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roosterforme · 2 years ago

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Always Ever Only You Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: As newlyweds, you and Bradley know what you want. But sometimes wanting something isn't enough when those things suddenly seem unattainable. But you do have each other, and you fight to try to remember that.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst, swearing

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32 (This story as themes of Bradley and his wife trying to get pregnant.)

You woke up too early for work. Bradley was still sound asleep as you carefully rolled away from him and slipped out of bed. The feeling of anxious energy flowed too fast through your veins. You'd felt like this every day for the past week, and you couldn't make it stop.

There was too much going on with work and at home, and now you'd reached the last week of January. Your boss had assured you weeks ago that he'd be putting your paperwork through for a promotion this month. You were supposed to be included with the first quarter cycle. But he hadn't said a word about it in weeks, months. And now you were going to have to schedule a meeting with him and bring it up.

"Morning, Baby Girl," Bradley rasped behind you. He startled you even though you'd been standing in front of the bathroom mirror, apparently staring at nothing.

"Morning," you whispered before turning to face him. "It's early."

Bradley grunted and wrapped you up in his arms. His hands were immediately underneath his soft UVA tee that you loved to sleep in. "Mmhmm," he hummed. "Was hoping maybe you got up early so we could spend a little longer in the shower?"

You looked up into his big, brown eyes and at his messy bedhead. He was honestly the most handsome man you'd ever seen in your life. When he reached for your left hand and brought it up to his lips, you nodded as he kissed your rings.

"You know what, Roo...that's exactly why I got up so early."

He smiled against your fingers, his mustache brushing your knuckles. He was big and a little hard now through his boxer briefs. And somehow that's all it really took. The feeling of need started thrumming through your body, slowly replacing your anxiety with desire for your husband. He'd barely touched you yet, one hand holding yours and the other at your waist, but you felt so much more comfortable when his hands were on you.

"Is that what you want?" you asked him, running your fingers along the waistband of his underwear. You had been trying to delicately add an extra layer of consent to sex with Bradley ever since he told you about his first time. Maybe he noticed, maybe he didn't, but he bent down and kissed behind your ear.

"Of course," he rasped, and you started reaching for the shower door handle. The tee shirt and Bradley's underwear ended up on the bath mat, but he carefully folded up your glasses and set them on the vanity. You ducked under the spray of warm water, and a few seconds later, Bradley was there too, lips on yours with your back pressed against the tile wall.

You laughed softly as he used one big hand on your butt and the other between your shoulder blades to keep the cold sensation of the tile from your skin. "What's funny?" he asked before sucking so hard on your neck that your laugh was replaced with a little squeal.

"I was going to say you're sweet, but you're a menace, and I love that, too," you moaned as your back met the tiles. Bradley was running his knuckles along your pussy, separating you with his index and middle fingers before slipping his cock inside you.

He fucked you hard up against the wall, your body jerking with each thrust. "You're so fucking perfect," he growled, licking the droplets of water from your shoulders and collarbones. "So tight and warm."

Your moans sounded wild as the noise reverberated off the glass shower enclosure. "Roo," you whispered, grabbing onto his biceps to keep yourself on your feet. But he was unrelenting, and you could feel the tiles digging into your spine. You could feel yourself slipping, but he held you in place as he fucked you.

It was unspoken now, but every time you and he made love, it was clear you were trying for a baby. And as much as Bradley tried to be encouraging, tried to tell you nothing had changed, you knew he wanted you pregnant. But you probably weren't ovulating right now, and you were sure he knew that.

"Fuck," he grunted, rubbing your clit with his thumb as he went a little harder. So maybe he wasn't lying when he told you every day that he was never going to stop wanting you no matter what.

"You're so deep," you whined, feeling so much pressure as you started to clench around him. "Come on, Daddy."

And that did it. His eyes were half lidded as he pinched your clit and wrapped his other hand around your neck. You came hard for him, and the smirk on his lips as you called him Daddy again was lethal.

"God, Roo!" you whined as he came inside you. When he released your neck, he kissed you there dozens of times.

"I love you," he murmured, slowly fucking his cum a little deeper before withdrawing and starting to use the shower for its intended purpose. He soaped up your skin while you caught your breath, his hands squeezing your breasts while he smiled. "I think I'm gonna have a great day."

Although you woke up so early, you barely made it to your office on time. Bradley insisted on helping you get your hair pulled back for work, which resulted in the two of you laughing hysterically in the bathroom. You ended up having to redo it anyway, but he was so sweet all morning. He even got your travel mug of coffee ready along with some toast once you both realized how late it had gotten. And your spine was still a little sore for him pushing you up against the wall, but it was a good kind of sore.

As you unlocked your office door, your eye caught on your name placard hanging straight as a pin on the wall. Bradley hated that you hadn't changed your last name yet. He was so annoying about it, he even went so far as to snap your name tag in half a few weeks ago when you were having sex. You were currently sporting your spare on your uniform.

It wasn't like you were even taking Bradshaw as your last name now. You were going to hyphenate. You'd earned a master's degree in mechanical engineering with your last name attached to it! Your diplomas were hanging up in your office! You liked your name! But you liked Bradley's name, too. And if you had kids, you'd want them to be Bradshaws.

And then you sucked in a deep breath and closed your door behind you. Getting pregnant was the last thing you wanted to think about right now. So you tried not to focus on that. You'd already sent in your name change paperwork; as soon as that was completed, you could update your name tag and door placard.

But in the meantime, you had to get to your lab and set up a meeting with your boss. You thought you deserved a promotion, and now you were going to have to ask him about it, which you really, really didn't want to have to do. When you strolled into your lab, Sonya and Macy were in conversation with Cat Coleman. When Cat's eyes met yours, she smirked and turned back to her computer.

You weren't late, not really. Was everyone else early? And then Captain Bickel walked in, and you were the only one standing there, awkwardly holding your computer instead of doing your work.

"Lieutenant, see me in my office," he told you before turning back toward the door. Your belly lurched and you swallowed hard as you followed him out. For the past few weeks, you'd been feeling like an outsider in your own workspace. Really since you hired Cat. If you were about to get reprimanded, you were afraid you'd burst into tears.

"Sir?" you asked, your voice coming out a little strained once you were alone in his office.

"Have a seat," he told you. Oh great, he wanted you to stay for a while. You sucked in a deep breath and slid down into the chair opposite his desk.

"Sir?" you asked again, biting your lip.

"I just wanted to keep you updated on a few of our grant proposals. I am going to need you to write another one for submission to Annapolis in the next four weeks. We can get together to start it next week. I also need you and Lieutenant Coleman to re-code the entirety of project 27.12 before we can turn that over for testing."

Your head was swimming. You wished you had brought a notebook with you. How were you supposed to remember all of this? And how were you supposed to bring up a promotion now? He wanted you to keep proving yourself.

"And of course your promotion was finalized," he finished, looking at you expectantly. You had completely zoned out.

"My promotion, sir?" you asked softly, afraid you had misheard.

"Yes," Bickel said, giving you a funny look. "We discussed this before? You should receive some mail about it soon. I just wanted to let you know it was finalized since you were going to place an order for a new door placard and name tags. You might as well update your rank at the same time as your legal name."

You felt tears pricking your eyes for a very different reason. You don't know why you thought this was going to be an ordeal. This man always looked out for you and everyone else who worked directly beneath him. He hadn't asked you for any details before offering to remove Josh from your lab. He made sure you were always busy and challenged. He always remembered everyone's damn birthday for crying out loud. And now you wanted to hug him, but instead you stood and shook his hand.

"Thank you, Sir."

He squeezed your hand and said, "You work hard. It does not go unnoticed Top Gun."

You nodded once and he dismissed you. And then you started crying in the hallway. You ducked into the empty ladies' room, locked yourself in a stall, and then let out a muffled scream before jumping up and down. The sound of your boots echoed through the space as you pulled your phone out of your pocket.

Bradley wasn't flying today, and now you needed to see him as quickly as possible. You sent him a text asking if he was eating lunch in the cafeteria. If not, you'd have to go find him in the tower or one of the simulation classrooms. And now that you knew it was happening, you were itching to tell him. And then you could call your parents tonight.

You screeched softly before heading back to your lab.

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

Maverick would not shut up. Bradley's stomach was growling so loudly now, everyone else kept turning to look at him.

"What?" he told Nat with a shrug, getting a little snippy.

"Did your wife not feed you a gourmet breakfast this morning?" she whispered.

Bradley just smirked. You and he had in fact not had time to eat anything together since he'd kept you in the shower so long. That's why he was famished now. Luckily Mav dismissed them a few minutes later.

"No, actually," Bradley told Nat as they exited the classroom. "I was too busy to have breakfast this morning."

"Eww!" she said, covering her ears and storming ahead down the corridor.

"What's her problem?" Jake drawled from Bradley's other side. He noticed you had texted him asking if he was eating lunch in the cafeteria.

Bradley texted you back as he told Jake, "I was about to tell her I was balls deep in my wife all morning and didn't have time to eat breakfast, but she didn't want to hear it."

"Eww!" Jake responded. "When it comes to you and Angel, I prefer to avoid explicit details."

He stomped down the hallway after Nat, and Bradley was delighted to have a quiet moment to himself. He just assured you he was on his way to the cafeteria, and you texted back a million smiley faces. Bradley smiled. You must be having a good day.

As soon as he could smell food, his stomach started making so much noise, he was actually embarrassed. Hondo looked at him with concern as he entered the cafeteria. In a flash of khaki, he saw you running toward him.

"Bradley!" you called, shoving past Jake to get to him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, reaching for you. But you were smiling, your face positively radiant as you slammed into his arms.

Bradley held you tight against him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "I'm being promoted!" you told him.

"Promoted?" he asked, a smile blooming across his face too. "Baby Girl!"

"That's Lieutenant Commander Baby Girl!" you told him, and then his lips were all over yours. Bradley could hear Jake whistling and catcalling, but he didn't care at all.

"Oh my god," he gasped between kisses. "I'm so proud of you!"

You wrapped him tighter in your arms, and the sound of your laughter as Bradley kissed your neck made him crazy. He was absolutely crazy for you. For his wife. So he kissed you in front of the cafeteria filled with probably hundreds of officers and ensigns without a damn care.

"I feel so relieved!" you gasped. "Bickel called me into his office and told me earlier this morning."

"Did you call your parents?" he asked, cupping your face and kissing your forehead.

"No! I had to tell you first!"

Bradley's heart swelled with love. You were his number one for good news or bad, and he was delighted to be your number one as well. "We can call them together later," he whispered against your ear. "I am so fucking proud of you, Lieutenant Commander."

You bit your lip and looked up at him. "It's a good thing I'm hyphenating my last name. Two Lieutenant Commanders Bradshaw would be very confusing."

Bradley wrapped his arms around your waist. He couldn't wait to see his name next to yours on your name tag. "I don't outrank you anymore," he said. "Soon you'll be an admiral. Admiral Baby Girl."

He watched you preen and lean up to kiss his chin.

"What exactly is going on here?" Jake asked, holding a tray of food and pointing to both of you with a fork. "Making out in the cafeteria? This is weird, even for you."

Bradley let you pull yourself out of his arms as you told Jake, "I'm being promoted! Lieutenant Commander."

"Well, shit," Jake replied, thrusting the tray into Bradley's hands and pulling you in for a tight hug. "Knew they'd get something right around here eventually. Congratulations."

Bradley listened to the sound of your laughter as you held onto Jake. After Jake kissed your cheek, he took his lunch tray back and said, "It's about time someone wasn't outranked by Rooster. Boss him around, Angel."

"I will!" you promised, pulling Bradley toward the food line. "Roo, you must be starving. I didn't have time to make you breakfast."

Good god, Bradley was so spoiled, it was amazing. He didn't have time for breakfast because he was dicking you down in the shower. He wanted to take you home and celebrate your promotion with you immediately.

After he ate lunch with you, he made plans to pick up a few things on his way home from work.

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

"Oh, hell yes," Bradley growled, fucking you on the kitchen island while you held the bottle of pink champagne. You were wearing just the jacket to your dress whites, and both of you were a little tipsy.

As soon as you got off the phone with your parents, Bradley popped the bottle of champagne and presented you with a cake that said My wife is a badass. Then he suggested you try on your dress whites since you'd need to wear them to your promotion banquet next month. And now here you were.

"Harder, Bradshaw! Harder, or I'll give you two hundred pushups!"

"Yes, ma'am," he grunted, slamming into you. His biceps were bulging as he held onto your hips, and you leaned toward him to kiss his tattoo. "You feel so good, Lieutenant Commander."

You moaned as he used your brand new rank title. "You don't outrank me any longer," you gasped as he went so hard, you had to hold onto his shoulders to stay seated.

Bradley met your eyes with his hungry gaze and a smirk. "Are we racing to admiral, Baby Girl?" he grunted.

A laugh bubbled out of you before you moaned loudly. The thought of the two of you, decades from now, trying to one up each other and reach the rank of admiral before the other one had a chance... well, that actually sounded pretty perfect to you.

"You're on," you told him, kissing his lips as he made you come on his cock. After he filled you up, he didn't move for a little while. He kept his hands tucked inside your white jacket, stroking up to your breasts and back down to your hips. His lips trailed along your jaw and neck as you casually sipped on the bottle of champagne.

"So proud of you," he whispered. "You're so damn smart."

"Mmm," you hummed, letting the bubbles hit your tongue again. You couldn't think of anyone else you worked with who made it to Lieutenant Commander at age thirty one, except maybe Bickel himself. And you had just turned thirty one this month. You were pretty proud of yourself as you sat in a mess of Bradley's cum and ate some cake.

"Sorry it's not confetti," he said, holding his hands up in surrender as you fed him a bite. "You could have given me a little warning if you wanted a better cake."

