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blazehedgehog · 4 years ago

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What was the honest reaction to Sonic 06 back in 2006?

It was a long time ago, so I can only really speak to my own perspective.

Sonic 2006 was the time that Sega’s marketing department really started cranking the hype train really, really hard. Sonic 2006 was announced as a fresh start. A soft reboot. Sonic Team said they were treating it like “the first Sonic game on the Sega Genesis.” You still had Tails, and Knuckles, and Shadow, but it was the start of a new era. A new type of Sonic the Hedgehog. More serious, more realistic, more “epic.”

At this point, there was no reason to necessarily distrust any of that. Yes, Sonic games had been slipping in quality, and yes, Sega was still more or less pretending that everything was “okay.” But that was always in the typical, “we’re trying to sell a video game and not go bankrupt” sense. This felt like a tacit acknowledgement that things weren’t so great and they were going to start over and refocus. Set things right.

Early gameplay footage looked rough. I distinctly remember a Gametrailers hands-on where they were demoing the Mach Speed Zone in Kingdom Valley, and the Sega representative was very clear and upfront that the game wasn’t done yet, and all of the empty space Sonic was running through would be filled in later. (It wasn’t.) There was also the typical debate over the TGS 2006 “Bringing it Home” playable demo, where people argued then, too, that the game wasn’t done yet, and not to judge things too harshly. The final version will be better.

The final version also wasn’t done yet. So, y’know.

I had effectively bought an Xbox 360 for this game. I was broke as per usual, but I’d gotten lucky and won a Gametrailers video competition, which landed me $1000 in Gamestop gift cards. I bought a PS2, a Nintendo DS, and an Xbox 360, plus more than a dozen games between the three platforms. I knew there would be more Xbox 360 games besides Sonic 2006, and I’d even originally wanted a 360 primarily for Elder Scrolls Oblivion, but the simple fact is that once the money was in my hands and I spent it, Sonic 2006 was the only actual Xbox 360 game I owned.

Or was going to own, anyway. I think I’d won the contest in September or October of 2006, when Sonic came out in November. So I bought the 360 a few weeks early with some original Xbox games, and spent the interim with Spider-man 2, Ninja Gaiden Black, and the copy of Halo 2 I borrowed from my cousin.

Sonic 2006 was the first game I’d ever pre-ordered. The second game, pre-ordered on the same day, was The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess for the Gamecube. I still have the tiny pre-order statue that came with Sonic. His gloves and socks, once white, have begun to yellow with age, and the skin tone on his face and body is turning an ashy gray.

Even 72 hours before launch, there was not a clear picture what Sonic 2006 actually was. Sega was deliberately obfuscating certain features; early in development they’d sworn up and down that there were only three playable characters in the game, something that blatantly wasn’t true. Perhaps it was miscommunication from Japan, but it meant they were now going out of their way to hide how many other playable characters were actually in the game. I naively distrusted most (if not all) professional reviewers back then, and the earliest scores for Sonic 2006 were all over the map.

As a Sonic fan, you kind of had to know how to read between the lines on the more negative reviews, because we were definitely in the era where it felt like critics were starting to dogpile on the Sonic franchise now that Sega was a third party developer. There weren’t a lot of professional reviews you could trust regarding Sonic games, or at least, that’s what it felt like. This was the rise of the podcast, and snarky hosts were taking whatever low hanging fruit they could get.

I remember waking up on launch day -- friends had gotten up early and picked theirs up in the morning, when I’d rolled out of bed somewhere closer to noon (or maybe even afternoon). I had plans to pick up my copy later that evening, after sunset. My friends did not sound happy, but again, there was always this vibe of “Wait and see.” They had only just started the game. First impressions were still too fresh to really call.

But I had this moment, this cold spot in the pit of my stomach, where I thought “Maybe I can cancel the pre-order and get Gears of War instead?” Reviews for Gears seemed pretty good. I’d probably be happy with it instead of Sonic.

I couldn’t let myself do that. I was a Sonic fan. This was the first big Sonic game of a new generation. A new start. I bought the console for this. First game I ever pre-ordered. The second Sonic game in the history of the franchise I’d bought on launch day. This was it. This was the event. No backing down. Besides, Sonic 2006 was a big 15th Anniversary celebration game. They wouldn’t make such a big deal about the anniversary without just cause, right? Sonic 2006 was going to be great. I just needed to calm down.

So we drove out to Gamestop -- and it was the sort of thing where I think we couldn’t do the pre-order at my local Gamestop for some reason, so this one was a town or two over. It was a journey. I was nervous the whole way there. Something told me I was making a mistake. But I had to do this.

I think it may have been starting to rain as we rolled up on the store. It was around 8pm, and people were starting to camp out on the sidewalk. Literally camp out, tents and all, because of the rain. Today was the launch date for Sonic 2006, but tomorrow was the launch of the Playstation 3. These guys were here for Gamestop’s “Midnight Madness” launch event. They were going to be some of the first to get a PS3. I was probably the last person to pick up a Sonic 2006 pre-order.

Sonic 2006 might have been the first Sonic game to ever make me angry. I’d had a lot of internet debates on how I felt about Sonic Adventure 2, but most of those amounted to splitting hairs about things that felt disappointing when compared to the original Sonic Adventure. I was not angry then, I was simply let down. I was similarly let down when I finally got a chance to play Sonic Heroes. But again, not angry. Baffled, maybe. A little sad. But not angry.

With Sonic 2006, I slammed head first in to all of my excitement and uncertainty at 200mph. This was a Sonic game unlike anything I’d ever played before, and in all of the worst possible ways. Enough has been said about the quality of the game that I don’t need to describe anything that’s wrong with it -- also because literally everything was wrong with it. Perhaps the first video game I’d ever played, ever, on any platform, that actually fought back against your efforts to play it. A disaster in every sense of the word. A broken nightmare. After finishing Sonic’s story, I was mad. How could they let this happen? What was wrong with them?

I was less angry after having finished Shadow’s story. Shadow had even buggier gameplay than Sonic, but it also felt more complex, more action-oriented. His story was better, too -- instead of the sappy Princess love story, Shadow’s story was about how the world was against him, and the crossroads that brought him to: rise above his past and strive to be a better person, or give in to the temptations of evil? It was still dumb as heck, but it was less dumb than Sonic’s story.

By the time the credits rolled, I had accepted the fact that this game was a mess. More of a mess than any Sonic game ever had been before. It was clearly a deeply unfinished game. Friends theorized maybe they could patch the game, because that was a thing games could get now. Sonic 2006 could still be saved. The PS3 version wouldn’t be out for another month, surely that means they’re working on a fix, right? Some were even theorizing over an achievement called “Nights of Kronos” -- it mentioned a “complete ending to the last hidden story.” Perhaps that meant there was going to be more? Maybe we got the bad ending, and a better, more finished ending was waiting for us on the disc somewhere?

There wasn’t. And no patch ever fixed the game. That was Sonic 2006 -- the kiss, the loading screens, the strange mannequin NPCs, the stiff controls, the glitchy physics, the empty overworlds, the bizarre dialog, the plotholes and time paradoxes, that’s just what the game was, and was always going to be, forever.

Before Sonic 2006, you could say that 3D Sonic games were bad, but there was always a place to defend them from. They had problems, but they were never irredeemable. Sonic Heroes may have had frustrating controls and repetitive level design, but it had great art direction, nice music, and fun concepts. They were always trying, dang it, and it was obvious to see that.

Sonic 2006 felt irredeemable. Offensively terrible. A failure on such a level that it was hard to comprehend. Beyond simply “a new low” for the franchise. This felt like rock bottom. It was the kind of bad that spread like a virus. Even good games, like Sonic 2 on the Sega Genesis, felt notably tarnished by the existence of Sonic 2006. It threatened to ruin the entire franchise by proximity alone. For some, it probably did. I definitely had a moment where I wondered if I would ever enjoy a Sonic game in the same way ever again. They were all tainted now. Infected by memories of Sonic 2006, the game that was supposed to save the franchise, but condemned it to the lowest pits of hell.

In isolation, that might have been the end for me. I might have continued to drift away, bit by bit, until I found greener hills outside of the Sonic franchise.

I’ve said this before, but what saved me was getting hired to write for TSSZ News. Now, suddenly, I was paid to play and write about Sonic games. It was a duty. And it helped that the first Sonic game I reviewed for TSSZ ended up being Sonic Unleashed, a game I continue to openly gush about to this day, more than a decade after its release.

But never forget that Sonic 2006 was such a disaster that it nearly made me give up Sonic the Hedgehog. It really was that bad.

#questions #sonic the hedgehog #sega #sonic 2006 #tssz news #Anonymous

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fangirlinghard-spoilerson · 5 years ago

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This is a The Folk of the Air’s One-shot. The original work belongs to Holly Black. Rating: Mature Wordcount: 1,013 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jude Duarte & Taryn Duarte Summary: This fic is about Jude and Taryn and some distinctions between them. This One-shot is based in TQON’s excerpts. I used the Bustle’s excerpt as a reference and a Novl’s excerpt as a prompt. So, if you don’t want any TQON spoiler stop right here.

When people think about identical twins, they often tend to believe it's hard to tell them apart. It’s not. Identical twins like different things, they live different lives, they see the world through different points of view. They love different people in different ways.

And, contrary to what fiction can make it seem, identical twins dress differently.¹

In a living room of a human house, Jude and Taryn Duarte prove that this is true.

One of them looks as mortal as the place they are in. She wears ripped jeans - not purposefully ripped by a dressmaker, but accidentally torn apart during battles - and a loose-fitting sweater. On her feet, there are a pair of combat boots. Her hair is stuck in a hard, practical bun. No make-up in her face, no jewellery adorning her body. She sits in the couch, her feet over a low table and her arms crossed over her chest. Her gaze is sharp like knives. She obviously waits for something from her twin.

The other one could be mistaken for a Faerie princess by someone who has never seen a true one. She walks from side to side nervously while receiving all the power of his sister's evaluative gaze. But she isn’t elegant - in this room, she doesn’t even look human - but supernatural. In her dress flowers are still blooming. Her lips are red as blood and the eyelashes make shadows on her cheeks. She has many jewels in her. A pair of diamond bracelets are matching with her choker. Her hand are adorned with more rings than fingers, almost one for each phalanx. A long chain necklace going down the valleys of her breasts hiding her pendant beneath them, so even if someone looks directly into her neckline it would still be up to the imagination to wonder what that pendant might be. In her ears, metal tips imitate the shape of faerie ears and a pair of earrings hang in her lobe, a star and a moon.

They are twins, the identical type.

They aren’t alike.

“Stop marching, you aren’t a soldier. Look glad. Don't be stiff. You have to be more graceful than that. Remember you are enchanted to be here in anyone presence. You should look like you want to have fun. Humble. Glad. Graceful.” Jude faces Taryn who features ugly and crude disdain. Being Taryn a master of mimesis, that could only be a perfect imitation of Jude. If it's that way she looked all the time, it's no surprise that almost everyone dislikes her. No problem in that, almost everyone she knows betrayed her at some point too.

Like Taryn.

“Don’t look at me as if you want to hurt me. You aren’t you right now. You are me. Be sweet.”

Sweet, the word almost brings her to the floor. Or maybe, it is the unnecessarily thin high heels. Maybe the impractical stuffed skirt. Probably everything at once.

“This is kind of hard.”

“No, it isn’t. Look at me.” Jude waits for some change of posture accompanied by some pretty good acting. Maybe a piece of advice. But none of this happens. Taryn stares at her with a blank expression and says “I, Jude Duarte, High Queen of Elfhame in exile, spend most mornings dozing in front of daytime television, watching cooking competitions and cartoons.” She doesn’t say as mocking, Taryn talk without any feeling in her voice and takes her time to do it. Every word is delivered slowly. The criticism is brutal and hits Jude right in.

Taryn just set facts and they are incontrovertible. Her life is pathetic.²

“I’m doing you a favour.” Jude spits out.

Taryn's response is placid. “And I’m giving you an opportunity in return.” Even sisters, even needing each other, they have made a bargain. No one could accuse them of don't follow the folk customs. “Don’t try to act as you are doing this because of your kind heart. Jude Duarte can’t step a foot in Faerie, Taryn can.”

“You are a criminal too.”

“I will not forfeit my life if I get caught.”

What Taryn has offered isn’t so good and some may say it isn’t worth its price. But it’s an opportunity and that's all Jude needs. So she keeps training. Listening. Learning. Wearing Taryn as if she were a beautiful and uncomfortable new shoe. Breaking in.

Many hours later, Jude sits on the couch next to Taryn in her own clothes while they wait for Vivi to arrive with Oak. Her feets sting and her calves ache. But it’s nothing compared to her cheeks. Smile is the worst part.

“When you said that you killed Locke, I thought that you had done it with your own hands.”

“If someone will kill him because of something I did, it’s the same thing.” Taryn hugs a cushion, but her expression isn't vulnerable as the gesture could make she seems.

Frustration hit Jude hard. “No, Taryn. It’s not.” Even after her speech about the power of ‘No’ she still have been caught by her sister's lies. “You just wanted my attention.” And she has given it like a fool that can’t learn with her owns mistakes.

Nevermore, that’s a promise. Taryn would never deceive or use her again, Jude would be smarter.

“He is my husband, Jude, I had to…” Jude's eyes have no empathy or forgiveness for her sister. They are disturbingly empty. Taryn can’t face them without asking herself what is missing there so she turns her head in another direction. “Forget, you don’t know how it’s like.”

When Taryn isn’t looking, Jude’s hand goes to the point beneath her breasts where a ring hangs in her chain necklace - the only jewellery she uses, the one she never takes off - and her eyes sparkle with emotions so opposed that they should never be put together. They shine as broken glass on the floor, invisible until light strikes. Jude watches the sister who hasn't chosen her fight for her loved one’s life, while Jude plans a comeback for hers.

“You are right, I don’t.”

A narrator's opinion is not necessarily similar to the author's opinion, for example, 1 - I think twins should wear in the way they want - alike or not. 2 - Jude’s life isn't pathetic.

@lazyperfectionistteen, @afexiss, @thequeenofeveything, @nitrot150, @fangirling101, @thejiminsjamsowner , @mis-lil-red

#The Folk of the Air #Post-Book 2: The Wicked King #the queen of nothing #tfota #jude duarte #Taryn Duarte #jurdan #fhso tfota fanfic #distintions fanfic

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novantinuum · 6 years ago

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Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 4.6K~

Summary: In another world, he doesn’t have his mother’s sword or shield to hide behind when Bismuth lands her strike. The bubble pops.

Steven falls apart.

Chapter summary: In which Greg receives some answers, Bismuth faces her consequences, and Steven really needs to go to bed.

First | Last chapter

While I’m cross posting all of these to tumblr, I’d love to have your support over on AO3 too! Plus, it’s easier to subscribe there. A win-win, I’d say. Excitingly, this is the longest chapter yet.

Chapter 5: Onward

“So… hold on,” Greg says slowly, raising his hand to cut off the others’ incessant yammering. “Just lemme- let me take a moment to see if I can properly wrap my head around everything. So you’re saying that—“

He turns on the one they identified as Bismuth, pointing at her with such ferocity that his finger might as well be a— what did they call it again? Oh, yes!— a ‘breaking point’ itself.

“—that she tried to kill my son by smashing his gem?”

“Mmmhmm,” Garnet nods.

As usual her eyes are entirely hidden behind her opaque visor, something that always made getting to know the Gem particularly daunting in those early days, but by now he’s close enough to infer her full disposition from her body language and tone alone. And as far as he can tell from the clipped words and stiff movements, she’s pissed. The full brunt of her anger is thankfully restrained… he imagines for Steven’s sake. He hugs his son closer, the boy currently nestled against his midsection and sitting on the fountain’s rim. Garnet sits on his other side, with Amethyst next to Steven. Pearl, meanwhile, kneels on the ground holding a surprisingly deep-cut gemstone in her lap, the very gemstone that by all rights should be embedded in his son’s navel but currently isn’t. He frowns and tugs at his hair (a bad habit of his, over the decades), finding his thoughts growing more and more fragmented over this by the second.

“But she only tried to kill him because she thought he was Rose… who bubbled her thousands of years ago because she wanted her to shatter Pink Diamond. But then Rose actually was Pink Diamond… all along? And somehow fake shattered herself?”

“Yup, that’s pretty much it,” Steven says with a faint laugh, no amount of falsified cheer able to conceal the conflict brewing within him. Greg watches him clutch at the bottom hem of his shirt, and his heart nearly shatters right there on its own. His boy’s grown worryingly savvy as of late, plastering on a brave face whenever he thinks the others can’t handle the full burden of a child’s stress. He probably assumes he’s getting away with it, too. His mistake. One of the many things fathers grow attuned to over the years is the habits and facial tics of their children. All that said, if this is troubling for him, he can’t begin to imagine how traumatic and confusing this upheaval is for Steven.

God, and he’s only fourteen! He shouldn’t have to deal with any of Rose’s war fallout.

“And then,” Greg continues, gesturing between his son and the pink gem Pearl holds, “before she could actually kill him he split in two?”

“It was almost like he abruptly unfused,” Bismuth supplies, maintaining a healthy distance from the rest of the group.

“But it didn’t feel like fusion at all,” Steven says, and shudders. “It hurt, it hurt really bad.”

“He was unconscious for at least a minute. The half with the gem, the pink one, started screaming and tried to fight me away from him but I knew I had to get him off the forge’s surface so he didn’t burn.” The rainbow haired Gem hangs her head in shame. “I was so worried he wouldn’t wake up ‘coz of me.”

“Yeah, sure ya’ were,” Amethyst spits, and crosses her arms.

Pearl’s eyes narrow with a precise intensity. “Amethyst, please. Not now.”

Contrary to whatever assumptions on her he held before, Bismuth shows no inclination to argue in any vain hope of saving face. Instead she stands stiff before the group, appearing just as haunted by the consequences of her actions as Steven is. While the back-and-forth between her and the Crystal Gems continues, her fingers twitch, desperately yearning for something to tinker with. As someone who frequently seeks out the reliable comfort of strumming improvised chords on his guitar in times of stress, he can relate. Of course, far be it for him to excuse this new Gem’s actions when they almost cost him his only son, but at least she has the decency to express remorse over it. He’s furious at her, he truly is, and yet… He also can’t help but feel a twinge of pity lighten his heart upon hearing her side of the story. Huh, funny. Normally he’s more apt to harbor a stone cold grudge over this sort of stuff. He blames his kid’s influence.

“I was angry at Rose, not Steven,” Bismuth says as he tunes back in to the conversation. “I was so sure that this was all just another one of her lies that I— well, you all know. But when I saw what I’d done…. When they split apart and he fell to the ground, I—!”

Her voice cracks, and he watches her nearly crumble like chalk.

“I- I made a terrible mistake, and I’m genuinely sorry,” she finishes.

“‘Kay, so you’re super sorry and promise never to hurt him again, we get it,” Amethyst says, blunt sarcasm oozing from her words. “But seriously, is no one gonna address the ginormous cluster hangin’ over our heads? Y’guys! New headline! We just found out Rose was a total sham!”

Steven holds up a finger as he interjects. “Actually, we don’t know anything except that she was apparently Pink Diamond, but…”

“Yeah, and Pink D’s like, the bad guy, Steven! She’s the reason they had to fight this whole stupid war in the first place! And then, what? She creates you just so she doesn’t have to deal with the fact she’s a liar?”

The young teen shrinks away from her anger, a lump forming in his throat. Greg’s jaw clenches. His hand tightens around his son’s midsection.

“None of this is Steven’s fault,” Garnet says quietly, firmly placing her sapphire laden hand on the purple Gem’s shoulder to quiet her down. She shrugs away at her touch, lips jutting into a pout.

“Or any of yours’," Pearl says.

Greg’s eyes lock on the slender Gem at her abrupt comment, and he watches with apt attention as her thumb glides across the largest facet of the diamond in her lap. Hearing her voice comes as a surprise, as she’s been unusually absent from this conversation thus far. It seems none of the others want to talk about it in depth right now, but apparently she’s forbidden from mentioning anything about Pink Diamond. It’s yet another betrayal, yet another reason why the sight of the rose blossoms growing wild around them and the delicately carved curly-haired statue at the fountain’s center leaves him with uncertainty gnawing at the pit of his stomach.

And yet… and yet.

What if he’s being a hypocrite about all of this? It’s not like he told Rose everything about his past, either. Rose was a diamond, sure, but— he’s a DeMayo. There’s a number of dark days attached to that name he’d rather let die in the past too. Are they really entitled to the full narrative of the life she left behind? Is anyone?

He scratches at his scalp. “Listen, Amethyst. I understand all of you are upset, and rightfully so. I can’t exactly say I’m thrilled to hear all of this either. But the bottom line is… I know the woman I loved. Maybe not for long, but I grew to know her in ways far more intimate than even some of you. And if there’s one thing I can say for absolute certainty, it’s that… despite her mistakes, despite everything else she probably lied about, her love and respect for all of you was not a sham.”

Pearl nods. “I almost can’t believe I’m agreeing with Greg of all people, but he’s right.”

“And you’re entitled to believe that,” Garnet says evenly. “But no matter what we believe, I still think it’s wise to try not to make assumptions about her in the first place. Either good, or bad. At this point, what we know is what we know, and I can’t see any easy way of changing that in the near future.”

“So, what are we supposed to do about all this now?” Amethyst asks, all her earlier anger dissipated in her exhaustion.

She considers this for a second, visor glinting in the glow of sunrise.

“Nothing.”

“What?”

The fusion doesn’t budge an inch. “We don’t change our tactics.”

“But- but if she was our leader, and we always just blindly followed what she wanted, then—“

“No matter her original intentions, the Crystal Gems, as a movement, is far bigger than one diamond,” she says. “We move onward. We thrive. Never mind Rose.”

Steven squirms in his embrace, and in a small, timid voice— a jarring reminder of the child he still is despite his recent leap in emotional maturity— asks the question he’s sure has been weighing on him ever since he got split apart in the first place.

“What about me, and my—“ he tries and fails to stifle a yawn— “my gem? What am I supposed to do now?”

“We’ll deal with your Gem half when he reforms, and he will,” Garnet says gently. “But right now, you need your rest. We all do. Pearl, Amethyst, help him to the temple and get him tucked into bed. Bismuth, Greg. I need to speak to both of you.”

Everyone nods at the Crystal Gem leader’s directions, and they all act accordingly. His eyes drooping just as much as his son’s despite the pink tinted skies and chirping meadowlarks, Greg helps him stand to his feet. Steven’s knees still quiver but thankfully this time he doesn’t crumple. Pearl loops one of her arms through his, still holding his gem in her opposing hand, and together they begin to plod towards the warp pad they arrived earlier. Amethyst follows them but notably lags behind, guilt written across her face clear as day. She delivers one final glance at Bismuth, razor sharp and flaring with hurt, and then disappears in the orchard’s shadow.

A palpable silence brews between the two remaining Gems then, uncomfortable enough that he’s almost left with sweat beading on his brow just watching them. Eventually doing so becomes too stressful, and he moves to retrieve the downy comforter that’s long since been forgotten on the stone midway to the fountain. He folds the bedding as compact as he can, and drapes it over his non dominant arm, distantly acknowledging that it’ll have to go in the wash. He wishes he could’ve gone home with Steven too. What does she need a human like him for right now, anyways? He’s no fighter, or mediator. The cool grey one blows a nervous puff of air from between her lips and wraps her hands around a few strands of her rainbow dreads. Garnet‘s expression twists into a frown. Stepping towards her, she crosses her arms.

