s voice called out through the monitor room: “All clear over here, Rob, some minor injuries, but nothing too concerning” The heroes seemed to slump a little bit, knowing that their sidekicks are fine.

After also confirming with the Teen Titans that they were fine, there was only one more team to account for: “Dick Grayson to Batcave”

“Access denied” The monotone voice of the computer rang out.

“Richard Grayson to Batcave” He tried again.

“Access denied”

“Oh you are so fucking dead RR” Dick let out a sight. “Nighwing to Batcave”

“Here Batcave” A male voice answered, slightly amused.

“Batcave, status report! Also Timothy, I will personally rip your head off and burn all your coffee!”

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