You laughed and said, "This cake is good. It tastes like success."

He smeared some of the frosting across your cheek as you gasped, and then he licked it off before kissing you. "Success," he murmured against your lips.

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

The following week, when Bradley had a little break in the middle of his day, he grabbed a cup of coffee and strolled out of the tower toward the main building with every intention of surprising you. If you weren't in your office, you'd probably be in your lab. Other than a meeting with your boss, Bradley remembered you saying you didn't have too much on your calendar for today.

Then he ran into Jake when he got out of the elevator, and he looked awfully suspicious. "What are you doing?" Bradley asked, eyes narrowing on him.

Jake just shrugged and said, "Uh... just going to see what Angel's up to. You?"

Bradley cocked his head to the side. "I'm going to see what she's up to, because she's my wife." Then he noticed the coffee in Jake's hand. "You brought her some coffee?"

"Yep," Jake replied, starting to walk toward your office, clearly unbothered that Bradley was there too. Bradley wanted to have a minute alone with you, but fucking Hangman had somehow mutated into your BFF. It was insane.

"Can you say hi quickly and then clear out?" Bradley mumbled, stopping short in front of your office door. Jake strolled right in through the open door, and Bradley could hear your laughter. But his eyes were stuck on your brand new name placard. He smiled at your brand new title and your brand new last name. You'd been married for three months, and he'd been selfishly waiting to see Bradshaw after that tiny little hyphen. It looked and sounded perfect.

When Bradley actually entered your office, you were sipping the coffee from Jake while he rambled on, something about at Cat. "I was thinking you might be in your lab, actually," Jake told you, "and your work is so interesting, so I was going to maybe stop by there for a few minutes."

But your eyes were on Bradley's before his gaze dipped down to read your name tag on your chest. He chuckled and rubbed his mustache. "Jake, get the fuck out," Bradley told him, never taking his eyes off your body.

You pressed your lips together and squeaked. "Jake, why don't you go wait in the lounge down the hall? I'll take you to my lab in a few minutes."

Bradley watched you wrap one hand around his bicep and lead him out to the hallway. Then Jake turned around and looked back and forth between the two of you, his expression suddenly turning to one of disgust. "Seriously? I'll just see you tomorrow," he muttered, pulling the door closed behind him.

And then Bradley was on you as you locked the door. "Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw," you gasped dramatically. "We can't be doing this here. It's strictly forbidden. Sir."

"Fuck," Bradley groaned, pressing his lips to your name tag before kissing your mouth and unzipping your khaki pants.

"Do you remember, many months ago, when you swore you'd keep your hands to yourself at work?" you asked, reaching for his zipper as well.

"Yeah," he grunted, yanking your pants down. "But I fucking lied. Now bend over, Baby Girl."

And Bradley railed you over your desk while he repeated your full name and told you how much he loved you.

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Thank you so much for reading another Roo and BG series! I'm so happy you are here!! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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wings-and-beskargam · 13 days ago

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Echaaj'la

Part 2

(Part 1)

The continuation of this collaborative “fix-it”, post GGN tale. This has turned into a collaborative writing exercise between myself and @feralferrule, with input from a couple other vode. The thing I loved most about GGN was the collaboration and the reciprocal inspiration. Thanks so much to all of you for the ride!

Hang in there BIV boys, we’re coming!

Word Count ~5400

Synopsis - Joined by a couple friends, Archer and Choy get to know each other a little better while planning how they’re going to extract Hexx, Veetch, and Mayday from Barton IV without altering the timeline. Meanwhile, the Barton IV boys continue to freeze, still utterly baffled by their GGN ‘dreams’, but at least they were good dreams. 😙

Warnings: We’re trying to rope a bunch of chaos together (including some very non-canon shenanigans) and make it all behave. Let’s just go with it. 🤫 Some angsty-ness and tender moments. Archer isn’t sure how to process her feelings or worries. She needs a hug. Or maybe more of that pink drink.

Mando’a Words

Al’verde - commander

Aruetiise - Outsiders

Beskar’gam - armour

Beskaryc kar’ta - beskar heart

Copi - shortened from copikla, “cute”. Copi is Archer’s young rancor.

Haar Trak - “The Arrow”, Archer’s Kom'rk-class starfigher.

Kar’ta - heart

Kov’nyn - the Mandalorian “Keldabe kiss”. The touching of foreheads, usually by helmeted individuals. Can be used in combat (I.e., a violent headbutt), but when performed gently, this gesture is an act of affection and trust (not exclusively romantic), and demonstrates a bond between the individuals involved.

Ner - my

Ner runi cuyi ca’tra, bal gar me’suum’ika bal ka’ra - My soul is the night sky, and you are the moon and stars

Olarom - Welcome

Shab’la - screwed-up

Resol’nare - “The six actions”. Six tenets, central to the Mandalorian way of life.

Yaim’sik - home/house

Barton IV, Imperial Depot

Another frigid morning. Not that there were ever warm mornings, but he’d settle for a plain cold one once in a while. Commander Mayday rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stood up from his cot. A thin skim of ice on the drab, grey duracrete walls of his bunk room shimmered in the pale light beginning to stream through the tiny window, and he could see each exhale as they puffed out in a swirling cloud in front of him.

This was a miserable place to be. He and his squad had been assigned to guard the remote outpost and its cargo crates over a year ago. The base came under constant attack from raiders - local people, and over the months most of the squad had been lost in the conflicts. Morale was at an all-time low, the Empire had all but abandoned them to their icy fates, and all of his squad had been lost apart from two troopers - Hexx and Veetch.

A faint reflection of light caught his eye as he bent to pick up his armour from its neat stack on the floor. The pendant around his neck, a copper coloured metal hexagon, was swinging and catching the orange glow from his small, barely functional, heating device. He paused to consider the simple pendant. It hung on a leather cord and had faint writing etched on it in runes he recognized as Mandalorian, but could not read.

He’d woken up one morning, about 6 months past and had discovered it hanging around his neck. The clothing strewn across the floor was not his usual blacks and his favourite, well his ONLY, pair of sunglasses had been missing. He’d stormed into Hexx and Veetch’s quarters demanding to know what trouble they had been up to, only to find them arguing about some wild theory. About a dream. A dream with eerie similarities to the one he’d had that night, and had continued having since.

The dream was difficult to remember, he had only brief images left when he awoke. A red rose woven into flowing brown hair. A tattoo in the shape of his pendant, etched on a pale sternum. Soft hands running over his hair and along his cheeks. His forehead resting gently against another. He always felt warm and a little less alone when he woke from this dream, but its appearance along with that of the pendant were utterly perplexing.

Dreams couldn’t explain the appearance and disappearance of physical objects. He must have spent too much time trapped at this miserable base, he was loosing his grip on reality. He’d spent several days trying to figure out what the kark had happened, but eventually gave it up for some quirk in the force. All he knew for sure, was that his new pendant was inexplicably dear to him (but couldn’t, sadly, shade his eyes from the glaring sun). He rarely took it off, and kept it hidden in the collar of his blacks.

With a sigh, he resigned himself once again to possibly never finding the answers to all of the questions he had. He tucked his pendant into his collar and began to kit up in his amour, wondering if the reinforcements he’d requested 28 rotations ago would be arriving finally.

***

In the adjacent barracks Hexx and Veetch were also preparing for the day. Veetch was rummaging through his small crate of belongings when he came across an item of ladies lingerie. He considered the lacy scrap of cloth for a moment. It still faintly held the scent from it’s presumable former owner. Together he and Hexx had a matching set. But Hexx never wanted to talk about their secret treasures. It felt like he’d gotten his in a dream, but that couldn’t be right - the fabric was real, he could hold it in his hands. The more he tried to puzzle out the answer, the more foggy his dream-like memory became. It had to be just a dream. A really good dream. Like a children’s tale, full of mystery and magic. He brushed the lacy fabric with his fingers one last time and then stood and headed out into the chill of the base.

Hexx followed him silently, his thoughts also on the inexplicable appearance of items he and his brother kept secret. Veetch had some wild theories about the mysterious appearances and the recurring dreams he had about a mystery woman, but had given up trying to connect the dots after their Commander had reprimanded him for making a huge, slightly insane string board on the wall of their barracks. The memory of the look on Mayday’s face when he’d first seen the huge art project still brought a smile to Hexx’s face.

Though he’d never admit it, Hexx had similar dreams, and often carried his treasure - a smaller scrap of lacy black fabric than Veetch had - with him through the day, convinced that it gave him good luck. He surreptitiously checked for its presence in one of his belt boxes. It was there, and the woman he’d gotten it from had to be out there too, she had to be real. He felt assured it was going to be a good day.

***

Kyrimorut, Mandalore

“This way, watch your head.” Archer held open a low door that curiously appeared to be hewn directly into the trunk of a vast veshok tree growing next to a pristine lake at the northern edge of the village. Choy ducked inside the door and found herself in an expansive, partially underground space. Numerous starships of varying sizes rested inside, gleaming in the low, artificial light.

“Wow. Mandalorians really love their secret, hidden spaces, huh?” said Choy. Archer chuckled. “Well, this is a secret stronghold for some very high-profile, moderately unstable and ridiculously wealthy military deserters, ex-Jedi and other similarly unsavoury characters. We don’t exactly want to hang out an olarom sign for the Empire.” Archer smirked.

Archer had just received a message from Jaing, the information specialist they’d visited not an hour before. He’d informed them that an Imperial shuttle was scheduled to deploy to Barton IV two standard rotations from now. They didn’t have much time to waste so they’d come to prepare to leave for Barton IV.

Archer led her in the direction of the large hangar door, which appeared to open directly out from the side of the tree under which the hangar was build, opposite the small door they had just entered by. There was a medium-sized starship parked here, its wings in an upright position. As they approached the side of the ship, a woman in dark crimson coveralls slid out from underneath it wiping grease from her hands with a rag.

“Choy, this is Parja. Parja, Choy,” Archer introduced. She turned to Choy. “Parja is our resident mechanic and general technical specialist. She’s Fi’s partner. Parja,” she said turning back towards the other woman, “thanks for doing my preflight-check on such short notice. I’m afraid we’ve have to depart unexpectedly quickly.”

Choy studied the fierce-looking mechanic. She looked pretty familiar, and she knew they’d met briefly. “Oh! We met at GAR Goth Night,” she realized out loud.

Parja raised an eyebrow, “Where? ‘GAR’ as in Grand Army of the Republic?”

Choy looked questioningly at Archer who nodded [[She’s safe, just remember I’m on the down low.]] Choy gave her a subtle wink and turned back to Parja.

“Parja, I’m glad to really meet you. I only just saw you across the dance floor at 79’s on Coruscant months ago. You were dancing with your husband and his brother and Archer.” Parja squinted her eyes and looked just over Choy’s head. “Everyone was dressed in black and the clone bar was decorated all spooky? Do you remember?”

She shook her head, casting her gaze around, “I, I thought I had some dreams kind of like that. Fi hasn’t mentioned anything like it,” she looked at Archer. “You were there? With us?” Archer nodded.

“I can help you remember,” Choy offered, holding up her hand. “I’m no Jedi but I can do the same stuff they can. The place had some special power over it that night that gave us all amnesia, but someone helped me remember and I helped Archer.”

Again Parja looked to Archer for confirmation.

Choy continued, “May I jog your memory?” She held out her hand, “I promise the rest of your mind is safe, I won’t go poking around or anything,” Choy smiled. Parja nodded and placed her hand on Choy’s. Choy stepped closer, placed her other hand on Parja’s and began radiating calm and reassuring energy toward her.

“I will show you images, [[of the club from my memories.]] Choy switched to speaking through the force. She sent safe welcoming energy into Parja’s brain, visualizing a mist lifting off of her mind. Choy then projected her own memory of Parja arriving at 79’s with Rav, her outfit, her husband, the dancing. [[it was a theme night at 79’s, gothic, melancholy, romantic]] she showed her the other patrons, the decor, the performers on stage. She coaxed out Parja’s suspended memories frozen by the strange fogginess that she could feel in the force around people who had been at GGN.

Parja drew a sharp breath, “Yes, that’s like my dream. Oh, this all really happened. I was there!”

Choy continued. [[Archer met a clone commander in the GAR - well Empire now - Mayday, who went through quite the effort to woo her.]] Choy showed Mayday giving her the rose and a snippet of how they looked at each other.

Archer watched Parja’s expression soften from surprise and wonder to something happier as she caught Archer’s eye. Choy felt Parja’s caring and gladness directed toward her friend, and noticed Archer crossing her arms, cheeks colouring a bit.

[[And I- well, I hit it off with his men.]] Choy carefully parsed the more intimate memories from her projection into Parja’s mind, but some of the emotion slipped through, the infatuation, the deep concern. Parja’s attention was back on Choy, Archer noting her raised eyebrows and Choy’s blush.

[[I know what terrible things are going to happen to these men, and have come here to ask Archer for her help to rescue them from the Imperial base they are stationed at.]] Choy showed her memory of the images of Barton IV, the explosion, the row of helmets, Mayday with a heavy heart, the avalanche, Crosshair, and the cold, indifferent Imperial officer. Mayday dead in the snow.

“The Empire is throwing clones away like trash, abusing them, even experimenting on them now.” Choy said out loud with restrained passion, blinking back tears. She released Parja’s hand with a quick squeeze to bring her back to the here and now. “Thank you for listening,” Choy added and stepped back out of Parja’s personal space.

Parja blinked slowly and then looked to Archer. “So now you’re flying off to some Imperial installation, without a plan, or backup, to extract three random clones?”

Archer scoffed. ”Who said I don’t have a plan?”

”Does your “plan” involve a crate of thermal detonators?”

Archer shrugged non-commitally, a huge grin on her face.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Scorch.” Parja smirked, then turned serious. “But you know better than to think we’ll let you go to infiltrate an Imperial base by yourself, Keb. I’m coming with you and we’re bringing Fi too,” she continued, walking off.