“Bismuth…”

“If you’re going to bubble me away again, just say it,” she blurts out, hanging her head in resignation.

Ever so subtly, Garnet tilts her head as if caught off guard by the visceral hurt pooling in the other Gem's words. In any case, her tone remains steady.

“We’re not bubbling you.”

“What? You’re—?”

“It was avoidable miscommunication that led to that the first time. I won’t let that happen again, especially not to a friend. However,” she says, holding up a finger before the other Gem can interject, “as consequence for striking a fellow Crystal Gem in cold blood, until further notice you are no longer welcome in the temple. You will not seek us out. You will in no circumstance find yourself alone with Steven. If we require your help and you are willing, we’ll call for it. But for now, until we’re ready to begin to forgive, you’re on your own.”

Bismuth’s gaze turns up towards her once more, sober in silent acceptance. She blinks rapidly to stave away the tears, and her lips press together tight. Greg’s unsure if the emotion she’s desperately barring away is remorse about her exile or shell shocked relief that she won’t be bubbled away for another five millennia.

“I encourage you to explore this planet as you reflect upon your actions,” Garnet continues. “I think you’ll find a lot has changed since the rebellion… and I think that with time, so can we all.”

“Am I relieved now?” she asks, voice thick and wavering.

She regards her with a long, searching look as she deliberates. “Yes. You may go.”

At first Bismuth spins on her heels, making to leave, but apparently something else stirs on her soul because she pauses. Taking a deep breath, she whirls back around to face the fusion.

“I know this probably doesn’t count for much after all that happened, but. I truly am sorry, for everything.” She turns to regard him directly, her gaze piercing but sincere. “Tell Steven that I hope he can forgive me one day.” And, to the other Gem: “And tell Pearl I’m sorry for what she had to go through, with Pink.”

“I will.”

“Take care of them, would you? Yourself, too.”

Garnet nods. Perhaps as a final sign of goodwill between old war comrades, she offers her hand. The way she does leaves the sapphire on her palm fully exposed. Greg bets it’s a powerful and evocative gesture to a Gem who is being punished for almost shattering another. It’s a salve, an acknowledgement that you can become better, and I trust that you already are.

Bismuth links her broad fingers between hers, and exhales shakily. “Goodbye, old friend. I hope I’ll see you again one day. And hey, if any of you ever… bismuth me,” she jokes with a weak laugh, “you know where I’ll be.”

She gives her hand a gentle squeeze, and then breaks away. Her eyes can’t quite meet theirs.

“Go in peace,” Garnet says.

Greg and her watch in quiet respect as the rainbow haired Gem turns on a dime and departs from them, leaving both the fountain and the ranks of the Crystal Gems behind as she fades beyond the shadow of the grove. They wait. Not too long after, a bar of pure cyan light shoots to the sky, accompanied by that resonant bell like tone he’s long associated with the warp pads. At the sound some of the tension in his companion’s form finally eases. She reaches to wipe under her visor. Geeze, tonight’s really been a high emotion day for her as well, huh? First she’s reunited with an old friend she hasn’t seen face to face in millennia, and then later that evening she’s met with the terrifying threat of Steven’s mortality…wherein she learns that this same old friend is the reason he’s cleaved apart and cracked to begin with. And then there’s all of Rose’s lies, which— as much as he loved her— he’s sure he’ll also have to wrestle with in the coming season.

She sighs, and turns to him.

“And as for you...”

He scratches at his scalp. “Heh heh, am I in trouble too?”

She chuckles briefly, lips turning up in a soft smile. “No, of course not. The truth is, I need your help. I can’t always… be here, to look after Steven.”

His brow creases. Such oddly specific words from such an articulate person. ‘Be here?’ What does she mean, that she’s leaving the other Gems? That she’s going on some extended mission? And why now, of all times?

“What do you mean?”

“My future vision is clouded, incomplete, but I can sense we’re approaching a crossroads.” She lays both gems on his shoulders, and suddenly her visor flashes away, her three eyes intensely pouring into his, searching, beseeching. It’s the single most vulnerable expression he’s ever seen her convey.

“Greg. He trusts you with matters he doesn’t always trust us with. I know you’ve mostly kept your distance from Gem activities up to this point, but the time is coming when you won’t be able to separate these worlds anymore. I need you to keep a close watch on him. For me. Promise me you’ll do that.”

“O- of course,” he says, mind nervously whirring with an infinitude of uncertain futures based on this new information, and oh golly, does this even lay a finger to what she experiences every moment of every day? “But if you don’t mind me asking, what’s coming? What crossroads?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, her gaze falling wayward. “I can barely see the shape of our future anymore, only faint impressions. And… and that terrifies me. So much has changed so quickly.”

She’s nearly quivering, eyes blown wide, and Greg only now realizes the degree to which he took her unyielding strength for granted all this time. He rocks back and forth on the balls of his bare feet, reaching for an answer on what to do, what to say to support a person who until now, has never been in need of that support.

“Are… you handling things okay?”

Garnet clamps her lips together, taking a moment to ground herself once more. Then with a intentional flick of her fingers, her visor shimmers back into place.

“No,” she says evenly. “No, I’m afraid I’m not.”

He exhales with a prolonged, meandering sigh when the two of them finally reach the temple, solid crystal phasing into existence under his feet in a bright flash of cyan. Despite how long he’s known the Gems, a trip through the warp stream is a rarity for him. In the beginning that was mostly Pearl’s doing— with her staunch refusal of allowing humans anywhere near Gem structures vocal enough to convince Rose to leave him behind. Thankfully Pearl began to tolerate him enough in the later years of the relationship that she lifted the ban. After that he and Rose would occasionally steal away on dates in exotic locations only accessible by warp pad, and while he has many fond memories of his time with her in these breathtaking places he must admit he’s never been a big fan of this form of travel in the first place. He’s not keen on flying for similar reasons— it’s simply too disorientating. What can he say, he’s a wheels to the ground sort of guy.

He carefully steps down from the raised platform. In the loft, bundled under fresh bedding, Steven stirs awake and lifts his head upon hearing their arrival. Dark bags emphasize his puffy, reddened eyes. Greg’s heart seizes at the realization that he’s been crying all on his own, when no one can see him, in the dark.

“Dad, Garnet!” he whispers, forcing a weak grin. “You’re back!”

He tosses the dirty comforter on the floor next to the warp pad, and bounds across the room to him as fast as his weary joints possibly can.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, climbing up the stairs to the loft. He plops himself down at the foot of the mattress. “You all cozy now?”

His son snuggles even deeper under the sheets, clutching one of his stuffed bears to his chest. “Yup, all tucked in.”

“Good, good. I, uh- I’m really glad you’re okay.”

And at these words, exhaustion weighs Steven down like a twenty pound barbell, shattering his brave facade. He visibly deflates, his eyelids drooping.

“Yeah,” he sighs, blankly staring off into the distance.

Upon following the path of his glance, however, Greg realizes that he’s actually not staring at nothing. He’s watching Garnet first and foremost, who’s leaning against the fridge, but more importantly… Sitting smack dab in the middle of the kitchen counter is his inert gemstone, nestled within the cottony folds of a bath towel. Of course. He needn't a second guess of what has him so glum. He leans in to embrace him and Steven immediately reciprocates, flinging his arms around his neck so tight that given the option of comforting his kid or constant, steady airflow he’d choose to forgo the breathing every time.

“Can you sleep here tonight?” he asks, voice brimming with a vulnerability he hasn’t heard from him for a few years.

“Of course. I’ll never say no to a good couch, heh heh.”

“No, I mean— with me, up here. Please. I really, really don’t wanna be alone right now.”

His son pulls away, and peers at him with the most doleful, starry eyes one could muster. He can’t help but chuckle.

“You do know you ain’t gotta pull out the puppy dog eyes on me, right?”

“Yeah, but was it working?”

“All right,” Garnet interrupts, leisurely making her way up the steps to the loft. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

He nods in full agreement. It’s super late, and the kid desperately needs some rest after all the trauma of this evening. Working together, parent and guardian, they help tuck him back, snug and secure. Heeding to Steven’s request, he crawls under the covers as well, leaning against the far wall. Distantly, he notes that he left his van unlocked when Amethyst whisked him away to the fountain, but by this point he’s too comfortable here on this mattress to dream of making the trek across town to fix that. He’ll just have to trust it’ll be fine. Beach City is a small, secluded place, after all. Most residents barely lock their doors at night.

“Garnet, am I even able to fuse with my gem again?” Steven asks meekly, before she can turn to leave them to rest.

She pauses, balling her fist against her mouth as she considers.

“I can’t see everything, but I do know you’ll be alright,” she promises, and reaches down to brush through his dark curls. Delicately, she presses a kiss to his forehead. Steven’s eyes light up instantly. This time, he grins for real.

“Wow, homemade waffles? And we’re all sharing them as a family! Well, except Pearl, of course. But she’s still there with us.”

“That’s right. It’s together breakfast.”

The tension wound through Greg's spine eases at hope’s return to the atmosphere of this household. With a relieved smile, he rubs his hands together. “Guess I’m breaking out the ol’ waffle iron tomorrow, then!”

Steven throws his arms around the taller Gem. “Thank you,” he says, clinging tight. “I really needed that. Can you… maybe stay out here with us too?”

The puppy dog eyes return in force. Any weaker individual (himself included) would surely be powerless to resist this maelstrom of pure Universe charm, but Garnet’s no brittle Gem. From what little she confided to him back at the fountain, he bets she's in want of some alone time right now. True to his predictions, she smiles apologetically.

“I wish I could, but I have some delicate matters that need to be attended to in the temple.”

“Awwwww, man!”

“But I’ll see you at breakfast,” she adds before his burgeoning pout can fully reach his eyes.

This promise seems to placate the boy enough for him to relax into his pillow. His eyes droop as he watches Garnet amble down the stairs. He’s not the only one— Greg’s own eyes are beginning to ache from sheer exhaustion as well. A sudden spike of jealousy overtakes him, upon remembering how the rest of the Gems don’t get tired, and don’t require sleep. If only, if only. Oh boy, tomorrow’s going to be rough, isn’t it? It’s what… at least one in the morning by now? Squinting, he cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of Steven’s alarm clock.

It’s twelve forty-six. Close enough. With any luck he’ll drift off to sleep within the next fifteen or so minutes.

“I love you,” Garnet says from downstairs, directed at Steven. She shapes her fingers into a heart. His lips curve into a smile as he watches this. While he’s never doubted the depth of her affection for him, she isn't often this transparent about it. Perhaps she thought his son could use the reminder in the wake of a terrifying near-death experience.

“Love you too,” Steven chimes. “Goodnight!”

With that, the Gem retreats across the room to the temple door. She holds her palms up to the star insignia. The matching gems light up, glowing a vibrant blue and red, and the magical doorway slides open— almost as if dissolving from the middle— to reveal the private chamber held within. She steps forward and disappears into the bowels of the temple, leaving the two Universe boys bundled under the covers in an uneasy silence. Steven sighs under his breath. Greg can tell without looking at him that something is gnawing away at his son's heart, bubbling up within him like soda fizz.

“Dad?" he eventually asks, flopping onto his side to face him. "Where’s Bismuth? Did she leave from the fountain?”

Yup, there it is. He feared this was coming.

“She’s—“ he pauses, trying to determine how best to phrase this— “Garnet had a discussion with her. She’s not welcome here in the temple until further notice. As punishment.”

Understanding dawns on his face. “Ohhh, so she basically reverse grounded her."

“Exiled, yes.”

“Huh." Steven hugs his plush bear in the crook of his arm even tighter, and stares up at the ceiling beams with a concerningly numb expression. "Well... I guess that’s fair.”

Greg frowns.

“What’s eatin’ you up there, bud?”

“It’s just…" He tussles at the top hem of the sheets, his knuckles turning white. "Even though she tried to shatter me, and that was terrifying and all... I could tell she felt really guilty about it right after. And besides that, she was actually super kind. I hope she’ll be alright on her own.”

“You’re the one who’s super kind,” he says with a soft smile, and reaches out to ruffle his son’s hair. Steven playfully bats his hands away, cheeks flushing at the compliment. “Not everyone your age would ever stop to think about the people who harmed them in that way. Heck, not many adults would, either. I’m not sure I could.”

"But I've also been thinking... Peridot and Lapis tried to kill us when we first met them, too. And now we’re all friends, and it’s fine, right?"

Greg considers this, stroking at his beard. As much as Steven defends their oft-erratic behavior, he's not sure he personally considers those the ex-Homeworld Gems who are bunking in his family's old barn friends yet. The first time he met Lapis, she attempted to steal the ocean and broke his leg. And as for Peridot, she once pushed him off a roof with next to no warning. (God, he would've broken his leg again if it weren't for Garnet's future vision, huh?) But despite his current opinions on them, it's true that they both have a amicable rapport going with Steven (and for the most part, the rest of the Gems) these days. They've made an effort to learn, to grow with the lush Earth around them. Against the very unmovable nature of their kind, they've succeeded in the impossible. They've changed.

"So what if we’re being a little too hard on her?" Steven continues, eyes glistening. "What if it pushes her away forever?”

“Mmm. I understand where you’re coming from, but she didn’t just try to kill you. She almost succeeded. Sometimes there’s such a thing as being too compassionate, you know?” He chuckles, and props himself up on his elbow. “Heh. You really are like your mother, in that way. Y’see, once she told me about the first time she came across a pigeon, and apparently she—“

“Can we please not talk about her right now?” he interrupts, his voice strained.

“S-sure thing,” Greg stutters, mentally smacking himself for not considering the stress the topic of Rose has become for his son before he foolishly ran his mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t think.“

Closing his eyes, Steven snuggles closer to him, scooting under the covers into his arms. “It’s okay,” he whispers, and yawns. “We’re okay.”

Notes:

-Amethyst reacts with more vocalized anger to the Pink Diamond bomb here because she has not yet crossed an integral moment of identity building character development- re: Beta/Earthlings. In canon, she tells Steven after A Single Pale Rose that none of the PD/rebellion stuff should even be their problem, and she’s absolutely right, but here I imagine she’s still at the point where she’s internally making it her problem when it doesn’t need to be. So she lashes out. Wrongfully.

-Meanwhile, Steven’s Gem self hasn’t reformed yet because he was only just healed from being cracked. I figure that takes a lot outta a Gem. He’ll need a bit more time before he’s ready.

Finally, when it comes to the long term plot, I’m very excited to say that I now have this one fully planned out. It’s gonna be a sort of alternate s4, with some original “episodes” and an arc forming the framework of the story. Should be fun. But anyways, your readership and support is so appreciated! From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

#su #steven universe #su fanfic #su fanfiction #garnet #pearl #amethyst #bismuth #greg universe #my writing stuff #crack the paragon

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homenum-revelio-hq · 5 years ago

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Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Caroline!

You have been accepted for the role of ALICE LONGBOTTOM! It was so much fun to read about your Alice! I loved the way you explored the parts of Alice that are conflicted within the Order and her role within her family, as well as the survival and biases sections. I am so excited to have you as part of this roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Caroline

AGE: 21

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Roleplay’s a hobby, and often times the commitments that take precedence do just that — they take their precedence, and it’s something I’m rather unyielding on. I am able to come on and post fairly regularly, at least two days out of the week on busier weeks, and if the need for a hiatus/semi-hiatus arises I am fairly good in getting everything squared away with the admin. My activity high points are at nights, on weekends and Wednesdays, and I’m typically always lurking on mobile for plotting purposes at the very, very minimum!

ANYTHING ELSE: I'm about to talk your head off, for which I apologize! I’m a rambler through and through; never been able to stop it and I don’t think I ever will. Also, I’m submitting another application (because I really could not decide on just one character, thank you for that), so if you notice any similarities within the OOC exploration section of the application, that’s why! I ask that you please consider Alice as my first choice character. Thank you so much!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Alice Camille Longbottom (née Fortescue); Alice, a German-originating name, means “noble.” It is derived from the Greek word alethéia, which means “truth." Camille is derived from the Latin camilla, and its related meaning pertains to an unblemished character or pureness in order to serve at the altar.

AGE: Thirty-three; Alice was born on May 6, making her a Taurus. Taurus women are described as powerful forces to be reckoned with and the same could be said for Alice. Determined, uncompromising, and somewhat of a dark horse, Alice works hard and plays hard (when she bothers to play at all) and every action is infused with great intent and purpose. Her level of thoroughness and fixity will sometimes get her in trouble — once the blinders are firmly strapped into place, there is typically no doubling back.

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Alice identifies as cis-female and uses she/her pronouns. Her sexual orientation is heterosexual.

BLOOD STATUS: Pure-blood; while Alice’s family does not hail from the "Sacred 28”, both of her parents are of magical descent and come laden with rather typical pure-blood ideals, even if they are watered down.

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin; green and silver scarf knotted tight around her neck, Slytherin was more of a stepping stone than a home. Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, even some Ravenclaws and Slytherins alike, they all had the notion that House equated family, but for Alice, it was merely the place that she best fit and the place that helped foster growth towards being the best possible Alice she could be. Rather introverted, Alice didn’t necessarily feel as though she belonged within the folds of her House’s fabric, and she certainly never took a needle and thread to sew herself into it. The stereotypes in Slytherin that others embraced were ones she actively turned away from. She liked not being tied down exclusively to her House and having friends elsewhere, liked having some degree of detachment that others didn’t seem to have when it came to falling for the idea that your House was your home. Slytherin was where she slept, Slytherin’s colors were hers, Slytherin encouraged her to follow ambition and was a garden where she could grow success, but her House pride derived from much different motives than that of her fellow alumni.

ANY CHANGES: N/A

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Listen, I gotta start by saying that I absolutely Alice. The reason I was drawn to her bio in the first place is that first and foremost, Alice is a strong character. She is a strong woman, yes, but she is a strong character, period. She is unsure and sometimes unsteady but she is a force to be reckoned with. She does not compromise herself for anyone. She knows who she is at heart, even if she doesn’t know who she is as a player in this world. She has a strong mind and a strong heart and a strong sense of independence — she doesn't need anyone else.

As mentioned above, Alice is a bit of a dark horse, somewhat unconventional for a woman who has a pretty stiff ideal system. To some, that would translate as aloof, self-isolating, detached from emotion and unapproachable, but I find that the opposite. Alice doesn’t just encompass everyone at first meeting (if she did, she would have been a Hufflepuff) because she has recognized a pattern that people’s first impressions versus their real personalities has too wide a discrepancy for her to be comfortable with. Alice instinctively keeps up a set of walls because she is selective in who she trusts, but once over that hurdle, Alice is the person you’d want in your corner, the person you’d want by your side staring down death. She is the kind to deplete from her own cup to give more to others and she will not complain — she will not draw attention to it, either. She does it on her own volition, because she believes it’s the right thing to do, and she will ask for nothing in return. She doesn’t mind being alone (quiet moments with her cat snuggling in her lap are some of the best). She does not wait for sunlight to poke through a cloud on chance and find her; she works herself to the bone in order to create a hole in the dark sky. There aren’t very many people that she trusts enough to let see all the facets (work Alice, Order Alice, person Alice, etc.) but those who do can note the way light finds her and makes her shine in a subtly brilliant way, the same way low lights bring out sparkle. Her liveliness is rather subtle, only seen by those she wants to let see. She loves fiercely and when it comes to those she loves or those she feels needs protection, she doesn’t hesitate to stand in the way. She is ambitious not for the sake of ambition, but with a purpose and an end goal. She’s a visionary, striving for a world that is inclusive and fair. She’s smart and sophisticated, knowing exactly how to present herself and keep all her edges smooth with a polished exterior. She’s cool under pressure, level head on her shoulders that she lets rule her. It’s what makes her so good in duels; she knows how to stack priorities over reactions, how to get inside the head of her opponents and stay one step ahead. Her exterior is hard but it is only to protect the emotion that lies beneath. She feels every single chink and chip and blow and feels it completely, vibrations running through her. She knows that vulnerability is what powers endurance, but she doesn’t let others see what keeps the electricity on. It’s the private moments where she lets herself fall apart, and then she gracefully stitches herself back up to keep moving through another day.

She is her biggest critic and her worst enemy is the voice inside of her brain. She worries excessively, worries that she isn’t doing enough, that she isn’t enough. She sometimes feels like she’s torn between two different worlds and that there is no true place of belonging for her, that she’s merely drifting and playing a game of charades that will only result in her losing. She is perfectionistic and she likes for things to be done correctly. She likes structure, likes having a set of rules and doesn’t like to deviate from them (they exist for a reason, after all) and it puts her in compromising situations when she is around people who are deviating or asking her to do so. It’s this hesitance and inner debate before her decision that is a fatal flaw — it’s war. It’s nothing but hard decisions, and yes, they’re the type to get people killed. Alice will fight but she’s also the type to ask why. She wants to know that there’s an existing means to an end, that it’s not all for nothing, perhaps too much so at times. There’s also a purposeful ignorance about her, especially when it comes to the Ministry. She puts her entire backbone into her job and the institution that allows her the chance to do what she is passionate about, but that institution is as good as compromised and she’d still prefer to jump through all its hoops. She’d rather walk through every step and be thorough than take the short cut, because she believes it eliminates mistakes, but she doesn’t see that sometimes, not making the split decision and cutting out the excess is a mistake in and of itself. Her family is another weakness — they raised her, they are what she knows, but she also knows that some of the things they think aren’t what she’s learned are right. Brother against brother is not uncommon in war and that’s the kind of thing to make Alice hesitate. Slytherins will use any means to achieve their ends, after all, but if it means turning her back on her own family? She’s not sure she could. Her temper isn’t the best either (that goddamn Augusta is what really does it for her) and when someone finds her buttons and keeps pushing, she isn’t the type to take it lying down. She doesn’t forthright express what’s wrong but she does wear some of her emotions on her face, unable to control the split second reactions of disgust or irritation or otherwise. It’s hard for her when she believes she is in the right and no one else can see her point of view (or refuses to), and it’s something that makes her shut down on the spot — or resort to more drastic measures.

Wands, too, I think, speak volumes about their wizard’s personality. Wood: Rowan. Rowan wands are comfortable in the hands of those who are clear-headed and pure-hearted, which I think suits Alice quite nicely. Though the roads to hell are paved with them, she always has intentions for and of the best at the forefront of all she does and her mind is quite good at remaining one tracked and steady when placed under duress. According to Ollivander, rowan wands will perform equal to, if not better and out-perform other wands specifically in duels. Rowan wands do well with defensive magic, a particular strength Alice has per her own reputation as one half of an extraordinarily gifted (and perhaps lethal) dueling team to come through the Auror department. Core: Phoenix tail feather. Phoenix tail feathers can often be found in the cores of wands owned by witches and wizards who are considered noble, wise, willing, strong-willed, bright, loyal, and self-sacrificing, all of which are traits that align closely with Alice’s personality. While this core is not common among Slytherins due to its reputation to impede Dark spells, which further solidifies Alice’s personality veering from the stereotypes of Slytherin house. The qualities she holds near aligned with Slytherin but she knows there is a right way to obtain success and pursue ambitions. Flexibility: Hard. Owners of hard wands tend to view things in absolutes (black or white), which is a beyond fair summation of Alice. These are people who others may find intimidating or difficult to approach. Wands of this flexibility are great for complex and advanced levels of magic, which I envision Alice having wholeheartedly embraced. Learning was a piece in the equation to becoming the best she could possibly be and I see her brain being like that of a sponge, absorbing all it could and constantly wanting to take things to the next step, eager to move on to a higher level since the ceiling for her didn’t (and does not) exist.