“Your ship’s grounded until we come back!” she shouted over her shoulder as she left through the small door, heading towards the Skirata home.

Choy looked at Archer quizzically. “Keb?”

”My name. It’s Kebii’tra. “Archer” is a nickname of sorts.”

Choy nodded as she considered the irony that her own name now was a nickname derived from Archer’s language. She looked around at the space and wondered about the construction of the place and how these enormous compounds couldn’t be older than the huge trees above.

She looked at the comically small door that Parja had just left through and tipped her head. “So if you want to use the force on this adventure, you can just blame me. But that Parja’s a good egg. Would you ever feel safe coming out to her as a force user? Why’d you tell me anyway? You have that pink booze they were passing out? That stuff was something else.” Choy waved a hand up dismissively, and cast her gaze around Archer’s ship. “You don’t have to answer any of this, I’m just thinking out loud right now. But if she’s going to help- which is great, don’t get me wrong, I just think that says a lot about how much she cares about you.” She turned to Archer and looked her in the eyes, “Now, I’ll take your secret to my grave but I don’t think you should have to.”

Archer shrugged in Choy’s direction. “They liberate and take in defected clones here. It’s part of the reason this place exists, and it’s how they live by the Resol’nare. But Mandalorians have a long… tumultuous history with force users. The conflicts between us have shaped our culture for centuries. Distrust of the Jedi runs deep in our blood, and Mandalorian force users may be hidden away or shunned. It’s different here, people are less traditional, obviously, but I don’t have a great many friends and I don’t want to lose any because I’m different.”

Choy didn’t fail to notice the slightly pained look that briefly crossed Archer’s face.

”And to your second question,” she said abruptly changing the subject, “You threatened me.” Choy received a teasingly wicked grin. “It was only fair I let you know what you were getting yourself into,” she said with a wink.

Continuing, she said, “Since you mentioned them, those pink drinks - what did they do to us? They made me feel strange. Like I wasn’t quite myself in some ways. I did some things I wouldn’t normally have, and everything I felt seemed exaggerated. It was all so intense by the end of the night. ”

“Hold up,” Choy laughed, “Is it really a threat if I don't know you can hear me?” she smirked at the other woman. “Anyway, yeah we were definitely in an altered state,” she squinted her eyes and thought back to that night. “I’ve had a while to reflect on this and I believe what I was feeling was genuine. Like, I was really annoyed with Jesse, but I was already annoyed with him. I avoided Echo after the drinks because I knew my heart would break in a million pieces if I saw him. I felt very platonic toward the Bad Batchers and all the ladies felt like sisters I never had. It was like I felt everything stronger, but it all came from me.”

She shifted her weight to one leg and held a hand out. “But would I have jumped in the sack with two men had I been sober?” She shrugged, “Possibly. Probably- honestly,” she nodded, “ that’s exactly what I would have done then. I was still hormonal like a tooka in heat- sorry, I know, TMI. But between the force being new for me and the stupid GAR-issue birth control implant, I was a hot mess. I still have to focus every day just to manage it, but it’s better. I wasn’t eased into the force from birth like you or anyone else in this galaxy. Yoda said it’s the nature of power to fill voids. Apparently I was a void,” Choy added sardonically, eyebrows raised.

She looked at Archer again who seemed not at all reassured. Choy sighed, “Here’s what I think- whatever you did with Mayday, that came from your heart. It didn’t feel like regular drunk inhibition to me and you didn’t seem drugged. I’ve seen that and your mind felt clear. We’ll just have to see how we feel about the guys when we get them, and how they feel about us, too. Who knows, maybe we just end up rescuing them and it’s like catch and release.”

She paused and stepped a little closer to Archer, “Hey, nothing you did was inherently bad. Do Mandalorians have cultural rules, taboos about this sort of thing? Or your own rules you have for yourself?”

“There’s no cultural taboo. Far from it.” Archer paused, looking a little uncomfortable. “I’m just…not usually into the casual scene I guess. I don’t really regret anything, I’m just still unsure how things seemed to move so quickly for me. And of what that might mean.”

Choy sensed something behind Archer’s words, but let it be for the time being.

Archer continued, unprompted. “I gave him my kar’ta…” she admitted. “He was still loyal to the Empire, I couldn’t tell him about this place,” she gestured around them, “couldn’t yet offer him, them, a place to get away to. But still, I gave it to him.”

“Your kar’ta?” Choy asked her, unsure of what she meant, but sensing a weight to the admission.

“My heart. My beskar heart - from my armour,” she hedged slightly. “He hung it around his neck, and wore it as a pendant the rest of the night.”

“I’ve read that piece is special. It symbolizes the heart and spirit of the Mandalorian people, right?” She eyed Archer knowingly.

“Yeah, that’s right,” she trailed off, apparently unprepared to go further.

”Hey,” Archer began anew, once again changing the course of the conversation, “since we have a bit of time before Parja comes back with Fi, let's head back to my yaim’sik for a minute. I should introduce - or maybe reintroduce - you to someone.”

“Yes, of course,” Choy said a little absentmindedly. She followed Archer out of the little door and back through the woods. She was considering how deeply affected Archer seemed to be by her dalliance with Mayday. Choy felt deep guilt seeping up. A memory of Hexx throwing the back room key to Mayday at her suggestion played across her mind. She realized that she had drawn Archer into the storm she was caught in, her lack of boundary and control stoking that far deeper power than the force, the fires of desire, the very thing driving all the conflict and war for power around them. She realized that maybe she wasn’t supposed to be here just for the boys, but for Archer, too. She felt a strong resolve to help Archer regain her sense of integrity and to set things right.

Sensing her inner turmoil, Archer looked back at Choy who had straggled behind with her thoughts. Choy just smiled and quickened her pace. “So who’s the mystery person? Someone from GGN, I’d imagine?”

”Oh yes, I think you’ll quite like her.”

***

Hyperspace, en-route from Mandalore to Barton IV

Archer reclined in the pilot’s chair of her Kom’rk-class starfighter - Haar Trak - content for the moment to rest and process some of the memories and information Choy had unlocked. They were presently speeding through hyperspace on their way from Mandalore to Barton IV, a journey that was nearly complete.

Parja and Fi had joined them, Parja being convinced that they would need the help. Or maybe she was just eager for another opportunity to see some of their new gear tested in action. She wasn't sure. Both Parja and Fi had spoken with Choy and were relieved of the fog over their memories. They were now seated towards the rear of the ship, conversing quietly.

Choy was seated beside her in the copilot’s chair, apparently lost within her own thoughts. She’d made it clear to them that in order to maintain the integrity of future events, the three clones must be extracted without the knowledge of anyone on Barton IV, and that they must all be believed to have been killed in action. This was going to be… interesting.

The Imperial clone trooper known as Crosshair would soon be arriving on Barton IV with one Lieutenant Nolan. Crosshair had been at GGN and had seemed to know Mayday then. It was curious that this day would be the first time they’d be meeting, according to Choy. Now that she was thinking of the people she’d seen that night, she realized there were quite a few people there who seemed to be from another time. Curious. She wondered, not for the first time, what purpose the minstrels had had for bringing all of those beings together the way they had. What a story that must be.

This mission to free the three steadfast clones trapped on Barton IV was the right thing to do, and aligned with Kyriomorut’s objective of liberating and bringing more vode to the stronghold. But she’d also promised Mayday she’d come for him, and she felt compelled to fulfill that promise - no matter the ultimate outcome. Sure, he hadn’t known exactly what she’d meant and probably didn’t remember anything about that night, but still she’d given her word.

Choy had made it clear that all three men had experienced much in the past months and would be happy to move on to a different life, if given the chance. It was time to fulfill her promise, then. She recalled the last few moments of GGN, and felt her resolve strengthen. The memory played before her eyes.

Mayday hugged her close at a table near the bar, she was seated sideways across his lap. He laid his head against her shoulder, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. He sighed deeply as she waved to Eo and her squad as they departed for the night.

She looked down at him and stroked his hair soothingly with her free hand as the tumult of emotions roiling inside him washed over her. He’d seemed lost in thought, trapped in a loop of “what-if’s”.

“Are you tired, Al’verde?” she’d asked.

He’d looked up at her, his large eyes tinged with emotions she didn’t want to name. It was a heartbreaking look, and one she couldn’t deny held more than just weariness.

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong, ner kar’ta?”

“The club is closing soon.” He paused for a long moment, searching her gaze and clutching her more tightly to him. “And I don’t want to leave.”

She’d looked up then, noticing that indeed the club was beginning to clear out, patrons saying their farewells and making their way to the exit. Hexx and Veetch had been hovering nearby, both looking dispirited after Choy’s departure. It was time for them to go as well.

Setting her nearly empty glass of pink-drink down on the table behind her she pressed her palm to Mayday’s cheek, running her thumb back and forth softly. He leaned into the touch.

“Shab,” she thought to herself with a heavy sigh of her own, “this one is the call for help that has brought me more trouble.” What was it that made these three bearded troopers so sweet and hard to deny? And why-oh-why must they still be with the Empire? Why couldn’t she just offer him and his men a safe place to go?”

She’d brought her forehead to rest against his in a gentle kov’nyn and said softly, “Ner runi cuyi ca’tra, bal gar me’suum’ika bal ka’ra.” She knew that he’d probably understood only a few of the words but she could feel their impact on him nonetheless.

Their fast-growing attachment to each other was probably obvious to everyone in the club. She should have kept her distance, knowing they would inevitably have to part - maybe permanently - at the end of the night, but she’d been as helpless in the end to the mysterious atmosphere of GGN as everyone else.

”Come with me?” he’d asked then.

Before she’d been able formulate a response Hexx and Veetch appeared over his shoulder and cleared their throats.

”Uhm, commander? Sir?” Veetch spoke hesitantly.

Mayday’s posture stiffened immediately, and he nearly growled his response. “I know, Veetch.”

Mayday sighed once again before rising from the chair and setting her on her feet. He took her hand in his, and as a group they walked towards the doors. He paused with her, eyeing the two troopers meaningfully. They walked through the doors with a nod… and seemed to fade in a pink-tinged mist that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago.

What the kark? She hadn’t questioned that at the time. Mayday hadn’t seemed to notice.

He was hesitating, his reluctance to go etched in every line of his posture and rippling off him in strong pulses. His eyes said everything he wouldn’t voice. She squeezed his hand and tried to send a subtle wave of calm reassurance to him. He took a shaky breath and crushed her to his chest. She squeezed him back as he said, “I’ll comm you. Promise.”

He pulled back and grinned at her. Mand’alor, that cheeky smile was contagious. She returned it with a wink and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t forget, Al’verde. I’ll come after you if you do, and I’ll bring Copi,” she threatened teasingly.

“Promise?”

“Ni haat’mitir.”

Eyes shining, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. He turned quickly and passed through the doorway, fading away in swirling pinkish mist.

Again she hadn’t questioned that decidedly not normal departure at the time.

And of course, he hadn’t contacted her. She’d promised to come after him, and now she was. But the uncertainty she felt about where would they would stand after all the time that had passed was distracting. She sighed quietly. “Stop it,” she chided herself.

It didn’t matter what happened after. Getting the three men away from the Empire, saving their lives, giving them a chance to live and make their own choices was all that mattered. She was a professional. She was not going to let these dikut’la pink-mist generated emotions and worries get in the way of completing this mission with everyone intact.

Clearing her throat, Archer turned fully in her seat to face Choy. ”Show me again, the events of the afternoon when we’ll have to get your two lads out.” Choy took Archer’s offered hand and sent images of Crosshair overhearing an urgent comm message from Veetch relaying that Hexx had been taken down by raiders, followed by images of a shuttle stationed in front of the base exploding and sending a man in clone trooper armour - Veetch - flying through the air.

Parja and Fi, overhearing the activity joined the planning in the cockpit.

”It seems as though there are only a couple minutes between when Veetch reports Hexx to have been taken down at the back of this depot and when he himself is caught up in this shuttle explosion near the southwestern end.” Archer said, deep in thought.

“Yes, and Crosshair will be closely watching the shuttle explosion from the eastern watchtower, while Mayday is investigating in the northwestern area. The light from the detonation will blind Crosshair temporarily but only for a few seconds. There won’t be much time to get to Veetch without him noticing us,” said Choy.

“Hm. We’ll have to split up into two teams to get to both men in time, I think,” Archer returned. “If we can covertly station one team on the east side near where the raiders make initial hard contact with Hexx and Veetch behind the barracks building, they can provide the boys with some subtle non-lethal cover fire and transport Hexx to the ship after Veetch breaks away to the south towards the shuttle. A covert stun-shot on Hexx while Veetch has his back turned should maintain his story of being taken down and prevent him from actually being shot.”

Choy looked slightly aghast at the idea of deliberately stunning Hexx, but said, “I’m a pretty good shot, I can probably manage that.”

Fi brightened. “Looks like you’re teaming up with me! I’ve heard I’m ok with a blaster rifle.” He winked. Parja rolled her eyes fondly.

“Make sure you’re not firing unless you really need to. Stun bolts will be really obvious and if anyone notices, your cover will be blown”, Parja added. “But what about the other man, Veetch?”

Archer crossed her arms. “You and I will get him. This might be a good chance to try out that new remote override device you guys been working on. You up for a covert installation and remote “self-destruction” of an imperial shuttle?”

“You know it.” Parja smiled. She was always game for testing out new tech. Especially if it caused a little mayhem for the Empire.

If we detonate that shuttle just a bit earlier than what Choy’s seen, it’ll still provide the flash of light we need for visual cover, and it’ll throw Veetch up into the right spot without it being fatal for him. If my timing is right, I should be able to jet in and snatch him from the air as he’s blown back away from the shuttle.” Archer looked thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose the intensity of the explosion may be enough to explain the fact that he is suddenly missing too.”