And, because I really love personality tests… MBTI Type: ISTJ - The Logistician (x) Moral Alignment: Lawful Neutral - The Judge Enneagram: Type 1 - The Reformer (x) Element: Earth

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

The Fortescue family was, in terms of how pure-blood society operated, under the radar. No one looked to a Fortescue as an example (or a non-example); they were often after-thoughts. It was very much, oh! A Fortescue! They weren’t shunned out, they weren’t outcasts, but they certainly weren’t sitting in the thick of things. Dexter Fortescue was not the first Headmaster of Hogwarts to come to mind, after all, but not being first didn’t mean you were last. Alice and her brother (and potentially other siblings - I am very flexible to this and would truthfully love to see some other Fortescues running around in this group) were raised by Fennell and Adrianne to follow after their desires and dreams with a single exception: do not bring shame to the family. Do not push the Fortescue name into the light for all of the wrong reasons. There was never an explicit correlation to shame and bloodline, with the Fortescues always rather indifferent towards Muggleborns — they did not have qualms or prejudice towards Muggleborns being a part of the Wizarding World (if magic chose you, it chose you) but still being embedded in pure-blood society to some degree, marrying outside of pure-bloods would have caused under-the-radar tension within the family. Everything in the Fortescue family was done in subtleties. If there was disapproval, it was not outright shown, but alluded to in the choice of words or lack of action taken. Tempers, if they existed, were always below the surface. Alice could never truly recall a time when she saw her parents fight or get into arguments or display anger in a dazzling firework display. Fortescues knew how to keep up an appearance, how to be poised, and all grievances were usually dealt with behind doors or ignored to the point where they merely suffocated themselves on their own silence.

Alice didn’t have a bad childhood; she was much more reserved than most children. She would ride brooms and play a crude position of Chaser in Quidditch matches with cousins who actually let her join in the games (usually due to an uneven number of players) but she would also find just as much fun in reading through the books her father kept in his study, a miniature library of sorts. She was not the first person noticed sitting around the dinner table, but in her family, there was never anything wrong with being a chameleon and blending in. Her mother raised her with the understanding that the loudest person in the room wasn’t always the right one. Success didn’t depend on being flashy. Hard work and the drive and a pinch of patience would do the trick. Expecting things was a horrible way to look at the world: it wouldn’t just offer its hand and give away everything without some sort of price, whether it was immediate payment or came about later. Alice looked up to her mother perhaps more so than her father, finding a strength in the way her mother carried herself, fashioning her own confidence in the image of her mother’s. Confidence didn’t mean cockiness. Confidence was believing in oneself and their abilities, and it could be quiet. Strength could be quiet and show itself in a myriad of ways. Of course, her childhood days and beliefs have since shifted since her days at Hogwarts and in the Ministry. She hasn’t lost touch with following ambitions down their paths, not needing to be a firestorm to be a firebrand, but in adulthood she has grown away from their shadows and stepped into the light of thinking for herself, letting her own experiences shape her. Her family likes order and balance, which explains their position in the war. Her parents and grandparents see value in a pure bloodline and because they have never had to understand the struggle of Muggleborns, do not see the genuine harm Voldemort and his followers and their ideals bring to the Wizarding world. She has cousins far down the branches of the family tree who she knows side with Voldemort in more than just opinion, but in battle, too. It genuinely bothers Alice to hear her family talk like this, a veil being swept away of sorts. Alice, in her heart, knows what is right. The world is changing, why shouldn’t views? Tradition is valued and respected but sometimes tradition is a sword that runs right through people, good people. As she’s gotten older and lived a life beyond her parent’s four walls, a life that has brought her up to the face of just as much strife as success, she finds it harder and harder to operate under the radar. There are times when she doesn’t want to sit back in the lounge chair like her father and press a thin smile over her mouth, she wants to start an argument so that things will move themselves along. Despite their disheartening talk, Alice loves them still and there is the horrifying thought that the war will force her to either stand with her family or against when all is said and done. She has lost the golden view of her childhood and dismantled any heroification of her parents, but breaking away from them is a level of instability she cannot bear to think about. She doesn’t see the hypocrisy in that action, either.

OCCUPATION:

There were lots of different occupations Alice could have (and wanted) to delve into. Healer, working somewhere within the Ministry with law and regulation; Alice is very much driven and motivated by making things right. Florean had ambitions leading him towards entrepreneurship, a path that didn’t seem too terrible for Alice (though she didn’t know what her business would have looked like, and she wasn’t nearly as charming as her brother to draw in customers). In the end, Auror prevailed, and Alice hasn’t looked back. She was tough enough to handle the pressure (that or she knew how to absorb the shocks well while remaining on her feet), smart enough to think on her feet, and hunting down and imprisoning those who abuse magic, use magic for wrongdoing, it gives her a sense of purpose. It fulfills her. Alice is not the type who can consciously waste her life away when she knows there are things she can do to improve the world that she lives in, and being an Auror means she gets the most immediate course of action in improving the world — even if it is taking down one Dark wizard at a time.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER

The Order was, in the beginning, an extension activity. The Ministry had its boundaries like any structure of government would, and Alice could justify expanding beyond them. She saw the benefit in going the extra mile even if it was frowned upon on paper and in the laws. She, after all, had up close experience with Dark wizards, how they thought and the damage they could do, the threats they posed and how imperative it was to snuff out their sparks. She joined the Order on the precipice that it was the right thing: killing innocent people for things out of their control didn’t seem fair. She joined the Order because there was more she could do and the Order eliminated the need to dance around the red tape the Ministry would have set out. Alice wanted to fight, so she’d dedicate herself to the fight. It was new and exciting when the Order was first formed and even if some decisions from up high were questionable, it was a step on the path to making things right.

She’s somewhat of a veteran in the Order at this point. She’s survived long enough to have experienced highs and lows (and the current sinking low they are in as the scales tip out of their favor) that she’s got a jaded viewpoint of the Order. Violence used to be combated with skill, knowledge, strategy, the sheer goodness in their hearts or whatever noble shit she used to justify, and now it seems like the Order is sinking to the same levels as the Death Eaters when it comes to fighting fire with fire. The stakes raise consistently, especially being on the losing side, and more and more is asked of members of the Order who, like Alice, have tenure. Even members who are fresh in the fold are being asked to submit blind faith without context and Alice has lost all sense of novelty in that ideal, abandoned the assumption that it would result in victory. She is black and white in an organization that has always been grey and there are too many shades now for her to feel like she’s got any sense of alignment. Every decision and action sits uneasy with her. What were once infractions in the laws that she could justify turning a blind eye to (even if it did sprout lots and lots of questions) are now full on blowing past any sense of legality and it bothers her. There are too many shifty allegiances in the Order now — there’s Dorcas and her gang, taking matters into their own hands, there are those more committed to helping Muggleborns escape and go into hiding than eliminating the threat that causes them to go into hiding in the first place, there are those who no longer know where their loyalties lie, and then there are just those that she doesn’t trust, point blank. It’s hard for Alice to commit any kind allegiance to an organization that is hardly organized. She feels as though there’s no accountability, no real plan on how they’re going to win this war, and that will be what ultimately sinks the ship. Though she is a part of the inner circle, she doesn’t view it as any kind of grand privilege or incentive that she might have when she herself was bright eyed and ready to fight Death Eaters, eager to work hard and work her way up the ranks so she could feel her purpose being actualized and brought to fruition. I think Alice has her reasons for staying in the Order (people like Caradoc, trying to make her marriage with Frank stay afloat, the whole “we’re trying to take down the bad guys” thread still there somewhere in the tapestry) but it’s not because she agrees with what they’re doing anymore. It is a sinking ship. She is very much chained to it and the more they lose, the more conscious she grows of how heavy the chains are.

SURVIVAL:

“How have they not died?” I just love this question. You can figure Alice Longbottom hasn’t died because one, she’s not the type to follow anyone blindly and thinks for herself (she’ll be the first to question something if it sparks a question inside her) and two, there’s still a fair slew of Death Eaters running around. You could bet that if she’s going, she’s taking as many as she can with her with a bloodstained smile. Her death is something she refuses to let occur in vain. Like her life, it’d have purpose.

On a much more serious, in-depth sort of note, part of the reason Alice has stayed alive as long as she has comes with the privilege of her pure-blood. Her family aren’t blood traitors, not so far on the outskirts that they don’t have good graces to get them by. She takes advantage of it more than she realizes. She tries not to rely on her own bloodline or the one she married into to save her skin, but it has certainly dragged her out by the skin of her teeth from hairy situations before. Her position in the Ministry has also somewhat kept her stable. The Order is as good as illegal these days, and while the Ministry is corrupt, keeping her position as an Auror keeps a blanket of cover over her not-so-legal pastimes. She shut down the possibility of being a part of the Order to people with their prying eyes and questions and she has never outwardly given them reason to double back and pry further. Hunting Dark wizards puts a target on her back, obviously, but her skill and the formidable duo she and Frank can be has kept her alive. Her survival is strategic. She is aware that no one is safe, that even with all bases covered there are still blind spots. She doesn’t have an invincibility complex. She knows and has made peace with the fact she could die at any point, long since been a truth she’s accepted (practically necessity in being an Auror). It doesn’t mean that she doesn’t pull out the stops, have her reasons and hoping they will see her through. She stays at the Ministry not just in the hopes there is something left to save, but because of the protection it provides. She stays in the Order because there is value to her position in the inner circle, protection against those who think she is playing for the other team and intel that has kept her one step ahead in her work. She can divide her loyalty and the time has yet to come where she is forced to pick only one to commit to.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Alice is not a people person, not really. She’s an ISTJ; their circles are small and the way they make friends is utterly methodical. Alice picks and chooses who she puts time, energy, and loyalty into, and she doesn’t do so lightly — once it’s given, very rarely will she retract it. That said, it’s a time of war, and Alice is rapidly losing her stability, which means loyalty isn’t necessarily spouting out of her in spades. Relationships at this point in time have to be of substance, conversations need a purpose and an end goal or result contrived from them.

I think her relationship with Frank is possibly the most important relationship in her life at the moment, especially considering that it’s crumbling. Frank was the yin to her yang. She thought him a perfect complement to her; it was why they were so lethal in duels. He understood her, she (thought she) understood him, and Alice truly felt herself better just by Frank’s presence. Frank validated Alice in a lot of ways; he validated every feeling that didn’t quite align with what was in place for her, whether it was her exploring a freedom that many people around her didn’t or keeping to herself. She felt like she didn’t have to tick boxes or live up to certain expectations around him. Because of that, in a way, she would protect him with a dying breath, walk into fire with him and never look back. Now, of course, he feels off-kilter to her, and it is utterly nerve-grating. With everything going on she doesn’t necessarily have time to deal with working out the puzzle of what’s wrong with Frank and how do I make it right? and if it weren’t because of how much she loves him (or how long she’s loved him, per se, he’s remained a constant in a time when nothing is guaranteed and there’s somewhat of a reliance on Frank being the anchor in the storm) she’d shift her focus elsewhere. There’s never a good time for her to pick his brain and sift through the issues, which means it continues to get put off. There is a part of Alice that is afraid they’re no longer on the same page and she doesn’t know what she’ll do without him, so she simply doesn’t ask so she doesn’t have to hear the answer she doesn’t want to hear.

After Frank, I’d say that the next incredibly significant relationships Alice has are those with the inner circle. The inner circle is not the Ministry. There is no real structure, no hierarchy of responsibility. The inner circle is a group of people who are supposed to be trying to keep order within the Order all while win a losing-war, and where she may have been gung-ho in the beginning, she’s now internally straddling the fence. The only person she really trusts in the inner circle anymore (and is subsequently the tether keeping her intact with the organization as a whole) is Caradoc. Mary is a finger on the trigger and Alice knows that explosion is inevitable with her, she’s either going to lead Mary down a path that keeps her in a range of safety or wind up as collateral damage. James is just as much of a risk in her eyes. To her, all of the younger members of the Order have the right idea but they certainly don’t go about it in the right way. They’re all ready to kick up the gravel but they don’t see method to their madness, they see no benefit in taking a moment to process before they lurch into action, and to Alice, that’ll be the thing that gets everyone killed. Quite frankly, she doesn’t know how much more blood she can stand to have staining her hands.

Obviously, this is by no means the full extent of ‘relationships’ for Alice - I’m merely just writing what I personally picked up from the connections listed in her bio. As a member of the “inner circle” Alice has a position that puts her into contact with nearly every member of the Order in some way and I’d love to expand and explore other connections where she discovers and aligns to people who are in the same boat as her when it comes to the tone this war has taken and how to go about it (every girl needs a drinking buddy to bitch to) and bumps heads with those who differ or have their issues with her/how the inner circle operates.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

I rank chemistry higher than anything, truthfully. The way I look at things is that at the present moment, Alice is married to her work and her alignment on the right-wrong spectrum much more than she really is with Frank, whether she can swallow her pride long enough to choke that out or not. There’s a lot of waist-high angst that Frank and Alice have to explore and work their way through that I’m fully ready to fling myself into, but when it comes to any kind of definitive thing or endgame, I’m leaving myself open for any and all possibilities that come through. The rift between them could close, the rift between them could deepen and drive Alice into isolation (or into the arms of someone else) — it’s something I personally want to save for discussing and developing over time with Frank’s writer. I never join groups or apply for certain characters on the sole precipice for a guaranteed ship, I’m drawn to characters based on the vision and what avenues I can take with them, how I’ll be able to write them into the fold. With Alice, romance is certainly an undeniable element to her character but I don’t think it’s a very prominent shade in her palette considering everything else she’s got going on. I always leave windows open! I’m just more interested in diving in, exploring her, and seeing what colors and shades I can pull out of her when writing against other incredibly talented people.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

To put it rather plainly, Alice doesn’t have much room (if any) to complain when it comes to how she has it. Her family may not be what the Wizarding World would hail next to royalty, but aside from being a woman, she’s got just about every box ticked when it comes to possession of privilege. Pure-blood? Check. Caucasian? Check. Heterosexual? Check. Alice doesn’t expect the world to hand her things on a silver platter but she’s used to drinking out of a silver cup. I like to think that she’s intelligent enough to recognize her privilege and an existence of bias but very rarely does she check it at the door. Alice’s morality and sense of wrong and right is one that I think, given the direction of this group, will be something wildly fun to explore! She’s always consumed with doing “the right thing”, her world is very much black and white, but Alice’s interpretation of “the right thing” may not be what underprivileged people in the magical community consider to be right. When she is called out on behaviors or exhibiting her bias, I want to see to what extent she will recognize her wrongdoing and legitimately grow from it. She knows discriminating against Muggleborns is wrong, but her actions don’t always reflect that (usually an unintentional thing, but nonetheless still indicative). In a way it goes hand-in-hand with her association with her family (they aren’t radicalized like the Death Eaters and they wouldn’t say that Voldemort is right, but the principle of the thing is enough to align them) — Alice may educate herself and think differently, but will she choose to put it into practice instead of just turning a blind eye and grinding down her teeth to keep quiet? She’s the kind who likes to make things right, but is she too selective in what she makes right? What holds her back from speaking up against her family, what will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back (if it comes at all)? It’s something I definitely want to explore as time goes on, and I really would love to perhaps put Alice in a situation where other characters really push her in a corner and make her analyze what she’s doing about her privilege. Acknowledgment is an important step, but action (especially out of the mouth of someone who is impassioned when it comes to aligning things back to a rightful state) is just as important, and not just when it is convenient. That latter component is something Alice does need work on but I think with time, she could find herself steadily improving upon. Let her fuck up be it in a subtle manner or of epic proportion, let her be educated and let her have the opportunity to (maybe) grow from it! After all, if we as human beings are stagnate and refuse growth, are we living at all?

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

I’ll be honest, I’m very selective when it comes to Harry Potter groups. I like having some kind of structure within them but also having the liberation to run with my muses, but above all else, I look for the groups who go the extra mile. Whether that’s with plot, originality, or just the sheer dedication admins and members alike pour into their group, I like to think I have an eye for finding the diamonds in the basket. To me, this group is it. I’m a sucker for an AU on anything. The creative freedom, the doors it opens, it entices me and it gives me as a writer to take a chance that I probably wouldn’t otherwise. I also really like groups that walk the balance between external and internal strife, while also allowing their writers the chance to flesh out characters in a different light than canon did. That can be hard for groups to find and walk, but I think you’ve done such a magnificent job in doing such that it’s crazy to not at least try my hand at a muse or two. For Alice in particular, I was drawn to her bio because of the completely different light you’ve angled on her and the garden of opportunity sown. As writers, we sometimes ask things of the characters we breathe our life into and what I love most about Alice is she’s the one who always steps up to the plate, an equal participant in the process. She makes you question your own motives with her character and why you write her in the way you do, she doesn’t conform to one style or one story line, and she demands all of your attention and affection with the glaring reminder you will not tame her or conform her to the basis of another muse or a past portrayal. It is imperative to her character and the development she has the possibility of undergoing — she relies on you as much as you rely on her. At the same time, she is almost an entirely separate being and writes herself (this application for her did anyways) and Alice is an incredible opportunity to deviate from myself, the canon of Harry Potter — or at the very least, the preconceived notions of fandom as to what canon in the Marauders era entails — and just write. I’m looking forward to writing a character far different from anything I could have envisioned for her (as a Slytherin myself, I’m pumped to be writing a fellow Slytherin!) or that I would have predicted taking on and I like a challenge. I’m looking forward to getting to walk in your Potterverse, I’m looking forward to how the future isn’t set and what incredible things can come from it. And of course, I love the things that can be born from war-based settings, whether it’s a plot drop or character tension, and to be on the inside of it as well as watch it unfold is an exciting prospect!

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

Look, I love angst. So much. As if you couldn’t tell. One group-wide plot I think that could be a lot of fun, especially since this is a smaller bunch, is to see what would happen if outside forces wedged their way into the group in an attempt to divide and essentially conquer the Order? I’m not sure where Peter’s storyline will take him, of course, but I think it’d be fun to play out something where there’s a strong cause for suspicion after a mission that one of them has betrayed the group and is working as a double agent, and of course, everyone thinks it’s someone different and results in everyone pointing the blame at everyone and just, a lot of angst, testing these friendships and bonds, seeing who’s ready to sell out who and so forth. This would obviously create a big vulnerability within the group since they don’t trust one another, throw in perhaps the Death Eaters or other Dark forces attacking them out of nowhere…I think it has some potential, it’s just a little idea right now that definitely needs some fleshing out, obviously, but it’s an idea that could be really fun. Another small little plot idea I have is someone in the Order going missing (could be a NPC close to one of the players, or could actually be one of our players) and it’s revealed they’ve been captured, they’ll be exchanged harm-free if our little group hands back over something of importance to the Death Eaters. There’s a time limit involved as well, and if the group doesn’t comply, this person is killed. Of course, segue into conflict, angst, and all the good emotions. Ultimately though, I like waiting and seeing the dynamic of the game and all the other players to really develop group plot ideas? As far as Alice-specific, I am currently planning to play her devoid of child, but dependent upon future discussion with other players (and of course seeing where the course of things take her), I think it’d be fun to see Alice fall pregnant and watch her struggle with that whole Pandora’s box? Would she tell Frank or keep him on the outside? Would it bring her joy or terror? Would she keep the baby or would she choose another route considering the bleak state of things? Just an idea.

ANYTHING ELSE? N/A

#homenumaccepted #bio rpg #bio rp #marauders #alice longbottom

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charlotteroseessex-blog · 6 years ago

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Is banter dead?

Banter. It’s an everyday occurrence for most of us. A chance to let whoever we are with know how hilarious we actually are. Some may say it’s an admirable trait to be able to make jokes about touchy subjects, others might describe it as a necessity for a successful relationship, ‘cos after all, no one likes a stiff upper lipper with no bants.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the last 10 years, banter is ‘in’. I’ve struggled to provide an intellectual answer with what banter actually is, as I don’t think mine covers it entirely, so I’ll refer to the ever reliable Urban Dictionary as a source to back me up.

So as suggested by the definition provided by the UD, banter is something you either have or you don’t. Despite banter being a new construct created by the specific use of language, it’s often found that each culture and environment depicts its own rules and regulations surrounding how and when the ‘playful’ jokes should be used. Banter or not, the reaction of the audience deters the success of your comment. It may have been funny yes, and it may have received some laughs, but there’s always that one stern and politically correct individual who thinks they’re just too good and suggests that your banter insinuated more than just comedy, it was an insult in disguise. These people might otherwise be described to have ‘dead banter’.

Banter, a couples thing.

With the population of active online users continually growing, the content available has now assuredly accommodated for all types of humour, political opinion and other unique preferences personal to us. Banter, on the other hand, is supposed to be a universal concept which is recognised by all in certain forms of situations whereby a comment is made from something that wouldn't originally be found as funny. Remarks involving banter also, more often than not, requires one or more people to display a back and forth exchange of witty comments at the expense of one another. Having said this, the process to embark on a banterful session of quick wit and intelligence, requires the understanding of metalanguage and thick skin of the opposing person and occurs when the response of the receiver provides a platform for banter - otherwise it’s just you being mean.

People taking banter the wrong way and people being offended with almost everything could easily be mistaken for one another, as people these days just don’t take the time or consideration to think of the bigger picture. Was this actually a hurtful comment targeting you? Or was this an innocent remark projected onto public platforms for educative or entertainment purposes? You see, it all comes down to the individual and whether or not they choose to deny the obvious innocence for sly digs. Controversial topics, still present in the media, consume huge attention for the potential slip ups and mishaps from their actions by people choosing to interpret their innocence or mistakes as deliberately harmful and offensive. Racism and sexism are just a few examples of negative impoliteness still circulating in the media today.

Banter (or not) in Parliament.

Take Amber Rudd for example. A Tory MP who recently stole the limelight with her clumsy comments regarding the race of colleague, Diane Abbott, of whom she initially attempted to encourage support of. In her live BBC Radio 2 interview, Rudd was asked about the abuse that female colleagues received and responded by outlining the overall struggles of being a woman in such a high profile job. She stated that "it's worst of all if you're a coloured woman. I know that Diane Abbott gets a huge amount of abuse." Now reading this on the surface, Rudd seems to provide a personal account for her experiences and answers by defining that the worst struggles are endured by her black colleagues. The answer seems to be pretty innocent right? By innocent I mean there’s no spite; no racist remarks or metadiscourse implying a hidden agenda which would make a mockery of anyone. But the outdated use of the term ‘coloured’, instead of black, caused outrage and disgust and Rudd was publicly shamed for this by none other than Diane Abbott herself. From an outsider, it seems that Rudd was trying to depict nothing but admiration for a black woman being so successful in her career, but through her clumsily chosen vocabulary, the overall message was burdened by the perceived racism and rudeness of her remark by Diane. This example suggests that no matter what your intentions are with a comment, whether you’re an MP, local van driver, whatever, the interpretation once delivered is only successful once in the hands of the beholder.

Humour or Hugely Offensive?

From badly executed compliments to genuine acts of negative impoliteness, the creation of banter takes on much to be desired. It derives from a language progression opportunistic in most daily scenarios in order to produce a funny or light hearted joke at someone else’s expense. From this progression, banter has slowly begun to blur the line between humour and being just darn’ right rude. From the sensitivity provoked from this matter, many people on the receiving end of banter decide to use the platform given by, sometimes, controversial comments to capitalise on innocent comments and scrutinise the ‘banterful one’ to be just a rude person masking their offensiveness with humour. We often hear comments responding to badly delivered banter like, ‘it was supposed to be funny’ or ‘it was just banter’.