“Wait,” Choy interjectected, “you can carry the weight of an armoured man while flying your jetpack?” asked Choy a bit doubtfully.

“I once scooped up a fully Katarn-armoured commando. Dropped him in a mud pit. It was hilarious,” Archer reflected with a smile.

“You… what?” Choy blinked incredulously.

“He called Copi ugly.” Archer shrugged. “Anyway, these skinny lads shouldn’t be a problem”.

“Wow, ok.” Choy blinked. “Oh! We’ll have to make sure some armour pieces stay behind, or at least their helmets.” Archer looked at Choy questioningly. “Trust me,” said Choy.

Archer shrugged. “Very well.”

Fi wondered, “The base’s perimeter sensor array may be problematic for us trying to stage ahead of time. Do you have an explosive plan to deal with that too?”

Archer considered for a moment. “If what Choy’s shown us is accurate, their sensors are shab’la. But we may be safest to get into position after the raiders have triggered the alarm themselves. Timing will be tight, but we’ll avoid detection, save time, and it should be workable with all the chaos, right?”

“The larger concern though is the likelihood that those troopers will have no memory of us and will probably resist our abduction efforts. Choy, can you remedy that before they regain consciousness?”

“They should be conscious for me to help them remember. I think I can handle them though.” Choy smiled at the group reassuringly.

“And Mayday?” Archer asked gravely. “When can we get Mayday out?”

Choy glanced to the side for a moment, before returning her gaze to meet Archer’s. “Mayday has to believe that Hexx and Veetch are gone. He has to stay with Crosshair for a bit longer. Just until the next morning. It’s Crosshair befriending Mayday, being saved by him, and then witnessing what he thinks is Mayday’s death that lets him move past the Empire. It seems cruel, but I believe it has to happen. For the sake of a lot of lives.”

There was a long silence, as the group looked at each other. Archer felt deeply unsettled. “We have to allow him to be injured and then appear to die under these horrible circumstances? What if he does die?”

She wasn’t sure she could remain composed if she had to witness that.

”I’m almost certain he doesn’t,” responded Choy immediately. “At least not right there, like I showed you. Fi interjected “He certainly will suffering from hypothermia, which in its final stages can cause loss of consciousness. Pulse and respirations can be difficult to detect too. We will need to get him quickly to the ship and stabilize any injuries he’s got from the avalanche. He’ll probably need the bacta tank back home.”

[[I believe you can get to him in time, and we can look after him and Hexx and Veetch. It’s all going to work out, you’ll see.]] Choy was looking at Archer, and she felt her trying to convey confidence and reassurance. “We can do this,” Choy then said aloud to the group.

The ship’s navicomputer emitted an auditory tone before dropping the craft out of hyperspace. The icy visage of Barton IV loomed large in the viewscreen. Archer looked at her hastily assembled rescue squad and nodded.

“Well, we’ll soon find out.”

Tagging same folks as last time - let me know if it’s a bother! @eobe @lonewolflupe @ghostymarni @foxwithadarkside @nocturius8015ficore @feralferrule @noblelightfighter @fuzzyenthusiastnelket01

#star wars #the bad batch #Echaaj’la #goth gar night #Maycher #mandalorian oc archer #sw oc choy #Commander Mayday #al’verde #tbb hexx #tbb veetch

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anghraine · 14 days ago

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I'm sad that I didn't have the brain power to write anything new for the Rebelcaptain fix-it week prompts, but on the bright side, my ... uhhhh oeuvre of Jyn/Cassian fics does include fics that would fit the prompts if I were writing them now. So in honor of the post-Andor kudos/comments extravaganza I've been a beneficiary of, here are the old fics of mine that best match the week's prompts:

1— How they escape Scarif

I did this one a bunch of times, but the one that is the most about the mechanics of escaping Scarif and how that, too, could go wrong is unquestionably per ardua ad astra, the AU where Jyn, Cassian, and Bodhi escape Scarif in an Imperial shuttle only to get caught in the Death Star's tractor beam.

Wildly, she looked around the shuttle. There had to be something she could do. Some last hope. The mission couldn’t end this way. Cassian said quietly, “Jyn.” “No!” She hated the calm on his face, shattering the mask of pain. Had he never expected to live? A suspicion crept on her, near to certainty: he wasn’t going to live, with or without the Empire. At his side, blood soaked her bandage. Every breath he took whistled and shuddered. She hadn’t even begun to look at whatever he might have done to his legs, under those Imperial trousers. Imperial trousers. Imperial officer’s trousers. Jyn turned to look at the cockpit, knowing what she’d see. A slim man in the uniform of an Imperial pilot. Even part of an Imperial droid. One last chance.

2— How they finally admit their feelings

I actually didn't write the actual declaration that often (partly because of eternal WIP-itis), but more often fics when they have already done so or are cautiously maneuvering around it. However, like a storm in the desert does have it:

I love you, she thought, easy and painless. It wasn’t a revelation, exactly; she’d understood it for a long time. Before the Alderaanian missions, probably before Scarif, however improbably. What everyone else had seen, it was wrong. But it also wasn’t wrong, and she hadn’t understood that. “You know,” he whispered, one hand cupping her cheek again. “Don’t you?” Jyn brushed his hair from his face, triumph radiating through her at the streaks she’d left over his face, at the heavy gaze reflected back at her. “Yes,” she said. “I know.”

3— How they fare on Hoth

Imagining Jyn/Cassian on Hoth inspired my first RO fic altogether, but my personal favorite of my fics with them there is the words are all escaping, which is entirely about the post-ANH evolution of their relationship. It's set in a longer series, but really all you need to know is that Jyn and Cassian are the only ones who escaped Scarif and they formally got together soon thereafter.

“You also asked me if you were a cyborg,” she said, giving up on the chair and the chilly temperature of their quarters at night. Worse than chilly. Even Jyn got cold on Hoth. After the galaxy’s quickest change of clothes, she grabbed the datapad and one of the blasters she’d discarded with her holster, and climbed into bed. Shivering, Jyn tried to find some opening in the tangled mass of blankets, with no effect until they gave a dramatic twitch and lifted. She crawled under, stowing the blaster under her pillow. Cassian didn’t do that, but he was painfully careless—except about organization—when he felt safe. Jyn never felt safe. Not completely, and certainly not with the Empire combing the galaxy for them. Fine, it didn’t seem like Imperial spies ever managed … anything, given their total failure to find Alliance bases over twenty years, but you could never be sure. And Jyn had good reason to know that Rebels sometimes defected, if very rarely; they just didn’t tend to live long afterwards. (Cassian tried to keep her from those missions, at first. Jyn, whose qualms about murder did not extend to traitors, simply packed as usual and slipped into the ship before he arrived. When he found her in the co-pilot’s chair, he opened his mouth to say something stupid and unnecessary, so Jyn just propped her boots up on the panel—which he hated—and stared at him. They never exchanged a word about it, but after the fourth time, he gave up altogether and Jyn kept her feet on the floor.)

4— How they work together on missions

I'm pretty sure my only real missionfic in the usual sense (aka not ad astra, in which the "mission" is survival and involuntary) is probably also like a storm in the desert, which does have a chapter revolving around Jyn and Cassian's nesting dolls of Fake Dating:

Zara, at any rate, was the sort of narrowly good-natured woman who disliked death and suffering, but talked vaguely about the rule of law and dismissed the rest as Rebel propaganda. Major Lannan prided himself on the precision of his conduct while happily remote from actual warfare; he served on a quiet backwater planet that had seen no real change between the Republic and the Empire. Lieutenant Erso and Commander Andor of the Rebellion heartily disliked them both. But the higher officers of Major Lannan’s sector had been summoned to a gathering (otherwise known as a five-day party) with the local brass. Normally, the Rebellion took little interest in such a peaceful region, but the gathering happened to be taking place at Elis Place, which incidentally stored the sector’s personnel records. Draven wanted them for unknowable Draven reasons, so Jyn and Cassian buried themselves into Zara and Lannan and endured. On top of that, the Lannans were, obviously, married. The Alliance operatives stuck inside them were, back in the Rebellion, just as obviously lovers. But packed inside them were Jyn and Cassian, and they were nothing of the kind. Well, maybe something of the kind. But certainly not—not— Jyn opened her eyes in the near-dark, letting her gaze drift down the line of Cassian’s sleeping (maybe sleeping) body. The Lannans’ bed was easily twice the size of their own; where Jyn had considered Cassian’s commander’s quarters palatial, by her standards, these apartments were the real deal. Yet sleeping in this one, a good foot apart, felt more intimate, more dangerous.

5— Follow to the ends of the galaxy

Since I've never written them on Endor, I contemplated the alternative prompt, and I'm pretty sure the closest for me is the final chapter of my f!Cassian/Jyn AU, whatever we deny or embrace:

“Baze said we were practically married already,” she replied, readily enough. “He didn’t know he was saying it, but still. And I thought that—it’d be good to have things clear.” Cassia looked particularly inscrutable. “To me?” “To everyone,” said Jyn. “No misunderstandings.” Again, Cassia’s eyes widened. Her grip loosened, and Jyn had no idea what that was supposed to mean. “You want,” Cassia began, then broke off. “You’re proposing that we swear to … to this, to staying together forever, because now we’ll probably live long enough for it to matter?” She could be very concise sometimes, without sacrificing meaning. It was one of Jyn’s favorite things about her. “Yes,” said Jyn. “And because you want us sworn before the entire galaxy?” she pressed. “Yes.” Cassia released Jyn’s hands, which for one terrible moment, threw all of her conclusions into doubt. Then Cassia stepped even nearer than they already stood, almost as near as they could get, and cupped Jyn’s cheek with one hand, the other dropping to her hip. “Jyn,” she said.

6— How they live after the war

I did write one short fic centered around this idea, one wave short of a shipwreck.

They all knew the end of the war would be difficult for Cassian, and none knew it better than K-2SO, in his own estimation. All of them had certain inconvenient adaptations to make, of course, but none possessed quite the same disadvantages as Cassian. After all, the Guardians of the Whills and Bodhi Rook had functioned in civilian status for longer periods of their respective existences than not, and in any case typically served in non-combat capacities; Jyn Erso spent years of her early maturity as a petty thief, with few aspirations beyond the convenience of the moment; K-2SO’s own security systems were not specifically programmed for war, however useful his contributions. But Cassian retained no alternate data. “If you are considering a return to Coruscant,” he informed Jyn—who, by this point, K-2SO classified as a) an occasional threat to his decisions, b) a frequent co-conspirator, and c) generally the organic counterpart to himself—“then the probability of assimilation to human-typical behaviour may be elevated, but—” “We’re not typical,” she said in her abrupt way, “and I’m thinking of something quieter.” With more relief than he cared to articulate, K-2SO said, “I concur.”

7— Free day!

It didn't really fit for any of the other themes, but one of my favorites of my fics is life, like a swinging vine, which is a one-shot following the first year after Scarif.

Everyone knew that Jyn and Cassian were sleeping together. Everyone, even if they couldn’t decide whether he’d seduced her for the cause or she’d seduced him for her mission. Nobody outside their team seemed to consider that they might have fallen into bed because, say, they found each other attractive and likable (they hadn’t, but did people always have to assume the worst?). Meanwhile, in the real galaxy, Jyn’s skin sparked like a bad circuit when their arms or hands brushed; Cassian hid his answering jolt, or—among the small, strange family they’d accumulated—didn’t bother hiding it at all, his eyes wide and his hand unsteady but close. If they felt particularly daring, they would exchange lingering glances and nervous smiles, before discovering an urgent need to analyze Imperial data protection (Jyn, at least, considered it an achievement to stay in the same room). She didn’t feel afraid, and she doubted that Cassian did either; they’d just never had the chance for this, the trust or time for shyness, uncertainty, the thrill of anticipation crackling beneath, for—well, for being young and in love, and a little stupid with it. Everything was so much, after lives of so little; for now, they soaked up touch, and for now, that seemed like enough.

#anghraine babbles #long post #fic talk #death star au #russian nesting dolls au #script au #the queer rogue one fic #genderbending #otp: welcome home

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 years ago

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Why do people still go to Mostro Lounge if Azul enslaved 225 students? Like how is he not out of bussines

I DON’T KNOW 😭 I’ve never understood that part???? And how easily everything is resolved????

The end of book 3 tries to hand-wave it off as, “well, Azul implemented a point card system/promotion that was just so good that it compensated for all the negative rumors about the bad things he actually did” but like 💀 even then, I never bought it…

Consider the prices plus how the point card system and its perks work:

Assuming that you need 50 points to get that consultation with Azul + the items listed here are the only ones that qualify toward the point system, that means you'd be spending at LEAST 250 thaumarks (which I'm going to consider the equivalent to 250 USD for the sake of simplicity), if not 300 thaumarks. That's not including any potential tax or tip they may charge on top of the cost of the actual menu items. If you're going for the three-point card perks, you're easily spending 750 to 900 bucks on the Mostro Lounge. Maybe that seems like chump change to some of the rich, privileged kids that attend NRC but that's still a considerable amount of money to spend at one establishment... I'll concede that the argument can be made that this investment is "worth it" because of Azul's consultation being such a useful thing. It seems like you could ask him for anything, so long as its within his means. So yeah, it’s true, his services can be an extremely powerful boon to have on your side (assuming, of course, that he's capable of granting your wish and you agree to the terms set). The issue then becomes a matter of trust between client and Azul.