So does this mean that banter is dead? Well I think to uncover that, we will need to enter the realms of social media. The digital world that encourages self-expression, growth and the freedom of speech. Well, 2 out of 3 might be true but when was the last time you felt free to publicly post something to all of your followers that had been eating away at your brain? The freedom of speech aspect on all social media platforms, more often than not, always receives unwanted attention from people who A) simply can’t take a joke or B) decide to take offence at anything other individuals may say, regardless if it affects them or not. Online banter is hard to articulate. Not only are you dependent on the person, or people, receiving the message in the correct manner, but your choice of delivery is just as vital in successfully creating the intentional humour. It’s a dangerous time to be living in to say the least.

Banter: 1 of your 5 a day.

So why can’t people just take a joke these days? Well I think the answer is embedded in our skin, we are simply all just peaches. Easily bruised and fruitfully delicate in how we are treated. The progression in banterful chats point suggestively towards the rise in controversy prevalent in the media. It could be assumed that since the rise in banter, people have become thin skinned, more sensitive in what others say and are actively searching for opportunities so they can take offence and play the victim. In this sense, one may conclude that banter is only successful if you know the person well enough to pick on them, or the person knows you well enough to understand your humour to be ‘just banter’ rather than a public display of socially accepted bullying. The importance of metalanguage contexts, more specifically the relationships between the people demonstrating banter, is crucial in determining the flow of slurs. When observing banter, you are generally able to notice the difference between positive and negative impoliteness:

Negative Impoliteness is obvious when the conversational tone develops a growing level of aggression, often including insults, criticism or preloaded words to achieve nasty and vicious blows to the opponent. It’s more like a verbal knockout in the ring of banter.

Positive Impoliteness infers more of a demonstration of mutual understanding in a playful tone and monitors the impact on the opponent so to avoid offence if the banter starts to get too personal.

In adjunct to this, does banter mean that social media has taken away our rights to express a freedom of speech? Putting controversial comments out in the public is dangerous enough without the concept of then having that, otherwise innocent, remark reported and pursued by an irrelevant external individual choosing to take offence to something that wasn’t targeted at them. See. We are all peaches, easily bruised and easily offended - but all with just no banter.

Choosing funny over friendship - is banter ever okay?

Let me just return to the concept of being online again. Social media sells itself to be a platform for everyone to create and follow content suitable for them and document images and opinions desirable to be shared with their online communities. Now let's introduce the element of social media accepting freedom of speech, meaning that we can comment and share whatever videos, photos and statuses we so wish...

…Okay, now imagine you’re scrolling through Instagram of an evening and discover that your best friend has posted a somewhat questionable selfie. I mean good for her, self love and all that because you’re down for a bit of positivity, but really? I mean she could’ve at least wiped last nights makeup off from around her eyes and picked up those dirty pants off the floor before taking the photo. Didn’t she see them lying there in full view, like they’re right there, fully featuring main stage in the background? So, as the supportive best friend that you are, you have two ways to approach demonstrating your online appreciation, as reluctant as you may feel about doing it:

Comment option 1: ‘Selfie Queen *carefully selected choice of emojis to imply admiration further*’

This way you get to support your friend in all of her choices, genuine or not, whilst also paying close attention to the fact that you aren’t complimenting her in the photo in question - it’s rather a nod to the fact she always posts selfies.

Comment option 2: ‘Great knicker choice babe. I personally find those ones cover your bum just the right amount.’

Funny. Banterful. Witty. All the things people would describe you in life, but also potentially a comment that might sabotage the friendship if she was to decide you were being rude. Key word here - decide. The power, as Paddy McGuinness famously says, is in her hands. Despite how much you actually hate this selfie and the fact that option 2 (if remarked in person) would be just banter, you simply can’t imagine being fake and saying how amazing she looks, would you truthfully decide to comment this - visible to all of her followers - over option 1 that supports and boosts her confidence? I think not. We simply are all too nice for our own goods.

Banter vs. Your Freedom of Speech.

The freedom of speech prevalent on social media platforms still proceeds to hold restrictive ties over each and every one of us. The expectations attached to certain uploads by friends and family demand support whether you like it or not. It’s almost like an unwritten rule of being online. We all like and comment on posts by our strong ties even if they are a slightly distorted version of how we actually feel. This ability to artificially construct our online personas have enabled us to portray the most admirable versions of ourselves who appear supportive and in admiration of our friends, however far this may be from the truth. To introduce banter online would probably be like pressing the self destruct button on ourselves, painful with no coming back from.

Who’s to say the banter I find funny is the same as the next person? And who’s to say my level of tolerance in the banter I endure is as high as the next persons? Everyone is different meaning that no two people share the same sense of humour. So, to post a comment fuelled with banter and for you to expect the same satisfied reaction you felt when you wrote it, would be to deprive someone else of their freedom of speech if they wanted to reply by expressing their dissatisfaction of your comment. And yet the ability to post an opinion or comment (with or without banter) is still a freedom of speech and is regarded equally as valid as every replier, agreeing with you or otherwise.

So, is banter dead?

Banter is slowly morphing into a forbidden feature on social media. The rise in prevention methods from allowing users to access or view your account has made the sensitivity of users reach an all time high. People are now more aware of the posts they share and the comments they make in order to maintain their following and avoid upsetting them with banter gone wrong. Online banter can provoke a strengthening of relationships if the users are close friends and aware of each others metalanguage so to avoid miscommunication and hatred. However the dangers of being banterful online may also conjure some negative attention from those unwilling to accept any explanation for your comment, other than the assumed offense.

So unless you know your audience, I advise you to put a lid on that canon of quick wit and wisecrack or else you might receive some unwanted attention from people with a banter deficiency.

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aj-the-psycho · 6 years ago

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The Hour: A Sanders Sides Story - Chapter 6

IMPORTANT INFORMATION: HE’S NOT HAPPY

TW: None

Summary: Roman finally had his hour.

AO3 Link

Roman was excited. Ever since that announcement about the original theater production, Roman couldn’t help but think about it all the time. He got distracted a lot, thinking about the plot lines of his first original play. The professor never said it should be a musical, but obviously he’s making it a musical, because who could live without ever hearing his wonderful singing voice?

It was almost midnight and Roman was still hunched on his desk, writing ideas and creating scenes. He had always liked writing romantic or heroic tropes, be it poems or stories. Princes and knights saving damsels, fighting evil and dying an honorable death. Or perhaps, little scenes with romantic gestures where the hero would woo the girl and they would fall madly in love with each other. What people don’t expect though, is that Roman loves stories where the villain turns good and be the hero. He thought the most noble deed anyone could do is to own up to their mistakes and change themselves for the better.

Roman had been at his desk for six hours. His shoulders felt like it was made out of concrete; heavy and stiff. His fingers were jellies; weakly holding a pen and dancing across the paper in an erratic pattern. His eyes sting from the bright white light of his desk lamp. Roman ignored his discomfort and continued his writing, imagination still running wild.

‘I should maybe start writing at least one scene. What good are ideas if I don’t use it? Which one though?’ Roman paused for a moment. ‘Oh, that part at the near-ending is a good one.

‘How should that scene start? Oh, I know…

~~~

“You took a bullet for me.” the villain stared at her as she gasped for a breath that didn’t quite reach her lungs. “That was a stupid move.”

She wished she had something to say. An excuse. She wished she had had a plan, but he had done it out of instinct.

She wished she had something to say. A witty comment. Something smart. But every word she wanted to say died on her lips. Everything hurts.

The villain stepped closer, looming over her. For a second, everything was silent. Nothing moves, the wind holds its breath, the birds didn’t sing their happy songs. The villain scooped her up and leaned him over the large tree behind them.

“Why did you have to be so stupid?” the villain said, desperation dripping from the words. “Stay with me. Don’t you dare leave me. Please. If you stay, I promise-I promise I will tell you everything. I promise I’ll be better. Just… please don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” she said. Her breaths were getting shorter…’

~~~

‘I think that’s good for now.’ Roman thought, satisfied with what he had worked on for now.

Roman would never admit it, but he would often imagine himself being the hero who people adore. Well, one person would be enough for him. Roman have always wanted someone who he can protect and shower with gifts and kisses. Someone who doesn’t demand anything from him. Someone who he can love.

Suddenly, Roman felt a dull pain at the back of his head, like someone had punched him at the back of the head. He ignored it in favor of writing more ideas. He felt another pain, more intense this time. Roman threw his pen on his desk in frustration. Why can’t he just work in peace?! He held his head in his hands, closing his eyes, waiting for the pain to go away. After the pain had receded, he opened his eyes and was greeted by an unusual sight.

“¡Qué mierda! Where am I?!" Roman exclaimed in his surprise upon finding that he was no longer in his bedroom. He found himself seated on a bed with extremely soft sheets and heavy blanket. Roman didn’t do anything for a little while, just looking around without thinking.

He stayed on the bed for about ten minutes before he started processing his situation. ‘Am I dreaming?’ He looked around him again, now choosing to internalize his thoughts. ‘I don’t think I like this dream. I want to go back. How do I go back?’ Roman looked around some more without leaving the bed. The first thing he noticed was that everything was dark. By that meaning whoever decided to decorate this place has a dark aesthetic. That’s not the right word, but Roman didn’t care.

‘Wow… even the pillow smells edgy.’ Roman stood from his perch on the bed. He walked over to the bookshelf to the left of the bed, taking a closer look at the book collection. They were mostly poetry books, dated and modern. There are some other things too, three or four books about linguistics and two other books about space. ‘An emo nerd. That’s a weird combination.’

Roman dropped one of the books he was holding, so he bent down to pick it up. He almost instantly felt that something was off. He couldn’t place it. Something was off and he didn’t know what. ‘Wait…’ Of course. Usually, when he bend down to pick something up, the distance from his head to the floor was longer. ‘Am I shorter? I’m shorter.’ Roman told himself after reaching the conclusion then immediately back-paddled “¡Qué mierda! I’m shorter! How in las tierra is that even possible?!”

Roman paced back and forth in the small, dark bedroom, thinking about how he had gotten himself into this nonsense situation. He wished his nerdy friend was here to help him think. Logan would have known what is happening. ‘Think. How can this happen? What did I do? What did I do to the universe that it does this to me. Oh… the universe—oh… oh no. No, no, nononono! This is not happening!’

Of course it’s the hour. Of course the universe loves to mock him. Of course the universe would know the one thing he hated most. And of course the universe decided to give him that one thing that he hated most; a soulmate.

‘What time is it now?’ He took the phone at the bedside table to look at the time. When he saw the lock screen picture he froze. ‘Uuuuumm…’ he furrowed his brows and pursed his lips, thinking hard while staring at the picture. ‘That’s—that’s Remy. The Russian dude in my class?’ The picture was of Remy and another guy—who Roman thinks is super cute and immediately shoves the thought away—standing back-to-back looking straight at the camera, both having a neutral expression.

Roman would agree if someone said Remy was an attractive guy. Perfectly mussed auburn hair framing an oval face with ungodly jawline, sunglasses covering half his face which gives a mysterious vibe—until he talks, that is—and the classic ‘t-shirt, leather jacket and jeans’ combo that he usually goes for. Yes. Remy is positively hot. However, Roman was unsure about having him as a soulmate though. He looked down at himself—technically it’s his soulmate—and back at the picture.

Roman looked at the time once again. ‘I still have thirty minutes. Why can’t this just end right now?’ He walked out of the bedroom to find the bathroom. He marched in and faced the mirror. ‘Oh, I knew it was impossible for Remy guy to be my soulmate.’ was Roman’s first thought upon seeing the reflection in the mirror. His second thought was… well, it took time for him to form another thought. A pretty long time.

Roman could see the resemblance between his soulmate and Remy. They are undoubtedly related. Pale complexion making the skin look smooth and milky, striking steel grey eyes that pops against the soft-purple dyed hair, chocolate brown hair peeking at the roots. Noticeable cheekbones and killer jawline, subtle muscles framing the thin body perfectly. Roman dared to lift the loose black t-shirt to peek, revealing the same pale, milky skin. He stared at the mirror once again and noticed the dark under-eye bags.

Roman couldn’t help but think that this person was enchantingly beautiful. He immediately shook his head, as if by doing that he could banish the thought out of his head. No! This can’t happen, it’s not possible. Roman hates soulmates and nothing will change that. He doesn’t need a soulmate, because soulmates are not true love. He is not going to fall into that trap. He furrowed his brows while still staring at the mirror and leaving the bathroom with a sour mood.

‘Everything sucks.’ Roman stomps back into the bedroom. He didn’t know what to do. He never wanted this. He still didn’t want this. So, he decided to write a note.

Roman walked the short distance from the door to the desk at the corner of the room and angrily wrote a note.

~~~

Roman Cascales.

I never wanted this, still don’t want this. Don’t look for me.

If you ever see me, walk the other way.

~~~

He left the note, written on a post it, on the desk and sat on the bed again. He scrunched his face in annoyance. Why did the universe, or whatever being or force that created the universe decided that it was a good idea for soulmates to be a thing? Everything is a lie. Many people are trapped in loveless relationships just because they’re soulmate. Other people take advantage of their soulmate status to manipulate their match for their gain. Roman wanted to give a long lecture to whoever make soulmates an actual concept and maybe give them some murder charges for those whose life was taken because of that concept—literally and figuratively. Many people have had their lives ruined because of soulmates.

Roman looked at the phone once again to look at the time. He realized that the other boy in the picture was his soulmate. The realization made him want to punch something and just burst with red hot anger. ‘Ten more minutes. Just ten more minutes, hold on Roman.’ Roman tried to cool himself down.

When he felt a familiar pain at the back of his head, he embraced it. He wanted this to end right now.

Roman launched himself to the bed. His chest rising up and down quickly. He screamed into his pillow to muffle the sound and clutching the material of his thick blanket tightly in contained anger. His excitement from an hour ago was forgotten.

In the morning, before he left the apartment, he found a note on his desk.

~~~

Virgil Dudnickov (19)

Not much to say about me.

~~~

With the additional of email address and phone number, there was nothing else written.

After reading the note, Roman left his apartment in a foul mood.

**********

Roman's vocab (please tell me if I made any mistakes with these):

¡Qué mierda! [What the fuck!]

Las tierra [The world; the Earth]

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tokutenshi · 7 years ago

Text

Lineage - part 2 -

@alistairappreciationweek day 3: Hurt and Healing - Angst and Fluff (but this is pretty much all angst.....)

Alistair turned away from the bright shaft of morning light hitting his face through the crack in the curtains, extending an arm out to grasp at the figure beside him so he might fight off the day a moment longer. His hand found only cold, flat bedding and the lack of his partner or any evidence of her presence at all had him groaning in familiar disappointment. He had dreamed of her return again, of her slipping into the room after it fell dark to join him in bed, and of the absolute joy he found in her arms.

She never spoke, never kissed him, and Alistair began to worry that the reason he dreamed of such a carnal, physical reunion was because he could no longer remember what she sounded or tasted like. A voice in the back of his mind – that was sounding more and more like Eamon with each repetition of the dream – whispered that his body simply craved the sensations he was denying it by staying faithful to his wife. Alistair shook off the notion each time it tried to worm its way into his thoughts, because he had fallen in love with Kaedence long before they became physically intimate. It was her character, her strong will and determination, her sense of duty and sense of humor that drew her to him and those were the things he truly missed.

Alistair had this particular dream about once a month recently and as much as he enjoyed them in his sleep, the emptiness he felt the following morning crushed his spirits and soured him for the entire day. It reminded him too much of when Kaedence left on her quest without discussing it. Alistair supposed he should have realized something was going on from how she doted on him and touched him everywhere the night before she left, but he was too elated to have his wife in the present with him to think any more of it. When he rolled over in the morning to hold her naked body against his own and was met with nothing but a crisp note on the sheets written in her hand, he felt like the fool Morrigan always suspected him to be.

To have a night of warmth and passion followed by a morning of cold and shame was certainly something he never wanted to repeat, but seemed to be doomed to do so until Kaedence really, truly, returned.

Teagan followed the servant through the familiar halls of his brother's Denerim estate, despite not needing any guidance as he had visited on many occasions, even before Eamon left the arling of Redcliffe in his hands and moved to the capital full-time. It was no surprise when his baggage was waiting for him in the guest chambers, knowing full well that while the elf lead him at a leisurely pace to the room, others had hurried through the tighter servant passageways to deposit the items.

“Thank you, Tavin,” Teagan said with a slight nod of his head. “Please inform my brother that I will be with him shortly for a proper greeting.”

The elf furrowed his brow slightly, but kept the confusion from his voice. “My Lord is not home, at present. I can inform the Lady Isolde, if you like.”

Teagan nodded again, excusing the other man and moving through the sitting area into the bed chamber to freshen up from the journey. He barely registered the door clicking closed behind him as the invitation ran through his mind. It was certainly from Eamon, though not written in his hand. That was nothing new or strange, as the brothers have dictated many letters in the past. Still, the scrawling script had looked rather familiar.

He'd only just changed from his traveling clothes when the door swung open with no warning. Teagan turned sharply to the disruption, fingers frozen over his shirt mid-fastening. The moment he saw the intruder through the second doorway, he calmed, but grew more confused. “Isolde?”

The woman closed the main door and paced over the area rug, eager to say what was on her mind, but having enough sense and decorum to wait for Teagan to join her in the more common space. He rushed through the final closures on his shirt and ignored the doublet for the time being, knowing that while he was not dressed properly enough for a formal audience, he was covered sufficiently to talk with his sister-in-law.

“Teagan,” Isolde began the moment he stepped into the sitting area, Orlesian accent deepened by the obvious worry in her voice and on her face.

“Has something happened?”

She brought her manicured fingers to her lips and looked away briefly. “I fear there may be, but I am uncertain. I've suspected for sometime, but...”

Teagan sat on one of the couches, motioning for Isolde to do the same in hopes it would calm her, but she continued to pace. “Does this have something to do with Eamon?”

Isolde froze at the name and the fingers that had been so tentatively perched on the edge of her mouth flew up to her eyes to shield the sight of her forming tears. “I fear he has taken a mistress and will soon leave me,” she gasped out around a muted sob.

“What?!” Teagan jumped to his feet, unable to sit still after hearing such a claim. “Eamon loves you, stood by you when it would have been so easy to shun you. Isolde, what has given you such ludicrous thoughts?”

She shook her head, still trying to do her best to keep her quiet tears secret. After a few deep breaths, she answered. “He brought on some new staff last year – something he never handles – and there was a woman among them that he would take along with the usual servants when he'd be spending the night away from home. She's pretty enough, I suppose.”

Teagan calmed, but kept his sigh of relief to himself. “That hardly sounds like an affair.”

“That is why I was not concerned until a few months ago.” Isolde turned her back completely to her guest, wiping her eyes discreetly before continuing. “She became heavier and I caught the other servants whispering that she was with child. Before I could confront the woman or look into the matter, Eamon had whisked her off to help prepare the winter estate – I did not even know we had a winter estate!”

Those were indeed troubling notions, but Teagan was not convinced of his brother's infidelity. Eamon courted and married an Orlesian woman while the nation was still routing out the empire's agents from their lands. Eamon fell to the brink of death because of Isolde's secrets and mistakes – something that would have given him every right to abolish the marriage – but he stayed committed to Isolde. Teagan would be the first to admit the woman could be abrasive and that many men would lack the patience to deal with her moods, but his brother never complained.

“Even if this maid is with child and Eamon has taken her into hiding, that does not mean it is his,” Teagan said as calmly as he could. “There are any number of reasons why he would assist a young, single mother – highest on the list being that he is a kind and caring man.” He paused to let his words sink in, hoping they would ease Isolde's concerns. “It would not be the first bastard child he tried to help, either.”

She gave a halfhearted chuckle as she turned to face her guest, doubt still evident on her reddened face. “I've only been able to give him two children, Teagan, and we lost both.”

“Rowan is doing well in the Circle,” he countered softly. “I visited her myself just last month.”

Isolde finally dropped to the couch, exhausted and still obviously troubled. “Magic is too strong in my line and I can not give him a child he can rear to adulthood.” She closed her eyes to shut out the world. “Eamon has given up on me.”

–

Alistair tried to stretch out the stiffness in his back as the final meeting on the roster ended and the chamber began to empty. The work day was actually far shorter than usual and he was looking forward to a long, hot bath to relax his muscles. When people told him being king would be difficult, they never mentioned how big a problem sitting would be.

“If we could have a moment of your time?” Teagan's voice sounded from the doorway, causing Alistair to twist in his seat to see who we entailed.

“My time is rarely my time anymore,” the king chuckled and waved them in. “But for both of my sort-of-uncles to be wanting to speak with me off the books, this is either very good or very bad.”

Teagan offered a strained smile before turning to the pages collecting the piles of notes and books from the meeting. “Why don't you come back for those later.”

The pages looked to their king for his orders and Alistair dismissed them with a half shrug and nod to the door. Once alone, he rose to his feet and leaned back against the table. “So, bad then.”

“Very,” Teagan muttered, casting a tired and disappointed look at his brother.

Eamon would not meet either of their eyes, letting the tension build in the room as he tried to formulate the best way to begin. He had a plan originally, but Teagan's interference made that impossible now. “Alistair, you are aware of how vital it is that Ferelden has an heir of Theirin blood.”

The king straightened, expression tightening as he regarded the older men. “Don't tell me he's dragged you into this, too?”

“I swear I had no part in this scheme,” Teagan insisted vehemently, his obvious disapproval of whatever had occurred making Alistair more than a little apprehensive. “We came here as soon as I found out what he'd done.”

“That's rather foreboding,” Alistair mumbled, returning his focus to the elder brother. “And just what is it that you've done?”

“I had only the best interest of the country in mind,” Eamon prefaced calmly, pressing forward before Teagan could interject with his own opinion. “Since you would not budge, I was forced to take matters into my own hands.”

A strange twisting began to churn in Alistair's gut, the apprehension building with each passing second. “What does that mean?”

Eamon took a steadying breath, but remained unashamed. “I arranged for you to sire a child.”

“What?!” Alistair shook his head, trying to unscramble the sudden tangle of emotions and questions racing through him and focus his thoughts enough to form a sentence. It took several minuets to do so, but neither brother interrupted. “I told you I wouldn't take a concubine, and you found one anyways? Oh, the woman came all this way, so it would be rude to turn her down. Might as well go through with it.” He scoffed at the ridiculous plan. “Maker's Blood, Eamon, what made you think I would ever agree to that? When I said I wouldn't betray Kaedence, it wasn't because I was too lazy!”

He was met with silence again and the twisting in his stomach began to push towards nausea as he realized there was something he was missing.

“The child is already born, Alistair,” Teagan quietly explained, forcing the conversation along.

That gave the king a momentary sense of relief. Eamon had found a babe he believed could be passed as Alistair's own. The man had known him since before he could walk and surely this random child resembled the king enough to fool the public.

But Eamon was not one for subterfuge and he had always been adamant that the heir to the throne needed to have the blood of Calenhad running through its veins. It was impossible for Eamon to know about the dark ritual with Morrigan or how to find the witch, but for Alistair to have sired another child who was already in the world was just impossible. He hadn't even come close to being with anyone besides his wife since the horrid experience before the march to Denerim that ultimately saved their lives. It was only ever Kaedence, even in his-

His dreams.

The once recurring dreams that he hadn't had for many months.

The dreams where Kaedence never spoke and he always awoke naked in a pristinely made bed.