I don't know about you, but I cannot believe that after Azul tricked and enslaved 220+ students (over a QUARTER of the total student body) with his promises that everyone would so easily forgive what he did and suddenly trust that he wouldn't try pulling similar shit again. And since I doubt any mob would drop 250-300 thaumarks in one day just to get the consultation ASAP (but a bunch of food he can't eat), the points system would be a long term commitment... meaning mobs go into this establishment regularly, knowing that it's run by a guy that would double cross them if it benefitted him, weirdly trusting that he wouldn't???????? Trusting that he had a sudden change of heart and wouldn’t revert back to his old ways???????? Not holding grudges??????? Nah, I don't buy that one bit. AZUL'S REP WOULD BE IN THE TOILET, AND I DON'T THINK A GOOD DEAL ON EATERY LOYALTY WOULD REVERSE THAT... At that point, the mobs are practically begging to be scammed… Also???? The only thing that Crowley technically told Azul he can't do is to take anyone's powers 💀 so literally nothing is stopping Azul from trying to one-up or cheat his clients out of other things... Agreements like the one where he tried to claim Ramshackle Dorm for himself would still be totally valid under Crowley's new but poorly defined restrictions. Why doesn't the headmaster just forbid Azul from running his shady side business altogether 😭 or at least revoke the manager position from Azul?????? The school gets 10% of the lounge’s profits, so maybe Crowley doesn’t want to lose that income—but if that’s the case, why not just put new management in charge and still reap the monetary benefits??? Even just upping the percentage the school takes from their earnings would be more of a punishment…

I'm about to cancel this man on Magicam for his crimes/j I guess this is easily explained by the mob students all being dumb/arrogant, but that’s such a cop-out 😭 My only hope is that volume 3 of the light novel adaptation will go more in-depth about the post-OB backlash Azul experiences (similar to how it did for volume 1) 💦 because the way the game presents it, it feels like he and the Mostro Lounge made an almost immediate comeback 😭 which isn’t realistic at all…

I guess all I have left to say is…

#twisted wonderland #twst #Azul Ashengrotto #disney twisted wonderland #notes from the writing raven #question #Yuu #twst light novel #twisted wonderland light novel #twst theory #twst theories #twisted wonderland theory #twisted wonderland theories #Dire Crowley

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vanillinwrites · 9 days ago

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I’ve been thinking about Garma with an artist Darling. Obviously being a Zabi, he could pull from a lot of resources no matter their profession to bring them closer. But being hired to paint the Zabi Family’s portraits? And why not a painting to celebrate a new victory? Or another at every gala? Garma has them booked for the next two years practically.

But I also love a submissive and pretty man, and that’s exactly what Garma is. Perhaps he’d commission his Darling for a *private* portrait. A very ‘paint me like one of your French girls’ moment but he would look so good dressed in some lingerie for it too.

a/n: more Garma, my beloved! Thank you so much for the request. I'm loving writing for gundam, both char and garma alike, and may try to write for other characters as well. Feel free to keep the requests coming! They’ve all been incredible! the requests for my current fixation is helping motivate me a lot! (not to mention i’m starved for gundam x reader content, and if I can’t find it, i’ll make it).

Also, this one got a little bit long, so I’m going to post the suggestive/nsfw part of this request as a separate post! I hope that’s alright! I’ll likely link it back to this post, since it’ll be a direct follow up.

Garma does seem like the type who might enjoy art, even if he himself isn't skilled in it. It’s unlikely Garma is highly practised in art himself, it’s likely any art skill he has starts and ends with drawing maps and possibly rough sketches of architecture. But he has a great appreciation for the skill regardless, if his personal and family portraits hung around the Zabi residence are any indication.

He’s been pushed his whole life to strive for military greatness, for political greatness, and that has left his life- lavish and extravagant as it were- rather gray and lifeless. The people are him and stiff and rigid in their unyielding loyalty to the Zabi name, never stepping out of line or daring to speak out of turn. He’s surrounded by yes-men, as it were, who nod and clap to every word from his lips. And in the military, the soldiers serving under him are much the same- disciplined, principled, but devoid of personality; at least when garma is near.

His family isn’t much better- garma wouldn’t consider them loveless people, but their ambitions and political responsibilities keep them at arms length from others, the family included. The somber and cold expressions they wear in their portraits are more true to life than even a photo. His father, as much as Garma loves him, is often distant, speaking in a controlled and calculated manner. The crown weighs heavily on Degwin Zabi’s head. Gihren is the worst of the family, power hungry and ambitious, leaving behind all semblance of love or happiness in pursuit of greatness and conquest. Kycillia as well, for as much as garma admires her, is ruthless and cold. Dozle is warmer, by far the most personable of the bunch, but he is often preoccupied with his own family with Zena, and his own military responsibilities.

Garma’s life is beautiful; privileged and picturesque, but it certainly lacks the brightness and light that many others enjoy. Various portraits and artworks around the home and her personal quarters alleviate this, if only slightly.

Maybe you meet when the Zabi family commissions their newest family portrait- Degwin often hand picked the artist to depict his family for such prominent and important pieces. If you were that artist, or an assistant or apprentice of that artist, your meeting with the Zabi’s and garma would be guaranteed, paid, even.

Garma watches you out of the corner of his eye, unable to turn his head while posing for a portrait, but he can’t tear his gaze away from you while you're working. There’s something about you, something unsuspecting. A beautiful face and an enchanting laugh when you speak to the family before posing them for the portraits.

Your nerves are obvious; likely unaccustomed to such prestigious subjects. Everything you say is phrased with uncertainty, ‘maybe kycilia should angle her face to catch the light better, maybe Dozle should stand further back to not overshadow his shorter siblings; despite being the expert, you seem so nervous. Skittish of them and reading into every word. Garma shoots you a little smile, one that he hopes to be reassuring, but it seems to have the opposite effect. You fluster at the little interaction, busying yourself with your work, not daring to lift your eyes again for a long moment, fixation on a small detail of the portrait to keep yourself from thinking too much on it.

It’s cute, he thinks, more drawn into you by the second. He allows himself to wonder if it’s simply the pressure you’re under, or if maybe it’s him, his smile, his attention, that has you so flustered. He’s not completely oblivious to the fact that he’s considered attractive, but it’s rare that he cares so deeply if someone thinks so or not, almost shy himself when he considers the possibility. He tries to will down the blush rising on his cheeks, tries not to squirm in his own nerves when you watch him with such rapt attention.

The portrait is completely too quickly for Garma’s liking; he would have liked to have spent weeks of portrait sessions in your company, watching your face as you work, watching your hands deftly move across the canvas. He would have liked to spend more time with you, even if your interactions are limited to polite posing instructions and the occasional meeting of your gaze. Once you leave, and the portrait is delivered to the Zabi estate, Garma finds himself looking it over, absentmindedly, more focused on the memory of you than the actual portrait; spectacular as it was.

In the picture, his head is slightly turned towards the light, in a way you said would catch the contour of shadow better. You’d been right, the shadow work is perfect. But more so, Garma recalls how you’d instructed him to angle, and how, when he’d apparently not met your standard, you’d reached out as if you were going to angle his face by hand before pulling back abruptly. He was surprised by the gesture; it was uncommon for someone to be so daring, even if you didn’t follow through.

He wishes you had.

Maybe you meet by coincidence when Garma sees one of your works, instantly taken with it and insists on meeting the artist, no matter who you are. He likes viewing art; in museums, private galleries, even private collections. Maybe your work is featured in one of these beloved places, or maybe a family member of yours is connected in the art industry, casually mentioning your work in the doting way families do. Either way, garma takes note of it.

It’s something in the use of color, in the weight of the lines, in the movement of the brush strokes. He’s enraptured with it. And he has to meet you, because all art is a reflection of the artist, and if something you’ve made has captured him so entirely you must be exceptional as well. It’s unlikely Garma expects you to capture his heart the way you do, he was simply hoping for a conversation, a discussion on the piece and possibly a tour of more of your work, but as soon as he meets you, he knows exactly what about your art had called to him.

You’re perfect; the curve of your smile, the shine in your eyes, the sound of your laugh, the little mannerisms you exhibit while you talk. If all art is a reflection of its artist, then it was no wonder that your art had shone so brightly on the canvas. Any art made by your hand was made in the image of beauty.

He makes a point to buy at least one piece of your artwork, if not everything you’re willing to part with. It doesn't matter if you're a professional or a hobbyist, or even if you sell your art at all; because everything has a price, and with all the money in the world, there’s no price too high for him to afford.

He can’t simply buy you to keep in his home like an art exhibit, always under his adoring gaze, but your artwork is a fine replacement for now, hanging in his room, until he can get closer to you. You must have a price as well- something he can offer you in order for you to belong to him. Maybe all it will take is a few more meetings, a charming smile and a bit of conversation. Maybe it’s the wealth and power of the Zabi family, promised to you if you’ll only agree to belong to him. Whatever it is, he’ll figure it out.

He sits at his desk, working on some busywork, your artwork hanging above where he sits, the colors drawing his eyes up every now and again. If you’d been able to decide, where would you have placed it? What were you thinking about while creating it? Is the subject of the picture real or imagined? Did you have that smile of yours while working, or did you purse your lips in focus as you worked diligently.

If he commissions a piece by you, maybe he’ll be able to find out.

Once Garma has met you, he makes a point to keep finding reasons to see you again.

Would you care to discuss your art over a meal? Maybe you’d be willing to share the secrets of your talent? Do you have anything new you’re working on? Anything for sale? Would he be allowed to commission you? Would you like to come to a dinner party his family is hosting? Would you like to come to the military ball? He’s accomplished a great victory, he’d like to commission a portrait.

His eagerness to speak with you is apparent, if not to you, then to the people around him. His family notice, one by one, how you’ve ensnared him in your presence. But it’s no concern to them. They’re happy for Garma, if a little put off by his desperate attempts. But you? You’re likely aware of his need to be near you, seeing it as a crush at best, and seeing it for what it is- obsession- at worst. Either way, you’re not in a position to refuse to see him, even if you wanted to.

He buys your art almost as fast as you can make it, quickly making you a small fortune, one you could easily live off of without another job to support you, so long as Garma continues his generous patronage.

At first, it’s nice. To be able to stop worrying about money, to even quit your day job if you’d like, and to have someone who adores your work so much. But it’s also strange, just how fixated on you he has become. Surely there’s other artists? Better ones? And surely he doesn't need any more pictures to hang in his home? His room has to be looking comparable to an art museum by now, with the amount of pictures he’s purchased from you. Maybe he really loves art? Maybe he decorates the entire Zabi estate? You try not to worry about it, it’s really none of your business what he does with it all, or why he needs so much. Afterall, he’s good company, and you certainly don’t mind him being around so often. Still, something seems wrong. Off, somehow.

You find yourself in his company more often than not, and as time progresses he seems more and more entitled to that. As if the happenstance of seeing him nearly everyday is not a welcome surprise but an expected meeting that he seems to uphold at any cost. He seems to dominate your life these days, everything else falling away when he’s near. Maybe that’s his doing, or maybe you’re falling in love with him. You’re not sure which idea is more unnerving.

You shake these thoughts from your head, convinced you're just paranoid. Sometimes good things are just that- good. There’s nothing to worry about, Garma is just an admirer of you and your art who is a little bit overeager, but it’s flattering, it makes you happy, he makes you happy.

Maybe the price of buying your love was only ever a few kind words.

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thebaffledcaptain · 11 months ago

Text

Things that happened at the 250th anniversary of the changing of command at Old Fort Niagara

as recounted by a humble fifer of His Majesty's 22nd Regiment of Foot, for his own records:

The unit got to sleep in the French Castle, which sounds much more luxurious than it was, but I’m still happy we had the chance to do it—it’s the main barracks building in the fort, with three stories that house officers’ quarters, mess halls, store rooms, and even a chapel. In period accurate style, however, the regiment was quartered on the third floor where something like a hundred soldiers would have slept on wooden pallets around the perimeter of the room.

Three of us, myself included, squeezed into the weird little nook between the two doorways and decided that was the most fun place to sleep.

In hindsight I can only assume it was not the most fun place to sleep because man was it hot in there. The site had the windows padlocked and some people had to go convince a staff member to open them so we wouldn’t suffocate the next night as well.

Two unfortunate souls swore up and down that they had an encounter with a ghost on the first night and immediately ran down to the chapel on the second floor. It was not until after I left that I discovered the site is rumored to be haunted by…. *checks notes* a Headless Frenchman?

There were a ludicrous amount of donuts for breakfast both days. Like, every flavor you could imagine, laid out across four modern folding tables. That was how the Fort justified not providing us with any sort of rations. Just… an absurd amount of donuts.

On the second day I ate my donut watching two highlanders struggle to set up a stretcher, assuming they were probably going to do some kind of medical demo with it later

As I’m walking back to the barracks with my friend I hear a voice behind me go “make way for the King’s donuts!”

I turn around and the same two highlanders are carrying eight donuts, each in a different flavor on its own individual plate, perfectly laid out in a line that spans the entire length of the stretcher. Here’s the visual because you need one.

Somehow I managed to lose the entire regiment on the first day. They said they were going off to drill and apparently went so far from the Fort that I could not find them until they returned—last out of every other unit drilling, of course

During this time the 54th doctor saw that I looked abandoned and offered me a seat next to his operating table and… dismembered limbs etc etc. I accepted for the shade though with some trepidation.

My fellow 22nd fifer abandoned me to be a man-at-arms this weekend. The 54th drummer and I got some quality bonding time as the only musicians in our battalion.

We did make kind of an executive decision to detach ourselves from the 43rd when we split into companies after watching them accidentally wheel themselves into a corner of some sort… but, you know. No one cares what music does anyway

In fact one of the 8th fifers aptly described our job as to criticize and/or commentate on the rest of the goings-on we had no part in, in a fashion I describe as being much like a bunch of little peacocks in the back. If I’m being honest that’s my favorite part of the role.

In accordance with this principle, my fellow fifer and I took it upon ourselves to put lavender sprigs in as many of the regiment’s hats as we could. We didn’t get very far but the sentiment was there.