“They weren't dreams,” Alistair mumbled to himself, the reality and gravity slowly sinking in. The fake reunion only came on nights when Eamon stayed at the castle and took supper with him, sharing a wine that the older man brought himself and – now that Alistair thought back to it – never actually drank.

Alistair felt betrayed, used, and manipulated. He felt disgusted with himself. Most of all, he felt a murderous rage.

He pounced on Eamon with a roar, knocking the older man all the way to the stone floor and knocking over a chair in the process. His knuckles plowed repeatedly into the wrinkled face, causing tears in the flesh and bleeding in the layers beneath as the king wailed on his advisor. Alistair didn't care about the ruckus he was making or the gossip that would spring forth from the obvious beating Eamon was taking, all he could process was anger. Anger at Eamon, anger at himself, anger at the taint and the blasted Grey Wardens who doomed every person they recruited to the same fate.

“Alistair, please! Restrain yourself!” Teagan came up behind him, hooking his arms under the king's own in hopes of pulling him off the older man. “Eamon has done something terrible, but you're going to kill him!”

“Sounds like a plan,” Alistair grunted, struggling to get his fists flying again. “Treason against his king – an execution by my own hand is in order!”

“You aren't in the proper frame of mind to pass that sort of judgment,” Teagan tried to say in a calming tone, only to be undermined by the strain in his voice. “He should be punished, but you have to take every factor into consideration.”

“What else is there to think about?” Alistair snapped, though his struggling died down. “Eamon betrayed my trust, drugged me, whored me out, and claims to have done it for the good of the Ferelden. Where is the merit in those actions?”

Teagan did not answer right away, knowing that there was no real defense. “His methods were flawed, but you must consider their result. You have a child now, Alistair, and its fate lies in your hands just as much as Eamon's does.” Teagan felt the fight leave his captive and slowly released his hold.

The three of them remained on the floor, Eamon's pained breathing the only sound passing between them for a long stretch of time. Finally, Alistair spoke in a very quiet voice. “Which is it?”

It took a moment for Teagan to understand the question. “A boy, Alistair. It's a boy.” Alistair pushed himself to his feet, trying to process the answer and its implications as he slowly made his way to the door. “Wait,” Teagan called after him, “what is to become of Eamon?”

A heavy, tired sigh was the initial response, Alistair having run the gambit of emotions and feeling more drained than he thought possible. “I'm not sure,” he mumbled. “For now, just lock him up somewhere out of my sight.”

#day 3 #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #alistair therin #king alistair #angst #eamon did a bad thing #teagan is the voice of reason #hey look #isolde is in here #i swear i dont watch soap operas #tw: noncon #nongraphic

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darkfanfic · 7 years ago

Text

KNOCKOUT - chapter 10 (part 2A)

��Sure.”

Harry’s flat is in walking distance of the gym. They decide to take the scenic route, through the pretty wooded park and past an almost empty playground until the pair hit a main drag. It’s car horns and traffic lights for a good five minutes before the city quietens upon making a right.

They turn down a quiet street off the busy main road and the chill that whistles between them has Bo wish she’d brought something a little warmer. It was a mistake to take her hair down after the class as now it’s stinging her cheeks. She steps closer to Harry as they pass a dog walker before they come to a complete stop outside a gate.

Heavy dark clouds loom, gobbling up the twinkle of stars as night descends in a hurry. She’s busy watching the sky transform, head tilted back until her name is called.

“Bo.”

Harry’s made the short journey from gate down to the front door and he waits for her to meet him at the bottom. The hand he raises in invite has her moving towards him through a thought once lost, legs walking a muscle memory. It would be hopeless to think she’d react in any other way but to go to him, to take his hand and let him lead her inside.

It’s warm, is the first impression Bo gets of the garden flat. A disorganised muddle of shoes is left just inside the door, and Bo adds to it as she toes hers off. She dumps her bag where harry leaves his before she’s free in her visual assessment. There’s peeling wallpaper, nicks of paint missing from the skirting board and original door frames with stiff brass handles. And Bo instantly loves it.

It’s disorderly and incomplete in a charming sort of way, which makes his previous flat pale in comparison. A sourness seems to fill her mouth upon remembering just how awful his conditions were before, no room to breathe with misery creeping in from every corner.

But here, it’s an easy sort of living space, one that he’s made home by just being there. It already smells of him, like this little flat has accepted Harry and approved of his occupancy.

There’s not much occupying the first room in the way of furniture, just cardboard boxes of varying sizes that Bo has a suspicion he’s let become a permanent fixture through simply being bone idle.

An old fashioned radiator is tucked into one of the alcoves opposite the door, a heavyset one that will throw out heat throughout the basement flat in the winter.

“There’s not much to see, but this is the front room. The kitchen is just through there and my bedroom and bathroom are across the hall.”

It’s almost as if he’s waiting for some sort of approval, standing off to the side as he nibbles at his bottom lip.

“It’s a great place.”

Despite its quirky flaws, this would have been Bo’s first choice for a place of her own.

He grins.

“I have a garden, too. It’s not much but my mum and sister are going to help with doing it up a bit. Even if it’s just finding the patio under all the weeds.”

Bo had never thought in all the time she’d known him, Harry would ever get excited over a scrap of lawn and some crazy-paving. But she gradually comes to understand the fascination as he rambles about having his niece over and his plans for one of those fancy fire bowls. She makes a mental note of the possible gift for his new home. Well, more of a garden-warming present if you’re being fussy.

They stay within the living room so Bo can explore a little more. And with that inquisitive feeing harnessed, she sets about unpacking a box containing two lamps, a pack of brand new coasters (courtesy of Harry’s sister) and a small elephant ornament selected especially by his niece for the coffee table.

Harry chats as she fights with the sticky tab sealing the coaster box. But after a few short seconds it’s neglected because there’s a record player placed on the floor in a wall alcove, just to the left of some boxes overspilling with disks.

“It’s a bit hipsterish for you, isn’t it?” Bo teases, nodding towards the musical mess.

Her nose crinkles as she grins at Harry over her shoulder before dropping to her knees in front of the boxes. There’s a few records propped up against the peeling paint, music which Bo guesses were some of the first to christen Harry’s new place.

“Can I have a look?” she asks.

“Couse,” he continues. “It was a ‘congrats on your new home’ gift from my mum. Those old records are from the loft, I’ve not sorted through them yet.”

Bo’s fingers flick through the ageing sleeves; evidence of how they were used and adored very much apparent on the worn cardboard cover, a contrast to the unscathed disk.

“You’ve got some good ones.”

Harry’s mum was feisty. Straying away from the popular, more documented, trends in music and delving into bands and genres Bo’s never heard of. She flips a disk over to study the song listings.

“Just some?”

Bo hears the amusement in his voice but the pride on his mouth is out of her line of sight.

“I don’t know most of them,” she admits, running her fingers over another mysterious album title.

“My mum had an eclectic taste, still does.”

“Well, I think it’s safe to say she was a fan of Rod Stewart,” she comments, flicking through five consecutive albums.

“If you want my body and you think I’m sexy.” The gravelly tone is enough of a musical interlude to cease her movement through the disks. Bo bursts out laughing, falling back on her butt and turning to witness Harry’s little performance.

“Come on, sugar, let me know.”

His deep bow finishes the ensemble and Bo almost feels like she should applaud. And that’s what she does as Harry dramatically basks in the praise.

“Good job I actually know that song, or I’d have thought you were coming on to me.”

“The night’s still young,” he counters and it’s to Bo’s surprise that she’s the recipient of a cheeky wink.

The gesture is enough to have her blushing cheeks think she’s being flirted with. A harmless game Bo thought she had become immune to, after hearing cheesy icebreakers in bars and no longer laughing at them.

Her face still feels warm with playful atmosphere when she lifts her head and finds Harry’s hand outstretched. She takes it without hesitation, allowing herself to be hoisted upright into the perimeter of Harry’s body. Too close to be considered casual and torturous on Bo’s senses.

With a smile like a siren song and stormy, green ocean eyes to match, it’s somehow difficult for Bo to try and find her sea legs.

“Alright?” he murmurs.

And that about does it. With a couple of adamant nods Bo pulls away before something ridiculous happens, like her telling him she misses the way his mouth fit with hers.

“What colour are you painting it in here?” Bo asks, fingers grazing the sofa arm, heart positively thundering as she meanders to the other side of the room.

She’s glad to see Harry provide some distance, taking the temptation away as now she’d have to volt the back of the couch to jump his bones. It isn’t the sofa from the old flat, this one is a bit ostentatious in the pattern with scuffed wooden feet. And as Bo sits, it’s like falling into a marshmallow, squishy, soft and the perfect place to take a nap.

“A mate sold it to me for cheap,” Harry answers her unasked question, watching as Bo takes to her feet again before rearranging the cushions. “As for the colour, I was just going to leave it as is.”

Bo frowns, swivelling to look at him, still with fringed cushion in hand.

“Why?”

“It’s rented, I’m not sure my landlord would want me slapping paint on the walls. I’m hoping he’ll let me buy it when I get the funds together.”

Harry stands leaning against the doorframe, watching as Bo investigates his new living room. There’s not much in the way of furniture at the moment, but Harry had made sure the first items unpacked were framed photos of his mum, sister and niece.

“I’d have it a really soft green.”

Bo hums as if imagining the transformation of the room with a new splash of colour.

“Yeah?”

The wooden floor creaks slightly with her movement as she gravitates to a focal point.

“Mmm, and I’d make that into a proper window seat so you could wake up with a cup of tea and just sit,” Bo nods at her plan. “Oh, it could be a reading window!”

“I don’t really read,” Harry admits, her face softening. “I listen to audio books now.”

The atmosphere quietens and Bo feels silly for raising the subject. That is until Harry opens his mouth again.

“Or hey, it would be a nice spot for a quickie.”

Bo rounds so fast she nearly stumbles into one of the many unpacked boxes by her feet. She stables herself with an outstretched hand to the wall.

“What?” she chokes.

He wanders over to the window, pressing his palms flat to the wooden sill to test its weight capacity.

“Well,” Harry makes a pained face, “if you’re both like olympic gymnasts or something.”

The space in nowhere near his full arm span, a measure he frowns at when trying to swing his feet up. They end up propped against the wall with his back pressed opposite, Harry folds himself into an unnatural position for someone of his height. He looks like a giant dog trying to squeeze begrudgingly into a cat bed.

“Get some cushions or something, it’d be perfect.”

“It’s the window though,” Bo admonishes, worrying her bottom lip and trying not to smile.

“Below street level.” Harry’s counter challenge is coupled with a shrug.

“Yes, but still a window,” she presses.

“My neighbours are old and fucking nosey, would give’em something to gossip about at their neighbourhood watch meetings.”

He makes quite the scene unravelling to stand at his full height before moving away from the sex-seat to the doorway, where he disappears through it moments after.

Bo’s left in a whirlwind contemplation before Harry pops his head back through.

“Are you hungry?”

“Sure,” she agrees, still fighting the smile curling the corners of her mouth as the conversation snappily changes from sex to food.

“I’ve not really had time to food shop,” Harry calls through from the kitchen. “Are you alright with a take-away? I think I have a leaflet somewhere.”

“Yeah, that’s fine with me,” Bo responds, weaving her way towards his voice.

Harry’s busy with riffling through take-out phablets when she reaches him. The kitchen is small but manageable with the window opening out onto a decreasingly gloomy garden. He sorts the menus from the addressed post before turning to Bo stood in the doorway.

“Are you alright? You look a bit pink in the cheeks.”

With her mind still dwelling on Harry’s idea of a window seat, it’s the only way she’ll be able to settle her thoughts.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Despite the nod to his head, Bo thinks he looks a little reluctant to hear her what she has to ask.

“When was the last time you were with someone?”

The immediate response she receives is a crinkled brow and full assessing gaze.

“I saw Matt from the gym the other day, we went to the pub just down -“

“No, I mean - romantically,” Bo attempts to delicately approach the subject, despite the tightness in her stomach and dampness of her palms. And once again, she receives a nonverbal, cryptic answer through somewhat of a pained facial expression. “Sex, Harry,” she blurts. “I mean when did you last have sex?”

“Shit.”

Eyes wide, he takes a few seconds to ground himself and try to decide the best approach. He clears his throat like he’s not just chocked at her question. “We’re just diving right in then?”

“You don’t have to tell me, I jus-“

“It’s been a while,” Harry interrupts. “Long time,” he swallows. “You want Chinese or Indian?”

“It’s just, what you said in the living room,” she aimlessly thumbs back through the doorway.

“It was a joke.”

He’s a little firm with his reply and it makes Bo feel guilty for asking.

“Oh, ok.”

“Did you want pizza, I think I have a app?”

Harry turns away to pick up his phone and Bo’s left trying to decipher what defines a ‘long time’. Not that it should really matter, they haven’t been together for nearly four years and she’s not entitled to the information anyway.

As if trying to shake her from her thoughts, Harry pulls up the app before waving it enticingly. She huffs a laugh before grazing his left side and standing with him to scroll through choices.

“The meat tastes weird on those pizzas,” Bo informs him, scrunching her nose. “If we share and go half and half, I want mine margarita. If we order the chicken, you get a free dip.”

Harry’s head is bobbing like a nodding dog on a car dashboard. The lights are on, but Bo can be pretty sure that nobody’s home at the moment.

“How long for you?”

“Huh?”

“Since you slept with someone.”

Oh.

Bo’s eyes shoot to the ceiling as if performing maths off the top of her head. Stupidly, she hadn’t expected this, hadn’t begun to think that his thoughts might stray to her bedroom antics.

“Umm, well,” she begins.

Harry pockets his phone, the prospect of food instantly forgotten as his full attention gravitates to Bo and her inability to hold his eye contact. She feels flushed for a second, checking to see if the window is open.

“You told me you’d never had sex with James.”

“It wasn’t James. It was only the once.”

He moves closer, stumped by the look on his face, Bo isn’t quite sure how this conversation will pan out. All she can hope is that it ends quickly without any emotional casualties.

“With whom?”

Of course he’d ask, but why should it matter? Why should she have to explain her sleeping arrangements to a man she hasn’t had a relationship with in years. Heat prickles at the back of Bo’s neck as Harry stands waiting for an answer. But it’s not a demand, it’s more of a concern for him.

“Someone from my course. It was really early on in first year before we saw each other again.”

“Did you like it?”

Harry backs up a little after the words leave his mouth, shying away from the potentially hurtful answer as he bites the inside of his cheek. He knows it was a mistake to ask. Nevertheless, the question makes Bo’s stomach squirm because they’re both fully aware that the only experience she has to compare it with was with Harry. And wasn’t that the full experience package.

If Bo’s being honest, the guy was a pretty lousy lay. There wasn’t particularly anything special about the evening and the whole thing was wrapped up in under ten minutes. Apparently Harry had spoilt her when they were together.

“No complaints,” Bo replies, testing the waters.

“Was he at your graduation?”

It’s almost as if she can see him straining to remember faces from the crowds of graduates. And as he does so, the subtle inclination of his body towards hers is duly noted, as if trying to shelter but not stifle her.

“What’s with all the questions?”

“Just asking,” he clips, jaw drawing taut.

“He might have been, I didn’t talk to him though.”

It’s cruel to push him further, but she’s rather delighted in the physical reaction it’s provoking. There’s no joy in making him angry, but to tease. It might be fun.

“You may have seen him. Huge guy with blond hair and as tall as the doorframe, biceps the size of my thighs. I think he’s a little bit older, too.”

“Yeah?” Harry grunts.

Bo hums. His expression is tight as he mulls over the information and comes to a conclusion she will admit she wasn’t expecting.

“Sounds like you shagged Thor.”

Bo can’t prevent the smile from creeping up on her, cheeks tinted a light shade of pink.

“I didn’t like it.”

There’s concern plastered on Harry’s face upon hearing her confession.

“No, I just didn’t enjoy it,” she pauses. “It wasn’t - I’ve had better,” Bo admits before she can really process the meaning behind the words. Had better.

She’s a little mortified by the knowing tug at the corner of Harry’s mouth. And before she can say anything else he’s displaying a full on smirk.

“Piss off,” Bo thumps his arm and he takes the hit with a dramatic stagger away. “You know what I mean. He was shit, I didn’t enjoy it and it was really awkward afterwards seeing him in lectures and stuff. It didn’t go any further.”

A few seconds more and the spirited exchange takes a nosedive.

“What about us?” Harry carefully asks from across the kitchen table.

“I don’t think it was the right time for us then.”

In the months post their reconciliation, Bo had exams to prepare for and lecturers to impress with heavily researched essays. All on top of social expectations and a house search for second year which was a steep learning curve. Finding anything half decent, which didn’t once have a zoo in the back garden or actually had a properly functioning electric meter was practically a miracle.

And during that time, Harry was in no man’s land, between stages of his life that felt like the odd, uncertain few days between Christmas and new year. He was on the brink of a fresh start but was teetering on the edge just waiting for the push. Bo couldn’t have known at the time, but she was the catalyst; a WhatsApp message of,

“I made too many pancakes for pudding because I was thinking of you. Tiff ate yours. I miss you.”

“And now?” Harry asks, turning the silver ring on his index.

“Well now,” Bo starts, worrying her lip with if what she’ll say will be a push too far. “Now, I want you to kiss me.”

“Right now?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

They both jolt when Harry’s foot catches the chair leg, his stride determined before he comes to stand in front of her. Bo peers at him, head tilted back slightly to assess any emotions he lets slip through the crease between his brows or the pout he used to try and hide when something was amiss. As it is, he’s not giving her much to work with.

The disappointment she feels settles heavy in her stomach when a kiss is instead pressed to her forehead. A feeling that soon edges to mortification and shame that she’d pushed him too far, cornered him into a situation he isn’t ready for.

“Harry, I’m sor-“

The apology is stolen from her lips by the softness of his as another sweet kiss is placed high on her right cheek. Then proceeds a series of kisses, the last pressed to the tip of her nose which entices a giddy sort of smile, especially when he rubs his nose to hers.

“I’ve missed you.”

All credits go to han-rawr

#dark #hs

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all-the-cliches-lwa · 7 years ago

Text

Coming Home to You

Sooo work has been pretty tiring and has been draining my time and is giving me the worst case of writer’s block.

So then I thought, Diana probably has days like that too? And well...

Yeeeah.

Oh right, I’ve also eagerly accepted Diana and Akko using the Japanese phrases for them leaving (though in this case, coming back) home from Ticcy’s Dianakko week comic for the Domestic AU.

Dianakko fluff, of course.

ff.net link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12697276/1/Coming-Home-to-You

Summary: Diana comes home after a long day as Luna Nova’s youngest professor. Luckily, today, just like every day, she has someone waiting for her back at home.

Word Count: ~3124 words

Walking up to the wooden door of her quaint little cottage just a ways away from Luna Nova, Diana was all too aware of the fatigue that had set in far earlier in the day.

Naturally, as one of the newer professors of the school, Diana had often been given the more physically taxing errands and tasks, usually along with other colleagues like Professor du Nord and Professor Croix.

Diana's shoulders tensed remembering the heavy load of books she had assisted the couple with bringing up to the newest wing of the Luna Nova library. Of course magic made the task infinitely easier, but the sheer number of books still caused a strain on her shoulders and back.

Then, of course, her position as professor often led her to take the responsibility of keeping the most rowdy of students in check.

Considering her year housed possibly the two biggest troublemakers in Luna Nova history, Diana had assumed the task would be simple. After all, there was no possible way any young witch could come to match what would happen when those two witches decided to wreak havoc upon the school order, and Diana had always been able to keep up with their antics.

In more ways than one, when it came to one particular troublemaker.

And in a way, she was correct. No one witch ever came to match the havoc either troublemaker caused.

The only problem was that it was never just one witch. On rare occasions, there were only two witches… Today just happened to be a rarity on the opposite end of the spectrum, where all six troublemakers decided to come out and try to pull one over on the prodigious professor.

Diana had never felt as much appreciation and regard for her professors keeping her classmates in check than she did now that these professors were her colleagues.

Of course Diana showed no weakness in public. She had dealt with all six witches as swiftly as she could, successfully apprehending them and sending them off to separate detention halls, each watched over by her most trusted co-workers.

The moment she was free from any scrutiny, however, she had slumped in her chair and collapsed onto her desk, where she fell asleep until just ten minutes ago, when she had left work to come back home.

As she fumbled to fish out her keys to then unlock her door, Diana could not help but feel as though the decision to sleep was a mistake.

Her neck felt stiff. Her back was many times more sore than it had felt before she had worked to capture the sextet of witches, to the point where making even the slightest move to fix her posture was met with screaming protests from her muscles. Sitting down for so long also made her knees feel stiff. She could swear that she heard a pop from her joints upon every step.

Despite all of this, she did love her job. Getting to teach a generation of witches was truly rewarding in itself. The shine in their eyes when she teaches them a new spell or tells them the inspiring story that encouraged them to become witches in the first place was usually enough to energize her for the rest of the day.

And it was not like this happened every day… Today just happened to be an extraordinarily trying one.

Luckily for Diana, on days like this… and on any other day in general… there was always something waiting at home to soothe her weary body.

"Tadaima," Diana said as she opened the door and walked inside.

"Diana?"

Or rather, someone was waiting for her.

Hearing the sweet voice call out for her never failed to do wonders for the tired professor. As the bright timbre reached her ears, Diana could feel the soreness and strain wash away.

It had not necessarily disappeared completely, but it was close.

When she caught sight of those bright red eyes and that long chestnut brown hair worn down behind her lover's back and over petite shoulders already covered in pink pajamas, the fatigue had been all but forgotten, overwhelmed by the growing warmth in Diana's chest.

"Diana! Okaeri!" Akko called out, rushing towards the door to greet Diana with a tight embrace.

Oh heavens, the sound of Akko's voice could always bring a smile onto Diana's face. And of course what would be a nearly bone-crushing embrace for anyone else would be nothing but the world's greatest comfort for Diana.

"Good evening Akko." Diana said, smiling as she slowly brought her arms up her lover's back and wrapped them around Akko's arms and waist. "I missed you dearly."

"I missed you too!" Akko smiled, though it was short-lived, being quickly replaced with a frustrated pout. "You're late! You said you'd be back forty minutes ago."

Diana stiffened in Akko's hold.

Forty minutes ago?

Diana slowly turned to the clock on the leftmost wall hanging above their fireplace.

Sure enough, the clock read eight forty.

"I-I apologize… I was so exhausted earlier that I… fell asleep and seemed to have lost track of time…" Diana muttered guiltily.

That nap was truly the gravest error of judgment Diana had made in years. After all, it had delayed the precious time she had with her girlfriend of six years by an agonizing forty minutes.

"Fell asleep? Lost track of time? … Was it those kids again?" Akko asked.

Diana let out an exasperated breath, a memory of her chasing one student across the entire campus flashing in her mind.

"There would be no other reason, I assure you."

Akko giggled. "Sounds like Luna Nova's really got a new group of troublemakers! Maybe I should call Amanda and teach them a thing or two."

"… I would truly appreciate it if you did not." Diana quickly said, shuddering at the thought of having to fend off those hooligans… while also having to keep up with Akko and Amanda, both witches who have greatly improved their own talents.

… Considering Akko's current profession, Diana was unsure if she would even be able to keep up with the havoc Akko could cause by herself at this point.

"Awww, I think it would be a great idea!" Akko joked. "I needa show those kids just how it's done~"

Diana knew Akko was joking.

Akko would never purposely do anything to make Diana's life any more difficult. Being both a professor at Luna Nova and taking charge of the Cavendish family, although rewarding, made for quite the strenuous lifestyle. Akko knew this and always worked hard to make sure Diana's life was as easy as it would permit.

… Despite that, Diana was not about to allow even the tiniest inkling of doubt rest in her mind. The smallest iota of risk that Akko would ever consider doing such a thing was a possibility that no one would wish to leave unaddressed.

After all, Akko could be unpredictable enough that such a risk would almost be considered a certainty.

As such, Diana changed the subject in the only way she knew would always work on the haphazard witch.

Diana released her hold around Akko, cupped the brunette's round cheeks, and swiftly pressed their lips together.

And just.

This was just one of the probably tens of thousands kisses the both of them had shared over the years… and yet the moment their lips made even the slightest bit of contact was always intensely electrifying, jolting awake any tired nerves. Sparks flew as Diana felt heat rise up in the back of her neck and up into her face.

It was utter bliss… and the squeak she heard from the back of Akko's throat the moment their lips touched just made the moment all the sweeter.

Just as suddenly as Diana had initiated the kiss, Akko had deepened it. Diana's blue eyes closed shut, and she melted the moment she felt Akko press their lips closer together.

Akko's hug tightened as Diana pulled Akko's face closer to hers.

This was a common thing. A normal push and pull, a fight for control.

Akko never did lose that competitive spirit she felt in regards to Diana… it just manifested itself in different ways, and, luckily, it was in a way Diana had wholeheartedly encouraged.

Every kiss was like a dance, one where they both fought to lead.

Unfortunately for Diana… she was running rather low on energy, and as much as she wished to continue… the burning in her lungs forced her to separate and end the kiss to take a deep breath.

Despite her… "loss", however, it seemed the action had its originally intended effect… at least judging by Akko's flushed cheeks, the glazed over look in her red eyes, and the dreamy smile on her face.

"Wow… uh… what… what was I talking about again?" Akko airily sighed, the silliest giggle escaping her lips.

Diana chuckled as she lazily dropped her arms to her sides, though she did lean forward to rest her head on top of Akko's.

"I am unsure," Diana lied, hoping to never veer back onto the earlier topic. "Disregarding that… as much as I love our hugs, I would really appreciate if I could change into my nightdress and rest in bed."

"Oh right, be- wait. Diana!" Akko yelled, now broken out of her trance. "You just got home! Did you even eat dinner yet?"

Diana sighed.

"I was… rather hoping I could skip dinner and go rest in bed?" Diana offered, though she knew it would be unacceptable to the witch who had made it her mission to make sure Diana was well taken care of. "Today was very long, and I believe it would be very beneficial if I were to lay down as soon as possible."

Diana hoped that referencing her fatigue would be enough for Akko to allow her to head straight to bed.

"Nope!"

Clearly, her hopes had been in vain.

"You're still eating dinner!" Akko said. "Buuut, if you would rather lay down though… I think that can be arranged."

Five minutes and a cacophony of glass and metal coming from the kitchen later, and Diana had somehow found herself lying on the couch, her head atop what could only be described as one of the five most heavenly places in the known world: Akko's lap.

The brunette rested a steady hand on the side of the blonde's head. Her thumb caressed a pale cheek, each little touch sending nervous butterflies to flutter in Diana's chest. Though, as soft and gentle as the hand on the side of her head was, Diana knew it was there to keep her in place.

Akko smiled as she brought a spoon of stew to Diana's mouth.

"Now say ahhh~" Akko cooed.

Despite all the things the brunette had made her do over the years, this was the one thing Diana had never gotten used to. Akko seemed to love feeding her. While she did not quite understand the appeal, Akko said she found it cute… and each time Diana always found herself wriggling as she tried and failed to bite back the blush that always arose as Akko presented her with an offering of food.

It wasn't as if Diana did not appreciate the gesture. She knew it was just another manifestation of Akko's desire to make her feel at ease and relaxed... a way to grant Diana the spoiling Akko felt Diana deserved. And Diana loved Akko for that.

It was just that the act, itself, was rather embarrassing. The light, cutesy, tone of voice Akko always took as she tried to coax Diana into eating the food presented to her only added on to the heat she felt bubbling into her face.

Though… if what Akko said about how much she loved seeing Diana all flustered for her was true… she couldn't help but feel like this was only encouraging such behavior and actions.

That being said, at this moment, if just a bit of embarrassment would allow her to continue resting on Akko's lap…

Diana opened her mouth and accepted the offering.

It was delicious.

The moment Diana had finished her meal, Akko finally let her go upstairs and get ready for bed. She took a quick shower and changed immediately into a light blue, cotton nightdress. With a wave of her wand, platinum blonde tresses dried up instantly, leaving her hair as fluffy and wavy as it always was.

She soon took her place seated on the bed, her back against the headboard. It wasn't long until Akko joined her.

In fact, the woman had practically run upstairs and jumped into bed, eager to keep the blonde company.

Diana smiled as she felt Akko's arms wrap around her stomach, a round cheek nuzzling against her side.

With the sound of Akko's sighs and giggles providing the perfect background noise, Diana put on a set of reading glasses and began reviewing the upcoming school schedule… which reminded her.

"Akko, how has your day been?"

"Oh! You know, the same as usual. Practicing spells for my next big show~" Akko said proudly. "After all… I think my next show is going to be the most important one yet!"

Diana chuckled as she took note of the date of the Samhain Festival. Ever since Akko and her team’s performance all those years ago, ending the barbaric sacrificial duty, the final act had been something of a wild card performance.

Much like Akko herself really… so it was only fitting that Akko would be this year's act.

"Will I get the chance to see a sneak preview? " Diana asked sweetly, praying that Akko would show her just a little bit of what was to come. After all, she was the brunette's biggest fan.

"Nope!" Akko denied. She noted the slight drop in her lover's smile and quickly began justifying herself. "Dianaaaa, you know it wouldn't be good if I just let you see my act before everyone else… besides, I want this one to be a big surprise!"

Diana sighed. It was worth a shot.

"Aww, don't give me that." Akko pouted. "I'm just trying to be faiir."

"I know Akko." Diana mumbled.

"Besiides…"

Diana snuck a glance at the performer, who had since stopped her nuzzling in favor of lazily resting against her side. She could see the faintest dust of pink on Akko's face, piquing her own curiosity.

"Besides?" Diana asked, encouraging Akko to continue.

"I… like seeing how excited you look when you see a new act for the first time," Akko shyly admitted. "Especially after how tired I feel after a show."

Akko's words lit a soft ember in Diana's chest, and she gently placed a kiss atop chestnut hair.

"Very well." Diana mumbled against Akko's scalp. "I expect to be dazzled if that is to be the case."

"Oh, I'm going to do soooo much more than dazzle!" Akko declared. "When I'm done with this performance, you're not going to be able to stay in your seat! Heck, I'm going to totally sweep you out of your seat, and then you'll be so proud you'll probably even kiss me in front of the entire school." Akko grinned.

Diana laughed softly, taking a peek at the picture framed on their nightstand. A picture of her holding onto Akko, who was dressed in white witch's robes adorned with intricate patterns of blue and red.

"Just like your first show."

"Exactly!" Akko said proudly.

The two soon slipped into a comfortable silence. Diana took the moment to verify her lesson plans for the coming week and… a little less than subtly, draw a heart around the anticipated date. Akko took this chance to resume her nuzzling against Diana's side.

In between sitting on the soft cushions of the bed, her long winding day, and the warmth emanating off of Akko, it wasn't long before Diana began to nod off to sleep, though she was just barely able to catch herself before truly drifting off.

Seeing as she did not yet want to fall asleep, preferring to savor Akko's hold on her like this for just moments longer, Diana quickly tried to cover it up, pretending like it never happened, but Akko was having absolutely none of it.

"AHA! I saw that!" Akko said, swiftly pointing her face up at Diana's. "You know that that means~ It's time for you to go to bed!"

Diana shook her head and sighed in amusement.

"Very well," Diana said as she closed her journal and placed it atop the nightstand. She then slipped further down into bed until her head was rested on her pillow.

Once she had stilled, Akko quickly got to work, covering Diana in their blanket and doing the one thing she had waited all day for… ever since the moment Diana had to get up in the morning.

Cuddle.

And thus Diana found herself in what was undeniably the number one most comfortable spot in both the known and unknown world: wrapped in Akko's arms atop their bed.

And when Diana felt Akko's head snuggle into the crook of her neck, she couldn't help but return the favor, lacing an arm around Akko's shoulder and nuzzling against Akko's head.

As Diana began to drift off to sleep, she began thinking about how absolutely, astoundingly fortunate she was to have this woman be the first thing she saw when waking up and the last thing she saw before falling asleep.

Knowing that, no matter what, Akko would be how she ended off her day was, without any doubt, the greatest motivator to get through any struggle Diana had ever had. It was something that she would be eternally grateful for. The thoughts and knowledge that Akko would be here with her filled her heart with such a fuzzy warmth that Diana knew she would have to let some of these feelings out.

"Akko?" Diana whispered.

"Yeah Diana?"

"I love you."

Akko giggled and tightened her embrace.

"Ehehe, I love you too~ But what brought that on?"

"Nothing at all. I just… thought I would let you know." Diana mumbled slowly, her speech beginning to slur. "I… also j-just wanted… to s-say it aloud… "

Akko rolled her eyes and tightened her hold on the sleepy professor, knowing that would the final piece to the puzzle that was getting Diana to let go and relax completely.

"Good night Diana~" Akko sang before placing a quick kiss onto Diana's fair face.

"Good night A…kko"

And at last Diana fell asleep… but not before anticipating, once again, the coming morning, when she would wake up to see Akko sleeping right beside her.

I hope you enjoyed reading~

#Dianakko #Diakko #Akko Kagari #Diana Cavendish #little witch academia #lwa #Me writing

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dark128 · 7 years ago

Text

KNOCKOUT -chapter 10 (part 2A)

“Sure.”

Heavy dark clouds loom, gobbling up the twinkle of stars as night descends in a hurry. She’s busy watching the sky transform, head tilted back until her name is called.

“Bo.”

But here, it’s an easy sort of living space, one that he’s made home by just being there. It already smells of him, like this little flat has accepted Harry and approved of his occupancy.

An old fashioned radiator is tucked into one of the alcoves opposite the door, a heavyset one that will throw out heat throughout the basement flat in the winter.

“There’s not much to see, but this is the front room. The kitchen is just through there and my bedroom and bathroom are across the hall.”

It’s almost as if he’s waiting for some sort of approval, standing off to the side as he nibbles at his bottom lip.

“It’s a great place.”

Despite its quirky flaws, this would have been Bo’s first choice for a place of her own.

He grins.

“I have a garden, too. It’s not much but my mum and sister are going to help with doing it up a bit. Even if it’s just finding the patio under all the weeds.”

“It’s a bit hipsterish for you, isn’t it?” Bo teases, nodding towards the musical mess.

“Can I have a look?” she asks.

“Couse,” he continues. “It was a ‘congrats on your new home’ gift from my mum. Those old records are from the loft, I’ve not sorted through them yet.”

Bo’s fingers flick through the ageing sleeves; evidence of how they were used and adored very much apparent on the worn cardboard cover, a contrast to the unscathed disk.

“You’ve got some good ones.”

Harry’s mum was feisty. Straying away from the popular, more documented, trends in music and delving into bands and genres Bo’s never heard of. She flips a disk over to study the song listings.

“Just some?”

Bo hears the amusement in his voice but the pride on his mouth is out of her line of sight.

“I don’t know most of them,” she admits, running her fingers over another mysterious album title.

“My mum had an eclectic taste, still does.”

“Well, I think it’s safe to say she was a fan of Rod Stewart,” she comments, flicking through five consecutive albums.

“Come on, sugar, let me know.”

His deep bow finishes the ensemble and Bo almost feels like she should applaud. And that’s what she does as Harry dramatically basks in the praise.

“Good job I actually know that song, or I’d have thought you were coming on to me.”

“The night’s still young,” he counters and it’s to Bo’s surprise that she’s the recipient of a cheeky wink.

With a smile like a siren song and stormy, green ocean eyes to match, it’s somehow difficult for Bo to try and find her sea legs.

“Alright?” he murmurs.

And that about does it. With a couple of adamant nods Bo pulls away before something ridiculous happens, like her telling him she misses the way his mouth fit with hers.

“What colour are you painting it in here?” Bo asks, fingers grazing the sofa arm, heart positively thundering as she meanders to the other side of the room.

Bo frowns, swivelling to look at him, still with fringed cushion in hand.

“Why?”

“It’s rented, I’m not sure my landlord would want me slapping paint on the walls. I’m hoping he’ll let me buy it when I get the funds together.”

“I’d have it a really soft green.”

Bo hums as if imagining the transformation of the room with a new splash of colour.

“Yeah?”

The wooden floor creaks slightly with her movement as she gravitates to a focal point.

“Mmm, and I’d make that into a proper window seat so you could wake up with a cup of tea and just sit,” Bo nods at her plan. “Oh, it could be a reading window!”

“I don’t really read,” Harry admits, her face softening. “I listen to audio books now.”

The atmosphere quietens and Bo feels silly for raising the subject. That is until Harry opens his mouth again.

“Or hey, it would be a nice spot for a quickie.”

Bo rounds so fast she nearly stumbles into one of the many unpacked boxes by her feet. She stables herself with an outstretched hand to the wall.

“What?” she chokes.

He wanders over to the window, pressing his palms flat to the wooden sill to test its weight capacity.

“Well,” Harry makes a pained face, “if you’re both like olympic gymnasts or something.”

“Get some cushions or something, it’d be perfect.��

“It’s the window though,” Bo admonishes, worrying her bottom lip and trying not to smile.

“Below street level.” Harry’s counter challenge is coupled with a shrug.

“Yes, but still a window,” she presses.

“My neighbours are old and fucking nosey, would give’em something to gossip about at their neighbourhood watch meetings.”

He makes quite the scene unravelling to stand at his full height before moving away from the sex-seat to the doorway, where he disappears through it moments after.

Bo’s left in a whirlwind contemplation before Harry pops his head back through.

“Are you hungry?”

“Sure,” she agrees, still fighting the smile curling the corners of her mouth as the conversation snappily changes from sex to food.

“I’ve not really had time to food shop,” Harry calls through from the kitchen. “Are you alright with a take-away? I think I have a leaflet somewhere.”

“Yeah, that’s fine with me,” Bo responds, weaving her way towards his voice.

“Are you alright? You look a bit pink in the cheeks.”

With her mind still dwelling on Harry’s idea of a window seat, it’s the only way she’ll be able to settle her thoughts.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Despite the nod to his head, Bo thinks he looks a little reluctant to hear her what she has to ask.

“When was the last time you were with someone?”

The immediate response she receives is a crinkled brow and full assessing gaze.

“I saw Matt from the gym the other day, we went to the pub just down -“

“Shit.”

Eyes wide, he takes a few seconds to ground himself and try to decide the best approach. He clears his throat like he’s not just chocked at her question. “We’re just diving right in then?”

“You don’t have to tell me, I jus-“

“It’s been a while,” Harry interrupts. “Long time,” he swallows. “You want Chinese or Indian?”

“It’s just, what you said in the living room,” she aimlessly thumbs back through the doorway.

“It was a joke.”

He’s a little firm with his reply and it makes Bo feel guilty for asking.

“Oh, ok.”

“Did you want pizza, I think I have a app?”

As if trying to shake her from her thoughts, Harry pulls up the app before waving it enticingly. She huffs a laugh before grazing his left side and standing with him to scroll through choices.

“The meat tastes weird on those pizzas,” Bo informs him, scrunching her nose. “If we share and go half and half, I want mine margarita. If we order the chicken, you get a free dip.”

Harry’s head is bobbing like a nodding dog on a car dashboard. The lights are on, but Bo can be pretty sure that nobody’s home at the moment.

“How long for you?”

“Huh?”

“Since you slept with someone.”

Oh.

Bo’s eyes shoot to the ceiling as if performing maths off the top of her head. Stupidly, she hadn’t expected this, hadn’t begun to think that his thoughts might stray to her bedroom antics.

“Umm, well,” she begins.

“You told me you’d never had sex with James.”

“It wasn’t James. It was only the once.”

He moves closer, stumped by the look on his face, Bo isn’t quite sure how this conversation will pan out. All she can hope is that it ends quickly without any emotional casualties.

“With whom?”

“Someone from my course. It was really early on in first year before we saw each other again.”

“Did you like it?”

“No complaints,” Bo replies, testing the waters.

“Was he at your graduation?”

“What’s with all the questions?”

“Just asking,” he clips, jaw drawing taut.

“He might have been, I didn’t talk to him though.”

It’s cruel to push him further, but she’s rather delighted in the physical reaction it’s provoking. There’s no joy in making him angry, but to tease. It might be fun.

“You may have seen him. Huge guy with blond hair and as tall as the doorframe, biceps the size of my thighs. I think he’s a little bit older, too.”

“Yeah?” Harry grunts.

Bo hums. His expression is tight as he mulls over the information and comes to a conclusion she will admit she wasn’t expecting.

“Sounds like you shagged Thor.”

Bo can’t prevent the smile from creeping up on her, cheeks tinted a light shade of pink.

“I didn’t like it.”

There’s concern plastered on Harry’s face upon hearing her confession.

“No, I just didn’t enjoy it,” she pauses. “It wasn’t - I’ve had better,” Bo admits before she can really process the meaning behind the words. Had better.

She’s a little mortified by the knowing tug at the corner of Harry’s mouth. And before she can say anything else he’s displaying a full on smirk.

A few seconds more and the spirited exchange takes a nosedive.

“What about us?” Harry carefully asks from across the kitchen table.

“I don’t think it was the right time for us then.”

“I made too many pancakes for pudding because I was thinking of you. Tiff ate yours. I miss you.”

“And now?” Harry asks, turning the silver ring on his index.

“Well now,” Bo starts, worrying her lip with if what she’ll say will be a push too far. “Now, I want you to kiss me.”

“Right now?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Harry, I’m sor-“

“I’ve missed you.”

#harry and bo #KNOCKOUT #styles

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jngukie · 7 years ago

Text

WIP Tag

i was tagged by @floofyeol! idk if this is a blessing or a curse let’s find out.

some of these fics have been in drafts for ages? so tbh i don’t even know if i will post them but hey we’ll see. (so assume for now that none of these will be posted—except when stated otherwise with an *)

the first couple will be ships. the later ones are reader-inserts. all are still protected by the Creative Commons license.

slide it up in here: chapter 10* pairing(s): jikook, namjin, yoonseok genre: humour, crack, drama, angst tags/warnings: texting, college au, slightly filthy, innuendoes, Awkward Jeon Jungkook™, slowburn, self-esteem issues, self-hatred, implied/referenced homophobia, everyone is a mess™

SUMMARY

gguki: [image attached] gguki: what should i do with it chimothy: um chimothy: dude idk if i’m entitled to give you suggestions but chimothy: i mean you could always just stick it in the ass???????

or jungkook accidentally sends a stranger a picture of his roommate’s brand new dildo

PREVIEW

the (9)7 wonders of the world

tol: ok here’s the plan dabs 24/7: yugyeom no offence but your plans kinda suck muscle pig: ^^ what bambam said muscle pig: i don’t trust you anymore tol: wow that hurt tol: but i promise you this one will be better dabs 24/7: don’t do it kook tol: it won’t backfire in any way

untilted vhope pairing(s): vhope, namjin genre: humour, fluff tags/warnings: college au, skype dates, profanity, neurobiology/pyschology major!namjoon, ra!jin, music major!yoongi (i think), some major!hoseok, and high schooler!tae, tbh idrk bc i haven’t finished writing it lmao

SUMMARY

When Jung Hoseok signed up for college, he didn’t think he’d end up on academic probation so soon. Hell, he’d never guess he’d have friends who would use him as a fucking lab rat for their atrocious experiments. He definitely did not expect to fall in love with his resident advisor’s little brother—and then proceed to sneak into said resident advisor’s room and hack his computer just to have one more Skype date with the little brother. Without getting caught by said resident advisor. Yeah—he’s a little stressed, to say the least.

→ a continuation of It’s Burning Up in Here.

PREVIEW

He didn’t sign up for this. He thought college would be a great idea—who would pass up the opportunity for ultimate freedom and youthful stupidity? No, he was ecstatic for college—but he definitely hadn’t signed up to be the fucking victim for his resident advisor’s boyfriend’s experiments.

“Hoseok-ssi, please stay still or otherwise this will hurt. A lot,” Namjoon begged as his friend Yoongi tried to hold him down on the fragile coffee table.

“That’s not what your needle’s saying! You said it was a harmless experiment! You said I’d be fine!”

“You will be! I just need practice drawing blood once—”

“You’ve never even done this before?” Hoseok shrieked, writhing some more. Yoongi growled in frustration and flung his entire weight onto Hoseok’s body—and thus effectively snapping the legs of the coffee table and sending them down towards the floor.

His advisor ran into the room then, eyes wide in alarm while holding a skillet filled with half-cooked meat, his creased white apron reading World’s Best Dad! in pretty cursive pink. “What the hell is going on here?”

untitled taekook* pairing(s): taekook, yoonjin genre: fluff, angst, humour, crack tags/warnings: restaurant au, running away, mentions of nudity, exhibitionism, does getting caught dancing naked in your room count as exhibitionism idek, mention of mpreg, but there’s no actual mpreg, i mean it’s the sims it’s not real, many many references to the male organ, but sorry folks no smut (A/N: this is literally what i have in my docs wow i’m such a nerd for preparing ao3 tags LMAO)

SUMMARY

The last thing Jungkook expected after running away to Seoul is to score a private live viewing of Naked_Neighbour_Dancing_In_His_Bedroom.mov—and then proceed to bump into him when he’s not-so-naked. And then also manage to greet him with a slap. It also probably doesn’t help that Nude Neighbour is his new boss. All in all, Jungkook just maybe kinda wants to die. (But of course Seokjin isn’t gonna allow him, so he’s just going to suffer—for now.)

PREVIEW

He sighs, turning his head to gaze out of the window, only to freeze when he realises his view isn’t exactly the most… decent.

Because across from his small studio apartment window is a perfect view of a larger apartment in the building across, and currently, the tenant (he hopes the boy’s the tenant) is enthusiastically dancing through his room completely naked, dinglehopper fully on display. He’s mouthing the words to some song, throwing a finger up in the air as he shuts his eyes and nods his head as though the music (Jungkook thinks there’s music) blasting in his room is speaking to him on a spiritual level.

Jungkook’s face is bright red when he finally breaks out of his trance, and he wishes he wasn’t so bad at reacting appropriately to inappropriate situations so he could at least have saved himself from adding a thirty-second clip of Nude Neighbour to his collection of non-digital memories. He rushes to the window and pulls the curtains close, fingers stiff as he tries to rid his brain of such scandalous images.

At least he was hot.

His face is redder now—if that’s even possible. “Fuck me,” he whispers, and then flushes even more. “Wait, no. Don’t fuck me. That’s not what—why am I even talking to myself. Agh.”

take these words out of my lungs (and set them free) pairing(s): vmin genre: angst, fluff tags/warnings: major character death, suicide attempt, depression, body image issues, depressed!jimin, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, ambiguous original character that appears for like five seconds, high school au

SUMMARY/PREVIEW

three pounds. that’s how much he’s gained since he last stepped on the scale, the dictator that rules over his life. he stares at the numbers again, frowning at the digits glaring up at him. perhaps there was a mistake; maybe the scale is rigged or jammed or simply broken. he couldn’t have possibly gained three pounds in a span of two days. hasn’t he been walking around his neighbourhood enough?

he sighs, stepping off the scale and turning around to flush the toilet before washing his hands. even the cold water burns his skin, and he wishes he could melt through the cracks on the floor. would he slim down then? would he finally be skinny enough?