Our sergeant took it upon himself to explain the origin of the word “cock” on multiple occasions because the fully grown adult men in this unit have the collective maturity of a 12 year old

Kind of disappointed with the tavern night (bad beer and not even in a historical part of the fort) but ended up having a long conversation with some 54th guys, so now I can say I was challenged to a duel by the 54th sergeant?

Alright, slight exaggeration there—both of us fence and while I saw him doing some friendly sparring with a few other people, we never got the chance for a bout, so now it's up in the air for the next event we're both at.

Also, he said "Spepsi" instead of "Pepsi" exactly one (1) time and I tormented him with it for the rest of the night. It's a good thing he's not my sergeant or I might be digging myself into a hole with that.

Watched two highlanders at the front of their files wheel decisively left when a right wheel was called and then sheepishly jog back to the rest of their unit

Greatly enjoyed hearing one of our guys’ “deaths” on the battlefield, which are famous for his Wilhelm scream-esque exclamations

On two occasions, the 54th sergeant turned to me (once on the battlefield, once in the middle of a very solemn memorial service) to tell me “it’s stinky over here”

I did not think this would be the event where I bonded with an NCO from a regiment I was not a part of but I’ll take it

The regiment bought $700 worth of Russian Drill from one of the sutlers. Cleared out his stock. Needless to say a pair of Russian Drill britches is in my future

On the second day for some reason the Drum Major decided not to do any kind of drummer’s call before forming up for battle and just told us musicians to be on the lookout.

I was there for that announcement and stuck with my regiment so I was fine. The 54th drummer, however, was not aware of this and the entire battalion marched past him as he was just sitting under one of the tents—I waved to him hoping he would join us but he just… waved back at me…

Cut to five minutes later—the 54th sergeant turns to me and goes “where’s [drummer]?” and I have to tell him we just… marched right past him. We give it another minute and suddenly, in the distance, the disheveled green figure of the 54th drummer frantically running to catch up to us… poor fellow. Not his fault nobody communicated to him. Which is a problem that could easily be solved by, you know, utilizing the Music (as would have been historically accurate), but apparently no one wants to do that…

I seem to be making a bit of a name for myself as the British Army’s Mandolinist in Residence, or, as some of my comrades have nicknamed me, “The Mandolier” (which. I have to be honest. Is a cooler term)

On Saturday night my fellow fifer and I stayed up until almost two in the morning singing despite the knowledge we had to be up at 6 to do reveille. However I did not regret this decision then nor do I now.

Nothing compares to the experience of singing Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald at midnight, sitting on a wall that drops off straight into Lake Ontario, at a centuries-old fort with no one around. This was Sunday night, when most of the units had left and we had the fort to ourselves and a handful of other souls who couldn’t bring themselves to leave the 18th century just yet—in fact, we had been about to finish our music for the night and our little group had been turning to leave when we started the song and the rest of them came running back.

Indeed, it’s been a week since and I am still not ready to be in the 21st century, nor am I ever, but of all the ways to end this event, I’ll take that one.

#also took a post-event trip to the falls which was awesome #contemplated doing it in kit but. we got very wet. so in hindsight I am very glad we did not do that #a friend of mine did though… props to her #historical reenactment #god save the cheshire regiment #this is your captain speaking #awi #long post

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bomberqueen17 · 1 year ago

Text

Big Easy

I am on vacation this week in New Orleans. There are many reasons for this but mostly they're not about me. I'm just here for the ride. Hilariously the one thing I found on on my own that I was like "oh i gotta do that while we're here" is also the thing that has been recommended to me by literally everyone i've spoken to including the Lyft driver from the airport, which is the WWII Museum, and conversely the more people recommend it the more I'm like :/ I might not enjoy this that much. WWII history was a childhood hyperfixation of mine but I've found the shit I was into about it is not the stuff other people like about it. This museum features a movie narrated by Tom Hanks so I feel like it's going to mm emphasize the bits I don't care about a lot. BUT I am going to go and I am probably going to devote a whole day. The upside of this is that probably Dude will not be deadly bored by it. He does tend to have the issue of not being into what I'm into sometimes... but this will probably be fine.

My hip is doing okay, the one I've been physically therapizing for ages? But what's popped up is that as the bad hip heals, the "good" hip starts giving me trouble-- I have prettty bad sciatic nerve problems on that side, and I didn't notice them so much because the cartilage tear on the bad side hurt enough to distract me. But lately it's like-- a little electric current of Badness inside the back of my right knee. No fun. But I've been doing physical therapy exercises for about fifteen weeks now (I just counted), three times a week, so I'd damn well better have seen some improvement LOL.

But mostly I can walk around, and I have a better idea earlier on whether walking is going to be good for me or not, so idk it's progress.

So far I have had a few bites of a shrimp po'boy (in the Atlanta airport, where we ordered something else and the waitress didn't hear us and just brought better food, no regrets on our part), some amazing gumbo, a bit of really good crawfish etouffe, and a really good Hurricane cocktail, and have seen the steamboat Natchez going up the MIssissippi with a brass band playing on it. Oh yeah there was a live band at the baggage claim? Apparently there were Many Doings in the French Quarter last night because of Cinco de Mayo, our Lyft driver was explaining they'd barricaded a bunch of the streets and she was delighted they'd moved one barricade because otherwise she could not have dropped us at our hotel. But by the later evening when we were out and about it wasn't quite so crowded but there were police cars and sirens and apparently some kind of disturbance a couple blocks away from our hotel. We kept walking because whatever it was was Not Our Business.

I'm mostly here for the food. I brought mostly me-made clothes. I was wearing a nice button-up shirt to fly in, and i sat at the gate during our layover and hand-bound two of the last three buttonholes on it (I'd cut and overcasted them at home but ran out of time). Relaxing and chill, honestly.

There are a couple of fabric stores I want to visit but apart from that I have zero agenda. Maybe Dude came up with something. I think he's mostly been researching restaurants.

I did not expect this, though: I know the names of so many of the places here from the news coverage of Katrina, and when I saw the Superdome in person i started crying, and had to explain to the driver that I'd been an airport bartender during that time and so had been stuck in front of huge TVs with 24h live coverage, and I'd had a bunch of online friends living there and I didn't realize until this moment how much it scarred me, so I could only imagine for the people here, and she talked about how she'd been a cleaner in an apartment complex at the time (I'd sussed that she was my age or older so I figured she'd remember it as well as I do, because to my shock that was 20 years ago now) and how many people had just left and never come back, had abandoned their possessions and just never came back for them because the power didn't come back on for two or three months.

She said "Now I know, when they tell you to evacuate, you get the hell out."

She also complained that nobody knows how to act, because it's all tourists. Which, fair.

... Anyway, anyone with recs for New Orleans feel free to tell them to me, I'm just here for the food and the vibes.

#about the author #vacationing #new orleans #louisiana

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wishing-stones · 2 years ago

Note

hey there! first time asking and i am.. pretty nervous :') not sure how nightmare's body works for your au, but how would the boys™ react if nightmare was somehow weakened enough to have his passive body revealed under all the corruption and not die? (or yes die, if that's what you're about lol) thanks!

Awww don't be nervous! I don't bite.

Nightmare's body is largely permanently colored by the corruption, but it can weaken, and he's still a (mostly) complete, white-boned skeleton under it.

Without active corruption, Nightmare is around 5'6" (or your height) and has some damage around his right eye socket. The light still forms, but his vision isn't so great. (Still a far cry better than 'normal,' where he can't see at all). His eyelight in that socket is purple, and the one in his left is cyan, no matter what form he's in. Sometimes it'll be half-and-half, if he's especially weak or in his feelings, but he's usually got the full heterochromia thing going on.

Fortunately, it just kind of retreats into the inner void of his body/skull if it's too weak to fully encase him, so it's all or nothing with the curse/corruption. It won't kill him, but he is much more vulnerable when he's passive.

The guys would be surprised, to say the least, but they'd also make the (correct) assumption that he's not as sturdy as he usually is and should be guarded. Nightmare definitely tried to hide this, but with a bunch of intuitive, smart underlings, it's hard to maintain the illusion that 'everything's fine, I'm just going to stay in bed for a while.'

Still, no one's going to lose respect for him, or make fun of him (in any seriousness-- we all know Killer is Required By Law to give him some guff) in any real capacity. He'd get a little babied, actually, until he told them all to knock it off, and then it's only Axe who babies him. (He can't get Axe to stop.)

Everyone is sworn to secrecy, because he especially does not need Dream finding out about this. He'd never stop crying, and Nightmare doesn't want to deal with that, thank you very much.

This does happen every great so often, especially after things get reconciled with his brother. Without active malice and hatred to feed on, the corruption kind of ebbs away and 'rests' to regain strength, and then it comes back strong as ever. He's actually quite strong when it comes back because it's refreshed, and he usually feels his oats a bit when it comes back.

It's the only aspect of the curse/corruption that he can't really control. Since he doesn't have a ton of enemies anymore, or at least ones who would be able to take advantage of such a situation, it's just a mild inconvenience rather than a cause for alarm.

More little facts about this:

He sounds different while passive. If he tries really hard, he can get into his normal, deeper register, but it takes a bit. He sounds a lot younger (still an adult, but younger and higher) and gets a little bit sensitive about it, actually.

He's also sensitive about his height. He loses 8 inches or better, and he doesn't like it. Yes, he wears platforms to make himself at least taller than the others (save Axe) if he's up and about, and not sulking in his room.

He views it as an inconvenience, but he hates feeling vulnerable. He's worn the corruption so long, to not have it makes him feel naked, and it's not something he handles terribly well.

He's also more sensitive to: temperature, touch, elements, and Intent. He gets cold easily, so he's usually close to some heat source. This sometimes includes the boys, and they have cuddle-puddled to make him feel safer.

He will break out his crown and wear it. It's a newer one-- his old crown won't fit because it didn't grow with him. he wears a silver crown with a more elegant crescent moon fixture (not entirely unlike this, but solid and without decoration) with a three-quarter moon taking up the void of the crescent, leaving a small gap between the two. He also wears much less gold and much more silver, although he does wear gold with purple, since it's very regal looking.

Hand-in-hand with the above, he breaks out good fancy clothing, too, since he's not in danger of staining it, and it feels nice on not-corrupted bones. Silk, satin, velvet... very fine clothing.

He also wears a weighted cape. While he doesn't always have his tentacles out, he will over-correct for their weight when they aren't present, and he's fallen over before when turning because of it. (After Killer was done laughing, he helped devise the cape.) It's a lovely little capelet that hangs over one shoulder, but drapes otherwise evenly across the back to the small of his back.

He's usually passive for 1-2 weeks, and then it won't happen again for a couple years, if he's lucky, or 10-12 months if he's not. This only started happening once Dream broke out of the statue, so while it's a fairly new development, it's one that he's learned to deal with and has procedures for.

I mentioned it before with Dream in R&R, but his bones have kind of a pearlescent sheen to them. Dream's is warmer (like a cream pearl), but Nightmare's is cooler (like a silver pearl). They're both Demi-gods, after all.

Interestingly enough, I've been working with this idea recently.

#k answers #k headcanons #feat. nightmare #readmore for length as always

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mayimkjs · 1 year ago

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Microanalyzing MeMe

Taken from the FOOL's MATE research doc.

This includes theories and thoughts from a bunch of different people.

I will be separating some things into Trikoto and Twokoto variants.

The moon is in its First Quarter. It’s halfway between the New Moon, which represents the beginning of a new journey, and the Full Moon, which represents the end of something or rebirth. And thus, it can represent a difficult time where decisions must be made and a point where strength of will is necessary. This could seen as John making decisions with Mikoto being left in the dark. That would explain why the moon only shows up in relation to John.

This scene could represent how their future is scattered, uncertain and messy as tarot cards tell the future.

Throughout the murder, he is wearing a beanie, as if to conceal his identity from the viewer.

Trikoto: These scenes are mainly green, his eye is red and the bulk of the eye shine on the bottom. I see this as John and Midokoto working together in some way shape or form to kill someone. John would be the one to kill someone and Mido would be the one to deal with the aftermath. They are working together to keep this from Mikoto. Another thing that contributes to this theory is that only one eye is ever shown.

Trikoto: So going off of that, this scene would be Midokoto doing his part of the job and handling the cleaning up.

Trikoto: He points at his head 3 times. As if signaling to the viewer that there are 3 of them. When the scene swirls out, it has an RGB filter over it. Each color is associated with an alter. Blue for Mikoto, red for John and green for Midokoto. Bundled with the line that plays during this scene (Switch, Shake up that brain), it seems that this is referencing Mikoto, John and Midokoto.

Mikoto wakes up in his inner world confused. There are tarot cards scattered on the table, so he takes one. We then see 3 shots of tarot cards. Each shot contains the same 10 cards in the same positions except the 3rd where 3 are moved. It then jumps to the Devil card before his actual card is revealed to be a blank card.

Back to the murder, we see John looking over something, possibly his victim. He could also be burying him but, given that there's a phone pole in the background. I don't think that's what's happening here.

John or Mido puts the body or other evidence in a trash bag and throws it into a dumpster. Their sloppy work makes me think this is the first murder. They also throw the beanie away. Both of these shots show that he is not a calculated killer as the murder was very sloppy. He threw away trash in an area where illegal dumping would be reported and he left DNA evidence. I also don’t think that the bat is in the bag. It’s likely just the body and his jacket.

In this scene, it seems that Mikoto could be dissociating.

In the mirror in the real world, you see Mikoto looking around confused and concerned. In the inner world, John is in the mirror. This shows that John has now fronted. Maybe Mikoto knows that somethings up. There’s also a chance that these shots aren’t sequential. This and the next scenes could also be him realizing that the person ruining his life is both not him and him at the same time.