“jimin!” he hears his mother call, and he forces his way from the sink, sneaking out his parent’s bathroom and into the living room outside. their apartment is small but cozy. jimin hates it.

untitled kim seokjin* pairing(s): platonic OT7 genre: fluff, angst tags/warnings: anxiety, depression, eating disorder, negative body image perception, lapslock (lower case)

SUMMARY

honestly, he can’t remember what it’s like to live anymore.

PREVIEW

breathe in. breathe out.

three lucky charms. four cereal pieces. seven bits down the drain.

he smiles, staring at the milk-stained sink as the spoon clatters against metal, bowl turned upside down. it’s ugly—white ink staining burnt grey like liquid cobwebs feeding on rust. it looks exactly as how he feels: dirty, wasted, trash. one-seventy-nine centimetres down the drain.

untitled kim taehyung pairing(s): Kim Taehyung/Reader genre: fluff, humour, probably angst bc knowing me tags/warnings: (sor far) nudity, profanity

SUMMARY/PREVIEW

Kim Taehyung has no regrets. Sure, he probably should’ve thought twice before he spent all of his money on BIGBANG merch just to show Jungkook that yes, he’s the bigger fanboy, and sure, he definitely should’ve listened to Jimin when he warned Taehyung that no, he shouldn’t eat three whole pizza pies by himself, but that doesn’t mean he regrets any of his decisions. Even though blowing all his earnings on people he’ll never meet did cause him to starve for a good or so month.

(Thank god for ramyeon.)

So, no, Jimin, he doesn’t regret running out of the shower butt naked when he heard her singing on her way to the second floor of their co-ed dorm, doesn’t regret shouting, “I love your voice!” before she screamed, “Oh my god, you’re naked!” And he definitely doesn’t regret yelling, “Oh, shit!” into Oblivion before sprinting back into the bathroom to resume the hot shower he abandoned.

“For fuck’s sake, Taehyung,” Jimin says to him once Taehyung’s finished recounting the story, the two of them lying side by side on Jimin’s bed. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”

“I should probably say hi,” Taehyung muses, blinking at the ceiling. “Do you think she remembers me?”

Jimin glances down, and snickers. “With how small your dick is, she probably does.”

untitled park jimin pairing(s): Park Jimin/Reader genre: fluff tags/warnings: (so far) blind!reader

SUMMARY

He is an angel; and she doesn’t need to see to believe. She fathoms his widespread wings as he gently picks her up, worriedly and urgently asking for her health, voice so soft it touches her skin like silk on smooth glass. His eyes must be crinkled in the corners, a smile stuttering through apologies, heart too warm for the human hand to touch. She imagines what he looks like, faintly deciding through his rapid Korean that he must be chesnut if not vanilla, not in skin but in connotation because he sounds and smells and feels like home.

Her pause is a millennia long, and she hears him repeat himself again, the sound of melting marshmallow oozing out of beautiful lips: “Are you alright?”

She produces a smile, feathery and light, eyes glassy and the world continues to remain black. “I’m fine,” she replies, and her voice is cracked from its lack of use; she hasn’t met anyone worth talking to in what feels like a century. Another smile reappears, much strained than what she’s used to, and she picks herself up from where the concrete lay, the dust falling from her voile skirt. “No damage done.”

untitled kim taehyung #2* pairing(s): Kim Taehyung/Reader, platonic OT7 genre: fluff, angst tags/warnings: i think it’s schizophrenia?, mental illnesses, depression

SUMMARY/PREVIEW

There is a moment when time stands still. It’s fleeting, escaping the moment your fingers curl around it and pull. But it is during this moment happiness enraptures you with its warm hug as your heart thunders against your chest—the steady thump, thump, thump of a snare drum awakening. It is during this moment pain ceases to exist.

But after, everything will come rushing back.

i have more but these are the ones that are decent, at the very least.

to pass the torch on, i’ll tag @minmelly @kinky-koreans @pasteljeonggukk @haneulismykoreanname @rnjmnster and anyone else who wants to do it! (if you don’t, no pressure. good luck to you and your writing!)

#tags #i actually have like 10 more wips #i didn't know i had this many #will i actually write any of these #hopefully at some point

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kinetic-elaboration · 7 years ago

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My Whole Expanse I Cannot See

Miller/Jackson, ~3400 words

Miller and Jackson share a room on Science Island and start to grow closer as they contemplate the end of the world.

Read below or on AO3.

The reason for bringing a member of the Guard on the mission to Becca’s island was to ensure that the party arrived at the lab in one piece. Miller likes to think he was in fact instrumental to that happening. But now that they have arrived, and the drones are disabled, and everyone is safely indoors, there isn’t a lot for him to do. Raven, Abby, Jackson, and Luna are doing their science thing. Murphy and Emori have each other (often, and sometimes loudly). And Miller…is left to himself, mostly to stew in morose thoughts about his boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, or whatever Bryan is to him now. 

After a couple of days, Jackson joins him in the spare bedroom he’s turned into his home base, because, he says, “Abby’s lost her mind, maybe literally, and Raven is even worse.” 

That sounds dire, but Miller just arches an eyebrow and asks, “What does that mean?” 

Jackson’s so stiff with coiled up tension that his fist could turn coal into a diamond, and as he takes a deep breath Miller knows he’s gearing himself up to explain it all, a disastrous vomit of words and feelings, all at once. But then he bites down, bites it all back, and just says, “Nothing.”

Miller doesn’t press because he knows what Jackson means. Whatever’s happening down in that lab, it's not a problem either of them can solve. They could talk it out, but talking won’t change anything. It'll just draw away energy until one or both of them is hollow and so it’s better, easier, safer, just to let it drop. 

“Yeah,” he answers. “I got a lot of nothing going on myself.” 

They start spending a lot of time lying next to each other in bed, because the spare bedroom isn’t very big and the bed’s the only real piece of furniture in it, besides a hardbacked chair and an empty chest of drawers. The space is soft and comfortable and intimate, and they find themselves asking each other the sort of probing, personal questions that should be barred to them, that should be far beyond the bit of friendship they’ve only started to carve out.   

"I gotta know,” Miller says, as they lie side by side on their backs, staring up at the ceiling, “have you and Abby ever...?" He wiggles his eyebrows, which maybe isn't very mature, but this is Dr. Griffin he's talking about. He's not actually going to say the word "sex" in the same sentence as her name. But he’s too curious not to say anything at all. Everyone knows how close she and Jackson are, and he's sure he's not the only one who's wondered. 

The idea is apparently shocking to Jackson himself, though. "What? No—gross, and no." He shakes his head and tries to explain, "She’s my boss. My...mentor. Like a second mom. So no, that would never happen." 

"Okay, okay."  

They're both silent for a few moments, and it should be awkward, especially after that misstep, but somehow it's not that bad.  

"Did you have someone else, then? On the Ark?" Miller asks. 

“No. I mean—I used to. A while ago.” Jackson’s silent for a while, as if that were the end of the story. And maybe it is, and that would be okay. Then he starts talking again, faster this time, like he planned out these words in advance, lined them up in his mouth and now he’s just letting them go. “I was dating another apprentice. But we were both too busy, and we never put each other first. We broke up before the Ark came down. He was originally from Factory, so I think he—he was on that station when we launched." 

Bellamy told Miller, after Mount Weather, about finding Factory smashed to bits on the rocks and only one survivor, so he knows what must have happened to Jackson's ex. All he can say is “I'm sorry.”

Jackson just shrugs. "I'm sorry, too," he says. "About Bryan." 

Bryan isn't dead but Miller understands what he means: Jackson is sorry that they broke up; that they loved each other, but not enough; that the Earth hardened them both, broke and reshaped them so they didn't fit together anymore. He's sorry that theirs was a young love and that, after everything that’s happened to them both, neither of them is young anymore.  

"Thanks," he mumbles. And then, "I don't want to talk about it." 

"Me neither. I mean—"

“Yeah. Let’s not talk about any of it.” 

The room is very quiet, no Earth sounds from outside, no sounds from the other rooms, either. Unnatural, almost. Disturbing. 

Jackson starts to move, like he’s thinking of turning on his side, maybe, and looking at Miller face to face. But he doesn’t.

“Good idea,” he agrees.

Miller stops by the lab once, but its unnatural bright sheen and the pinched desperate look on Raven's face both turn his stomach, and he can't bring himself to stay. Jackson still needs to put in his hours, though, running his calculations and his simulations, being a voice of reason as the world crumbles, which is why Miller ends up wasting away hours in the spare bedroom, alone. He spends the time sleeping, mostly, because they're up late most nights watching the moonlight shine in like it used to on the Ark and talking, or not talking, according to some inner calculation, or some innate knowledge of each other, which Miller doesn't really want to name.

One late morning, he wakes up and tries to gauge from the angle of the sun what hour it is, and can't, and doesn't care. Jackson's sitting in the window seat with his knees up against his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. He’s staring out at the slope of grass and ancient trees leading down to the water's edge.

Miller watches him for a long time. Wonders what he's thinking. The way he's sitting makes him look like a little boy, lost and alone, which would touch something in Miller's heart if he hadn't already seen too many real kids just pretending to be adults, dead before they made it past pretending, to still be moved by such moments of quiet fear.

Still. He does want to get up and put his hands on Jackson's shoulders and ask him what's on his mind. He does want to know. He does care. But he can't bring himself to move so he just closes his eyes, and only later, when he hears Jackson moving again, does he open them and pretend to just be waking.

At night they always start their discussions with "Are you awake?"

The first night, it seems like a stupid question. Jackson's voice murmuring low and uncertain next to him is almost a joke, because he's been moving restlessly and sighing and pulling at the blankets for a half an hour now—he's most obviously not asleep—and he doesn't recognize yet that this to become a refrain, or a code.

"Yeah."

"Can't sleep or don't want to sleep?"

"Both. You?"

He's lying with his back to Jackson but from the movements next to him, the quiet sounds of limbs rearranging, the shifting of weight against the bed, Miller can picture him moving from his side onto his back.

"It just seems like a waste of time, when we don't have that much left."

They've never talked before about the radiation. In this room, sometimes, it's like it doesn't even exist. Nothing that has ever happened exists, nor anything that ever will. Outside, the leaves are still because there's never any breeze. Inside, water flows from the taps and cupboards open without squeaking because nothing ever rusts.

"If you're going to think like that, you'll never sleep. And then tomorrow you won't be rested. You won't be able to do your work, you'll make a mistake, and we really will all be fucked."

He wanted the words to be a joke, didn't even sound mean when he spoke, but the long silence makes him wonder if maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut. Maybe the middle of the night is only for quiet voices and quiet thoughts.

But then he hears an unexpected snort and, "I'm so glad you're not putting any pressure on me," and he smiles, because it's all right.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Miller lies still for a long time after that, daring himself to be quiet, counting his breaths so he won't be too tempted to speak. But he's picturing Jackson lying next to him, maybe watching him. Staring at the shadow outline of him on the other side of the bed. They could continue joking. Except too much time has passed for that, they’ve dug down too deep into the silence, and now they can only sleep, or pretend to sleep, or start to talk about something else, something quiet and serious that he won't want to remember in the morning. Those are the options left and the third is too real and too close, like the heat of another body next to him or the itch in his fingers, which want to grab on to fingers or arms or shoulders or hips.

"Do you believe we're going to find a solution?" Jackson asks, finally, and just like that the three options narrow down to one and Miller takes in a sharp breath and closes his eyes tight and wills himself somewhere else.

But answers anyway.

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Maybe that's enough. Maybe his belief, which needs no explanation, which needs no defense, such is its strength, is enough.

"I want to believe it," Jackson answers.

A pause, the space of two careful breaths, follows.

Then Miller half-jerks to the side like he's going to turn around, but he doesn't, because he feels the mattress depress again and hears the sounds of Jackson's body turning, too, away from him this time. He feels the blanket they share being pulled up. And he knows that Jackson's curled in on himself with the blanket right up around his shoulders and his back to Miller, and he knows they aren't going to talk anymore, tonight.

Twenty seconds into their staring contest, Miller wishes he'd argued for an arm-wrestling match instead, because he's never lost a contest of strength yet. He's pretty sure he's going to lose this. The rules are no blinking and no laughing and no looking away. It sounds simple but he can't stand it, the burn at the edge of his eyes, the utterly straight face Jackson is making as he stares, matching Miller straight gaze for straight gaze.

Jackson's lying on his back and Miller's next to him, propped up on one elbow, looking down. The whole world has narrowed down to Jackson's eyes, which are brown with flecks of gold; and his eyebrows, how the right one arches up just a little more than the left; and his cheekbones, and the hollow beneath his eyes, and his nose. From this distance, Miller can make out each eyelash. He stares at them and knows he won’t last long. He hates the idea of blinking, not because it means losing, but because then their game, their moment’s distraction, will be over and he’ll have to sit up and look away, and he’s not sure when he’ll next get the chance to watch the afternoon shadows play over Jackson’s skin.

He needs to break. He needs distance. But he wants—

"You're cheating."

The corners of Jackson's lips are starting to twitch.

"You're cheating," Miller counters. "You're smiling."

"You're looking at my mouth. Eyes only. That's the rule."

"No smiling, that's the rule."

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter; they're both grinning. They’re both staring to laugh a little, that type of laughter that bubbles up when you’re trying your hardest just to keep it down.

If he were younger, and this was the Ark, and they were just out of class, in Miller's quarters with his dad off on patrol and on his narrow one-person-wide bed, and every bit of closeness with another boy was still enough to set his heart off like a racehorse with amorphous adolescent desire and deep stomach-rattling nerves, he might find some excuse to poke at Jackson's side or pin his wrists, might try to turn this into some overwrought bit of wrestling, like boys can get away with, like he used to get away with all the time. But this is different. He’s lived through that; he’s felt that way. This is something else.

So he just looks down and smiles and Jackson looks up at him and smiles, for so long that the expression fades from each of their faces and then they're just staring, as intently as if they were stuck in their contest still. Except that one or the other will blink, every now and again. Each waiting for the other to really break, this time, in a way that counts.

Miller is not afraid. He's never been afraid of anything. He wasn't afraid of kissing Bryan outside the Alpha Station door, for the first time, ever in his life, and he wasn't afraid of the Sky Box, and he wasn't afraid of going to Earth. He wasn't cowed by the Grounders or the Mountain Men. And he won't be broken by heartache either, or beaten low by radiation, by this last betrayal of the Earth herself.

He survives and he sheds the past like an old skin, and he moves on.

Jackson's been quiet all evening, which is how Miller knows it was a bad day, a set-back day, but he doesn't ask for the details. They don't talk about the lab in here. Except for that one night, they don't talk about the future either.

Miller sits on the bed, hunched over his knees. He rubs his palms together, slowly, back and forth, and listens to the paper-thin sound of skin on skin. Jackson's standing by the window, shoulders square and arms crossed and his back to the room, watching the sun sink lower and lower toward the ground. Another day ending.

"If this really is the end," he says quietly, and then fast, before Miller can even open his mouth, "and don't say you know it's not, I just want to ask you this. If this is the end, what do you want to be doing, in your very last moments?"

"You're assuming there will be some sort of choice, besides just 'dying painfully'?"

"If you could choose. Anything at all."

It doesn't seem like it should be a hard question, but it is. He stops the movements of his hands and just stares down at them, where palm touches palm, where fingertip touches fingertip. Like he’s staring down the line of his life as it stretches on, no longer into the far distance, but toward some fixed and immovable point beyond which is nothing at all. He doesn't answer for a long while, and Jackson doesn't ask him again. Still the question hangs in the air, waiting for its resolution with the patience of an eternity they don't have.

"I'd be fucking," Miller says, at last.

Jackson glances at him over his shoulder. He looks like he's about to argue, annoyance starting to shade across his features—like he thinks Miller isn't taking this seriously, except really he's serious as death itself.

When Jackson sees the unfiltered, fearless honesty in his face, he turns away again.

"Really?"

"Yeah. The way sex makes me feel, that’s how I’d want to feel at the end. That's how I'd want to go out."

"You just want to feel good? That’s all?” His tone is so neutral, Miller knows he's judging, or trying to hide his disappointment, like he was expecting something deep but he shouldn’t have been. This is all he should have counted on, a shallow answer from a prisoner, a shooter, a guard. “Through some mindless animal fucking?”

"No. It's not mindless. It's—beyond the mind." He waits, licking his lips to gather the words there, then holding them steady in the pocket of his mouth until he knows they've formed just like he wants them to. "And it's not animal. It's human. It’s…it’s knowing you’re as close as you can possibly be, like you’ve reached that peak, you know? And it should be terrifying to be that exposed and raw and honest with him—” He’s never honest. He never lies but he’s never honest. Not with most people. His voice cracks up but he pretends that it didn’t. “But it’s—not. It feels right. Somehow. Being connected to someone else. So that amazement overwhelms you." He pauses. His mouth is dry; he swallows and runs his tongue across his lips again but it does no good. "It’s the most alive I’ve ever been.”

The words feel inadequate and shallow, mere syllables stretching to give form to memories of such intensity they shiver like ghosts along his skin. He stares at Jackson and wonders if he feels it, too. An empty ache in his chest like longing and regret.

“I’ve wasted so much time,” he continues, his voice lower now, like this is the real secret he’s been trying to share all along. “I’ve wasted so much time just waiting.”

“You were hopeful.”

“I’m just stubborn.”

Jackson shoves his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders up to his ears. Miller can almost hear the words he starts to say, but cannot form. The silence stretches on until what's left is, “When I asked you—it’s not that I’ve given up.”

I should hope not, Miller thinks, but out loud, he just says, “I know.”

Some mornings he patrols the perimeter, just to feel like he has something to do. But the drones do not return, nothing moves behind the tree line, and the waves lap up against the shore with a hypnotic regularity that makes even Miller, forever on his guard, want to sit right at the edge of the grass and stare out at them. Slowly losing all sense of time itself.

He expects that when he returns to the guest bedroom, Jackson will be there. Waiting, and ready to say he’s tired of waiting. But the room is empty so Miller only lies down on his side of the bed and looks up at the ceiling. He tries not to think about how long he spent, last night, listening to Jackson’s breathing and wondering why he never turned his question back at him.

When the door slams open with no warning, only a clattering of tripped up footsteps rushing down the hall, a sound he did not even register above the hum of his own silence, he’s startled. Of course he’s startled. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed but before he can say a word or even make a sound of surprise, Jackson’s pulled him up to his feet.

This is new. They don’t do this. Miller has memorized the shape of Jackson’s upper lip and heard the thoughts that keep him awake at night but he’s never felt Jackson’s hands gripping his arms or seen him smile, bright and excited, this close up. He’s never seen him smile like this before at all.

“I take it you have good news—?” he asks, with a slight rise of his eyebrows, pretending he’s not confused and like his palms aren’t beginning to sweat.

Jackson opens his mouth to answer and again Miller finds himself waiting for a cascade of words to come. And again they don’t. Instead Jackson’s hand grabs him by the back of the neck and yanks him forward without any grace at all, before he can take a breath, before he can prepare himself to kiss back. Still he does. They crash together, lips and teeth and then tongue, breathless, open-mouthed, fingers getting caught in each other’s clothes and feet almost tripping over each other as they pull and pull back, grabbing for each other and for balance and because they do not dare to let go.

When they pull away, at last, breathing hard, Miller lets his forehead rest against Jackson’s and his own eyes close, just for a moment.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said," Jackson murmurs. "About your last moments.”

Miller blinks his eyes open again. His fingers are tangled up in the fabric of Jackson’s shirt. “Is this you telling me that we’re all going to die?”

“No.” He shakes his head slowly. The tremors in his voice sound like the beginning of giddy, delirious tears. “I’m telling you we’re going to live.”

#mackson #miller x jackson #nathan miller #jackson #eric jackson #the 100 fanfiction #my writing #mine

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imagineangryspacegrump-blog · 8 years ago

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A Princess (Not Really) In Distress - PART 1

Prompt: Ye olde valiant knight, Leonard McCoy, goes on a quest to save a princess (not really) in distress. (For @yourtropegirl‘s Star Trek Fairytale AU thing)

Warnings: Mostly crack!fic trash

Word Count: 2,925

A/n: This fic may or may not have been loosely based on the movie, Shrek. It kind of makes sense though, doesn't it? Grumpy, anti-social ogre? No? Ok. And that's right ladies and gentlemen, this is going to be more than one part. I'm thinking maybe 3-4 parts but I'm not 100% sure yet.

---

"Do you think she'll be pretty?”

"Oh my God, can you be quiet for five seconds?"

Leonard pushed a tree branch out of his way and walked on. When he passed, he let go of the branch, which made it whip back and smack Jim in the face. Jim let out a yelp and fell back, which made Leonard smirk and turn back to the path.

By order of King Pike in Yorktown, he, the head knight, and Jim the court Jester were sent on a 'quest' to check out an old castle. Rumor has it, that a princess was locked in said castle, unable to escape because of the ferocious dragon that patrolled the land. Many people had tried to get to her, but no one had succeeded so far.

Leonard was confident he could be the one to accomplish this task. However, he didn't know what he'd do with the lady if he did succeed. She would probably expect him to sweep her off her feet, when he wasn't exactly planning on doing that. He had just split with his ex-wife so he wasn't exactly looking for a new love interest. The only reason he was really doing this, was for his self-image. Yeah, yeah, it was selfish, but that's how the society functioned these days.

Leonard had brought Jim solely for a distraction. Not for himself, but the supposed dragon. Jim was a court Jester, which meant he was born for laughs and entertainment. If Jim could distract the thing, Leonard could sneak past and try to find the princess. If things go South and Jim gets eaten... well, God rest his soul.

Jim bounced in front of Leonard and continued to hop around the knight as he continued on. Leonard was still trying to figure out how a grown man could have such a high energy level.

"How do you think the princess gets food? If she's not allowed to leave the palace, then she must run out of food sometime. And what about the whole death-like sleep thing? If she's sleeping like that, are you gonna kiss her to wake her up? And how hasn't the dragon killed her yet? Was it trained to be nice to her and only eat people who come to break her out? And-"

Leonard spun around and clamped a hand over the energetic man's mouth. "If you ask me one more question, I swear to any high power out there, I will personally hand you, deep fried on a silver platter over to the dragon myself. Now shut your damn trap, we're here."

Jim didn't seem to have even heard Leonard's threat, because he ran quickly to a bush and peeked over. Leonard joined him and looked at the building.

You would expect a castle made of crumbling stone with a moat of hot lava surrounding it and the only way to the castle is an old, rope bridge. But it was actually the opposite. It looked like a quaint castle on steroids, based on the large size. The grass around it was green and soft, well taken care of. There were vines crawling up one side of the building, and all of the necessities for a small farm was scattered along the outside.

"This doesn't really look like dragon lair material, Leo."

Leonard grit his teeth. "Don't call me that. And no, it doesn't. This must be some sort of sick trick. There's no way a castle that's famed for it's high casualty rate is this... country-side thing. This must be someone's house. C'mon, let's go before someone see's us."

When Leonard looked to where the Jester should have been, he was met with empty space. Jim was practically skipping to the front door of the castle.

"What. Are. You. DOING?! Get back here!"

Jim shook his head and stepped up onto the porch. "Like you said, there's no way a dragon could fit in here, so there's no harm in checking it out! The people living here are probably nice!"

Leonard sighed angrily before cautiously emerging from the bush. When he joined Jim on the steps, Jim raised a hand to knock on the door. When Jim hit his knuckles against the door, it pushed the door open like it had never been closed in the first place.

It slowly crept open, revealing the dark interior of the house that completely contrasted with the happy outside. It was cold, and smelled like dust, mildew, and smoke. There was no indication that someone had opened the door for them, so it made the whole deal even worse.

Jim seemed to have sensed his mistake on approaching the house, and slowly started to slink away. Leonard grabbed the back of his shirt before he could leave and pulled him back.

"This was your idea, so you're gonna stay. Go on. Go inside."

Jim side stepped so the door was completely open for Leonard, and took a deep bow, gesturing to the door.

"Ladies first."

Leonard scowled and grabbed Jim's collar again, shoving him through the opening of the door, following after him.

The large room they stepped into was dark and it was hard to see anything at all. Through the light that was seeping through the door and a few of the scattered, grime caked windows, dust particles were seen floating harmlessly through the air. Once the pair's eyes started to adjust, they could scope out the rest of the rooms. The surrounding rooms were old and rustic looking. If Leonard had been here any other time, when the house was in it's prime, he would have liked the place.

As they continued through the musty castle, Jim started to walk closely behind Leonard, hiding behind him. Jim would jump at the slightest noise, which would in turn, make Leonard jump, and then make Leonard angry.

"Can you stop jumping at the slightest noise? There's nothing here-"

Leonard was cut off by a very loud cracking sound when he stepped into a new room. Looking down slowly, he saw that his boot-covered foot had stepped on something.

A human skull to be exact.

They had both nearly yelped in surprise but kept it contained so they wouldn't alert to anyone of their presence.

The room they had found themselves in was similar to a lounging room. There was a bookshelf, a soft looking couch, and multiple chairs. And bones.

Lots and lots of bones.

It was odd though. The bones weren't in one big heap or all over the floor. It looked like the 'dragon' or whatever had killed all those people, had put them in neat, separate piles. There was a pile of ribs, femurs, phalanges, scapulas, and any kind of bone in the human body. The skull that Leonard had stepped on must've fallen from its neat pile.

"You should not be here."

The two men jumped 10 feet into the air, and spun around to meet the owner of the smooth voice.

A man stood there, tall and stiff. It was almost as if someone had welded iron rods to his spine because he stood as rigid as a pole. He had an unusual bowl cut, and he wore a perfectly pressed tux that had a dark red pocket square peeking from the breast pocket. Leonard could've sworn there were small blood droplets on his white dress shirt.

He had pointed ears and slit pupils that made him look fierce, even with his otherwise passive aura. There was something pressed tightly to his back but at the angle they were placed, it prevented them from seeing what it was.

"Who are you?" Leonard took charge, knowing Jim wouldn't.

The man tilted his head. "I am called Spock. I was given the task to protect this palace and all it's inhabitants by any means necessary. And it seems you're trespassing on this ground, and I need to dispose of you."

The things pressed to his back unraveled, presenting leathery wings. He seemed to be growling from somewhere deep in his throat. Before the bright orange color accumulating in his chest that Leonard could only assume was a brewing flame, he shoved Jim forward.

"But this young man right here knows a few tricks that you might like to see. If you kill us, you'll never be able to witness it's... greatness."

Spock's growling diminished, as did the flame, but his wings stayed put in a defensive manner.

"What kind of tricks are you preferring to?"

Jim was surprisingly calm, completely opposite of the scared man Leonard witnessed a few minutes ago. It must've been his inner Jester. Born to perform.

"I can do all sorts of things! Wait... hold on... is that?" Jim walked right up to the man.

The jester reached forward and seemingly grabbed something in the man's ear. Even Leonard was impressed when Jim started to 'pull' a tibia out Spock's cranium.

"Whoa! No wonder you didn't answer when we knocked. You couldn't hear us! How'd you get this lodged in there!" Jim tossed the long bone somewhere in the room.

Leonard could tell Spock was forcing his amazement down deep inside, but his nearly sparkling eyes gave it away.

"Now about the tricks." Jim reached into his mouth, yes his mouth, and pulled out a full deck of cards, which made Spock's eyes widen exponentially. "I can do all sorts of things, but card tricks are my specialty."

He shuffled the deck in the air, the cards stacking neatly together. Jim fanned the cards out, and then pulled them back together. He set the deck face down on one of his hands, waved his free hand over the deck, snapped, and the cards seemed to have disappeared. Jim made the cards reappear with another snap of his fingers.

"Fascinating." The leathery wings put themselves back into their original position, and Spock focused all of his attention on the moving cards in Jim's hands.

Leonard took his opportunity to slowly slink out of the room, careful not to step on any bones this time. As soon as he was out of sight, Leonard silently look off and up a set of stairs. Top of the highest tower, right?

The stairs ended relatively quickly, so he had to stroll through another hallway that had a staircase at the opposite end. Leonard started to run but skidded to a halt when he heard snoring coming from under a door.

It was a big wooden door, and there was light coming from the small crack at the bottom. Were there more than two people in the building?

Looking down the hall to make sure no one was following him, he slowly crept to the door and twisted the knob, pushing the door open. He flinched when it made a very loud whining noise so he slipped inside when there was enough room for him to do so.

Upon glancing around the room, he found it to be a very large library. The light was coming from tall windows on the far side of the room. There were a few small desks scattered around the room, all piled high with books, papers, quills, and ink. The room was beautiful in it's own, cluttered way.

He heard the snoring again and tracked it to a very large heap of pillows and blankets. It was hard to see the person, but there was someone on the pillows, a woman from the looks of it.

Limbs flared out, face smashed into a pillow, and snoring with a small hint of drool on the chin. Maybe she was a maid? Leonard cautiously reached down and shook her shoulder.

You, on the other hand, made an extremely sexy snorting noise and jolted awake. It took you a minute to get your bearings straight, but when you did, you were in for a mild surprise.

The only person you had seen for years was your helpful butler/acquaintance, Spock. Yeah, he was a little different, but he was just doing his job. So seeing a handsome new man, clad in a slimming royal get-up, you couldn't help but stare.

"Umm, excuse me. Do you know about any princesses that may live around here? Maybe in this castle?"

You propped your head up on your hand and thought. "Who's askin'?"

The man started to look angry and bit the inside of his cheek. "The royal guard. Now where is she?"

You gestured to yourself in all your glory. "You're lookin' at her, babe."

The man did a double take and slowly raked his eyes down your body. Your outfit was a tad bit revealing, since your outfit really just consisted of short shorts and a tank top. He turned a shade darker when he noticed that you had caught him in the act.

"Well... you don't exactly look like a princess. It's just the honest truth. Now, I need you to come with me Your Highness."

Your witty attitude dissolved and you shot to your feet, taking a step away from him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Come with you? I don't think so, stranger. For your information, I actually enjoy it here. Yeah, I can't go outside but this is my home. Don't think I'm just gonna up and leave because this random... suspiciously attractive, royal goon pops up on my doorstep. If you leave now, I'll call Spock off and you can leave in one piece. Don't think for a second, I'm not going to go down without a fight."

A loud, shrill, screech echoed through the halls, making you and the man you still didn't know the name of, look towards the large doors. At your distraction, Leonard swooped down and grabbed your legs, hefting you up and throwing you over his shoulder. Once he was sure he had a secure hold on you, he ran out of the room, you in tow.

"Hey! Put me down you barbarian! I'm going to call the authorities!"

"I am the authorities, sweetheart." He was breathing heavily, but continued to run. You looked up when you heard footsteps following and saw a blond man in a funny looking outfit running with you and the knight. Spock skidded around the corner, looking furious, and followed.

"Jim, do the smoke thing!"

The blond man you assumed was Jim took a peek behind at the raging Spock and squeaked. "What smoke thing?"

You were nearly at the front door. "The smoke thing you do to disappear! Use it as a distraction."

A light bulb appeared over Jim's head and he reached into his jacket, producing three round ball-like things. He juggled them a few times, then shot all three out, two hitting walls and the other hitting the ceiling.

Instantly, the things exploded, turning into red smoke that engulfed the hall in no time. It blinded everyone, but Jim seemed to know how to move through it. You could hear Spock running into things in confusion as Jim pushed the man you were slung over, to the door.

You had to close your eyes when the sun hit them. Being in a dark castle your whole life excluded direct sunlight for the most part. Your abdomen was starting to bruise from the man's shoulder.

When your eyes finally adjusted, the three of you were already deep in the woods, your home and Spock alike, were nowhere in sight. You were suddenly dropped and set inside a small cave a large tree made with its roots. It had probably been a den for an animal at some point. It was big, but hidden well.

It was large enough for the three of you, but it was a very tight fit. Your 'rescuer' held you to him, your back against his chest, and covered your mouth with his hand. You squirmed, but it did nothing to loosen his grip.

Loud wing beats were heard overhead, and the two men fell silent, while you tried to make as much noise as you could, everything muffled by the knight's hand. You could hear Spock calling your name, and he flew by quickly, his calls slowly diminishing.

There was silence for a long half hour before the man holding you captive removed his hand from your mouth. When you tried escaping again, he held you close. You knew calling for help would do nothing, since Spock was probably long gone by now.

"Kidnapping is a felony. I'm going to get you sentenced to 20 years in prison if you don't let me go this instant."

You felt the man's chest move as he chuckled. "This isn't technically kidnapping. I kindly told you to come with me, saved you from a man-eating monster, and I have no intention to hurt you myself. Also, this mission was a direct order from the king, and he's the one that makes the rules."

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huffed, which made Jim smile.

"We'll stay here for the night, then head for the kingdom tomorrow morning. Better get comfortable with us sweetheart, 'cause we have a long journey ahead."

You refused to say anything, giving him the silent treatment. He shifted back against the dirt wall to be more comfortable, dragging you with him.

"Well, the name's Leonard McCoy, and this is James Kirk. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Acquaintance is too strong of a word... and my name's Y/n if you must know."

The cave went silent and it stayed that way for the rest of the evening. It was going to be a long night.

---

Tags: @outside-the-government @feelmyroarrrr @hellhoundsandunicorns @captian-hannah-kirk

#star trek x reader #star trek reader insert #star trek #star trek imagine #star trek imagines #bones imagine #bones imagines #leonard bones mccoy #bones x reader #star trek reboot #leonard mccoy #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard horatio mccoy #leonard h mccoy #star trek fairytale au

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mastcomm · 5 years ago

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What to Stream on Valentine’s Day

Hot Thriller, Cool Romance

‘The Thomas Crown Affair’ | YouTube, Amazon Prime Video, Google Play, iTunes, Vudu

Make sure you watch the 1968 version, not the 1999 remake. While the newer film is fine enough, the original is a textbook example of classic Hollywood at its sexiest. Steve McQueen plays a millionaire who robs banks for fun, and Faye Dunaway is the insurance investigator on his tail. There is something downright intoxicating about the two stars’ charisma, and their chemistry feels as inexorable as tectonic plates moving toward each other. When they engage in a game of chess — a real one, though the metaphorical aspect is also there — you might have to fan yourself. Michel Legrand’s alternately lush and driving score is a gem of its own. ELISABETH VINCENTELLI

When Burt Lancaster and Susan Sarandon appeared in Louis Malle’s 1980 heartbreaker, he was almost twice her age. Yet after his rueful character, a small-time hood named Lou, takes a shine to Sally (Sarandon), a struggling oyster-bar waitress, their connection develops a melancholy magic. Blending romance and crime caper, Malle has crafted a dreamy, atmospheric study of a man, and a city, in decline, and Lancaster plays him with so much tattered heart that we easily understand Sally’s surrender to Lou’s quiet courtship. Watching him spy on her each night as she stands gloriously naked in her kitchen window, rubbing lemons on her skin to banish the odor of a job she detests, there is something innocent and inoffensive in his peeking. To him, she represents all he has lost — and all he might yet salvage. JEANNETTE CATSOULIS

Watch and Weep

‘Brief Encounter’ | Amazon Prime Video, iTunes

It’s not a spoiler to say that the love affair in “Brief Encounter” does not last: The title is pretty clear on that point. Yet you will hope against hope that Laura (Celia Johnson) and Alec (Trevor Howard) somehow find a way to end up together. The enduring appeal of David Lean’s 1945 romantic masterpiece lies in the push and pull between two people’s mutual attraction and their sense of honor and duty. (They are both married to other people.) The film gently suggests the all-encompassing power of love with characters who maintain a stiff upper lip. Slight gestures and sideways glances resonate like deflagrations of unabashed desire in this context, and the effect is devastatingly emotional. ELISABETH VINCENTELLI

Sweetheart Scares

‘My Bloody Valentine’ | Shudder, Crackle, YouTube, Amazon Prime, Google Play, Vudu, iTunes

This Valentine’s Day, do like many horror fans do: Fire up the streaming service Shudder and snuggle up with your boo. Start with “My Bloody Valentine,” a 1981 Canadian slasher film about a mining town besieged on Valentine’s Day by a killer with a pickax. It’s gory and deranged, but also a strangely nostalgic slasher classic. Follow that with the new Shudder podcast “Horror Noire: Uncut,” a fascinating six-episode valentine to African-American film buffs’ love-hate romance with horror cinema, based on Shudder’s acclaimed 2019 documentary. The podcast is also available on Apple Podcasts and other platforms. ERIK PIEPENBURG

Sweet Bromance, Dude

‘Dude, Where’s My Car?’ | YouTube, iTunes, Google Play, Vudu, Amazon Prime Video, Cinemax

“Dude, where’s my car?” “Where’s your car, dude?” Were more romantic words ever spoken? Ashton Kutcher and Seann William Scott still make a dynamic couple in this 20-year-old stoner comedy that takes repetition to a place of absurdist enlightenment. The premise is simple: Two friends, Jesse and Chester, wake up and can’t remember the night before, including the whereabouts of said car. Yes, much of the laughs come from a puerile place, but there’s some genuine heart amid the gags. And the chemistry between these bros is palatable, from their shirtless tussle while trying to figure out what the new tattoos on their backs say to a one-upmanship showdown they have with Fabio that results in Jesse and Chester making out with each other. Sweet! MEKADO MURPHY

I Have an Hour, and I Want to Swoon-Cry

‘San Junipero’ (‘Black Mirror’ Season 3) | Netflix

The British series “Black Mirror” is famously bleak, but the Season 3 episode “San Junipero” has what passes as a happy ending in the show’s universe. Make no mistake, though: Tears will flow, prompted by a love that defies time, space, physical reality and even death itself. Mackenzie Davis’s shy, nerdy Yorkie finds herself pulled into the orbit of Gugu Mbatha-Raw’s extroverted, magnetic Kelly. The story jumps around the space-time continuum but is mostly set in 1987 America — if only, you may suspect, so it could put Belinda Carlisle’s “Heaven Is a Place on Earth” and Robbie Nevil’s “C’est la Vie” to memorable use. While technology tends to be a nihilistic force in the series, it comes to the aid of love in “San Junipero.” Imagine that. ELISABETH VINCENTELLI

Love From Beyond the Grave

‘Atlantics’ | Netflix

In Mati Diop’s feature debut, two lovers, Ada (Mama Sané) and Souleiman (Ibrahima Traoré), are separated by forces beyond their control. Although Ada is betrothed to a wealthy man, Omar (Babacar Sylla), her affections remain with Souleiman, a suave but less prosperous suitor who leaves their coastal town in Senegal in hopes of finding steady work in Spain. Strange things begin to happen back in Senegal after Souleiman is feared dead, including a mysterious fire that disrupts Ada’s wedding celebration. Diop and the cinematographer Claire Mathon (who also worked on “Portrait of a Lady on Fire,” back in theaters this week) frame Ada and Souleiman’s enduring love as an epic romance, a passion that reverberates through Fatima Al Qadiri’s haunting score. MONICA CASTILLO

Love at Work

‘Eames: The Architect and the Painter’ | Amazon Prime, YouTube, Google Play Movies & TV, iTunes

It all started with a chair. When Charles Eames met Ray Kaiser, they were both at the height of their fields (architecture for him, abstract art for her). In his love letters, he dreamed of a future together. He destroyed her letters. After all, he was married, with a daughter. Yet their connection sparked a professional partnership that helped define design and consumer culture. The film paints the picture of a love rooted in work and a shared joy in making things. Which is to say it manages to make the business of furniture and experimental filmmaking seem terribly romantic. Charles and Ray, who eventually married, are seen smiling together in archival photos from the 1940s, ’50s and beyond, look like a pair of delightful, delighted oddballs, fussing over designs that would eventually make their way into homes across the country. Their bond flourishes as they find success, is buffeted by industry criticism, the era’s sexism, and even infidelity. Still, they forged ahead, leaving their mark on just about everything they touched. #Goals. KWAME OPAM

Love Triangle: What Could Go Wrong?

‘Broadcast News’ | Amazon, iTunes, Vudu, YouTube, Google Play

One of the great love-triangle movies of all time, James L. Brooks’s comedy-drama (set in the world of network television news) finds Holly Hunter, in her breakthrough role, as a high-strung producer torn between two potential partners: Albert Brooks (as a reporter with a great mind but no physical spark) and William Hurt (as the hotshot new anchor with a killer bod and an empty head). They’re all playing recognizable types, and dig the expected laughs out of those personalities (and their interpersonal dynamics). But Brooks’s witty, sophisticated screenplay doesn’t treat them like stock characters; these people are all both likable and deeply flawed, and the film’s refreshing lack of clear choices makes Hunter’s romantic predicament all the more poignant. JASON BAILEY

Bollywood Romance

‘Jodhaa Akbar’ | Netflix

Some love stories end in weddings; others begin with one. In the Bollywood historical romance “Jodhaa Akbar,” the Mughal emperor Akbar marries the Hindu princess Jodhaa as part of a peace arrangement with the king of a rival province. Jodhaa resents being used as a political pawn and forced into a stranger’s home, but Akbar’s acceptance of her independence and religion slowly wins her over. Aishwarya Rai Bachchan and Hrithik Roshan are resplendently charismatic as the lead royals: the scene in which, armed with swords, they duel it out to resolve a lover’s quarrel is one of the sexiest moments ever committed to screen. The director Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s knack for swooning romance and political intrigue — and the stunningly designed set — make the film worth every minute of its three-and-a-half-hour run time. DEVIKA GIRISH

An Ever-After That’s Actually Dreamy

‘The Thin Man’ | YouTube, Amazon Prime Video, iTunes, Google Play, Vudu

Who ever said marriage killed romance? Not Nick and Nora Charles, for whom life is a euphoric succession of dry martinis and drier banter, seasoned with a little detective action here and there. The first (and best) in what would become a successful franchise, “The Thin Man” (1934) is Hollywood screwball comedy at its most sophisticated: Everybody looks great in evening wear, cracks wise, and downs staggering amounts of alcohol while keeping their wits about them. But the key to the movie’s enduring appeal is its portrayal of an enviably liberated modern couple, played by William Powell and Myrna Loy. Partners in crime-solving and sly sex appeal, Nick and Nora don’t just love each other — they absolutely delight in each other’s company. ELISABETH VINCENTELLI

Why Fight Destiny?

‘Crossing Delancey’ | Amazon, iTunes, Vudu, YouTube, Google Play

Opposites attract, in spite of all attempts to stifle said attraction, in this bewitching 1988 romantic comedy from the director Joan Micklin Silver. Amy Irving stars as Izzy, a downtown woman who’s moved uptown and fancies herself a sophisticate. So she dismisses her grandmother’s attempt to find her a husband via a matchmaker — especially when the suitor is the neighborhood pickle vendor (Peter Riegert). “I don’t live down here, I live uptown,” she assures him, and refuses to admit her obvious attraction, because of the backward step a romance with him seems to represent. Susan Sandler’s complex screenplay (based on her play) hits the expected will-they-or-won’t-they rom-com beats, but underscores them with complicated dynamics of cultural assimilation; the result is an sparkling, dizzy New York romance in the “Moonstruck” tradition. JASON BAILEY

Rom-Com, French Style

‘Heartbreaker’ | YouTube, Google Play, iTunes, Amazon Prime Video

This French charmer may remind you of the romantic-caper style that flourished in Hollywood from the late 1950s to the mid-60s. It is so sneakily funny and charming that it can shoulder such references as “To Catch a Thief,” whose Riviera setting this 2010 film echoes. Alex (Romain Duris) has a very special profession: Anxious friends and parents pay him to break up mismatched couples by seducing the woman. Things go south after Alex is hired to wreck the impending nuptials of Juliette (Vanessa Paradis) and Jonathan (a pre-“Walking Dead” Andrew Lincoln), and he finds himself actually drawn to his target. As with the best rom-coms, the romance feels ineluctable, no matter how hard the two leads fight it — but what fun it is to watch Duris and Paradis spar. ELISABETH VINCENTELLI

Bad Romance

‘The Souvenir’ | YouTube, Google Play, Vudu, Amazon Prime Video

The best rule of love is to love yourself. It’s a lesson that the film student Julie (Honor Swinton Byrne) learns the hard way as she falls under the spell of a dashing and charming older man, Anthony (Tom Burke). He’s not quite what he seems: As his drug addiction gradually strains the relationship, they engage in a vicious cycle of breakups and reconciliations. As much as this movie is about a bad romance, it’s also about what happens after Julie walks away. Based on her own youthful heartache, the director Joanna Hogg reimagines her experience in a gorgeous work of art, one that wrestles with the messy feelings of a toxic love affair. MONICA CASTILLO

A Time for Sportsmance

‘Bull Durham’ | YouTube, Google Play, Amazon Prime Video, iTunes, Vudu, Hulu

‘Tin Cup’ | YouTube, Amazon Prime Video, iTunes, Google Play, Vudu

With two sportsmance classics under their belt, the director Ron Shelton and his star, Kevin Costner, are the rightful masters of this subgenre. In “Bull Durham” (1988), Costner portrays a woeful Minor Leaguer courting baseball-crazy Susan Sarandon; in “Tin Cup” (1996), his self-sabotaging golfer becomes entangled with a psychologist played by Rene Russo. What’s great about these movies is that they show adults figuring things out, rather than, as has been the case with too many recent rom-coms, leaving characters stuck in arrested development. While the sports action can feel a little hokey — but then, that’s exactly how we like sports action — the human element has a wonderfully genuine lived-in quality. And, in “Bull Durham,” when Costner’s Crash lists “long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days” as one of the things he believes in — well, game over. ELISABETH VINCENTELLI

Love and Other Existential Puzzles

‘Phoenix’ | Criterion Channel, YouTube, Amazon Prime Video, iTunes, Google Play

‘Transit’ | Vudu, YouTube, Google Play, Amazon Prime Video

In “Phoenix,” by the German director Christian Petzold, a Holocaust survivor, Nelly, is recruited by her husband — who fails to recognize her after her facial reconstruction surgery — to pretend to be his “dead” wife so he can obtain her inheritance. Nelly, clinging to the charade of the love that she’s lost forever, plays along with his “Vertigo”-esque scheme even after his betrayals become slowly evident. Keep the tissues handy for Petzold’s “Transit,” about a Jewish refugee in Marseilles who is mistaken for and then starts impersonating a dead writer, and becomes enamored with the writer’s wife. Shot in a seductive, minimalist style, both movies (strange doppelgängers of each other) beautifully capture the tragic desire to become someone else — someone new — through love. DEVIKA GIRISH

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