Mikoto is startled by this. He then falls and is given a card. He receives The Devil card without having a choice while he's fallen down in a vulnerable position. The card then turns black. He drops it and the room turns red.

He panics and John/Mido appears behind him with his hands in the shape of a gun to his head as if to threaten him.

The surveillance footage can be interpreted as the altars watching Mikoto. Mikoto is stressed. He has likely come from work.

Trikoto: This could be Midokoto dealing with the aftermath of another murder since he’s smoking real cigarettes.

Twokoto: Some people say that this scene is a suicide attempt. Personally, I’m hesitant about that. The shower and mirror scenes often are paired with the last as well as the suicide atempt theory. In this theory, he’s losing consciousness in the scene on the right.

Mikoto is addressing the audience/Es.

Here, he’s stacking the deck up neatly. He's trying to take control of his own destiny. Control of his life is very important to Mikoto. Or, he’s shuffling his deck to properly understand what is going on.

He snaps then the room turns red. Mikoto has now fronted and John is back in the inner world. This could also symbolize a switch.

Trikoto: We don't see his head in this shot so this could be Mido.

John draws a card and shows it to the audience as if to say it's not his. His expression goes from cheery to cold.

John is seems to be having a conversation with someone within the inner world. He then draws 8 more tarot cards and the conversation continues.

The paintings in the corner of the room are shown. These are not a part of the spread. The chair is then shown again.

Trikoto: This is possibly Midokoto as his hair is covering one eye.

John hands someone a card and puts in on the table.

The next card to appear is The Chariot. The Chariot card is interesting. Mainly the bikes. One of them is fine, the other is exploding. These bikes could represent Mikoto and John in relation to John’s actions. The mannequin has direct control over one of them. But the other is exploding and the mannequin has a mace in the same hand that shares the chains connected to that bike. John just wants to protect him, but he does so in a harmful way and it destroys the control Mikoto wants to have over his life.

The last card he puts down is Death.

Trikoto: The Kayano that is receiving the card isn’t wearing a jacket. This could very likely be Midokoto.

During the last scene, “John” suddenly looks surprised. I see this as Mikoto either fronting for a few seconds or somehow seeing what John is doing.

The fourth wall being broken at the end shows that the MILGRAM system may have found something that isn’t a memory, but a conversation between John and Mikoto or Midokoto in the inner world.

This entire MV is very out of order. Here is the order I think the events happen in.

Trikoto

Timeline 1 (John/Midokoto)

Mikoto comes home from work and has a breakdown because of the stress.

John goes to Midokoto and proposes a plan to get some stress off of Mikoto.

John kills someone with Mido watching.

Mido cleans up and deals with the aftermath.

Timeline 2 (Mikoto/John)

Mikoto wakes up in his inner world and does not know what's going on.

He eventually encounters John after he has killed someone.

Mido quickly has Mikoto front to avoid any type of confrontation.

Twokoto

Timeline 1 (John)

Mikoto comes home from work and has a breakdown because of the stress.

John kills someone.

He then cleans up the aftermath.

Timeline 2 (Mikoto)

Mikoto wakes up in his inner world and does not know what's going on.

He eventually encounters John after he has killed someone.

Mikoto then fronts, leaving John alone in the inner world.

Other Details

Framing of the events of the murders as a horror movie speaks to how Mikoto views his actions.

MeMe takes advantage of the assumption that there is one Kayano.

MeMe is generally told from Mikoto’s POV.

John is portrayed as scary and evil because that's what Mikoto assumes is happening.

#milgram #ミルグラム #john kayano #mikoto kayano #milgram project #milgram theory #milgram analysis #midokoto #fools mate research #kayano mikoto #kayano john

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queen-scribbles · 6 months ago

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Finally, FINALLY had time with my brother to play more so we could do more Tala & Bottlen, and this time had everything; goblins, skin-of-our-teeth close calls, spiders, REVENGE, one very large bear, a devil we know(sort of), tadpole and dream guardian shenanigans, and MORE!

We left off last time right after luring Priestess Gut to her quarters so we only had to fight her and Polma. This time we worked our way through fighting small groups of goblins at a time :3 Like the rest of the main room crowd. Whereupon the game decided we'd avoided Raphael too long and triggered the cutscene... with just Gale.

Who got to pull his best ThisMightAsWellHappen.jpg face before going back and we resumed our goblin killing ways with Torturer Spike's gang when Bottlen got caught picking the locks on Liam's cuffs (oops!). And then fought the ones in the worg pens to free a certain bear bc Tala scolded them for throwing rocks. (Because I would have hijacked the game if it had taken any longer xD)

Which involved Karlach throwing a goblin child at another goblin child. And then--after that killed one of them--throwing the survivor at a worg, which killed both 😂😂😂

And then Bottlen STOLE the first conversation with Halsin, so Tala picked him up and threw him(with my brother's blessing) to see if it would break the conversation. It did not. But it was fine bc then Tala talked to Halsin and convinced him to join them (this would prove to save our bacon), so they had a gigantic bear to help with the Dror Ragzlin fight. Considering Bear-sin can one hit kill most of the goblins, this was very handy.

Especially after Bottlen got shoved down into the spider cave and Karlach went unconscious. 😅 Fortunately, Tala has both the boots and gloves that give healing boosts/temp hit points, so that was easy enough to fix. Gotta be honest, I think if bro hadn't flipped Bottlen from ranger to paladin, we probably would've died. Gale pulled off a sleep spell to take out some of the adds for a couple rounds before their friends kicked them awake literally, and Halsin took out a whoooole bunch thanks to the aforementioned oneshotting. Including!!! Ragzlin. >:3 so that was fun.

Minthara was, comparatively, very easy, even if she misty stepped to a spot that made her very hard to hit.

I was v happy the cutscene picked Tala to talk to Halsin after that, so she got to have the "praise you, my friend" conversation.

now kiss AHEM. Seeing as we were all basically out of spell slots, we cheated the system by then popping to camp for a long rest. We needed a break. Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to have one just yet. :D

Lae'zel tried to kill Bottlen for having a fever rude and then came the Dream Guardians just to make things more interesting.

Because that's not a terrifying angle and it totally inspires trust when you look at me like that.

Finally finishing our rest, we popped back to start killing our way out of the goblin camp from the top down. Got all of them up top(again, if Bottlen wasn't a pally, we would probably have died. So. many. goblins.) plus the ogre. We were planning to go all the way through escaping and getting back to the Grove, but he had to leave bc there was something in the car his wife needed asap. So we're gonna finish tomorrow and maaaybe get to the gnolls if we have time. 🤞

#queen in faerun #tala mountainsward #you have no idea how bad i was jonesing for this lol #also involved: bro had bottlen kick tala at the end of the rest #it did more damage than he expected so tala picked him up and spiked him xD

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theuniversitychallengereview · 9 months ago

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Dopamining

Yesterday I listened to a podcast about dopamine and the other 'feel-good' brain hormones oxytocin, seratonin and endorphins. It feels kind of like cheating to include endorphins as a single thing when there are actually a bunch of different endorphins, but it means you get to use the cool acronym DOSE so I can't begrudge the neuroscientists too much for it. Or should it be the neuropsychologists? The brain people.

We all know that we are on our phones far too much, and yet we continue to be on our phones far too much.

The little dopmaine hit you get from reading a tweet or scrolling TikTok or watching a hundred Instagram reels is a lot easier to get than the satisfaction you get from reading a book or practicing guitar, and it staves off the boredom that arises if you just sit there with, god forbid, nothing to do but think.

But you are never satisfied when you stop watching the Instagram reels, or when you finish a session of playing 5-minute blitz chess matches while waiting for the bus. You always want more. If you've played five matches you want to play five more. If you've watched thirty reels you want to watch thirty more.

This feeling then carries over into the moments when we are not on our phones too, because we have crashed our supply of dopamine meaning that it is harder to achieve the non-phone-based things we want to do, like cooking dinner or building a spreadsheet. So we go back on our phone and order something from Deliveroo then play a few more games of chess while we're waiting for the food to arrive.

We started the day with the intention of planning a holiday and assembling a bookshelf, but after we woke up and spent twenty minutes on YouTube shorts there was no motivation left for anything else.

Why, then, am I telling you this when I have posted this article on Twitter with the intention of hijacking your attention for the brief fix of a University Challenge review?

Because I am part of the problem too.

I am trying to steal your dopamine for my own selfish social media ambitions, to steal your motivation and get you hooked on these reviews just like Facebook is. The only difference is that I haven't used your data to become a billionaire.

So if you've come to me from Twitter then get off here now - leave your phone and your headphones behind and go find the nearest tree. Stare at it, touch it if you like, then come back and tell me how you feel.

Ah, I forgot one step - subscribe to the blog so that you don't need to rely on Twitter's increasingly spiteful algorithm to find me. Instead I will arrive fully formed in your email inbox and you can read me at your leisure.

Next week we can deal with oxytocin, but for now, let's get on with the episode.

Darwin College, Cambridge vs Birkbeck.

This is Darwin's third appearance on the Challenge, losing a tight semi-final to St Edmund Hall on their debut in 2019. Birkbeck won the trophy in 2003, but didn't appear again until 2020, and they have made two quarter-finals since then

Here's your first starter for ten

Darwin captain Whitaker takes the opening points with Where Angels Fear To Tread, setting the tone for the rest of the match. His team is made up of three women, and the Birkbeck team also has two women, meaning that the men are numerically outnumbered, which is quite a rare occurrence.

The picture starter also goes to Whitaker. That's three for him - it's going to get more difficult to keep trackas the show goes on.

Van Onzenoort bounces back for Birkbeck with elasticity, and they mixed up their answers on glass-making processes, giving super-cooling twice rather than tempering and annealing. A second for Van Onzenoort wins Birkbeck a bonus set on Sicilian foods, including one on cakes which Skidmore isn't much help on because he's 'not that into cakes'.

Hamilton gives Whitaker his fourth starter of the night, and Max Factor (who was apparently a real person, after whom the makeup brand is named) continues his streak.

Evans takes the music starter with Frank Sinatra, but they can't maintain the momentum and Whitaker returns with David Hume.

Van Onzenoort keeps Birkbeck in it with Bayes, and Evans grabs the second picture starter to close the gap even further. When Moorthy takes her first points with All Quiet on the Western Front they are only 25-points behind.

Whitakeover

But it is at this stage that Whitaker takes complete control of the match for Darwin, with four starters back to back on a wide variety of subjects (Venus, Albanian refugees in Italy, Salisbury Cathedral and the 800s).

Have you been counting? I might have missed one out so I'll just tell you - he finished with eleven (11!) starters, which is the highest of the series so far.

He was also the only person on his team to get a starter, which might be a record of some sort. Look out for him in the next round!

Darwin 205 - 110 Birkbeck

I hadn't realised quite how impressive Whitaker was until I saw all of his plaudits on social media, but eleven starters is a stonking performance, and Birkbeck couldn't keep up with him at all.

In fact, his points from starters alone would have tied Birkbeck's total.

See you next week (by which time you'll all have subscribed so you don't have to crash your dopamine supplies on Twitter) for Durham vs Oriel, a rematch of the 2000 Grand Final.

#university challenge #bbc2 #quizzy mondays #quizzing #tv quiz

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nokingsonlyfooles · 1 year ago

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Look! A Thing!

New Instalment this week! It's a web serial about broken people by a broken author on a broken website! I'm just yelling about it as hard as I can while everything burns down around me!

And the site itself!

You like obscure and indie? Just lookit these numbers!

Current known readers: 3 (hi!), 1st Goalpost: 10?

Current supporters: 2 (hi Kith and 5th!), 1st Goalpost: 5?

If you click this and you like it, you have the power to bring two of your friends and double my admitted readership! Hurry! Before success spoils me!

And I'm super distracted, so let me just snip an excerpt from today's thrilling chapter for your feed-friendly perusal!

Ann put up a hand. She drew Hyacinth farther from the door and lowered her voice, “John kidnapped Erik because they needed help and they knew we wouldn’t let him do this. Erik has been helping the Rainbow Alliance save coloured people and get them the hell out of this fucked up country, because Prokovia wants them dead, or… or worse…”

“De-magicked,” Maggie said. She took a sheet of paper off the bed. “It’s an apograph. Most of ‘em are, but you can read ‘em in the mirror. This is the important part. This is what Prokovia wants to do.” She held up the paper so both of them could see. It was divided into four equal parts, all of them moving and displaying text and images at once. “This is what happens when you try to take the magic out of an immie.”

In each quadrant there was a brief, animated snapshot, five seconds at most, followed by backwards text and further still images. They cycled endlessly, somewhat out of sync, as if whoever set them in motion had activated them one after the other, going clockwise from the top left.

The figure at the top left was a milk-white young man with threads of blond in his matching white hair. His complexion had the look of a broken mirror, with cracks running in every direction, except they weren’t open or bleeding. They were what Hyacinth couldn’t help thinking of as a normal human skin tone, but pale tan certainly wasn’t normal for this guy. He was smiling vaguely, almost vacantly, and holding politely still while the person with the camera moved to photograph him from either side. There was a round scar on each temple, just below the hairline.

The scowling blue woman to the right of him had a similar pattern across her face and bare shoulders, just a bit more fair. Her mirror had shattered more violently — there were patches of fair skin between some of the cracks, as if some of the glass had fallen out. She had a set of yellow hands holding her, and she was turning her head from side to side, not quite struggling but clearly uncomfortable. The five-second image ended with her swatting the camera and a split-second shot of a tile floor.

The orange child at the bottom left had no cracks at all, only patches, and much larger ones. The close-cropped hair suggested a boy, but it could have been either. Tears were welling in their eyes as they clutched a stuffed toy, curling their whole body around it and wincing from the camera’s flash. In the last two seconds, a brown hand intruded and gently nudged their head up, allowing a brief three-quarter profile view of a face with an olive-toned patch that included one dark eyebrow.

The final figure, another young man, did not seem to be coloured at all. His hair was dark, his eyes were blue, and his skin was fair. His hands were bandaged and bound to the chair he was sitting in. He was smiling, not unlike the other man, but his brief image also ended with the camera falling or being knocked over, for reasons unseen.

Honestly, the first thing Hyacinth thought was someone had painted up a bunch of coloured people for a weird theme party — except for the guy in the lower right. But then, as the image reset once more, she caught a thread of purple drifting across his face like smoke. It was gone so fast she wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all.

“What the fuck…?” She tried to pause the image and rack it back, dragging her finger from right to left, but it didn’t respond.

Maggie sighed. “It’s an apograph.”

“Smart paper has a backlight,” said the General. “It makes excellent apographs. Mr. Green-Tara seems to have figured that out at some point and copied a great deal of information he was certainly not supposed to keep, or share.”

“He did it for us,” Ann said. She touched the pile with the cardboard on top, but left it where Maggie had abandoned it on the bed. “It’s not much to read, it looks like he wrote it in a hurry, but he knew we’d come for Erik. He’s been trying to put things together for us, the whole time. The Rainbows haven’t told anybody because they don’t know who’s safe to tell…”

“I am the lone holdout,” said the General, “in insisting our government would not be complicit in an attempted genocide…”

“But they must know something is happening,” Maggie said. “They have intel. They’re not stupid. At the very least they’ve seen the ads, and they must know they’re not getting a bunch of coloured Prokovian tourists. It could be they don’t know because they don’t want to know. If they find out, there’s no guarantee they’ll help, and all this evidence is enough to blow the whole rescue operation out of the water if they take Prokovia’s side. The Rainbows aren’t wrong about that.”

“I am willing to admit,” said the General, “that it would be difficult to sell another war at this point, especially one with Prokovia, politically speaking.” She lowered her voice to a snarl, “Although it would be the only appropriate response.”

[Read More on my Disintegrating Website!]

[Or Read Soldier On from the Beginning, that's probably a more sensible place to start!]

#tin soldier and soldier on #long post #free fiction #writers on tumblr #indie fiction #writblr #steampunk #dieselpunk #magic #harry potter alternatives #dramedy #anarchist fiction #socialist fiction #new reader drive #ocs #original characters #character development #potential sexymen!#if i seem desperate it's only because i am!

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life-of-karma · 2 years ago

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Daylight Robbery

The Market Hotel in Reigate, London 2002 was an unusual place to work as a Head Chef — only serving food for lunch and not on Sundays.

The manager was a paranoid, egomaniacal type who didn’t care about the staff. It was whispered that he had been robbed before, and now carried an alert button around his neck to call the police whenever pressed.

At night, the hotel was like a fortress; no one could leave or enter without setting off the alarm. Since I didn’t have access to the alarm codes, this meant I had to stay put in my room, kitchen and toilet facilities, so it felt like a prison.

One night I had my girlfriend over; when she left to go to work, the alarms went off, prompting the manager to come running — he yelled at us for leaving the door unlocked, so I could get back in.

He didn’t care much for me; it infuriated him when I won the competition hosted by the company that owned thirteen pubs in London.

At Christmas time, the chefs would compete to see who could make the highest profits compared to last year’s figures for each location. When I came out on top, I received loads of recognition from the owners, and a bunch of red and white wine was presented at one of the pubs. I gave those bottles away to all the staff.

He eventually got me fired when he learned that my girlfriend was expecting and we were planning to move to Australia in three months’ time. He used this as an excuse for dismissal, even though I had informed our superiors about what was going on.

On my final day of work, due to the terms of my contract they had to pay out a lump sum of 1200 pounds including wages and holiday pay. He pretended not to realize it was that day and said he didn’t have any money available.

I demanded my owed money from the manager, and with some subtle hints of how the money could be extracted, he knew I wouldn’t be leaving without it. He proceeded to frantically open cash registers and empty pokie machines of coins and I even made him empty his own wallet until he was still 60 pounds short.

I snatched up the collection of notes and coins without protest and headed for the bank next door.

The woman behind the counter raised an eyebrow at my bulging bag of money, then asked in disbelief if I had just robbed the pub next door? I told her ‘kinda’, then explained the whole situation.

She keenly assessed me before informing me that there was a 25 pound fee for converting currency at the bank but she had known the pub manager and her own words, he was an asshole and decided to waive it wishing luck to me and my new family on the way.

The same day I secured a chef job 30 minutes away, I started work in an opulent restaurant.

It looked like a lot of money had been spent on renovations, but the staff quarters was abominable. The walls were so damaged that you could have punched a hole through them, and mice ran around unchecked even in our mattresses at night.

Knowing I’d only be there for a few months, I got to work to save up for my trip to Australia. One unexpected benefit was that some of the staff worked cleaning at a local jail and would receive confiscated weed from prison officers, which they’d allegedly secured by flirting with them.

Despite feeling guilty about the inmates getting taken advantage of like this, it certainly livened up our nights! I ended up bumping into one of these co-workers five years later in Australia — we exchanged amazed greetings and shared stories before going our separate ways.

#robbery #real life #life lessons #travel #relashionship #self improvement

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voidselfshipp · 5 months ago

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Birds of a Feather.

Summary: How James comes to know Jerico,and how their pirating adventures begin.

Cw: minor mentions of bad families. Mentions of nondescript injuries.

>only mutuals allowed to reblog. (Including non selfship moots)

Mary read Mary Read where Will you go?

Mary Read Mary Read,so far away from home

James sung to himself as he Walked up the stoney stairs. Ah Tabai patted the boys back,seeing Him so nervous and unsure- he looks twice as small curled into himself as he is.

--You'll do great,novice-- the grand master said with a warm smile.-- Here,stand in line and watch.

James settles in line with other novices, he sighed and fixed the scarf that held his hair in place.

--Bloody jungle humidity...--He complained.

--I know right? Its sticking to me-- A voice to his left said,childish and around his age. No older than fifteen.

He looks to ser a girl, greyish green eyes and pale skin,Brown and gold hair tied in a messy bun with baby hairs all over their face. She smiles,a little meek but welcoming.

--I preffer england's weather-- he half joked as the assasins began to pair up to demonstrate the first few fighting moves to learn.

--The weather in the spanish colonies is nice too-- The girl answered-- The colonizers? Not so much

The boy laughed,joyful and without a care in the world-- I feel you there-- he grinned-- Im James kidd,nice to meet you-- he offered his hand.

--Jerico Aquilar,nice to meet you too!--she shook his hand and grinned too.

--Jerico,I get the feeling we'll be really good Friends.

--Kids!--Ah Tabai scolded with a smile he was failing to hide. The pair giggle and turn their attention to the assasins,but James stands closer now to his New friend.

-♡-

James must have spent the whole day running around with jeri. Pairing up to train,eat lunch and mess around. By the end of the day,he was taken up to the quarters area,a bunch of tree houses well built and insulated.

--Jerico--Called the grandmaster-- James Will be your roommate.

Jer nodded,knowing they wouldnt fight him on it-- Alright,but is he comfortable? I am,well,a girl..

--He'll be just fine-- he reassured,pushing the boy in gently--Good night you two.

The Man left,and as the boy entered with his things carried over his shoulder,he looks at his New friend and says.

--Well,Jeri...uhm. Heres the thing-- he set down his leather satchels and looked away,unable to find the courage he usually carried back when he was a privateer-- I wasnt born a boy... I was a girl..sometimes still am..

The girl took a moment to register the words,but then she nodds and shrugs--Sweet. I feel like a boy sometimes,others I dont feel like a boy or a girl,just something else.

James deinflates with relief, he goes to set up his bed and drops on it with exhaustion.

--Man,my bones hurt

Jeri laughed and he began to laugh too-- Me too,christ-- she lays down in her bed. Her eyes settle on their friend belly flopped on the matress and she found it quite funny-- Hows england Like?

--Ppfffft youre not missing much-- he admitted-- im from a poor family, took a job as a privateer. --He rolled on his back and looked at his roommate.

Outside the air smelled of ashes and humid air,a little salty. Campfires were being put out, the stars and moonlight compensating for the lack of light.

It was silent except for the sounds of the jungle animals and birds. Its a cozy night,And right now they feel like the only kids on earth.

--How did you end up here?--James asked,his hands resting on his chest.

The girl shrugged-- Im a Runaway,my family sucks ass. I ended up here by pure chance,one of the assasins found me- Saw promise in me. And I wanted to get out of the shithole that was my home.

--Birds of a feather...--the boy had this certainty to his tone. He offers his closed fist.

--Birds of a feather-- She agreed,meetint his fist with theirs.

--Sweet dreams,mate.

--Sweet dreams!

Both settle to sleep,there in the night where it feels like its only them in the world out there. There in the middle of the jungle,theres a sense of home.

A sense they never felt in the cities they come from,or in ships and vessels. A companionship of someone who truly understands you,that makes the effort to,that tries for you.

-♡-

Not a day after they Turned sixteen,James had the brilliant idea to celebrate atop the tallest tree in the jungle. The issue wasnt getting up there,sharing food and the little cake Jeri had made for him. Nor was it tear up when she gifted him a friendship bracelet.

The problem was that both smelled of meat from their lunch,and that there was a pack of baby ocelots trying to make them their meal.

The pair scream like children as they run through the jungle. They dash over rocks,tumbled trees and foliage as the tiny menaces Keep close behind.

--Did you know these things can climb up trees?--Jeri said,her mind trying to stay somewhat calm.

James gave her a hard look and said-- There was literally no worse time you couldve told me that!

--Sorry!

When they got back to the encampments, the guards keeping post freaked out thinking the kids were in danger. The adults manage to spook the ocelots away,but it gains the kid a visit to Ah Tabai's tent.

After explaining it all,the grandmaster let them go with a slap on the wrist and nothing more. Both returned to train,looking worse for wear but alive.

--We're so doing this for your birthday-- James teased.

--Fuck no. -- Jer said,horrified-- Dont even think about it, kidd-- he smirked,and they raised a finger--I fucking mean it.

The boy raises his hands in surrender but does giggle to himself. It does nothing to calm the girls nerves.

-♡-

At eighteen,both kids had made Friends of other assasin novices and kids they met along their training in other islands. And it was quite the thing,a band of kids large enough to pilot a ship. So joked the elders,accostumed to seeing Jerico at the helm of all the Shenanigans.

And this bad idea was Kidds. It was silly,they had sailed to Havana- the templars had little control over ot. And James thought it would be fun to gift his best friend a ship for their eighteenth birthday.

It was a mess.

There were little men manning the ship,but it was trained men against a band of novices. Kidd got out of it alive with a ship,but a myriad of scars(one across his cheek). He also got the scold of a lifetime,but given the fact that he was one of the best novices...Ah Tabai allowed him to Keep the ship...under a New name,and look.

--So...what are you going to name 'er?--He asked to his friend as both sat atop the crows nest.

--Ive been giving it some thought-- Jerico was drawing on her Journal,a beautiful design of an eagle with wings made of sunlight-- The Solar Eagle.

--I like that.

--Wouldnt you rather name your own ship,though?

James gave them a look-- I wasnt takin the piss when I said this ship is yours,I mean it. Ive been planning on it since we were chased by ocelots that one time...

Jeri looks at him in turn-- Dont you think this is a little too much for a gift?

--Ive never met anyone like you-- He began,putting a hand on their back-- And im lucky to be your friend. Youre unconditional,loyal,sweet and endlessly kind. This is my way of repaying ya for all the years of friendshipp. Happy birthday, mate.

Her eyes fill with tears,and brings him in for a tight hug. He hugs back and rocks them side to side. He giggles against his hair.

--Come on you sod, the others are waiting on yer captains quarters to celebrate.

She sniffs and squeezes him-- in a minute.

--'kay,cmon let it all out you Sap.

Eventually they do come down to the captains cabin,where all their Friends wait with a nice cake of chocolate and dulce de leche.

James raises a glass and says-- to the captain!

--To the captain!--Their motley crew cheers,and glasses are raised to celebrate.

The Next morning the sails are changed. Red with the golden emblem of an eagle with wings like the sun. All out of their own pockets,Ah Tabai would make them pay for their Shenanigans.

But there it sat,the Solar Eagle,eagerly waiting for adventures.

When it came the time for the maiden voyage,Jerico took the wheel and James stood with their good friend skully,another assasin trainee, and one of their closest Friends.

--Alright everyone! Full sail!--James barked, and their Friends got to do what they needed to do to get the Eagle away from the docks.

Jer waves goodbye to the assasins and their high mentor watching them go by. Itll be a few weeks,but nothing more.

--Can I tell you a secret?--James asked when they were on the Open sea,the blue Sky above and only the seagulls to join the slight singing of shanties on the deck.

The wind blows,salty and cold,pushing the waves to come to existence but remain calm. As If the world move to make this maiden voyage easy and calm on this New sea faring youth.

--Always,you can trust in me-- Jer answered as her friend leans In conspiratorially with that troublesome look in his eyes.

--With you by my side,I feel like I can do anything and everything in the world.

They grin-- I feel the exact same way.

--Onwards then!--James winked as he yelled at their crew-- To Havana! Lets show these arseholes what a good pirate crew we make!

The deck erupts in cheers and the wind pushes forward the Eagle. Both Friends smile and the boy pulls his friend for a side hug.

--Birds of a feather fly toghether-- He whispered,and jer pushed him.

--Saaaaap!

He chuckled and promptly cussed them off,all while both grinned. Two younglings,filled with possibility and promise. Expectant and excited for the years to come,bound forever in friendship and undying loyalty.

#platonic f/o: james kidd #ac s/i #ask to tag

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